When he’d worked his fingers inside her, telling her how badly he wanted his cock to replace them, she’d wanted it too.
After her dreams, she didn’t know if he would ever commit to her, mate or not, considering what he’d suffered in the past. But she did know she could never share him.
She’d just finished dressing when he returned with a towel around his waist and a wide grin. Could he be any finer? “Somebody’s in a good mood.”
“A stunning hybrid woke me with head and rode my mouth. I’m in a great mood.” He dropped his towel, reaching for his clothes. “I’m going to have to insist on breakfast in bed every day.”
As he pulled his leather pants up his long muscular legs, she followed the movements of his shaft until he tucked it away. “Roger that.”
“Did you wake hungry or horny?” He drew a fitted gray shirt over his head.
“Actually neither. I just wanted to make you feel good.”
He frowned, as if this didn’t compute. He sat on the bed and beckoned her with a crooked finger. “You’re going to have to explain this to me.” He dragged her onto his lap. “Will I have to get you drunk first?”
She laid her palms on his face and tenderly kissed his lips. When she pulled back, his brows were drawn.
“Little female, you say a lot with your kiss. But I don’t understand the language—”
A boom of thunder sounded, shaking the guesthouse.
They shared a look.
“Nïx?” Jo bolted to her feet.
He ran out of the room like a bullet. She was right behind him. The sun was creeping up over the horizon, rays striking clouds and sparkling off the new snow.
With his hunter’s eye, he surveyed the area and pointed to the highest terrace. “It came from the top.” He took a split second to grab Jo’s hand before he traced there, ever careful to have her on the mission.
The clouds might conceal them from humans. Didn’t matter at that moment. They both wanted Nïx dead so badly, they risked exposure.
None of the stragglers on the terrace had noticed Jo and Rune appearing, were too busy rubbing their eyes after what must’ve been a hellacious lightning strike.
Jo pivoted in place, didn’t spy the Valkyrie. “Do you scent her?”
He shook his head. “What is she up to?”
“Did she return to Val Hall?”
He checked his wrist. Dark.
A monk padded out of the teahouse, heading straight toward them. With a welcoming smile, he handed them a note. He spoke in Chinese, but Jo made out “Nïx” a couple of times.
Thanking the man, Rune accepted the parchment, and the monk bowed and walked away.
“Another clue?” Rune ripped open the envelope. “The Valkyrie plays with us. She’s digging her own grave.” He skimmed the note.
“And?” Jo asked.
“And now we go to Rio.”
FORTY-SIX
TWELVE DAYS LATER
Rio had been a total bust. So had the next eight locations the Valkyrie had lured them to.
Now Jo and Rune waited on the Bridge of Spires in Venice, with no sign of Nïx.
It was after three in the morning, and the bridge was empty. Jo had spotted a stray drunk driver—gondola version—but passersby were sparse.
Rune paced, bow at the ready, scanning the night with those intent archer’s eyes. The breeze ruffled his hair and his loose white shirt, and moonlight sheened off his leather pants.
Every day he seemed to grow more gorgeous. Where was the upper limit?
The bite mark on his neck from earlier was healing, and soon he’d insist on feeding her. They’d discovered twice a day was optimal for her. When they went too long, he would get antsy.
“She’s not coming,” Rune said. They’d been here an hour before three, the time given in the Valkyrie’s last clue.
Considering how easily Nïx had evaded them, she must be using her soothsayer powers to predict their movements.
Though Jo worried for her brother, Rune assured her he would be safe—even more so with the unpredictable Nïx constantly away, out leaving bread crumbs for them.
Rune had decided to give this pursuit one more night before requesting help from the Møriør. Unfortunately, the moving realm of Tenebrous was still days away. And he hadn’t wanted to call them in to assist with his responsibility. But for Jo, he would.
Which meant she’d have Thad back soon. What would he think of Rune? For the first time, Jo had to consider how different parties in her life might get along.
Rune did not play well with other men, so he might come across as arrogant to the easygoing Thad. Her brother might strike Rune as woefully immature.
By Thad’s age, the dark fey had been a seasoned killer. Yet never had he tracked a target as elusive as Nïx. . . .
Over the last twelve days as he and Jo had followed the Valkyrie’s clues across remarkable worlds, Jo had encountered one wonder after the next. She’d witnessed a “million-hoof” stampede in the centaur dimension. She gawked at mind-blowing exhibits in Brooklyn’s Morbid Anatomy Museum. She’d dodged ginormous feet in the land of giants and ascertained that they went “true toga” (hot poker for her eyes!).
Yesterday, Nïx’s clue had led Jo and Rune to the Fremont Troll under a Seattle bridge. Humans thought the cement sculpture had been created as art, but it actually marked a portal to the troll realm.
If I never go back to Trollton, it’ll be too soon.
She’d enjoyed watching Rune in action in the various lands they visited. He was always collected; nothing freaked him out. So many beings they’d met looked up to him, except for the giants, of course. But they’d respected him.