GOE 08 - Bound By Darkness

Chapter 6

Jaelyn was knocked unconscious briefly by the invisible wall of power that had crashed over them with terrifying force.

Groggily, she managed to shake off the clinging darkness. What the hell?

Had there had been some sort of magical tsunami?

A nuclear explosion?

The end of the world?

No, surely not the end of the world, she tried to reassure herself.

Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to condemn her to an eternity being squashed beneath an infuriating Sylvermyst. Could it?

Pretending that the earthy scent of herbs wasn’t teasing at her senses and that the hard, male body wasn’t cloaking her in welcome warmth, she pressed her hands against his chest.

“Get off me,” she muttered, giving a shove to roll him off her aching body.

Ariyal landed on his back with an awkward flop and Jaelyn belatedly realized the explosion had knocked him well and truly out. With a startled curse, she rose to her knees, swiftly scanning the room as she prepared for the next attack.

An attack that thankfully never came.

A glance was enough to discover the Sylvermyst and his pet spirit had disappeared along with Sergei. Thank-freaking-God. It was bad enough to be surrounded by magic-users without adding in a weird-ass spirit who would give anyone nightmares.

She allowed her senses to filter through the house, assuring her there was nothing lurking in the shadows before she returned her attention to the man who lay unnervingly still beside her.

He wasn’t dead. She could hear the steady pump of his heart and the soft rasp of his breathing, but it was obvious the magical blast had injured him.

“Stupid show-off. Like I need you to play He-Man,” she muttered, annoyed by the vivid memory of him jumping on top of her, shielding her from the massive explosion.

When was the last time someone had tried to protect her? Never.

That was when.

And the fact that this man had done so should have annoyed her, not made something warm and mushy bloom in a secret part of her unbeating heart.

Infuriated with her peculiar behavior, with the Sylvermyst who was making her freaking nuts and the situation that she couldn’t control, she leaned over her unconscious companion and laid a hand against his throat, allowing the steady beat of his pulse to reassure her nagging concern.

“Ariyal,” she hissed. “Dammit, wake up.”

Nothing.

Not so much as a twitch.

“Now look what you’ve done.” Her fingers moved to trace over his starkly beautiful features, something perilously close to fear churning through her stomach as she wondered just how badly he was injured. “I should leave your sorry ass to rot here.”

Even as the words left her lips, Jaelyn was scooping her arms beneath the Sylvermyst. She didn’t know where she was going, but she couldn’t linger at the townhouse.

Not when the Three Stooges might decide to make a sudden reappearance.

She rose to her feet with a fluid motion. Ariyal was heavy, but her innate strength gave her the ability to sling him over her shoulder as she headed out of the room and down the curved staircase. Unfortunately, he had a good eight inches on her, and considerably more bulk, which was going to make toting him around London more than a little awkward.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, Jaelyn paused as she caught the unmistakable scent of granite coming through the front gate.

Gargoyle?

It wouldn’t be that uncommon in London. There was a large Guild in the city. But they didn’t usually stroll up to the door, did they?

Hastily Jaelyn cloaked herself as well as Ariyal in the thick shadows only a Hunter could create. So long as she didn’t move there was no demon who could detect her presence.

Prepared for a lumbering monster, Jaelyn froze at the sight of the tiny demon who stepped across the threshold.

Well, she’d gotten the gargoyle part right, she wryly conceded. There was no mistaking the gray, grotesque features and stunted horns. Or the long tail that was lovingly polished. But she wasn’t sure the Guild would claim this three-foot version with large, gossamer wings in shades of crimson and blue.

Levet.

The last time that Jaelyn had seen the miniature gargoyle had been in Russia where he’d helped Tane rescue her from the cave where Ariyal had left her tied and guarded by Yannah while he went to destroy the babe.

Perhaps sensing that he was being watched, the gargoyle halted in the center of the foyer, his tail twitching as he peered through the gloom.

“Hello?” he called softly, his voice laced with a French accent. “Ma cherie? Where are you, you tiresome demon?”

Jaelyn lifted her brows at the realization that it wasn’t coincidence that had brought the gargoyle to this particular house.

“Searching for someone, Levet?” she demanded, allowing the shadows to dissipate.

“Eek!” With a tiny jump, the demon turned to study her with wide gray eyes. “Oh! Jaelyn.”

“Who were you expecting?”

He wrinkled his tiny snout. “I thought I smelled ...”

“Smelled?” she prompted.

“Yannah. Her scent is lingering on you.”

She grimaced, still annoyed with Yannah and her powerful mother.

“Sorry, I haven’t seen her since she shoved me through a portal and I landed face-first in the gutter.”

Levet cleared his throat, looking oddly uneasy as he rubbed one of his horns.

“She ... um ... she did not happen to mention where she was headed, did she?”

“At a guess, I’d say the pits of the nearest hell,” Jaelyn muttered.

“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “Do you have directions?”

Jaelyn blinked. Was he serious?

“No, but I’m miserably certain she’ll be tracking me down in the next few days.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh, pacing the foyer as he considered her words.

“I suppose I have no choice but to wait with you then. I have been attempting to find her since she left Russia.” His wings fluttered in frustration. “She is annoyingly elusive.”

“You’ve been following her for the past three weeks?”

“Oui.”

“Why?”

“Why?” The gargoyle blinked, seemingly astonished by the question. “Because she kissed me.”

“That’s it?” Jaelyn had a brief memory of Yannah grabbing the tiny gargoyle and kissing him before she’d planted her fist into his face, knocking him across the cave. “She kissed you.”

“What can I say?” He lifted his hands in a helpless motion. “I am French.”

Jaelyn abruptly laughed.

There was something oddly endearing about the small gargoyle.

“Well, you’re certainly tenacious,” she said.

The gray gaze shifted toward the unconscious Sylvermyst draped over her shoulder.

“I could say the same of you.”

Jaelyn’s lips flattened. “Not by choice.”

Levet wagged his heavy brows. “Non?”

Jaelyn frowned. Did the silly creature think that she’d knocked Ariyal unconscious to drag him off like she was some sort of cavewoman?

Not a wholly repulsive thought, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Perhaps if she had him alone in her lair for a few nights she could rid herself of the raw, pulsing awareness that he stirred deep inside her.

Just for an instant the vivid image of Ariyal’s lean body spread across her black satin sheets seared through her mind. Would his eyes shimmer with a pure bronze as she slowly explored him from his head to the tips of his toes? Or perhaps she would tie him to the hand-carved headboard and ride him until they both collapsed in sated exhaustion.

It was the aroused ache of her fangs that recalled Jaelyn to her surroundings and the fact the gargoyle was watching her with a knowing gaze.

Dammit.

What the hell was wrong with her? Sexual need was a weakness that was brutally beaten out of Hunters.

Or at least that’s what she’d always believed.

Of course, Ariyal was also the only man capable of smashing through her icy control and igniting the temper she had never realized she possessed.

She hastily thrust aside the disturbing thought.

“No,” she snapped with more force than necessary. “This is a job, nothing more.”

“Hmmm.” The fragile wings twitched as Levet stepped toward her, his gaze locked on the unconscious Ariyal. “Is he dead?”

“Of course not. He was hit by a spell.” As the explanation tumbled from her lips she felt a sudden surge of hope. Gargoyles were creatures of magic, weren’t they? “I don’t suppose you could wake him up?”

Levet waddled forward, sniffing at Ariyal’s feet, which nearly brushed the floor.

“It will soon wear off,” he assured her.

“Damn.” She adjusted him on her shoulder. “He weighs a ton.”

Levet tilted his head to the side. “You are taking him to the Oracles?”

“Eventually,” she offered vaguely, her gaze traveling toward the open door. Despite the darkness she could feel the relentless approach of dawn. “For now I need shelter.”

The gargoyle blinked in bewilderment. “Surely you must sense that there are tunnels beneath this house?”

She gave a sharp shake of her head. “The mage and the Sylvermyst have vanished for the moment, but I can’t risk lingering here.”

“Ah.” The gargoyle tapped a claw to his chin as he considered their options. “Victor has a lair not far from London.”

“Victor?”

“The clan chief of London,” Levet explained with a smug smile. “He is a close and personal friend of mine. I do not doubt he would be pleased to offer us shelter if I were to approach him.”

A close, personal friend? Jaelyn hid a smile. She was fairly certain that Victor would give a different story if asked.

Not that she intended to cross paths with the powerful clan chief.

“Actually, I prefer something more ...” She chose her words with care. “Discreet.”

Genuine concern touched his ugly little face. “Are you in trouble?”

She shrugged, glancing toward the Sylvermyst draped over her shoulder.

“I just don’t want to answer unnecessary questions.”

“I ... see.”

“Do you know a place where I can disappear for a few hours?”

Levet hesitated before heaving a reluctant sigh. “There used to be a blood pit near Fleet Street, but I do not suggest it.”

She ignored his warning. Granted the usual blood pits were filthy, underground clubs where demons could buy whatever they desired: sex, drugs, and of course, willing blood hosts. But, they also rented rooms with the strict policy of don’t ask, don’t tell.

“It sounds perfect,” she assured him.

“It is not really a suitable place for such a beautiful woman.”

“I’m not a woman, I’m a Hunter.”

Levet’s eyes widened even as a mysterious smile curved his lips.

“You may call yourself whatever you please, ma enfant, but I can assure you that you are very much a woman.”

She snorted, refusing to recall that since meeting Ariyal she’d felt like a woman for the first time in decades.

Surely she had enough disasters looming on the horizon without adding yet another?

“Can you lead me to the blood pit or not?”

Still, the gargoyle hesitated. “There’s bound to be an assortment of unpleasant creatures staying there.”

“Trust me, I can take care of myself.”

“Very well.” Levet’s wings drooped, but turning on his heel he led Jaelyn out of the house and down the path to the front gate. Once they reached the street, he turned east. “This way.”

Jaelyn was on full alert as they walked through the neighborhoods still slumbering in the pre-dawn hours. Most creepy-crawlies were too intelligent to attack a vampire, but she was still edgy from their earlier encounter and the thought of the dead wizard popping out of thin air did nothing for her nerves.

Neither did the covert glances from the tiny gargoyle waddling at her side.

At last she turned her head to meet his searching gaze. “Do I have something on my face?”

Levet shook his head, his expression one of blatant curiosity.

“I am merely wondering why such a lovely female would become a Hunter.”

She resumed scanning their passing surroundings, skimming over Nelson’s Column, which stretched toward the heavens, and the flanking fountains as they cut through Trafalgar Square.

“It wasn’t by choice,” she muttered, quickening her step in the hopes her companion would take the hint and drop the subject.

She might as well have hoped for a night with Robert Pattinson or world peace, she wryly acknowledged as the gargoyle churned his tiny legs to keep pace beside her.

“You were forced?” he persisted.

“After I was turned, it was discovered I had the heightened senses required for a Hunter,” she said, stripping her voice of emotion. It was a night she’d done her best to forget. “The Addonexus arrived at my lair and informed me I was about to become their newest recruit.”

She felt his gaze searching her profile.

“Whether you wished to be recruited or not?” he asked softly.

“Vampires have never embraced democracy. Not even with Styx as the Anasso.”

“Might makes right, eh?”

She shrugged. “Something like that.”

“So typical of that overgrown Aztec,” he muttered, abruptly turning on a dark street and leading her past the small, historic churches nestled among the taverns. “Were you held as a prisoner?”

Her brows lifted. How the hell had the gargoyle become acquainted with the most powerful vampires in the world?

A story for another day.

“Not a prisoner,” she said, “but I was ... encouraged to complete my training.”

“I can imagine the encouragement,” he muttered.

“No, you really can’t.”

A silence descended as her words sliced through the air with a bleak edge. Then, sensing the gargoyle was slowing his pace, Jaelyn turned to meet his sympathetic gaze.

“But now your training is complete?” he asked.

“Yep.” Her lips twisted. “I’m a card-carrying, full-fledged Hunter.”

“There are cards?”

She couldn’t halt her abrupt laugh. “If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

An answering smile curved his lips. “I never thought I would ever meet such a charming vampire,” her companion murmured. “You are truly unique.”

“I might agree with unique,” she said dryly, “but I’ve rarely been called charming.”

“I doubt you have much opportunity to reveal your softer side in your current profession.”

Softer?

Had she ever had a softer side?

“ No.”

“Can you quit?”

She blinked at the unexpected question. “Quit being a Hunter?”

“Oui.”

“It’s a position of great honor among vampires,” she mouthed the well-rehearsed words. It was true enough that most vampires envied those chosen by the elite Addonexus. They saw only the power and wary respect offered to the members, without ever understanding the cost. “Why would anyone wish to leave?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I can think of a few hundred.”

She came to a halt, the hair on the back of her neck rising at the unmistakable stench that filled the air.

“I smell trolls.”

The gargoyle gave a delicate shudder. “I did warn you that it was a low-class establishment.”

“So you did.” With a smooth motion, Jaelyn was bending to lay Ariyal on the hard pavement, sliding her hand over his hard body until she found one of the numerous daggers he had hidden. Gripping the ivory handle, she straightened and pointed toward the gargoyle. “Remain here with the Sylvermyst. I will return as soon as I can.”

“Where are you going?”

“To negotiate for a room.”

She had already turned to make her way down the steps that led to the cellar beneath the silent pub when Levet reached to grasp her free hand.

“Be careful, ma enfant,” he pleaded softly.

She glanced back in surprise. First Ariyal tried to protect her and now this creature was looking at her as if he was truly concerned.

It was ... unnerving.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said gruffly.

A faint smile curved his lips, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture.

“It is what I do.”

With a scowl she ignored the tiny flare of warmth as she vaulted to the bottom of the steps and shoved open the heavy oak door that was hidden from humans by a spell of concealment.

Dammit.

She was supposed to be terrifying others with her mad skills, not encouraging them to treat her as if she were some helpless female in need of coddling.

Thankfully she had no trouble slipping back into her I-want-to-kill-something mode as she stepped into the large room with wood-plank floors and a low, open beamed ceiling.

Her gaze skimmed over the nearly empty booths that lined the walls, where a handful of weary humans sprawled, their eyes glazed with drugs and their thin bodies barely covered. She grimaced. Even at a distance she could see the bite marks where vampires had fed on their tainted blood.

She crossed toward the bar at the back, allowing her senses to flow through the building. The fighting pits were beyond the bar as well as the cubbies for those demons who preferred a bit of privacy for their sex. Beneath them she could sense several locked cells where a troll, two ogres, and at least three curs were sleeping off their numerous injuries.

Her attention, however, was trained on the male imp behind the bar. With his long golden hair pulled from his narrow face and slender body encased in skin-tight leather, he should have been handsome, but there was a hard cunning in his green eyes and an unpleasant curl to his thin lips.

Reaching the bar, she stiffened as a half-breed troll stepped out of a cubby, his rough features almost human if one didn’t look too closely at the beady eyes that glowed red in the overhead lights or the double row of teeth that were razor sharp.

“Vampire,” the creature growled, hitching up his filthy pants that matched his too tight T-shirt. “Tasty.”

She returned her gaze to the imp even as she felt the disgusting mongrel move to stand at her side.

“I need a room,” she said.

Predictably the mongrel troll leaned close enough to gag her with his putrid breath.

“You can share mine, pretty bloodsucker.” He grabbed her hand, pulling it toward his crotch. “So long as you suck on—”

His words broke off on a high-pitched scream as she allowed her fingers to wrap around his aroused cock, squeezing until she threatened to make him a eunuch.

“Touch me again and I’ll fillet this tiny dick and serve it to you for breakfast,” she drawled in sweet tones. “Got it?”

“Got it,” he squeaked, his round face flushed as he danced on his tiptoes.

For a minute she considered simply carving out the bastard’s black heart. Trolls, even those of the mongrel variety, possessed an insatiable appetite for rape and she didn’t doubt he would have thrown her to the floor and forced himself on her if she hadn’t fought back.

Then, with a disgusted hiss, she shoved him away, barely noting his glare of hatred before he was scurrying toward the door.

The imp flashed a mocking smile. “That time of month?”

Jaelyn narrowed her gaze. “You next?”

“Here.” The man slapped a key on the counter before pointing toward a narrow door carved into the paneling. “Vamp rooms are down the stairs, last door on the left.”

“How much?”

“One hundred pounds for the room and another hundred for a host.” He nodded toward the pathetic humans. “Top of the line.”

She rolled her eyes. “More like scraping the gutter.”

The imp shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

Jaelyn reached beneath the neckline of her spandex top, pulling out a folded bill.

“Fifty American bucks for the room.” She dropped the money on the bar. “I brought my own host.”

The green eyes glittered with a sly greed. “Seventy-five and I don’t let every demon in the place know there’s a female in the basement.”

Jaelyn smiled as she moved with a blinding speed, pressing the edge of the dagger against the imp’s throat before he could blink.

“Twenty-five and I don’t cut off your head.”

“Deal.”

An abandoned church west of Chicago

The neglected ruins on the outskirts of the ghost town only hinted at the once-proud beauty of the Victorian church. Now the stained-glass windows were shattered and the hand-carved pews empty, while the attached graveyard was a pitiful shell of tumbled crypts and tenacious weeds.

Beneath the piles of stone and forgotten corpses, however, the vast catacombs had been tended to with scrupulous care.

Or at least the majority of the tunnels, Tearloch acknowledged.

Weeks ago the lower chambers had been nearly destroyed by a series of violent explosions that had had collapsed tunnels and filled caverns with rubble.

Making his way through the unnaturally smooth passageway, Tearloch grimaced. It wasn’t just the evil the pulsed through the air, or thick silence that made him twitchy as hell.

No, it was the sensation he was once again trapped against his will that made his skin crawl.

With an effort he leashed his instinctive urge to charge out of the claustrophobic catacombs and instead forced his feet to carry him to the large cavern where the spirit of Rafael hovered in the center of the stone floor.

He shuddered at the sensation of icy power prickling over him as he stepped past the barrier that the wizard had conjured to protect them from intruders.

If his mind hadn’t been clouded by his growing madness he would’ve been horrified by the spirit’s increasing strength. It was always a delicate balance between a summoner and the summoned, and Sylvermyst were taught from the cradle to keep a careful leash on their spirits.

Otherwise the master could all too easily become the slave.

As it was, he felt more annoyance than anger as Rafael drifted toward him, his skeleton-thin fingers caressing the pendant hung around his neck.

“The mage?” he questioned softly.

Tearloch’s lips flattened. He’d just wasted the past two hours searching the tunnels for Sergei Krakov. It was more than a little irritating that the bastard managed to elude him.

“He’s managed to cloak his presence,” he snapped.

“You are certain he went through the portal with you?” Rafael demanded.

Tearloch scowled. “Of course I’m certain. Do you think I could mistake hauling a grown man through a portal from London to Chicago?”

“Then he no doubt has used his powers to escape.” The wizard dismissed his rival with a sneer. “He always was a coward.”

Tearloch hissed at the arrogant claim. He agreed that Sergei was a spineless fool, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need the mage. His gaze stole toward the bundle of blankets that hid the child in the corner of the cavern.

“He might be a coward, but he told the truth when he claimed that he was the best equipped to resurrect the Dark Lord.” His gaze shifted back to the spirit. “He has prepared far longer than you have.”

Rafael tilted his chin to a haughty angle. “He is unworthy to perform such a holy ceremony. I have warned you from the beginning that—”

“I think you’re forgetting who makes the decisions, wizard,” Tearloch interrupted the increasingly familiar complaint.

Rafael had been whispering that they had no need of Sergei since Tearloch had managed to capture the child along with the mage. It was blatantly obvious he wanted Tearloch to get rid of his magical rival, just as he had wanted him to turn his back on his tribesmen.

He’s isolating you... .

Easily sensing he’d pushed too far, the spirit was offering a deep bow of apology.

“No, Master.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tearloch snarled.

Rafael bent until his hairless head scraped the floor. “As you wish.”

With a growl, Tearloch twirled away from the wizard, shoving his fingers through his hair.

“These tunnels are suffocating me,” he rasped. “I need fresh air.”

“You cannot leave the caves. Do not forget you are being hunted.”

Tearloch jerked back toward the wizard with a fierce glare. At the moment he was hot, frustrated, and in the mood to blame the damned wizard for all his troubles.

“I’m not likely to forget. Not when I’m being buried alive like I’m a damned rock troll.” He shuddered. “Why did you insist we come here?”

“These caves were my home for centuries.” Rafael’s own expression was ... loving, as he glanced around the smoothly carved room. Of course, he’d spent the past months in hell. Anything was bound to seem like the Ritz. “My power is greatest here as well as my ability to protect you.”

“It reeks of blood.”

“You know as well as I that the Dark Lord demands a sacrifice for his gifts.”

Tearloch gave another shudder, ancient memories threatening to sear through the fog clouding his mind.

“Yes.”

“Do not waver now, Tearloch.” Without warning, the spirit was standing at Tearloch’s side, his clammy hand touching his shoulder. “Not when we are so close.”

Tearloch shook off his hand, a strange ache pulsing behind his eyes.

“You say we are close and yet you offer more delays,” he growled, struck by a sudden urge to find a place to lie down. He was tired. So tired. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a conspiracy among magic-users to prevent the resurrection.”

The wizard allowed a hint of anger to touch his gaunt face. “If you wish to assign blame then you may point your finger at the damnable Weres. It was their battle with the demon lord that destroyed my altar and closed the conduit I had opened to my prince.” His fingers grasped the heavy pendant. “It will take time to restore all that I have lost.”

Tearloch backed away.

He didn’t give a damn about Weres or demon lords or any other pathetic excuses.

The Dark Lord had reached beyond his prison to touch Tearloch with a searing demand to be set free.

Until he’d managed to resurrect his master there would be no peace.

“You have a week,” he snapped, heading toward the opening of the cavern. “Fail me, wizard, and I’ll banish you back to hell.”