Darkness Avenged (Guardians of Eternity) (18 page)

 

 

 

Sally woke with a throbbing head and a nasty premonition that she was ass-deep in trouble.

Like a coward she kept her eyes squeezed shut and tried to will herself back to sleep. If something bad was coming, why be conscious for it?

Unfortunately, she was sprawled on a hard cement floor that was giving her a cramp in the neck. And since whatever might be lurking in the dark didn’t seem to be in a hurry to kill her, she grudgingly forced her heavy lids to lift.

She grimaced. On the up side, the large unoccupied room was thankfully empty of a ravaging horde. On the down side, it was coated in a thick layer of dust that now covered her from head to toe.

Stifling a sneeze, she managed to rise to her feet, pressing a hand to her aching temple.

Where the hell was she?

And more importantly, how did she get there?

Her gaze skimmed over the brick walls and the windows that had been boarded over. The floor was cement and the lofted ceiling lined with steel beams.

A warehouse? A closed factory?

Taking a hesitant step forward, she desperately tried to remember what had happened. She’d been traveling through the tunnel with Roke, right? And then they’d come to the end of the tunnel even as her powers were running on empty.

What then? Vaguely she recalled Roke leaving to search the building overhead.

Had he abandoned her? Or had something happened to him? Was he hurt?

Or worse . . . ?

Before the disturbing thoughts could fully form, she was shaking her aching head. No. He’d come back. Yes. That was right. He’d come back and . . .

Her heart slammed painfully against her breastbone. Oh, crap.

He’d come back ready to murder her.

So had he succeeded? Was this her version of hell? An eternity alone in an empty, dusty warehouse?

It could be worse, she decided, heading toward the steel door across the barren room. She could be stuck with an arrogant bully of a vampire who had gone from loathing to downright hatred.

Almost as if the thought of Roke stirred some primitive connection to him, Sally came to a slow halt.

She sensed him. Not just physically, although she would swear she could feel the icy prickles of his power brushing over her skin.

But somewhere deep inside her.

Her mouth went dry as she glanced around the shadowed room. “Hello?” Her voice echoed eerily through the darkness, bouncing off the walls. “Is anyone there?”

There was the faintest swish of sound before a dark shape was falling from the rafters. She instinctively leaped backward as the shadow revealed itself as Roke.

Holy crap.

Had he been hanging up there like a bat?

With a chilling smile, he folded his arms over his chest. He was still wearing the black jeans and leather jacket from earlier, but his dark hair lay as smooth as polished silk framing his stark, disgustingly handsome face.

“Going somewhere, witch?” he mocked, the pale eyes glowing white in the dim light.

“Roke,” she breathed.

“Yes, Roke.” His power bit into her skin like tiny shards of ice. “Your devoted love-slave.”

She winced, rubbing her hands over her arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Not yet, but I promise you’re going to be.”

She believed him. The threat of violence was a tangible force. She shivered, hoping he would at least make her death quick.

“I . . . it wasn’t my fault.”

He curled back his lips to reveal a set of fangs that looked massive to Sally.

And deadly.

And . . . painful. Really, really painful.

“Tell me exactly what you did to me,” he snarled.

“I don’t know.”

He stepped forward, leaning down until they were nose to nose. “Try again.”

“Stop.” She stumbled back, her heart racing with a fear that threatened to consume her. “I can’t think when you’re looming over me like some avenging angel.”

“Angel?” He gave a derisive snort. “That’s a first.”

She held up a pleading hand. “Just back off and I’ll tell whatever you want to know.”

“Fine.” With a glare he took a deliberate step backward, his expression carved in granite. “Talk fast.”

She cleared the lump from her throat, struggling to think through the panic clouding her mind. “Unless it was a part of my nightmare, you already know I’m not entirely human,” she managed to rasp.

“You refused to tell me what blood runs in your veins.”

“Because I truly don’t know.”

The pale, unnerving eyes narrowed. “Convenient.”

“Convenient. Yeah, real convenient.” Her short burst of laughter echoed eerily through the room. “My mother was a witch, and before you ask, yes, she practiced black magic,” she bitterly admitted. She’d devoted a lot of energy to burying the memories of her mother. The last thing she wanted was to dig them up and relive them. “She was, in fact, everything that people fear most in witches. She was vain, selfish, and willing to sacrifice everything for power.”

“A black witch.” He shuddered in disgust.

“Yes,” she hissed, absently rubbing her inner arm. The dang thing still itched. “I knew you would be suitably horrified.”

“And your father?”

“A mystery.”

He growled in warning. “Sally.”

“I’m not done,” she snapped, her terror not enough to halt her burst of anger. Did the damned vampire want her story or not?

“Then finish,” he commanded in icy tones.

Why hadn’t she slugged him in the nose when she had him in her power?

“After decades of making enemies my mother decided she needed to expand her power base,” she said through clenched teeth. “Or at least that’s what she always claimed.”

“Didn’t she have a coven?”

“She did, but she could never really trust that they wouldn’t stage a coup d’état.” Sally grimaced. Her mother had been as paranoid as she was power hungry. No doubt because everyone hated her guts. “She wanted a partner of absolute, unquestioning loyalty.”

“A daughter.”

“Give the vampire a gold star,” she muttered.

There was another flash of fang. “This isn’t the time to be a smart-ass.”

It wasn’t. Unfortunately, the more nervous she became the more mouthy she tended to be.

“Yes, a daughter,” she forced herself to answer in reasonable tones. No sense antagonizing the already infuriated vampire. “Or more specifically, me.”

“And she chose a demon to impregnate her?”

“Good god, no.” She shook her head. “My mother had a pathological hatred of demons.”

He frowned, almost as if he were offended by her confession. “Why?”

“Maybe because demons spend a great deal of time trying to kill witches,” she pointed out.

He shrugged aside her accusation. Typical. Vampires were allowed to go around killing willy-nilly, but they weren’t so happy when they were the prey.

“Then how did a demon end up in her bed?”

“From what I could discover my mother performed a secret fertility rite that would not only make sure she would become pregnant, but would lead her to the best candidate to be the”—she felt a ridiculous blush stain her cheeks—“donor.”

His brows lifted. “And it led her to a demon?”

“So it would seem.” She shrugged. “And beyond just being a demon, it had to be skillful enough to hide the fact it wasn’t human from a very powerful witch. Not an easy task.”

He studied her for several seconds. “Didn’t your mother try to track him down after she discovered the truth?”

With an abrupt motion she turned away from his piercing gaze. Her raw sense of betrayal was something she wasn’t willing to share.

Certainly not with a vampire who wanted her dead.

“It took several years before she actually learned the truth.”

“She didn’t realize when you were born?”

“I was one of those half-breeds who didn’t start showing my demon blood until I hit puberty.” She hunched a shoulder, her stomach cramping at the agonizing memory. “Needless to say, my sweet sixteenth birthday is one I’ll never forget.”

“What happened?” His voice sounded odd. Tense.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it helps me determine what sort of demon you are.”

God almighty. He truly was a masochist.

“You want the gory details?” She whirled back to glare at his carefully blank face. “Okay. I was assisting my mother with a spell that demanded a blood sacrifice, so I sliced open my palm. I’d done it a hundred times, but this time . . .”

“It healed.”

“Yep, just like magic.” Her lips twisted. She could still remember every detail of that moment. The smell of smoke from the candles protecting their circle. The sound of her blood dripping on the wood floor. The hiss of horror from the woman who’d raised her as the wound had slowly sealed shut. “Only it wasn’t magic. It was a death sentence.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was still wondering why the heck my hand was healing when my mother hit me with a spell that was intended to eviscerate me on the spot. It was only because she’d drilled me on how to block the most vicious spells that I managed to escape.” She blinked back the tears that threatened. She didn’t cry for that terrified girl who’d fled the cottage that night. Not anymore. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Ironic?” Something dangerous smoldered in the depths of his pale eyes. “It’s a damned mess.”

Roke glared at the female who continued to screw with his emotions.

Why else would he be feeling pity for her? What did he care if her psycho mother had tried to kill her? Or that she didn’t know what sort of demon had fathered her?

He didn’t.

It was nothing more than an effect of the spell.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he was forced to concede. For the moment the demon blood running through her veins was very much his concern.

Damn it all.

“What other powers do you have?” he growled.

“Besides healing, I can see better in the dark, although not as good as you. And I’m stronger than most women.” She shoved her fingers through her tangled hair, her expression one of self-derision. “Oh, and I think I might be aging slower, unless I just have really good genes.”

He frowned, trying to ignore just how vulnerable she looked with her pale face covered with dust and the purple shadows beneath her eyes.

This female was his enemy.

Period.

“And you can compel others to your will?” he snarled.

She flinched. “Not exactly.”

“Then explain
exactly
what it is you do.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Over the past few years I discovered I can, on a rare occasion—a very rare occasion,” she emphasized, “I can influence someone.”

“Influence?”

She nervously licked her lips, the tiny gesture sending a jarring bolt of desire through him.

Christ, he had to get rid of the spell.

“Okay, I’ll admit that it seems to be increasing in potency, but I swear I didn’t think for a minute that it would actually work on a vampire.” She shivered, rubbing her arm as if it bothered her. “I was just so desperate I had to try something.”

“Desperate?” He shrugged off her lame excuse. “That’s ridiculous. Why would you be desperate?”

“Are you kidding me?” She gave a shake of her head. “I was locked in a dungeon with the threat that a demented vampire who I narced on might track me down at any second.”

The tiny pang he felt was not guilt.

It was . . . contempt.

If she was so terrified of Gaius, then she shouldn’t have joined his demented band of misfits.

He gave a disgruntled wave of his hand. He couldn’t trust his thinking. Not when he was under the influence of her spell.

“We’ll finish this conversation once we’ve returned to Styx’s lair.”

She backed away, shaking her head even as she dug her fingernails into the sleeve of her sweatshirt, scratching at her inner arm. “No way.”

“Don’t press me, little witch.” His brows snapped together as his frustrated glare shifted to where she rubbed at her arm. It was distracting. “What’s wrong?”

“My arm itches.”

“Why?”

She sucked in an angry breath. “Probably because I’m allergic to ill-mannered jerks who get their jollies from intimidating helpless women,” she said. “It’s that or you gave me cooties.”

“Fine.” He leaned forward, his blood heating as the enticing scent of peaches teased at his senses. Damn witch. “You want to see the last of me?”

“Yes.”

“Then take off this goddamn spell.”

She actually pretended to be puzzled. “What?”

“I’m not in the mood, Sally.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grasp tight, but oddly careful not to bruise. “Take it off or I promise you that you’ll be very, very sorry.”

She futilely tried to pull away. “The spell was broken the moment I passed out.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s only a temporary enchantment,” she protested. “It was fading when we reached the end of the tunnel. By the time I fell asleep it was completely gone.”

“No—you’re lying. You’re trying to use me in some nefarious plot.”

“Nefarious?” she muttered. “Really?”

He lifted her off her feet, glaring straight into her wide eyes. “You bitch . . .”

“Chill,” she rasped, her dark eyes flashing with irritation. “And watch what you call me.”

Such stubborn courage.

Such exquisite beauty.

With a growl, he abruptly dropped her back to her feet, taking a step away from her sweet temptation. “What I call you should be the least of your concern.”

She stumbled before regaining her balance, tossing back her brilliant autumn hair as she glared at him in frustration. “What do you want from me? My promise? No freaking problem.” She drew an X on her sweatshirt, directly over her heart. He clenched his hands as the gesture emphasized the soft curve of her breasts. “I cross my heart and hope to die that the spell is gone.” Her hand dropped. “If it was still active don’t you think I would be making you lead me away from here, not freezing my ass off in this nasty . . .” She glanced around the warehouse where he’d brought her before the sun rose hours ago. “Where are we anyway?”

He stiffened, grimly allowing the humiliating memories of fleeing through the tunnels to escape with this female to rise to his mind.

At the time he would have done anything to keep her safe.

Anything.

And then he’d climbed out of the tunnel and the driving compulsion had been gone. Just as if a spell had suddenly been broken.

He shook his head. No. This had to be a trick.

What could be more clever than to release him from the greater compulsion so he would presume the spell was gone, while all along keeping him tied to her by far more subtle means?

A Manchurian candidate ready to be triggered when she felt the urge.

“That’s impossible.”

She shivered as his power wrapped around her in icy warning. “It’s the truth,” she protested.

“No.”

“Dammit, why are you so convinced I’m lying?”

“Because I can still feel you.”

“I . . .” Her words trailed away, her already pale face becoming downright ashen.

The sight wasn’t reassuring. “No smart-ass denial?”

“The spell is gone.” She hunched her shoulders, rubbing at her arm. “It has to be a—”

“A what?”

“Just a lingering side effect,” she said. “Yeah. A lingering side effect. That has to be it.”

She didn’t believe her excuse.

He knew because he could actually feel her growing agitation.

As if it were his own.

“Sally.”

She scrambled back as he reached to grasp her shoulders, her breath coming in short, painful pants.

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I told you I haven’t had much practice at being a demon.” She gave a sudden cry, yanking up the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Dammit. Why is my arm itching?” There was a startled silence before Sally released a strangled moan. “Oh . . . shit.”

“Now what?” he growled, wondering if she was trying to distract him.

“I think I have a disease.”

She turned her arm to reveal the intricate red scrolling that crawled the length of her inner forearm. The marking wasn’t a disease. Or a reaction to his cooties. Or even the result of a drunken trip to the local tattoo parlor.

This mark was beneath the pale skin and only one thing could cause it.

A mating.

Swearing in several languages, Roke ripped off his leather jacket to glare down at the matching tattoo that marred his own arm.

The demon in him howled in disbelief.

“God . . . dammit.”

Sally glanced at him in confusion. “Am I dying?”

“Only if I decide to kill you.”

“That’s not funny.” She tried to meet him glare for glare but she couldn’t hide her growing fear.

And for some stupid reason that pissed him off more than the mark of bonding on his arm.

“Nothing about this FUBAR situation is funny,” he roared, moving with lightning speed to slam his hand into the brick wall.

His knuckles split open beneath the impact and the bricks crumbled to dust. Ignoring the blood dripping onto the cement floor, he slammed his hand into the bricks again, allowing the pain to hold back the blinding fury that threatened to consume him.

“Stop,” Sally cried from behind him. “You might be immortal, but I’m not so sure I am.”

Belatedly realizing his temper tantrum was sending a shower of dust and plaster from the ceiling, Roke turned to glare at his companion. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

She jerkily brushed the dust from her hair. “I haven’t done . . .” She seemed to forget what she was going to say as her gaze shifted over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

He turned back, startled to discover the large hole he’d punched into the wall had revealed the top of an old-fashioned steel strongbox complete with a combination lock.

“A safe of some sort,” he said with a shrug.

What did he care? He’d discovered this forgotten warehouse during his first week in Chicago. It was not only isolated from most humans, but it was far enough from Styx’s lair that he could enjoy his nightly meditation without fear of interruption.

He’d never given much thought to who had owned it before it was abandoned.

“There’s something strange about it.” She moved to stand at his side, her brow furrowed. “I think we should open it.”

“We have much bigger things to worry about than some forgotten treasure.”

“I’m not interested in treasure,” she snapped. “There’s something wrong with the aura around it.”

“Aura?” With a roll of his eyes, Roke reached to rip the top off the safe, ignoring the ear-splitting screech of metal as it was wrenched apart. The sooner he was done with Sally’s latest attempt to distract him, the sooner they could deal with the catastrophe she’d created. Peering into the safe, he made a sound of impatience. “It’s empty. Are you happy . . . ?” He frowned, blinking as there was a strange shimmer, like the sheen of a soap bubble before it burst to reveal something at the very bottom. “No, wait. There’s a book.”

Reaching into the safe, Roke was caught off guard when Sally grabbed his arm in a frantic grip.

“No. Don’t touch it.”

He sent her a wary glance. “Why?”

“There’s a spell wrapped around it.” She shivered. “A very nasty spell.”

“Can you get rid of it?”

“Not without time to prepare a counterspell.” She turned to meet his narrowed stare. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re certain I must be lying.” She folded her arms over her chest, her expression militant. “You don’t believe me, go ahead and touch it.”

Yeah, right. As if magic hadn’t screwed up his life enough. He wasn’t about to be turned into a newt. Or worse.

Of course. If he was a newt, then he wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not he’d been trapped with this female for the next eternity.

With a shake of his head, Roke returned to pull on his leather jacket before grabbing Sally around the waist and, with one smooth motion, tossing her over his shoulder.

“This night could truly not get any worse,” he muttered, heading toward the door.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” she protested, slamming her hands against his back.

His arms wrapped around her thighs, keeping her from kicking him.

“If you hope to survive the night, little witch, you’ll keep your mouth shut until I tell you to speak.”

There was another flurry of fists to his back, hard enough to crack a rib.

“Bastard.”

 

 

 

Gaius stood hidden in the trees that circled the honky-tonk joint. The wooden structure with a brick chimney that belched smoke toward the star-speckled sky was barely adequate to contain the large crowd of humans that gyrated to the blaring country music. Not that they seemed to notice as they chugged their beer and laughed with increasing frequency.

They were young and arrogant and confident that they were impervious to harm.

Fools.

Not one of them sensed that death hovered just out of sight.

Gaius’s fangs lengthened, the scent of fresh blood overcoming even the stench of brats and sauerkraut. His stomach rumbled. Tasty.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he shouldn’t be hungry. Hadn’t he fed the night before last? Or was it last night?

Time was starting to run together. Something that should have troubled him. Just as his filthy, tangled hair and bloodstained clothing should have troubled him.

Ah well.

With a shake of his head, he moved forward, wincing as the shouts of drunken revelry turned to shrieks of terror.

His pace remained steady. They wouldn’t run. They never ran. At least not anymore.

It was a shame, really.

What was the point of being a predator if you couldn’t chase your prey?

Of course, if he were to be completely honest, he wasn’t certain that he had the energy to play the role of hunter. Since Dara’s return he hadn’t been able to rest. Not just because he had to be on guard to protect her, but fulfilling her constant needs was draining.

Perhaps that explained his incessant hunger. . . .

Climbing the wooden steps, Gaius entered the building and paused to savor the overwhelming emotions that filled the air. In the far corner the twenty humans cowered together in frozen terror, some crying softly while others gave panicked little moans. None, however, made a move to attack him.

Passing by the long, waist-high bar, he reached over to grab the bartender, who had been trying to ram his three-hundred-pound body beneath a shelf. With a strength that revealed his was anything but human, he hauled the struggling man over the bar and with one smooth strike had his teeth buried in the thick neck.

The man screamed, struggling to pull a large knife from its sheath at his waist. Gaius easily knocked the weapon from his hand as he sucked the blood from the bartender’s body, his burning hunger barely assuaged.