When Darkness Ends (3 page)

Viper made a choked sound. “Oh hell.”

Tonya blinked, as if coming out of a spell. “Excuse me?”

“You are a lesser fey,” Magnus informed her, his superior tone enough to make any demon consider the pleasure of kicking him in the nuts. “You should be on your knees when in the presence of your master.”

The emerald eyes widened; the scent of scorched plums making Styx rub his nose.

“Master?”

“I am Prince Magnus.” The idiot gave a wave of his hand. “Bow before me.”

“How about I do this instead?” the imp said, pulling back her arm before punching the prick directly in the nose. Viper shrugged as the prince cursed in pained disbelief. Turning his head, he met Styx's amused gaze.

“He really did ask for it.”

Styx chuckled. “I think I just found my fey liaison.”

 

 

Cyn unrolled the fragile scroll with a practiced care that would have surprised most people.

They only saw the wild berserker who would destroy anyone who threatened his clan. Or the impulsive hedonist who reveled in sensual pleasures.

His love for history was a hobby that he shared with very few.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice reverent.

“It was presented to the Commission as a gift.”

Cyn caught the scent of musty linen and charcoal as he studied the delicate hieroglyphs sketched on the scroll.

“Presented by whom?”

“No one can recall.”

Hmm. That was odd. His gaze skimmed over the delicate symbols.

“What's it for?”

“I believed that it was a simple cleansing spell that would rid the caves of any lingering residues of magic.” The female Oracle gave a lift of her shoulder. “When so many powerful demons are gathered in one place it is necessary every few months to purge the air so that the overspill of energy doesn't build up and interfere with our current spells.”

Cyn was blissfully ignorant when it came to magic and residual buildup. He was, however, an expert when it came to the subtleties of language.

“You said you
believed
.” He studied her tiny, heart-shaped face. “Now you don't?”

She gave a firm shake of her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can't remember who planted the idea in my head that it was a cleansing spell.”

Cyn frowned in puzzlement. “You can't read it?”

“No. But there is a compulsion deep inside me to try and cast it.”

“How would you cast it if you can't read it?”

“That is a question I have no answer for.” Siljar stepped toward him, pointing to the glyphs. “Can you decipher it?”

“No.” He frowned, sensing the age of the writing. “It's old. Very old.”

“Fey?” the Oracle prompted.

“Maybe fey in origin, but—”

“What?”

“The marks are too straight.” His finger traced an angled line that was topped by a section of triple dots. “The fey glyphs are curved and usually more . . . elegant.” He gave a shake of his head. “This has the blunt simplicity of humans, but it isn't in any language I've seen before.”

Siljar's expression remained calm, but Cyn didn't miss her tiny jerk of surprise.

She hadn't been expecting him to say human.

“But you have the means to translate it?” she at last demanded.

Cyn considered his response. He was impulsive, not suicidal. A wise vampire didn't say no to an Oracle.

Then again, he wanted nothing more than to get rid of his unwanted guests and check on his clan. He had full faith in Lise, whom he'd left in charge when Roke asked him to travel to America, but his clan would be frantic to discover what'd happened to him.

And more importantly, he wanted the damned fairy princess out of his hair.

Okay. That wasn't entirely true.

If he was honest, what he really wanted was her soft and welcoming and groaning with pleasure as he came deep inside her.

But that was about as likely to happen as him sprouting wings and a halo. Which meant he would be stuck for days with a haughty, prudish female who was way too fond of treating him like he was some sort of lesser being who should be kneeling at her elegant feet.

Yeah. A big “No, thank you,” to that.

“Why not go to the fey?”

The dark gaze never wavered from his face. “I suspect the answer is in your library.”

Cyn narrowed his eyes. How the hell had she known about his library?

“Is there a reason for your suspicion?”

“Erinna came to me shortly before she and Mika left.”

Cyn stiffened. Erinna and Mika had been the two fairies who'd rescued him from these caves, taking him into their home even when he could so easily have destroyed them.

He'd never forgotten how they'd rescued him from the caves, and how they'd made him a member of their family. They'd been a part of his life for centuries, treating him as a true son. At least they had until they'd disappeared several days . . . No, wait. If it was January, then they'd left weeks ago, with only a short note to tell him not to search for them.

“What did she say?”

“She had a premonition after they took you into their home that you would be the savior of the fey.” Siljar watched the disbelief spread over Cyn's face. “That's why they insisted you learn as much of their history as possible.”

He adored his foster parents and he'd been happy to indulge their desire that he learn the language and writing of the fey. And even had listened to the endless stories that had been passed down by their ancestors.

But they tended to be highly dramatic, and it wouldn't take more than a stray dream, or the shape of a leaf, to convince them that he was supposed to be some sort of fey messiah.

Cyn shook his head in denial.

Bloody hell.

It had to be a joke.

“If they thought I could be their savior then why did they leave?” he demanded.

Siljar shrugged. “They sent word to me that Erinna had a new vision and they were going to check it out. They refused to give me any more information.”

The growing fear that he was going to be forced to help the Oracle whether he wanted to or not was forgotten at Siljar's words.

It was one thing to accept that Erinna and Mika had taken off for their own pleasure. And another to think they'd put themselves in deliberate danger.

“Damn them.” He shook his head, angry that he hadn't suspected there was more to their abrupt departure. “Why didn't they tell me?”

“Clearly they wanted to protect you.”

His fangs ached. “That's not how it works. I keep them safe, not the other way around.”

Siljar blinked, as if confused by his burst of anger. “It was their choice.”

He wasn't going to argue the point. At least not with the Oracle.

Now when he found Mika and Erinna . . .

“Did they tell you what direction they were going?” he instead asked.

“They only said that they wanted to investigate the vision.” The Oracle smoothed her hands down her satin robe, not appearing particularly concerned. “I don't think they were entirely clear on what they expected to find. They were, however, quite convinced that you would soon be needed to play your part in fey history. They asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Do I have a choice?” he muttered.

“No, your foster parents are depending on you.” Siljar reached to place a hand on his arm. “We all are.”

Cyn glanced down at the scroll in his hands. “Well, shit.”

 

 

The Haven Estate was a sprawling work of art just half an hour north of Dublin.

The three-story Palladian-style mansion was built of white stone with simple, symmetric lines and a large portico that added to the air of splendid dignity. It was framed by lavish gardens that were formally terraced to lead to the large lake with a fountain in the center.

It was precisely the type of home one would expect for an aristocratic member of the Irish Parliament. And Sir Anthony Benson was exactly the sort of man that one would expect to be the owner.

Seated in a wing chair in the Green Drawing Room, Anthony was dressed in an emerald smoking jacket the precise shade of the curtains and a formal cravat that had gone out of fashion a couple centuries ago. His face was rounded and his pale brown hair had thinned until it was little more than a fringe around the edges. At a glance he looked like a comfortable, middle-aged man with a kind smile.

It took a much closer look to see that the clear gray eyes were as flat and cold as a snake.

Sipping his aged whiskey, Anthony studied the fairy prince who stood in the center of the room.

Yiant tried to appear indifferent to Anthony's basilisk stare, but his too-pretty face was damp with sweat and the slender hands that smoothed the silk robe covering his tall, reed-thin body weren't quite steady.

“You summoned me?”

“I did,” Anthony said, his tone gentle as he pointed toward the ceramic pots that were arranged on a priceless pier table that had been in his family for six hundred years. “After examining your latest delivery I realized there was something missing.”

The scent of freshly mowed grass filled the air as Yiant pushed back his thick mane of golden hair.

“I provided the phi potion,” he said, referring to the potent mixture of rare herbs that Anthony needed to defy his mortality. The herbs could only be grown with fey magic. “As well as your favorite fey wine.”

“You know what I want.”

“We have no more of the potion,” the fairy insisted, the pale green eyes wary. “I told you, it was very rare.”

“Then create more.”

“It is forbidden.”

Anthony set aside his whiskey.

His family had held a treaty with the fairies for countless centuries. It had started when a distant ancestor had joined the clan of mystic druids.

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

The druids helped to protect the traditional lands of the fey from human development and the fairies offered them extended life.

For his ancestors it'd been a religious duty. The land and the fey were a part of the magic that allowed the druids to thrive. It was in their self-interest to protect them both.

Anthony, however, wasn't content with being a lesser partner to a bunch of fairies. Especially not after discovering that there were far more dangerous creatures out there than just the fey.

He'd been forced to accept that humans were truly stupid. They blindly believed they were the lucky winners in the evolution lottery when they were surrounded by monsters that could destroy them.

Well, Anthony wasn't going to stand aside and allow it to happen.

If someone was going to rule the world, it wasn't going to be some damned demon.

It was going to be him.

Wisely he'd started slow. Patience was a powerful weapon that he wielded with a skill few other humans could master.

First he'd taken command of the druids.

Most of them continued to live in the past, barely understanding technology as they instead clung to worthless traditions.

Idiots.

Once he had a firm grip on the aging fools, he'd returned to Haven and established his position as head of the Benson family. Again.

It was always tricky when a human lived longer than was reasonably expected. It meant he had to leave and return as his own son. He'd done it three times in the past century.

Once he'd earned his place in the local society and worked his way back up the political ladder, he'd been able to turn his attention to his connection to the fairies.

At first they'd only seen him as a benevolent friend.

He'd offered to extend their homelands by using his influence in the government to reclaim farmland as a sanctuary for . . . hell, what had he insisted was endangered? A pygmy shrew? Some sort of bat?

It didn't matter. The extra acres of land had allowed the Irish fairies to gather their tribe in one place. A rare occurrence in the modern age that not only consolidated their magic, but had given their prince a position of power among his people.

The fools had been gushingly grateful.

So grateful that they didn't realize that his generosity came at a price. Even after he'd gently requested that they share with him a rare Compulsion spell that had been forbidden by Sariel, the King of Fey.

They didn't know that he could make the potion even more powerful with his own skill with magic, weaving vast webs of compulsion that could trap even the most wary.

Then all he had to do was sit back and manipulate those in his command. Like a puppet master, tugging on the strings.

Or at least, he'd assumed they hadn't been aware of his secret efforts.

Now he had to wonder if the prince had started to suspect that Anthony was using the potion for more than swaying his fellow members of Parliament to vote in his favor.

“I understand, Yiant,” he murmured, his tone still gentle. “And I truly admire your reluctance to break fey law. Your people will be proud to know that you kept your honor even if they are forced to abandon their homes.”

The fairy licked his lips. Duty might tell him to sever his connection to Anthony, but it was obvious that he was reluctant to jeopardize his own power among his people.

“There has to be another price I can pay,” he said, his ambition a tangible force in the air.

“I fear not.” Anthony rose to his feet, his smile one of regret. “Please give my regards to your mother, the queen, and tell her that I'm deeply sorry that we could not come to an agreement—”