When Darkness Ends

  “So I assumed. After all these centuries I believed he was immune.” Lise allowed her gaze to flick over Fallon in blatant disgust. “Then you arrived and he can’t seem to think of anything beyond bedding you.”

  Heat stained Fallon’s cheeks. She would never get used to the casual ease that most vampires discussed the most intimate subjects with.

  “I’m not the first woman whom he’s”—she stumbled for an appropriate word—“enjoyed.”

  Lise sneered at Fallon, no doubt amused by her prudish awkwardness.

  “No, but you’re the first woman who has enthralled him,” she retorted, her power pushing against Fallon. Not enough to cause pain, but a definite warning. “So take him or leave him. It’s not fair to steal his heart and then break it.”

  A blast of cold air had both females turning to watch the massive vampire step into the room.

  “That’s enough, Lise,” Cyn said, his expression impossible to read.

  “You know I’m right,” Lise said.

  Moving forward, she reached out to lay her hand on Cyn’s arm. The two might not be lovers, but obviously Lise assumed she had the right to interfere in his most personal business.

  Even worse, Cyn pressed a light kiss to the female’s forehead, before stepping back.

  Fallon narrowed her gaze, barely leashing her violent urge to rush across the room and punch the aggravating woman in the face.

  “Return to the clan,” Cyn commanded. “We will speak later.”

  Lise stubbornly refused to budge. “I won’t have you live with regrets.”

  He grimaced. “Trust me.”

  “You, I trust. Her”—Lise turned her head to glare at Fallon—“not so much.”

  Fallon clenched. That was it. Allowing her lips to curve into a challenging smile, she took a deliberate step forward.

  She’d never, ever been a confrontational person. In truth, she’d do anything to avoid a conflict. Including becoming engaged to a man she barely liked.

  Now she realized that she was more than ready to go head to head with Lise.

  For Cyn she would fight.

  As if sensing that Fallon had reached her last nerve, Cyn sent Lise a warning glance.

  “Go,” he commanded. “I’ll contact you later.”

  “Fine, but I’m keeping my eye on the fairy.”

  Flashing her fangs toward Fallon, the vampire strolled from the room, swaying her tiny ass.

  Fallon narrowed her gaze.

  Someday she was going to bitch-slap that vampire.

  Cyn wasn’t invited to join Fallon in her bath, still he couldn’t hide his small smile of satisfaction as the bristling female returned to the room dressed in jeans and a casual top.

  When he’d first realized that his lieutenant had snuck into his lair, he’d been furious. Not that he thought for a second she’d harm Fallon. Not when she clearly suspected that Cyn had bonded with the Chatri princess.

  But Lise had her own issues when it came to mating, and he knew that she would do her best to bully Fallon.

  Then he’d rushed into the room and discovered that his princess didn’t need his protection.

  Not only was she standing up to the lethal vampire, but she was bristling with something that could only be jealousy.

  The thought was enough to make him as giddy as a dew fairy drunk on mead, he wryly acknowledged.

  What the hell had happened to the male who’d skimmed through life without any messy emotions? The one who would have found a jealous female a source of irritation now nearly danced a damned jig at the sight of furious amber eyes that blazed with emerald flecks.

  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

  Unaware of his dark humor, Fallon planted her hand on her hips, looking every inch the arrogant Chatri royalty.

  “Your clanswoman doesn’t like me.”

  Cyn chose his words with care. He had every intention of convincing Fallon to remain with him in this lair. For the sake of peace he needed the two women to call a truce.

  “Lise is a little touchy when it comes to unrequited love.”

  Fallon went rigid. “She loves you?”

  He shook his head, moving forward. One day he intended to track down the bastard who’d hurt Lise and chop off his head.

  “Not me,” he instantly denied. “Another male broke her heart.”

  There was a long pause. As if she was deciding whether or not to believe him.

  Then she gave a shake of her head, clearly dismissing Lise and her abused heart.

  “She said—”

  “Now isn’t the time for this discussion,” Cyn broke in, already knowing where the conversation was headed.

  Eventually he would reveal that she was his mate.

  But not until they’d managed to deal with the crazed magic-user.

  He wanted lots of time and maybe Fallon handcuffed to the bed when he shared the news.

  She studied him with a wary expression. “Cyn.”

  “Since I wasn’t invited to share your bath, I need a shower,” he abruptly announced, latching onto the first distraction that came to mind.

  “Wait.” Her wariness deepened. “I think we should—”

  His words were abruptly interrupted by a clang of bells that echoed through the room.

  Cyn winched, his sensitive ears ringing. “What the hell?”

  “My bowls,” she muttered and headed out of the room before he could halt her.

  Cyn cursed, swiftly chasing after her. “Where are you going?”

  “The alarms have been tripped,” she said without slowing. “That means someone’s entered the Oracles’ cave.”

  He darted across the hall and into the opposite room. While he’d been hoping for a distraction, this wasn’t it.

  “Wait.” He managed to catch her arm and spin her around to meet his worried scowl.

  She made a sound of impatience. “What’s wrong?”

  Wrong?

  Was she kidding him?

  His chest still hurt from the blast he’d taken from the damned magic-user.

  “The last time the alarms were tripped we were nearly killed,” he reminded her in dry tones.

  A shadow briefly darkened her eyes as she recalled her terror when he’d been knocked unconscious, but her expression remained grimly determined.

  “I’ll be careful,” she said, lifting her hand to lightly touch his cheek as he scowled at her in frustration. “I promise.”

  “Damn.”

  Loosening his grip on her arm, Cyn followed her hurried steps to the bowls that were vibrating from the force of the bells. Thankfully the noise came to an end as Fallon gave a wave of her hand.

  In the blessed silence they knelt beside the nearest bowl, Cyn’s muscles clenched as he prepared to knock Fallon out of the path of danger.

  Ignoring his tension, Fallon waved her hand over the bowl, using her magic to guide the images from one end of the massive cavern to the other.

  Cyn remained on alert, even when it appeared there was nothing to see beyond the Oracles resting in their various caves. He didn’t know much about magic, but he was sure that it didn’t accidentally set off alarms.

  At last Fallon pulled back her hand and the image floating in the water settled on a narrow tunnel at the back of the cavern.

  “Look,” she breathed.

  Cyn deliberately leaned so he was between Fallon and the bowl, his gaze narrowing with fury.

  “Druid.” The word came out as a curse. Silently he studied the cloaked figure that was once again skulking through the shadows.

  This time, however, he wasn’t pausing to strengthen his previous spell. He was, instead, heading into a dark cavern that held an ancient altar in the center of the floor.

  Fallon grabbed Cyn’s arm, peeking over his shoulder as the druid moved to place a bowl on the flat top of the altar.

  “He has the blood for the sacrifice.”

  Cyn surged to his feet. The druid wasn’t there to lay another layer of magic.


  Time had just run out.

  “He’s getting ready to start the spell,” he growled, glancing toward the ornate clock on the mantel and doing a swift calculation. “Bloody hell.”

  Fallon straightened, her expression troubled. “Cyn?”

  His gut twisted with fear. “It’s still an hour until daylight there.”

  She bit her bottom lip, as if she were holding back her instinctive protest.

  “You intend to travel to the Oracles?”

  He shrugged. “We have to stop him from casting that spell.”

  “But we don’t know how.”

  Cyn might not be capable of halting magic, but he was a master at putting an end to his enemies.

  “Oh, I know how.”

  She blinked in surprise. “You do?”

  Cyn bared his fangs. “The druid can’t perform magic if he’s dead.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Magnus studied the breech.

  Was it real or merely another part of the complicated illusion?

  He ignored the three men draped in heavy cloaks. Instead, his gaze lingered on the ragged edges of the rift and the abrupt change from sunny meadow to a dark, craggy landscape with a distant stone castle in the background.

  It had to be real.

  An illusion would never be so sharply defined. It would have faded from one scene to another.

  Even as he came to his decision, the stupid gargoyle was waddling to stand at his side.

  “Do you want me to turn them into newts?” he demanded, pointing a claw toward the robed men who seemed unaware of the breech.

  “No.” Magnus shot the gargoyle an annoyed glance. “You’ve done enough.”

  “So I have.” Levet puffed out his tiny chest. “But I have yet to hear one word of thanks.”

  Magnus shook his head. Was the creature mentally damaged?

  That reckless burst of magic might have killed them, but was the gargoyle shamed? No. He strutted around as if they should all be grateful.

  “Stay here and keep your mouth shut,” he commanded.

  Levet folded his arms over his chest. “Ungrateful fairy.”

  With a shake of his head, Magnus started toward the breech. He wasn’t going to waste his time arguing with a three-foot chunk of granite.

  “Wait.” A slender female hand landed on his forearm, bringing him to a halt. Turning his head, he met Tonya’s worried gaze. “What are you going to do?” she demanded.

  He nodded his head toward the shadowy figures on the other side of the breech.

  “I’m going to convince the druids to release us from the labyrinth.”

  “You think they’ll let us go?”

  He shrugged. “I can be very persuasive.”

  The imp remained blatantly unconvinced. “There are three of them.”

  “They’re human.”

  “Yeah, and they managed to trap us in this spell,” she muttered.

  His brows snapped together at her obvious lack of faith in his abilities. Never in his very long life had his capacity to accomplish his goals been in doubt. He was a prince. A Chatri royal.

  It was simply assumed he would succeed, no matter what the odds.

  Being treated as if he could barely tie his own shoes was an experience that was beginning to wear on his nerves.

  “Do you believe I am too weak to—”

  His sharp words were interrupted as the gargoyle gave an irritated snap of his wings.

  “Can you be offended later?” he requested, pointing toward the breech. “We’ve been spotted.”

  Magnus hissed as he realized he’d allowed Tonya to distract him long enough for the three robed men to crawl through the opening and head in their direction.

  With one smooth step, Magnus had moved to block Tonya from the approaching men.

  “Stay behind me.”

  He felt an elbow punch into his ribs as the imp moved to stand at his side.

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  He sent her an exasperated glare. “There is no discipline in this world.”

  She lifted her gun and clicked off the safety.

  “Oh, there’s plenty of discipline at my club,” she murmured, flashing a wicked smile. “But you have to pay extra.”

  He knew what she meant by extra.

  He’d heard about the vampire clubs and their twisted perversions.

  But he wasn’t repulsed by her taunt.

  Instead, a vivid image of being strapped to a bed by a leather-clad Tonya while she did bad, bad things to his willing body nearly sent Magnus to his knees.

  Oh . . . hell.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “I will never understand you,” he muttered.

  She gave a lift of her shoulder. “Perhaps that’s a good thing.”

  Yes, he mused, a savage sensation clenching his heart, perhaps it was.

  Disturbed by the strange thought, Magnus jerked his attention back to the approaching humans.

  As Tonya had pointed out, they weren’t completely helpless. He wasn’t going to be caught off guard again.

  “Halt,” he commanded.

  The three stopped several feet away, the middle one lifting his hands to push back the hood of his robe.

  Magnus judged him to be in his late sixties in human years, although it was impossible to gauge his age without knowing if he’d used potions to prolong his life. His head was shaved bald, and his narrow face was lined with wrinkles.

  “Fairy,” he murmured, offering a small bow.

  Magnus uttered a low curse. “For all that’s holy . . .” He glared at the startled druid. “I am a Chatri, not a fairy.”

  “Truly? An ancient?” There was a murmur of astonishment before the nearest druid stepped forward, his arm outstretched as if he actually intended to touch Magnus. “I have never—”

  “Stay where you are,” Magnus snapped.

  The hand abruptly dropped, but a reverent expression remained on the lean face.

  “How did you enter the labyrinth?” he asked in soft tones.

  Magnus wasn’t amused by the faux innocence. The druids clearly hadn’t expected the spell to be breeched and now they were scrambling to cover their asses.

  “Do not lie,” he snarled. “You obviously trapped us.”

  “Not us.” The druid gave a frantic shake of his head as his companions took a hasty step backward. “We are imprisoned as well.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  The older man gave a helpless lift of his hands. “It was our leader, Anthony Benson, who created the labyrinth.”

  Magnus studied the druid, searching for signs of deception. Despite the man’s seeming sincerity, Magnus refused to believe he wasn’t involved.

  “Why would he place his own people in the spell?”

  The druid grimaced. “Because we attempted to halt his crazed plan to destroy the demons.”

  Magnus frowned at the unexpected claim. What sort of trick was this?

  “What plan?” he snapped.

  “He has a spell that closes the veils between dimensions,” the older man explained.

  Closes the veils? Momentarily stunned, Magnus tried to imagine the consequences of such a reckless plan.

  It went beyond the inconvenience of not being able to travel by portal. Or moving from one dimension to another.

  The veils were arteries that fed magic from world to world.

  If they were closed . . .

  It would create a catastrophic ripple of death and mayhem.

  And not just in this world.

  “Impossible,” he muttered, his hands clenching into tight fists. “A human doesn’t possess the power to cast such a spell.”

  “He intends to compel the Commission to perform it,” the druid said, his expression somber.

  Magnus nearly laughed. A human capable of compelling the Commission was even less likely than closing the dimensions. Then he abruptly recalled his ex-fi
ancée’s insistence that she’d been commanded to help the Oracles.

  Was this connected? He grimaced. It had to be.

  “That must be what Fallon was hiding from me,” he muttered, a chill inching down his spine.

  Tonya touched his arm. “What’s going on?”

  He covered her fingers with his hand, his attention remaining locked on the druid.

  “I’m not entirely certain, but whatever it is will have to wait until we are released,” he said, his gaze narrowing in suspicion. Whether the druid was being honest about Anthony Benson and the spell to close dimensions or not, Magnus was far from convinced that these men were innocent bystanders. “Remove the spell.”

  Impatience touched the lean face. “I told you, we are trapped just as you are.”

  “Or more likely you were sent to distract us,” Magnus accused.

  “I assure you that we want nothing more than to get out of here so we can stop Anthony.”

  As if Magnus would take the word of a mere human. They were notorious liars.

  “I need more than assurances,” he said, reaching up to remove the priceless emerald pendant from around his neck.

  Tonya sent him a worried glance. “Magnus, what are you doing?”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  She nodded without hesitation.

  “I do.”

  His heart gave a funny flutter. He didn’t know why it mattered that she believed in him, but it did.

  Grimacing at his idiotic thoughts, he returned his attention to the druids.

  “On your knees,” he commanded, waiting for all three men to cautiously bend down. Then he moved forward, touching the emerald to each of their foreheads, before he moved back to hold the gem up to the light. “Swear that you speak the truth.”

  It was the leader who answered first. “I swear on the graves of my forefathers that I speak the truth.”

  “Now you two,” he said, carefully watching the emerald as they swore they weren’t lying.

  Magnus hissed as the color of the gemstone remained a clear, unclouded green.

  “Damn,” he breathed, glancing toward Tonya. “They’re speaking the truth.”

  She arched a brow. “You wanted them to be lying?”

  “I can’t force them to break the spell and release us if they don’t know how,” he said.