Kereny had stabbed him with that hexed blade for the second bloody time. And the effect felt cumulative.
So much for their matehood connection.
Wait . . . if he was having these foggy thoughts, then that meant he still lived. Which meant she hadn’t been able to behead him while he lay unconscious. Progress!
How much time had passed? The blood pooling at his side had cooled. He couldn’t detect her scent because of the waterfall, had no idea how much space separated them.
His mortal mate was out in a cursed forest, alone, with a pack of newlings on the loose! He had to get to her before they did. Sweat broke out across his skin. Her clear-eyed gaze had been so direct as she had all but promised Munro she would die. Girls like me don’t make it.
Was it already too late? He told himself he could use the gateway again, returning for her once more. But the toll . . .
For each trip to the past, the Forgotten would take the heart of a nymph too young to regenerate—a true death—sacrificing her to their god Tempus.
When Munro had first reached Quondam’s Temple of Time, those five warlocks had just sacrificed a young cloud nymph—Ariza. He’d found her slain on that altar, her lifeless eyes staring up in horror at the giant Tempus statue that loomed above.
Munro had also detected the fresh scent of another’s blood, likely a sister of hers, and realized that Ariza had betrayed him to rescue an imprisoned loved one. But then the warlocks had double-crossed her in turn.
Munro had used Ariza’s death to go back in time. He hadn’t killed her himself, yet would he have done murder to save Kereny’s life?
Nay, it canna come to that. Must wake!
Her blade’s hex on him was beyond potent, but Munro had defeated the warlocks’ vassal—he could shake this spell now.
Wake, beast. Your mate is so close, but she’s in danger. At last, the slumbering creature roused inside his body. Munro’s fangs and claws lengthened. His muscles swelled.
Rise, beast! Rise—or she dies.
Munro’s eyes flashed open.
“There’s too many,” Ren murmured to Jacob in a break between waves of newlings. Instead of one big flood, their numbers had been divided as they’d chased horses through the forest before returning.
The circus had survived the initial onslaught, but now a larger one was about to emerge from the woods.
Jacob tottered beside her. “We thinned their ranks at least.” Ever the optimist. Though injured, he’d put up a valiant fight, using a sword with his good arm after he’d run out of bullets.
Altogether, the circus had dispatched fifteen. The pitfall traps had snared a few. Machine guns and grenades had torn through more of them, allowing hunters on foot to behead the mauled wolves. The now-sputtering trench had claimed a few more.
But those kills had come at a heavy cost. At least six of Ren’s own lay slaughtered, all the traps had been sprung, and they’d run out of ammunition. The sharpshooters on the wheel had climbed down to join the hunters flanking her and Jacob.
There was no retreat. They would stand their ground, using the sword moves she’d drilled into them.
Howls ripped through the night. The great trees shook. They’d be here in minutes.
In this lull, regrets preyed on her. She should have forced Vanda and Puideleu to leave earlier. She should have humbled herself more to the Lykae, promising him anything to fight, even her very soul. But now her options had winnowed down to zero.
She turned to her husband. “Jake . . .”
He slid her a pained grin. “Best honeymoon ever?”
She returned a sad smile. “Without a doubt.” How could she have betrayed this man? In a low voice for him alone, she murmured, “There’s so much I wish I could say to you.”
“And I to you.” He softly said, “Ren, I dreamed of more. I was going to try to talk you into leaving with me. Starting a family outside of the war. We could’ve taken Vanda and Puideleu with us to England.”
So he had stayed for her. She cupped his face. “Oh, Jacob.” The end had come for them. They would never live out the night, much less find a haven elsewhere. He was just twenty-five, and she’d gotten him killed. She’d gotten everyone killed. The wolf had been right.
Jacob kissed her palm. “I dreamed of more for my Ren. We would’ve had a cracking time of it, wouldn’t we?”
Her eyes watered. “The best! We definitely could’ve improved on our wedding night.”
He gave a laugh.
More howls. Closer.
He squared his shoulders. “The festivities continue. Shall we?”
She unsheathed her blade with one hand and her sword with the other, slicing it through the air with a flourish she didn’t feel. She turned to the others and yelled, “We stop them here, hunters! Nonetheless, onward.”