Roke grunted. “Not even the threat of your anger could dislodge them. The creatures are nothing if not tenacious.”
“Are you taking Troy with you?”
A shudder of horror raced through him at the mere thought. “Good God, no.”
There was the sound of the door being shoved open before the stench of granite filled the air.
“Why would he need an imp when he already has a kicking side?” a French accented voice demanded as Levet stepped into the study along with Sally.
“Sidekick,” Sally corrected, her gaze warily watching Roke’s immediate reaction to the gargoyle’s implication he was going along for the ride.
“No,” he growled.
Her lips flattened at his stark refusal to even contemplate being stuck with the pest.
“We need him.”
“Why would we possibly need that”—he pointed toward the smirking Levet—“lump of granite?”
Levet stuck out his tongue. “Bah.”
Sally made a sound of impatience. “If the demon is capable of changing shapes, we need someone who can use his sense of smell to warn us if he is near.”
Roke scowled, instantly offended. “I’m capable of smelling the demon.”
Levet ran a claw over his tiny snout. “But you do not have my superior senses.”
Stepping forward, Roke intended to toss the annoying gargoyle from the room only to be halted by Styx.
“I hate to agree with the gargoyle, but he does have a better nose,” the king said.
Roke sent him a disgusted frown. “You just want to get rid of him.”
“There is that,” Styx agreed, his smile mocking.
“Enough.” Sally threw her hands in the air, turning to head back toward the door. “I’m going. You can come if you want. Otherwise, stay here.”
Roke was swiftly in pursuit. “Dammit, Sally, wait.”
“Call if you need backup,” Styx called.
Roke stomped down the hall, following his irritated mate and her aggravating gargoyle companion.
“Backup, my ass.”
Sally glanced toward the vampire seated behind the steering wheel of the Land Rover. He didn’t look happy. In fact, his grim expression and narrowed glare suggested his mood was downright foul.
He hadn’t said a word since he’d commanded Levet to take a back seat and they’d headed in a northwest direction at a speed that made her hair stand on end.
Partially her fault, she ruefully admitted.
Since making the decision to try to rescue her father she’d been questioning her sanity.
Did Sariel really deserve her concern?
It wasn’t as if he’d ever given a damn about her. How many times had she’d been imprisoned without her father bothering to help?
Why put her life on the line for him?
She had plenty of excuses, some of them quite reasonable, but no genuine answer for why it was suddenly so imperative for her to release Sariel from his prison.
Was it any wonder that Roke’s impatient announcement she was acting like a fool had scraped against her raw nerves?
Clearing her throat, she tried to break the ice. “Are you going to sulk for the entire trip?”
His gaze remained locked on the highway that was thankfully empty of traffic.
“Yes.”
“That’s your answer? Yes?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want? An apology?”
“I want you to just once listen to reason.”
Well, fine.
She’d tried.
“You didn’t have to come,” she muttered, grimacing as the temperature dropped to near freezing. “Well, you didn’t,” she pointed out with a shiver.
His gaze at last slashed in her direction. “You can’t expect me to be happy that you’re deliberately putting yourself in danger.”
“I’m going to be in danger until I find my father and give him back the box,” she said. “Until then the demon is going to be hunting me no matter where I might try to hide.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t bother to argue. Which meant he’d already accepted she couldn’t hide forever. He was just being an ass because he was scared for her.
“We could have destroyed it,” he countered, his tone more stubborn than convinced they could actually harm the box.
“Highly doubtful,” Levet chimed in from the backseat. “The spell that is placed on the—”
“Shut up, gargoyle,” Roke snarled.
Levet sniffed. “My next road trip will be strictly leech-free.”
“Thank the gods,” Roke muttered.
Sally ignored the two as the upper glyph on the box pulsed a sharper shade of gold.
“It’s shining brighter,” she muttered.
Roke frowned, glancing at the glowing glyph with blatant suspicion. “What does that mean?”
Sally bit her bottom lip. “I assume that we must be getting closer.”
“Already?”
Sally shared Roke’s wariness. She didn’t know where she expected to find her father, but it wasn’t less than an hour north of Chicago.
“I know, it seems—”
“Too good to be true?” Roke finished for her.
“Yes.”
Levet abruptly poked his head between them, his snout wrinkled as if catching a bad scent.
“Not so good.”
Sally turned her head to meet the gargoyle’s worried gaze. “What is it?”
“I smell demon,” Levet warned.
“Shit.” Roke grabbed his phone off the dash and punched in a number before pressing it to his ear. “Cyn, I need that info on killing the Nebule, pronto.” There was a brief pause before he was shoving the phone into his front pocket. “Perfect,” he muttered.
“What did he say?” Sally demanded.
Roke pressed the accelerator to the floor, his knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel.
“The only known way to kill the bastard is with the power of a Chatri.”
Of course that was the only way.
It couldn’t be something simple like ripping out his throat or putting a stake through his heart.
“We have to get to my father.”
“Oui.” Levet’s wings created a mini-windstorm. “And you might want to hurry.”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Roke muttered.
There was a tense moment of silence as they hurtled through the darkness. Then, a mist was forming in the air between Roke and Sally.
“Sacrebleu,” Levet squeaked as Roke slammed on the brakes, nearly sending the tiny creature through the front windshield.
Sally was moving before the vehicle came to a complete halt, shoving open the door and hitting the ground in a desperate attempt to outrun the demon.
A wasted effort.
She’d taken less than a step when the air in front of her began to vibrate, pulsing through her with enough force to send her to her knees.
She moaned, feeling the full impact of the demon’s powers.
The first time he’d attacked she’d been partially protected by her magical shield. The second time, he’d been focused on Roke.
Now she realized that she didn’t have a damned way to protect herself from a brutal, excruciating death.
Glancing up, she watched as the mist solidified into the form of a chubby Miera demon that Brandel had used before.
“Give me the box,” the Nebule demanded, his black eyes that were slit with crimson glowing with a spooky hunger.
She clutched the box to her chest, shaking her head. “No.”
The demon held up a hand, his brown robes hanging unnaturally still despite the brisk autumn breeze.
“Give me the box or die.”
He wasn’t bluffing. Already the agonizing vibrations were ramping up, damaging vital organs as they swept through her.
“Sally, give him the damned thing,” Roke snarled, crawling toward her with blood dripping from his nose and eyes.
Sally hesitated only a second before she threw the box directly at the demon.
What choice did she have?
She might have increased in power over the past weeks, but her insides were turning to goo. She didn’t know if that was something she could survive.
And once she was dead, she didn’t doubt for a minute Brandel would use his poison on Roke and maybe even poor little Levet.
Catching the box in a chubby hand, the demon gave a maniacal laugh before he was blinking out of sight.
Sally slumped forward, her nose nearly touching the ground as the savage pain slowly receded.
Oh . . . crap.
Who knew the sensation of her innards repairing themselves could be almost as brutal as having them squished in the first place?
A cool hand brushed her nape, offering a welcome comfort.
“Are you hurt?” Roke asked, his voice thick with his own pain.
She forced herself to straighten, meeting his anxious gaze with a rueful smile.
“Nothing that won’t heal.”
With a grim expression, Roke shrugged out of his leather jacket, then with one sharp tug he ripped off his T-shirt to gently clean the blood from her face.
His own injuries were rapidly healing, the blood flaking off him to leave his face as starkly beautiful as ever and his dark hair as smooth as silk.
She smiled without humor. She’d just managed to destroy any hope of finding her father, and her mind was consumed with the knowledge Roke looked breathtakingly perfect while she probably looked like she should be in the emergency room.
Maybe her brain had been squished along with the rest of her soft organs.
It seemed the only logical explanation.
Once satisfied he’d cleaned off the last of the blood, Roke wrapped his arms around her, his touch careful not to jar her aching body.
She blinked back her tears, knowing how much it cost him not to vent his angry frustration at how close she’d come to dying.
It was evident in the tiny quakes that shook his body and the frantic kisses he was pressing to the top of her head. But, with uncharacteristic restraint, he kept his emotions tightly leashed as he murmured comforting words and his hands stroked down her back in a soothing motion.
She didn’t know how long they continued to kneel on the ground, her body slowly healing as she leaned heavily against Roke’s chest. Eventually, however, she became aware of the sharp breeze that cut through the material of her sweatshirt and the scent of granite that assured her Levet was near.
With an effort she lifted her head and glanced around the empty countryside. Her brain still felt fuzzy, but she knew that she had to think.
She might have lost the box, but that didn’t mean that she’d given up on her plans to rescue her father. There had to be another way to find him.
The thought barely had time to form when Roke was barking out a curse and dragging her from the box that reappeared on the ground mere inches from her knees.
“Voilà,” Levet cried, waddling toward them. “I told you Sally could not rid herself of the box. The spell has bound it to her.”
Far less impressed with the rematerializing act, Roke had his phone out and pressed to his ear.
“Styx, we need backup. You can locate us with the Land Rover’s GPS,” he snapped. “Send someone who can’t be hurt by the poison the demon carries.” Pulling Sally to her feet, Roke backed them away from the highway. “Help is on the way.”
Sally frowned, not doubting Styx’s ability to round up any number of warriors who weren’t vampires, but fairly confident that they would never reach them in time.
It wouldn’t take the demon long to figure out what happened to his prize.
“Shouldn’t we run?” she asked.
Roke shook his head. “I want my hands free the next time he shows up.”
Levet gave a snap of his wings. “He’s coming.”
Sally tilted back her head, feeling nearly overwhelmed by the surge of guilt.
Dammit. She should never have allowed Roke or Levet to come with her.
She’d known this was dangerous.
She’d even known that there was a good chance the demon would be hunting her.
But she’d never dreamed he could locate her so swiftly. She’d somehow assumed she’d be able to reach her father before he could track her down.
Now she deeply regretted not waiting until Roke was distracted and she could have slipped away alone.
“Roke,” she breathed, her voice raw.
“I know.”
He captured her face in his hands, kissing her with a fierce intensity that made her knees tremble. It was far too short, as he lifted his head to study her with eyes that glowed a brilliant silver in the moonlight.
“Do I get a kiss?” Levet intruded into the moment. “A hug?”
Roke snorted, dropping his hands so he could move back and prepare for the coming attack.
“Just be ready, gargoyle,” he growled.
It was a warning that shook Sally out of her lingering stupor and with a muttered curse she reached into her pocket to pull out the tiny amulet she’d prepared before leaving Styx’s lair.
She’d come up with a crazy idea for how to hurt the demon. It was nothing more than a theory that was as likely to get her killed as to actually help, but it seemed an appropriate time to give it a try.
It wasn’t like she had any actual spells that could hurt the creature.
There was a strange hum in the air seconds before the Nebule made his dramatic return. Immediately, he lunged toward the box that Sally had left on the side of the road.
At the same time, Roke lunged forward, knocking into the demon with enough force to send them both tumbling to the ground.
There was a high-pitched scream from Brandel as Roke sank his fangs deep into his throat, ripping through the flesh with a savage fury.
Sally scurried forward, kicking the box toward Levet who scooped it up and took off with a flap of his delicate wings.
The demon could obviously track the box, but Sally hoped to keep him from disappearing with it long enough to do some damage.
She was forced to skip backward as the demon threw Roke off him and tried to surge back to his feet. Roke growled, using his claws to rip through Brandel’s spongy flesh.
The demon cursed and the eyes flashed with a black and crimson fire as he gained his feet. At the same time, the air began to fill with the vibrations that threatened to destroy them.
Roke grunted as the wave hit him first, but refusing to concede defeat, he flowed upward, managing to slice a gaping wound through the creature’s chest. There was another wave of vibrations and, hissing in frustration, Roke managed to wrap his arms around Brandel’s waist as he was being forced to his knees by the pain.
Sally held the amulet in her hand, hurrying toward the back of the demon while he was distracted by Roke. Then with a muttered prayer, she leaped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pressed the amulet against his oddly elastic skin.
Brandel jolted in shock as the magic flowed over him, trying desperately to dislodge Roke’s ruthless hold so he could turn and attack Sally.
“Oh no you don’t, witch,” Brandel snarled, lifting his hands to grab Sally’s wrists. “Not this time.”
Debilitating pain jolted down her arms, aiming straight for her heart. She groaned, desperately breathing the spell that would lock the demon into his current form.
“Dammit, Sally, what are you doing?” Roke growled, staggering to his feet.
“His physical form can be hurt,” she gasped, not sure how long she could last. “We can’t let him turn to mist. The amulet will hold him and you kill him.”
Comprehension flared in the silver eyes and with a roar that sent the nearby wildlife stampeding in terror, he attacked with a flurry of fangs and claws.
Brandel jerked, clearly able to feel physical pain as he was being ripped open by an infuriated vampire. Even the hideo
us jolts he was sending through her began to lessen, as if he were losing strength.
Still, he refused to die.
Yanking a dagger from the top of his moccasin, Roke stuck it deep into the demon’s chest, carving it open as he searched for a heart.
Sally shuddered, beginning to feel her amulet running out of juice. There was only so much magic that could be contained in the small medallion and it was being swiftly drained.
Crap. This wasn’t working.
Cyn had been right.
They needed the magic of a Chatri.
Magic that flowed in her blood, a voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Was it possible she had the power to kill the Nebule?
Sariel claimed her humanity had been scoured away to leave her a pure-blooded Chatri.
Now seemed as good a time as any to discover if he’d been telling the truth.
The sooner the better, she abruptly realized, sensing Brandel’s body was beginning to melt beneath her fingers.
“He’s turning,” she warned through gritted teeth.
“Then let go of him and run,” Roke growled.
She shook her head, trying to block out the pain and panic and Roke’s furious commands to leave.
She could do this.
It was her birthright.
Her legacy.
Searching deep inside herself, Sally reached for the magic she unconsciously kept locked away.
It was the same magic that had allowed her to enchant Roke. And to create a portal.
The warm, brilliantly colored strands of magic that flowed through her like music.
“Sally, what the hell?” she heard Roke mutter, his voice edged with something that might have been shock.
“I can do this,” she murmured. “Trust me.”
The world seemed to fade away as the warmth burst past her barriers and filled her entire body. Distantly she could feel Brandel shuddering as she held him tight against her body, and hear Roke calling her name. She was even aware of Levet returning to land on top of the Land Rover.
But she was drowning in the heat and magic that was swelling up until it threatened to burst out of her.
“Roke, get back,” she hissed, unable to stem the tide.
“No, I won’t leave you,” he snapped, typically determined to play the hero.
“I can’t contain it.” She held his wary gaze, willing him to obey her command. “Get back.”