When Darkness Ends (5 page)

Or on a fur rug in front of a blazing fire.

Or in a moonlit meadow with a thousand stars spread above them.

Or...

He cursed again, scrubbing himself clean and stepping out of the shower.

He'd just pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a loose cable-knit sweater when there was the sound of approaching footsteps. Returning to the outer chamber, Cyn watched the female vampire stroll through the doorway.

A small smile curved his lips.

Lise looked like a china doll. A tiny body that was currently covered by tight black leggings and a long, flowing shirt. Straight black hair that was chopped just above her shoulders, pale, delicate features, and startling blue eyes that could disarm the most suspicious predator.

But the second she stepped into the room, any assumption that she was a dainty, submissive creature was blown all to hell.

Even with ten feet between them, Cyn could feel the unnerving pulse of her power beat against him.

That power combined with her brilliant intelligence would have made her a formidable clan chief, but Lise had refused to enter the battles of Durotriges. She claimed that her off-the-charts IQ prevented her from doing something so stupid as to become the leader of a bunch of barely civilized demons with authority issues. Cyn suspected her decision had more to do with a mysterious male from her past than any fear of commitment to a clan.

He never pressed for details. He wasn't about to lose the best lieutenant he'd ever had.

Halting in the center of the Turkish carpet that covered the stone floor, Lise allowed her gaze to take a slow survey of his large form.

It wasn't sexual. It was a well-trained warrior judging whether or not Cyn's return was some sort of trick that would put the clan at risk.

When she was at last convinced he wasn't an illusion, or shape-shifter who'd assumed the identity of her clan chief, and that his mind didn't appear to be compromised, she took another step forward, an almost smile touching her lips.

“So. You live.”

He flicked a brow upward. “Don't get all choked up.”

She shrugged. “I knew you would return.”

“I doubt the rest of the clan shared your confidence,” he said, abruptly realizing his mind was only partially on his companion while the majority of his attention was focused on the startling acute sense of Fallon two floors above him. Bloody hell, had the female cast some fey spell on him? With a grim effort, he tried to slam the door on his unwelcome connection to the princess. “Did you have any challenges?” he demanded.

Lise's smile widened, giving a glimpse of her sharp fangs. “Oddly enough most of the clan think that I'm—”

“Scary as hell?” he completed in dry tones.

“Intimidating,” she corrected. “Where have you been?”

“Fairyland.”

There was a startled silence before Lise narrowed her gaze. “Is that a joke?”

“Actually it's a long story.” He gave a shake of his head. He didn't want to discuss the fact he'd been magically transported out of the Chatri palace and caught in some dimensional limbo for weeks. He was still weirded out by the whole thing. “For now all you need to know is that no one can realize that I have returned.”

A rare hint of surprise touched Lise's usually inscrutable face.

“Is there a particular reason why?”

“A request by an Oracle.”

Lise grimaced. “A wise vampire tries to avoid the attention of the Commission.”

No shit. Unfortunately Cyn hadn't been given an option.

“Too late,” he muttered. “I'm just hoping to survive the next few days.”

“What can I do to help?”

And that was what made Lise the perfect second-in-command.

No unnecessary dramatics. No annoying questions he obviously didn't want to answer. Just a request to know how she could assist.

“I will need you to continue with my clan duties.”

“No problem.” She studied his carefully guarded expression, clearly sensing that he was hiding something from her. “Anything else?”

“I'll need food.”

Lise nodded. “I'll bring fresh blood tomorrow night.”

“And fairy food,” he commanded.

A startled blink. “Fairy food?”

Cyn ignored her response. “Nectar and the usual berries and nuts. And female clothing.” He waved a hand toward his companion. “Slender like you, but a few inches taller.”

Lise nodded, accustomed to Cyn's habit of filling his home with unexpected guests.

“Just one fairy?”

Once again he realized that he'd unconsciously reached out with his senses to lock on Fallon, a low hum of awareness vibrating through his body.

Bloody hell.

“Trust me, that's one more than I wanted to bring,” he muttered.

Lise's power whipped through the room, forming a coating of ice on the overhead chandelier, at the edge of frustration in Cyn's tone.

“Do you want me to get rid of her?”

“No.” His power rose to match Lise's, an unspoken warning that his guest was not to be harmed. “She's here at the command of the Oracle.”

Lise ratcheted down her rare ability to create ice as a weapon, studying Cyn as if he'd given away more than he intended.

“The mystery deepens,” she murmured, her nose abruptly flaring as she tilted back her head to test the air. “What is that smell?” She shivered. “Delicious.”

Cyn had already caught the unmistakable scent of champagne, his blood heating with a dangerous anticipation.

Damn.

“My unwelcome houseguest,” he muttered, glancing toward the bank of security monitors that were discreetly attached to the wall in a shallow alcove above the desk.

Lise moved to stand at his side, her brows lifting at the sight of the female Chatri who was floating with elegant grace down the sweeping staircase.

“Unwelcome? She's beautiful.”

Cyn snapped his teeth together.

No, not beautiful. Fallon was exquisite.

A walking work of art.

A lethal temptation that threatened to drive him over the edge.

“And a pain in the ass,” he rasped, turning toward Lise as she gave a low chuckle. “What?”

“The best always are.”

“The best what?”

She sent him a cryptic smile. “I'll leave you to figure that out.”

“Thanks.”

“I'll return later with the food and clothes.”

With a mocking wave, Lise moved toward a hidden side door. The tunnel would take her directly to the small village that was built on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

Cyn gave a shake of his head, walking across the floor and out of his private chambers. He might not be the smartest vampire, but he had enough brains to know that he didn't want his personal space saturated with the intoxicating scent of the bewitching princess.

She had already managed to become a nagging constant in his brain when he was awake, she wasn't going to become a part of his dreams.

Not until she was soft and willing beneath him.

His long strides had him up the stairs and standing in the foyer that was paneled in a polished mahogany with an open beam ceiling and a massive stone fireplace. Absently he used his powers to light a fire beneath the neatly stacked logs. As a vampire he was immune to the distinct chill in the air, but he suspected that Fallon would be far more vulnerable to the temperature. The Chatri palace had been almost tropical during his brief visit.

He would have to remember to keep the lair warm.

Taking another step forward, Cyn watched as Fallon halted her descent down the stairs, her impatient expression being replaced by an annoying wariness as she caught sight of him.

“There you are, vampire.”

A growl rumbled in his chest at her haughty tone. Why the hell had he bothered with the fire? The Ice Princess deserved to freeze.

“I have a name. Use it,” he said, his fists planted on his hips.

“I don't take orders from you.”

“And what about basic manners? Weren't you taught civilized behavior in fairyland?”

She held herself stiffly, her gaze trained on his face, as if forcibly preventing herself from checking out his body.

“You're right. I was being rude . . . Cyn.”

Ah. His bad temper abruptly melted away.

Fallon, the fey princess, might not want to admit she was attracted to a savage vampire, but there was no mistaking the slight dilation of her eyes and the blush that tinted her cheeks.

He strolled forward, leaning against the carved post at the end of the stairs, eye to eye with Fallon as she stood on the bottom step.

“What do you want?”

“I need . . .” Her eyes abruptly widened, the emerald flecks in her eyes sparking with outrage. “Do you have a woman here?”

Cyn fought the urge to smile. “Jealous, princess?”

“Of course not.” Her voice was just a tad too forceful. “I'm merely concerned considering that Siljar ordered us to keep our presence here a secret. You could have at least waited a few hours before breaking the rules.”

“I'm a vampire with needs.” He trailed a finger over her hand that was clutching the banister, relishing her tiny tremor before she was yanking away from his light caress. “So unless you're willing to fulfill them—”

“That's disgusting.”

“Why?” he demanded. “You just made your list of demands, didn't you? You have needs that you want sated.”

Her lips thinned. “I have to eat.”

His hand moved to grasp a golden curl, sliding the silken strands between her fingers. “As do I.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, but she didn't try to pull away, not even when his fingers moved to trace the faint blue vein running down the length of her neck.

“You were feeding?”

“Why do you care?”

“I . . .” Her chin tilted. “I don't.”

He leaned forward, absorbing the intoxicating scent of champagne laced with an unmistakable hint of arousal.

“Liar.”

Fallon told herself not to react to the annoying vampire as he joined her on the step, his hands landing on the banister so she was effectively trapped.

When she'd left the privacy of her room she'd been determined to be cool, controlled . . . civil.

It shouldn't be a difficult task.

She'd been playing the role of the perfect princess for over two centuries.

It should be child's play to slap a smile on her face and pretend she didn't want to stab a stake into the center of his chest.

But the second she'd caught sight of Cyn, her good intentions had shattered.

She didn't understand why her emotions became a tangled mess, or what made her nerves feel as if they'd been scraped raw, but she did understand that her reaction left her vulnerable.

“Cyn . . .” She forgot how to speak as his head lowered and she felt the touch of his lips against her throat. “Stop.”

“Why?” His tongue traced the vein that he seemed to find so fascinating. “I smell your desire.”

Fallon struggled to remember why she was convinced this was wrong. The gods knew it didn't
feel
wrong. Not when he was lightly scraping his fangs over her sensitive skin to send jolts of electric excitement shooting through her.

Oh . . . mercy.

She'd never met a man so tactile. His hands skimmed along the sides of her body, as if he was endlessly fascinated by her slender curves, while he continued to nip and nuzzle a path of kisses down her neck to the scooped neckline of her robe.

She instinctively reached to grasp his shoulders, her knees feeling oddly weak.

“I'm a princess,” she forced herself to mutter.

She had to remind herself why she shouldn't be melting against his hard, savagely male body as his hands pressed against her lower back, urging her into contact with the thrust of his arousal.

His tongue traced the neckline of her robe. “I forgive you.”

Fallon squeezed her eyes shut. He was stirring raw, primitive sensations that were threatening to overwhelm her.

“I mean my father has promised me to another,” she said.

He slowly lifted his head, his brooding gaze locked on her flushed face. “Ah, the fiancé. Do you love him?”

She blinked in genuine confusion. “It isn't about love.”

His gaze lowered to her lips. “Then it's about sex?”

“Of course not.”

“There's no need to sound so shocked.” His large hands gripped her hips, his incredible jade eyes dark with a sensual hunger that made her heart give a dangerous flutter. “The best relationships are based on lust.”

Lust? Toward Magnus? She choked back the sudden urge to laugh.

“My marriage to Magnus is a—”

“What?”

“A melding of two powerful Houses.”

His brows snapped together, an expression of disbelief on his painfully beautiful face. “Is that a joke?”

“Why would it be a joke?” Fallon was genuinely puzzled. Arranged marriages weren't uncommon among many species of demons. “My father is king and I am an asset he can use to solidify his position.”

A chill cloaked around her. “An asset?”

“Yes.” She warily tried to tug from his grasp. Why did he seem so angry? “Magnus brings to the marriage a large dowry and the loyalty of his very powerful House.”

His hands tightened on her hips, his sensual charm decidedly absent. “And what does he get out of the deal?”

“His heirs will have royal blood.”

The chill became downright frosty, making Fallon shiver. “So it is about sex.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She should tell him to go to hell. He had no business prying into her relationship with her fiancé.

But she didn't. It was almost as if his steady gaze was compelling the words from her mouth.

“It will be my duty to provide at least six live heirs,” she muttered, revealing the truth that had been giving her nightmares since the engagement documents had been signed and her father had promised her future to a man who was little more than a cold, distant acquaintance.

“Duty?” Predictably he pounced on her revealing word. “Shouldn't that be a pleasure?”

“I don't know yet which it will be,” she muttered.

“You mean . . .” Something that might have been satisfaction flared through his eyes. “You haven't slept together.”

Her blush deepened. “It's forbidden until after we wed.”

His hands slid up the curve of her waist, halting a tantalizing inch from her breasts. A low groan rumbled in his throat.

“He must be a fucking saint.”

Fallon's mouth went dry. Her breasts were suddenly tingling, the nipples tight with a need she didn't understand.

“Not really.” She grimaced. “Magnus is allowed to keep a harem.”

A hot, dangerous hunger blazed in the depths of his eyes as her voice came out as a low, husky whisper.

“And you?”

It was growing difficult to concentrate on the embarrassing conversation. She'd never had a man span her rib cage with his big hands, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. Or look at her as if he was imagining her naked.

“I'm expected to remain pure until the wedding night,” she managed to rasp between dry lips.

A sound that was purely male was wrenched from Cyn's throat as he leaned into her, his lips stroking a cool path of destruction over her cheek to the edge of her mouth. She barely dared to breathe as his intoxicating sensuality wrapped around her like a cloak.

“And you call me a barbarian,” he said, the tip of his fang lightly scraping her bottom lip. “I, at least, appreciate that a woman has the right to make her own choices.”

Her own choices
. . .

The fog of desire was abruptly pierced by a familiar pain.

For God's sake, did he think she wouldn't give everything she possessed—her fortune, her palatial quarters in the palace, and even her position as princess—if it would mean she could gain control of her life?

If she could be truly free?

Her hands lifted to press against his chest. “I don't want to discuss it.”

“Fallon—”

“I need bowls,” she abruptly interrupted.

He lifted his head, his brows arched. “Bowls?”

She gave another push against his massive chest. He was more than just invading her space. He was battering her with sensations that were as unfamiliar as they were unnerving.

“Yes.”

Perhaps sensing she'd reached the limit of her endurance, Cyn reluctantly loosened his hold and backed off the step.

“I will have food delivered.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking all broody again. “I assure you there's no need for you to slave in the kitchen.”

As if she would know how to slave in a kitchen even if she wanted to.

“I need them to scry.”

He gave a curt nod. “Fine. I'll take you there.”

“If you'll just tell me where—”

With a blinding speed, Cyn was grasping her shoulders and sealing her mouth in a kiss that spoke of hunger and irritation and a smoldering frustration that was oddly echoed deep inside her.

Fallon was too shocked to immediately respond.

No doubt a good thing since she didn't have a clue if she wanted to slap his face or melt into his arms.

Instead she whipped up a less than convincing appearance of outrage as he pulled away.

“What's wrong with you?”

“I'll let you know if I figure it out,” he growled, turning as if he intended to lead her to the kitchens. Then, without warning, he was whirling toward the front door, his fangs fully exposed. “Wait.”

Fallon clutched the banister, her heart halting. Had her father found her? Or worse . . . Magnus?

“What is it?”

“Gargoyle,” he snarled, the word barely leaving his lips before there was the sound of a small pop and a tiny creature with large fairy wings and stunted horns appeared in the middle of the foyer. “What the hell are you doing here?” Cyn demanded.

“Siljar sent me,” the gargoyle said, spreading his arms and grinning at the furious vampire. “Lucky you.”

 

 

Tonya had all sorts of reasons to be in a PMS mood as she switched on a lamp to battle the gathering shadows.

She was stuck in Chicago instead of taking care of the demon club that she managed for Viper. God only knew what disasters would be waiting for her when the Anasso allowed her to return.

She'd be lucky if the damned place was still standing without her to keep an eye on the volatile clientele who didn't consider a party started until someone was bleeding.

And now she was seated at the massive desk in Styx's library, staring at the mind-numbingly gorgeous Chatri prince who was strolling across the priceless carpet with enough arrogance to make her teeth ache.

A part of her wanted to grab the heavy crystal paperweight off the desk and toss it at his head. But a larger part of her wanted to rip off his black slacks and crisp white shirt and rub herself against his lean muscular body.

It was annoying as hell.

He was a rude, condescending ass who was clearly convinced she was far beneath his lofty royal position.

Precisely the sort of man she detested.

But the moment he walked into the room, she was zapped with such an intense sexual reaction that she felt physically compelled to reach out and touch him.

She tried to tell herself that it was merely a predictable reaction to being near a Chatri. They'd once been worshiped as gods by her people, hadn't they? The urge to become his ready, willing, and eager concubine was surely nothing more than a primitive instinct.

Or maybe she was just one of those women who had shitty taste in men.

She had, after all, believed herself to be in love with her boss, Santiago, who'd recently mated his beloved Nefri.

Whatever the cause, she found her nerves rubbed raw as the prince came to a halt in front of the desk, his expression haughty.

“Where is the Anasso?”

His power wrapped around her, the scent of aged whiskey teasing at her nose. She shuddered as a decadent pleasure bubbled through her blood.

“Do I look like a receptionist?” she forced herself to demand.

He narrowed his stunning cognac eyes. “You look like a lesser fey who should know her place.”

Her hand reached for the paperweight. She wasn't going to throw it. Not yet.

“My place is at Viper's club, but because of you I'm stuck here.”

He peered down the length of his noble nose. “It should be an honor to serve me.”

“It's a waste of my time.”

A frown touched his brows, as if he didn't know what to do with a female who refused to play by his rules. Then he gave a sharp shake of his head, the overhead chandelier catching the ruby highlights in the long length of his hair.

“I did not come here to speak with you,” he said, his cultured voice holding the edge of an accent. “I need to see the vampire.”

“Why?”

“It is not your concern.”

Her fingers tightened on the paperweight. Styx hadn't forbidden her from doing bodily harm to the prince when he'd insisted she remain in Chicago.

Still, she didn't know how long she was going to have to deal with this aggravating male. After punching him in the nose it would probably be better if she resisted further bloodshed for as long as possible.

“Unfortunately it is,” she said stiffly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Styx has forced . . . requested that I be his liaison.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Any requests you have for the King of Vampires must go through me,” she informed him.

He made a sound of impatience. “That's unacceptable.”

“No shit,” she muttered. “But that's the way it is. So what do you want?”

Magnus studied her for a long minute, taking careful note of her stubborn expression. At last he heaved a resigned sigh.

“I wondered if he was aware there has been an imp circling the estate for the past hour.”

“An imp?” Having expected some ridiculous demand, Tonya was caught off guard by the prince's question. With a smooth motion she was on her feet and heading toward the windows that overlooked the rose garden. When the Chatri had first made their appearance in Chicago, the King of Vampires' estate had been nearly overrun by fey who were desperate to catch sight of their one-time gods. Then Styx had sent his Ravens to warn the various imps, sprites, fairies, and nymphs that his house wasn't a damned tourist attraction and that he'd start putting fey heads on spikes if they didn't stay the hell away. It'd been enough to send the gawkers fleeing in fear. It seemed almost unbelievable that there would be an imp brave enough to invite the Anasso's wrath. “You're certain?”

Outrage touched the lean, beautiful face. “Of course I am certain.”

“Male or female?” she demanded. “Did you get a good look at them?”

His gaze followed her hand as it slid into the back pocket of her leather pants to pull out her cell phone, lingering on the lush curve of her ass before it was abruptly jerking up to meet her taunting smile.

“A male,” he said, his voice frigid although Tonya didn't miss the color that stained the pale honey of his skin. The prince had been sneaking a peek. “And I didn't see him at all.”

Tonya's brief flare of amusement was forgotten as she studied him in confusion. “Then how do you know there's someone out there?”