Munro narrowed his gaze at Kereny. Earlier, when he’d first arrived at the circus, he’d been too preoccupied to register details. Now he cast his mind back.
The grounds had been immaculate, the animals well-tended, the living quarters orderly. But he’d also seen signs of battle prep, such as scaffolding on the Ferris wheel and that trench lined with pikes.
No wonder she kept asking about newlings. Those carniefolk had been readying for war against them. Newlings needed to investigate their surroundings, exploring every new scent and sound; the circus’s fairgrounds would be irresistible to them.
Other pieces fell into place in his disordered mind. Ormlo had directed the gateway to her wedding night twice—indeed, that fact did have significance.
Kereny dies against those newlings.
His heart lurched, and he stumbled. He had to get her away from them! One problem: the pack roamed between Munro and the gateway. He couldn’t fight that many while keeping her safe. Would he have enough time to wait them out? Cutting it close.
“Did you scent something?” she demanded.
“Mayhap I did. What are you expecting?”
As if the words were dragged from her, she said, “We’ve been tracking eleven Lykae newlings in these woods. Based on their speed over the last week, we project they’ll arrive at the fairgrounds tomorrow night.”
Based on the pack’s current speed, they would arrive tonight, and there were far more than eleven of them. “Why is your circus no’ fleeing in the other direction?”
“And leave behind all the innocent people in the nearby valley? We’re the only thing standing between the villagers and disaster.”
“You could’ve evacuated them.”
“Whenever we try to warn them about a threat—or show them a dead immortal—they accuse us of carnie trickery and boycott the circus, which limits how much ammunition we can buy to protect them. So we’ve learned to stay quiet. Besides, that pack is contagious, will keep growing like a snowball. If we fail to stop them at this village, they’ll continue on to the next. Where does the carnage end?”
He had no idea what recourse humans might have. Normally immortals policed their own species, or order-keeping guardians like Vrekeners or Furies stepped in.
If Kereny learned the pack would strike tonight, she’d be even more desperate to return and fight her Night War. But the newlings were still too far away for her mortal hearing to detect. He picked up his pace again. “I scented them. They’re at least a day”—a few hours—“away.” The lie sat ill with him, especially when she relaxed slightly against him.
“What made you tense up, then?”
“I need to reach a portal to my home in Louisiana.” Via Quondam. “But a number of demons are between it and us.” Though he hated lying to his mate, he would do whatever it took to deliver her out of this forest. “There’s a waterfall nearby. We can wait them out behind it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Scared of a few demons?”
“With a mortal in tow, I’ll take precautions.”
“Do you often abduct humans?”
“I avoid them at all costs.” Munro’s mind flashed to an image of the mortal babe he’d found centuries ago. Of tiny hands reaching for him . . .
“You’d do well to avoid me,” Kereny said. “Even if you somehow succeed in kidnapping me, I will never accept you. You might win in the short term, but you’ll lose in the end.”
“And you’ll be alive. I can work with that.”
“I was bent on killing you before you abducted me,” she snapped. “What do you think I’ll be like now?”
“Alive.”
“Yet you won’t be for long, immortal. I promise to be very bad for your health. I will fight you forever.”
He held her gaze. “Then I’ll have to convince you of my charms.”
“Charms? Oh, wolf”—she gave a bitter laugh—“even in the Lore, some things don’t exist.”
SEVEN
After several more miles, the Lykae slowed. “There’s a drop-off ahead.” He came to a stop at a cliff that fronted what looked like an abyss. “I’m going to step down. Prepare yourself.”
They must be thousands of feet up! “No. I know of a way around.” A hidden cutout snaked between two mountains, leading to one of the circus’s scouting outposts. Once she reclaimed her blade, she could drop the wolf, then hitch a ride right back to the fairgrounds. There’d be no portal to Louisiana for Ren. “We just have to go—”
He stepped off into nothing.
She choked back a screech and clawed his bare shoulders, her hair whipping around her ears.
Falling!
Still falling—
The wolf’s feet finally hit the ground. Hit wasn’t the right word. He landed, his legs absorbing the impact with ease.
Between breaths, she snapped, “Du-te dracului, devil wolf!”
“Go to hell?”
She leaned in until their faces were inches apart. “Hell is where you belong, you insufferable, shit-eating mutt.”
Instead of being insulted, his eyes glimmered with fascination. “A clan seer once predicted that my mate would be a harridan. I’m starting to see the appeal.” His voice dropped to a rumbling burr as he added, “Never imagined my female’s tart tongue could be so invigorating.”