A fist punched through the ogre’s thick neck from behind. Munro’s beastly hand snatched at flesh, then yanked backward. Hot jugular blood sprayed in the rain as the ogre’s head tumbled to the ground.
Its body relinquished life by grudging degrees, its arms swinging in a macabre dance.
At last, it fell.
“Make sure that one’s done,” she ordered her hunters. “And free my blade.”
As they descended on the newling, she asked Munro, “What’s happening to you?”
He’d turned from her. Doesn’t want me to see him with his beast risen? The injuries across his bare back gaped open with each labored breath. Rain seemed to pour through his body. In flashes of lightning, he wavered again.
“Wolf?” She dimly noticed when Björn returned her blade to her.
Moments passed, but no more newlings exited those woods. They heard no howls, only the storm.
Someone let out a cheer. Others joined in. They’d won!
Shoulders heaving, Munro rocked on his feet. Then the fully turned Lykae eased around to face her, and everyone fell silent.
There he stood against a backdrop of lightning, surrounded by still-writhing corpses. Each bolt illuminated the monster inside him, the monster that wanted to claim Ren for its mate.
As the blood-drenched male stalked toward her, she swallowed, forcing herself to hold her ground.
Jacob limped over to stand in front of her. “Just one second! You’re no better than a newling like this, a danger to her—”
The beast batted him away, pure menace stamped on its face.
“No!” she cried, holstering her knife. “I’ll go with you, Munro.”
Jacob had landed some distance away. He sucked in air, coughing on the rain.
The hunters raised their swords, but she shook her head. “I made a deal with him, and I’ll honor it.”
Björn helped Jacob to his feet. Her husband gazed at her with anguish, knowing he couldn’t stop the wolf. Never get between a Lykae and his mate.
When Munro stood before her, his look of dark possession said everything: He’d earned her. He deserved her. She was his prize. He stifled his beast enough to growl one word: “Mine.” Then he tossed her over his shoulder.
She bit back a cry as he lumbered toward the forest. The wolf was taking her to his world. As his mate.
Oh, Doamne, what have I done?
She peered back at the hunters he’d saved. Pity filled their expressions. Jacob looked utterly defeated.
A new lantern light shone from Vanda’s wagon. She and Puideleu stood outside the door, seeming unsurprised that a wolf was carrying her away. Or maybe they were just resigned.
Had this been Ren’s fate since the moment Munro MacRieve had first learned of her existence?
Vanda raised her hand, saying so many things in that simple gesture.
Ren raised hers in return. Her gaze swept over each of her loved ones. Will I never see them again?
She kept her eyes on them for as long as she could, memorizing their faces. She stared until her vision blurred from tears, and the forest swallowed her and the wolf whole.
SEVENTEEN
—You’re running out of time!— Munro tore through the woods as fast as his damaged body could take them. He’d curbed his beast, but it remained in a tumult to rise.
When he shifted Kereny’s position to cradle her in his arms, drops of rain pattered her lovely face. “What happened to you during the fight, wolf?”
Between ragged breaths, he managed to say, “Canna explain it.” That hulking newling had savaged his throat but must’ve missed his vocal cords. “Barely talk.”
“Okay. Just . . .” She exhaled. “Okay.”
Though he blocked out the pain of his many wounds, blood loss made his legs feel like cold stone, nigh impossible to lift. Would he reach the gateway before the next fade hit him? He had no doubt Kereny had perished against those newlings in her original timeline. If Munro died here, she’d be lost forever.
As he staggered on, a haze settled over him, and memories filled his mind. Of Mam. Da. Tàmhas. They all appeared to him, so lifelike and fresh. Maybe because he was on the verge of death himself?
Those memories demanded to be relived, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t say good-bye to them.
Over the gusting winds, Kereny murmured, “You can’t continue like this.”
He blinked to attention. “Must.” Quondam was not far now. He could scent the magic-polluted realm, could hear the howls of newlings as they were vassaled. But another bout of dizziness crested as he began to waver again. His body was failing, his Instinct screaming —REACH THE GATEWAY OR DIE.—
“Munro, you have to rest—” Kereny hit the ground, dropped through his vanishing arms. She blinked up at him. “Are you . . . disappearing?”
He bent to pick her up. His hands went through her. Damn it! Return, body. After centuries of existence, he was frantic for a few more seconds.
Throat on fire, he grated, “Want our future. So damned badly.” All he had to do was make it to that gateway. She must have felt their connection. She would choose him.