Levet

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Authors: Alexandra Ivy

BOOK: Levet
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Books by Alexandra Ivy
WHEN DARKNESS COMES
 
EMBRACE THE DARKNESS
 
DARKNESS EVERLASTING
 
DARKNESS REVEALED
 
DARKNESS UNLEASHED
 
BEYOND THE DARKNESS
 
DEVOURED BY DARKNESS
 
BOUND BY DARKNESS
 
FEAR THE DARKNESS
 
DARKNESS AVENGED
 
MY LORD VAMPIRE
 
MY LORD ETERNITY
 
MY LORD IMMORTALITY
 
And don't miss these Guardians of Eternity novellas
 
TAKEN BY DARKNESS
in YOURS FOR ETERNITY
 
DARKNESS ETERNAL in SUPERNATURAL
WHERE DARKNESS LIVES in THE REAL
WEREWIVES OF VAMPIRE COUNTY
 
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
LEVET
A
LEXANDRA
I
VY
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
CHAPTER 1
Midnight in Paris
 
Walking through the dark shadows beneath the Eiffel Tower, Levet avoided the human tourists who strolled along the sidewalk to admire the carnival atmosphere that spilled through the streets despite the late hour.
Something inside of him seemed to bloom as he savored the sights and sounds that he'd been denied for so long.
He loved Paris.
It was the city of his birth.
The city where he'd first spread his wings and soared toward the night sky. The city where he'd first lost his heart to a naughty imp who'd lured him beyond the few cottages that were all that made up the early town and taught him how to please a woman.
And the city where his greatest enemies resided.
Enemies who also happened to be his family.
His sense of homecoming vanished like a bubble being popped.
Being different wasn't admired among the gargoyles. And, when it had been determined he was never going to grow beyond his miniscule three-foot stature and that his wings were going to remain as delicate as a dew fairy's that shimmered in hues of blue and crimson and gold, he was tossed away like a piece of rubbish.
No. He scrunched his ugly gray face into a grimace, his long tail twitching at the unwelcomed memories.
He'd been more than tossed away. He'd been banished. Shunned by his own people.
With an effort, he squashed the painful recollections and reminded himself he was no longer that frightened
enfant
.
Far from it.
Just a few weeks ago he'd stood up to the baddest of the bad.
He, Levet the Gargoyle, hero of all ages, had defeated the Dark Lord and his hordes of minions.
Cue swelling music.
Okay, there had perhaps been a few vampires and Weres who helped destroy the bastard. And Abby had been there, the current Goddess of Light. Oh, and a Sylvermyst or two. And curs . . .
But he'd been the one who had struck the killing blow.
Right before the Dark Lord had skewered him with a lightning bolt that had burned straight through his chest and into his heart. If it hadn't been for Yannah's swift action he would even now be nothing more than toast.
Extra-crispy toast.
He heaved a rueful sigh, not quite as grateful as he should be.
The pretty, flighty, lethally dangerous female demon was enough to make any poor man's head spin.
For weeks she'd led him on a merry dance, appearing and then disappearing. Kissing him one minute and slugging him on the chin the next.
It had been . . . exasperating. But also thrilling.
What male did not love the
danse de l'amour
?
But after she'd rescued him from the cellar of the warehouse where he'd halted the looming apocalypse, she'd taken him to her cozy little home.
In hell.
Literally.
Fire. Brimstone. Ghouls.
And a full-blood Jinn as a next-door neighbor.
Not the most comfortable place for a gargoyle who was never so happy as when he was soaring across a star-spangled sky.
And then there was Yannah.
The female made him natty.
Or was it nutty?
Whatever.
She had gone from a charming, elusive tease to a female who was determined to smother him with her fussing and fretting.
Sacrebleu
. His wounds had fully healed. Well, unless you counted the bit of charred skin in the center of his chest. It was annoying to be coddled like he was a helpless
bébé
.
At last he'd had enough.
He needed space to breathe.
And more than that, he had a few ghosts to lay to rest.
Speaking of ghosts . . .
Halting just beyond the Eiffel Tower, Levet muttered a curse as he caught the scent of moldy granite. He'd known it wouldn't take long for the whispers of his arrival to reach the ears of his brethren.
No one gossiped worse than a clutch of gargoyles.
Still, he'd hoped that he could at least reach his mother's lair before being attacked.
Landing with enough force to send tiny quakes through the street, the two gargoyles (one male and the other female) spread a spell of illusion to hide them from the passing mortals.
Levet grimaced. The two were everything that Levet was not.
Towering over six feet with leathery wings that they tucked close to their massive bodies, they were creatures who would cause nightmares even among the demon world.
Their gray skin was the texture of an elephant hide and absorbed the moonlight. They had stunted horns that could smash through steel and long tusks that could pierce through armor. It was, however, their brutal features that truly reflected their savage natures.
Cold, ruthless, viciously unforgiving.
“Well, well,” the female drawled, her gray eyes holding a cruel amusement that sent a chill down Levet's spine. “If it isn't my prodigal brother.”
At a glance it would be impossible to guess that the three gargoyles were related. Claudine was his elder sister while Ian was a first cousin.
Of course, it wasn't just their appearances that were different, Levet consoled himself. His relatives were nasty-tempered monsters who terrorized lesser demons with spiteful glee.
Oh, and their sense of humor was nonexistent. Which meant that Levet couldn't resist tweaking their ugly snouts.
“Fred. Wilma,” he murmured. “Where's Dino?”
Having come from the shallow end of the gene pool, the male demon furrowed his heavy brow in confusion.
“
Non
. You are mistaken. My name is Ian, not Fred.”
“He knows your name,
imbecile
,” Claudine hissed, slapping her companion on the back of the head. “As usual he believes himself to be amusing.” She turned back to glare at Levet. “What are you doing in Paris?”
“I heard that Marcel Marceau was reviving his mime act.” Levet flashed an innocent smile. “I didn't want miss opening night.”
Ian blinked. “But isn't he dead?”
“Shut up.” Claudine gave Ian another slap, her gaze never wavering from Levet. “You know you're not allowed in the city. The Guild kicked you out and Mother shunned you.”
“Ah, dearest
Maman
, how is the loathsome old bat?” Levet drawled, folding his arms over his chest. If he was going to be squashed like a bug, he wasn't going to give Claudine the satisfaction of seeing his fear. “Still eating children for breakfast?”
“She has actually been plagued with ennui since she had her latest lover put to death.” Claudine's smile was a cold threat. “Perhaps watching her deformed son being used for target practice will bolster her spirits.”
Levet didn't doubt it would. His mother had a peculiar love for violence.
“Or perhaps I could chop you into tiny pieces and spread you around the city,
chère sœur
. Then
Maman
could spend the next century trying to put you together again.”
“Such a large mouth for such a tiny creature,” Claudine growled, pointing a claw in his direction. “It's time someone taught you a lesson in manners.”
“Ah.” Levet batted his eyes. “If only I had a euro for every time I heard that threat.”
The female gargoyle growled like a rabid Were. Not at all attractive for a gargoyle.
And she wondered why she couldn't find a mate?
“Ian, get him.”
Levet lifted his hands as Ian took a lumbering step forward.
“Stay back.”
Ian scowled. “Or what?”
“Or I will turn you into a newt.”
The male gargoyle stumbled to a halt.
“Ian, did you hear me?” Claudine snapped.
“But—”
“What?”
“I do not want to be turned into a newt.” He used a claw to scratch between his horns. “Wait . . . what is a newt?”
“
Mon dieu
. I am surrounded by morons,” Claudine muttered. “He can't turn you into a newt, you fool, but I can cut off your head and have it mounted on Notre Dame.”
“No need to be rude,” Ian muttered.
“
Oui
, no need to be rude, Claudine,” Levet mocked.
“Ian, get him and cut out his tongue.”
Ian took another grudging step forward only to halt again when a flaming arrow flew directly between his horns.
“What was that?” the male gargoyle demanded, casting a swift glance down at his huge body as if he was afraid he'd been transformed into the mysterious newt.
Levet didn't have a clue, but he was never slow to take advantage of a situation. It was the only way for a three-foot demon to survive in a world where “only the good died young.”
“You didn't think I would come to Paris alone?” he warned. “I have dozens of allies waiting to rush to my rescue.”
“Grab him,” Claudine demanded, abruptly ducking as an arrow threatened to skewer her thick skull. “
Merde
.”
“You capture him.” Ian launched himself into the air. “I am going home.”
With a muttered curse, Claudine was swiftly following her cousin. Both were bullies, and like all bullies they had a large streak of cowardice.
“You won't escape without punishment, Levet,” she shouted over her shoulder, her leathery wings barely visible against the night sky. “That much I swear.”
Flipping her off, Levet turned to scan the nearby bushes.
“Who is there?”
There was a rustle of leaves before a slender, golden-haired female stepped into view.
Levet gave a low whistle of appreciation.
Sacrebleu
. All nymphs were beautiful, but this one was drop-dead gorgeous.
Blessed with a silken curtain of golden hair she had wide blue eyes that were framed by thick, black lashes and set in a perfect oval of a face. Her lush, mouthwatering curves were delectably revealed by her skinny jeans and the scooped top that gave more than a hint of her full breasts.
“I'm Valla,” she said, holding the bow at her side, the remaining arrows strapped to her back.
“Ah.” Levet performed a deep bow. “I am deeply thankful for your timely diversion,
ma belle
.”
Her lips twisted as she turned her head to reveal the side of her face that had been hidden by shadows. Levet gave a soft hiss at the sight of her skin that had been savagely marred by thick, disfiguring scars.
The sort of scars that came from a deep burn. Or a magical spell.
“Not
belle
,” she corrected in flat tones. “As you can see I have become the beast, not the beauty.”
“Do not say that,” he protested, his tender heart squeezing in pity.
“Why not? It's true enough.” Glancing toward the sky, she began walking toward the Parc du Champ de Mars. “Let's get out of here before your friends decide to return.”
With a brisk waddle, Levet caught up with the retreating nymph.
“I am of the opinion that beauty truly is skin-deep and that what is beneath the surface is what is important,” he informed her.
She shot him a wry smile. “Yeah, and size doesn't matter, right?”
“Touché,” he conceded with a grimace. He, better than anyone, understood the heavy price of being “different.” “You sound American.”
They moved into the surrounding neighborhoods, bypassing the various hotels and shops.
“I lived there most of my live,” she said. “Until—”
“Until?”
“I was captured by slavers.”
“Oh.” Levet shuddered. He had his own tragic past with the ruthless bastards. “I hate slavers.”
“Yeah.” The nymph turned onto a residential street, her profile outlined by the streetlamps. “I'm not so fond of them myself.”
“They damaged your face?” he asked.
“I was determined to escape.” She gave a lift of her shoulder. “Even if it meant I was permanently damaged by forcing my way through the magical barriers.”
Levet was struck by a niggling memory.
Something about a nymph being held hostage by slavers . . .
Ah . . .
oui
.
He remembered.
“Valla. The nymph,” he breathed in triumph, following his companion down a narrow alley and into an inner courtyard with a marble fountain surrounded by a pretty rose garden. “Jaelyn has been searching everywhere for you.”
“The Hunter?” She glanced over her shoulder in surprise. “Why?”
Jaelyn was a rare vampire who'd been trained as a Hunter. During one of her missions to discover who had the balls to kidnap vampires, she'd been locked in the cells of a slaver, along with this nymph. She'd never forgiven herself for leaving the pretty young female behind.
“She has been tormented by the knowledge that she failed you in the slaver cells,” he told Valla. “She needed to know your fate.”
“Oh.” Valla halted at what appeared to be a brick wall. “You know, I never resented her for leaving me there, but I did blame her for refusing my plea to kill me,” the nymph admitted with blunt honesty, giving a wave of her slender hand to part the illusion so they could step through a door into a small, but elegant apartment.
“I, for one, am very pleased she ignored your plea,” a male voice murmured as a tall, handsome vampire attired in a Gucci suit and handmade Italian leather shoes rose from a wing chair that was set near the marble fireplace.
Unreasonably handsome, even by vampire standards, the male had dark hair slicked from his pale, lean face and a wide brow. His nose was carved with bold, arrogant lines and his dark eyes glowed with a smothering power.

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