An unwelcome realization arose: Rune the Insatiable Asshat might be the key to her reuniting with Thaddie.
FOURTEEN
A vampire has my bloody talisman.
Rune would rather have forfeited the Darklight bow. All day he’d stormed down New Orleans streets, seeking any Lorean to question about Josephine. Most took one look at his expression and fled. Even the nymphs had retreated into the trees or the river.
No one stole from him. No one was fast enough, crafty enough. It simply didn’t happen.
Yet the vampire had.
Twice.
After she’d disappeared—taking her necklace, his bait—he’d interrogated the nymphs for any detail he might have missed, then he’d used those clues to try to unearth her lair. He’d been tempted to fetch Darach for the wolf’s tracking abilities, but Rune didn’t want to explain his new target. Besides, time moved differently in Tenebrous; tracing there and back would take several Earth days.
Damn that leech!
He found himself touching her bite mark yet again. A day later, he remained astounded that she’d not only bitten him, but fed.
A vampire consumed my befouled blood.
He pierced the remnants of her bite with his claw tips, seeking to recreate a fraction of the pleasure—only to fail.
He’d reacted like a madman, couldn’t even remember what he’d said to her. He thought he’d spoken to her in Demonish. He knew he’d bellowed so loud his throat had stung.
Part of him was glad of his response. Hardly that of a deadened man whose fire had been extinguished! Rune had felt with Josephine. Some buried cinder must have lingered deep within him, because it was . . . sparking.
His reaction to her—and hers to him—made him ponder the most asinine and far-fetched possibility.
What if she was his mate?
What were the odds he would meet a female whose scent put him to his knees—and who also happened to be immune to his poison? She’d told him, You smelled right.
No, no, there’d be no mate for Rune. Thousands of years ago, he’d concluded his kind didn’t get a fated one, were cursed to be alone.
He’d never met a mated dark fey, had never heard of a second generation of his species. His own solitary years had cemented the idea in his mind.
Even if he got a mate, Josephine the vampire wouldn’t be his. He’d reacted so violently to her and her bite because she’d mesmerized him.
Her scent enticed him more than anyone else’s simply because she had the most alluring scent. Other men on the street had responded with just as much heat.
None of the other Møriør had a mate. To take on such a glaring vulnerability would have to affect Rune’s standing. He’d be damned to the hells before he relinquished his spot at their table.
Plenty of immortals would sell their soul to take his place. . . .
By late afternoon, Rune headed to the Lore shop the nymphs had mentioned. It was a ramshackle store with a symbol of the Lore in the window. The shingle read: Loa’s Emporium
Perhaps he could find manacles here. He could definitely pry for information.
Unshaven and wearing last night’s clothes, he strode inside. A bell jingled above the door. Mortal wares crowded the shelves. A Lorean market must be concealed in the back.
A woman sat behind the counter, engrossed in a book. Her nearly sheer white dress clung to her dark skin, revealing a voluptuous figure. Loa, the proprietress?
He raised his brows. Well, then, this customer will be sure to return.
His response was yet more evidence he had no mate. If he’d found his fated female, then he wouldn’t be planning to bed this buxom shopkeeper at his earliest convenience! He asked her, “Where can I find handcuffs, dove?”
She didn’t look up from her book. “Back room. Aisles are marked.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve met a Lorean named Josephine? Brunette about five and a half feet tall.” Unbelievable body, whiskey voice. “Fairly blunt.” Bit of a bitch. “Wears combat boots and has piercings.” Even secret ones.
The woman licked her thumb and turned a page.
“She lives in the city and prowls the Quarter. But she’s species closeted.” Josephine wasn’t the only one. When he recognized what Loa was, he hid a grin. He’d bet she wouldn’t want that known.
Without taking her eyes off the book—a tome on neuroscience—Loa said, “Too many beings to keep track of this time of the millennium. Accession calls them close. Ask the low creatures.” Her accent was lyrical and drawling. Josephine’s accent had been drawling as well, but in a different way.
“Among your wares, do you happen to have a lock of Valkyrie hair?” The nymphs had promised to be on the lookout for one, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Information from them in the heat of the moment was one thing . . .
“You’d have better luck orderin’ a Valkyrie head,” Loa said.
He hadn’t thought it would be easy. “Do you sell information?”
She finally glanced up. “By the looks of you, I’m thinkin’ you can’t afford the information I have in my catalog.”
No? His wealth was so vast it was incalculable. He smiled at her, picturing all the relics he’d amassed over the ages, the ones that filled his private collection. Ah, the secrets he kept.
He found himself wondering how Josephine would react to his treasures. No doubt pure astonishment. How could she not be impressed? “Perhaps you’re right,” he told Loa, turning toward the back. He located the concealed doorway and entered.