When Darkness Ends

  Fallon absently chewed her bottom lip. “But when he does—”

  “He can command them to cast the spell,” Cyn finished her terrifying thought.

  Dante’s expression was grim as he placed his hands on his hips.

  “Do you want me to try and track down the witches that were connected to Edra’s coven?”

  Cyn nodded. “It would be a start.” He paused as he pulled out his phone, his brows pulling together as he read the incoming text. “It’s Styx,” he muttered. “He wants us in Chicago.”

  “Now?” Dante asked.

  “Aye.” Cyn’s frown deepened. “Bloody hell.”

  Fallon rose to her feet, instantly concerned. “What is it?”

  “He wants me to bring the gargoyle.”

  “Levet’s here?” Dante growled.

  With exquisite timing, the diminutive gargoyle stepped into the room, his wings dazzling in the firelight.

  “Did someone call?”

  Dante rolled his eyes. “Why me?”

  Levet scrunched his snout, sending the dark-haired vampire a mocking glance.

  “Clearly you were created beneath a lucky star.”

  Sensing the brewing violence, Fallon hurriedly crossed to put herself between Levet and the scowling males.

  “We must travel to the King of Vampires,” she informed the tiny demon.

  “Ah.” Levet gave a small sniff. “I suppose I am expected to save the world once again?”

  “It’s quite likely,” Fallon agreed.

  “Truly?” The gray eyes widened with horror. “Mon Dieu.”

  Dante strolled forward. “I thought you enjoyed being Savior of the World?”

  Levet’s tail twitched as he cleared his throat. “Of course I do, but it hardly seems fair to constantly pig out all the glory.”

  “Pig out?” Cyn demanded, moving to stand beside his friend.

  “Hog, you imbecile,” Dante said with a shake of his head. “It’s hog all the glory.”

  “Tout ce que,” the gargoyle said. “I feel I should allow some other demon to enjoy the pleasure of being a savior.”

  Cyn gave a short laugh. “Very generous.”

  “Oui.” Levet preened, ignoring the blatant sarcasm. “I am a giver.”

  “You’re something, all right,” Dante muttered.

  Fallon hid her delight with Levet. It was rare for two vampires to be so obviously annoyed by such a little creature. He clearly had a special talent.

  Still, she didn’t want to see him harmed.

  “We should go,” she said, heading out of the library to lead the way back to the foyer.

  Once there, she concentrated on reopening the portal she’d so recently closed.

  She’d just stabilized the portal when she felt the brush of cool fingers along the nape of her neck. Fallon shivered, her entire body going up in flames.

  Damn. How did he do that?

  One touch and all she wanted was to melt into his arms.

  “It won’t be too much of a strain to take all of us through the portal?” he softly demanded, speaking low enough so his question wouldn’t carry.

  Clearly he didn’t want to embarrass her if she had to admit she didn’t have the power to transport them.

  Her lips twitched. Not by his display of concern. Cyn had already proven that he possessed an instinctive need to protect females. But the fact that he actually accepted she might have a pride that could be wounded . . .

  It was a hell of a lot more than her father or Magnus had ever offered her.

  No wonder women found him irresistible.

  “No,” she assured him. “Once the portal is open, I can easily transport a large number of people.”

  “Damn.” Dante’s expression held a hint of admiration. “It’s no wonder the fey worship the Chatri.”

  Cyn’s fingers lightly skimmed down her throat, a mysterious smile curving his lips.

  “Aye, I worship one of my own.”

  She blushed at being the center of attention, hastily reaching to touch Levet’s wing while Dante laid his hand on Cyn’s shoulder.

  “Is everyone ready?”

  “Non,” Levet said with a heavy sigh. “But I do not suppose my opinion matters.”

  “Go,” Cyn growled, shoving the gargoyle into the waiting portal.

  Magnus couldn’t deny a grudging respect for Tonya as they walked the pathway that meandered through moonlit fields, a large forest, along the edge of a loch and up and over the series of low, rolling hills.

  She made no complaints despite the fact that she was hardly dressed to be trudging for miles. And more importantly, she didn’t badger him with questions even knowing that their surroundings were an illusion.

  But at last she’d had enough, coming to a halt so she could kick off her ridiculous high-heeled shoes.

  “Stop,” she muttered. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Fine.” He stood beside her, grudgingly accepting that it wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped to break free of their prison. “We will rest for a short time.”

  “Will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

  He paused. If she were a Chatri female, he would have told her not to worry her pretty head and offered a vague assurance that everything would be well.

  But Tonya was nothing at all like the women he was accustomed to.

  She was stubborn, and independent, and she would be completely pissed if he tried to lie to her just to make her feel better.

  Ridiculous female.

  “When we stepped out of the portal we were caught in a Labyrinth spell,” he said.

  “Labyrinth?” She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “The ancient druids used to cast them to trap unwary fey.”

  She looked puzzled. “Why?”

  “They could force them to share their potions that magnified the druid magic.”

  “Oh.” She cast a glance around the empty landscape, almost as if she expected a cloaked druid to appear from the shadows. “I knew that sorcerers were rumored to force the fey to prolong their lives with potions, but I always thought druids were peaceful.”

  “Sariel discovered what they were doing and threatened to slaughter every one of them if they used fey magic again,” Magnus said.

  “He did?” The emerald eyes widened in surprise. Magnus grimaced. Why did she assume that the Chatri males were ineffectual wimps? Sariel had enough power to make most vampires quake in fear. “Well, I suppose the threat of complete genocide would make a druid think twice about disobeying the royal command.”

  “It should have.” Magnus waved a disgusted hand toward the fields. “Clearly our time away from this world has emboldened the magic-user.”

  “Why would a druid want to trap us?”

  It was a question that had been nagging at Magnus since he’d realized they’d triggered the spell.

  “It could be nothing more than a precaution used by the druid to ensure he wasn’t followed,” he said, choosing the most logical explanation.

  “Or?” Tonya prompted.

  “Or he learned a Chatri had returned and was afraid I might punish him for breaking our law,” Magnus said, knowing he couldn’t overlook that this might be more personal. “The death of the imp could have been used as a way to lure me here with the intent to kill me.”

  Tonya shivered, but she didn’t panic. Magnus gave a faint shake of his head. Why did he feel a stupid prick of pride at her composure? Dammit. Her foolish courage might very well lead her into danger.

  “Tell me about the spell,” she demanded. “What does it do?”

  “It works like a maze,” he grudgingly revealed. “The magic has us locked in a bubble where we can move forward but we can’t leave.”

  “Holy shit,” she muttered. “It’s Hotel California.”

  He frowned. Hadn’t he told her they were in Ireland?

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” She waved a hand toward the distant loch. “If this is a m
aze, then why does the scenery keep changing?”

  “I have been using my power to alter our perception,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because the spell shouldn’t be capable of holding a Chatri,” he said, his voice edged with frustration. “And certainly not a prince.”

  “Of course not.” Tonya rolled her eyes.

  “I am a prince because my bloodline possesses superior powers.”

  “Arrogant ass.”

  Magnus scowled. Annoying female. Did she think he was bragging?

  He had been born with a power that was second only to the king. Which was precisely why Sariel had chosen him to wed his daughter.

  “It’s truth, not arrogance,” he snapped.

  She folded her arms under her breasts, emphasizing their lush beauty.

  Not that he actually noticed, he hastily assured himself, wrenching his appreciative gaze from the decadent swell of her bust that was showcased by the low scoop of her neckline.

  “If you’re so freaking powerful, then why are we still stuck?” she taunted.

  “The spell has been modified.” He used his senses to touch the illusion surrounding them. As soon as he brushed against the magic it instantly shifted, the hills replaced by a barren tundra. He made a sound of disgust. “I should be able to break the illusion and find our way out. Instead, a new illusion simply replaces the old.”

  “Then how do we get out?”

  “We can’t.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath, revealing the first crack in her grim composure.

  “Are you shitting me?” she rasped, the scent of stewed plums filling the air. “We’re stuck in this . . . illusion for eternity? Just the two of us.” The emerald eyes darkened with an indecipherable emotion. “I must have died and gone to hell.”

  Outrage flared through him. How dare she imply that it would be a punishment to spend an infinity in his company? She should only be so lucky.

  Aggravating female.

  “Fey don’t believe in hell,” he said stiffly.

  “I do now,” she muttered, hunching her shoulders. “So what do we do? Sit here and twiddle our toes for the next millennium?”

  His annoyance was forgotten as he caught a glimpse of the fear she was trying so hard to hide.

  She was terrified beneath her prickly sarcasm.

  Barely aware he was moving, he stepped forward, his voice unconsciously gentle.

  “I said we couldn’t get out, but the spell is connected to the druid.”

  “And?”

  His fingers brushed a soothing caress over her cheek. “Eventually I’ll follow the trail of magic to its source.”

  Her expression was guarded, although he was pleased to note she didn’t try to pull away from his touch.

  “You really think you can?”

  This time he didn’t take offense at her seeming lack of confidence in his abilities. Eventually she would be forced to admit that he possessed more than superior manners and an exquisite taste in clothing.

  For now he contented himself with opening his senses to the thread of magic that he’d latched on to as they’d stepped out of the portal.

  He didn’t doubt that it belonged to the druid who’d cast the spell. Which meant it was only a matter of time before he managed to get a lock on the bastard’s exact location.

  Then there would be no mistake that he possessed more than his fair share of power.

  “Yes,” he said, deliberately concentrating on the illusion around them.

  Before, he simply nudged their surroundings, searching for the way out of the maze. This time, he actively molded the magic to create the image he wanted.

  With a wave of his hand the darkness was replaced by a brilliant blue sky and dazzling sunlight. Another wave and the field was a carpet of green grass with a babbling brook in the distance.

  “But first you need to rest,” he said.

  “Oh.” The imp glanced around in surprise, her eyes widening as she glanced down at the daisies that were springing to life around his feet. “Does that always happen?”

  He shrugged. “When I stay in one place long enough.”

  She appeared oddly fascinated by the flowers that now began to spread among the grass.

  “Amazing,” she breathed.

  Magnus squashed the ridiculous urge to show off with a burst of power that would create a profusion of blossoms. Instead, he concentrated on creating a blanket along with several plates of food so Tonya could replenish her strength.

  Taking her hand, he urged her to take a seat on the blanket, waiting until she was settled before he was joining her and reaching for one of the plates.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m starving,” she admitted, taking the plate and studying the fresh fruit and bread that was dipped in honey. “Is it real?”

  “Of course.”

  She gingerly grabbed a slice of the bread, taking a bite. Her eyes slid closed as she relished the food without apology.

  Magnus watched in fascination. This female was no delicate princess and yet there was a raw earthiness that enchanted him in a way he couldn’t explain.

  “Yum,” she moaned, opening her eyes and leaning forward so she could press the bread to his lips. “Here. Try it.”

  He pulled back, suspicious of her teasing. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t you want a taste?”

  “I . . . yes.” He took the bread from her hand, his gaze never wavering from her face. “You puzzle me.”

  She reached for a golden pear. “What do you mean?”

  “One minute you are snapping at me and the next you are feeding me,” he said.

  “You make me crazy,” she muttered, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of the fruit.

  Magnus groaned as she licked the juice from her lips.

  Was she being deliberately provocative? Not that it mattered.

  He was hard. Aching. The need to have her in his arms was a force that overwhelmed everything.

  Including the fact that they were trapped in a druid spell.

  “The feeling is mutual,” he assured her, leaning forward to wrap his arm around her waist.

  Then, with one tug, he had her lying across his lap, the food forgotten.

  He studied her with a brooding gaze, his hand cupping her face as he tried to determine what it was about this woman that continued to captivate him.

  She trembled, her body molding against him with remarkable perfection.

  “Magnus?” she breathed.

  “Hush,” he murmured.

  He didn’t want to talk. Or think. He just wanted to feel.

  “Don’t tell me—”

  He stole the words from her lips as he crushed her mouth in a kiss that demanded her complete and utter surrender.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cyn shoved the gargoyle out of his way as they exited the portal in front of Styx’s lair.

  It was bad enough to be traveling through some magical rip in the fabric of space without having the aggravating creature constantly beneath his feet.

  With a flap of his wings, Levet scurried out of his way, turning his head to send a glare in Cyn’s direction.

  “There’s no need to push,” he groused, his eyes abruptly widening, his snout flaring as he took in a deep breath. “Ah, Darcy is home. And Abby. I must—”

  “Stay where you are, gargoyle,” the large Aztec warrior commanded, stepping from the shadows of a nearby tree.

  Levet placed his hands on his hips, his tail stuck out straight.

  “You are not the boss of me.”

  “Thank God,” Styx muttered, folding his arms over his chest as he glared at the gargoyle. “You, however, are going to do exactly what I say. Got it?”

  Levet stuck out his tongue. “Bully.”

  Cyn stepped toward his king, his body angled to put Fallon behind him. Not that he thought Styx had any intention of harming the Chatri princess, but there was no battling the primitive need to
keep other males at a distance.

  “What’s up?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Styx admitted, offering a brief nod to Dante who had moved to stand on the other side of Cyn, his gaze constantly scanning the dark street for any sign of danger. “Before I came to your lair I’d discovered an imp sneaking around my estate.”

  Dante gave a short laugh. “You’ve had a lot of fey loitering since the Chatri royalty decided to use your lair as their personal hotel.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Styx growled, belatedly glancing in Fallon’s direction. “No offense.”

  “What about the imp?” Cyn asked, skimming over the awkward moment.

  Interspecies relationships were always challenging.

  The temperature dropped as Styx bared his fangs. “He was related to Damocles.”

  “Damn,” Dante drawled. “It was ballsy of him to come here.”

  “My thought exactly,” Styx agreed, clearly still holding a grudge against the imp who’d helped to destroy the previous Anasso.

  “Did you kill him?” Dante asked.

  “I threw him into the dungeon.” Styx grimaced. “I wanted to know why he’d risked his life to spy on me.”

  Cyn hid a smile. There was a time when Styx would have cut out the bastard’s heart without giving a shit what information he might have.

  Becoming the leader of the vampires had given him at least a small amount of restraint.

  A very, very small amount.

  “Did you get answers?”

  Styx gave a sharp shake of his head. “When I returned from your lair he was dead.”

  There was a collective sound of astonishment.

  It would be easier to sneak into a harpy’s nursery than Styx’s dungeon.

  “How?” Cyn asked.

  Styx flashed his fangs. “Magic.”

  “Is that even possible?” Dante muttered, referring to the hexes that were etched into the walls.

  Styx shrugged. “That’s what the Pestilent Prince claimed.”

  Dante lifted his brows. “Pestilent?”

  “Magnus.” Styx’s tone revealed his opinion of the Chatri royal. “He said that witches used to have the ability to activate a death spell in an assassin that remained dormant until they set it off with a word of power.”

  “You think a witch killed the imp?” Cyn asked with a frown. It didn’t make sense to send an imp that was already on Styx’s shit list to try and kill him.