Hunt the Darkness

Chapter Twelve

There were few people or demons who were more familiar with the complex spiderweb of tunnels where the Oracles were staying than Styx.

Before his mating to Darcy, he’d lived in them for several decades along with the previous Anasso.

Which meant that he knew every secret passage and hidden nook.

A knowledge he put to quick use less than an hour after he and Viper had arrived.

Once they’d formally lodged their petition with a dour-faced Sota demon and been shown to their bleak caverns where they were supposed to wait for an opportunity to have their dispute heard by the Oracles, Styx had led them from the public chambers to the dank tunnels beneath.

Stepping through the illusion of a seemingly solid stone wall, Styx pulled his large sword free of the sheath strapped to his back.

“Bring back old memories?” Viper demanded, ridiculously wearing black chinos and a white ruffled shirt with a brocade vest. His silver hair was braided, emphasizing the beauty of his elegant face, and the sword he carried looked like it should belong to a fencer, not a warrior.

But only an idiot would believe that Viper wouldn’t have his heart carved out with a flick of his wrist.

Styx, on the other hand, didn’t bother with subtlety.

Leather, shitkickers, and plenty of snarly attitude.

Simple.

“Not so old,” he said, leaping over a large boulder that blocked their path. “Although it does seem like another lifetime.”

Viper easily kept pace. “Who would have thought just a year later we’d both be mated and saviors of the world?”

Styx snorted. “Be careful, Levet takes full credit for being savior of the world.”

“He would,” Viper said dryly.

Styx kept his attention on the widening tunnel, well aware there were cracks in the uneven walls where an enemy could hide.

He wasn’t about to walk into an ambush.

“I’ll gladly allow him to have the glory if it keeps him out of my hair.”

Viper gave a short laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Miracles happen.”

“True,” Viper drawled. “You found a mate who hasn’t stabbed you with a stake.”

“Yet,” Styx pointed out, an indulgent smile curving his lips.

He wanted this business done so he could return to Darcy. The faster the better.

They turned down another tunnel that ended in the appearance of a dead end. This time, however, when they stepped through the illusion there was an unmistakable scent of decay.

“Viper,” he growled, coming to a sharp halt.

His companion moved to stand beside him. “I smell it.”

Styx wrinkled his nose. “Fairy.”

“Dead fairy.”

Styx nodded toward the nearby entrance to a small cavern. “Ready?”

Viper shrugged. “Always.”

Together they entered the cavern, discovering the fairy lying in the center of the smooth floor.

Without a sound Viper was sprinting toward the far end of the cavern, searching behind the nooks and crannies that could hide the killer.

Styx knelt beside the body, reaching out his fingers to touch the dead man’s throat as he made a physical inventory.

Outwardly the fairy appeared unharmed. His long red hair was untangled, his pale skin unmarred, his lean body in one piece, and there wasn’t so much as a drop of blood on the traditional robes that were given to most petitioners.

Rising to his feet, he watched Viper return.

“Anything?” he demanded.

The younger vampire gave a shake of his head. “No, whoever did this is long gone.”

Styx glanced back down at the fairy. Most demon bodies disintegrated within a matter of hours, sometimes minutes. It was a necessary precaution to avoid detection by the humans.

“Not long,” he corrected. “The fairy was killed less than an hour ago.”

Reaching into his front pocket Styx pulled out a cell phone, relieved to discover it was fully functional. His powers had a tendency to destroy electronic devices.

“What are you doing?” Viper asked as he punched in a number.

“I have Jagr posted to keep watch on the entrance to the cave.” The leader of his Ravens answered on the first ring. “Report,” Styx barked.

Viper stepped away as Styx listened to the clipped response, only returning when Styx returned the phone to his pocket.

“Well?”

“Three people entered the caves,” Styx repeated what he’d learned. “The two of us and a male fairy.”

Viper arched a brow. “Which means the killer was already in the caves.” The clan chief abruptly stilled, clearly recalling his own visits to the caves when he’d been attempting to save the life of his mate. “Unless he used the secret entrance?”

Styx shook his head, already having thought of the possibility.

“I have them covered.”

“And no one entered?”

“No, but Jagr said that D’Angelo reported earlier that he spotted a cloaked figure leaving from a side tunnel.”

“Did he track him?”

Styx shrugged. “He tried, but a few miles from the caves the figure disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Viper grimaced. “Like poof?”

“Yep.”

They shared a mutual gaze of unease. Not only at the thought of demons able to transport from one place to another, which hardly seemed fair, but because it was obvious who was hidden beneath the cloak.

“Siljar?” Viper muttered.

“She’s at the top of my list,” Styx agreed, his voice pitched low enough to keep it from traveling.

Making wild accusations while surrounded by the most powerful demons in the world seemed a dangerous proposition.

Viper considered a long minute. “Why would she slip out and then disappear? She could have used her private rooms and no one would ever know she’d left.”

A good point.

Styx frowned, shuffling through the various reasons a demon would choose to leave the caves.

“I assume translocating would demand the sort of power that would alert the other Oracles she was leaving,” he said, at last suggesting the most logical explanation.

“True.” Viper sheathed his rapier. “Of course, it’s possible her disappearance might have nothing to do with the fairy’s death.”

“Or just as likely it wasn’t Siljar at all,” Styx said, his own sword remaining clutched in his hands. He was still hoping for a chance to stick it into an enemy. If he had to be away from Darcy, then at least he should have the pleasure of a rousing fight. “Which leaves us with the need to discover who is missing.”

Viper made a sound of disbelief. “Don’t look at me. I’m not going to do a roll call on the Oracles.”

“Coward,” Styx mocked.

“Damn straight,” Viper agreed without apology. “They scare the hell out of me.”

Styx had to agree. “They scare the hell out of everyone.”

“Then we do this the old-fashioned way.” Viper knelt beside the corpse. “Your senses are better suited to tracking,” he pointed out. “You check to see who came into the cave and I’ll try to figure out what killed the fairy.”

Styx didn’t hesitate as he headed out of the cave.

He might be the ultimate leader of vampires, but he wasn’t an anal ass who always had to be the one to give the orders.

Viper was right. He was the better tracker while Viper had an eye for the finer details he easily overlooked.

Concentrating on his surroundings, Styx made a thorough survey of the tunnels that led away from the cave, traveling until he met the main passageway before doubling back.

Returning to Viper, he waited for the younger vampire to finish his inspection and rise to his feet.

“Did you locate a track?” the younger vampire asked.

Styx scowled. He was never afraid to face an enemy. He’d been in countless battles over the centuries.

What he hated was puzzles.

They always managed to bite him in the ass.

“Too many,” he snarled.

“There was more than one?”

His displeasure dropped the temperature by several degrees. “There was one set of tracks and a dozen different scents.”

Viper predictably scowled in confusion. “How’s that possible?”

Styx clenched his jaw. He’d encountered demons capable of disguising their scent. Or even altering it to throw off a hunter. But he’d never heard of a demon who could smell like a different creature at the same time.

“It isn’t.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “What did you learn?”

Viper glanced back at the dead fairy. “About as much as you, unfortunately,” he admitted. “There’s no obvious wounds, there’s no blood missing and, as far as I can tell, the major organs are still intact.”

“No signs of a struggle?”

Viper shook his head. “It’s almost as if he just lay down and died.”

Styx muttered a curse. There was nothing more they could do.

It was time to turn the information over to someone who might be able to determine what happened.

“I think we’ve learned all we can here,” he muttered. “Let’s get out before the killer realizes we discovered the body.”

Viper led the way out of the cave. “This isn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped.”

Styx rolled his eyes. “It never is.”

Sally lay on her side with Roke spooned behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and his face buried in her tangle of hair.

She felt . . . shattered.

Not just by the explosive bliss Roke had given her, although that had been enough to leave any poor woman dazed and confused.

But from the sheer intimacy of their connection.

Real or not, the mating had allowed the very essence of Roke to become embedded in her soul. She’d experienced his fierce hunger for her touch. His overwhelming delight in her simplest caress. And most terrifying of all, the unwavering devotion that fed his obsession to protect her.

No one had ever truly cared for her.

Even before her mother had discovered the truth of her tainted blood, the powerful witch had treated her as nothing more than a necessity. She was created to protect the world from an ancient vampire, nothing else.

And certainly none of her fellow disciples of the Dark Lord gave a shit about her.

She was an expendable commodity.

Was it any wonder she was floundering? She was desperately trying to squash the urge to bask in the warmth of his emotions, but it was like offering a buffet to a starving man. Impossible to resist.

Still, she wasn’t completely stupid.

This wasn’t destined to be a happily ever after and whoever said it was better “to have love and lost” was full of bullshit.

She’d endured rejection, betrayal, and actual torture, but she’d refused to be crushed by what life threw at her.

Now a voice was whispering that losing Roke might very well be her Kryptonite.

Plagued by her dark thoughts, Sally turned her attention to the first thing that caught her eye.

The box she’d left on the night table.

She frowned, studying the hieroglyphs that glowed with a silver light in the shadows.

Earlier, she’d spent hours running her fingers over the delicate carvings while she waited for her potions to brew. Her fascination had been more than just an appreciation for the beauty of the glyphs.

She was growingly convinced that she could actually understand what the box was trying to tell her.

Madness, of course. But she couldn’t entirely shake the sensation.

“You’re quiet,” Roke murmured, his lips nuzzling the side of her neck.

She shivered, startled by tingles of heat that darted through her.

It seemed obscene that such a light caress could make her melt with need.

With an effort, she fought the urge to wiggle her ass against his cock, which was already hardening in anticipation. She’d just accepted that sharing such intimacy with Roke was far too dangerous to her fragile heart. Did she want to make it worse?

Yes, yes, and double yes, a wicked voice whispered in the back of her mind.

“I’m thinking,” she forced herself to mutter.

He tensed. “Oh hell, that can’t be good.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The silver eyes shimmered with a breathtaking beauty as he swept his gaze over her face.

“I don’t want you trying to convince yourself this was a mistake.”

Keep it light, Sally.

There was no use in confessing that she was swiftly making a bad situation worse by tumbling head over heels in love with him.

“Don’t be a jackass this time and I won’t,” she said.

“Touché.” He grimaced, obviously recalling the last time he had her in bed. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“This.”

Twisting out of his arms, she sat up and reached for the box.

“Not my first guess,” he muttered, reluctantly shoving himself up to lean against the headboard. “The glyphs are growing brighter.”

She kept her gaze glued to the box, knowing the sheet would have fallen down to his waist, exposing the bronzed beauty of his chest and the dragon tattoo that she’d so recently outlined with the tip of her tongue.

“Yes.” She was forced to clear her throat. “I tried to muffle them with another layer of magic earlier, but it doesn’t look like it’s working.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

“No.” She shook her head, her fingers tracing a glyph as the magic pulsed deep inside her. “I was studying it before I went to bed, and I could swear I—”

“What?”

“That I can decipher a few of the symbols.”

There was a startled silence as Roke stared at her in blatant confusion.

“You read ancient fey?”

“Of course not, but . . .” She struggled to find the right words. “It’s almost as if it speaks to me.”

“Shit,” he growled, his brows snapping together.

She flinched, startled by his intense reaction. “You think I’m going crazy?”

“No, I think the box has more power than I feared,” he corrected in dark tones. “What does it say?”

“It’s still mostly garbled. Like a radio station that’s not quite tuned in,” she said, knowing she wasn’t making much sense. “But this is royalty.” She pointed to a glyph that resembled an elaborate star, before moving to the one that Cyn had assumed was a closing door. “And this isn’t the retreat of the fey.”

“Then what is it?”

“A prison.”

Roke nodded, accepting her explanation without hesitation.

Sally clenched her teeth against the renegade flutter of her heart. His absolute faith in her was almost as unnerving as his tender concern.

“Royalty in prison,” he murmured. “Do the two glyphs go together?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it.”

Not that it helped, she ruefully acknowledged.

Even if she was learning how to decipher the glyphs, they weren’t giving her the sort of information that could tell her why she was suddenly attracting fey like bees to honey.

“Anything else?” Roke asked, his fingers lightly brushing her shoulder as she hesitated. “Sally?”

The casual contact sent tiny jolts of pleasure through her, threatening to drive any rational thought from her mind.

She turned the box over, grimly ignoring the cool fingers that continued to stroke over her acutely sensitive skin.

“I think this is a map.”

Roke leaned forward, the sweep of his hair against her cheek as soft as satin.

“A map to where?”

She breathed in the scent of potent male, soothed by the dark spice even as it stirred her arousal.

“I don’t know. But it’s important.” She wrinkled her nose, glancing to the side to meet Roke’s steady gaze. “I’m sorry.”

His hand moved to cup her chin, turning her head so he could study her rueful expression.

“Sorry about what?”

“I know you would rather be searching for my father so we can break our mating,” she said. “Not chasing down some imp in Chicago.”

His eyes flashed with silver fire, as if annoyed by her words.

“What I want is to know that you’re safe, after that . . .” He leaned down to kiss her with a mind-numbing intensity before giving her lower lip a punishing nip. “Nothing else matters.”

“Roke—”

Her hand had lifted to touch his cheek, forgetting that she’d just decided it was far too risky to give in to her passions, when the temperature abruptly dropped and Roke was leaping off the bed.

“Get dressed,” he commanded in low, urgent tones, moving to yank open the nearby closet and pulling on a pair of faded jeans he found hung inside.

Scrambling off the bed with far less grace, Sally hurried to where she’d left her clothes folded on a nearby chair.

“What is it?”

“Our least favorite demon,” he muttered, his expression grim as he grabbed a gun from the floor.

He must have brought it up with him when he heard her cry out.

“Crap,” she muttered, hastily pulling on the clothes she’d washed earlier before slipping her feet into her tennis shoes. “What’s the plan?”

He moved toward the window, his gaze inspecting their surroundings.

“We need to get to the garage,” he at last decided. “There should be something with enough horsepower to outrun even the fastest demon.”

“I’m ready,” she said, tucking the box in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

Roke led the way to the door, halting on the landing as he tilted back his head to allow his senses to flow through the silent house.

He leaned down to speak directly in her ear. “We’ll go out the back.”

“Through the kitchen,” she whispered back.

“Why?”

“My potions.”

He gave a short nod. “Let’s go.”

They pressed against the wall as they moved down the stairs, carefully avoiding the splashes of moonlight.

He forced her to pause again as they reached the bottom of the stairs, his muscles coiled to strike as he tested the air for the location of their enemy.

At last he gave a jerk of his head and Sally hurried into the kitchen, gathering the small jars of potion she’d prepared during the long day.

They wouldn’t be much help.

One was a disguise spell she intended to use once she’d located the necessary amulets to mask their trail, and the other was a potion to create a small explosion that might help confuse the enemy.

“This is all I have.”

He crossed the tiled floor, pulling open the back door. Scanning the darkness, he at last gave a wave of his hand.

“Stay behind me,” he growled.

For once Sally didn’t argue.

She might be a powerful witch, but Roke was the superior fighter.

She didn’t want him hesitating to attack because she was in the way.

The chilled air wrapped around her as Sally stepped out of the house, the scent of pine trees and frost teasing at her nose.

Roke, however, obviously caught a less pleasing odor as his lips curled back to reveal his massive fangs.

Hissing in fury, he turned to the side, his head tilting backward as a shadow detached itself from the roof of the house to aim straight at his head.

Sally had a blurry glimpse of brown robes flapping around a pudgy body before the creature was hitting the ground as Roke moved to fluid speed to avoid a collision. She took a stumbled step backward, and the Miera demon straightened, a strange narrow stick held between his lips.

Baffled, Sally had no idea what the hell he was doing until Roke made a sound of impatience and tugged the tiny dart from his neck.

A blowgun?

That seemed . . . underwhelming.

“Roke,” she cried out.

More annoyed than hurt, Roke emptied his gun into the demon who moved with surprising speed to avoid the bullets. Forced to accept the weapon was worthless against this particular enemy, Roke tossed aside the gun and bared his fangs.

“We end this now,” he snarled.

The pale eyes darkened to an unnerving black with a crimson slit as the creature glanced toward Sally.

“Yes, we will.”

Roke snarled, leaping forward. The Miera dodged to the side, dropping the stick as he pointed a finger toward Roke. Almost instantly the strange vibrations began to fill the air.

Roke leaped again, managing to slice his claws across the demon’s face before he was knocked to his knees by the vibrations.

He growled, forcing himself upright despite the blood dripping from his nose.

Oh . . . hell.

Sally muttered a swift spell beneath her breath, tossing the potion jar directly at the demon. It shattered at his feet, and the Miera glanced downward in surprise.

It was immediately obvious that he wasn’t familiar with witches. If he had been, he might have reacted with greater speed. As it was, his momentary hesitation made certain he was still standing in place when the explosion sent him flying backward.

Roke was instantly charging through the debris to land on top of him, pinning him to the ground and sinking his fangs deep in his neck.

It should have been over.

Sally didn’t know of any demon who was capable of withstanding the attack of a vampire clan chief.

But even as she prepared for the grisly death, she was caught off guard when Roke was being tossed aside and the demon was rising to his feet.

“Roke.”

She stepped forward, wracking her mind for a spell that might help as both men flowed to their feet.

The Miera was looking worse for wear with his face sliced open and his throat mangled, but oddly there was no blood. Roke, on the other hand . . .

She sucked in a startled breath.

He looked god awful.

His bronzed face had been stripped of color until it was a horrifying shade of ash, while the blood now dripped from his eyes as well as his nose.

Was it the strange demon power affecting him?

Or something else?

Whatever the cause it was swiftly weakening him, although he refused to concede defeat.

Surging upright, he swung his fist toward the demon’s pudgy face, managing to connect with sickening force. The Miera flew through the air, slamming into a tree. Still, he didn’t go down.

Blessed goddess.

What did it take to kill the damned thing?

Clearly wondering the same thing, Roke braced himself for the demon to attack, his fangs bared and a dagger held in one hand.

Feeling ridiculously helpless, Sally mentally flipped through the spells she could use without a potion or proper preparation.

There were a few. Unfortunately most of them were too weak to hurt a demon, and those that were potent enough were too unpredictable. Casting a spell wasn’t like shooting a gun. She could only aim in the general direction and hope for the best.

She wasn’t going to risk hitting Roke.

More out of frustration than hope that it would help, Sally lifted her arm and launched her last jar of potion at the aggravating creature.

The disguise spell couldn’t hurt the Miera, but it might distract him long enough for Roke to get in another shot.

The jar flew through the air, unnoticed by the two males who were both coiled to strike, shattering at the Miera’s feet.

An odd silence followed the crash as they all stared at the mist curling around the demon’s feet. Sally frowned, glancing at Roke. She’d expected him to attack while the Miera was preoccupied, but his eyes were glazed and the dagger dropped from his slack fingers.

Oh . . . shit.

His injuries were even worse than she first assumed.

Her wary gaze returned to the demon, wondering if it intended to kill her slow or fast.

She was hoping for the fast option.

The demon, however, remained distracted, his pale eyes widening as if he were shocked.

Sally took a hesitant step forward. If she could get close enough she might be able to hit him with a paralysis spell. It wouldn’t hold him for long, but it might be enough to get Roke far enough away that he could recover his strength.

Three feet away she came to an abrupt halt.

There was something . . . weird about the Miera. A strange blurring around him that reminded her of the first time she’d seen the demon.

Only now the faint flickering in and out of focus was becoming far more pronounced, as if he were about to fade from view entirely.

Not sure what was happening, Sally jerked back into motion, this time heading directly toward Roke.

Lowering herself to her knees, she watched as the demon tried to kick away the clinging mist. He was reacting to the simple spell with a fear that was way out of proportion.

Or maybe not so out of proportion, she slowly realized.

The spell continued to crawl up the demon’s body, smudging his physical shape, inch by inch.

Could the spell be causing an interruption with his personal demon magic?

Sally didn’t know, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was the frustration that marred the pudgy face before the demon gave a lift of his hand and disappeared.