“The alternative—contagious ghouls or newlings overrunning us—wasn’t any more appealing.”
“Ah, yes. Newlings. I watched your circus engage a pack of them. It proved to be your last battle.”
Munro straightened. “You were there?”
How surreal, Ren thought. This red-eyed vampire had witnessed her death. One of them, at least.
Lothaire nodded. “I wanted to see how those inventive traps and human weapons fared against wild, brutal strength.” He told Ren, “You and your hunters cut through a number of them with your grenades and guns. You caught even more of them in a great flaming trench that was delightful to watch. The scent of roasted Lykae reminded me of the good old days of the Horde-Wolf wars.” He sighed. “Mmmm, roasted Lykae. So piquant. But a little gamey—”
“Just tell us what happened,” Munro grated. “How many attacked?”
“Nearly a dozen, if I recall correctly, and I always do.”
Not thirty. Munro found Ren’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“I thought the circus was going to rout them without a single loss of life on your side. Yet then a giant newling bolted from the woods and evaded your defenses.”
“The ogre,” Ren murmured. When all eyes turned to her, she explained, “I experienced an alternate version of the battle, and that’s what I called him.”
Lothaire smirked. “My ogre associates would shudder to be confused with a Lykae.”
Before Munro could react, Ren said, “In my version, a man fought beside me. A Brit.”
Lothaire thought back. “Yes. You two seemed cozy. Must’ve been . . . lovers?”
“He was my husband.”
“Husband? Well, that had to have hit the wolf right in the balls.”
“Leo!” Ellie cried.
Lothaire raised his brows at Munro, and the wolf grudgingly said, “He’s no’ wrong.”
Steering the conversation back to the battle, Ren said, “Then what happened?”
“Two wounded Lykae barreled over the hubby, sinking him down into the mud, trapping him there.” Barreled over. Just as those ghouls had done in Ren’s other timeline. “That big newling had your man in his sights across the battlefield. You ran to the rescue, throwing your blade, taking the Lykae in the temple.” Some things had remained the same, the timelines echoing each other. “But the newling didn’t go down at once. He charged you. Snapped your spine like a twig.”
Voice gone hoarse, Munro said, “Killed her?” He laid his hand on her back.
“No. Your huntress pulled the pins on three grenades and took the fiend with her.”
What a death. Her pulse pounded in her ears, but the warmth of Munro’s palm steadied her. What if he was right and she was destined to die again by a Lorean’s hand before she reached thirty? Her birthday was next month.
An existential fear seeped into her. Though she didn’t want to lose her humanity through the help of a mummy, she also didn’t want to die in mere weeks.
She asked, “What happened to the other hunters?”
“They all survived but you. They all survived because of you. But your circus didn’t. Though I’d seen that caravan meander all around the forest, the day after the battle the wagons left separately. The caravan was as broken as your spine had been.”
Her death had brought about the end of the circus—the end of an era. How can I make this right?
Lothaire’s gaze fell to her blade. “From time to time, I considered liberating you of that. But then I remembered how easy killing immortals is for one like me. Remove all challenge, and I would’ve consigned myself to death via boredom.”
Ren’s fear and sadness dissipated, her shoulders straightening. “A vampire liberating it from me?” She smiled pleasantly. “You would’ve had as much success with that as you did with finding this kingdom.”
Everyone went still. Even Stelian paused with his flask halfway to his lips. Ellie snorted.
Lothaire blinked those uncanny eyes. Then he let out a deep-chested laugh. “Indeed, blade huntress. With such a history slaying immortals, I’m surprised you’re willing to become one.”
“I’m conflicted.” Not a lie.
“I can understand your hesitation to become a Lykae, but remaining human is ludicrous.”
Ellie snapped, “You’ve managed to insult both of our guests, Leo.”
He grinned at her. “Like a bowling spare. Come, Lizvetta, tell her immortality is better.”
She exhaled, but said, “I was recently human. Though your mileage may vary”—huh?—“I’ve really enjoyed it.”
Ren had immediately liked this queen with her forthright gray gaze and was interested in her opinion. “You’d make the same choice again?”
“I didn’t make it the first time.” Glare at Lothaire. “But, as much as it sticks in my craw to say this, he’s right. For me, immortality is way better than mortality. But then, I didn’t have to sign my name in Dorada’s ledger for the privilege! Let me tell you—that one’s a piece of work. Her Wendigo pets wear human skin as clothes, and they were a fraction as scary as that sorceress is.”
Ren glanced at Munro. Could you actually sell your future to someone like Dorada? Not that Ren would ever allow that to happen. But she needed him to see why it could never be.