He couldn't take her with him. She would be safest here, and her safety mattered more to him than anything else.
When this whole mess with the Argonauts ended, he would come back for her. He would whisk this woman, his woman, his wife--gods, he liked the sound of that--to Atlantis. They were going to stay in bed for days, weeks, perhaps months, and they were going to make love every way possible, then invent some new ways.
"Target in sight," he said.
"Squeeze the trigger," she said.
He easily recalled how she had squeezed him. How her inquisitive fingers had slipped beneath the hem of his shirt and skimmed the taut flesh of his lower abdomen. He ground his teeth together.
"Darius?"
"Hmm?" he bit out.
"Squeeze the trigger." She blew in his ear.
He squeezed. He heard a click.
"If the couch were human, and this a loaded gun, a bullet would have shot out and punctured skin, causing grave injury," Grace the temptress said. The woman who had sneaked past his defenses and infiltrated his senses. The woman who had captured his heart. "The lining inside these vests stops bullets and keeps them from entering bodies."
Darius spun, keeping her arms locked around him. The gun fell from his hands. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists and directed her aim lower.
"I have another target in mind," he said. And he kept his "target" busy for the next hour.
SATED AND REDRESSED, Grace tucked her gun in the waist of her jeans, filled her pockets with bullets and helped Darius gather the remaining vests. With that done, they squared off, facing each other. Neither moved.
"It's time to go," he finally said.
"I'm ready," she said with false confidence. She raised her chin, not removing her gaze from him, but daring him to contradict her.
He regarded her silently for an inexorable moment, his expression blank. "You will remain here, Grace."
She bit back a scowl. She'd known he would do this, but knowing didn't stop the anger, the hurt. "Wrong," she said. "Alex is my brother, and I'll help find him."
"Your safety comes first."
"I'm safest with you." Her eyes narrowed, showing him the first sign of her increasing ire. "Besides, I'm your wife. Where you go, I go."
"I'll return for you and bring back your brother."
She gripped his shirt, tugging him close. "I can help you, and we both know it."
Pain flashed in his eyes, but was quickly overshadowed by determination. "This is the only way. I must lead my dragons into war, and I will not allow my woman near battlegrounds."
"What about the binding spell?" Ha! She watched him with almost smug expectation. "I can't leave your presence."
"The spell broke when the moon disappeared."
Her shoulders dropped. She racked her brain, searching for anything, anything at all, that might change his mind. When the answer arose, she smiled slowly. "Perhaps you're forgetting the Argonauts. That they had me followed."
Arching a brow, he crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you saying?"
"They could have me followed again. They could try to hurt me this time, instead of simply watching me."
He stroked his jaw as he considered her words. "You are right," he admitted darkly.
She relaxed, thinking she finally convinced him of her point--until he next opened his mouth.
"I will simply lock you inside my palace."
Her earlier scowl broke free, and she poked him in the chest. "I like this macho thing you've got going on. I really do. But I won't stand for it."
Without a word he clasped her wrist with one hand and held the handle of the suitcase with the other. The air around them began to swirl. Bright-colored sparks flickered like dying lightbulbs, then quickly sped past them. The temperature never changed, the wind never kicked up, but suddenly the cave closed around her.
Grace didn't have time to catch her bearings. Never breaking his momentum, Darius pulled her inside the mist. The moment she realized exactly where she was, she threw herself in his arms.
"I've got you," he said.
His voice soothed her racing heartbeat. Only a minute or two passed before Darius unhooked her hands from his neck, gave her a quick kiss and ushered her into another cave.
Not even slightly dizzy, she cataloged her newest surroundings. A man--Brand, she recalled--stood off to the side. He held a sword above his head, and there was a deadly gleam in his eyes as he stared at her. Before she could utter a protest, Grace found herself shoved behind Darius.
"Brand," Darius barked.
At the sound of his voice, Brand's gaze finally flicked away from her. He glanced at Darius and relaxed. He even lowered his sword. "Why does the woman still live?" he demanded.
"Touch her and I will kill you."
"She is from the surface," he spat.
"She is my mate."
"She is--"
"My mate," he said firmly. "Therefore, she is one of us."
A childish part of Grace wanted to stick her tongue out at Brand. She hadn't forgotten that he'd once called her a whore.
Brand considered those words, and his fierce expression softened. He even grinned. "Tell me what you learned."
"Gather the others and meet me in the dining hall. I will tell you when I tell them."
Brand nodded, and with a final glance in her direction, he rushed off.
"I am glad to be home," Darius said. His strength had returned in its entirety the moment he'd stepped through the mist, and now he breathed deeply of its familiar essence. "I need you to demonstrate the gun and vests to my warriors."
She shook her head. "Not unless you're willing to compromise with me."
"I do not compromise." His tone was as stern as his expression. "Come."
She glared at him the entire way to the dining hall. The dragon warriors were gathered around the table, standing with their arms locked behind their backs and their feet braced apart. When they spotted her, they each glanced to Brand who wore a smug, I-told-you-so frown. The youngest of the group offered her a smile, if you could call baring of teeth a smile. She waved nervously.
"Hi, again," she said.
Darius squeezed her hand. "Do not be scared," he told her, then glanced pointedly at each man present. "They will not muss a single hair on your head."
In the next instant, questions were hurled at Darius. "Why did you take a human for your mate? When? What happened while you were gone? What happened to Javar?"
"Give him a minute," Grace told them.
Darius smiled at her and tenderly kissed her lips.
Madox gasped. "Did you see that?"
"I did. I saw," Grayley said, awed.
"A human female has succeeded where we failed," Renard said. "She made Darius smile."
"I've made him laugh, too," she pronounced.
Darius rolled his eyes. "Show them what we have brought."
Despite his failure to compromise, she did as he asked. His safety, and that of his people, came before her sensibilities. "This is a Kevlar vest," she explained, demonstrating how to maneuver the Velcro fasteners.
"You must remain in human form to wear it," Darius said. "Your wings will be trapped by its wrappings. However, it will protect your chest against the enemies' weapons."
"I have a more important part I'd like to protect," Brittan said with a smile of his own.
A round of laughter followed.
"Now demonstrate the gun," Darius said.
Grace nodded and withdrew the gun from the waist of her pants. "This expels bullets, and those bullets cut through clothing and skin and bone, and sometimes lodge themselves inside the body. You can't see them, but they leave a hole and make the victim bleed. If you want to survive, you must dig them out."
Silence reigned as they considered her words and actions.
Each of the men wanted to view the gun. She once again double-checked to make sure she'd removed the bullets, then passed it around. "They come in many sizes, some much bi
gger than this, so be prepared."
After everyone viewed the weapon, Darius returned it to her. "Guns such as this were used to destroy Javar and his army."
Some warriors gasped. Some hissed. Some blinked in shock. "So they are dead?" Madox asked sharply.
Darius didn't flinch his gaze. "Yes. Both humans and vampires seized the palace."
Their fury became a palpable force, wrapping around each of them. "Why did you make us wait? Why did you not let us slaughter the vampires days ago," Tagart shouted.
"Had you approached them, you would be dead," he said flatly. "Vampires are already powerful, but aided as they are by the humans..."
Tagart had the grace to nod in acknowledgment.
"An entire dragon army wiped out," the tallest said, shaking his head. "It hardly seems possible."
"We will claim vengeance this day," Darius said. "We will reclaim Atlantis, our home. We go to war!"
Cheers of anticipation erupted.
"Gather what you need," Darius finished when the cheers died down. "We leave within the hour."
"Wait!" Grace called as the warriors shuffled out of the room. They paused and glanced back at her. "There's a man, a human with red hair. He's my brother. Keep him safe."
They looked to Darius. He nodded. "He is to be protected and brought to me."
The men filed out. All except Brand. He approached Darius's side. "The men need you to lead them. I will remain behind and guard the mist."
"Thank you," Darius said, and clapped him on the shoulder. "You are a true friend."
When they were alone, he turned to Grace. "Come," he said, an order he'd obviously become quite fond of.
She didn't protest as he led her to the entrance of his room. "Are you sure you don't want me to guard your back?" she said as he hustled her inside.
His golden eyes darkened. "I do not mind a woman going into battle. I mind my woman going into battle."
"Darius--"
"Grace." He closed the distance between them and meshed her lips with his. His tongue swept inside, conquering. She wound her arms around his neck, accepting him fully. Loving him completely. When he pulled away, they were both panting.
"Darius," she whispered again.
His heated gaze met hers. "I love you," he said.
Of all the times to give her those words!
"Tell me what I want to hear," he demanded.
"I love you, too," she sighed. "Here, take my gun." He already had bullets.
He took it and gave her one final kiss. Without another word, he left her in his room. Alone. The doors slid firmly shut behind him, and Grace looked down at her hands. They were shaking, not from the lust that sluiced through her body; that was always there and would never go away. This time a gut-wrenching fear caused her tremors. Fear for Darius. For her brother.
She had thought about stealing a medallion, but had changed her mind at the last moment. Waiting here would be hard, but she would do it. For Darius. She would pray and she would plan, because one way or another vampires and Argonauts were going down. Hopefully, her men would not be harmed in the process. If they were...God help the citizens of Atlantis. Guns would be the least of their worries.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DARIUS STOOD in the forest, gazing down at the carnage before him. He'd flown here at lightning speed, only to learn the unit he'd sent to guard Javar's palace had been bested. They were covered in a white film and blood streamed from bullet wounds. Some were alive. Most were dead. His wings retracted and he dropped his vest. His hands curled into fists. Those humans must be stopped.
"Find the survivors," he called. Then he and the dragon warriors branched off, searching for the living.
He cursed under his breath as moans of pain filled his ears. How many more would die before this ended? Frowning, he strode over to Vorik, who lay prone and still. He knelt down.
Vorik's eyelids opened slowly and Darius pushed out a breath of relief that his man lived. He withdrew a sharp silver blade from his back scabbard and blew fire on the metal. When it cooled, he dug out the bullets just as Grace had shown him. Vorik grimaced and tried to pull away.
"Tell me of the attack," he said to distract him.
"Their weapons..." Vorik said, calming. "Strange."
Renard approached and crouched beside him just as Vorik fainted. "What happened to them?" He touched the white, dusty coating and jerked his hand away. "What is this cold substance that covers their bodies?"
Darius turned stark eyes in his friend's direction. "I do not know what it is. Don gloves if you must, but do as Grace advised and dig out the bullets."
The carnage reminded him of the day he'd found his family slaughtered, and as he worked, he had to bite back a groan. Had he not shared his pain with Grace, he might have collapsed from the weight of it now. With shaky hands he continued on to body after body. The dragon's recuperative blood helped them heal as soon as the small bullets were removed. If only Javar had known this, how many of his warriors could he have saved?
When he finished, Darius gazed down at his blood-soaked hands. He'd had blood on his hands before, and hadn't reacted. But this affected him. How much more blood would he wear before this day ended? He knew the answer: by the end of the day, blood would flow like a river. He only prayed the blood did not belong to his own forces, but his enemies.
He shoved to his feet, gripping the hilt of his blade. "We must reclaim what belongs to us," he shouted. "Who will fight with me?"
"I will." "Me," rang out. Every warrior standing wanted the chance to avenge the wrongs done.
"May the gods be with us," he said under his breath. His wings sprang from his back. He swooped up his vest, gripping the black material and smearing it with blood. Using the strength in his legs, he pushed off the ground. The glide of his wings kept him in the air and moving higher, faster. His army followed behind him. He heard the rustle of their wings, felt the intensity of their determination.
Human guards roamed the top of Javar's palace. When they spotted Darius, they shouted, aimed and fired. In the air, he dodged the multiple rounds of bullets and spewed his own fire. His warriors did the same, burning the humans and their weapons. Then, one of his warriors grunted and was suddenly falling from the sky. He didn't see who it was, but continued breathing his fire.
A gong sounded, loud, high-pitched.
The humans atop the ledge didn't live long enough to hear it. Their scorched bodies withered into ash and floated on the breeze. Darius settled his feet on the jagged crystal. His wings retracted, and he quickly drew on his vest and fastened the straps. When his warriors were properly protected, as well, he met each of their stares one by one and waited for nods of readiness.
He withdrew a long, silver blade with one hand, the gun with the other, and approached the dome seam. Sensing his medallion, the two sides silently parted. He gazed down, but could not see anyone inside, surrounded as they were by a thick fog. He heard the shuffle of their panicked footsteps, however, and the murmur of their fear.
He would have preferred flying into the unknown, but the vest would not allow it.
He jumped.
His men quickly followed suit.
Down, down he fell. When his feet hit the ground, his entire body reverberated with the impact. He grunted and rolled.
Humans screamed and scrambled out of the way. Their shock delayed their reaction, and Darius used that to his advantage. He jolted to his feet, sword raised and struck his first victim. The human gurgled in pain, clutching his chest, then collapsed.
Behind him, his warriors fought valiantly. Breathing fire. Always breathing fire. He didn't pause, but advanced on his next target. A look of sheer terror contorted the young man's features when he realized Darius was coming for him. The man aimed a long black gun at Darius's chest and fired. One bullet after another slammed into Darius, causing only pinpricks of pain. He laughed. Eyes widening, the man dropped his gun and gripped a thick tube that rose from a red canister on his back.
White foam sprayed out and over Darius's skin, so cold his blood hardened with ice crystals. His dark laughter increased.
A Guardian of the Mist welcomed cold. Was strengthened by it. He raised his own gun and fired, aiming for the head. The man's body spasmed, then sank lifeless at his feet.
The alarm grew louder, screeching in his ears and soon blending with the sound of gunshots. He winced at a sharp sting in his thigh, glanced down, and saw trickles of blood where a bullet had pierced. Never slowing, he rocked forward, using the momentum to slay an enemy with his blade.
Having destroyed every human within striking distance, he darted his gaze throughout the room, searching where to fight next. He watched through horror-filled eyes as Madox fell, his body covered in white foam, blood seeping from numerous wounds in his arms and legs. Darius emptied his gun of bullets, all of them slamming into a human many yards away.
He didn't know if his friend lived or died, and his stomach twisted. With a growl of pure rage, he raced forward and spewed a stream of fire, catching the last of the humans and igniting them like a bonfire. They did not dodge it fast enough. Their screams echoed from the walls, and the scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils. He tossed his gun to the ground.
The moans soon quieted and smoldering corpses littered the floor. With the battle over, he counted how many of his men still stood. Only three had fallen. He carried Madox outside and laid him on the ground. The others followed, some limping, some relatively unharmed. Renard rushed to his side and examined Madox, then helped remove the bullets.
"He'll live," Renard announced with relief.
Filled with his own relief, Darius gripped the dagger he held and sank the tip into one of the wounds on his leg. He grimaced. The bullets hurt more coming out than they had going in, but he welcomed the pain.
As he continued to work the knife in his other injuries, he realized he and his warriors reigned victorious. Yet...where was the sense of joy and accomplishment he should have had?
"What do we do next?" Renard asked, sitting down beside him.
"I do not know. Their leader, Jason, was not here," he fumed.
"How do you know?"
"The cowardly bastard is--" Darius did not finish his sentence. Something stirred in his soul, something dark, and he knew Grace was in danger. His blood curdled. He ripped off his medallion and held it in his hands. Because he couldn't call on Grace's image, he said, "Show me Jason Graves."