Hunt the Darkness

  “I thought you would prefer to wash in hot water.”

  Her lips thinned, as if considering where she wanted him to shove his hot water; then, with an extreme effort she rose to her feet and gave a regal nod.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He bristled at her brittle composure, while his lips twisted at the irony.

  Since he’d become clan chief, he’d been convinced that his mate would be a replica of himself.

  Controlled. Aloof. Detached.

  Now he wanted Sally to lash out at him. To storm around the small space, her eyes sparking with temper and her hair swinging around her beautiful face. Hell, he’d be happy if she threw something at him.

  Sally Grace was a bundle of impulsive, unpredictable emotions. It was just . . . wrong to see her so contained.

  And he had no one to blame but himself, he acknowledged with a pang of regret.

  Still, maybe it was for the best, the voice of reason whispered.

  This mating, no matter how real it might feel, was an illusion. His responsibility to his people was a duty that was real.

  A damned shame it didn’t feel like it was for the best.

  In fact, he wanted to grab her and kiss her until her icy composure melted and her arms wrapped around his neck....

  Shit.

  “I’ve called Cyn,” he abruptly announced, adjusting the various weapons he had strapped to his body. Anything to keep his hands to himself. “He’ll meet us at Pandora’s Box in an hour.”

  She frowned. “What’s Pandora’s Box?”

  “One of Viper’s numerous bars.”

  A hint of fire threatened to break through the ice. “You arranged a meeting and didn’t think you should discuss the decision with me?”

  He shrugged. He wasn’t going to compromise when it came to her safety.

  “It’ll be well guarded.”

  “By vampires.”

  “Not exclusively,” he said, having visited more than one of the clan chief of Chicago’s clubs. “Viper is an equal opportunity employer.”

  She arched a brow. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

  It shouldn’t be. Viper’s clubs tended to be shocking even by demon standards.

  Blood, sex, and violence were always on the menu.

  They also happened to be guarded by Viper’s most loyal warriors.

  He nodded his head toward the music box that was set on the floor next to the bed.

  “We need to find someplace where you’ll be safe while we figure out what is so important about your box.”

  “Right.” Another flash of fire in the dark eyes. Thank the gods. “Would you go to a witch’s coven?”

  He ignored her question.

  “We’ll meet Cyn there and you can get something decent to eat.” He held up a hand as her lips parted to protest. “If you’re not comfortable, we’ll leave. Okay?”

  Her lips snapped together, the ice returning. “Fine.”

  He bit back a curse. The sun had barely set and it already promised to be a long night.

  He shoved impatient fingers through his hair. “Is there anything else you need?”

  She met his gaze. “Privacy.”

  His lips twisted. A direct hit.

  “You want me to turn my back?”

  “The spells are woven to keep intruders out.” Her chin tilted. “Not to keep people from leaving.”

  A low growl rumbled through Roke. The primitive urge to remain and make sure his mate was taking proper care of herself was a ruthless compulsion that beat through him even as he forced his feet to carry him toward the front of the room.

  She needed space.

  He could at least give her that.

  “I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”

  Not waiting for a response, he leaped upward, landing on the edge of the hole.

  His feet barely touched the grass when he was yanking his dagger from its sheath.

  Fey.

  The scent was all around them.

  Fairy. Imp. Even a few wood sprites.

  He scanned the darkness, sensing the gathered crowd scurrying away at his abrupt appearance.

  Concentrating on their rapid departure, Roke nearly missed the stack of items that had been piled at the edge of the clearing.

  Flowers, ceramic pots filled with fresh honey, carved wooden figurines, and exquisite golden jewelry set with priceless gems had been left behind.

  “What the hell?”

  Sally quickly scrubbed herself clean with the hot water and soap that Roke had prepared, telling herself that she didn’t care if it was the first time anyone had ever considered her comfort. Had he scented the water with dried lavender? No . . . it didn’t matter.

  Just as it didn’t matter that her body still tingled with the pleasure of his skillful touch.

  He was an ass.

  First clouding her mind with his deceitful-sneaky-vampire seduction and then leaping off the bed as if she were carrying the plague.

  Pulling on her clothes, she suddenly blushed.

  Okay, maybe he hadn’t actually seduced her. She recalled being a fairly willing participant.

  Still, there’d been no reason to insult her.

  Not unless he was afraid that she might start to believe this mating was real.

  Two souls eternally entwined . . .

  It was that humiliating thought that had given her the ability to face him with a composure she was far from feeling.

  She’d be damned if she would let him know how easily he could wound her.

  Fully dressed, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and grabbed the music box. Then, extinguishing the candles, she made her exit by the more mundane method of the steps built into the cement wall.

  Crawling over the edge of the hole, she straightened, startled to discover that Roke was standing nearby, his gaze trained on the edge of the clearing.

  She’d expected him to be out doing . . . what?

  Vampire things.

  Hunting. Sucking blood. Pissing off witches.

  Instantly on alert, she moved to his side, at last catching sight of strange objects.

  “Blessed goddess, where did those come from?”

  The ground trembled with his power. He obviously wasn’t pleased with the strange gifts.

  Giving her a warning glance to stay put, he moved to walk around the pile of flowers and pots and . . . good Lord . . . was that jewelry?

  “It came from the fey,” he murmured, his hand reaching to grasp a delicate necklace spun from strands of gold and sprinkled with shimmering opals.

  Naturally she ignored his warning, walking to join him. “Why?”

  He gave her a frustrated glare before shaking his head.

  “I don’t—”

  She studied the pure, elegant lines of his profile shown to perfection in the moonlight.

  “Roke?”

  “A tribute.”

  “A what?” She glanced toward the pile that was clearly filled with items that would be precious to any fey. Why would they leave a tribute here? “Oh.” She was struck by inspiration. “Could this be a holy site?”

  Roke straightened, dropping the necklace back onto the pile. “It’s possible.”

  Translation: He didn’t believe for a minute this was a holy site.

  She absently rubbed her inner arm, an unconscious habit she’d developed since the mating mark appeared.

  “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  He turned to meet her worried gaze, his eyes glowing silver in the darkness.

  “It could be for some fey deity, or it could be for the box. Or—”

  She grimaced. “I’m not going to like this ‘or,’ am I?”

  His expression was grim. “Or for you.”

  She was shaking her head before the words left his lips. “No.”

  With a frown he reached out his hand, cupping her cheek with his slender fingers.

  “Sally, it’s dangerous to stick your head in the sand.”

&nbs
p; She brushed away his fingers, aggravated as much by her heart-jolting response to his touch as by his implication that she was being deliberately obtuse.

  She had enough problems without being accused of being some sort of fey-magnet.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I used to live here.” She waved her hand toward the nearby trees. “I played in these woods for years without being inundated with fairy gifts.”

  His expression remained stern. “You left the night your powers manifested.”

  She shuddered. She didn’t need a reminder of the night she’d been driven from her home.

  “So what?”

  “They had no opportunity to sense your true nature.”

  Her lips parted only to snap shut.

  Damn.

  She couldn’t deny he had a point.

  Like most mongrels her demon blood hadn’t started to show itself until she hit puberty. Which meant that it hadn’t been until her mother had sliced her palm with a knife to perform a simple spell that anyone realized she was anything but human.

  “You think I might be a fairy?”

  His brooding gaze shifted to take in the glorious highlights that shimmered like flames in her hair.

  “I think there’s something about you that the fairies consider worth risking dangerous spells and the unmistakable scent of a vampire to leave these gifts.”

  She took an abrupt step away from the priceless treasures, a sharp fear piercing her heart.

  “No . . . it’s not me,” she rasped, holding up her hand so she could wave the box beneath Roke’s nose. “It has to be this.”

  He studied her a long moment, easily sensing she was on the edge.

  “If that’s true, then we need to meet with Cyn so he can decipher the glyphs. It’s the only way we’ll get the answers we need,” he said, his tone so reasonable that she began to nod her head in agreement.

  Abruptly realizing she’d been cleverly manipulated, she sent him a frustrated glare.

  “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

  He stepped forward, wrapping her in a swirl of frigid power.

  “Sally, if I wanted to force you to return to the vampires we both know that I could.”

  She flattened her lips at the blunt words. They were all too true.

  And as much as she hated to admit she needed help, she wasn’t an idiot.

  Whether it was the box or herself that was attracting weird Miera demons and oddly generous fey, she had to make it stop.

  How could she search for clues to her father when she was dodging near-death experiences?

  “Fine.” She hid her surge of dread behind a stoic mask. “How far is it?”

  “A few miles south of here.” He scowled, as if annoyed by her brittle tone.

  Why? He’d gotten his way, hadn’t he?

  “Does a few miles mean five or fifty?”

  “Less than twenty.” He held her wary gaze. “We can travel faster if I carry you.”

  She sucked in a startled breath. She might be pissed at the annoying vampire, but that didn’t keep him from being ridiculously gorgeous.

  The mere mention of being cradled against the wide chest with his strong arm wrapped around her was enough to stir heated fantasies.

  Her lips trailing over the smooth, bronzed skin. Her hands tangled in the silken strands of his hair . . .

  “I think I can manage,” she muttered, abruptly turning to head out of the woods.

  With long strides he was swiftly at her side, the cool scent of powerful male teasing at her senses.

  They walked in silence until they reached the path leading south along the cliffs, Roke’s gaze scanning for any danger.

  Then, without warning, he lifted his fingers to lightly touch the exposed skin of her nape.

  “Are we going to discuss the elephant in the room?” he demanded, his tones dark . . . compelling.

  She grimaced. Crap. Had he picked up her X-rated thoughts?

  “No.”

  His frustration hummed in the chilled air. “So you’re going to pretend that I didn’t strip you naked and kiss every inch of your silken skin?”

  Oh . . . hell.

  She struggled to breathe.

  “Exactly.”

  His fingers moved to stroke over the frantically pounding pulse at the base of her throat.

  “That I didn’t taste your climax on my tongue?”

  She knocked his hand away, glaring at him as every nerve in her body sizzled with excitement. The precise memory of cresting beneath the stroke of his tongue was almost enough to topple her over the edge again.

  “Stop it,” she hissed, not sure if she meant Roke or her renegade thoughts.

  “Not talking about our mutual attraction won’t make it go away.”

  She didn’t bother to try to deny that it was mutual.

  What was the point?

  “Will talking about it make it go away?”

  His gaze returned to the surrounding countryside, scanning the thickening shadows as the path led them to the very edge of the cliffs.

  “Do you regret what happened?”

  Regret?

  Oh yeah. Sally had plenty of regrets. But not for the reason Roke suspected.

  It was going to be hard enough to scrub Roke from her thoughts once the mating was broken. It was going to be ten times more difficult now that her body was addicted to his touch.

  “It was a mistake.”

  His profile tensed, as if she’d managed to wound him.

  Which was ridiculous.

  “A mistake?”

  “One that won’t happen again.”

  His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Just keep telling yourself that.”

  Brandel wasn’t prepared for the sudden mist that floated in the middle of his private rooms.

  If you could call the damp, dismal caves rooms.

  They felt far more like crypts just waiting for a corpse.

  They were, however, the one place he could go to be completely alone.

  Or at least that was the plan.

  Still weakened from having a house collapsing on top of his corporal form, followed by an unwelcome encounter with Siljar, the last thing he wanted was another unpleasant confrontation.

  Which was precisely why he’d ignored the summons from Raith.

  He hadn’t expected his partner-in-crime to take the risk of making an actual appearance.

  “So, you failed?” The voice spoke directly in his mind.

  Brandel remained perched on the edge of his cot, too weary to pretend that he wasn’t exhausted.

  His journey to Canada had been one unpleasant surprise after another.

  He’d expected to find some forgotten temple that had been unearthed by annoyingly curious humans. Hieroglyphs that had been buried for centuries were known to release low-level bursts of magic when first exposed. They were usually harmless and passed as the contained magic spread through the atmosphere.

  The last thing he’d expected was to be confronted by a vampire clan chief and one of the most powerful witches he’d ever encountered. And he most certainly hadn’t expected to discover a box that pulsed with enough ancient magic to make his mouth water.

  So rare.

  So precious.

  He’d been blinded by his hunger to get his hand on the object.

  Which was why he’d blundered so badly.

  “It was a temporary setback.”

  The mist stirred, anger vibrating through the air. “Did you at least determine the source of the magic?”

  Brandel gave a reluctant nod. “A box.”

  “Odd. What’s in it?”

  “Impossible to say. It was guarded by very powerful glyphs.”

  Raith wasn’t pleased. Brandel felt his companion’s anger pulsate through the cave, threatening to reveal his presence to the highly sensitive Oracles spread throughout the sprawling caverns.

  “You have to get that box. Its magic is beginning to spread.”

  “I unde
rstand the danger,” he hissed. “Better than you.”

  “Then why are you just sitting here?”

  Brandel scowled. How easy it was for Raith to toss out commands while he remained safely concealed.

  It was Brandel who was forced to take all the risks.

  “I can’t just leave.” He spoke the protest out loud. “Siljar already knows I traveled away from the caves.”

  Pain lanced through him, nearly jolting him out of his corporal form.

  “That wasn’t a request.”

  Brandel flinched, but he wasn’t stupid enough to strike back.

  Raith had been in close contact with their prisoner for centuries. His ability to absorb such magic had given him a power that Brandel couldn’t hope to match.

  Not unless . . .

  He deliberately squashed the dangerous thought. At the moment he wasn’t alone in his mind.

  Instead he held up his hand that was beginning to show a hint of translucency.

  “I need to feed.”

  “Feed, then take care of business.”

  The words echoed in his mind as the mist disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared.

  Brandel studied his fading hand, his thoughts returning to the box that held the sort of magic that offered possibilities he’d never before considered.

  Dark, treacherous thoughts.

  “Mine,” he whispered softly.

  Chapter Eight

  It took almost two hours to reach the wharf that was built on a bleak stretch of rocky beach and another quarter of an hour for the boat to navigate the rough waves. But at last they reached the small island just off the coast.

  Tugging the hand of a reluctant Sally, Roke led her past the weaves of illusion that fooled the human eye into believing there was nothing more than an abandoned lighthouse on the island and entered Pandora’s Box.

  Instantly they were surrounded by a soaring Greek temple filled with amphitheaters where naked water sprites danced and heated baths came complete with beautiful nymphs.

  As they entered the massive foyer, toga-clad slaves appeared before them, offering glasses of champagne or, for him, a sip of blood from their throat. Most vampires preferred their drinks straight from the tap.

  Roke hastily waved them away, sensing Sally’s swelling fear.

  She had every reason to distrust vampires and he’d just brought her to a place filled with dozens of his brothers, all indulging in their most primitive desires.