Sweet Ruin (47 page)

Oh. Blood had dried on her face. She must look like hell washed over.

“Bet this has somethin’ to do with yer baneblood. Where’s the poxy scum?”

“With another woman.” And Jo was sitting outside, waiting like a tied-up pet, more pitiful than she’d ever been.

“He’s up there in a love nest?”

“Is that what they call them? Hi-fucking-larious.” Tonight, Rune had gone out on a limb. She laughed bitterly.

Desh’s gaze landed on her neck, her
mark
. “The baneblood claimed you as his mate, and he’s still with another?”

“He’s here to get information.”

Desh scratched his head with confusion. “I’m not followin’.”

Jo found herself telling him parts of the story—her fight with Nïx, her brother’s captivity, the failed attempts to overpower the wraiths—ending with: “And now I’m supposed to cool my heels while he bones Red.”

“All this to get into Val Hall? If ye wanted in, I wish ye’d come to me.”

Jo’s breath caught. “Do you know a way?”

“Gettin’ in’s the easy part. Gettin’ out’ll be the kicker.”

She grabbed his big hands, squeezing to urge him on.

“If ye fought Nïx, go surrender to her. They’ll take ye inside in a heartbeat. Ye’ll likely be dispatched to Val Hall’s dungeon, but at least ye’d be closer to yer brother.”

Thad was in a dungeon? “How do you know all this stuff?”

“I know a few Valkyries.” He scratched his chin. “And ages ago, Nïx mentioned somethin’ I was never able to figger. She says to me, ‘Demon, when ye see the girl with black tears, tell her to surrender.’ Drove me mad with curiosity, but she’d say naught else about it, seemed to have forgotten the entire conversation.”

Tell her to surrender.
Yet another invitation from Nïx.

Jo had thought she’d known Rune. She had been wrong. She’d thought she needed him to save her brother.

Wrong again, girl.

His mind filled with Josephine, Rune touched Meliai by rote. He was as out of his body as he’d been with the serpent.

If the nymph noticed, he didn’t care.

Normally he would’ve been inside her by now. He could replay the last twenty-four hours with his mate to get it up, but his mind resisted that trick.

To stay hard with another, he was going to have to make a conscious effort. A conundrum. Because he couldn’t stray in the first place if he was mindful of what was happening.

His thoughts were turned inward, puzzling over his fight with Josephine. Why in the hells had she been
that
upset? She hadn’t cried when Nïx had been snapping her bones, but tonight tears had flowed.

Was Josephine so used to getting her way she’d cried out of resentment? She’d vowed she’d sleep with others, was all but making plans to drink from them. Yet another ridiculous vow. He’d never known anyone who abused them more.

In the future, while he was struggling not to become deadened in some distant covey, she’d be making besotted males come from her bite.

When Rune had claimed her, he’d thought,
She drinks me alone. After tonight, she fucks me alone.

Not quite, baneblood.
No one could pleasure her more than he did—but what about his taste? What if . . . what if she preferred another’s blood? She’d never bitten anyone else.

She’s me, and I’m her.
What if she never wanted to darken her blood again?

He would recognize her little bite anywhere—in a way, it was like his claiming mark. If he encountered one of her lovers and saw it . . .

He ground his fangs. She didn’t
have
to feed from others. What was the point? They would keep that separate from any arrangements between them. He’d make it a condition.

Maybe
he
would use a vow to the Lore!

He would convince her blood-drinking was for them alone, their special act. As she’d described:
with the licking, and the lips, and the penetration
. Damn it, that should be private! Just last night, their heartbeats had synchronized; she’d commented on the bond, how she was different.

Why would she
ever
share that—

He stilled. Josephine viewed sex the way he viewed her feeding. As private and special. As something that bonded them and altered them. She’d left her claiming bite on him, just as he’d done with her.

It didn’t matter that he gave little meaning to sex with others.
She
did.

He hissed in a breath. Unfortunately, he’d come to this gut-wrenching conclusion when he was naked in bed with another female, after deserting his mate—while she’d looked as if she were dying inside.
Fuck!

He yanked Meliai’s hands off him and sat up.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice sounding far away.

He shook his head hard, bringing himself back to this room. When Josephine had told him that they’d think of another way to get her brother back, Rune had been confused; wouldn’t she do anything for Thad?

She didn’t care
less
about her brother; she cared
more
about Rune. Just the fact that she hadn’t sent him off with a smile and a wave told him how much.

Her heart had opened up to another!

His spike of excitement faded. Tonight, she’d cried,
You’re breaking my heart.

She hadn’t been throwing a fit like a scorned lover; she damn sure hadn’t been trying to manipulate him.

Josephine had reacted like a female
grieving a lover she’d lost
.

She would be finished with Rune after this! Panic seized him by the throat. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, tracing to his clothes.

He could still fix things with her. She’d be outside waiting—because he was supposed to return with the means to free Thaddeus.

“Rune, answer me!” Meliai cried. “What’s wrong?”

He yanked on his pants. “I’m done,” he said, and he meant it. Rune had just retired from his millennia-old job as secrets master. He had time to figure out something with the Møriør, but how was he going to save Thaddeus?

Meliai scrambled to her knees. “You can’t be serious!”

By spurning her, he risked angering coveys the worlds over. There was no worse insult to her kind.

“What do you need to get back into this? I’ll do it.” She cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples. “Imagine your filthiest fantasy, and it’s yours.”

His fantasies all involved the beautiful, brash, courageous mate he didn’t deserve. The one waiting outside for him to finish bedding another.

“
Anything
, Rune.”

He stomped into his boots, then pulled on his shirt. “No.” That word, from his lips, about this subject . . .
“No.”
Gods, that tasted delicious.

“Why? At least give me a reason!”

“I’ve changed.” A thought struck him. He would
never
have to do this again—dragging on his clothes, wishing for a shower and the peace of his chair by the fire.

He was free.

Meliai sputtered, “Short of sex with me, there is no way you can get past the wraiths.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Are you going to fuck your way in there? You’d do it, wouldn’t you? Screw creatures as repulsive as the Scourge?”

How was he going to face Josephine? By promising her he’d get her brother back, Rune had set himself up to fail her in one way or another.

I don’t want to fail
her. He strapped on his quiver, slinging his bow over his shoulder. Just as she’d said, there had to be an alternative, something he wasn’t seeing. . . .

He traced his fingers over his bowstring. Tonight, he’d forever sheathed one weapon.

I have another.

He unslung his bow and nocked a bonedeath arrow. He stared down Meliai, his voice deadly as he said, “Give me that key, or I’ll release my arrow, pulverizing the bones of anyone within screaming distance.”

Meliai gasped. “You risk a war with the Nymphae? You’ll never enter our sacred places again!”

“So be it. Now talk. What do you have?”

Her gaze betrayed her, darting to her wall, to a raised knot in the wood. A concealed hollow?

“Something to show me?” He waved his bow. “Retrieve it.”

With a fearful look, she crossed to the wall. “My sisters and I will make you pay dearly for this.” She pressed a hidden latch, and a compartment opened. Among her cache of amber jewels was a glass case.

When he realized what she possessed, sweat beaded his upper lip. No, not a lock of Valkyrie hair. In the case was a fire-red feather.

A
phoenix
feather. He could sense its mystical power from here.

To an archer, it was priceless; to Rune, a game changer. He could use it to fashion the flights of an arrow, amplifying his magicks exponentially.

With that feather, he could create the most destructive arrow ever to fly.

SIXTY-TWO

S
tanding at the gates of hell.

Wraith shrieks pained Jo’s ears, thunder booming in her stomach once more.

Desh bent down to her ear to yell, “Sure ye have this, little luv?”

Remembering her last meeting with Nïx, Jo stifled the urge to rub her arms and nodded.

“Gotta warn ye, smells like they’ve got an army in there.”

Since Jo had been here earlier (who knew how long ago, with the weird time flow?) dozens of cars had been parked near the manor¸ as if a party was happening inside. The scents coming from Val Hall were different from before. The sounds too.

Desh glowered at the entrance. “Scurvy wenches didn’t invite me.”

“I’ve got it,” Jo yelled.

“I’ll be at Lafitte’s, in case they don’t accept yer white flag.”

“Thank you, Desh. Fair winds.”

He met her gaze. “Good luck.” Then he disappeared.

Jo marched toward the spine-chilling Ancient Scourge. What wouldn’t she do for Thad?

As she neared Val Hall, the new sounds and scents bombarded her. She couldn’t place so many threads: fur, smoke, a cool slice of ice. So many hisses, growls, and mutters.

Hadn’t she once recognized these creatures as fellow Loreans? Why couldn’t she remember? Out of habit, she gazed up at the stars, seeking an answer, but clouds hung low, concealing them. Just as a cloud stood between her and her memories!

Her entire life was a mass of frustration. Her inability to remember her early childhood basically meant she didn’t have one. Same with her parents. Her inability to retrieve her brother tore at her.

My ex, my former guy, is inside someone else right now. I love him, and he’s inside another woman.

Before coming here, Jo had flagged down Dalli and left a message for Rune. Because she was done with him.

Done.

So damned frustrating. She couldn’t fix Rune, or her memories—but she could reach Thad.

All she had to do was scream,
I surrender.
But that galled Jo.

As if in another lifetime, she’d watched girls retreat from Wally’s house with their fight stolen. She’d seen it happen to the women around her motel.

Rune expected Jo to surrender her dreams, to stop fighting for what she wanted? That made her more furious than the actual infidelity!

He expected Jo to just lie down? Like he did?

Like I once did. I surrendered Thad as a baby.

She needed to scream two little words. But Jo didn’t surrender; she Hulk-smashed. She squeezed until things broke.

She’d forgotten that over the last two weeks.

Just outside the wraiths’ reach, she turned intangible, then launched a fist into the tempest. When she drew back her arm, gashes covered it.

“We’re alike, then?” Jo was death and death rolled into one, a shapeshifter between the living and the dead; it made sense that the Scourge could harm her if she was in ghost form.

The whirling wraiths slowed. One swooped down, hovering inches from Jo’s face. They met gazes; the wraith’s eyes were black pits. Yet then a flash of another image crossed the creature’s face. She saw a beautiful woman for an instant, as fleeting as the lighthouse’s beam. “Let me in,” Jo murmured. “Or suffer.”

The thing canted her head.

What are you seeing, wraith?
Jo’s tears had dried into hard tracks on her face.
Are you seeing Josephine Doe, a half-dead girl with absolutely nothing to lose?