Sweet Ruin

TWENTY-FOUR

Josephine’s breaths were light against Rune’s chest. He sifted his fingers through her hair, trying out this “afterplay.” He’d never stuck around after he’d used a female sexually. Certainly not after an interrogation.

As he stroked her silken locks, he smelled meadowberries anew, calling to mind recollections from his boyhood. He remembered the times he had briefly escaped to the high meadows, to a glen filled with berries. Their taste had been even sweeter than their irresistible scent.

With sugar on his lips and breezes rustling the leaves, he’d lain among them in bliss, never wanting to return to the sweltering fens.

The taste of Josephine had been sweeter than anything he could’ve imagined. . . .

Though he’d lost his wager against her, he was surprisingly relaxed. She hadn’t won per se; he’d been defeated by his own loss of control. But how could he blame himself?

Her bite gave her an unfair advantage.

When her fangs had entered his flesh so slowly and her tongue had flicked in readiness, he’d nigh lost his mind. Even now he shuddered.

After she’d fed, he’d been dazed, wanting only to explore her. For hours as they’d pleasured each other, he’d listened for every hitch in her breath. He’d awaited the telltale flush across her breasts that signaled her approaching orgasm. He’d watched for her irises to flicker.

In the past, these reactions had been benchmarks to gauge a subject’s willingness to talk.

Tonight each of her responses had been a discovery—about a woman who aggravated him, invigorated him, enthralled him.

He’d nuzzled her ears until her little toes had curled. He’d tongued that tiny dip in her bottom lip. He’d taken her mouth—at his leisure, whenever the impulse struck him—so many times his own lips were bruised. He ran a finger over them now.

For eons, his last kiss had been a lethal one.

No longer. There’d been no barrier between him and Josephine, between their bodies, their desires.

Was the insatiable Rune sated? He was still erect for more, yet he could swear he was almost drowsy. Perhaps not sated, but satisfied.

Again and again, he’d wondered if she could be his mate. If he actually got one. But even if she was his, nothing would change. He had no interest in settling down with one woman. The Møriør still required his talents—which included extracting information from targets—whether through fair or foul means.

And he wasn’t going to simply retire his burning need to stamp out the royal line of Sylvan.

Though Magh was long dead, she lived on through her vile spawn, like her first son, King Saetthan. There were only fourteen left. Most lived on Gaia, in hiding from Rune.

With each Accession, hidden things came to light.

The Møriør would help him hunt those fey, just as Rune would help in his allies’ endeavors. No, he wouldn’t surrender his dreams when he was so close. Which was why Josephine would never lie so trustingly with him again; he had plans to use her against Nïx. His will would be done in the end.

Best to savor this now.

Josephine shifted against him. Like many vampires, she was a deep sleeper. She hadn’t even awakened when he’d inked a temporary tracking rune on her back.

Her eyes moved behind her lids. Would she dream his memories? What would she think about his past? He wasn’t ashamed he’d been violated and used.

Just that he’d eventually submitted to it. . . .

Hours passed as she slumbered on. He occupied himself tracing the contours of her breathtaking face and musing which memories she might see if she had the ability.

When she woke, she blinked open thick lashes to reveal those bright hazel eyes. She drifted upright. “Will you really let me leave? I have to get to—I need to get home.”

He bit back his irritation. Her first thoughts were of escape. If he’d pleasured any other female so thoroughly, he wouldn’t have been able to get rid of her.

Not so Josephine. “I made you a vow.”

“Lemme get dressed.” She hopped from the bed, giving him a mind-scrambling view of her taut ass, and hurried to the bath.

He reached for his jeans, regretting he hadn’t said, “After another round.” He’d just strapped on his bow and quiver when she returned, fastening her necklace.

She’d stolen one of his shirts to wear over her dress, tying the ends and rolling the sleeves up. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. Even like this, she couldn’t look more fetching.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He took her hand. “Of course.”

She stared at their clasped hands for several moments.

“Josephine?”

“Uh, yeah, can you trace me back to the Quarter?”

It’d be full dark there, roughly midnight. “I will.” An instant later, they were standing on a side street off Bourbon.

She regarded the area, then turned back to him. “So. We’re here.”

“So we are. Run along, little dove, back to your roost.”

She hesitated to release his hand, gazing up at him. The flickering light from a gas lamp reflected in her eyes. “This is it, then? You go from thinking about killing me to freeing me?”

“I believed you were a security risk. I no longer do.”

“Got it.” She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, then tried again: “I know you’re the hit-it-and-quit-it king, but for what it’s worth, I would’ve liked to see you again.”

Oh, you will. And shortly. He could follow that tracking rune anywhere. He was merely using her to locate Nïx.

Though Rune would have the vampire back soon, he was still reluctant to let her go. They might be on opposite sides of an immortal war, but he wasn’t finished with this female. He’d use his silver tongue to persuade her back into his bed—even after he killed her ally. He forced himself to let go of her hand. “Perhaps we’ll cross paths.”

He thought he spied a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Sure. Cross paths. No big deal.” She started down the street.

Once she’d turned the corner, he drew another rune combination on his forearm, a concealment spell to cloak his scent and render him invisible.

He traced to the rooftops to pursue her, traveling from one building to the next. At first she strode through the neighborhood. Then she paused, seeming to catch a scent. She took off in a sprint, scanning each street she passed.

No doubt she was frantic to find Nïx and divulge everything she’d learned about Rune. He felt an unexpected sting over that, but reminded himself all was fair in love and war.

Wait—wasn’t that the Valkyrie’s scent? Yes, there Nïx was, silently trailing Josephine, with that bat on her shoulder.

Eyes locked on his enemy, he fingered the flights of his arrows, selecting one-and-done.

Rune nocked it and drew his bowstring, fingers to his chin. Had there ever been an easier shot?

Yet his fey curiosity stayed him. Perhaps he should eavesdrop on their conversation, to uncover how much Nïx knew of the Møriør’s plans. Secrets there for the taking. He could always kill the Valkyrie directly after.

Follow Orion’s orders to the letter and make the shot? Or listen in?

Old habits . . . He returned the arrow to his quiver, then dropped to the ground to spy.