When Darkness Ends (15 page)

He frowned, as if confused by the implication he might be harboring a secret desire to reunite with his fiancée.

“Change her mind?”

“That she'll return home with you.” Her lips twisted as she pretended she didn't care what his answer would be. “Agree to become your obedient little wife?”

There was no hesitation. “The contract is broken.”

“A new contract could be written.” She carefully watched the impossibly beautiful face, searching for . . . what? Pain? Regret? Guilt? Relief? “If you truly want her as your wife.”

“It's done.”

She made a sound of impatience. “And it doesn't hurt?”

“Why should it?”

For some reason his flat tone pissed her off.

“God. You're a piece of work,” she muttered. “Did you care for the poor woman at all?”

He held her gaze, his expression strangely knowing. “Would you prefer that I be suffering at the loss of my fiancée?”

Tonya's annoyance faltered. Did she want him to be pining for Fallon?

Hell, no.

In fact, if she was being honest, a part of her was fiercely happy he wasn't brokenhearted.

Still, she needed to know he was capable of feeling
something
.

“I'm just trying to understand how you could be so indifferent.”

His lips flattened. “Our engagement was not based on emotion. It was a means to improve the status of our mutual Houses,” he grudgingly admitted. “We both understood our duty.”

He was in full prince mode. Cold. Aloof. Committed to his social position.

Tonya shivered. Why did she keep searching for some indication he was more than an arrogant snob?

“So now you return to find another sacrificial lamb?”

“Eventually.”

It was exactly the response she'd expected, so why did she abruptly want to knee him in the nuts?

“Why not now?” she asked through clenched teeth. “There's nothing to keep you here.”

Without warning the cognac eyes darkened and his fingers tangled in her hair so he could tilt back her head.

Then, swooping downward, he claimed her lips in a kiss that demanded a response.

Tonya trembled, a blast of sheer pleasure nearly sending her to her knees. God Almighty. She'd managed to provoke a response. But it wasn't the one she expected.

Drowning in the scent of whiskey, Tonya parted her lips, allowing him greater access. Their tongues tangled, his power wrapping around her like a blanket.

For a crazed moment, Tonya forgot all the reasons she didn't want this man.

It didn't matter that he was a ruthless prince who had recently condemned his fiancée to a painful shunning. Or that he was on the point of returning to his homeland to choose another to become his wife.

When she was in his arms all that mattered was that she felt needed and beautiful and heart-meltingly cherished.

He eased the demanding pressure of his mouth, giving her lower lip a sharp nip. “You don't want me to leave.”

“Of course I do,” she tried to bluff. “I told you . . .” The words were stolen as he covered her mouth with demanding lips. With a low groan she at last pulled her head back to study his flushed, impossibly beautiful face. She felt drunk on the excitement that bubbled through her like the finest nectar. “Why are you kissing me?”

His expression was brooding as his hand skimmed down the curve of her spine, cupping her backside with an intimacy that stole her breath away.

“I don't have a damned clue.”

Lost in one another, neither heard the door opening. It was at last the blast of icy air that had them turning to discover the Anasso watching them with obvious impatience.

“Again?” Styx growled. “You two really need to get a room.”

With a low hiss, Magnus was abruptly shoving her behind him, protecting her disheveled appearance from Styx's all too perceptive gaze.

“What do you want now, leech?” he snapped, a faint golden glow surrounding his body as his power kicked into overdrive.

Tonya gasped as Magnus's heat surrounded her in a protective shield.

It was dangerously easy to underestimate this lethal Chatri.

Styx scowled, but perhaps sensing that Magnus was at the point of snapping, he pulled back his own aggression, careful not to glance at Tonya as she peeked around the prince's shoulder.

“I need your help,” the Anasso said.

Magnus made a sound of impatience. “What now?”

“The imp is dead,” Styx said, his voice flat. “I need to know how the hell it happened.”

 

 

Cyn was seated in a leather wing chair, absently stroking his charcoal pencil over the sketch pad that he held in his hands. At the same time, he was keeping a careful watch on Fallon as she restlessly paced the floor.

Even dressed in jeans and a casual blue sweater, with her hair pulled into a haphazard ponytail, she managed to look stunningly beautiful.

Of course, she'd been even more exquisite when she was lying naked in his arms, he ruefully concluded.

Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to pretend that the world outside his lair didn't exist, he couldn't entirely ignore the imminent threat to demons. So while he'd wanted nothing more than to keep her in his bed, he'd grudgingly given in to duty. Well, first they had been in a long, delicious shower together, and then he'd insisted that she eat the dinner left in the kitchen by Lise.

Only then did he bring her to the library to sort through the vast collection of books while he struggled to clear his mind and connect the dots.

Dammit, there had to be a reason why this all felt so familiar.

Sorting through a millennium of memories, Cyn was yanked out of his inner thoughts when Fallon came to an abrupt halt in the center of the priceless carpet.

“Arrgh,” she breathed, glaring at him in exasperation.

He hid his surge of amusement. It was becoming obvious that his soon-to-be mate wasn't a scholar, despite her shrewd intelligence.

She preferred far more interactive pastimes. Like scrying. Or...

Hastily shoving aside the memory of Fallon's thorough, agonizingly slow exploration of his body in the shower, he concentrated on her obvious frustration.

The sooner they discovered what the hell was going on, the sooner he could have her in his bed.

“Troubles, princess?” he asked.

She held up the heavy leather-bound book she'd been reading. “I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for.”

He set aside his pencil, astonished at the sense of rightness he felt to see Fallon in his most private sanctuary.

This room was the one place that he never allowed his guests to enter. Not only because it contained priceless manuscripts given to him by his foster father, but because this was the one place he could simply . . . be.

No women, no games, no outrageous behavior that made him infamous throughout the vampire world.

He'd never thought to willingly invite a woman into his refuge.

Then again, Fallon wasn't just a woman.

She was his mate.

The other half of his soul.

“You're supposed to be searching for a spell that closes dimensions,” he murmured, not surprised when she narrowed her eyes at his bland tone.

“Half the time it doesn't even say what is happening,” she groused, glancing down to read from the book that was dedicated to ancient nymph history. “‘A great and terrible darkness rose from the bowels of the earth to seek destruction upon the bright and shiny people,'” she quoted, giving a shake of her head. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “The fey do have a love for melodrama.”

She tossed aside the book, deliberately allowing her gaze to take a slow survey of his body that was casually sprawled in the chair.

“What are you doing?”

“Sketching.”

The amber eyes narrowed. “Aren't we supposed to be searching for a way to save the world?”

“I am.”

“How?”

“This helps me think.”

She placed her hands on her hips, her expression revealing her disbelief.

“Really?” Her eyes widened as he turned the sketch pad so she could see his work. “Oh.”

She moved forward, taking the sketch pad from his hands to study the image of herself standing in front of a small cottage in a pretty dale.

“Where is this place?” she asked.

Cyn rose to his feet, reaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “My foster parents' home just a few miles south of here.” His heart gave a painful twist at the thought of the cottage being empty. Dammit, as soon as he found them he was going to have a long chat with them. “I'll take you to visit as soon as they get back.”

Her expression softened, as if she sensed the worry for his foster parents that gnawed at him.

“They don't live here?”

“They visit, but they prefer their own space,” he said, taking the sketch pad from her and tossing it onto the chair. Grabbing her hands, he pressed her palms flat against his chest. He needed to feel the warmth of her skin seeping through his fisherman sweater. He'd always been more tactile than most vampires. No doubt a result of having been taken in by fairies. Now, however, his craving for touch was limited to this one particular female. “They said my lair was too big.”

Keeping one hand against his chest, she lifted the other to lightly tug on the narrow braid that lay against his cheek.

“Are you sure it wasn't the orgies that ran them off?”

Ah. He knew jealousy when he heard it.

He didn't bother to hide his pleased smile.

“You really are obsessed with those orgies.”

Another tug on his braid. This one sharp enough to cause a prick of pain. “Do you deny them?”

Cyn hesitated, choosing his words with care. He wasn't ashamed of his past. He lived with an open lust for pleasure that was shared by those who moved in and out of his lair.

Still, he didn't ever want Fallon to think that she was one of a long line of lovers.

“In the past I filled this lair with friends. And my clansmen are always welcome to stay,” he slowly admitted.

“So it was like the . . .” She halted, clearly struggling for the words. “What was the name? Playboy Mansion?”

“As I said.” He leaned down to place a kiss on top of her head, soaking in the scent of warm champagne. “The past.”

“Why the past?” She absently pulled the braid through her fingers, her head lowered as if she was trying to pretend that his answer didn't matter.

Cyn cupped her chin, gently forcing her to meet his somber gaze. “You know why.”

He heard her breath catch in her throat, her eyes darkening with a potent combination of fear and gut-deep yearning.

Time halted as their gazes locked, both sensing the vast, unyielding bond that was slowly, irrevocably forming between them.

For Cyn it was the natural progression of finding his mate.

For Fallon . . . His lips twisted as panic rippled over her face.

Clearly she wasn't ready to accept the threads that were tying her to him on a fundamental level.

With a skittish movement she was tugging free of his light grasp, her cheeks flushed as she tried to pretend her heart wasn't thundering a hundred miles an hour.

“Are you worried about your parents?”

Wise enough not to press, Cyn gave a slow nod. “Yes. I wish they would have been honest with me. It was bad enough when I thought they'd taken off without saying good-bye.” He didn't try to hide the edge in his voice. “Now I have no way of knowing whether they're okay or not.”

She offered a sympathetic smile. “They no doubt wanted to protect you.”

“I don't want their protection,” he growled, glancing toward the mantel where he had a charcoal sketch of the two fairies who'd rescued him from the caves and taken him into their home. “If they'd stayed we could have faced the threat together.”

She didn't bother to point out that his foster parents would die rather than place him in danger. Which meant that she was already learning he had a fierce belief that he was supposed to be the defender.

A good sign.

“What were they doing before they left?” she instead asked.

Pain twisted his gut at his last memory of watching Erinna and Mika strolling away from his lair, hand in hand.

If someone had harmed them . . .

He shook his head, refusing to even contemplate the possibility.

“They'd gone to Dublin to speak with the druids,” he said.

“About what?”

Cyn shrugged. When his foster parents had visited to say they were traveling to Dublin, he hadn't paid much attention. It wasn't like it was out of the ordinary. And they'd been careful not to allow him to sense they might be troubled.

“They didn't say.” He grimaced, belatedly wishing he'd pressed for more details. “After the meeting they intended to stay for a gathering of the Irish fairies.”

“And they never returned?”

“No.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “I assumed they decided to remain with their tribe. Or that they were traveling. They often take off during the winter months, although they'd never disappeared without leaving a note for me,” he explained. “If I'd thought for a second they were in danger—”

“You couldn't know; you can't blame yourself,” she hastily assured him, moving close enough to lay her hand against his chest. “Besides, they more than likely are in hiding, waiting for the danger to pass. Fey are very clever creatures.”