GOE 08 - Bound By Darkness

Chapter 8

A part of Ariyal cringed at the realization he’d just made fierce, passionate love to this beautiful female in surroundings that weren’t fit for a hellhound.

No matter how desperately he wanted Jaelyn, he should have been capable of waiting until he could offer her at least the illusion of comfort.

But a larger part of him was indifferent to the hard, narrow bed and grimy cell. Or even the distant stench of demons entering a large room overhead.

He had just experienced the most shockingly blissful climax of his long, long life. The last emotion he could stir up was regret.

Actually, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was feeling as he snuggled the silent vampire against his chest, his fingers running through the cool silk of her hair.

“Tell me about your nightmare,” he commanded before he could halt the words.

Not surprisingly she stiffened, her reluctance to discuss her past a tangible force in the air.

“Give it a rest, fairy,” she growled.

“ No.”

She pulled back to stab him with a steely glare. “Do you want to talk about your years with Morgana le Fey?”

His jaw clenched. Of course he didn’t want to discuss that crazy-ass bitch. If he had his choice the name of Morgana le Fey would be scrubbed from the history of the world.

But for reasons that should no doubt be making him wail in fear, he wanted to know what haunted her when she slept.

No, not wanted. Needed.

“What do you want to know?”

She frowned, caught off guard by his abrupt capitulation. Had she been bluffing? Then he felt the slight easing of her muscles as she nestled against him and a genuine curiosity melted the frost on the indigo eyes.

“Were you her lover?”

“I was her slave, not her lover.”

She gave a slow nod. Did she understand the soul-numbing difference between the two?

“Did she hurt you?”

“She took pleasure in causing pain.”

“She tortured you?”

“In the beginning.” His arms tightened around her as he was battered by the memories he struggled so hard to keep buried. “Eventually she discovered that it caused me far greater distress to see my brothers hurt.”

She paused, clearly sensing his injuries ran far deeper than a few scars.

“Did she use her magic?”

“Sometimes.” His voice was thick as he choked on the vivid image of blood. So much blood. “Usually she preferred to carve them with her knife.” He shuddered. “She called it her living art.”

She stroked a tentative hand over his chest. As if unfamiliar with offering comfort.

“She made you watch?”

“Yes.”

“Bitch.”

Oddly her simple condemnation was more soothing than any amount of fancy words of sympathy.

“That was the general consensus,” he agreed dryly.

She paused, studying him with an unwavering gaze. “Was it worth the sacrifice?”

He shrugged.

It was a question that was never far from his mind.

It didn’t seem possible that anything could be worth enduring such pain and loss. But then he had only to recall the brutal days beneath the rule of the Dark Lord to be reminded of why they were willing to sacrifice everything to be free.

“It will be if I can prevent the return of the Dark Lord,” he said, tugging a strand of her raven hair. “Which is why I’ll do whatever I have to to keep him imprisoned.”

She ignored his warning. “What will you do if you succeed ?”

“Live in peace with my tribe.”

“With you as their prince?”

He shrugged. He’d never asked to become prince.

“Until they choose a new leader.”

“Do you get a throne and a crown?”

His brows lifted. Was she actually teasing him?

The thought was unexpectedly erotic.

Okay, every thought that included Jaelyn was erotic, he wryly conceded, rolling on top of her slender frame with a low groan of satisfaction.

“No, but I do get my choice of consorts,” he murmured.

“Really?” Her lips tightened. Ah, feminine disapproval. It spanned the species. “I suppose you have them all picked out?”

He shifted until he could press his hardening erection against her inner thigh.

“One, at least.”

A dark emotion flared through her eyes before it was being ruthlessly crushed.

Had it been ... yearning?

No, impossible.

“Don’t look my way, fairy. Even if I didn’t want to constantly punch you in the face, I’m not consort material.”

“I’m a patient man,” he assured her, bending down to whisper against her lips, still swollen from his kisses. “I’m willing to train you.”

She rammed her fingers into his hair, but she made no effort to push him away.

Thank the gods.

“For a fairy who claims he wants to live in peace you play a dangerous game.”

He traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. “Your turn to share.”

She shivered, the scent of her arousal spicing the air. “I think I’ve shared more than enough.”

“Tell me, Jaelyn.”

“Tell you what?”

“Why do you have nightmares?”

She cursed, abruptly pressing her hands against his chest. “Levet.”

He lifted his head with a frown. “The gargoyle?”

“Yes.”

Ariyal had a vague recollection of the miniature demon who had been traveling with the vampire Tane.

Aggravating pest.

“Well, he would certainly give anyone nightmares, but I’m not sure what he has to do with our conversation,” he muttered.

“He’s approaching.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“ Damn.”

With a pang of regret, he rolled off the bed and yanked on the jeans that had replaced his dojo pants before he left Avalon. Then, holding out his hand, he muttered the harsh words of magic that called his bow and arrows.

Behind him he heard Jaelyn pulling on her bits of spandex before she moved to stand at his side.

“What are you doing?”

“His arrival can’t be a coincidence.” Ariyal concentrated on the door, prepared to shoot the moment it opened. “The creature has obviously followed us here.”

“Not us,” Jaelyn corrected. “He’s looking for your charming spirit.”

“Who?”

“Yannah. He has some sort of gargoyle crush on her.”

He turned to watch her efficiently pull her hair into a smooth braid.

“Is this a joke?”

She crushed his brief hope with a decisive shake of her head. “No. He scented Yannah on me when I arrived in London and decided to join us.”

“And you let him?” he snarled in disbelief.

“Hey, he helped me rescue your ass, so just ...”

“Just what?”

“Chill.”

The King of Were’s lair in St. Louis

Santiago shuddered as the mists at last cleared.

Mierda.

He hadn’t signed up for this when Styx had sent him in search of Cassandra.

He was prepared to battle demons, Sylvermyst, and even a mage if necessary.

He wasn’t prepared to be hauled around in a strange, choking mist by an exquisite female who had turned her back on the world centuries ago.

Or to abruptly find himself in an unfamiliar room miles from where he’d started.

Swiftly he took stock of his surroundings.

A dirt floor. Cement walls that were lined with towering shelves that held hundreds of dusty bottles. A collection of aged-wood barrels in the center of the room. And at the far end a series of arched doorways where Santiago could catch the low hum of refrigerators.

A wine cellar?

“Where the hell did you bring me?” he muttered in confusion.

“I am not entirely certain.” Nefri shrugged, not looking nearly as troubled at having dumped them in this strange cellar as she should. Not even when an unmistakable stench filled the air.

Santiago yanked the dagger from the sheath hidden at his lower back.

“Dogs,” he hissed.

“Bloodsucker,” a mocking voice retorted as one of the shelves slid aside to allow a pureblooded Were and a cur to step out of a hidden tunnel.

Santiago lifted his brows at the sight of Salvatore and his faithful sidekick Hess.

As always, the King of Weres was dressed in a hand-tailored designer suit. This one was an Italian wool in a pale charcoal with a white shirt and a burgundy tie. With his dark hair pulled into a neat tail and his lean face freshly shaved, he looked more like a mobster than a Were. His companion, on the other hand, looked like a hired thug with his six-foot-six, heavily muscled body and shaved head.

“Ah, not just a dog, but the King of Mutts,” he taunted, grimacing as Salvatore snapped his impressive teeth in his direction. “Shouldn’t royalty be house-trained?”

Pointing a gun that was loaded with silver bullets directly at Santiago’s heart, Salvatore nodded toward Hess, who swiftly moved to stand behind Nefri. The cur’s indecent bulk and the brutal glint in his eye made the slender female appear dangerously vulnerable, but no one in the room was stupid enough to doubt that she could kill any of them in a blink of an eye.

Her power pulsed about her in terrifying waves.

“Santiago.” Salvatore placed himself so he could keep an eye on both intruders. “Clearly I need to have a word with Styx. The arrogant bastard doesn’t seem to understand the concept of barriers.”

“Styx had nothing to do with our ...” Santiago considered his words. Vampires and Weres were natural-born enemies. And both species relished their mutual desire to exterminate the other. But for the past few months Salvatore and Styx had called an uneasy truce as they were forced to work together to halt the greater evil. The Anasso would skin Santiago alive if he screwed up the temporary treaty. “Unexpected arrival.”

Salvatore narrowed his gaze. “You expect me to believe you managed to sneak past my guards without assistance?”

Santiago deliberately glanced toward the silent Nefri. “Our arrival was unconventional, to say the least.”

The King of Weres turned to study the dark-haired vampire, giving a whistle as he took stock of her delicate beauty.

“Cristo.” He returned his gaze to Santiago. “She’s way out of your league, amico. Did she lose a bet or are you holding her hostage?”

Santiago scowled. Out of his league? Was he supposed to be insulted? Nefri was out of everyone’s league.

Not only was the female heart-meltingly beautiful with the sort of regal grace that made a man itch to tumble her on her back and kiss away that aloof perfection, but she was also proving to be intelligent, cultured, and surprisingly resourceful.

And oh yeah, there was a very real possibility that she was the most powerful creature walking the face of the earth.

Besides, even if he was idiotic enough to long for the exquisite, unattainable Nefri (which he most certainly was not) she was a member of a clan who thought they were superior to the common vampires.

Arrogant snobs.

“She’s an Immortal One,” he said, his voice carefully bland.

“Really?” Salvatore blinked in genuine shock. “I thought they were a myth.”

Santiago met Nefri’s dark gaze, childishly annoyed by her serene composure. Did nothing rattle her?

“Unfortunately they’re very real.”

“Unfortunately?” Salvatore shot him a glance filled with pure male disapproval. “Have you gone blind?”

“He is somewhat prejudiced,” Nefri explained, a mysterious smile curving her lips.

Salvatore moved toward the bewitching female, leaning close enough to draw in her exotic jasmine scent.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Santiago didn’t even know he was moving until he was suddenly standing at Nefri’s side, his fangs bared in warning.

To hell with the treaty.

If Salvatore touched Nefri he was a dead dog.

“Stay back.”

The golden eyes briefly glowed as the wolf sensed a direct challenge; then with a sudden laugh the Were stepped back.

“Feeling a little possessive, are you, Santiago?” he mocked.

Possessive? Of course he wasn’t possessive. He adored women. All women. And they adored him. But he was a firm believer in the more the merrier.

It was just ...

Mierda, he didn’t know what it was, but he did know that Salvatore was annoying the crap out of him.

“I doubt your mate would be pleased to know you spend your days sniffing other women.”

Salvatore’s smile widened, as if sensing Santiago’s strange reaction.

“And you’re concerned for my marriage? How thoughtful.”

Nefri smoothly stepped between the two bristling men, giving a small dip of her head.

“I offer my apologies, Your Majesty,” she said. “It was not my intent to trespass upon your territory.”

Salvatore’s gaze remained trained on Santiago. “A leech with manners? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“Such a big word for such a mangy dog,” Santiago said.

With a lethal swiftness, all sense of amusement was wiped from Salvatore’s handsome face to reveal the true predator beneath.

“How did you get here?” he demanded.

Seemingly realizing that playtime was over, Nefri reached to brush her fingers over the medallion hung around her neck.

“I have the power to travel between worlds.”

“Like a Jinn?”

“It is similar, although my powers come from the medallion and not my innate abilities.”

Salvatore’s eyes narrowed, clearly not comforted by her explanation.

“A nice trick,” he growled. “Perfect for an ambush.”

“I do try not to abuse the skill,” Nefri assured him.

“If you didn’t abuse the skill then you wouldn’t be in my very private wine cellar, would you?”

“Watch your tone, Salvatore,” Santiago snapped.

Nefri waved her slender hand. “He has a right to answers.”

“More than a right,” Salvatore corrected, his inner beast prowling close to the surface. “In fact, let’s pretend your lives depend on your explanation.”

“As you are perhaps aware, Santiago is searching for the seer,” Nefri answered before Santiago could tell the King of Mutts exactly where he could shove his threats. “I have come in search for Cassandra as well.”

“And you think I have her hidden in my wine cellar?”

“Do you?” Santiago asked. “It would certainly explain ...”

“Gentlemen, please,” Nefri gently protested.

“Gentlemen?” Salvatore snorted. “He’s a cold-blooded bastard who will kill on a whim.”

“And you’re a mangy prick who likes to play Dr. Frankenstein.”

Nefri’s power swirled through the air with just enough force to make both men shudder at the promise of pain.

“I am beginning to think the term ‘children’ would be more appropriate,” she said in dry tones.

The men grimaced in unison before Salvatore gave a wave of his hand.

“Continue.”

“We entered your clansman’s lair... .”

“Clansman?” the Were interrupted with a frown.

“Caine,” Santiago clarified.

Salvatore gave a sound of disgust. The King of Weres still blamed the one-time cur for being a pawn of the demon lord intent on destroying the werewolves. Caine’s transformation to a pureblood hadn’t dimmed Salvatore’s desire to eat him for breakfast.

Literally.

“Did you find any trace of them?” Salvatore demanded.

“No, they had disappeared,” Nefri explained.

“And it didn’t occur to you to follow?”

“There was no means to track them.”

“A pity,” Salvatore retorted, “but I’m still not hearing what brings you to my humble abode.”

Nefri shrugged. “If I cannot follow her trail forward, then I must follow it backward.”

“Backward? Is that some sort of vampire logic?”

“If we can retrace their steps then we can speak with those who saw them last.” Without warning, the female vampire drifted toward the nearby shelves, her beautiful face distracted. “It might tell us if they were traveling to a particular destination or if they feared they were being followed. If nothing else they might have mentioned if they were to meet anyone in Chicago.”

Seemingly impressed by Nefri’s logic, Salvatore slid a glance in Santiago’s direction.

“Intelligent as well as beautiful—you’re in trouble, amico mio.”

Santiago wisely ignored the taunt, suddenly realizing why Nefri had brought them to these particular cellars.

She had followed Cassandra’s scent to this location.

“You failed to mention that Cassandra paid you a visit,” he said in cold accusation.

Salvatore scowled. “That’s because she didn’t.”

“Are you certain?” Santiago demanded, shifting so he could keep an eye on Nefri as she ran a hand over a wooden shelf.

The golden eyes glowed with an eerie power. “No one calls me a liar and survives.”

“Keep your fur on,” he snarled. “Maybe she visited your mate while you were out.”

Salvatore looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Harley has been desperate to be reunited with her sister. If Cassandra had dropped by, then I would have heard every detail, no matter how insignificant, of their reunion.”

“Maybe Cassandra asked her to keep the meeting a secret.”

“Obviously you’ve never been mated,” Salvatore muttered. “She wasn’t here.”

“She was.” Nefri intruded into the argument, giving a sharp shove of the shelves.

There was the sound of creaking wood; then the shelves swung to the side, revealing a cement-lined room the size of a walk-in closet. The perfect size for a prison cell. At the moment it was empty, but clutching the medallion in her hand, Nefri briefly closed her eyes and muttered a low word. The air stirred and Santiago stiffened in shock at the unmistakable scent of a female pureblood.

“Cassandra.”

“Her scent was masked by a spell,” Nefri explained.

For the first time since their entrance, Hess moved, reminding Santiago that he was more than a lump of muscle.

“And Caine the Traitor,” he rasped, his eyes glowing the red of a cur on the point of shifting.

Salvatore sent his lieutenant a warning glare before brushing past Nefri to enter the cement cell. He smoothly crouched down to study the dried blood on the floor.

“Can you tell us how long ago?” he demanded of Nefri.

“Two, maybe three weeks.”

Santiago moved to stand next to the Were, still not entirely certain the mangy beast was as baffled as he pretended to be by the revelation of Cassandra and Caine’s presence in the wine cellars.

“Why would they sneak into your lair?”

Salvatore straightened with unnerving speed, standing nose to nose with Santiago.

“Careful, bloodsucker.”

With a click of her tongue Nefri shooed them away from the blood stains, still clutching the medallion in her hand. As she whispered a low word there was another shift in the air, revealing a tangle of scents that had been hidden by illusion.

Santiago muttered a curse, glancing at the stain. “It’s Caine’s blood. He must have been trying to protect Cassandra.”

“Si.” Salvatore absently agreed, his head tilted back as he breathed deeply of the stale air. “I smell vamp.” He stabbed Santiago with a suspicious glare. “Do you recognize the scent?”

“ No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“It’s ...” Santiago struggled to explain. “Missing. I can sense it was a vampire, but there’s a void around him.”

The Were scowled. “An amulet?”

“No.” Santiago shook his head, as confused as the Were. “The vampire isn’t hidden, it’s more like he, or she, has been stripped of his identity.”

“Impossible.”

“Then you explain what the hell it is.”

The dark eyes glowed a dangerous gold. “At first guess, I would say it’s a trick.”

Santiago ran a finger down the edge of his blade. “It’s not just a vampire. There was also a cur.”

“Two curs,” Nefri murmured, a troubled expression marring her Madonna calm. “And a witch.”

Salvatore arched his brows in surprise. “The witch would explain the magic to cover their presence here. But what the hell were they doing with Cassandra and Caine?”

Her dark, magnificent eyes skimmed the stark cement cell.

“They lured them here.”

Santiago moved to stand at her side, shivering as her cool energy wrapped around him, licking over his skin and stirring his hair. Santa madre, that much power roused him like the finest aphrodisiac.

“Why?”

Her dark eyes held an ancient sadness. “They intended to capture them.”

Santiago grimaced. “Traitors.”

She dipped her head in reluctant agreement. “Traitors.”