Expecting a towering troll-like figure, or even a cyborg, Sally blinked in shock.
“Is that a Miera demon?”
He shifted close enough for her to feel the rigid tension of his muscles.
“Yes.”
“He looks like a banker,” she muttered, but despite the creature’s bland appearance, she found herself pressing against Roke’s shoulder as he crept near.
The entire room was overwhelmed with a choking menace that made her hair stand on end.
Moving with a fluid ease that seemed odd for the pudgy body, the Miera slowly walked around the edge of the circle, flicking out a forked tongue as if it could sense the magic.
“Lower your shields,” the demon at last commanded, his human English remarkably polished.
Like a posh Englishman.
Sally shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
He halted directly before them, his tongue still flicking. “I mean you no harm.”
“That would be easier to believe if you hadn’t just tried to kill us,” Roke drawled.
“All I want is a box,” the creature said. “Give it to me and I will walk away.”
Sally hissed in shock.
Stupidly she hadn’t actually considered why they would suddenly be attacked by a strange demon. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have immediately guessed it had anything to do with the box.
It had, after all, sat in this abandoned cottage for years without attracting attention.
Beside her Roke smiled, clearly having suspected why the demon had attacked. He held up the box so the glyphs etched in the polished wood were visible in the candlelight.
“You mean this box?” he taunted.
A flick of the tongue. “Yes.”
“Why?” Roke prodded. “Is there something special about it?”
“It belongs to me.”
“Odd. You don’t look fey.”
The pale, round face remained emotionless, but the sense of malevolence thickened in the air.
Sally frowned. Somehow she suspected that the demon wasn’t deliberately trying to frighten them with the heavy atmosphere of evil.
Instead it was as if it was . . . leaking out of him.
“It was a gift,” the demon smoothly countered.
Roke tapped the top of the box with his dagger, his gaze noting the intruder’s most subtle reaction.
Vampires were masters at detecting weakness in their enemies.
“What does it do?”
“Nothing.” The creature lifted a hand. “It’s merely a decoration.”
Roke shook his head. “You don’t risk war with the vampires over a trinket.”
Genuine confusion rippled over the Miera’s face, his body seeming to smudge and flicker at the edges. What the heck? Was it an illusion?
“I have no fight with the vampires.”
“You will,” Roke assured him. “Styx takes it quite personally when someone tries to kill one of his clan chiefs.”
There was a hesitation and Sally belatedly understood Roke’s tactic.
He was judging the desperation of the creature not only by revealing that he was a clan chief, but also by tapping the box with the dagger. It would prove just how important the box was to the Miera and how anxious he was to get his hands on it.
“As I said, give me the box and there will be no need for bloodshed,” the demon at last commanded, clearly worried his box might be damaged by the dagger.
“You haven’t said what it does,” Roke countered, his attention focused on the Miera who was once again walking around the circle even as he spoke directly into her mind.
Be ready to run....
Sally swallowed a tiny gasp. Hadn’t she told him not to do that?
And if she hadn’t, then that was something that needed to be taken care of ASAP.
Well, just as soon as they were out of trouble.
“The shield is weakening,” the Miera pronounced, flicking his tongue with obvious satisfaction.
Roke covertly slid his dagger back into the holster at his lower back.
“If you attack us you risk destroying the box,” he reminded the demon, reaching to grasp her hand.
“There are some risks worth taking,” the demon hissed, his pale eyes abruptly morphing to a startling black that was slit with red.
Sally might have been wigged out by the strange eyes if she hadn’t been desperately struggling to maintain the shield.
The past three weeks had taken their toll.
Her magical tank was running on empty.
The cracks in the shield were beginning to form when she felt a warning blast of frigid air.
Roke’s power.
Familiar with the bad, bad things that could happen when the vampire released his innate talent, she made no protest when he yanked her to her feet and shoved her toward the door.
“Sally, now,” he barked, trusting her to lower the shield in time for them to leap over the candles.
The demon gave an eerie growl of fury, but before he could react there was a shower of splinters as the overhead beams shattered beneath Roke’s power. In the next second Sally was tossed out the door and the cottage that had withstood a century of violent storms, a rare earthquake, and an attack by a rival witch, collapsed into a pile of rubble.
Holy shit.
Roke clutched Sally’s fingers in one hand and the box in the other as he headed straight for the nearby shed.
“That was quite a trick,” she muttered, her steps shaky as she struggled to keep pace.
“It won’t hold him for long,” he said in absent tones, his gaze skimming the barren landscape.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a vehicle.” He hissed in frustration as he realized they had no easy means of escape. He hadn’t heard the approach of a car, but that was hardly surprising. It might be humiliating to admit, but when Sally was near he tended to be dangerously distracted. “How did the bastard get here?”
“On foot?” she suggested.
“Possible, but Mieras aren’t as physically strong as most demons. They rarely travel more than a few miles beyond their lair.” He muttered a curse. There were way too many questions with no answers. “We’re going to have to make a run for it.”
She staunchly squared her shoulders despite her obvious weariness.
“Okay.”
His lips twisted. He didn’t doubt she would drive herself until she collapsed into a coma. And all without once asking for help.
She’d been alone too long.
Been hurt too many times.
What she needed was a kind, patient man who could tenderly heal the wounds that life had inflicted.
Not an ill-tempered, loner of a vampire who’d made a vow to devote his life to his clan.
Unfortunately he was all she had.
“Will you trust me to keep you safe?” he abruptly demanded.
There was a predictable hesitation, but after a long pause she gave a nod.
“Yes.”
Something moved deep inside him.
A seismic shift that cracked open a vulnerable fissure he had no idea how to repair.
And no time to consider the long-term consequences.
Instead, he swept her off her feet, cradling her against his chest as he flowed silently through the night.
“Hold on,” he warned, leaping over a wide culvert.
She threw her arms around his neck, anxiously trying to glance over his shoulder.
“Do you sense we’re being followed?”
His arms tightened protectively around her slender body, his fangs fully exposed as he made a direct path toward the trees that filled the small valley below them.
Anything that tried to stop them, he’d rip out their throat.
“No, but there was something off about that demon,” he said. He wasn’t intimately familiar with Miera demons, but he knew damned well the one that attacked them wasn’t natural. “For all we know the creature might be c
apable of disguising his presence.”
She shivered, but her courage never faltered.
“We can’t keep running. It’ll be dawn soon.”
He brushed a kiss over the top of her head, so light she couldn’t sense the fleeting caress.
“Don’t tell me you’re concerned I might be sizzled into a pile of ash?”
“Of course I am,” she muttered. “I’m the only one allowed to make me a widow.”
His lips twitched. “I’m touched. Unfortunately, there aren’t many hotels in this area. Unless you know something I don’t?”
He leaped over a large boulder, briefly debating the possibility of taking the direct path over the edge of the cliff, only to instantly dismiss it. There might be caves they could use to wait out the daylight hours and the surging tide would hopefully wash away their trail, but Sally was only half demon and he wasn’t about to risk injuring her.
“Maybe.”
Not expecting a response to his teasing, Roke came to an abrupt halt to study her guarded expression.
“Are you going to share?”
She refused to meet his searching gaze. “My mother was paranoid to the point of obsession. Probably because she was hated by most people who met her.” She grimaced. “She has at least half a dozen safe houses in the area.”
Safe houses? Anger surged through him. “Why didn’t you mention them earlier?”
“I forgot about them.”
“No,” he snapped. Dammit. He’d known that she was hiding something from him earlier. Now it was obvious what she was plotting. “You intended to run from me as soon as the sun rose.”
She knew better than to try to lie, but a stubborn expression settled on her delicate face.
“I won’t be forced to go to your clan.”
“I told you . . .” He bit off his furious words. It was less than an hour before sunrise and they were on the run from a demon who could make the very air a weapon. Now wasn’t the time for this particular argument. “Which way?” he demanded through clenched fangs.
She kept her gaze averted. “Just keep heading south.”
In silence, he carried her down the steep bluff, entering the thick grove of trees. Sally shivered and he wrinkled his nose at the frost coating the underbrush and the sharp stones that cut into his moccasins.
He might be annoyed as hell with the female in his arms, but he couldn’t halt his instinctive concern. A vampire was impervious to the elements, but Sally was clearly uncomfortable in the chilled air.
“I don’t suppose your mother’s safe house is a penthouse suite at The Ritz-Carlton?”
She lifted her brows. “This from the vampire who lives in the middle of the desert?”
He shrugged, in no mood to admit his concern was for her welfare.
Sometimes she annoyed the shit out of him.
“I wouldn’t say no to a hot shower and a bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII Black Pearl cognac.”
She grimaced. “Let’s just say that it has more of a Bear Grylls vibe to it.”
He swallowed a curse, silently reassuring himself that it would only be for a few hours. As soon as night arrived he intended to take her far away from this frigid, desolate spot.
“At least tell me that it’s sunproof.”
“You won’t roast. I promise.” She pointed toward an overgrown trail between the trees. “Follow that path.” They traveled over a mile before she pointed again. “There.”
Roke lowered Sally to her feet, frowning as he searched the small clearing.
“Is it an invisible safe house?”
“Something better,” she assured him, lifting a warning hand. “Stay back.”
“Why?”
“There are spells we have to avoid.”
He watched as she cautiously inched her way forward, her eyes closed as she concentrated on the invisible magic surrounding the small clearing.
“What kind of spells?”
“Most of them are simply to repel stray trespassers. But there are a couple that are dangerous.” She held up a hand, speaking soft words that carried a power even he could feel. After several tense minutes she finally opened her eyes. “I’ve created a small pathway. Follow my footsteps.”
She was forging forward before he could halt her, leaving behind Roke to mutter his opinion of impulsive witches who charged into dangerous situations without concern for the sanity of the poor vampire who was stuck trying to keep her alive.
Carefully following in her path, he battled his way past the relentless weaves of revulsion that managed to leak through Sally’s barriers. The spell was strong enough that he had to physically fight the urge to turn and flee, reminding him just how much power Sally had to expend to keep them from being harmed.
She needed rest and food.
Two things he intended to ensure she had plenty of once they were safe.
Concentrating on the slender form in front of him, Roke pressed forward until they were at last through the magical barriers.
He shook off the lingering strands of magic, moving to stand at Sally’s side as she knelt in the middle of the clearing. She muttered another spell and the ground parted to reveal a large hole.
“This is it?” he muttered.
“Yep.” She swung her legs over the edge of the hole. “Let me go first.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t been here since I was sixteen and I can’t be sure whether or not my mother left behind any painful surprises.”
“Sally,” he growled.
“I’ll be careful.” The promise had barely left her lips before she was dropping into the hole.
“Dammit,” Roke hissed in horror, swiftly leaping behind her.
He landed in a surprisingly large room that was lined with thick walls of cement.
“Ta-da.” Sally sent him a mocking smile. “You see, sunproof enough for the fussiest vampire.”
Stepping forward, Roke lifted his brows as he took in the towering shelves that held cans of food as well as bottled water. There was a narrow bed shoved against a far wall and an open cabinet that held row after row of ceramic pots filled with potions, dried herbs, and copper pans for mixing spells. On the top of the cabinet were kerosene lanterns, basic tools, and a first aid kit.
“Your mother built this?”
She shrugged. “Actually, I think it was a bomb shelter before she decided it suited her purposes and claimed it for herself.”
“It will do. At least for today,” he murmured, moving forward to touch the pallor of her cheek. “First dinner. And then bed.”
Chapter Six
Levet surveyed the tangled mass of steel and chrome and rubber that had once been Roke’s motorcycle. A petulant scowl marred his forehead.
It wasn’t his fault.
How was he to know that anyone would be stupid enough to put such a sharp curve in the road? Or that the motorcycle would acquire a mind of its own and fly off the road to smash into a tree?
“Mon dieu. What an absurd machine,” he muttered, well aware that Roke was bound to blame him for the wreck. Vampires were so unreasonable. “Who would build a vehicle with only two wheels? Roke should be happy that I rid him of such a faulty piece of equipment. He might have been seriously injured.”
Brushing the dust from his wings, Levet wrinkled his snout, considering the possibility of a long vacation in the Bahamas.
Sand, palm trees, and drinks with little umbrellas in them.
What more could a gargoyle want?
And perhaps in a few centuries Roke would have forgotten all about his silly motorcycle.
It was the scent of brimstone that yanked him out of his broodings, making his tail twitch in warning.
“Yannah?” He searched the darkness, confused when there was no sign of the tiny demon who kept his life in constant chaos. Then, without warning, he felt a familiar tug that started deep inside him spreading outward until he was consumed by a sudden darkness. “Eek.”
Only seconds passed, but
Levet knew he was being jerked through space. How often had Yannah taken his hand and smiled sweetly before zapping them halfway around the world? And this felt exactly the same, although this was the first time he’d been alone when he was being zapped.
It only made the terrifying experience worse.
Coming to a gut-wrenching halt, the darkness abruptly parted and Levet spread his wings as he struggled to keep his balance.
Mon dieu, he would never get used to that.
Never.
Waiting for the dizziness to clear, Levet glanced around the large cave.
There wasn’t much to see, but his gargoyle senses could detect the vast spiderweb of caverns beneath his feet and catch the scent of river water that wafted on the breeze.
Ah. He recognized his surroundings.
This was the hidden lair south of Chicago and where the Oracles were staying.
Which, of course, made sense.
Yannah’s mother, Siljar, was a piggly-wiggly, no wait . . . was it big-wit? Wig? Bah. Whatever. Siljar was an Oracle who carried a lot of power on the Commission and Yannah was her most trusted ally. The two would never admit that Yannah carried out secret duties for her mother, but Levet was not entirely blind.
Yannah would abruptly travel to strange places and skulk about areas he considered far too dangerous, then without warning would be halfway around the world, feverishly digging through ancient manuscripts.
Not that she ever discussed her mysterious duties with him.
Non.
He was just the male she wished to keep tucked in her private lair with his wings firmly clipped.
Scowling at the thought, Levet was preparing to go in search of the aggravating female when a demon stepped into the cave from a hidden entrance.
The small man was swathed in a heavy robe that covered him from head to toe, making him look like a monk with his bulge of a belly, his round face, and his nearly bald head.
But his pale, translucent skin marked him as a Miera demon.
“You,” Levet called, making a sound of impatience when the creature pretended he hadn’t heard him. “Sacrebleu. Are you deaf?”
The male Miera came to a reluctant halt, his expression carefully bland.
“Are you speaking to me?”