Return, body. Return!
Then . . . it did.
He snared her from the ground and scrambled forward, only to stumble again. He growled with effort. Do it for Kereny. Her life hung in the balance.
She embodied all his hope. She was the future. He pictured her smile. Her steely look of
determination. He replayed their kiss.
Another grueling step . . .
The wolf rounded a rock outcropping, and a shimmering rift came into view.
“What is that?” Ren demanded.
“Portal.”
Like no portal she had ever seen. Electrical white light coursed over a purple surface the size of a wagon.
Gnashing his fangs, Munro limped toward the thing. When he crossed the threshold with Ren in his arms, a flash blinded her. She felt as if she floated.
Then they came crashing down. Munro had collapsed to his knees.
Blinking to restore her sight, she craned her head back at the portal. On this side, it stretched between two stone walls. On the other, rain and leaves from the Cursed Forest tumbled across the rift.
As she peered through the shimmery surface, her lips parted. She saw herself in the woods—still cradled in the wolf’s arms. And it looked as if he strode backward with her, their movements reversed. They turned the corner and disappeared into the forest.
How? How?
The portal’s surface dimmed to black, seeming drained of power. Rain ceased to blow in, and no more leaves tumbled through. She tore her gaze away from it to find herself in a vast, torchlit temple with a cavernous ceiling. She thrashed against Munro’s hold until he released her.
“Stay close. Danger,” he said weakly, still on his knees.
In the torchlight, she made out the full extent of his wounds. Those newlings had brutalized him. But at least he’d regained his solid form. What kind of magic had made him disappear earlier? And more importantly: “Where have you taken me?”
He didn’t answer, just stared unblinking at the floor as he caught his breath.
She drew her knife and scanned the area for clues. The walls bordering the portal weren’t walls at all, but feet, the base of an enormous statue. The robed male figure had eight eyes, each with an hourglass for a pupil. A yawning maw opened where his mouth should be.
A depiction of some kind of god?
Carvings of other robed males covered a far wall. Robes. Warlocks. “We’re in . . . Quondam.”
“Had to stop here.” Munro forced himself to his feet. When his massive frame nearly pitched forward, she resisted the urge to help him.
Vanda had once told her that Quondam was a pocket realm within the mortal dimension yet completely separate from it. So Ren wasn’t even in the mortal world?
Movement to her side. Blade raised, she pivoted toward the threat.
A bald man in a black robe strolled from a nearby alcove. A warlock. She readied to strike.
Despite her blade, he sidled closer to her. “Ah, the lovely Kereny. I am Ormlo, son of Jels,” he said, his tone full of self-importance. Munro had spoken of him. “We’ve met before.”
“I’ve never seen you in my life, warlock.”
Obvious interest burned in his gaze. “I could never mistake you. Or that blade.”
“What are you talking about?” Who else possessed a knife like this?
“You took out four of my men with that before my beam sucked the magic right from it.” Was he lying or crazed? Maybe everything that came out of this dimension was crazed. Including Munro. “I warned the werewolf about you and your hunters, but he was too eager to reach you to listen.”
In the distance, howls and screams carried from what sounded like an underground labyrinth. “What is this place?”
“You are in Quondam’s grand Temple of Time, the centerpiece of our vaunted realm.” He waved to a set of windows.
Keeping him in her sightline, she hastened over and gazed out. This temple was in a mountain stronghold high in a tower. Fog circled the base like a collar. Above, a transparent dome stretched over the entire realm. Iridescent purple magic rippled across it.
She was in a different world, the site of Munro’s imprisonment and torture. Why would he ever come back?
Maybe that vassal spell still compelled him! He might have brought her here as a prisoner. Another warlockian slave.
She peered at Ormlo, at the desire in his gaze. I’d rather die. She pointed her knife at him. “Power up the portal once more. I’m going back.”
“Oh, there’s no way to return”—he gave a chilling laugh—“because you never left.” His palms began to glow. Could he actually suck the magic from her blade?
As she backed away from him, the statue’s grotesque face drew her attention. Its many eyes appeared to stare at one thing. She followed its gaze to a raised altar far across the temple. Dead warlocks circled the altar’s blood-spattered base. They’d been slaughtered in what looked like a frenzy of violence. Heads missing. Intestines pouring from gored flesh.