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. . . .