“You expect her to wait outside while you gather your information?” Dalli was incredulous.
“I brought Josephine with me because she vowed to the Lore she wouldn’t drink again—ever—unless she was with me on this mission. So unless you can force Meliai to cooperate with me, I don’t have much of a choice.” He knew Dalli couldn’t. Despite her age, her authority was limited. The Nymphae power hierarchies weren’t like those in other factions.
“If I could force her to tell you, I would.”
“Then my path is clear. You know I won’t enjoy this. Mentally, I won’t even be there. I damn sure won’t come.” He’d have to fantasize about Josephine to stay hard.
“Rune, I know you won’t be there—your eyes are already glazing over—but others can’t understand that. There’s got to be another way.”
“Should I leave Josephine’s brother in danger? Now my brother as well? You’ve never encountered a creature who loves her sibling more. And besides, she needs to accept this is what I do. Damn it, I’m too old to change!”
Even if she’s my destined female. The one he’d never hoped to have.
“You’re about to harm your relationship irreparably.”
“And what do you think the death of her brother would do?” He lowered his voice even more. “While I’m standing here talking to you, a seventeen-year-old boy is in Val Hall, trapped behind the wraiths. I can’t get to him without Meliai’s information on the Scourge.”
“You’re going up against the Valkyries?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my new family.” His mission for the Møriør seemed far removed.
Dalli exhaled. “Meliai used to repair Val Hall’s oaks from lightning damage. She could know of a way in.”
“Good. Will you go talk to Josephine and smooth things over? Make her understand this will have no more effect on me than tying my shoe.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“She isn’t feeling . . . She isn’t doing well.” Those blood tears tracking down her face had wrecked him. “Just watch out for her.” He headed to Meliai’s chambers. Her door was open, and the nymph was lighting candles.
How bloody romantic. The cloying smoke mingled with the overblown perfumes in her room. “Give me your vow you have what I seek.” He shut the door behind him. Amid this haze, he lost Josephine’s reassuring scent.
“My vow, is it?” Meliai grinned coyly. “Would it be so awful to sleep with me? If I’m lying, you’ll still get the lay of your lifetime.”
At his unbending expression, she said, “Very well. I vow to the Lore I possess something you could use to get past the wraiths.” She shrugged out of her robe, leaving her in only a transparent teddy.
Josephine, with every inch of her body covered in bandages, was sexier to him.
“I should warn you, I’ve been satisfied dozens of times today.” Meliai reclined on her bed. “You’re going to have to work for it. It’ll take hours and hours and hours.” She reached for a goblet of wine on her bedstand. “Do strip off all your clothes.”
He ground his fangs, longing to strangle this bitch—not pleasure her. Pride stinging, he removed his bow and quiver. How triumphant did he feel right now? He kicked off his boots and yanked his shirt over his head.
“Very nice.” She watched him avidly, like his brothel patrons of old.
He felt as much disgust for her as he had for his first customer, a hideous serpent shifter with keyhole pupils, slits for nostrils, and a scaling bald head.
Please or perish. Though the demon in him had bayed for Magh’s throat between its fangs, the fey in him had reasoned that fucking the serpent female was a mindless biological function. Servicing her body with his meant nothing. She meant nothing.
A freeing calm had descended over him. He’d become untouchable: I’m not even here.
Though the serpent’s forked tongue had flicked across his throat, Rune’s slanted grin never wavered. “Ah, dove, the things I plan to do to you. . . .”
He’d gotten through that; he could do this. Turn your mind from this room, this situation. That familiar coldness washed over him.
He’d told Josephine he’d be thinking of her. He should have told her the whole truth: I’ll be holding on to you. He’d cling to what he felt for her.
Because right now his heart was cold ash.
If he did this, would he extinguish what Josephine felt for him? She’d seen his memories and had accepted his past—until tonight. “You’re going to be a whore again, only this time there’ll be no excuse for it.”
Magh’s words: “You’ve been a whore for so long, I thought we should make it official.”
With a smug look over the rim of her goblet, Meliai said, “I can’t wait to see your cock. It’s supposed to be legendary.”
“It’s the only part that matters, right, dove?” As Rune removed his pants, one thought stood out: I never stopped being a whore.
SIXTY-ONE
Rune is ruin.
Jo paced outside the tree entryway, her hands balled into fists. She needed to go somewhere and scream. What was so weird—if she left, Rune would come find her. After. He’d told her he would never let her go, and she believed him.
Last night, before they’d made love under beckoning stars, he’d brushed his fingers over her cheekbones and assured her he had a plan B.
He’d known screwing the nymph was a possibility.
A flash of a dream hit her, a snippet from his memories. He’d been sitting back in his chair in Orion’s stronghold. “If one of my tarts is stupid enough to want more,” he’d told his allies, “then she deserves all the heartache in the worlds.”
Huh. This stupid tart got what she deserves.
A beautiful blonde loitered by the entrance, watching her intently. Could that be Dalli, Rune’s “friend with benefits”? Add some more humiliation to the pile. Jo was about to tell her to go fuck herself with an oak splinter when she scented a demon.
Deshazior??
He’d just traced inside the barroom! Standing taller than everyone else, he seemed to scent her as well, lifting his face, then turning toward her outside.
Jo had a friend! “Desh!”
He grinned and traced to her. “Hello, little luv!” He wrapped his brawny arms around her and squeezed.
“You don’t know how happy I am to see you!”
“Why these tears?” He cleared his throat and backed up a step. “These black, poisonous tears?”
Oh. Blood had dried on her face. She must look like hell washed over.
“Bet this has somethin’ to do with yer baneblood. Where’s the poxy scum?”
“With another woman.” And Jo was sitting outside, waiting like a tied-up pet, more pitiful than she’d ever been.
“He’s up there in a love nest?”
“Is that what they call them? Hi-fucking-larious.” Tonight, Rune had gone out on a limb. She laughed bitterly.
Desh’s gaze landed on her neck, her mark. “The baneblood claimed you as his mate, and he’s still with another?”
“He’s here to get information.”
Desh scratched his head with confusion. “I’m not followin’.”
Jo found herself telling him parts of the story—her fight with Nïx, her brother’s captivity, the failed attempts to overpower the wraiths—ending with: “And now I’m supposed to cool my heels while he bones Red.”
“All this to get into Val Hall? If ye wanted in, I wish ye’d come to me.”
Jo’s breath caught. “Do you know a way?”
“Gettin’ in’s the easy part. Gettin’ out’ll be the kicker.”
She grabbed his big hands, squeezing to urge him on.