Darkness Avenged (Guardians of Eternity) (5 page)

Then why did he have to force his feet to carry him out of the dungeons?

It had to be because she managed to look so pale and young and defenseless, he grimly reassured himself, grimacing as he entered the marble hallway. There was a part of him that was an instinctive protector of the weak. Perhaps it was natural to be bothered by the sight of such a small, fragile creature locked in the cells that were a level beneath the original dungeons and devised for only the most dangerous of Styx’s enemies.

A nice explanation.

Unfortunately it didn’t explain why he’d been so fascinated by the warm scent of peaches that seemed to cling to her skin. Soap? Perfume?

Or the jolt of arousal that had slammed into him when he’d allowed his gaze to trail down to her slender body, which was curved in all the right places.

He growled low in his throat. He didn’t want to be aroused by the female. Not only because she was a witch. Vampires hated magic and magic users. All magic users. Or even because she’d been a toady for the Dark Lord.

Roke was male enough to understand that his cock didn’t give a shit about the race, religion, species, or moral integrity of a potential lover. It responded to primitive needs that were disconnected from his brain.

But he’d learned long ago that only a fool gave in to his passions. Especially when it involved an unworthy female.

These days he was very selective about the women he took to his bed. He wanted a female he could respect and who understood his duty to his clan. One he could depend on not to make demands.

“And I thought I had piss-poor people skills,” a deep voice drawled.

“You do,” Roke retorted, watching the massive Aztec step through an open door to block his path.

The Anasso was casually dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair pulled into a long braid, but there was nothing casual in the heavy, pulsing power that filled the air.

Roke clenched his hands. He was too alpha not to react to the unspoken challenge in the air, although he was wise enough to keep his instincts tightly leashed.

Styx narrowed his dark eyes. “Is this mood because I asked you to keep an eye on our prisoner, or because she’s a witch?”

“I’m not a nanny,” he growled, not about to admit the arousal that continued to plague him.

Styx’s lips twitched. “Thank the gods.”

“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing.”

“You’re stuck here for now,” the king pointed out. “You can snap and snarl like a rabid hellhound or you can accept your fate with a little grace.”

Grace?

Roke hadn’t wanted to come to Chicago in the first place, but the Anasso had insisted they needed his rare talent for reading prophecies. Then, just when he was preparing to return to his clan in Nevada, the prophet, Cassandra, had claimed to have seen him in one of her visions.

Now he was stuck in this godforsaken palace of marble and gilt, so bored out of his mind that he was beginning to imagine he could be attracted to a pint-sized witch.

“Just because that damned prophet—”

“Careful, Roke,” Styx interrupted, his power edged with pinpricks of warning. “That ‘damned prophet’ is part of my family.”

Cassandra was the sister to Styx’s mate, Darcy. Both pure-blooded Weres, but well-deserving of respect.

“I, like everyone, revere the prophet. But, just because she saw me in one of her visions, the gods only know how long ago, doesn’t mean I have to be trapped in Chicago,” he clarified.

“Trapped?”

His fangs ached. He needed to bite something.

Or someone.

Perhaps a tiny female with hair the color of autumn, rich brown eyes, and the sweet scent of peaches . . .

No, dammit.

He turned to glare at the Mary Cassatt painting framed on the wall. Not that he could disguise his unease from Styx. The ancient vampire wasn’t the Anasso just because he had the biggest sword.

“I need to be with my clan.”

“Cassandra doesn’t have random visions,” Styx reminded him with a growing impatience. “It has to be important.”

Roke shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Your lair isn’t the center of the universe. Something important could just as easily happen in Nevada.”

There was a long pause and Roke could physically feel the weight of Styx’s searching gaze.

“Roke, is there something going on I should know about?” he asked. “Some reason you’re so eager to leave?”

“I’ve wanted to leave since the day I got here,” he reminded his companion, there was enough truth in his words to divert the persistent vampire. “Besides, the prophet hasn’t had another vision. Maybe whatever is supposed to happen is years away.”

“Until we know what the danger is, I won’t allow you to be without our protection.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time,” he muttered.

“Now you have us.”

“Lucky me.”

Styx slammed a hand on his shoulder. “Damn straight.”

 

 

Nefri ignored Santiago as she moved with blinding speed out of the kitchen and up the narrow stairs.

No, that was not entirely true.

Who could ignore a six-foot-plus male who was only a step behind her as she made her way down the narrow hall? Especially when he was nearly quivering with the need to pull her behind him and take the lead. A typical male with a big sword and bigger ego who always wanted to be in charge.

Or maybe he merely wanted to protect her,
a renegade voice whispered in the back of her mind.

A voice that she easily crushed as the stench of rotting flesh became nearly overwhelming.

“Dios,”
Santiago muttered. “What has that gargoyle done?” Levet abruptly stepped around a corner, his gray skin an ashen shade in the moonlight. “I did nothing beyond locate a room hidden behind a spell of illusion,” he said, defending himself.

Santiago made a sound of disgust. “That’s why we didn’t catch the stench miles away.”

Nefri muttered an ancient curse, infuriated by the knowledge she’d allowed Santiago’s arrival to distract her. She’d been too long behind the Veil. The constant peace and sense of security had dulled her senses and made her sloppy. “I should have searched for illusions the moment I arrived,” she chastised herself.

“Ah yes, I forgot that little talent,” Santiago drawled, referring to her rare ability to break through lesser spells.

“I wish I had left the illusion in place.” Levet shifted uneasily, his wings drooping. “I do not believe you want to see what has been done,
ma chérie
.”

Nefri was certain he was right. The smell alone was enough to make her stomach clench. And there was something else. Something as dark and ancient as time.

But she’d been sent by the Oracles for a reason. She couldn’t turn her back on her duty.

“
Merci,
Levet, but I must know what’s happened.”

“A massacre,” the tiny gargoyle breathed, reluctantly stepping aside as Nefri rounded the corner and moved toward the open door.

She’d barely reached the edge of the threshold when Santiago was angling to put his body between her and whatever was waiting inside, his sword drawn and his fangs exposed.

She rolled her eyes at his protective manner. She was one of the most powerful demons ever to walk the earth. The last thing she needed was a knight in shining armor. But even as the clan chief in her warned she needed to nip his Neanderthal behavior in the bud, another part was wryly accepting that Santiago was far too stubborn to be properly trained.

A knowledge that should have annoyed her, not sent a tiny thrill of excitement shooting through her heart.

The inane thought was swiftly forgotten as Santiago came to a sharp halt, his broad back tensing. “What the . . .” He made a sound of disgust. “
Cristo
. It looks like the set of
Saw
.”

She frowned in confusion. “What?”

“A horror flick.”

Nefri shuddered. Her time behind the Veil meant that she wasn’t always up to date with human entertainment, but she did know that the current trend in films included a lot of blood and violence.

Steeling her nerves, she forced herself to step past Santiago’s large body and studied the carnage spread across the room.

Levet had been right.

It was bad.

Even by demon standards.

The victims were all human, some male and some female, although it was nearly impossible to tell in the hideous mix of body parts, some of which were still shackled to the walls while others were piled in the middle of the blood-soaked floor.

“Were they tortured?” she asked, pointing to the knives and even an ax that were nearly hidden beneath the gore.

Santiago returned his sword to its scabbard, his expression grim. “Worse.”

“What could be worse?”

“They were forced to torture themselves trying to escape. The room reeks of . . .”

“Fear,” she finished for him, the lingering terror in the room crawling over her skin like an insidious disease.

They fell silent as they considered the slaughter. With an effort, Nefri coldly stripped away the horror of what she was seeing to concentrate on basic facts.

There were five—no six—humans spread across the wooden floor. They were all young, perhaps in their early twenties, and what was left of their clothing suggested they hadn’t been homeless. Local college students?

They’d been held in the room for at least a week and occasionally fed and watered if the amount of waste mixed in with the mess was any indication. They’d been physically fit. There was no other way they could have endured such punishment for such a length of time.

And all were mutilated beyond the point of recognition.

To have been able to keep so many suffering people hidden behind the illusion for such a length of time took more than the usual enchantment.

She took a step further into the room, allowing her senses to flow through the thick air. She should be able to pick up something. A scent. A lingering trace of power. A stray piece of DNA left behind.

But there was nothing.

Which spoke for itself.

“This isn’t Gaius’s doing,” Santiago at last broke into the heavy silence. “At least not on his own.”

“No,” she softly agreed.

Strong, slender fingers closed around Nefri’s upper arm and Santiago pulled her back into the hallway, turning her to meet his piercing gaze. “Nefri, this is no longer a game.”

“I never said it was.”

“Then tell me what the hell is going on.”

She tilted her chin. “You know I can’t discuss this.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” he hissed.

“No.”

His raw power swirled through the air, reminding her that he wasn’t one of her docile clansmen. Santiago was ruled by primitive passions and male impulses.

“Do you see that massacre?” he snapped, pointing toward the open door.

She met him glare for glare. “I can hardly miss it.”

“And you still want to play politics?”

Her hands clenched at the unfair accusation. The
last
thing she wanted was to be caught in politics. Wasn’t that the reason she’d retreated behind the Veil in the first place?

“If you want answers, then approach the Oracles and ask your questions,” she informed him in icy tones, turning on her heel to walk away.

It was that or tossing him through the nearest window.

“Nefri.” In the blink of an eye he was standing in front of her, blocking her path. “You’re not leaving until you tell me the truth.”

She lifted a warning hand, her fangs extended. “You’re a typical alpha male, Santiago, but you’re not stupid.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I give orders, I don’t take them.”

 

 

 

Unlike Louisiana, northern Wisconsin was already in the grip of late autumn. The night air was edged with frost and the countryside filled with sugar maples that were in full glory, painting the dark sky in shades of gold and crimson.

Locating a remote cabin in the middle of a thick patch of woods, Gaius made swift work of the elderly couple, draining them dry before burying them deep in the rocky ground. Then, ensuring his beloved Dara was comfortable in the upstairs loft, he spent the remainder of the night covering the windows with heavy shutters and reinforcing the doors, belatedly thankful that his essence had been destroyed weeks ago by the witch. No one would be able to follow his trail.

Still it was only when he was certain that he’d made the place as safe as possible that he climbed the narrow stairs and crossed the wood-planked floor to the bed covered by a handstitched quilt.

His feet briefly faltered as the body in the center of the bed faded to a black mist, as if it were as insubstantial as a cloud. Then, the darkness coalesced into a slender female form that was covered in a short skirt and halter top he’d found in his previous lair.

A figment of his imagination, he assured himself, ignoring the fact that it wasn’t the first time his mate had appeared less than . . . corporeal.

Continuing forward, he gazed down at the perfect oval of Dara’s honey-tinted face framed by a curtain of straight, blue-black hair. She was so beautiful, he acknowledged with a pang of longing.

Exquisite.

A daughter of the desert.

Carefully, he perched on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his black hair he kept short and slicked back from his lean face, which had once been considered handsome with a wide brow and prominent nose. Although now it was covered with dirt and blood, making him look more like a savage than the proud Roman general he’d once been.