When Darkness Ends (7 page)

Still, when he'd tossed out his childish dare, he hadn't actually expected her to call his bluff.

Not until she was grabbing him by his hair and yanking him down for a kiss that blasted through him with enough force to wrench a groan from his throat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he understood that this was supposed to be a “screw you” kiss. A punishment for his taunting.

But his body didn't care why her lips were pressed against his or why her fingers were spearing into his hair as he wrapped his arms around her slender form. It only knew that the aggravating princess was at last where she was supposed to be.

Drenched in the intoxicating scent of champagne, Cyn deepened the kiss, coaxing her from frustration to hunger. With a small moan, she parted her lips, inviting his tongue to dip into the welcoming heat of her mouth.

Cyn tightened his arms until she was lifted off the floor, kissing her as if he'd been starved for a woman. As if he'd been waiting for this precise moment for centuries.

He felt his body harden in exquisite anticipation.

Bloody hell. She was warm and soft and she tasted of sweet ambrosia.

One hand slid under her silken curtain of hair, gripping her nape in a gesture that was pure male possession while being careful not to bruise her ivory skin. Holding her so close, it was impossible to miss the fragile delicacy of her bones or the fact she weighed next to nothing.

Once again he was struck by that overriding need to care for her . . . to make sure she was protected.

Even from himself.

He allowed their tongues to tangle, briefly pressing her against his aching erection before he was easing back and allowing her feet to touch the floor.

She tilted back her head, her satin hair spilling over his arm with the stunning hues of a summer sunrise. Cyn's gaze skimmed over her flushed face, lingering on her lips that were still swollen from his kisses before meeting her stunned gaze.

“You're full of surprises, princess,” he husked, his hands sliding up the slender curves to halt just below the gentle thrust of her breasts.

She shuddered, the scent of her arousal spicing the air before she was abruptly jerking out of his grasp, her expression guarded.

“May I have my nectar?”

Cyn battled back his instinctive compulsion to pull her back into his arms, glancing down at the bags he'd dropped when he'd been overwhelmed by the need to touch Fallon.

Bloody hell, he was in trouble.

Big-ass-scary kind of trouble.

Baffled at how his life had been turned upside down so quickly, Cyn was on the point of full retreat when the sound of tiny bells had him grasping the hilt of his dagger that was holstered at his lower back.

“What's that?”

With obvious relief at the distraction, Fallon was turning to hurry into the room across the hall.

“My magic has activated,” she said, moving to study the dozen bowls that had been arranged on the Persian carpet in the center of the floor.

Cyn halted near the doorway, studying the bowls with open suspicion. “Activated what?”

She turned to study his rigid posture. “Are you afraid of magic?”

Of course he was afraid. Magic was every vampire's worst nightmare. Okay, not his
worst
nightmare.

That would be looking like chicken shit in front of a beautiful woman.

Which was why he was squaring his shoulders and forcing his reluctant feet to carry him toward the bowls that flickered with eerie images that were as creepy as hell.

“I fear nothing.”

Fallon smiled, not fooled for a second. “Such a big, bad vampire.”

“Again with the big,” he muttered. “Would you like me to show you—”

“Good, it appears that Siljar has called the Commission into session.” She interrupted his peevish provocation, bending over a bowl closest to the stained-glass window.

Cyn frowned, forgetting his fear as he watched her tiny shiver. Dammit. He needed to find some way to keep the massive castle warm.

“Why is that good?”

“I can lock on them all at once.”

Even without much knowledge of magic, Cyn recognized the amount of sheer talent, not to mention strength, it must take to keep a lock on a dozen of the world's most powerful demons.

“How long can you maintain your connection?”

She shrugged. “As long as I want.”

Cyn felt an unexpected sense of pride spread through his heart as he moved to stand at her side, his fingers smoothing a stray curl behind her ear.

“No wonder Siljar was so anxious to get her hands on you.” His lips twisted in a rueful grin as he felt tiny sparks of pleasure shoot from the tips of his fingers directly to his groin. “I know the feeling.”

Instant arousal pulsed in the air, the scent of warm champagne making him hard with need.

His fingers drifted over the pale silk of her cheek, moving to outline the sweet temptation of her lips.

“Cyn,” she breathed.

His mind was filled with delicious images of her mouth wreaking havoc as it explored his naked body, eventually taking his aching erection between those lush lips and . . .

“Hmm?” he murmured.

“What are you doing?”

“The hell if I know.” His voice was a low growl.

“Your lover—”

“Lise is my most trusted lieutenant, not my lover,” he interrupted with a grimace. He'd been an idiot to ever have suggested there might be more between him and his clan mate.

“It doesn't matter.” She licked her lips, the exotic emerald flecks in her amber eyes darkening with an unconscious invitation. “This isn't happening.”

He slowly lowered his head, giving her plenty of opportunity to pull away.

“This?” He pressed a line of kisses down the length of her stubborn jaw. “Or this?” He gently bit her lower lip, allowing her to feel the razor-sharp points of his fangs.

Not a threat. A promise of the pleasure to be found in a vampire's arms.

She released a shaky breath, her lashes sweeping down in a futile attempt to disguise her primitive reaction to his touch.

“Don't mock me.”

He pressed his lips to the vulnerable curve of her throat. His fangs ached to slide into her tender flesh, drinking deep of her rich, decadent blood.

“We're going to be trapped here together.”

“And?”

“And there's no reason we can't enjoy our captivity.”

For one delectable second he felt her melt beneath the soft exploration of his lips, her skin heating with an arousal she couldn't disguise. Then, as if she'd been struck by a sudden, unwelcome thought, her hands lifted to press against his chest, her head tilting back to stab him with an accusing glare.

“You intend to make me an addition to your harem.”

Harem?

He was momentarily confused. Granted, he was a vampire who'd enjoyed his share of females. Sometimes more than one at a time. But his lovers had always been eager to be in his bed. He'd never kept a stable of women who felt compelled to offer him their bodies.

Then his fangs lengthened as he recalled why she would be so suspicious.

Dammit. How dare she compare him to her faithless fiancé who kept a herd of females rather than devoting himself to pleasing this exquisite, utterly captivating creature?

“I'm not Magnus. I would never parade a pack of concubines beneath the nose of the woman who was to become my mate.”

He instantly regretted the words as she paled, her eyes shadowed with a soul-deep pain.

“Don't.”

“Hell, I'm sorry,” he rasped. What the hell was wrong with him? This beautiful fairy princess was truly screwing with his mind. With a jerky motion he was turning, heading for the door before he could make the situation even worse. “I left your food and clothes in the hallway.”

“Where are you going?”

His cowardly retreat never faltered. “To save the damn world.”

Fallon was settled in the center of the floor, watching the images flicker in the bowls as she seethed over the vampire's assumption that she was going to become another notch on his bedpost.

Or at least, she told herself it was anger that was heating her blood and sending tiny quakes through her body. Because there was no way she was going to admit that it might be heart-pounding, gut-wrenching desire.

That was . . . unacceptable.

The oversized vampire was just like her worthless fiancé.

No, wait. That wasn't fair.

Magnus was an aloof, self-absorbed bastard who considered his giggling gaggle of groupies his right because he was a prince.

Cyn, on the other hand, was a charming brute who obviously adored women. And if Fallon was being completely honest with herself, she'd admit that her anger was directed more at her own reaction to his experienced touch.

She might not want to admit that she was as susceptible as the next female to a blatant playboy, but there was no doubt a very large part of her wanted to ignore her duty to her father and her virginal wedding bed.

How would it feel to forget she was a princess and just give in to the passion that exploded through her whenever Cyn was near?

A tiny shiver of anticipation raced through her body.

She sensed he would be a powerful lover. But tender. And thorough. Head to toe, and everywhere in between, thorough.

The sort of lover that would make a woman know she was in the hands of an expert.

Lost in the fantasy of being deliciously ravished by the vampire clan chief, Fallon was unaware of the tiny gargoyle who was silently crossing the room. Not until she nearly jumped out of her skin when a soft, male voice spoke directly into her ear.

“
Bonsoir, ma belle
.”

“Levet,” she breathed in shock, not sure if she was relieved or annoyed at having her dangerous fantasies interrupted. She settled on relieved. Her body was still flushed and aching from Cyn's teasing caresses. Did she truly want to spend the rest of the night plagued by her unfulfilled desire? Or worse . . . give in to the temptation to track down Cyn and finish what he started? She made a choked sound, squashing the last thought as a white-hot excitement sizzled through her. Grimly she forced herself to focus on the small demon studying her with a shrewd gaze. “Did you find something to eat?”

“
Oui,
” the gargoyle assured her, patting his rounded little belly. “A farmer's wife was kind enough to share her shepherd's pie.”

Fallon blinked in surprise. She'd spied on this world long enough to know that few humans realized that there were demons living among them.

“She wasn't frightened to be visited by a gargoyle?”

“It is possible that she was not precisely aware of her generosity.” Levet cleared his throat, his tail twitching. “It did not seem polite to wake her and ask her permission when she was sleeping so soundly.”

Fallon hid a smile. “Very thoughtful of you.”

“
Oui,
I am a very thoughtful demon.” He gave a small sniff. “Unlike some.”

Hmm. Fallon didn't need to be a mind reader to guess who he was referring to. “I assume you mean Cyn?”

Levet pursed his lips. “I am, of course, delighted to be of service to you,
ma belle,
but he could at least have allowed me to finish my meal.”

“Be of service?”

Waddling across the room, Levet halted in front of the massive fireplace and spoke a low word of magic. Instantly the pile of logs caught fire, filling the room with a welcome heat.

“Cyn seems to believe that you will freeze to death if I do not ensure that there is a fire lit in each room you might enter,” Levet muttered, turning to glance toward the empty pots that had held the nectar she'd consumed just minutes after Cyn had left. A blush touched her cheeks. It wasn't her fault she'd devoured the entire stash. She was an emotional eater. “He also insisted that I monitor your food intake.”

Her brows snapped together. “Why?”

“He feared you might allow your magic to drain you if there wasn't someone near to remind you to replenish your strength.”

“Oh.” A perilous warmth spread through her heart. “He said that?”

Levet rolled his eyes. “It was really more of a growl.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“
Oui
. I am to contact him immediately if I suspect that you are in danger of burning out.”

“Burning out?”

“Using too much magic.”

She shook her head, wondering what game Cyn was playing. Or maybe he was just demented.

That would explain how he could jump from the unwelcoming host, to the determined seducer, to the fussing mother hen. All in the space of a couple of hours.

His moods changed faster than a drunken dew fairy.

“I'm in no danger,” she said.

A part of her wanted to be annoyed that Cyn would question her ability to take care of herself.

She might not be a kick-ass vampire warrior like Lise, but she wasn't helpless.

But a larger part was secretly savoring the sensation of having someone worry about her. When was the last time anyone had considered her needs? Among her people she was little more than a political pawn. Her feelings, her desires, her hopes and dreams were meaningless.

They certainly didn't spend any time fretting over the fear that she might be cold or hungry, or that she might be using too much magic.

“I have the bowls tuned to the various Oracles as well as triggered to warn me when someone enters the caves or if the Oracles leave,” she continued, pointing toward the images that flickered on top of the water.

Levet moved to peer into the nearest bowl. “Clever.”

Fallon bit her bottom lip, still obsessed with the fact that Cyn had sent the gargoyle to watch over her.

“So why is Cyn concerned?”

Lifting his head, the gargoyle glanced at her in confusion. “There is only one reason a male spends time thinking about whether a woman is eating or not,
ma belle
. Clearly he cares.”

Her brows drew together as she remembered the sparks that flew between them whenever they were in the same room.

“If he cared, he wouldn't be so—”

“So?” Levet prompted.

Unpredictable? Fascinating? Gut-wrenchingly sexy?

“Annoying.”

“He is a vampire.” Levet's wings twitched, his gaze dangerously astute as he watched the hint of color touch her cheeks. “It is in their DNA to be a pain in the derrière.”

Belatedly realizing she'd given away her fascination for the vampire who should mean nothing to her, she hastily tried to act as if her interest had nothing to do with her and everything to do with her sister who'd so recently become the mate of a vampire.

“What about Roke?” she demanded.

“Ah.” Levet smiled, but Fallon sensed he wasn't fooled. “You have no need to worry about your sister. Roke is excessively devoted to her.”

“And she's happy?” Fallon continued the game even though she had no need to ask the question.

She'd seen the way her sister and Roke looked at each other. The two were blatantly gaga for each other.

“
Oui,
” Levet readily confirmed. “She appears to be very pleased with her mate.”

Fallon nodded. She truly was happy for Sally. Even though she hadn't known her sister when they were growing up, she sensed they could become friends if they were given the opportunity. Still, she couldn't deny a small pang of envy.

What would it feel like to be chosen by a male because he was so deeply in love with her that he couldn't imagine a life without her? To be consumed by his passion and to know he would never, ever stray from her bed?

“Good,” she forced herself to say.

Levet tilted his head to the side. “And what of your mate?”

She glanced down at the robe she continued to wear. It would take time to gather the courage to try on the jeans and sweater that were now neatly folded in her room.

“Chatri don't mate,” she admitted in low tones. “We have a more practical approach to relationships.”

She heard the scratch of Levet's claws on the floor as he moved to stand beside her. “Practical?”

“Our marriages are arranged.”

“Ah.” The tiny gargoyle heaved a sigh. “That is often the choice among gargoyle royalty as well.”

“It's . . .” She tried to come up with a word to describe her upcoming union with Prince Magnus. Bleak. Endless. “Efficient,” she at last murmured.

“It is a suitable arrangement for some demons,” Levet slowly agreed.

“Yes.”

Fallon felt a small hand lightly stroke her arm, the comforting gesture pulling her out of her brooding thoughts.

“I sense your unhappiness,
ma belle
.”

“Well, this is all very unsettling,” she said, not wanting this creature's sympathy. “I've never been away from my father's palace.”

Levet gave her another pat. “You are homesick?”

“Oh no,” she breathed, trying to hide her tiny shudder at the mere thought of being whisked back to the elegant palace and her inevitable fate. “I've always hoped to travel to this world.” She grimaced. “Although my dreams hadn't included spying on the Commission or being trapped with a bipolar vampire.”

Levet sighed. “
Oui,
bipolar vampires are usually reserved for our nightmares.” He abruptly smiled. “Thankfully we will eventually discover the culprit and you will be able to explore this world.”

Explore the world . . .

Fallon forced herself to snuff out the small spark of hope.

It would only lead to disappointment.

“My father will never allow me to remain,” she said, her voice carefully composed. “Besides, I'll soon be marrying my prince.”

Levet's fingers tightened on her arm, his expression filled with open sympathy. “I have learned that trying to live your life to please your family is a certain path to misery.”

There was something in his lightly accented voice that assured Fallon that he did understand the burden of family duty.

“Did your family want you to wed a gargoyle of their choosing?” she asked softly.

“
Non
. They wanted me dead.”

She sucked in a horrified breath. Good heavens. She thought her father was arrogant and overbearing.

At least he wasn't homicidal.

“Oh.”

The gargoyle sent her a wistful smile. “If your father truly loves you, he will want you to be happy.”

She swallowed a bitter laugh. Sariel didn't know the meaning of love. At least not the sort of love that humans lavished upon their children.

“Happiness is not valued among my people.”

“Then perhaps you should remain among those who do value it, hmm?” Levet murmured, heading toward the door. “Something to consider.”

 

 

Enough. Cyn slammed shut the thick book on fey history and rose to his feet.

He'd spent the past hours in his library, endlessly searching through books, manuscripts, and ancient scrolls in an effort to find hieroglyphs that would match the spell that Siljar had given him.

So far he'd found precisely nothing.

Oh. There were a lot of “almost” symbols, mostly fey in origin. But nothing that would allow him to decipher the spell.

Now he needed a break.

Grasping the scroll in one hand, he shoved himself to his feet and crossed the antique carpet to step through the door leading into the large study.

Then, pouring himself a large glass of the blood Lise had delivered earlier, he absently paced across the room to stare at the tapestry that his foster mother had made for him shortly after he'd finished building the castle.

It was a scene of a glistening white unicorn standing in the center of a flower-filled meadow with a pretty virgin kneeling at his side.

His foster mother, Erinna, had claimed he needed some reminder of purity to compensate for the debauchery that filled his lair.

Cyn grimaced as he realized that the female reminded him of Fallon.

The glorious golden hair. The delicate profile. The essence of innocence that shouted to his jaded soul with a siren's call.

His jaw clenched, the growingly familiar jolt of heat blasting through his body.

The female was rapidly becoming an obsession. Something that hadn't happened to him since . . .

Since never,
a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Polishing off the blood, he set aside his glass with a shake of his head.

What the hell was happening to him?

He'd known hundreds of women. Thousands. So why was this particular one driving him bat-shit crazy?

He was still debating the question when his peace was destroyed by the tiny gargoyle who waddled into the study.

Usually Cyn took pride in the satinwood furniture that he'd carved with his own hands, and the arched, stained-glass window that refracted the sunlight until it filled the room with a dazzling display of harmless colors.

Now he barely suppressed the urge to grab the creature by the tail and toss him out of the room.

“What do you want?”

The gargoyle sniffed. “I thought you would wish to know that I completed my duty.”

“You made sure the rooms are warm enough?” he demanded.

It was ridiculous, but he couldn't shake his concern that Fallon might be uncomfortable in his lair.