FORTY-ONE
Jo and Rune sat next to each other in a mountainside restaurant. Outside, the temperature kept dropping and the wind picked up, making the structure quiver, but their spot in the corner was warm and cozy. Paper lanterns cast a muted glow. Soft strains of exotic music sounded.
Even to a blood-drinker, the food scents were appealing. She needed to steal something from this place to remind her of her first dinner date.
Rune had arranged for them to get a room in a guesthouse and a meal. Dinner and a bed. She wondered how often he’d done that with a female.
Just three nights a year meant twenty-one thousand times.
Let that one alone, Jo. She wouldn’t overthink this, not when she’d shared such an incredible day with him. He’d bought her a souvenir—her first real one—and then he’d held her on a bench, like that couple in New Orleans.
This was really happening!
After sunset, they’d taken a few minutes to return to Tortua and her motel for warmer clothes. She’d placed that emptied jug on her table beside the groom’s cufflinks.
With her new memento, she would remember the day she’d spent exploring a mountain in China with her dream guy.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked now.
“This entire day.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“Teasing you on the plankway was fun. And I loved watching the sunset with you.” When he’d put his arm around her, Jo had concluded that the more he got to know her, the more he liked her. So she’d decided to open up to him tonight.
Of course he’d been holding back—because she was. Once he realized she was awesome, he’d fall into line.
The restaurant host, an elderly man with a shaved head and a bounce in his step, brought them menus, indicating they should read one side.
One side, Chinese. The other, English. Shit. She’d have to get food to look human!
“Shall I order for you?” Rune asked.
Relieved, she handed her menu back. “Sounds good.”
He ordered something that sounded like bee-yang, along with some bie-jo.
“What’d you get?” she asked when the host bustled away.
“A noodle dish and more of that drink from earlier. Now that I think of it, I should have asked you. Certain foods might spice my blood and skin. You probably have preferences.”
She didn’t know. In the interest of opening up more, she admitted, “I’ve never bitten anyone but you. Well, except for my own wrist.” Vampire masturbation.
He inhaled sharply. “If I saw you do that, I might spontaneously come.” Then the rest of her admission hit him. “I was your first?” His tone couldn’t have been smugger.
“Yep, your blood converted me. I can’t go back to bagged.”
He grinned. “It’s that good. I’d wondered if you like mine because it’s black.”
“Maybe red blood would taste different coming from the flesh. Like the difference between fresh and packaged food.” Even so, it could never compare to Rune’s. “I’ve got time to figure it all out.”
His grin faded. “You expect to drink indiscriminately? Only Horde vampires do that. They take so many memories their eyes grow red and their minds rot.” He’d been relaxed, but now irritation simmered.
“You’re jealous to think of me biting another, huh? It is kind of like sex—with the licking, and the lips, and the penetration. Just think, other guys would react the way you did. I’d get blood; they’d get a nut. Just as nature intended.”
He didn’t say anything, but his fists clenched.
Exciting! “Well, it’s not like I have to worry about any of this right away. I’m drinking only from you.” She cast him a nonchalant smile. “Currently.”
The host returned, interrupting the tension at the table. He set down a decorative jug, similar to the one from earlier, and two small glasses. When he poured the clear liquid, the strength of the alcohol stung Jo’s nose.
Rune sipped it, nodding his approval. As the host walked away, Rune shot the glass, used his fey speed to down hers as well, then poured another round.
“Do you always drink so much?”
“I’m drinking for two.”
“Ohhh. I would get tipsy from your blood?”
“Let’s find out.” He turned to face her, his big frame concealing her from view. He used a claw to pierce his forefinger. “Look at your gaze lock on my blood. You think you could give it up for another’s so easily?”
She grasped his hand. “I never said I didn’t love yours.”
In the lantern light, his irises darkened to the deepest plum as he rasped, “Suck.”
She pulled his finger to her mouth, closed her lips over it, and drew. His blood did taste different tonight.
He stifled a groan, using the heel of his other palm to adjust his erection. “Look at me when you feed.”
She gazed up, and he murmured, “That’s it. Fuck, I could come right here.”
Her claws dug into his skin. She knew the feeling!
“You love my taste.”
Growing light-headed, she eased her suck, but he said, “Ah-ah, a little longer.”
She took a few more swallows, then released him, licking her lips.
He palmed himself again. “How was your dinner?”
“Delicious as ever, but with a kick.”
As if she’d proven some point, he said, “That’s what I thought.” His good mood was restored. “And how are you feeling?”
She couldn’t stop grinning. “Wonderful.”
“I suspected it would hit you quickly. The alcohol will get into your system much faster than it does mine.”
“Is that stuff the strongest you’ve ever drunk?”
“In the realm of Pandemonia, the demons make a brew called lava liquor that will put you to your knees.”
He was so world(s)ly. Was it any wonder he fascinated her? She put her elbows on the table, resting her chin in both hands as she stared at him. “How many realms have you been to? Wait—lemme guess—you can’t count that high.”
“Exactly.” A hint of a smile curved his sexy lips.
She sighed. “Remind me to figure out how high you can count. What’s your favorite world?”
He held her gaze. “Right now, Earth is ranking very high.” Flirtatious Rune was irresistible.
“Would you have come here if not on a mission?”
“I visit on occasion. But Tenebrous—the home of the Møriør—has been very far from Gaia and its planes. Tracing that distance can be demanding, even for immortals our age. The realm is moving closer as we speak, but still takes days to get there.”
“Realms can move?”
“Ours can.”
“Tell me about the Møriør. How many are there?”
He seemed pleased by her interest. “Including myself, ten. But we’ll eventually be a dozen. Møriør means twelve. Or soul’s doom. Most of us have been together for thousands of years.”
“How did you get involved with them?”
“I was in a dungeon. Orion, our leader, freed me. He’s descended from gods, very powerful.”
She laid her hand on Rune’s forearm. “Why were you imprisoned?”
“Long story short—”
“Lemme stop you right there. If it concerns you, I will never want the short story.”
He gave her a considering glance, but she could tell he’d liked that. “Very well. My father was the king of the fey kingdom of Sylvan. My mother was a slave he used. When I was born, he spared my life—against custom—but didn’t give me a life worth living. He died when I was fifteen. His widow, Queen Magh, forced me to become an assassin by holding my mother’s life over me. I later learned she was already dead.”
“I’m sorry, Rune.” He’d just confirmed those dreams of hers were indeed his memories. What else would she see? “Then what happened?”
“I was too good at my job. In time, there was no one to kill, no one to interrogate. So Magh sold me as a . . . slave. I suppose she expected me to lose my mind or wallow in misery. But I became cold, and I endured. She forced me back to Sylvan just to torture me. Orion found me in her dungeon and freed me. Because of him, I was able to exact my vengeance on Magh.”
“Then he has my thanks. I’m glad I never planned to spy on him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nïx wants me to get information on him, won’t let me see Thad until I do.”
Rune raised his brows. “So your solution is to assassinate her? Seems like a blunt-tool approach, doesn’t it?”
“Yep. It eliminates the obstacle. My motto? Squeeze until something breaks.”
“I’m discovering you like to keep things simple.”
She nodded. “Even though I’m not spying, I want to know more. Had you met Orion before he freed you?”
“No, never. Yet he somehow knew I would become the greatest archer in all the worlds.”
Rune said this matter-of-factly, as she did when she informed folks she was wicked strong. It’s not bragging if it’s true. “You told me your bow was a priceless gift. Was it from Orion?”
“Yes, the Darklight bow.” He plucked at the string. “You do listen to me on occasion.”
“Every now and then. Why’s it called Darklight?”
“It was crafted from Yggdrasil, one of the world trees. The wood was harvested beneath a full hunter’s moon, but cured with the fire of a sun dragon. Even my strength won’t break it. Which means I can shoot very, very far, and very, very fast. With the right arrow, I could pierce a mountain with ease. In the Elserealms, I’m known as Rune Darklight. It’s my surname, as much for the bow as for my species, I suppose.”
Josephine Darklight. Sigh. She would love to take his name, to finally become someone other than Josephine Doe. He’d asked her for her family name only once, but he’d promised to get all her secrets. Soon, she’d entrust them to him.
“Maybe I’ll take you shooting one day,” he offered, his tone casual.
One day equaled future. “I’d like that.” She glanced down at his ever-present quiver. “Why are your arrows different colors?”
“They each have a specific purpose. I use blood runes to bespell them.”
“I want to learn those symbols.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because they’re badass. And they’re how you got your name.”
“Learning them is easier said than done. Perhaps I’ll teach you a couple.”
A couple? She’d already memorized all the ones he’d drawn on her and the one he’d used today. “Let’s see your arrows.”
He drew out one with a white shaft and feathers. His runes shone in the dim light.
She noted the symbols.
“This is a bonedeath arrow,” he said. “Shot into the ground, it will pulverize the bones of anyone within screaming distance.” His expression was impassive; he didn’t sound proud or ashamed.
Yet he considered her ghosting him into the earth horrifying? “That arrow doesn’t hurt you or your allies?”
“I make us immune. I’ll add runes to spare you as well.”
“So that’s what Nïx was talking about.” When she’d been breaking my limbs. “Have you ever shot one of those?”
“Today I used it against troops of ice demons before I went to Dalli’s. She’s my friend I told you about.” He returned the arrow.
“Dalli’s a friend with benefits?” No denial. He’d gotten with that female less than a day ago. Jo’s claws sharpened. It seemed like weeks had passed. “So you had time to get busy with a nymph and go into battle?”
He shrugged, his demeanor all no big deal, then moved to the black arrow. “We call this”—he tapped the feathered end—“one-and-done. When I shoot a target in the neck, the arrow severs his head cleanly, which makes things tidier when I need proof of a kill.” His fingers skimmed a gray arrow. “This one is the eraser. It will explode an immortal’s body into small chunks.”
That’d probably be a trip to see. “And the red arrows?”
“I’ve dipped the arrowheads in my poison. Most Loreans won’t survive even that dose.”
“Who was the last person you assassinated?”
“A descendant of that queen. Before I killed Magh, I swore I’d stamp out her entire line.” Just talking about that female made his eyes glint with hatred. “Each Møriør wants something in the Gaia realms. I work toward retribution.”
“Do the others have vendettas?”
“Some, but there’s more.” He seemed to be deciding how much to tell her.
“Like what? Do you plot worlds domination?” she asked, trying to lighten his mood once more.
Deadly serious, he said, “Yes.”
Whoa. “Are you going to set up some kind of dictatorship?”
“How would that be different from what you do in your neighborhood? You police it and protect your people from threats. Imagine if your actions alone kept your entire neighborhood—no, your nation—from absolute destruction.” He shot his glass, then picked up hers. “I want you to meet Orion. He’d best explain it to you.”
Rune wanted to introduce her to his people? “You’d arrange a meeting?”
“In time. As I’ve said, you need allies. You could have none finer.”
“Do any of the other ones have a mate?”
He coughed on his drink. “Why would you ask that?” He cleared his throat, emptied the jug, then signaled for another.
“Because I’m totally yours.”
He looked rattled. “I’m not even a demon. I’m a dark fey—and they don’t get mates.”
“Says who?”
“I’ve never met a dark fey who had one.”
Funny how he didn’t say Jo could never be a possibility. “But you don’t know a lot of them, right?”
“I thought we agreed you had a crush.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Nope. Wouldn’t have agreed with that.”
“Then explain how you can be so sure.”
“The first time blood touched my tongue, I knew I was a blood-drinker forever. I didn’t need to date Blood for a few months and then move in with Blood and meet Blood’s family to be sure.”
“Yes, but that’s instinct.”
“Exactly. Don’t you trust yours?”
Instead of answering her, he asked, “Do you think the reverse is true? That I’m yours?”
“I thought they went together.”
“Often, but not always.” He leaned in closer, peering into her eyes. “Am—I—yours?”
She leaned in as well. “I’d—lay—odds.”
He drank again. “When a Lorean male finds his mate from a different species, the female is usually resistant. I’ve seen more than one acquaintance go to hellish lengths to secure a future with a mate who is other. I’d expect you to fight every step of the way. Not ask for a commitment on day four!”
“What a breath of fresh air I am. Look, I know what I want, and I’ve been waiting for this. So just spitball with me. What would happen if I was your mate and we had sex?”
“My body would recognize yours. I’d begin to produce seed for you,” he said, his voice getting huskier.
“You like imagining that?”
His eyes darkened even more. “The idea of filling you with my cum? Fuck yes, it’s erotic as hell.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Yet the reality would prove to be anything but—if this were even possible. Everything in me is poisonous. Why should I expect my semen to be different?”
“But I’m immune to everything in you.” She turned his question back on him: “Why should we expect your semen to be different?”
“Would you take that risk? If there’s an infinitesimal chance you’re mine, there’s a chance you could die in agony.”
“I’m immune to you; you’re delectable to me. Seems we’re compatible, huh?”
He was either surprised or frustrated by her blasé attitude, or both. “There’s more. After giving you seed you might not survive, the demon in me would need to mark your neck with a bite, forever signaling to other males you’re taken.”
So that was what Desh had mentioned. “It’d be like getting a tattoo? You have tattoos—I want one!”
“No, no, it’s not like that.” Definitely frustrated. “It would be invisible to all but demons.”
She pouted. “I wouldn’t be able to see my own tatt?”
“Will you let me get to my point? I would sink my fangs—also lethal—deep into your flesh. Could you withstand so much poison in your body? What if the effect is cumulative?”
“You’d screw me, come in me, and bite my neck? You just described my dream date.” She shivered. “So what will I do?”
He shot another glass. “Females climax from a demon’s bite.”
“Sign. Me. Up.”
He was getting agitated. When he poured more of his drink, some sloshed over the rim. “Why would I go seven thousand years without a mate? What’s your explanation? I’ll tell you mine: because it was never going to happen anyway. You can’t change my thinking on this. I’ve had eons to accept my fate.”
“It’s because I wasn’t born yet, sport.” She poked his chest with her forefinger. “I just arrived on the scene twenty-five years ago. Plus, it’s an Accession. You said Loreans find mates around those times. So while seven thousand years sounds bad, in truth I’ve only missed the first thirteen Accessions of your life.”
He swallowed.
Boo-yah. “Hadn’t thought about it that way, huh?”
“You truly believe you’re mine?”
“Yep.”
He stared her down. “I guarantee you’re not.”
She nodded with understanding. “Because I’m Desh’s? I guess I could have my dream date with him.”
Rune ground his teeth until a muscle ticked in his wide jaw.
The host returned with a tray of food then, serving two large bowls. Each had a big noodle folded into it with vegetables on top. It smelled appetizing, and poor Rune was going to need his strength tonight.
“Go on and eat. I’ll still be your mate in twenty minutes.”