Hunt the Darkness

Chapter Seven

Roke had been a vampire for more centuries than he could remember.

Which meant he’d assumed that he’d seen and done just about everything possible in the world.

An assumption that had been blown to hell by the tiny witch who was tucked next to him with her glorious autumn hair spilling over her pale, satin skin.

Christ almighty.

He’d expected pleasure. He’d even expected it to be explosive. A man couldn’t lust after a woman with such painful intensity and not be blown away by when he at last got her naked.

But what had happened between the two of them . . .

It went beyond pleasure.

The mere touch of her hand had been enough to set him on fire, the resonating feel of her own arousal pulsing through their bond until he couldn’t tell where his passion ended and hers began.

And when she’d taken him in her mouth . . . holy hell, it’d been nothing less than sensual ecstasy.

Now he was perched on his side with Sally lying next to him, her fingers lightly tracing the dragon tattoo that marked him as a clan chief.

Yet another first.

He hid a rueful smile.

His image of a loner wasn’t just an act. He didn’t do “cuddling.” Hell, unless he was in the middle of sex, he didn’t want anyone touching him. Period.

This shared moment was even more astonishing than the tiny quakes of pleasure that continued to vibrate through him.

Why wasn’t he pulling away to leave her alone on the narrow cot?

It was his usual modus operandi.

Instead he held himself perfectly still, afraid the slightest movement might break the spell.

“Was it terrible?” she murmured, the brush of her fingers down his ribs sending sparks of euphoria through him.

“Was what terrible?”

“The battles of Durotriges.”

He shrugged. Terrible didn’t begin to describe the gladiator-style games. The weeks he’d been locked in the arena had passed in a blur of blood and pain and death. But in many ways it’d been a simple time.

You lived or died.

No in between.

“It’s never fun to kill a worthy adversary.”

“Then why did you enter them?”

He lowered his lashes, hiding his bleak stab of fury at the memory of his former clan chief, Gunnar, and the female vampire who’d ruined him.

The selfish bitch’s only power had been her beauty, but she’d managed to use it to turn Gunnar from being a strong, influential leader of a clan that was feared by all, to a mindless fool who spent so much time pandering to her lust that his people had lost everything.

But it wasn’t just Gunnar’s self-destruction that caused the raw regret that refused to heal no matter how many years had passed.

He’d deliberately entered the battles of Durotriges to challenge his former friend as chief, but while he was gone Gunnar’s lair had been struck by lightning and burned to the ground.

Or at least that was the story he’d been given.

He’d never been able to shake the suspicion that his beloved sire, Fala, had been responsible.

The female vampire might not have her memories of life as a human, but she’d clung to her beliefs as a wise woman, searching for mystic portents in nature. Including an omen that she’d read the night Roke was turned.

She’d been convinced that it meant that Roke would one day be a great leader.

After Gunnar’s death he couldn’t help but wonder if the ancient vampire had taken matters into her own hands.

It was the only way to be certain that he wouldn’t lose the challenge to become chief.

Aware that Sally was beginning to frown at his continued silence, Roke struggled to speak.

This was not a subject he discussed.

With anyone.

“The previous clan chief . . . was difficult.”

She studied his clenched expression, no doubt sensing his instinctive retreat.

“Cruel?”

“Worse.” His voice was cold, flat, his rare sense of peace shattered by his unwelcome memories. “He was indifferent.”

There was a pause, as if she was struggling between the knowledge she was touching a raw nerve and curiosity.

Unfortunately, curiosity won out.

“How could that be worse?”

His jaw clenched, his thoughts veering toward the sheet of paper he kept locked in his lair. On it were written what had been lost after Gunnar’s mating.

The silver and gold mines that had been the source of their wealth.

The acres of territory that had been claimed by rival clans.

The weaker members who’d been stolen from their lairs and sold to slavers.

He stood at his sire’s grave and read from the list, promising her that her sacrifices wouldn’t be in vain. He would regain everything they’d lost.

“Vampires are by nature savage creatures.” He pointed out the obvious. “Without a strong leader a clan splits apart or becomes victims of more aggressive demons.”

She grimaced. He didn’t have to explain what happened to the victims.

“Why did the previous chief bother forming a clan if he didn’t want to be a leader?”

“He did, at first.” Roke had still been a fledgling when his sire had joined Gunnar’s clan, but he’d heard enough horror stories to realize how fortunate he was to be trained by the honorable warrior. “He was a rare clan chief who was willing to kick the ass of anyone who got out of line, but was fair in his judgment.”

“What happened?”

“He mated.”

She blinked at the clipped explanation. “That’s it?”

“The female was jealous of the time that Gunnar devoted to his people.”

She studied his tight expression. “You didn’t like her?”

The temperature dropped at the mere thought of the bitch.

“I hated her for destroying a vampire I once considered my friend.”

Sally shivered. “What happened to him?”

He glanced down to where her fingers continued to trace the dragon tattoo, his body savoring her gentle touch even as he twitched with the need to pull away.

The dark memories were crowding through his mind, a sharp reminder of the people who depended on him. The people who were once again left without a chief, despite his promises.

With a sudden shove he was off the bed and pulling on his jeans.

“That’s not my story to tell,” he rasped. “You should rest.”

There was a sharp, startled silence followed by the sound of Sally turning on her side and yanking the covers over her naked body.

“Got it.”

He lifted his gaze to study the rigid line of her back visible through the thin blanket.

“Sally.”

“I’m tired, Roke.”

And pissed, he silently added, ruefully using his powers to extinguish the candles.

Combined with a large dollop of hurt.

Dammit. He hadn’t meant to . . .

What?

Lure her into a sense of intimacy and then slam the door in her face?

He grimaced, moving to take a position where he could keep watch over Sally while making sure nothing tried to slip through the entrance. The spells should be enough to repel any intruder, but he was still bothered by the strange demon who’d attacked them.

There’d been something off about the creature and until he knew exactly what the demon was capable of, he wasn’t about to let down his guard.

Not when his mate depended on his protection.

Keeping his gaze trained on the female who was rapidly turning his well-ordered life into chaos, Roke leaned against the cement wall, allowing the day to creep past as he leashed his painful memories and tucked them into the back of his mind.

They’d done enough damage, thank you very fucking much.

The sun was setting when Sally at last stirred, looking adorable with her gorgeous hair tumbled around her flushed face and her eyes velvet dark with lingering sleep.

She sat up, the blanket dipping down to give a peek of smooth satin skin and the gentle swell of a breast.

Roke clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to cross the room and pull her into his arms.

Would she actually turn him into a toad? He didn’t think so, but now didn’t seem the time to push her.

As if to emphasize the point, her head swiveled to discover him standing near the waist-high counter, her expression instantly smoothing to a cool mask.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, wrapping the blanket tight around her body.

He nodded his head toward the water that he’d poured into a large pan and placed on a kerosene heater.

“I thought you would prefer to wash in hot water.”

Her lips thinned, as if considering where she wanted him to shove his hot water; then, with an extreme effort she rose to her feet and gave a regal nod.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He bristled at her brittle composure, while his lips twisted at the irony.

Since he’d become clan chief, he’d been convinced that his mate would be a replica of himself.

Controlled. Aloof. Detached.

Now he wanted Sally to lash out at him. To storm around the small space, her eyes sparking with temper and her hair swinging around her beautiful face. Hell, he’d be happy if she threw something at him.

Sally Grace was a bundle of impulsive, unpredictable emotions. It was just . . . wrong to see her so contained.

And he had no one to blame but himself, he acknowledged with a pang of regret.

Still, maybe it was for the best, the voice of reason whispered.

This mating, no matter how real it might feel, was an illusion. His responsibility to his people was a duty that was real.

A damned shame it didn’t feel like it was for the best.

In fact, he wanted to grab her and kiss her until her icy composure melted and her arms wrapped around his neck....

Shit.

“I’ve called Cyn,” he abruptly announced, adjusting the various weapons he had strapped to his body. Anything to keep his hands to himself. “He’ll meet us at Pandora’s Box in an hour.”

She frowned. “What’s Pandora’s Box?”

“One of Viper’s numerous bars.”

A hint of fire threatened to break through the ice. “You arranged a meeting and didn’t think you should discuss the decision with me?”

He shrugged. He wasn’t going to compromise when it came to her safety.

“It’ll be well guarded.”

“By vampires.”

“Not exclusively,” he said, having visited more than one of the clan chief of Chicago’s clubs. “Viper is an equal opportunity employer.”

She arched a brow. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

It shouldn’t be. Viper’s clubs tended to be shocking even by demon standards.

Blood, sex, and violence were always on the menu.

They also happened to be guarded by Viper’s most loyal warriors.

He nodded his head toward the music box that was set on the floor next to the bed.

“We need to find someplace where you’ll be safe while we figure out what is so important about your box.”

“Right.” Another flash of fire in the dark eyes. Thank the gods. “Would you go to a witch’s coven?”

He ignored her question.

“We’ll meet Cyn there and you can get something decent to eat.” He held up a hand as her lips parted to protest. “If you’re not comfortable, we’ll leave. Okay?”

Her lips snapped together, the ice returning. “Fine.”

He bit back a curse. The sun had barely set and it already promised to be a long night.

He shoved impatient fingers through his hair. “Is there anything else you need?”

She met his gaze. “Privacy.”

His lips twisted. A direct hit.

“You want me to turn my back?”

“The spells are woven to keep intruders out.” Her chin tilted. “Not to keep people from leaving.”

A low growl rumbled through Roke. The primitive urge to remain and make sure his mate was taking proper care of herself was a ruthless compulsion that beat through him even as he forced his feet to carry him toward the front of the room.

She needed space.

He could at least give her that.

“I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”

Not waiting for a response, he leaped upward, landing on the edge of the hole.

His feet barely touched the grass when he was yanking his dagger from its sheath.

Fey.

The scent was all around them.

Fairy. Imp. Even a few wood sprites.

He scanned the darkness, sensing the gathered crowd scurrying away at his abrupt appearance.

Concentrating on their rapid departure, Roke nearly missed the stack of items that had been piled at the edge of the clearing.

Flowers, ceramic pots filled with fresh honey, carved wooden figurines, and exquisite golden jewelry set with priceless gems had been left behind.

“What the hell?”

Sally quickly scrubbed herself clean with the hot water and soap that Roke had prepared, telling herself that she didn’t care if it was the first time anyone had ever considered her comfort. Had he scented the water with dried lavender? No . . . it didn’t matter.

Just as it didn’t matter that her body still tingled with the pleasure of his skillful touch.

He was an ass.

First clouding her mind with his deceitful-sneaky-vampire seduction and then leaping off the bed as if she were carrying the plague.

Pulling on her clothes, she suddenly blushed.

Okay, maybe he hadn’t actually seduced her. She recalled being a fairly willing participant.

Still, there’d been no reason to insult her.

Not unless he was afraid that she might start to believe this mating was real.

Two souls eternally entwined . . .

It was that humiliating thought that had given her the ability to face him with a composure she was far from feeling.

She’d be damned if she would let him know how easily he could wound her.

Fully dressed, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and grabbed the music box. Then, extinguishing the candles, she made her exit by the more mundane method of the steps built into the cement wall.

Crawling over the edge of the hole, she straightened, startled to discover that Roke was standing nearby, his gaze trained on the edge of the clearing.

She’d expected him to be out doing . . . what?

Vampire things.

Hunting. Sucking blood. Pissing off witches.

Instantly on alert, she moved to his side, at last catching sight of strange objects.

“Blessed goddess, where did those come from?”

The ground trembled with his power. He obviously wasn’t pleased with the strange gifts.

Giving her a warning glance to stay put, he moved to walk around the pile of flowers and pots and . . . good Lord . . . was that jewelry?

“It came from the fey,” he murmured, his hand reaching to grasp a delicate necklace spun from strands of gold and sprinkled with shimmering opals.

Naturally she ignored his warning, walking to join him. “Why?”

He gave her a frustrated glare before shaking his head.

“I don’t—”

She studied the pure, elegant lines of his profile shown to perfection in the moonlight.

“Roke?”

“A tribute.”

“A what?” She glanced toward the pile that was clearly filled with items that would be precious to any fey. Why would they leave a tribute here? “Oh.” She was struck by inspiration. “Could this be a holy site?”

Roke straightened, dropping the necklace back onto the pile. “It’s possible.”

Translation: He didn’t believe for a minute this was a holy site.

She absently rubbed her inner arm, an unconscious habit she’d developed since the mating mark appeared.

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”

He turned to meet her worried gaze, his eyes glowing silver in the darkness.

“It could be for some fey deity, or it could be for the box. Or—”

She grimaced. “I’m not going to like this ‘or,’ am I?”

His expression was grim. “Or for you.”

She was shaking her head before the words left his lips. “No.”

With a frown he reached out his hand, cupping her cheek with his slender fingers.

“Sally, it’s dangerous to stick your head in the sand.”

She brushed away his fingers, aggravated as much by her heart-jolting response to his touch as by his implication that she was being deliberately obtuse.

She had enough problems without being accused of being some sort of fey-magnet.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I used to live here.” She waved her hand toward the nearby trees. “I played in these woods for years without being inundated with fairy gifts.”

His expression remained stern. “You left the night your powers manifested.”

She shuddered. She didn’t need a reminder of the night she’d been driven from her home.

“So what?”

“They had no opportunity to sense your true nature.”

Her lips parted only to snap shut.

Damn.

She couldn’t deny he had a point.

Like most mongrels her demon blood hadn’t started to show itself until she hit puberty. Which meant that it hadn’t been until her mother had sliced her palm with a knife to perform a simple spell that anyone realized she was anything but human.

“You think I might be a fairy?”

His brooding gaze shifted to take in the glorious highlights that shimmered like flames in her hair.

“I think there’s something about you that the fairies consider worth risking dangerous spells and the unmistakable scent of a vampire to leave these gifts.”

She took an abrupt step away from the priceless treasures, a sharp fear piercing her heart.

“No . . . it’s not me,” she rasped, holding up her hand so she could wave the box beneath Roke’s nose. “It has to be this.”

He studied her a long moment, easily sensing she was on the edge.

“If that’s true, then we need to meet with Cyn so he can decipher the glyphs. It’s the only way we’ll get the answers we need,” he said, his tone so reasonable that she began to nod her head in agreement.

Abruptly realizing she’d been cleverly manipulated, she sent him a frustrated glare.

“You’re like a dog with a bone.”

He stepped forward, wrapping her in a swirl of frigid power.

“Sally, if I wanted to force you to return to the vampires we both know that I could.”

She flattened her lips at the blunt words. They were all too true.

And as much as she hated to admit she needed help, she wasn’t an idiot.

Whether it was the box or herself that was attracting weird Miera demons and oddly generous fey, she had to make it stop.

How could she search for clues to her father when she was dodging near-death experiences?

“Fine.” She hid her surge of dread behind a stoic mask. “How far is it?”

“A few miles south of here.” He scowled, as if annoyed by her brittle tone.

Why? He’d gotten his way, hadn’t he?

“Does a few miles mean five or fifty?”

“Less than twenty.” He held her wary gaze. “We can travel faster if I carry you.”

She sucked in a startled breath. She might be pissed at the annoying vampire, but that didn’t keep him from being ridiculously gorgeous.

The mere mention of being cradled against the wide chest with his strong arm wrapped around her was enough to stir heated fantasies.

Her lips trailing over the smooth, bronzed skin. Her hands tangled in the silken strands of his hair . . .

“I think I can manage,” she muttered, abruptly turning to head out of the woods.

With long strides he was swiftly at her side, the cool scent of powerful male teasing at her senses.

They walked in silence until they reached the path leading south along the cliffs, Roke’s gaze scanning for any danger.

Then, without warning, he lifted his fingers to lightly touch the exposed skin of her nape.

“Are we going to discuss the elephant in the room?” he demanded, his tones dark . . . compelling.

She grimaced. Crap. Had he picked up her X-rated thoughts?

“No.”

His frustration hummed in the chilled air. “So you’re going to pretend that I didn’t strip you naked and kiss every inch of your silken skin?”

Oh . . . hell.

She struggled to breathe.

“Exactly.”

His fingers moved to stroke over the frantically pounding pulse at the base of her throat.

“That I didn’t taste your climax on my tongue?”

She knocked his hand away, glaring at him as every nerve in her body sizzled with excitement. The precise memory of cresting beneath the stroke of his tongue was almost enough to topple her over the edge again.

“Stop it,” she hissed, not sure if she meant Roke or her renegade thoughts.

“Not talking about our mutual attraction won’t make it go away.”

She didn’t bother to try to deny that it was mutual.

What was the point?

“Will talking about it make it go away?”

His gaze returned to the surrounding countryside, scanning the thickening shadows as the path led them to the very edge of the cliffs.

“Do you regret what happened?”

Regret?

Oh yeah. Sally had plenty of regrets. But not for the reason Roke suspected.

It was going to be hard enough to scrub Roke from her thoughts once the mating was broken. It was going to be ten times more difficult now that her body was addicted to his touch.

“It was a mistake.”

His profile tensed, as if she’d managed to wound him.

Which was ridiculous.

“A mistake?”

“One that won’t happen again.”

His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Just keep telling yourself that.”

Brandel wasn’t prepared for the sudden mist that floated in the middle of his private rooms.

If you could call the damp, dismal caves rooms.

They felt far more like crypts just waiting for a corpse.

They were, however, the one place he could go to be completely alone.

Or at least that was the plan.

Still weakened from having a house collapsing on top of his corporal form, followed by an unwelcome encounter with Siljar, the last thing he wanted was another unpleasant confrontation.

Which was precisely why he’d ignored the summons from Raith.

He hadn’t expected his partner-in-crime to take the risk of making an actual appearance.

“So, you failed?” The voice spoke directly in his mind.

Brandel remained perched on the edge of his cot, too weary to pretend that he wasn’t exhausted.

His journey to Canada had been one unpleasant surprise after another.

He’d expected to find some forgotten temple that had been unearthed by annoyingly curious humans. Hieroglyphs that had been buried for centuries were known to release low-level bursts of magic when first exposed. They were usually harmless and passed as the contained magic spread through the atmosphere.

The last thing he’d expected was to be confronted by a vampire clan chief and one of the most powerful witches he’d ever encountered. And he most certainly hadn’t expected to discover a box that pulsed with enough ancient magic to make his mouth water.

So rare.

So precious.

He’d been blinded by his hunger to get his hand on the object.

Which was why he’d blundered so badly.

“It was a temporary setback.”

The mist stirred, anger vibrating through the air. “Did you at least determine the source of the magic?”

Brandel gave a reluctant nod. “A box.”

“Odd. What’s in it?”

“Impossible to say. It was guarded by very powerful glyphs.”

Raith wasn’t pleased. Brandel felt his companion’s anger pulsate through the cave, threatening to reveal his presence to the highly sensitive Oracles spread throughout the sprawling caverns.

“You have to get that box. Its magic is beginning to spread.”

“I understand the danger,” he hissed. “Better than you.”

“Then why are you just sitting here?”

Brandel scowled. How easy it was for Raith to toss out commands while he remained safely concealed.

It was Brandel who was forced to take all the risks.

“I can’t just leave.” He spoke the protest out loud. “Siljar already knows I traveled away from the caves.”

Pain lanced through him, nearly jolting him out of his corporal form.

“That wasn’t a request.”

Brandel flinched, but he wasn’t stupid enough to strike back.

Raith had been in close contact with their prisoner for centuries. His ability to absorb such magic had given him a power that Brandel couldn’t hope to match.

Not unless . . .

He deliberately squashed the dangerous thought. At the moment he wasn’t alone in his mind.

Instead he held up his hand that was beginning to show a hint of translucency.

“I need to feed.”

“Feed, then take care of business.”

The words echoed in his mind as the mist disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared.

Brandel studied his fading hand, his thoughts returning to the box that held the sort of magic that offered possibilities he’d never before considered.

Dark, treacherous thoughts.

“Mine,” he whispered softly.