With a roll of her eyes, she tossed the clothes onto the mattress and stripped off her robe. “So all this was a waste of time?” She waved toward the clothes scattered across the floor.
His dark gaze made a slow, intimate survey of her slender curves. “Hardly a waste.”
“You are impossible,” she muttered, pulling on the jeans and the smaller hoodie before shoving her feet into the sneakers she’d been wearing when she arrived.
“Sí”,
he readily agreed, his smile filled with a lethal charm as he dressed. “But what would you do without me?”
She paused. Without him.
A hollow pain bloomed in the center of her very being. The sort of pain a vampire could die from.
“I don’t intend to find out,” she said, her voice so low she wasn’t certain Santiago had heard her until he’d grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her hard against his chest.
He gazed down at her pale face, his expression somber. “Nefri . . .”
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a sharp knock. For a minute, they stared at one another in silence, each unwilling to end the shockingly profound connection.
Then as there was another loud knock, Santiago was striding across the room, his curses filling the air. Yanking open the door, he glared at the handsome vampire who was attired in a gray tuxedo. “Dammit, Gabriel,” he growled in obvious annoyance. “What do you want?”
Unfazed by Santiago’s harsh tone, or the icy power that slammed through the air, Gabriel straightened the cuffs of his white, satin shirt. “There’s a”—he paused, a wicked amusement in his dark blue eyes—“creature downstairs who says that he’s your partner.”
Santiago scowled. Partner? What the hell?
“Levet,” Nefri murmured, coming to stand at his side.
Oh . . . hell. He’d forgotten the tiny gargoyle. Again. It had to be one of those Freudian things.
“A curious companion,” Gabriel said, clearly enjoying the thought of Santiago stuck with such a ridiculous creature.
“Don’t start,” Santiago cautioned his host.
Gabriel smiled. “He claims to have vital information that you must hear immediately.”
“Fine. Tell him to park his granite ass outside and we’ll be down to speak with him later.”
Gabriel shifted his gaze to Nefri, reaching to lift her hand to his lips. “My lady, I hope my humble establishment has been . . .”
“Yeah, yeah.” Santiago wrapped an arm around Nefri’s shoulder, firmly tugging her from Gabriel’s light grasp. “Go away.”
“Santiago,” Nefri chided softly. She understood he was an alpha vampire who felt the need to flex his muscles when another alpha was near, but she wasn’t a bone to be fought over. She had muscles of her own that could be flexed. “Thank you, Gabriel, for your most gracious hospitality.”
Gabriel flashed Santiago a condescending smile. “Manners are a lost art among the children, I fear.”
Santiago snorted, then deliberately slammed the door in Gabriel’s face.
Nefri shook her head. Males. “Do you feel better?”
His arm tightened around her shoulder and without warning he was swooping down to kiss her with a fierce intensity. She stiffened in surprise, then, sensing his need, she melted against him. This wasn’t about conquering her. Or even staking a claim.
It was an instinctive need to know she would willingly choose him above all others.
At last lifting his head, he regarded her with a brooding gaze. “Now I feel better.”
She went on her tiptoes to nip at his chin. “We need to find out what information Levet has.”
He grimaced. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to let him wait a few hours?”
She gave a shake of her head, that strange sense of urgency returning with a vengeance. “I don’t think we can afford to wait.”
His eyes darkened, as if he shared her sudden unease. “Oh . . . hell.”
Chapter 23
Styx’s lair in Chicago
To Sally the bedroom she’d been given looked like something out of a glossy magazine.
As big as her mother’s cottage, it was decorated in shades of sea foam green and silver. A massive fireplace consumed one wall with another wall lined with arched windows that overlooked a distant lake. The floor was covered by a Parisian carpet and the ceiling was covered with a painting of angels dancing among the clouds.
In the center of the room was a canopy bed with a pale green comforter that was perfectly matched to the chaise lounge set beside the windows. There was also a hand-carved armoire and a mirrored dressing table.
Clearly the gig of being the King of Vampires paid well, she wryly acknowledged, trying her best not to be intimidated by her surroundings.
It was bad enough that Roke had made her feel like the biggest loser to ever walk the earth.
“I couldn’t possibly have been trapped with a worse mate if I tried. . . .”
Cold-blooded snake.
She wasn’t going to be overawed by a mere house.
Thankfully while she was indulging in a hot bubble bath someone (she was betting on Styx’s lovely mate, Darcy) had made sure she had clean clothing. She chose a pair of black spandex pants that she matched with a white muscle shirt.
It was the perfect outfit for the hours of meditation she would need while her spell continued to simmer in the kitchen.
Or at least, that had been the plan.
She’d barely pulled on the clothes and run a brush through her damp hair when the silence was destroyed by a sudden knock. She stiffened, already knowing who was on the other side of the heavy walnut door.
She could actually
feel
Roke. As if there was a physical connection between them.
Standing in the center of the room, she wrapped her arms around her waist. It would be futile to try and pretend she was asleep. Roke was a vampire. He could no doubt hear the sudden increase of her heartbeat and the rapid rasp of her breath.
Besides, he’d already proven he didn’t give a crap about her or her feelings. Even if she was sleeping, he wouldn’t hesitate to wake her up.
While she dithered, there was another impatient bang on the door, and Roke’s voice sliced through the air. “Open the door, Sally. I need to speak with you.”
Comforting her wounded pride with the lovely image of turning the creep into a slimy toad, she yanked open the door to glare at the unwelcome intruder. “Why?” she asked in sweetly sick tones. “Did you have a few more insults you wanted to share?”
“No. I did—” His words broke off as his gaze took in her skimpy top and the clinging pants. The pale eyes darkened to smoke, his features sharpening with a hunger she didn’t need their bond to sense.
His lengthening fangs would have been the first clue.
Sally blushed, feeling ridiculously exposed beneath that searing gaze. Stupid considering she’d worn far less in public.
“You did what?” she prompted, clinging to the door and trying not to do her own share of staring. The arrogant vamp was well aware he was indecently gorgeous. He didn’t need her drooling to stroke his ego.
He muttered something too low for her to catch before he was retreating behind his facade of stoic self-control.
“I did some research on the warehouse,” he finished, his voice smooth.
Sally eagerly latched on to the distraction. Anything not to have to deal with the renegade excitement that fluttered in the pit of her stomach.
“What warehouse?”
“The one where the book was hidden.”
She frowned, not sure where this was going. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like mysteries.”
Sally paused, knowing he wasn’t being fully honest. There was some other reason for his sudden interest in the warehouse. Still, the sooner this conversation was over, the sooner he would leave. Why press for an answer he didn’t want to give?
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Let me in, Sally.”
“Fine.”
With exaggerated reluctance she stepped back, allowing him to enter the bedroom and close the door behind him. Moving past her, he glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the large bed.
“You’re comfortable?” he abruptly demanded, acting almost awkward as he turned to study her heated cheeks. “You like the room?”
Something dangerous tugged at her heart. Something she was quite ready to disguise behind a surge of annoyance. “Don’t try to be polite, Roke,” she muttered. “It doesn’t suit you.”
His lips tightened. “Do you want an apology?”
“Just say what you have to say and get out.”
There was a tense silence, as if he were battling against some inner demon. Then with a shrug, he flipped open a manila folder he’d been holding in his hand.
“The warehouse was previously owned by Lacombe Industries,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “Do you recognize the name?”
She frowned. “The cosmetic company?”
“No.” He studied the file. “They were listed as an import-export firm.”
“Never heard of them.” She stepped toward him without thought, her bare feet barely making a sound on the expensive carpet. “Why?”
“Spike worked his magic on the computer and traced ownership of the company to a”—he flipped through a number of pages—“Anya Dubkova.”
She gave a loud snort. “A vampire named Spike? Is that a joke?”
Roke shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to find it particularly funny, but the rest of us do.”
She rolled her eyes. “Leeches.”
Ignoring her brief interruption, he tapped a finger against the file. “Is the name Anya familiar?”
“Why should it be?”
“She was a powerful witch who was the head of the local coven.”
“Oh.” She felt a stab of relief. The last thing she wanted was to deal with the black magic. There was always a backlash. Not that she was going to admit her reluctance. She’d learned a long time ago never to reveal a vulnerability. “Good.”
He lifted his brows. “Good?”
“If you can get the witch who cast the spell it’s much easier for her to remove it than for me to smash my way past it.”
He grimaced. “She’s not going to be removing any spells.”
Of course not. She swallowed a sigh. “Why not?”
“She and her entire coven were slaughtered almost thirty years ago.”
Without warning he pulled out a glossy black and white photo that he shoved under her nose.
She blinked, plucking the photo from his fingers so she could focus on the image. Immediately she wished she hadn’t.
Her stomach revolted as she took in the sight of the bloody female bodies that were spread across a cement floor. The warehouse? It was impossible to know, and it didn’t really matter. Not with the gruesome tumble of corpses that had clearly been savaged.
She wasn’t an innocent.
She’d been raised by a black witch and then eventually wound up in the service of the Dark Lord. She’d witnessed things that still gave her nightmares.
But this . . .
“Oh my god,” she breathed.
“The massacre caused a panic at the time, according to the newspapers,” Roke said. “Of course, the local police didn’t realize the twelve women were witches. They assumed that a serial killer had collected them together and then murdered them in one bloody spree.”
Sally shook her head. “No serial killer could have done”—she shuddered, refusing to glance any closer at the mutilated bodies—“this. Not to a coven of witches.”
“What could?”
She shoved the picture back into his hand. “If they were caught off guard, then any number of powerful demons could have killed them.”
She deliberately didn’t use the word “vampire,” but his jaw tightened as he shoved the photo back into the file and pulled out a newspaper clipping.
“Here’s a picture of Anya Dubkova before her death.” He waited for her to take the clipping and study the picture of a middle-aged woman with silver hair pulled into a neat bun and a slender body attired in a business suit. She looked like a banker. “You’ve never seen her?” he prompted.
Sally lifted her gaze to regard him with a flare of impatience. “Do you know every vampire?”
“No.”
“Then why would you . . .” She sucked in a sharp breath, startled by the realization that this man could still manage to wound her. You’d think she’d have developed a thicker skin. “Oh, I see. You assume that because she owned the warehouse where the book was hidden by black magic the witches must have been evil.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “And since I’m evil we must naturally be BFFs.”
His eyes darkened at her accusation, but his expression remained unreadable. “I’m merely seeking information,” he pointed out. “And there aren’t so many covens that it would be a huge leap to think you might have crossed paths.”
She allowed the clipping to flutter to the floor, turning to pace toward the windows. “I avoided witches after my powers became more obvious. I couldn’t risk them suspecting I had demon blood.” She studied the night sky speckled with stars. “If they didn’t kill me they would certainly have turned me over to my mother.”
Roke made a low sound and she felt an elusive emotion surge through their bond. It was gone before she could pin it down.
“How can we find out more about this coven?” he asked, his voice as cool and steady as ever.
With an effort, she forced herself to turn and meet his pale, guarded gaze. “I doubt that we can.” She hesitated. She’d been taught from the cradle never to speak of the coven’s private business. It wasn’t a simple matter to overcome a lifetime of conditioning. “Witches are by nature secretive and they would have made sure that their private records were protected by a nullifying spell.”
“What’s that?”
“A spell that would be activated by their death,” she reluctantly explained. “When they died their records, letters, and any personal information would have been destroyed.”
He frowned, seemingly bothered by her words. “Except the book.”
Oh. He was right. A book that was so dangerous it had to be hidden by black magic was precisely the sort of thing the witches would have made certain was destroyed rather than allowing it to fall into the hands of their enemies.
“Yes,” she said with a slow nod.
“Why?”
A good question. Perhaps even a dangerous question.
She chewed her bottom lip, unaware of Roke’s covert fascination with the unconscious habit.
“We won’t know until I break the spell guarding it,” she at last announced.
With a speed that was too swift for her to track, he was standing only inches away, his hands grasping her face so he could scowl down at her.
“No.”
“No?” She told herself it was surprise at his abrupt approach that made her heart thunder in her chest and not the cool touch of his hands against her face. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“You’re not going near that book until we find out more about what killed the coven,” he growled. “And why.”
She stilled. “You think the two are connected?”
“We’ve already determined that I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Then surely it’s all the more important that we find out what’s in the book?”
“No.” The pale eyes shimmered silver in the muted light, a hint of fang showing. “I don’t care if I have to lock you back in the dungeon. You’re not returning to that warehouse.”
Summerset House
Santiago led Nefri down the back steps of the club, already sensing the vampires filling the public rooms. The word of Nefri’s arrival had clearly spread like wildfire and every demon in the area was rushing to catch a glimpse of her.
Thankfully Gabriel had foreseen the impending crowd and had moved Levet to a secluded room beneath the garages with two armed guards outside to make sure of their privacy.
Perhaps a bit of overkill, but Gabriel was notorious for his detailed attention to his guests’ comfort, predicting their every need. Just as Santiago was renowned for providing his guests with every wicked pleasure they could desire.
Using a hidden tunnel to travel from the house to the garage, they took the staircase down to what once had been a human bomb shelter.
The small square of cement was hardly designed for comfort, but Santiago fully approved of the fact it was secure, with no opportunity for their conversation to be overheard.
Not only because they needed to discuss the next step in their hunt for Gaius, but because he didn’t need his fellow vampires seeing him in the company of the stunted gargoyle who was impatiently pacing the floor when they entered the room.
“Ah, at last,” the creature muttered, his tail twitching as he came to an abrupt halt. “I have been waiting forever.”
Santiago rolled his eyes, well aware that it had been less than a half an hour since Gabriel informed them that Levet had arrived at the club. Nefri, however, was swiftly moving forward to pat the tip of his wing.
“Forgive us, Levet.”
The ugly little face lit with a sudden smile. “How can I stay angry? You are forgiven,
ma belle
.”
Santiago noticed there was no mention of forgiveness for him.
“Thank you.” Nefri smiled. “Did you have a reunion with Yannah?”
Levet heaved a tragic sigh. “
Non
. She was . . . unavailable.”
“Ah.” Nefri gave the delicate wing another pat. “Just be patient.”
“Fah. I have been oh-so patient, but for what?” Levet spread his arms. “Heartache.”
Santiago took an impatient step forward. He’d been forced to let the ridiculous creature trail along, but he drew the line at discussing the gargoyle’s love life. “You told Gabriel you had some vital information that couldn’t wait,” he said in sharp tones.