Fear the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity) (30 page)

“What the hell?” the vampire muttered.

Styx swung his sword at the demon’s thick neck, having discovered after several futile attempts that their hearts were covered by a layer of bone armor that was impossible to penetrate.

“A rift has been opened,” Styx growled, lopping off the head of the demon and kicking its body back through the opening. The things were not only ugly, but they reeked.

There was a momentary silence as the rift remained empty, although he could catch glimpses of various creatures that prowled through the hell dimension. He didn’t doubt that once they discovered there was an open doorway they would eagerly try to enter this world.

Jagr moved to his side, grimacing at the gaping rip in space. “Can you close it?”

Styx snorted. If he was as omnipotent as people expected him to be, he’d be wearing a cape and leaping over tall buildings. “No. We’re going to need backup.” He grimaced, barely able to form the words. “Get Levet.”

Jagr blinked. Then blinked again. No doubt wondering if Styx had taken a blow to the head. “I hate to question your decisions,” he said cautiously, “but I don’t think the gargoyle has the magic to deal with this.”

“No, but my power has no doubt drained our phones,” he admitted, all too familiar with his effect on modern technology. Usually, he was happy as hell to do without the constant buzz and intrusion of electronic devices, but right now he’d give his right nut for a working phone. “And he’s the only one who can contact the lair so they’ll send out the troops.”

Jagr pulled out his phone to glance at the black screen with a grimace. “Fine. I’ll have him contact Regan. She’ll be able to organize things from Chicago.”

Styx nodded. Regan was Jagr’s mate and his own mate’s sister. The female Were was proving to possess a talent for detailed organization. She’d already rearranged Jagr’s massive library so a covey of harpies—who were astonishingly brilliant when they weren’t in mating season—could sift through them in search of any prophecies that might have been overlooked, as well as set up safe houses for children and those too weak to protect themselves.

Jagr was torn between undiluted pride in his mate and a resigned acceptance that his life would never be the same.

There was a blast of frigid air as Jaelyn skidded into the room at the same moment a demon with jagged horns, skin the color of puce, and a long snout that made him look like a perverted anteater climbed through the rift.

“What the hell?” the female vampire hissed in shock.

“Yeah, my words exactly,” Jagr muttered, stepping forward to swing his sword at the creature.

Styx motioned Jaelyn forward. “I’m going to need you, Hunter.”

“Of course. I haven’t had a good fight in days.” She smiled, revealing her razor-sharp fangs in a smile of anticipation. “Move out of the way, Goth-boy.”

Pulling out her sawed-off shotgun, Jaelyn began firing silver bullets into the creature as Jagr muttered a curse and leaped to the side.

“You’re a menace,” he informed his fellow vampire.

Jaelyn shrugged, kicking the demon back through the rift. “You should see me when I’m pissed off.”

Both men shuddered. Jaelyn pissed off was a sight neither wanted to experience.

Then, as there was the sound of nearing growls through the rift, Jagr turned to head for the door. “I’ll return as soon as Levet has contacted Regan.”

“Jagr,” Styx called out.

“Yes?”

“Have Salvatore send some of his Weres, but tell him to remain at my lair. This could be yet another distraction.”

Jagr nodded. “Is that all?”

“Make sure my mate returns to Chicago.”

The large vampire snorted as he continued out the door. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

Styx grimaced. He knew better than to hope his mate would return to the safety of his lair. But then, he wouldn’t leave her behind. Why should he expect anything different from her?

Poised for attack, Jaelyn glanced over her shoulder. “Did Kostas create this?”

“No.” Styx’s expression was grim. “The Dark Lord.”

“Shit.” The blue eyes darkened as she instantly comprehended the danger. “The ceremony has been completed?”

“I’m sure it has by now.” His jaw tightened beneath the tide of frustrated fury. “She has the child as well as a sacrifice.”

Unexpectedly, Jaelyn frowned. “But she hasn’t come through?”

“Not yet.” He was struck by a sudden, hideous thought. “Or at least not here.”

“You think there’s other rifts?”

“‘
Pathways that have been hidden will be found and the Veil parted to the faithful
,’” he quoted in harsh tones.

“Oh hell.” Jaelyn glanced toward the swarms of distant shapes that crawled on the other side of the opening. “That can’t be good.”

No it wasn’t good.

In fact, things were going in the toilet at hyperspeed.

And all he could do was try and hold back the tidal wave of disaster. Like Hans Brinker sticking his finger in the dyke.

“We have to get the warning out.”

The Dark Lord’s prison

Gaius remained on his knees, his head pressed to the ground, which was cloaked by white. He’d been in the same position since his abortive attempt to flee with the prophet, simply waiting for the torture to begin.

Why fight the inevitable? He’d rolled the dice and lost. Now it was time to pay his debts.

Barely aware of the passing time, he remained kneeling, praying for a swift, painless death even as he accepted it was going to be slow and bloody and quite likely to stretch over centuries, if not longer.

After what might have been minutes or an eternity, the punishing pain that warned of the Dark Lord’s approach slammed into him.

“Ah, my faithless Gaius,” she purred, her low voice nearly peeling the skin off his flesh.

His teeth clenched in agony. “Mistress.”

Without warning, he was grasped by his hair and yanked to his feet.

“Do you think that groveling will save you?” the Dark Lord demanded, her eyes smoldering with crimson fire.

He hung loosely in the painful grip, his gaze shifting to the unconscious fairy that the Dark Lord had dropped at her feet.

How . . . odd.

The powerful bitch gave him a violent shake, reminding Gaius that he hadn’t answered her question.

“No, Mistress.”

“Ah.” Fingers grasped his chin, forcing his head up to meet the fiery glare. “So you are pretending to be resigned to your fate.”

Her gaze blazed through him like a blowtorch, making Gaius flinch despite his numbing sense of defeat.

“As you say.”

“Don’t be such a . . .” The burning eyes returned to blue as the Dark Lord considered her words. “What is the saying? A wet blanket?”

With a casual flick of her hand she sent Gaius flying backward. He landed awkwardly on his side, breaking at least two ribs, but with an effort he forced himself to his feet and walked back to stand before her.

“Forgive me, Mistress.”

She sniffed, not entirely pacified. “Certainly you shall be punished for your betrayal, but for now you’re in for a special treat.”

He hid his shudder. The Dark Lord’s idea of a “special treat” would make any sane man cringe in horror.

“Am I?”

“Yes, I have my sacrifice.” Reaching down, the Dark Lord grabbed the fairy by the throat and dangled her like a trophy. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Very beautiful,” he dutifully agreed, despite the fact the poor fairy looked like she’d been pulled out of a cesspit.

“I do wish she was awake,” the Dark Lord pouted. “Sacrifices are so much more fun when they scream, don’t you think?”

Gaius grimaced, the unwelcomed reminder of his twisted pleasure in causing females pain slicing through him. He tried to tell himself that it had been his driving sense of guilt at betraying his mate, even if she was dead, that had caused the violence. And that he’d always known deep inside him that he was allowing himself to drown in the evil temptation the Dark Lord offered because it was the only way to ignore his faltering sense of honor.

But there was no excuse.

None.

“I do,” he admitted bleakly.

The blue eyes narrowed as the Dark Lord easily sensed his pulsing regret. “Really, Gaius, you have proven to be a serious disappointment,” she snapped, her power slashing against Gaius like a thousand knives. Only when blood was dripping from his wounds and his knees barely capable of holding him upright did she return her attention to the fairy dangling from her hand. “But no matter. Soon enough I shall be able to have my pick of worshippers.”

Thank the gods, Gaius silently celebrated. The sooner the bitch had her worshippers, the sooner she would put an end to his misery.

Then his dark thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable scent of vampire. Testing the air, he realized the odor was coming from the fairy.

“She smells of Kostas,” he muttered in confusion.

“Yes.” The female deity smiled with a cruel satisfaction. “He was kind enough to have her waiting at his altar.”

“And Kostas?” He glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing but swirling fog. “Is he here?”

“Of course not. He used his talents to kidnap the child. He was no longer needed.” The Dark Lord frowned at Gaius’s sharp burst of laughter. “What is so funny?”

Gaius shook his head, unable to mourn the arrogant vampire. He’d warned the bastard, hadn’t he? “Nothing.”

The Dark Lord stabbed him with a suspicious glare before giving a wave of her hand to part the mists, revealing the baby she’d left hidden.

“Bring me the child,” she commanded.

Reluctantly, Gaius moved to scoop Maluhia into his arms, a strange ache in the center of his chest as he gazed down at the wide blue eyes.

Innocent. So horribly innocent.

“He’s awake,” he said, his voice unsteady. A warning prickle of heat crawled over his skin.

“Don’t even think of doing anything foolish.”

Gaius’s lips twisted. He’d already tried foolish. What else did you call helping the prophet and her protector to escape?

It didn’t work out any better than his blind faith in evil.

“I’ve accepted my destiny,” he assured his companion, crossing to stand directly before her.

“As have I,” the Dark Lord murmured, bending the fairy over her arm and casually ripping out her throat. She chuckled in gruesome pleasure as the blood gushed over both of them, her eyes once again filled with crimson fire. “And it is to be glorious.”

Gaius stumbled backward as the Dark Lord dropped the dead fairy and reached to take the baby into her arms, the mists abruptly thickening around her.

A suffocating power crackled through the fog and Gaius groaned.
Cristo
, the very air was crushing him beneath its force.

He considered fleeing, but where would he go? And what would happen when the Dark Lord came looking for him?

He’d earned enough punishment for one lifetime.

Besides, if he stayed close enough, maybe the backlash of her transformation would rip him apart. Not a bad way to go, all things considered.

The defeatist thought had barely been formed when there was the sensation of trembling beneath his feet. He frowned, glancing down. What was that? An earthquake? A tsunami?

Or was the very fabric of the world about to be split apart?

At this point, nothing would surprise him.

Or at least, that’s what he was arrogant enough to assume.

Until a blinding flash of light pierced through the fog surrounding the Dark Lord.

Gaius hissed, throwing up his arm to protect his eyes. It was like being in the middle of a nuclear blast. No, worse, he corrected as an abrupt wind seared past him, melting his flesh from his bones.

He was being cooked alive with no promise of death.

Sinking to his knees as the ground beneath his feet heaved and rolled with a growing violence, Gaius screamed until he had no voice left.

And still the brutal wind continued to pummel him, stripping him to his very bones as a female laugh echoed in the distance.

“Tremble before me.”

Chapter 19

Outside Styx’s lair in Chicago

Cassie kneeled beside Caine, keeping guard despite the knowledge she would be no match against the powerful vampires and Weres and a dozen other demons she could sense in the massive brick home.

A fact that was only reinforced as a male Were crossed the manicured lawn with long strides, the glow of his golden eyes visible even from a distance. She shuddered, her muscles rigid with shock.

Holy crap. The very air sizzled with his power. The kind of power only a king could command.

She instinctively moved to stand between Caine and the approaching intruder, something in her expression making him halt a few feet away, his hand lifted in a gesture of peace.

“Cassandra?”

She allowed her gaze to skim over the lean, hard body that was emphasized by the tailored pinstripe suit before rising to the handsome face. With his dark hair slicked back into a neat tail, and his bronzed skin recently shaved, he should have looked like a civilized businessman.

Instead he looked . . . lethal.

A predator that would kill without mercy.

“You’re Salvatore?” she demanded, her voice husky with weariness.

“Yes.” He lowered his hand. “May I approach?”

She hesitated. She hadn’t forgotten that not so long ago Salvatore and Caine had been mortal enemies. Or that the king had sworn to have Caine’s head on a platter.

But what choice did she have?

She didn’t know precisely what had been done to Caine, but she did know their best hope was Salvatore. Only a king could call back a Were once they’d gone feral. It had something to do with their connection to the pack.

If anyone could reach Caine, it would be this man.

Hesitantly she moved back, glancing toward the Were who lay unconscious on the ground, his mutilated body bathed in moonlight.

“Caine’s been hurt.”

“So I see,” he said gently, moving to study Caine. “Was it a spell?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who cast it?”