Hunt the Darkness

Chapter Ten

Roke once again had Sally in his arms as they dashed over the rocky ground, stoically ignoring Levet who struggled to keep pace beside him.

His first impulse had been to run off the miniature gargoyle.

There was no way in hell he could endure his presence for another road trip.

But, he was vampire enough to admit that Levet’s unexpected arrival had worked in his own favor.

After all, there was no way in hell he would ever have convinced Sally to return to Chicago without the gargoyle suggesting the imp could be of assistance. And while he was no happier about the thought of allowing her anywhere near the fey, they would at least have the protection of the King of Vampires and his Ravens.

That Roke would insist on.

They were nearing the edge of a small town when Sally stirred restlessly in his arms.

“We can’t run all the way to Chicago.”

“I don’t intend to.” He sent his winged companion a stern gaze. “Gargoyle?”

Levet wrinkled his heavy brow. “What?”

“You took off on our only source of transportation.”

“Ah . . . oui.”

His wings seemed to droop. No doubt the little thief hoped that Roke was too distracted to remember he’d taken off with his precious bike.

“This way.”

Surprisingly, Levet headed directly toward the town. Roke assumed he would have hidden the bike in the thick underbrush at the edge of the woods.

Why risk leaving it so close to the humans?

Then, halting at a small house that was nearly hidden in the shadows of an abandoned gas station, the gargoyle stood in front of the attached garage and gave a dramatic wave of his hands.

“Ta-da.”

Roke moved forward only to come to a baffled halt at the sight of the battered Fiesta that consumed the cramped space.

“What the hell is this?”

Levet shifted from foot to foot, clearing his throat.

“I should think it is obvious. You desire transportation and I have provided it.” He gave another wave of his hands. “Ta-da.”

Roke carefully set Sally on her feet, already knowing the gargoyle was about to piss him off.

“Where’s my motorcycle?”

Levet managed a sickly smile. “A motorcycle is not precisely built for three. This is far more sensible.”

“It’s a piece of shit.” Roke narrowed his gaze. “Now where is my bike?”

“I can locate another vehicle. . . .” Levet’s eyes widened as Roke yanked him off the ground by one horn. “Eek!”

Holding the creature at eye level, Roke spoke with a cold precision.

“Where. Is. My. Bike?”

The gargoyle turned from gray to a strange shade of oyster.

“There might have been a teeny-tiny accident.”

The nearby garage creaked as Roke’s temper threatened to explode.

Only another bike-man could understand his rising fury.

“If you put so much as a scratch on my bike, I’ll rip off your wings.”

The idiotic demon folded his arms over his chest, trying to pretend he wasn’t dangling by one horn.

“I will have you know I did you a favor. That . . .” He struggled for the proper word. “Death trap was not fit for the road.” He waved a hand toward the Fiesta. “While this is obviously a classic.”

“I’ll kill you—” Roke began, knowing beyond a doubt the jackass had destroyed his pride and joy.

But even as his power swirled through the air there was a light touch on his arm. Instantly he was distracted, his entire being focused on the exquisite woman at his side.

It was . . . unnerving.

As if she had become hardwired to his emotional grid.

“Could we fight about this later?” she asked softly.

“Oui,” the gargoyle hurriedly agreed. “Later.”

He met Sally’s dark gaze, giving a slow nod of his head. “Fine. We’ll take this until we can find something better.”

He moved to pull open the passenger door of the sorry excuse for a car, settling Sally before moving to the driver’s side. He was about to slide behind the steering wheel when he halted to grab the gargoyle who was hopping into the backseat.

“Not you,” he growled.

“Roke,” Sally chastised.

This time he refused to be distracted. The damned pest had destroyed a quarter-of-a-million-dollar bike.

He was lucky he was still in one lumpy piece.

“He can stay behind and disguise our trail,” he said, holding Levet’s gaze so there would be no misunderstanding.

“But—”

“I am, as ever, delighted to play the role of knight in shining armor,” Levet interrupted Sally’s protest, backing away with a speed that revealed he wasn’t entirely stupid. “It does appear to be my destiny.”

“Christ,” Roke muttered, stuffing his six-foot-plus frame into the car.

“Au revoir, mademoiselle, I shall rejoin you in Chicago,” the gargoyle called as Roke swiped his fingers over the steering column, sparking the engine to life.

They chugged out of the garage, Roke cursing the pathetic vehicle while Sally automatically fastened her seat belt.

Once away from the town, he pressed the accelerator to the floor, not surprised when the car barely managed to hit the speed limit.

Still, they were headed in the right direction, and at least for now there wasn’t a fey or weird-ass demon in sight.

Hitting the main road leading south, Roke glanced toward his oddly silent companion, his heart clenching with concern at the tension that tightened her pale profile.

“Sally, are you hurt?”

Her gaze remained trained on the narrow road. “I’m tired.”

He resisted the urge to trace the pure line of her throat. He’d always possessed a perfect, ruthless control. It’d been the only way to survive as his clan collapsed around him.

But now he was on edge, his nerves raw and exposed. He wasn’t sure he could touch Sally without offering more than simple comfort.

“Then rest,” he murmured, his voice thick with a hunger that was increasingly difficult to ignore.

“No.” She shivered, waving a hand toward the windshield. “I meant I’m tired of this.”

He frowned, scanning the empty countryside.

“Perhaps you should be more specific.”

Her hand dropped, as if she were too weary to hold it up.

“The running. The hiding.” She rested her head against the side window. “The never feeling safe.”

His gut twisted. She sounded so . . . defeated.

Nothing at all like his stubborn, spit-in-the-face-of-death witch.

“Sally, we’ll figure this out,” he assured her, slowing the car to make sure he didn’t hit a bump that would bang her head against the window.

At the moment she didn’t look capable of protecting herself from the smallest hurt.

“You think so?” she whispered.

“You don’t?”

She gave a lift of one shoulder, silent for so long that Roke thought she had fallen asleep.

Then softly her words filled the small space.

“After my mother tried to kill me I swore that I would never be a victim again. That’s why I became a disciple for the Dark Lord. I was convinced I would be protected.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “You know how that turned out for me.” Roke watched the pain ripple over her delicate face and he was fairly certain that he knew only a small fraction of what it had cost her to pledge her soul to the evil bastard. “Then I stupidly turned to the vampires for help only to end up locked in the dungeons and mated to you.” Her hand shifted to rub her inner arm. The mating mark. “Of course, I couldn’t be satisfied with those major screwups. I had to go in search of my father, like I thought I could actually accomplish something.” Another of those sharp laughs. “Now look at me. I’m some sort of fey-magnet and on the run again. You were right. I am a walking disaster.”

Roke floundered.

He wasn’t a touchy-feely guy.

Hell, the thought of touchy-feely made him break out in hives.

But he couldn’t bear the wistful resignation that was pulsing through his bond with Sally.

“All those times you were alone,” he said, his voice harsh. “You’re not alone anymore.”

She kept her eyes on the road. “I feel alone.”

The words made him flinch. As if she’d hit him dead center with a sledgehammer.

He’d done that.

He wanted her to trust him, but he hadn’t been willing to offer his own trust.

Now she couldn’t turn to him for the comfort she so obviously needed.

“Sally.” She refused to glance in his direction and he bit back a curse. “Close your eyes and relax, this is going to be a long drive,” he murmured.

For once she didn’t argue. He wished she would. Instead she allowed her lashes to lower and she disappeared into her dark thoughts.

Roke gripped the sticky wheel and forced himself to concentrate on the barren landscape.

Until he had someplace where he could be certain they were safe, his number one priority was protecting his mate.

Sally abruptly wrenched open her eyes as she felt the car come to a halt.

Good lord, had she been asleep?

She’d only closed her eyes to try to block out the aggravating vampire beside her. Roke was disturbing enough when she had her barriers in place. He was overwhelming when her emotions were scraped raw.

Now she struggled to clear the fog from her mind as her door was pulled open and Roke was helping her stumble out of her seat and across the graveled lot.

“Where are we?” she demanded, her gaze taking in the roadside café.

Built of white stone with large windows, it looked like something out of a fifties sitcom. It even came complete with a blinding neon sign that she would swear could be seen from the space station.

She squinted, tilting back her head to meet Roke’s watchful gaze.

“You need to eat,” he murmured.

“And you chose a human restaurant?”

“Do witches have their own chain of restaurants?” His impassive expression was impossible to read. “Jack in the Cauldron?”

She made a sound of disbelief. “Was that a joke?”

The silver eyes shimmered with a breathtaking beauty. “I have my moments.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, vividly recalling a few of his finer moments.

His strong arms wrapped around her. The press of fangs against her neck. The agonizing pleasure of his tongue stroking her to climax.

She stumbled before stiffening her spine.

Dammit.

She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to let him get under her skin.

Not again.

“If you say so,” she muttered.

His lips twisted with rueful humor. “Has anyone told you that you’re crabby when you’re hungry?”

“I’m even crabbier when I want to kick someone in the nuts.”

“Harsh,” he murmured, something that might have been . . . satisfaction . . . on his face.

As if he was pleased by her peevish threat.

Lunatic vampire.

Accepting she would never understand the impossible man, she turned her attention to her surroundings.

“Where are we?”

“We’re near the border.”

She blinked in shock. If they were at the border, then that meant they’d been driving for hours.

“I can’t believe I slept so long.”

“You’ve been driving yourself too hard,” he said as they reached the café, his smile fading as he studied her upturned face. “Will you eat?”

Her stomach growled before her pride could deny the hunger that was clearly determined to make up for lost time.

She rolled her eyes in resignation. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Roke pushed open the glass door to the diner, his gaze searching the empty tables arranged around the linoleum floor for signs of danger.

Once assured there was nothing more alarming than a middle-aged waitress with a stout body stuffed into a white uniform and bleached hair pulled into a knot on top of her head, he urged her over the threshold.

Sally caught a glimpse of a long counter with stools at the back of the room, with a glass case that displayed an assortment of desserts.

“No apple pie,” Roke murmured softly.

Sally’s mouth watered at the scents that filled the air. “No, but on the plus side, there’s cheesecake.”

“Hello.” The waitress sashayed forward, her avid gaze drinking in Roke with open appreciation. Not that Sally could blame the poor woman. Men like Roke didn’t stroll into isolated cafés except in porn movies. “Can I help you?”

Roke placed an arm around Sally’s shoulders, visibly claiming them as a couple. It should have annoyed the hell out of her, but for some stupid reason, Sally didn’t even try to pull away.

“A booth with a view,” he ordered.

The woman sent Sally an envious glare before turning to lead them toward a far table.

Roke pulled out a chair, making sure that Sally was comfortable before taking his own seat, which offered a view of both the parking lot and the empty lot next them.

The waitress tossed a laminated menu that offered a handwritten list of the breakfast food on the table.

“Coffee?”

“We’ll take one of everything,” Roke murmured, his gaze never straying from Sally’s face. “Start with the cheesecake and a glass of milk.”

The waitress choked on her gum. “Everything?”

Roke at last glanced toward the woman, his gaze glowing with a power that had the woman instantly enthralled.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no problem,” the woman instantly denied, the trance allowing her to fulfill her duties on autopilot while remaining oblivious to what Roke and Sally might say or do.

It was an old vampire trick. Once they left the restaurant the woman wouldn’t remember they’d been there.

Waiting until the older woman had moved away, Sally regarded Roke’s tense profile as he peered out the window.

“Do you think we’re being followed?”

“I always assume there’s a possibility for an attack,” he confessed. “Besides, we need to keep a watch on the local fey. It’s hard to keep a low profile with a dozen fairies kneeling in the parking lot.”

She flinched at the reminder they were suddenly being plagued by the fey.

“It’s not my fault.”

Without warning he jerked his head back to meet her defensive glare.

“No, it’s not,” he said in a fierce voice. “Neither were any of the other bad things that have happened in your life.” He reached to grasp her hand. “So stop blaming yourself.”

His unexpected words caught her off guard.

Did she blame herself?

It was a question she’d never truly considered.

She grimaced, struck by an unwelcome memory of hiding in a moldy crypt after she’d run away from her mother, cursing her demon blood.

She’d been convinced that if her father had only been human she would never have been forced from her home or become a persona non grata of witch covens everywhere.

She hadn’t been good enough.

She wouldn’t ever be good enough.

With a small movement she pulled away from his lingering touch, disturbed by Roke’s unnerving ability to see past the walls she’d so carefully constructed.

Being exposed meant being vulnerable to danger.

“You blame me,” she accused, stubbornly going on the attack rather than admit he might have a point. “At least for the mating.”

“Sally—”

His words broke off as the waitress returned to set a plate of cheesecake on the table along with a tall glass of milk.

Eagerly, Sally lowered her head and dug into the food.

When she had a choice between prodding at unhealed wounds or enjoying silky, creamy cheesecake . . . yeah, no contest.

The cheesecake was going to win every time.

Roke waited for Sally to polish off the dessert and start on the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon that arrived next.

Only when it became obvious she intended to try to block him out completely did he reach across the table to lightly touch her arm.

“Sally, look at me.”

She went rigid beneath his touch, grudgingly lifting her head to meet his searching gaze.

“What?”

He held her wary gaze, forcing the words past his lips. “It’s difficult for me to discuss the death of my chief.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by his confession before she was smoothing her expression to one of faux indifference.

“Yeah, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” she muttered. “I understand you were close to him.”

“It’s not that.” He grimaced. “Or at least that’s not the whole story.”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I don’t have to, I want to.”

She stared at him, her dark eyes too large for her pale face and her stoic composure unable to hide the fragility just below the surface.

“Fine.”

He turned his head to stare out the window, keeping watch on their surroundings as he struggled past his instinctive need to keep the past locked away.

“My sire, Fala, was unusual for a vampire.”

“Unusual?” Sally prompted.

“She believed that she could read portents revealed by nature.”

“Could she?”

His lips twisted. Fala had thoroughly enjoyed her role as mystic for the clan. Roke had simply enjoyed knowing his beloved sire was happy.

“She had an uncanny knack of being right more often than not,” he said.

“Did she pass the talent onto you?”

“No.” The vivid memory of Fala standing in the middle of the desert, her dark hair flowing down her back and her sloe eyes narrowed as she studied the formation of rocks or the precise speckles on a bird’s egg, sent a pain slashing through his heart. Their bond had been more than sire and foundling. She had been his teacher, his protector, and in some strange way, his mother. “Fala managed to teach me to decipher glyphs and trained me in most of the known demon languages, but I had no talent for her mystic readings.”

He turned back as the waitress returned with a tray of pancakes, biscuits, hash browns, and fried pierogies.

They waited until the woman had once again retreated before Sally buttered a biscuit and studied him from beneath lowered lashes.

“Did her mystic readings involve you?”

He wasn’t surprised by her perceptive guess. Sally had spent a lot of years in the shadows, studying the people around her so she would always be one step ahead of the danger.

“On the night Fala sired me, she witnessed a comet shoot through the sky.”

She finished the biscuit and started to smear something on the pancakes. God almighty, was that peanut butter?

“What does that mean?”

“She interpreted it as a sign that I would one day be a great leader.”

The tiny witch actually began to demolish the large stack of gummy pancakes.

“That seems like a good thing.”

“I never gave it much thought,” he admitted. “Not until my chief, Gunnar, mated.”

She abruptly glanced up. “That’s why you went to the battles.”

He gave a slow nod.

His first thought had been to simply leave the clan and find another.

It wasn’t that he was afraid. Not of the battles or challenging his chief. But Gunnar had become a true friend, before his mating.

It’d been Fala who’d pointed out that by fleeing the territory they would leave the rest of the clan at the mercy of the slavers who made a routine habit of picking off the more vulnerable members.

She reminded him of her vision and insisted it was his duty to take care of those who were too weak to run.

“I had to do something before the clan was completely destroyed,” he said. “Once I completed the trials I intended to return and challenge Gunnar to become chief.”

She unconsciously licked a dab of peanut butter off her lower lip, and Roke’s aversion to the brown paste was suddenly replaced by a compelling vision of spreading it across his body so that tiny, wet tongue could spend an hour or six licking it off him.

“Obviously you succeeded.”

“No.” His distraction was only momentary as he was forced to remember his shock when he’d arrived home. “When I returned to Nevada it was to discover Gunnar and his mate had died in a fire.”

She slowly pushed aside her plate, sensing his long-buried pain through their bond.

“Despite the tragedy, it must have been a relief not to have to challenge him.”

He clenched his hand on the table, the force of his bleak emotions making the windowpane tremble.

“It would have been if I hadn’t suspected that Gunnar’s timely death hadn’t been an accident.”

Her eyes widened. “Murder?”

He nodded, although a vampire didn’t have that particular word in their vocabulary.

Until the previous Anasso had taken command of the vampires they’d been little more than brutal savages who took what they wanted without consequences.

That’s why it was imperative that a vampire become a member of a clan with a strong chief who could protect them.

“Yes.”

She tilted her head to the side, the threads of bronze and gold in her hair shimmering beneath the fluorescent lights.

“Was there another contender to the throne?”

He shrugged. Only a vampire with the mark of CuChulainn could claim the right to become clan chief.

“None that had survived the battles.”

She frowned. “Then it was an enemy?”

“Only one that could have walked past the guards.”

There was a long pause as she studied his grim expression. “You know who it was, don’t you?”

“Fala.”

She sucked in a shocked breath. “Oh.”

Fine cracks began to form on the table where his fist rested against the cheap Formica.

“She had convinced herself that my glorious destiny needed a helping hand.”

“Were you angry with her?”

“I was disappointed she didn’t trust my ability to win a fair fight against Gunnar.”

Her well-guarded expression at last softened, her hand reaching to lightly touch his clenched fist.

“Have you considered the fact that might not be about trust?”

He scowled. “Then what?”

“Maybe she wanted to spare you the trauma of killing a man you once respected. That’s what a mother does.” Her eyes abruptly hardened at the thought of her own mother. “Well, at least, I suppose that’s what a mother would do if she wasn’t a psychopath.”

He inwardly cursed, turning his hand so he could capture her chilled fingers.

He’d revealed his past in an effort to earn her trust, not to bring up old wounds.

“Sally—”

“What happened to her?” she firmly interrupted.

His gaze shifted to where her pale fingers remained in his tight grip, absorbing the tactile connection. Her warmth was the only thing that allowed him to speak past the cold regret that surged through him.

“Not long after Gunnar’s death she met her ancestors.”

“What does that mean?”

“She greeted the dawn,” he said, his tone stripped of emotions. Not that he could hide the intense pain he’d felt when he watched Fala step from their lair into the morning sunlight. He’d never truly forgiven himself for being too far away to save her. “Most assumed that she’d tired of her very long life. It’s not that uncommon among the very ancient.”

Genuine sympathy darkened Sally’s velvet eyes. As much as she longed to be a callous badass, her vulnerable heart would always betray her.

Of course, it was that very vulnerability that constantly managed to unman him, he ruefully conceded.

“But you didn’t believe that?” she asked softly.

“I’ve always feared it was guilt.”

Without warning her brows snapped together. “No.”

“No?”

She squeezed his fingers. “Fala sounds as if she was a strong woman who firmly believed in fate,” she insisted.

He gave a slow nod. “She was.”

“Then she would have considered her choice a matter of destiny.”

“Or desperation.”

“Roke, if she truly had faith in her visions, then she had faith in you.” She leaned forward, her expression one of utter certainty. “Whatever led her into the sun, it wasn’t guilt.”

Roke became lost in the dark beauty of her eyes, the gnawing fear that he’d been responsible for Fala’s death easing at the certainty in her voice.

How many years had he punished himself with the fear that Fala had to betray her own honor to protect him?

It’d been a constant source of shame.

Now, with a few simple words, Sally had given him the courage to remember Fala as a proud, fearless vampire who accepted her duty, just as Roke had accepted his.

It was a gift that was beyond price.

He lowered his head in a gesture of profound respect.

“Thank you.”