Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Madadh grunted.
Munro knew him well enough to translate that sound: Bad bounce, that. “I’m getting a boundary spell for Glenrial. No vassal will be able to pierce the witches’ protection, but we canna depend on that forever. We need to train our sentries no’ to release their beast if the Forgotten show.”
“On it. Will no’ happen overnight.” He grew quiet for a beat.
Munro knew they were both remembering when a vassaled Madadh had turned on his packmates in Quondam. “Look, if you had no’ attacked us that night, I would no’ have my mate.”
“I’ll tell myself that. A lot.”
Munro said, “I have no idea when I’ll be back to Glenrial.”
“I’ll hold down the fort.” Pause. “I sired two newlings in Quondam. Want to reach them.”
The Lykae clan’s law decreed that any newling must be secured in the dungeon of Kinevane Castle, the royal seat in Scotland, until he or she learned to control the beast. If one did.
One reason I never considered the possibility for my adopted lad. Munro remembered how excited Tàmhas had been, running up and saying, “Heath will do it, Da! He’ll give me the bite.” Hotheaded Prince Heath. As willful as King Lachlain and as wild as Prince Garreth—a ruinous combination. No one had been surprised when the prince had died young. . . .
“Munro?”
He snapped back to the present. “We’ll figure something out with your newlings.” He’d seen thousands of them in Quondam’s dungeon. “Just give me some time.”
“Aye, then. Rest easy, friend,” Madadh said. “And take care of your human.”
Munro found Kereny looking over at him and couldn’t drag his eyes from his new female. Fierce, intelligent, beautiful beyond the telling. With her tart, harridan tongue. Now would be a good time for me to stop staring. “She will no’ be human for long. . . .”
TWENTY-FOUR
As the wolf talked with someone on his new telephone, Ren followed Loa to the clothing racks, keeping that snake in her line of vision. It’d coiled up in a nearby corner, its shuddersome eyes watchful.
Had it been only hours ago that Ren had faced down a pair of viper shifters? Or a century ago? Because she was an actual time-traveler. And a replica—whatever that was—as well. She raised her hands to her face. Am I even real?
“You look like you haven’t blinked in a year,” the priestess said. “You need a chance to decompress, no?”
Ren dropped her hands. “What does ‘decompress’ mean in this context?” No wonder so many of the wolf’s phrasings had confused her. They were from the future!
“It means to process things without pressure.”
“This has been a lot to take in.” Another version of Ren had been hexed by warlocks and bitten by a Lykae. Then she’d died. How close had she come to resurrecting as a werewolf?
“Well, you’re safe here now—unless the Forgotten have a spirit trap, of course. So let’s get you squared away with whatever you need. Care to try any of these clothes?”
Ren perused the racks. Transparent blouses. Skirts that would scarcely cover her backside. “They appear very, um, modern.”
“Not to your taste. I understand. Nothing a little magic can’t fix.” Loa turned toward the aisles, motioning her to follow.
When a duffel bag suspended in midair began trailing them—evidently carried by an invisible spirit—Ren struggled to appear unaffected.
Loa retrieved a couple of packages of something called Dream Duds and dropped them into the bag. “These are pricey. Luckily, Munro is rich.”
Ren read one of the packages on the shelf:
Put your best foot, fin, or paw forward! This charm will conjure your dream outfit and recreate your hygiene rituals as needed. Teeth brushing, hair removal, cosmetics, and ’do included! Just apply the stamp to your skin. Lasts for two cycles of the moon.
Ren supposed she couldn’t scruple about using a witchly good, since her blade was magical.
Next Loa headed to a large display of H.O.W. Cuffs. Each one seemed to be fashioned from a different metal and was labeled by purpose: Tail Concealer . . . Contraception . . . Scry Cloaking . . .
The priestess selected two cloaking cuffs and popped them into the bag. Another phone and a nondescript silver flask followed. “My number is preprogrammed into all the phones I sell, so feel free to contact me. Well, not free. Standard rates apply.”
“Of course,” Ren said absently. The wolf kept drawing her attention as he spoke to someone in a language she didn’t know. Must be Gaelic. Though she didn’t understand his words, his bearing of command was unmistakable . . . and attractive.
When she replayed their time in the cave and their kiss on the battlefield, conflicting impulses warred inside her: the urge to explore what matehood meant—or throw that salt lick at his head.
“You can’t keep your eyes off him,” Loa observed.
Ren flushed. “I’m curious about what he’s doing. It seems my fortunes have temporarily been tied to his.”