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)
Munro spied nary a car or traffic camera.
Kereny’s expression grew confused. “We’re in my time. We must be.” Even the summer season was roughly the same as the one she’d left.
“Nay, we only changed locations and time zones. But I can understand why you’d think otherwise.” He inhaled the air, catching scent of nymphs, shifters, and fey. Loreans alone populated this time-capsule valley. Kereny was the sole mortal he detected. Which explained why Desh had traced them out in the open.
In fact, Munro didn’t scent humans for hundreds of miles in any direction. The mortal towns the circus had protected seemed to have vanished. Mayhap because their protection had? “Have you ever been here before?”
She shook her head. “How far are we from the fairgrounds?”
“Dozens of miles, I wager. We’ll rent a truck.” Another glance around. “Or, rather, horses.” Down a winding lane was a livery.
“This looks like the valley we last protected,” Kereny said, voice wistful. How maddening to be so close to her home physically, but a world away temporally. “I expected something more futuristic.”
“This must be a working village. A sustainable one.”
Frown. “Why would a village ever be unsustainable?”
“A verra good question.” On the heels of all she’d been through, Munro didn’t want to overload her about this time. “Tomorrow, after we’ve eaten and rested, I’ll teach you more about this era. For now, let’s head in.” He ushered her toward the front door.
“Eventually, the warlocks will find us here. Hiding is never a good strategy when dealing with immortal adversaries.”
“What is?”
She raised her chin. “Traps.”
His lips curled. “I am going to enjoy getting to know your tricky mind so much.” He dared to smooth a lock of hair behind her ear, a casual touch that obviously surprised her.
He’d told himself that once he was back in his own time and healed from his torture, he would turn on the charm. He planned to seduce her, to teach his wee harridan why she should become a Lykae.
And she would become one. He would win this battle of wills because no one could outstubborn a MacRieve. Especially when Munro was right in this. He’d never been so right.
In this case, his seduction could save her life. The things I do for my lass.
But there’d be no bed play when she was reeling from everything that had happened. He would behave himself until she was rested and ready.
He opened the door. The scent of nymph told him several were within, enough to make a covey. The entryway’s forest murals indicated Dryads, tree nymphs.
Actual oaks grew inside the lobby, arching toward a glass cathedral ceiling. Limbs wound through the walls, and a trained branch served as the front desk. Kereny surveyed the fantastical space with her customary poker face, but he detected her wonder.
A long-haired brunette emerged from one of the trees, stepping out of a trunk as if through an open doorway. Kereny’s tension increased, but she hid her shock well.
“Welcome, guests!” The nymph wore traditional garb—a peasant blouse, sheepskin vest, and long skirt—but she likely had a modern phone in her apron pocket. “I’m Iona, the innkeeper, and you must be Kereny and Munro MacRieve.”
Before Kereny corrected her, he said, “Thank you for the welcome.”
“Congratulations on finding each other!” She made no mention of their bedraggled state. This innkeeper had probably seen it all.
As a number of other nymphs surfaced from the room’s trees, Iona said, “These are my daughters.” A total of eight females. Though all were dressed like their mother in brightly colored skirts and white aprons, he could tell each had come from a different father. Nymphs disdained monogamy even more than unmated Lykae.
They were all polite and amenable, yet he sensed an underlying tension in them.
Iona said, “We’ve heard much about you two.”
He’d bet. Nymphs were some of the most accomplished spies in the Lore. Different types could meld with various elements—water, clouds, mountains, trees—and they communicated widely with each other. As his mam used to say, Never tell a clan secret near a puddle or an oak.
One of the daughters told Munro, “You went back in time to save your mate’s life. How romantic.” She sighed. “I can barely get a male to buy me a corsage for a bacchanalia.”
Kereny parted her lips, no doubt to contradict the saving-her-life claim, but then she let it go.
“We understand you haven’t slept in some time,” Iona said. “Dinner will be ready shortly, and we’ve prepared our honeymoon guesthouse for you, the most secluded of our accommodations. Do take warning: many a firstborn has been conceived there.” Iona smiled, and her daughters chuckled.
Kereny’s eyes grew starker. Was it sinking in that she’d be rooming with a Lykae? Technically this was still her honeymoon—with another man.
Iona continued, “Loa wrote that you’re looking for information about the past.”
“Aye.” He explained the basics of the circus, then uneasily awaited her answer. Hell, Iona might say, “I remember you back in the day, Kereny. You were a happy, long-lived mortal with a passel of kids and an adoring husband you loved.”