Instead, he could only give a resigned sniff and point out the obvious.
“How could Salvatore have known you were coming?”
Damon frowned, clearly unable to answer Levet’s question.
“Gia?” he at last muttered.
Levet clicked his tongue. “You do not believe she would betray you.”
“No.” Damon grimaced, giving a regretful shake of his head. “She would never betray me. But someone did.” He allowed his wolf to glow in his eyes. “Tell me.”
“Sacrebleu. I have.”
“The truth.”
Levet knocked the sword away with the wand still clutched in his hand, ignoring the angry sparks that spouted out the end.
“The truth is that I came to St. Louis to visit my dear friend, Harley, and to give my blessing to the pups,” he said, glaring at the stubborn Were. “Unfortunately there was a misunderstanding with the stupid cur who refused to let me into the lair.”
Damon rolled his eyes. “Shocking.”
Levet graciously ignored his rudeness. It was increasingly obvious that Weres were incapable of the least pretense of civility.
“It was unacceptable, but I am never one to create a scene, so I decided to return to Chicago,” he informed his companion. “I was minding my own business when I ran across a . . .” The champagne eyes narrowed in warning, but Levet wasn’t about to be bullied by a mere animal. “Christmas angel.” He deliberately emphasized the name he’d been forbidden to say. “Trapped in a portal.”
Damon’s fingers tightened on the sword hilt, but he managed to resist the urge to do any beheading.
“You expect me to believe this ridiculous story?”
Levet shrugged. He no longer cared if the dog believed his story or not.
“She gave me the wand and warned me that Harley’s pups were in danger unless I halted you.” He finished his tale with a loud sniff.
“Pups?” Damon appeared remarkably outraged considering he claimed he didn’t believe Levet’s story. “I would never hurt newly born babies.”
Levet pointed the still sputtering wand toward the Were’s irate face. “But you said that it would be a pity for the pups.”
“I regret they’ll be forced to grow up without a father,” Damon corrected stiffly. “I understand how difficult it is.”
“Oh.” Levet gave a flick of his wings, not entirely pacified. There had to be a reason for Sera to be worried. “Perhaps it is not your intention, but something you do will harm them.”
Damon’s lips parted in protest, but he forgot his words as the mist at last faded away, revealing the two large Weres who stood in the middle of the opening, circling one another as they prepared to battle.
“Shit,” Damon muttered.
Chapter 5
Damon felt the increasingly familiar tug deep inside him before he was yanked out of his body and into . . . hell, into his other body in the center of the clearing.
There was a brief sense of disorientation before he was able to get a bearing on his surroundings.
His senses easily picked up the various curs and Weres who were standing in the darkness of the trees, no doubt acting as guards to make sure no one managed to interrupt the looming fight. There were also, astonishingly, at least two vampires with the sort of power that made his skin crawl.
Or maybe it wasn’t so astonishing, he told himself. The rumors that the King of Weres had made a treaty with the bloodsuckers were obviously true.
And he was in the presence of the king.
Turning his attention fully toward the Were standing directly in front of him, Damon reeled beneath the impact of Salvatore’s stunning power.
When Damon and his mother had been forced to leave the pack, Salvatore had already been coming into his strength, but Damon didn’t remember it being this extreme. Clearly Salvatore’s defeat of the demon lord, as well as his recent mating, had catapulted him into a level of strength that had been forgotten by most Weres.
Slowly adjusting to the sizzling power that buffeted against his body, Damon struggled to understand what the hell was going on.
Before he’d been tossed into situations from his past.
He had known exactly how the scene would play out, even if he didn’t want to relive the memory.
This time he didn’t have a damned clue what the hell was about to happen.
Which was terrifying the hell out of him.
As if sensing Damon’s unease, Salvatore narrowed his dark eyes that glowed with the power of his wolf.
“I offered you the opportunity to walk away from this fight,” the king said. “That pathway is still open.”
Damon discovered that his awareness didn’t give him control over his own body. Instead he was an unwelcome passenger as his “other” self gave a low growl and bared his teeth in open challenge.
“I’ve waited my entire life for this meeting,” he found himself saying, his breath creating small clouds of mist in the frigid air.
Salvatore cocked his head to one side, his piercing gaze searching Damon’s grim expression.
“You are . . . familiar.”
Damon felt his lips twist in a humorless smile. “I have a faint resemblance to my father.”
It took a minute before the king sucked in a shocked breath. “Mackenzie,” he muttered. “Which means you must be his youngest son, Damon.”
Damon took a sideways step, his concentration focused on the Were in front of him despite the number of lethal onlookers.
This was a “challenge.” Tradition demanded that no one interfere unless Damon attempted to cheat.
“So you remember me,” he said.
“Of course.” Salvatore matched his step, making sure Damon couldn’t attack his flank. “When you disappeared I feared your father had killed you.”
Damon made a sound of disgust. As far as he knew not one Were from their pack had made an effort to help his mother after they’d been banished. It hadn’t occurred to him that the pack might have assumed his father had simply killed them.
“Feared or hoped?”
Salvatore looked surprised. “Why would I wish you to be dead?”
“You must have known I would one day challenge you?”
“Why would I?”
Damon felt a flare of fury at the dismissive tone. “I am a potential heir.”
“Along with a dozen other Weres.”
It was true. There were always a number of potential heirs waiting for an opportunity to snatch the throne.
Of course few of them would dare to confront this particular king. Salvatore had defeated a demon lord. What chance did a mere Were have against him?
Damon, however, didn’t have a choice.
“They’ll have to get in line,” he muttered.
Salvatore frowned, as if troubled by Damon’s lack of burning ambition. “You’re not a fool, Damon. You must sense you’re no match for my power.”
Damon locked out the truth of his words.
Destiny didn’t have to make sense.
It just . . . was.
He took more steps to the side, watching as Salvatore mirrored his movements. He didn’t expect to find a weakness, but it seemed important to go through the motions.
“It’s my duty.”
Salvatore arched a brow. “Duty?”
“To my mother.”
“Cristo”. Salvatore was once again caught off guard. “Rosina is alive?”
Damon flinched. “No longer. She went mad from grief.”
Genuine regret touched Salvatore’s face. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” Damon growled.
“You blame me?”
Damon snarled beneath his breath. Hell, he wished he did blame the king. His life wouldn’t be ruled by guilt if he could somehow convince himself that his mother’s death had been someone else’s fault.
“I only want to end this,” he rasped. “One way or another.”
Salvatore muttered a curse. “There is only on
e potential end.”
Despite his inner reluctance to be standing in the frigid snow, waiting to fight the most powerful Were in the world, Damon couldn’t deny a stab of annoyance at the man’s supreme confidence.
“Then why are you hesitating?” he taunted.
The dark eyes flashed a dangerous gold in the moonlight as Salvatore’s wolf strained to be released.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Damon snorted. The king might pretend regret at the thought of hurting a fellow Were, but his wolf was anxious to taste blood.
“Then give me the throne.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
Damon shrugged. “Then we fight.”
Salvatore spread his arms. “Bring it on.”
Out of time and options, Damon allowed himself one last thought of his beloved Gia before he cleared his mind and reached toward his wolf.
This was the moment he’d been training for since his father had banished them from the pack.
It was his destiny.
Ignoring icy premonition of doom that trickled down his spine, Damon became lost in the exquisite agony of shifting into his wolf form.
He tilted back his head, feeling his body fall in on itself, his muscles thickening to rip apart his jeans and T-shirt. At the same time his face began to elongate and stretch as a thick fur rippled over his skin.
A primitive howl was ripped from his throat as his bones popped and snapped, shifting him from human to animal.
He had less than a second to savor the glory of his transformation before he heard a warning growl and Salvatore was racing across the clearing, already in his wolf form.
The king slammed into him with enough force to send him rolling to the side, the crack of his ribs sending a white-hot pain shooting through his side. Still, he was on his feet in a heartbeat, his massive teeth snapping toward Salvatore’s throat.
The male dodged the strike with a liquid grace that was amazing even for a pure-blood Were. Damn. Damon scrambled to regain his balance, feeling Salvatore’s teeth take a chunk out of his ear.
Damon snarled, his claws digging into the snow as he feinted to one side before launching to sink his teeth into Salvatore’s hindquarter. He had the satisfaction of tasting blood before Salvatore gave a savage kick to dislodge him.
Once again he tumbled across the snow, but before he could regain his feet, there was the sensation of tearing flesh as Salvatore managed to slice his claws along Damon’s spine. Warm blood flowed down Damon’s fur. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it was deep enough to weaken him.
Alarm sounded in Damon’s brain. Even as a wolf he understood that if he didn’t end this quickly, he would be dead.
A fine plan until he whirled around to meet the king’s glowing, golden gaze. Suddenly he realized that Salvatore hadn’t yet unleashed his full powers. Damon didn’t think the bastard was toying with him. But . . . he hadn’t truly tried to kill him.
Damon’s heart clenched with regret.
His conscience wouldn’t allow him to concede defeat. Not when he was weirdly convinced his mother’s ghost was watching him with disappointment.
As the king had said . . . there was only one conclusion.
Feeling almost compelled by a force greater than himself, Damon bunched his muscles, then with one mighty surge, he was flying forward.
Salvatore was prepared. Rising onto his back legs, he met Damon’s charge with a flurry of teeth and claws. Snarls filled the clearing as the two predators battled, the air scented with the tang of blood. Distantly Damon was aware of the shouts from the onlookers, and even the chilled power of the vampires, but the focus of his attention remained locked on the Were who had used his large body to force Damon to the ground.
He was losing blood at a rapid rate now, his muscles weakening as Salvatore’s teeth clenched around his throat.
It was all about to be over, was his final thought.
But it wasn’t.
Without warning, he felt a familiar tingle of magic as his body abruptly turned back to human.
Damon cursed, baffled by the unwelcome transformation.
To turn human signaled his surrender. The one thing he’d been determined to avoid.
Unaware that Damon had intended the fight to be to the death, Salvatore instantly released his lethal clamp on Damon’s throat. Then, with a shimmer of power, Salvatore shifted to his human form, kneeling in the snow beside Damon’s body that remained sprawled on the snow.
Damon made a sound of frustration, desperately trying to call on his wolf. But he was suddenly paralyzed, as if his injuries had left him incapable of controlling his own body.
Perhaps this was what it felt like to die, he acknowledged wryly, an unexpected warmth beginning to spread over his chest.
Odd, he had thought it would be more . . . memorable.
His naked body relaxed in the snow as he prepared to meet death with at least the pretense of dignity, watching as a frown tugged at Salvatore’s brow.
What the hell was wrong with the arrogant bastard? Had he hoped for a bloodier battle? Or perhaps he was annoyed it was taking Damon so long to die?
Wishing he had the strength to get in one last punch, Damon was startled when Salvatore sucked in a harsh breath, his narrowed gaze lowering to Damon’s chest.
“Cristo,” he muttered, his expression filled with revulsion as he studied the medallion that hung around Damon’s neck. “What’s that?”
Damon managed to shake off the paralysis, lifting his arm so he could grasp the medallion. He was startled to discover it was hot enough to burn the skin of his palm.
“It belonged to my father,” he muttered, glancing down as a black cloud began to pulse in the air around them.
With a roar of outrage, Salvatore surged to his feet, glaring down at Damon. “The magic of the demon lord,” he hissed, pointing toward the medallion. “Traitor.”
Demon lord?
A sickening horror jolted through Damon as he watched the cloud begin to spread through the air, wrapping around Salvatore. Instantly the stench of burning flesh assaulted his senses.
“No,” he breathed, struggling to sit up, his hand trying to yank the medallion from his neck as the blackness continued to spread through the clearing, attaching itself to the curs who darted forward to protect their king.
“Stop!” Salvatore roared, falling to his knees as his skin melted from his shuddering body. “You will destroy us all.”
Damon couldn’t breathe as the nightmare continued to unfold. “I can’t.”
“Dammit.” Salvatore glared at him with utter condemnation. “You’re just like your father.”
Damon shook his head, panic thundering through him.
Mackenzie had been a crazed, brutal tyrant. A wolf willing to commit any atrocity to retain control of the throne.
Damon was nothing like him.
“I’m not,” he hissed, his stomach churning as the curs were consumed by the hungry darkness.
“Your vain ambition has released the evil back into this world,” Salvatore rasped, tumbling forward as the repulsive blackness continued to crawl outward, destroying any cur or Were in its path.
Damon shook his head, a choking sense of dread squeezing his heart. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
His whispered words were frozen on the still air as the darkness headed directly toward the nearby house where the baby Weres were being cuddled by their mother and aunts.
There was a roar as a massive vampire charged forward, his movements so swift that Damon barely had time to catch sight of the sword before it was slicing through his throat.
The world disappeared in a blaze of pain.
Levet was frantic.
Sacrebleu. This was the . . . Worst. Christmas. Ever.
Not only was he stuck with an ill-tempered Were who didn’t have the least amount of gratitude for Levet’s attempt at playing a Christmas angel, but Levet had been forced to watch that . . . that nightmare cloud of death and
destruction.
Even as the image faded, and he was once again alone in the darkness with Damon, Levet felt himself trembling with fear.
That had to be a glimpse of the future.
The grand, horrifying conclusion to Damon’s determination to challenge Salvatore for the throne.
Turning, Levet waited for Damon to return to the body that was suddenly naked and covered with wounds. Well, perhaps he did not precisely wait.
He kicked and punched at Damon’s leg until the traitorous creature at last gave a groggy shake of his head.
“Stop that,” the Were growled, taking an awkward step away from Levet’s furious attack.
Levet grudgingly gave up his attempt to hurt the beast. Without his magic he could do little more than chip his claws.
“What did you do?” he instead demanded, his wings trembling with panic that continued to race through him.
Damon shook his head, reaching up to yank the medallion off the leather strap around his neck. Even in the gathering mist it seemed to glow with a malevolent golden light.
“Nothing.” He shoved the finely etched piece of metal toward Levet. “It was the medallion.”
Levet took an instinctive step away from the medallion, sensing the evil that pulsed from the intricate carvings.
How had he missed the danger of the golden artifact? He was a master of magic. Even if it had been wrapped in illusion, he should have sensed the danger.
Of course, it could have been that the magic was dormant until it was triggered by a specific event.
“Magic of the demon lord,” Levet breathed, shuddering with revulsion. “How is it possible?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Damon snarled, glaring at Levet with a barely leashed terror. “Destroy it.”
Levet shook his head, his tail twitching. “My powers cannot defeat such evil.”
“You have to do something.” Damon pointed toward the clearing that had nearly disappeared behind the mist. “This can’t happen.”
A surge of outrage stiffened Levet’s spine. How dare the ridiculous beast imply that this was Levet’s mess to clean up?
Had he been the one plotting for years to challenge the king?
Had he accepted a tainted medallion from his crazed mother?