Hunt the Darkness

Chapter Nine

Roke remained on edge as he led Cyn through the club to the room where Sally was waiting for them.

It didn’t matter that Cyn was now dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a heavy cable-knit sweater. Or that the older vampire had made his distaste of witches more than clear.

The strange mating was still too new, too . . . raw, to easily allow another male so close.

He hadn’t been kidding when he warned Sally he would kill a man who touched her.

Waving aside the vampires who stood guard in the hallway, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. Instantly his gaze went to Sally as she rose from the table, taking careful note of the empty plates and the lingering scent of apple pie.

Good, she’d eaten.

“Sally,” he murmured. “This is Cyn.”

She warily eyed the large vampire. “Cyn.”

Cyn stepped forward, frigid tingles filling the air. “So you’re the bitch who abused her powers and—”

Immediately Roke was in his friend’s face, his fangs fully exposed.

“Don’t.”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Sally muttered from behind them.

Roke kept his gaze glued to Cyn. “I’m beginning to agree.”

“You can’t expect anyone to be happy you were shackled by a witch,” Cyn snarled.

“Hey, he isn’t the only one shackled,” Sally groused, the scent of scorched peaches filling the air. “You think I’m any happier about this?”

Cyn glanced over Roke’s shoulder to send Sally a disbelieving glare.

“Any female would be damned lucky to have a vampire as a mate.”

“Oh yeah? Well for your information if anyone is lucky it’s Roke,” Sally countered, as willing as ever to spit in the face of danger. Or in this case, a lethal vampire. “I would make any man a fantastic mate.”

Roke smiled wryly at his friend’s astonished expression. Cyn could make grown trolls piss their pants with a single frown. He hadn’t expected the fragile-looking female to fight back.

“Careful, Cyn. Her temper is like a loaded gun in the hands of a toddler,” he murmured.

“You know what? Screw both of you,” Sally hissed. “I don’t need—”

He caught her as she headed toward the door leading onto the terrace. Gently turning her around, he ran soothing fingers up and down her arms.

“Sally, I know this is difficult, but I think it’s important we find out what those glyphs mean.”

She held herself stiff beneath his touch, battling against her desire to continue with her dramatic exit.

Typical.

Sally Grace made a habit of striking out and then fleeing.

She was a hit-and-run master.

Then, clearly forcing herself to remember she needed answers, she shoved the box into his hands.

“Here.”

He leaned down to brush his lips over her troubled brow before turning to offer the box to the scowling Cyn.

Instantly the vampire’s anger was replaced with wonder, his large hand cradling the box with ginger care as one finger lightly traced the glyphs.

“Astonishing.”

“What’s astonishing?” Roke prompted, knowing Cyn could become lost in his fascination with the carvings.

Few people knew that beneath Cyn’s hunger for physical gratification was an even greater hunger for knowledge.

He was one of the few vampires with whom Roke could share his own fascination with history, which was the primary reason for their unlikely friendship.

“These are old,” Cyn murmured, turning the box as he studied the flowing curves.

“I could tell that much.” Roke leaned forward, a sudden chill inching down his spine at the realization the shimmer that glazed the glyphs had become more pronounced. And they were pulsing, as if they were connected to a heartbeat. “What do they say?”

“No, I mean these are really old.” He lifted his head, the beads at the end of his narrow braids rattling as they banged against his chest. “Pre-Morgana.”

“Morgana? Morgana le Fey?” Sally said in choked tones.

Roke grimaced, abruptly reminded of just how young she truly was.

For him Morgana le Fey was a part of his history, but to her the Queen of Fairies was no doubt a myth that had been lost in the mists of Avalon. Not that Morgana had ever been lost. Well, not until a few months ago when . . .

He gave a shake of his head, concentrating on Cyn.

“I know very little about fey history,” he admitted.

“Few of us do.” Cyn returned his attention to the box. “Before Morgana le Fey declared herself Queen of the Fairies they tended to be a secretive race.”

Roke made a sound of disbelief. “I never thought I would hear secretive and fey in the same sentence.”

“I said secretive, not shy,” Cyn corrected. “I assume they were the same flamboyant exhibitionists in the privacy of their courts.”

Roke had, of course, heard of the rumors of the fabulous fey courts that had long ago disappeared, although there had never been tangible proof they were more than legends.

“Why were they secretive?”

“The Chatri—”

“Chatri?” Roke interrupted.

“The original rulers of the fey. They considered themselves above the lesser demons.”

“All demons considered themselves above other demons,” Roke pointed out in dry tones.

“No shit,” Sally added.

Cyn turned the box upside down, as if searching for a clue to its origins.

“The ancient fey took it to the extreme.”

“How extreme?”

“Eventually they closed off their courts from the world.”

That would explain why no one had proof of them, but it seemed a radical decision even for the fickle fey.

“They abandoned their own people?”

Cyn gave a lift of his shoulder. “Only they know the truth, but from the information I could gather I suspect that they considered themselves above the lesser fey.”

Roke considered the large number of fey that populated the earth.

“That’s taking elitism to the extreme.”

Cyn gave an absent nod. “A decision that left the fey in this world vulnerable once Morgana le Fey took command.”

Roke grimaced. Morgana le Fey had been a brutal leader, not to mention a sadistic bitch, who’d held hundreds of fairies and Sylvermysts as her sexual slaves.

“Nature detests a vacuum,” he said.

Cyn glanced up, the jade eyes shimmering with curiosity. “Yes, which makes me wonder what sort of power struggle is going on in the fey world now. Do you suppose—”

“Does any of this explain what’s written on the box?” Sally broke into their conversation, her expression tight with frustration.

Roke turned, reaching to grasp her hand. “Sorry, we have a mutual fascination with the past.”

Cyn snorted. “Even if you’re completely wrong about the contributing factors leading up to the troll wars.”

Sally didn’t look particularly interested in the troll wars. In fact, she looked like she wanted to thump both of them with a big stick.

“I’m a little more concerned with the future.”

Roke nodded toward the box. “Cyn?”

The large vampire held out the box to point toward the glyphs that flowed across the lid.

“I can only decipher a few of the glyphs. This stands for king.” His finger outlined a spiral with two dots in the center. “This is . . . door. An open door.”

The symbol was similar to current fey glyphs. “A portal?”

“That would be my guess.” Cyn moved his finger to the next glyph. “It’s followed by a closed door. Like a prison.”

“Maybe it’s the story of the Chatri’s retreat in this world,” Roke suggested.

Cyn frowned. “Perhaps.”

Roke followed his friend’s gaze to the bottom of the lid where his finger was tracing a symbol resembling a face.

“What?”

“This looks like the word for people, but . . .” The finger moved to a swirling line. “This is mist or fog. Mist people?” Cyn glanced at Roke. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Roke shook his head. “No. Wait—”

A small fragment of memory floated at the edge of his mind. Some piece of research he’d found in an obscure book about demons on the edge of extinction.

Before the memory could fully form there was a sharp knock on the door and Bliss’s voice penetrated through the thick wood.

“Roke, I need to speak with you.”

Roke yanked a dagger from the sheath at his lower back, not missing the edge of urgency in the female vampire’s voice.

Glancing toward Cyn, he waited for the male to give a grudging nod, shifting his bulk between the door and the baffled Sally.

Whatever Cyn’s feelings toward witches, he’d just agreed to fight to the death to protect her.

With his dagger clutched in his hand, Roke opened the door just far enough to slip into the hallway, firmly closing it behind him.

“What?” he demanded, frowning at Bliss before his gaze slid over her shoulder to spot the dozen nymphs who were kneeling at the end of the hall. “Shit. What the hell is going on?”

“Like I know?” Bliss waved scarlet-tipped fingers toward the mixture of male and female fey who had rapt expressions on their beautiful faces. “One minute the club was running smoothly and the next I find half my staff kneeling in the hall.”

“What do they want?”

“They won’t say. They kneel there like they’ve been enchanted.” Bliss deliberately glanced toward the closed door. “Or more likely, bewitched.”

Roke’s protective instincts roared to high gear. This wasn’t just some random coincidence.

Sally.

“Do you have a back exit?”

Bliss narrowed her eyes, clearly offended by the question.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Sally covertly put some space between herself and the behemoth of a vampire.

She was female enough to acknowledge he was a dazzlingly gorgeous behemoth. If a female enjoyed golden-haired warriors with eyes like jade and massive muscles. She happened to prefer slender, raven-haired men with mesmerizing silver eyes....

Wait. No.

The point was, that while Cyn possessed more than his fair share of male beauty, he was also a bloodthirsty predator. And he obviously blamed her for mating Roke against his will.

The more space between them the better.

She’d reached the edge of the fire pit when the door was opened and Roke entered with the floozy female vampire.

Her fingers twitched, the urge to toss a spell that would shrivel Bliss’s pale, perfect features like a prune nearly irresistible.

Thankfully, her inner bitch was distracted as Roke stepped toward her, his expression grim enough to warn her that he didn’t have good news.

Not that she was surprised.

She couldn’t remember the last time there had been any good news to share.

“What is it?” Her alarm spiked as Bliss headed directly to a far wall, touching a hidden lever. With a faint click a panel slid inward to reveal a dark tunnel. “Roke, what’s going on?”

Sliding a protective arm around her shoulders, Roke urged her toward the opening.

“The locals have sensed your presence.”

She frowned. “What locals?”

“The fey. A dozen nymphs are currently kneeling in the hallway.”

Cyn made a sound of surprise while Sally felt a queasy fear roll through her gut.

“It could be the box, you know,” she muttered.

“Either way the fey are beginning to attract attention,” he said, his ruthless push toward the door saying loud and clear he didn’t believe for a second the nymphs were interested in the box.

Her fear ratcheted up another notch.

“Do you think they’re a danger?”

“I don’t know, and until I’m certain, they’re not getting near you.”

They stepped into the tunnel only to be halted by Cyn.

“Can you protect her without me?” the large vampire demanded, shoving the box into Roke’s hand.

“The day I can’t protect what’s mine I’ll hang up my fangs,” Roke growled.

“Good. I’ll make sure you’re not followed.”

Roke placed a hand on Cyn’s shoulder. “Thank you, old friend.”

Cyn nodded, the thin braids brushing against his cheeks as he leaned down to speak in a low voice that wouldn’t carry.

“Be careful, Roke,” he warned. “The fey pretend to be brainless fools who think of nothing but pleasure, but there’s a darkness just below the surface and powers they rarely reveal.”

“I have no intention of taking unnecessary risks,” Roke promised, his gaze sliding toward Sally. “I can’t say the same for my companion.”

She narrowed her gaze. Jackass.

“Feel free to stay with your friend,” she snapped. “I’m happy to be on my own.”

The silver eyes flared with an unfathomable emotion. “Never again.”

Sally found it oddly difficult to breathe as she became ensnared in his shimmering gaze, losing track of their surroundings until an impatient female voice sliced through the thick air.

“There will be a boat waiting for you.”

Roke offered the woman a small dip of his head. “We’re in your debt.”

Bliss leaned forward to trail her lips down his cheek. “You certainly are.”

“She—”

Without giving Sally the opportunity to react, Roke was hustling her down the tunnel that led to the edge of the island.

“Don’t let her bother you,” he muttered.

The very intensity of the need to go back and scratch out the female vampire’s eyes made Sally grit her teeth.

She didn’t want to feel this . . . insane jealousy.

“She doesn’t,” she forced herself to say, breathing hard as she struggled to keep up with his swift pace. “If she wants you, she can have you.”

He shot her a brooding glance. “Liar.”

She was.

But she’d be damned if she would admit it.

Instead, she clamped her lips together and allowed herself to be led to the end of the tunnel in silence.

She even managed to hold her tongue as she was tossed in the waiting motorboat that was swiftly slicing through the waves with a throaty power.

They slowed as they reached the rocky shoreline, but clearly too impatient to wait for the boat to come to a halt, Roke scooped her off her feet.

“Hold on.”

It was her only warning before Roke was giving a mighty surge and they were flying through the salt-scented air.

Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as they landed on a protruding boulder. She expected a jolt that would send them tumbling back into the water.

Of course, she was in the arms of a vampire.

She barely felt his feet touch the ground before they were leaping upward again, climbing the steep cliff with an ease that a billy goat would envy.

In a matter of seconds they’d reached the top of the cliff and Sally shivered as a blast of icy air hit them. He tightened his arms around her as he raised his body temperature to keep her warm.

A part of her wanted to snuggle into that unexpected warmth. To press her face into the curve of his neck and allow his scent to soothe the lingering irritation that another woman had dared to touch him.

Another part was desperate to regain some sense of control over the mind-numbing chaos that was now her life.

“Roke,” she said, angling her head to study his stark profile as he cut a fluid path through the thickening trees. “Wait.”

His steps never faltered. Typical.

“We need to hurry.”

“Hurry to where?”

His lips twisted. “What choice do we have?”

It took her a confused minute to shuffle through the meaning of his obscure words.

It was only when she noticed the stubborn angle of his jaw that the truth hit her.

“No,” she rasped. “I’ve told you, I’m not going to Nevada.”

The silver eyes blazed in the moonlight. “It’s the only place we can be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I went to Styx,” she hissed.

He muttered a low curse, clearly annoyed by her refusal to forgive and forget her treatment at the hands of his Anasso.

“You are a stranger. And a witch,” he said, his gaze searching the darkness for any hint of danger. “Styx was naturally suspicious.”

“And now I’m naturally suspicious,” she mutinously countered. “‘Fool me once’ and all that crap.”

“So what do you suggest?” He slowed his pace so he could glare down at her stubborn expression. “That we run around in circles?”

She met his smoldering gaze.

For once, she’d actually given it some thought.

“Obviously we need to find a fey that we can trust to tell us what the hell is going on.”

He showed a hint of fang. “There’s no such thing as a trustworthy fey.”

The whiff of granite was the only warning before the tiny gargoyle fluttered down from the branch of a nearby tree.

“I can, perhaps, be of service.”

“Shit.” In one dizzying movement Roke had Sally lowered to the ground, shoving her behind him so his hands were free to destroy the latest threat. Even if that threat was only three feet tall. “Where did you come from?”

Levet gave a flap of his wings, impervious as ever to the danger coating the air with ice.

“From there.” He pointed toward a claw near the top of the tree. “I have been waiting for you to leave the island.”

“How did you . . .” Roke gave a sharp shake of his head, pausing as if he were silently counting to ten. Sally was fairly certain he’d better make it a hundred. Levet seemed to aggravate the vampire without even trying. “I thought you were chasing after your female?”

“Yannah sent me back to you.”

“Why?”

Levet sniffed, a petulant expression on his ugly gray features.

“Who knows why a woman does anything? The workings of the female mind are beyond comprehension.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Roke muttered.

Sally smacked him in the middle of the back.

“Careful,” she muttered, glancing around his shoulder to peer at the gargoyle. “You said you could help?”

“Oui.” Levet’s expression brightened. “I am acquainted with an imp who might be of service.”

“What imp?” she asked.

“Troy, the Prince of Imps. He resides in Chicago.”