Hunt the Darkness

Chapter Fourteen

Brandel hurried through the secret tunnel, still struggling to hold his corporal shape.

Goddamn that stupid witch. She’d ruined everything despite his clever plan.

After the previous fiasco he’d realized he couldn’t just charge in and grab the box.

He’d spent hours creating the perfect poison and loading it in the dart, then more time devoted to tracing the ancient magic to locate the box. Time well spent he’d assured himself as he caught sight of his prey trying to escape.

He released his dart and attacked, knowing that the poison would swiftly weaken the vampire to leave the witch unprotected.

Of course he wasn’t an idiot.

A powerful witch was never truly helpless.

But he’d been prepared to battle against spells of aggression, not a simple disguise spell that attacked him on his most fundamental level.

Wanting to roar in fury, Brandel instead muffled his emotions and kept to the shadows as he weaved his way through the various passageways that led to his private rooms.

Not only did he want to avoid attracting the attention of his fellow Oracles, but he also couldn’t risk his anger warning Raith that he’d failed yet again.

He had just turned into the inner cavern that he’d claimed as his own when a slender Kapre demon appeared behind him.

“There you are, Oracle.”

The Kapres were tall, slender creatures with moss green skin that was completely hairless. They were also a passive race with few powers who often hired themselves as servants to more powerful demons.

This particular Kapre was a valet to Recise, a Zalez demon who was one of the most powerful of the Oracles. The position gave the prissy, overly formal twit a sense of superiority over other demons.

Fiercely reminding himself that he was posing as a mild-tempered Miera, Brandel turned, concentrating on holding his form.

“Not now,” he said, his tone carefully bland. “I’m busy.”

The creature sniffed, his black eyes filled with a malicious amusement.

“What you are is late.”

“Late?” Brandel frowned. “Late for what?”

“The Commission has been called into session.”

Brandel was forced to turn away, knowing his eyes would reveal his true nature as he struggled against a surge of fear.

“Why?” he asked, pretending to straighten the pillows arranged on a flat outcropping that served as a sofa.

Another sniff. “It’s not my place to understand the workings of the Oracles.”

He continued to arrange the pillows, barely containing the pulses of vibrations that would destroy the Kapre. He needed information. Unfortunately, the servant was the only one who could give it to him.

“Perhaps not, but I’m sure your position as Recise’s most loyal servant has given you access to highly sensitive information.” He forced himself to stroke the bloated ego of the Kapre.

He could almost feel the creature preening behind him. “Certainly I am trusted, but my master is quite discreet.”

Hmm. Clearly it was going to take more than flattery. Brandel reached behind a pillow to pull out a small bag filled with precious gems. He extracted a small emerald before turning to hold it in his open palm, pretending to study it in the candlelight.

“Not everyone is so discreet, are they?”

“True.” The servant licked his thin lips, his gaze locked on the emerald with blatant greed. “I did hear a rumor that the body of a dead fairy was found in the lower caves.”

No. It was impossible. He’d hidden the body where it couldn’t be found, hadn’t he?

“Was he very ill?” he asked with the pretense of innocence.

The servant shrugged with obvious indifference. “No one knows for certain what happened, but Siljar is determined to have a full investigation.”

Brandel forced his lips into a stiff smile. Meddlesome bitch.

“Of course she is.”

“Can you imagine any demon foolish enough to try to kill beneath the noses of the Oracles?” The Kapre inched forward, his gaze never wavering from the emerald. “The demon would have to be suicidal.”

“Obviously.” With a flick of his wrist, Brandel sent the emerald flying through the opening to land in the passage outside his chamber. “I must change before I can join the others. Please inform Siljar I will only be a few minutes.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” The servant scrambled toward the small gem, unaware of the invisible barrier that Brandel placed over the opening.

Once assured there would be no further interruptions, Brandel headed into the back chamber allowing his shape to dissipate into mist as he considered his limited options.

He could rush and try to join the Commission with the excuse he’d been out for a stroll. Or even remain in these private rooms and send word that he was sick and unable to attend the council.

But neither would halt Siljar’s quest to discover who killed the fairy.

If he remained, there was a very good chance he was going to end up in the Oracles’ secret dungeons.

A place where demons went and never left.

Ever.

“Damn,” he muttered, knowing he had no choice but to disappear.

Raith would be furious to lose their eyes and ears on the Commission. It’d always been essential to have early warning if the Chatri decided to make a return to the world. And, of course, to halt if the fey approached the Oracles with complaints their people were disappearing.

Still, it was easy for Raith to toss out commands when he remained in the safety of their world.

It was Brandel who was forced to take all the risks, with very few rewards.

Well, no more, he abruptly decided.

He was leaving behind the Oracles and tracking down the witch.

Once he had the box, no one would be giving him orders.

Styx stood at the back of the large cave that had once been the receiving room for the previous Anasso.

Not much had changed in the past months. At least not as far as the scenery.

The dark stone of the floor and walls had been polished smooth over the ages and a shallow stream of water ran through the back of the cavern. Torches were set in brackets along the walls that shimmered in the crystals that had been exposed in the lofted ceiling.

The atmosphere, however . . . yeah, that couldn’t be more different.

All hints of the opulent gold and crimson furnishings had been stripped away and replaced with a twelve-foot marble table that consumed the center of the room with twelve chairs set at precise distances apart. And gone were the barely civilized vampires with their raucous parties and bloody brawls.

In their place were a variety of subdued demons attired in matching white robes who settled in their seats with a silent dignity.

With a wry smile, Styx waited for Siljar to step to his side, her expression unreadable as they watched the last Oracle take his seat.

“Is this all of them?” Styx asked.

“All but one.”

Ah. Success.

“Who is missing?”

“Brandel.”

He turned toward the tiny demon, making certain his voice was pitched low enough to keep from carrying.

“You don’t sound particularly surprised.”

Her expression remained aloof, but Styx could sense her growing concern. He grimaced.

The thought of an Oracle going rogue was enough to give the entire demon world nightmares.

“I have been . . .” She searched for the proper word. “Troubled by him since our arrival to the caves.”

“Anything in particular?”

“I sense there is more to him than meets the eye.”

Well that was predictably ambiguous.

God forbid an Oracle just say what she was thinking.

“A secret he’s hiding?” he prompted.

She shook her head. “It’s more than a secret.”

“Then what?”

“I think his very identity is a lie.”

Styx blinked, then blinked again.

It was one thing for a human to alter his identity. A new hair color, a pair of colored contacts, and a change of name and—presto—a new person.

But a demon . . .

They would have to modify themselves on a cellular level, or have their essence scrubbed like Gauis, to fool other demons.

Even then he couldn’t imagine an Oracle being deceived for long.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered.

“Neither do I,” Siljar slowly admitted, her eyes shifting from the gathered Commission to meet his confused gaze. “But I do know one thing.”

“What?”

“Your brother Roke is in danger.”

The warning was so unexpected that it took Styx a beat to wrap his head around it.

“Roke?” He was instantly in full Anasso mode. No one screwed with one of his brothers. Not unless they wanted to deal with him. “What does he have to do with this?”

Siljar paused, as if considering her words. “As you are perhaps aware, I am in tune with the universe.”

He shrugged, not giving a shit what she was babbling about. He just wanted the info on Roke.

“If you say so.”

Her lips thinned, but she ignored his lack of tact.

Thank the gods.

“Which means I am occasionally urged to tug on the threads of fate,” she continued.

A polite way of saying she was an intrusive busybody interfering in other people’s lives.

This time he was smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

See? He could be trained no matter what Darcy might say.

“And you tugged on a particular thread?” he carefully demanded.

“I did.” She gave a dip of her head. “It brought me Levet.”

Styx shuddered. “That’s a thread you can keep.”

“Levet was a companion to Roke when they tracked down his mate in Canada.”

He bit back his impatient hiss. “That has some connection to Brandel?”

“Levet was here when Brandel returned from a mission he claims took him to Hong Kong.” She at last got to the point. “Levet, however, was quite certain he smelled of the same ocean spray he’d just left.”

Styx was briefly distracted. “Ocean spray has different scents?”

“So it would seem.”

Who knew? Pulling out his phone, Styx punched in Roke’s number, willing the younger vampire to answer.

“Damn. Straight to voice mail,” he at last growled. “I need to find them.”

Siljar lifted her hand, releasing enough of her outrageous power to keep him from charging out of the cavern.

“No, I have a more important duty for you,” she informed him.

“But . . .” With a snap of his fangs, he regained control of his severely strained temper. This was one of the few fights he couldn’t win. “What duty?”

“We need to discover more about Brandel and why he would be interested in the clan chief of Nevada.”

Her words made sense. It would be easier to protect his brother if he understood the nature of the threat.

Dammit.

“And what of Roke?” he snarled.

Siljar flashed her razor-sharp teeth. “I will send him assistance.”

Roke struggled to open his eyes, briefly wondering if he’d been on a bender.

His head was throbbing, his mouth was dry, and his bones ached as if he’d been beaten by a rabid troll. Always the signs of a fantastic party.

Then, he at last managed to focus his gaze enough to take in the familiar sight of his private lair.

As always he took comfort in the plain stucco walls and dirt floor covered by simple Navajo woven blankets. The ceiling was open beamed and the furniture hand-carved from sturdy oak.

It was like him.

No fuss, no frills.

As his senses slowly came back online, he turned his head, sensing he wasn’t alone.

“Zoe?” He wasn’t entirely surprised to discover the small, blond-haired vampire perched on the edge of his mattress. Zoe had been attempting to convince him that she belonged in his bed for the past decade.

Now, however, he shuddered at just how . . . wrong her presence felt next to him.

“So, the dead decides to awake,” she murmured, reaching to run her fingers through his hair. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He instinctively pulled from her light caress, desperately searching his foggy mind for the cause of his throbbing fear.

He was missing something.

Something that was more important to him than life itself.

Baffled by the strange sensation, he tried to raise his head only to flop back on the pillow with a groan.

“What happened?” he moaned.

Zoe returned her hand to her lap, her expression hardening with a frigid fury.

“You were poisoned.”

He jerked in shock. Vampires could be sickened by toxic substances, but their swift regenerative abilities kept poison from being an effective weapon.

“Impossible.”

“Not impossible.” Zoe lifted her hand, as if to touch him only to return it to her lap. “It very nearly killed you.”

“How can I be poisoned?”

“It was a unique combination of a human blood-thinning drug laced with particles of silver.” Zoe pointed toward the IV stand with several empty blood bags that was tucked in the corner. “We had to drain your blood and replace it with clean. You’re fortunate to be alive.”

Jesus. Someone truly wanted him dead.

Nothing surprising in that, of course.

But the rising anxiety that was making his body tremble was new and original. And wholly unwelcome.

He frowned. “How did I get here?”

“We think through an imp portal.”

“An imp?”

“That’s something we can discuss later,” Zoe attempted to soothe. “For now you need to rest.”

“No. I need . . .” What did he need? It was there, deep inside him. He could physically feel the raw, aching need. The savage desire to leap from the bed and find what was causing his ruthless pain. Hell, he could even smell . . . peaches? Oh, shit. His roar shook the room. “Sally.”

Zoe widened her eyes, leaning forward to pin him to the bed with her hands.

“Shh.”

His fury made splinters of wood rain from the ceiling. “Where’s my mate?”

“She’s fine,” Zoe muttered, struggling to keep him flat on his back. “Don’t move.”

“She’s not fine,” he snarled, infuriated by his weakened state. His mate needed him, and he was failing her. Again. “I can feel her pain.” He grasped Zoe’s wrists, trying to pull them off his chest. “Dammit.”

“Dyson,” the female vampire called, her muscles trembling as she went to her knees to gain leverage.

Any other day, Roke would have already tossed her in the corner and been on his way to Sally. He wasn’t clan chief because of his charming personality. But he was even more weakened than he’d first suspected and it was taking everything he possessed to continue the fight.

“Where’s Kale?” he demanded, referring to the vampire he’d left in charge of the clan.

The younger vampire didn’t have Roke’s sheer power, but he was a steady, cool-headed leader who could be trusted not to allow his emotions to overrule his logic.

Unlike Zoe who was temperamental, and dangerously obsessed with claiming a place at Roke’s side.

“He’s in Las Vegas negotiating a new treaty with the local curs.”

“Call him,” he commanded, his gaze shifting to the large vampire who hurriedly entered the room and crossed toward the bed. “Dyson release me.” Roke snarled in shock when the male instead wrapped a heavy chain over his legs and attached the other end to a bracket beneath the bed. The chain wasn’t enough to hold him, but it had been enchanted to prevent his escape, even if he was at his full strength. “What the hell?”

“You’re weak,” Zoe murmured, climbing off the bed to regard him with a wary expression. “You have to rest.”

Roke glared at the bitch and her partner in crime. “I’m your clan chief.”

“Yes, which is why we intend to protect you,” Zoe insisted.

“I don’t need your protection.” His hands clenched as he futilely struggled against the unseen spell holding him down. “I need my mate.”

Zoe’s pale blue eyes darkened with unmistakable envy. “She’s bewitched you. Once we break the mating you’ll realize we’ve only done what is necessary.”

Damn. Sally had been right to fear his people. He’d suspected that they would be angry with her for forcing a bond with him, but he’d never believed they’d actually harm her.

“I’ll destroy anyone who puts so much as a mark on her,” he warned, the merciless sincerity in his tone making Dyson pale in fear.

Zoe licked her lips, not entirely impervious to his fury. “You’re not thinking clearly, Roke.”

“Tell me what you’ve done to her,” he hissed.

“She’s being held in the mines.”

“Oh, shit.” His eyes squeezed shut. They couldn’t have found a better way to torture Sally if they tried. After being locked in Styx’s dungeon, she’d become terrified of being trapped in a cell. She had to be freaked out of her mind. “Get her out.” He sent a blast of power that made both vampires stumble. “That is a command.”

Zoe glanced toward the ceiling that threatened to collapse on them. “You must relax.”

“Release Sally and we’ll discuss this rationally,” he ordered.

“There will be no need for discussion,” Zoe informed him. “The witch has created the fake mating, with the proper persuasion she’ll end it.”

Oh, hell.

Sally.

He had to get to her now.

“No,” he snarled. “It has nothing to do with a spell. It was her demon blood.”

Zoe tilted her chin. “Either way, we’ll force her to free you.”

“She can’t.” His fury shattered the windows. “Goddammit. She can’t.”

Zoe refused to back down. “Dyson can be very persuasive.”

Roke bared his fangs. “No.”

The male vampire rushed forward as the entire building shook in reaction to Roke’s fury. Trapped by the enchanted chain, Roke could do nothing as the massive fist connected with his jaw with enough force to knock him out.