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)
“Yet Lothaire will not reveal everything he knows until I can best him at chess for three games in a row. So each night, I challenge him. I won two, then realized he was toying with me. His queen is attempting to intervene, but it’s taking time. Time I don’t have.”
“Has Lothaire been filling you in on events outside this realm?”
Nod. “I need to be searching for my female and commanding my army—not stuck here, playing chess. But Lothaire treats my situation as one big amusement. He lives for mind games and puzzles, so I give him both. During each chess match, I draw on everything I’ve learned about Lothaire to reach him. Anything to reach her.”
“Who is your mate?” Munro asked, though he’d heard rumors.
“Furie. The queen of the Valkyries.”
And here I thought I had an uphill battle with my female. “Furie is”—how to put this?—“no’ a fan of vampires.” She was half Valkyrie, half Fury. Which would make her one hundred percent fearsome.
“You know her?” Kristoff pinned Munro with his vampire gaze.
“Nay. But the Lykae’s Queen Emmaline and Princess Lucia both hail from Furie’s Valkyrie coven. We hear stuff.” The legendary Furie, with her fire wings and earsplitting shrieks, had left a trail of slaughtered vampires in her wake before she’d been captured by the Horde.
Kristoff straightened. “Tell me anything you know. Lothaire is closemouthed.”
Mayhap for a reason? “She’s an incredible warrior. Those who have seen her fighting would put her up against any of the greats in the Lore.” She really hates vampires. “I know no’ much more.”
“I see,” Kristoff said, clearly disappointed.
Munro glanced in the direction of the villa. He needed to get back to Kereny.
“You court great risk to turn your mate,” Kristoff said, drawing Munro’s attention.
“I understand that you’ve turned a lot of humans.” The catalyst for the transformation to vampire was different than for a Lykae. Whereas a wolf would inject its beastly essence, a vampire would impart his blood for another to drink. “What’s your change rate?”
“Not high enough. Perhaps one in three.” To create his army, Kristoff had stalked the battlefields of his homeland, offering dying mortal soldiers his blood in exchange for eternal fealty. His nickname was the Gravewalker.
“That’s better than mine. I’m shooting oh for countless.” With his mate and with the humans the warlocks had forced him to bite.
Kristoff frowned, no doubt wondering why Munro had tried so many times. “Of those who resurrect, some do not do well with immortality. I’ve witnessed many instances when a body recovers but a mind stays lost.”
Another message from the universe? If Munro used the ring on Kereny and something went wrong, he would have taken a perfectly healthy young woman and broken her.
Yet then he replayed their fight, how close he’d come to losing control. She couldn’t remain vulnerable to his beast.
“I need to get back to my mate,” he told Kristoff. “We will no’ be here for more than a couple of days. If I leave you behind, your men will be furious—especially if Lothaire assassinates you to help his chances with the Horde crown.”
“I think he’s decided to spare me for now,” Kristoff said. “There’s a relationship of sorts. Bad blood connects us.” He laughed without humor.
“Bad blood?” Munro had just asked the question when two scents reached him.
Decomposition. And Kereny’s fear . . .
FIFTY-THREE
“Who’s there?” Ren called, drawing her blade.
No answer came.
She entered the dimly lit living area. As her years of hunting experience took over, the fog of alcohol burned away, and her senses sharpened.
The balcony doors were open. A beautiful woman with long black hair and green eyes stood beside the railing. Her white strapless dress complemented her smooth, dark skin and enviable figure. A golden collar circled her neck, and fine gold dust sprinkled her shoulders and hair.
Yet when Ren blinked, the female looked as if she were decaying, covered in rotted cloth. Another blink, and she was lovely once more.
So this was Dorada, the regenerating mummy. Had Lothaire somehow contacted her? Or, as Loa had warned, had the sorceress found them first?
A foul smell drew Ren’s gaze away from the woman. Red eyes became visible in the shadows of the room.
Wendigos.
The disgusting creatures had long, emaciated faces and gray skin with patches of slimy hair. Their yellow fangs gleamed in the low lantern light. Just as Ellie had described, they wore garments that seemed to be made of human flesh.
There were four of them. Strange, Loa had told Ren to expect many more.
One scratch from their knifelike claws and Ren would join their number. She gripped her blade, debating her options. Normally she would attack, doing whatever it took to eliminate her target. If she succeeded, she could free good immortals like Loa from that sorceress’s thrall, weakening the forces of evil. She could change the course of the Night War.