When Darkness Ends

  She offered a sympathetic smile. “They no doubt wanted to protect you.”

  “I don’t want their protection,” he growled, glancing toward the mantel where he had a charcoal sketch of the two fairies who’d rescued him from the caves and taken him into their home. “If they’d stayed we could have faced the threat together.”

  She didn’t bother to point out that his foster parents would die rather than place him in danger. Which meant that she was already learning he had a fierce belief that he was supposed to be the defender.

  A good sign.

  “What were they doing before they left?” she instead asked.

  Pain twisted his gut at his last memory of watching Erinna and Mika strolling away from his lair, hand in hand.

  If someone had harmed them . . .

  He shook his head, refusing to even contemplate the possibility.

  “They’d gone to Dublin to speak with the druids,” he said.

  “About what?”

  Cyn shrugged. When his foster parents had visited to say they were traveling to Dublin, he hadn’t paid much attention. It wasn’t like it was out of the ordinary. And they’d been careful not to allow him to sense they might be troubled.

  “They didn’t say.” He grimaced, belatedly wishing he’d pressed for more details. “After the meeting they intended to stay for a gathering of the Irish fairies.”

  “And they never returned?”

  “No.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “I assumed they decided to remain with their tribe. Or that they were traveling. They often take off during the winter months, although they’d never disappeared without leaving a note for me,” he explained. “If I’d thought for a second they were in danger—”

  “You couldn’t know; you can’t blame yourself,” she hastily assured him, moving close enough to lay her hand against his chest. “Besides, they more than likely are in hiding, waiting for the danger to pass. Fey are very clever creatures.”

  His lips twisted. His princess hid a soft heart beneath her prickly independence.

  Fate had chosen well for him.

  “Very clever,” he agreed, his hands spanning her waist and urging her against his body.

  Instant heat flared through her eyes as he urged her against the thickening length of his arousal, but she pressed her hand against his chest.

  “Tell me why you feel that this is familiar.”

  He smiled, his hand sliding upward to cup her breast. “This?”

  “No.” She shivered, clearly struggling to recall what she wanted to say. “I mean the spell that the Commission is going to cast.”

  “I was afraid that’s what you meant,” Cyn admitted, ruefully allowing his hands to drop.

  When he took Fallon back to his bed he wanted her full attention.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “It isn’t the spell itself that teases at my memory. I wasn’t even aware that it was possible to close the dimensions,” he admitted. “It’s more the overall threat to destroy demons.”

  “Have you been able to track the source of the hieroglyphs?”

  “No, but I suspect that it has a fey history, but the actual spell is more human . . . Shit.”

  She looked alarmed. “What?”

  Cyn restlessly paced toward the heavy arched doors. Shoving one open, he stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the vast lake that surrounded his lair. In the moonlight he could easily make out the lights of the village that was the only civilization among the rugged hills and broad valleys.

  There was no worry any of his clansmen would catch sight of him. There were layers of magic wrapped around the castle to keep any prying eyes from seeing anything more than a thick mist.

  He walked to place his hands on the stone balustrade, his thoughts catapulted three hundred years in the past.

  For long minutes he silently shuffled through his memories, following a single thread until it reached the dramatic confrontation just a year ago.

  There was a light touch on his arm as Fallon joined him on the balcony. “Cyn, what is it?”

  “A human magic-user,” he muttered, turning his head to meet her concerned gaze.

  “Do you know him?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard of other humans who tried to destroy demons.”

  “Who?”

  “The witches.” With a sudden surge of determination, Cyn pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. “I have to speak with Dante.”

  She blinked in confusion. “Who is Dante?”

  “One of my brothers. I hope he might have some answers.” He quickly texted a message to his friend. “I’ll have him meet us outside Styx’s lair once the sun sets in Chicago. You can open a portal so he can travel here and look at the spell.”

  She hesitated, perhaps sensing he didn’t want to discuss his suspicions until he had a chance to speak with his fellow vampire.

  Smart and beautiful.

  “If he has answers, does that mean we can stop looking through all these musty books?” she asked.

  He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “My books are not musty.”

  She grimaced. “Fine. They’re not musty, but I’m tired of research.”

  The desire that was a constant, exhilarating buzz in the pit of his stomach abruptly spiked as he gazed down at her beautiful face.

  Bloody hell. His erection was already aching to be buried deep inside her addictive heat.

  “Good,” he growled, stroking his lips over her forehead. “Because I have a better way of passing the night.”

  She shivered, her lips parting in an unconscious invitation. “Cyn.”

  “But first . . .” Taking her hand, Cyn led her back into the library, heading straight to his desk. Pulling open the top drawer, he pulled out the delicately carved box he’d hidden there before he’d taken Fallon on their picnic. Then, with a small smile, he placed it in Fallon’s hand. “Here.”

  She glanced at him in confusion. “What is this?”

  He brushed the back of his hand down the satin softness of her cheek. “My musty books didn’t have much information on the elusive Chatri, but they did reveal that the fey royalty have an unquenchable thirst for pretty baubles.”

  She blinked in surprise. “When did you research the Chatri?”

  “As soon as we arrived here,” he ruefully admitted.

  Slowly she took the lid off the box, giving a soft gasp at the sight of the diamond and ruby necklace that had been designed in the shape of a hummingbird.

  “Oh.” She lightly traced the delicate gems that shimmered with a living fire in the moonlight.

  Smug satisfaction raced through him. The handful of references he’d found on the Chatri had spoken of their love for treasure, but it was his own instinct about his mate that warned him she wasn’t the sort of woman who would be impressed by size or monetary worth.

  She was unique. So only the most rare, the most exquisitely crafted treasure, would impress her.

  “Well?” he prompted when she continued to stare at his unexpected gift.

  “You”—she paused to clear her throat—“are a very dangerous man.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Magnus was left alone in the dead imp’s cell while the vampires transferred the various prisoners and did a thorough sweep of the house. Crouching beside the body, he monitored how quickly the body disintegrated.

  He wasn’t a healer, but he’d trained as a warrior, despite his royal blood. He’d been taught how to determine the death of a fey.

  Hours later he was still maintaining his vigil as the imp became nothing more than a faint sparkle of sand on the lead-lined floor. He was rising to his feet when he sensed Tonya entering the dungeon along with the King of Vampires.

  His hands clenched. This was absurd. Tonya was a mere imp. And worse, she didn’t have the slightest knowledge of how a true female should behave.

  She was rude. Outspoken. And she had zero respect for his position a
s prince.

  So why did he keep kissing her? It was as if his body disconnected from his brain, was urging him to touch her with a compulsion he couldn’t seem to resist.

  And why did he feel more vibrant—more intensely alive—whenever she was near?

  The answers shouldn’t matter to him. Just like he shouldn’t be curious as to why the imp had come to Styx’s lair and was now dead.

  He should have already returned to his homeland. It would take time for the formal dissolution of his engagement and then the tedious negotiations to choose someone else to become his fiancée.

  His House was depending on him to elevate their stature among the Chatri.

  Slowly rising, he smoothed his expression to one of aloof boredom as Tonya stepped into the cell swiftly followed by Styx.

  “How did he die?” the Anasso curtly demanded, displaying his usual appalling lack of manners.

  Not that he particularly wanted to indulge in idle chitchat with a leech.

  “Magic,” he revealed.

  Styx scowled at the unwelcome revelation. “Impossible.”

  Magnus folded his arms over his chest, deliberately holding the vampire’s gaze. It wasn’t really a challenge. It was the only way he could keep himself from staring at the sinfully sexy woman who was hovering near the door of the cell.

  “Then you explain what happened,” he said.

  Styx stabbed a finger toward the complex engravings on the cell wall. As if Magnus could have missed them.

  “The hexes in the dungeons prevent any magic, even if it could pass through the layers of protection that are wrapped around the estate.”

  “That would be no barrier if the spell had already been cast.”

  A blast of icy air slammed into Magnus. The King of Vampires wasn’t pleased at the knowledge his barriers weren’t as impenetrable as he believed.

  “Explain,” he snapped.

  Magnus glanced back down at the sand that had lost its sparkle. He knew of only one way to kill an imp who was surrounded by defensive hexes.

  “Long ago witches kept private assassins.”

  “Are you saying the imp was an assassin?”

  “Not necessarily.” He returned his attention to Styx. “My point is that the witches would place a death spell on their servants. If they were captured then they could detonate the spell before the assassin could reveal the name of their master.”

  The vampire peeled back his lips, revealing his massive fangs. “So the killer could be anywhere.”

  “No,” Magnus said in decisive tones. He’d never encountered a witch powerful enough to perform the spell, but he knew enough about magic to know that it must have its limitations. “They would have to be close enough to speak the word of power.”

  “How close?”

  “It would depend on the strength of the magic-user.”

  The vampire glared at him, the air becoming downright frigid. “How close?” he repeated.

  “A few hundred feet,” Magnus muttered.

  Styx’s features tightened, his eyes narrowed. “Interesting.”

  Magnus didn’t find it interesting. He found it . . . disgraceful.

  No fey should die by such a cowardly attack.

  “I suppose that I’m expected to track down the witch?” he commanded, not about to admit that he was remotely interested in the mystery.

  A Chatri prince should be above such mundane curiosity.

  “Once the sun sets,” the vampire at last said.

  Magnus frowned. Styx wasn’t stupid. He had to know the quicker that Magnus was on the hunt, the better the chance of finding the culprit.

  “The scent will be faded.”

  Styx studied him for a long moment. “I don’t trust you,” he at last said.

  Tonya muttered something about men and the size of their privates beneath her breath, but Magnus kept his gaze locked on the vampire.

  “If I intended to flee I would have done so when we were in the portal,” he said, his tone edged with an arrogance that was certain to annoy the leech. “Chatri are capable of creating more than one opening. You would never have realized I hadn’t returned to Chicago until too late.”

  “I have a dead imp.” Styx refused to back down. No surprise. Vampires were overly aggressive creatures who should be kept caged for the safety of all demons.

  “Yes, we’ve already established that,” Magnus drawled.

  Styx stepped toward him. “And the most likely suspect for the murder is standing in front of me.”

  “Are you suggesting I might have killed the imp?”

  “I don’t suggest. I’m flat-out saying that you’re a suspect.”

  Magnus lifted his hand, a glow beginning to dance over his skin. Styx might be the King of Vampires, but a Prince of the Chatri had a potent magic. If the leech wanted a fight, then he could have one.

  The scent of plums filled the air as Tonya was abruptly standing between the two of them.

  “Why would he want to kill an imp?” she demanded.

  Styx’s gaze remained locked on Magnus. “There could be any number of reasons.”

  “Ridiculous.” Magnus sneered, trying to pretend that he didn’t care that the beautiful imp had clearly risked her own neck to halt the looming violence. What did it matter if she cared whether or not he was hurt by the Anasso? It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. “I wasn’t even here, if you’ll recall.”

  Styx shoved aside his obvious logic. “You could have killed him, then followed me to Cyn’s lair. It would have given you the perfect alibi.”

  “If I’d decided to kill the imp I wouldn’t sneak around.” He released a trickle of his power, melting the frost that had formed on the walls. “I am a Chatri. It’s my right to offer death to any fey.”

  “I’ll watch him,” Tonya abruptly said, turning to glare at him over her shoulder.

  As if the sudden tension was his responsibility.

  Styx’s icy expression abruptly softened as he glanced toward the female who barely came to the middle of his chest.

  “Viper will kick my ass if anything happens to you,” he ruefully admitted.

  Magnus deliberately moved until he was standing at Tonya’s side. He didn’t like the casual intimacy between this woman and the King of Vampires.

  It made him itchy.

  “I would never harm a female,” he snapped.

  Tonya gave a toss of her head. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

  Styx’s lips twitched as his gaze briefly flicked toward Magnus before returning to Tonya. Then, with a smooth motion, he had reached behind his back to pull out a handgun.

  “Here.” He offered the gun to Tonya. “Can you use it?”

  Taking the gun, Tonya tested its weight before lifting it to aim it at a spot on the far wall.

  “I can shoot the balls off a gnat,” she assured the vampire.

  “Good.” Styx gave her a nod of approval before turning to point a finger at Magnus. “You.”

  “What?”

  “If you find an intruder you will follow their scent, but you won’t confront them or allow them to know we have managed to discover their trail,” Styx commanded. “You will mark their location and return here.”

  Magnus glowered in outrage. “You do realize that I’m not your servant?”

  “Don’t get caught.”

  Seemingly confident his orders would be carried out, Styx strolled out of the cell, the sound of his pet Ravens instantly falling into step behind him as they left the dungeon.

  “Bastard,” he rasped, barely resisting the urge to send a bolt of power toward the retreating vampires.

  Not to kill.

  But he could singe their asses.

  Perhaps sensing his childish urge, Tonya moved to stand directly in front of him, blocking his path to the door.

  “Are we going?”

  Magnus sucked in a deep breath, drenching himself in the scent of wild plums. “I don’t know why I should do the bidding of a
leech who has the manners of a demented troll.”

  “Neither do I.” She studied him, her expression unreadable. “But you’re going to search for the killer, aren’t you?”

  He was.

  He didn’t know why. His logical mind told him that this was none of his business. That he should return to his home and forget he’d ever traveled to this world.

  But some inner instinct warned him that there was something going on here that was important.

  Something that might affect the Chatri unless it was stopped.

  Silently calling himself a fool, Magnus stepped around the too-tempting imp and headed out of the cell.

  “You should stay here.”

  Predictably Tonya was immediately at his side, her pretty features set in a stubborn expression.

  “No way in hell.”

  He shook his head. No doubt he should have told her that she had to join him on the hunt. She was just contrary enough to have demanded that she be left behind.

  How did males in this world ever deal with such continual insolence?

  “It could be dangerous,” he growled, climbing the steps and heading toward the foyer.

  Tonya easily kept pace at his side. “Darling, I spend my evenings preventing the most lethal demons in the world from killing each other in a drunken rage,” she drawled. “Besides, I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”

  “Fine,” he muttered, his voice carefully nonchalant. “Come if you want.” Reaching the door, he glanced at her with a frown. “But you will not call me darling. I am a prince.”

  “Whatever you say, princy poo.” She deliberately glanced at the door, the gun still in her hand. “Let’s do this thing.”

  “You . . .” He bit off his exasperated words, yanking the door open and leading the way out of the house and down the path to the front gate.

  The late-afternoon sunlight drenched the estate in a pale light, but the breeze was brutally cold and the ground frozen hard beneath their feet.

  Without thought, Magnus warmed the air around himself, extending the heat to protect the female walking at his side.

  She sent him a startled glance. “What are you doing?”

  He kept his senses locked on his surroundings, sorting through the hundreds of scents that floated on the air.

  “It’s freezing,” he murmured absently. “My powers will keep you warm.”