Darkness Avenged

She’d used magic from the day she’d left her cradle. Maybe even before then.



She’d perfected the fine art of casting until she could perform them with flawless precision; she could brew potions that were so potent they sold for twice the usual price. And she could sense a spell from a remarkable distance.



But while she was highly proficient in the usual arts, she’d never actually tried to manipulate magic.



It was . . . exhausting.



Both mentally and physically.



Each layer of magic had to be carefully unraveled from the complex web, but it wasn’t like they disappeared. She had to maintain her hold on each thread while continuing to loosen the others.



And all the while, she knew one wrong tug could create an explosion that would destroy even vampires.



Gritting her teeth, she tried to ignore her rapidly fading strength. Just a little more and . . . a moan was wrenched from her throat as she felt herself beginning to sway.



Crap, crap, crap.



She raised her hands to keep from falling on her face, but she’d barely moved an inch when strong arms wrapped around her and the sensation of cool, euphoric power pulsed through her weary body.



Roke.



He was using their connection to give her the strength she needed.



The debilitating fatigue faded from her mind and she tilted back her head to offer a grateful smile. “Thank you.”



His lean, compelling face remained hard with disapproval even as he gently brushed a strand of hair from her pale cheek. “Sally, you can’t keep going like this,” he said gruffly.



“I’m close.”



“I don’t care.” His voice was strained, as if he were barely preventing himself from physically hauling her away from the warehouse. “You’re going to burn yourself out.”



“I can’t stop now.”



The dark eyes smoldered with frustration. “You can at least rest.”



“No. If I let go . . .”



“What?”



She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s just say bad things will happen.”



His arm abruptly tightened around her shoulders, his expression resolute. “How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing is going to happen to you,” he swore softly.



A treacherous warmth threatened to melt her heart as he regarded her with an unwavering devotion. Her very own hero who would slay her endless parade of dragons.



Then she was grimly squashing the stupid thought.



His devotion wasn’t real. It was nothing more than a symptom of the mating she’d forced on him.



It would disappear the moment they managed to break the bond.



And she would be an idiot to let herself believe for a second that beneath the sham of their mating Roke considered her anything but the enemy.



And that if they managed to survive the night, she would soon be alone, with no one to depend on but herself.



Again.



“Considering the fact I’ve had a bounty on my head since I was sixteen, there’s a good possibility that it’s going to be a daily lecture,” she muttered wryly. “Or at least until—”



“Not now,” he broke in, to her reminder this was only temporary.



“What can we do to help?” Styx demanded, keeping guard near the door.



“I don’t think anyone can help,” she admitted, her concentration returning to the numerous threads that she struggled to keep from slipping her magical grasp. “I have to do this on my own.”



“But not alone,” Roke whispered in her ear, tugging her until her back was pressed against the solid muscles of his chest. “Lean against me.”



Her heart did that terrible melting thing again, but she focused her energy on the remaining weave that protected the book.



Even with Roke’s added strength she was soon soaked in perspiration, her knees aching from being pressed against the hard floor, and her mind pounding with a headache that wasn’t going to be cured by a couple of extra-strength aspirin.



Then, she slowly peeled away the last weave to reveal the book that the sorcery had been protecting.



A book that wasn’t a book.



“Blessed goddess,” she breathed in shock.



Roke stiffened. “What’s wrong?”



“I removed the last layer of magic.”



Styx was at their side before she could even blink. Damn vampire speed.



“And?” he rasped.



She instinctively pressed into Roke’s comforting hold. It wasn’t that he was any less intimidating than the King of Vampires. But he was at least . . . familiar.



“I’m not sure.”



Styx warily glanced inside the top of the safe that had been ripped off by Roke.



“Can you sense the book?”



She shuddered. “Oh yes.”



Roke shifted so he could study her troubled expression. “Is it magic?”



“No, it’s a . . .” She bit her bottom lip, struggling to find the words to explain the darkness that threatened to suck them all into oblivion. “A void.”



Styx turned to stab her with a piercing gaze. “A void?”



“Like a black hole that sucks away everything around it.”



If she hadn’t been so weary she would have laughed as Styx jumped away from the safe as if he’d been poked by a cattle prod.



“Are we in danger?” he growled.



She used her magic to probe the strange void, baffled by the sense that it was pulling in . . . something, but unable to determine exactly what that “something” was.



“Not immediate danger,” she said slowly, grimacing at her companions’ matching expressions of aggravation. “Hey, that’s all I can promise.”



Roke absently smoothed a comforting hand down her back. She swallowed a rueful sigh. He was obnoxious and arrogant and bossy beyond bearing, but someday he truly was going to make some female a wonderful mate.



“So how was this book able to hurt the spirit?” he asked.



Hmmm. How to explain what she was sensing to two vampires who made a habit of pretending magic didn’t exist.



“It’s not really a book,” she at last admitted.



Predictably Roke frowned in suspicion. He understood a book. Even one that might hold magical spells. “It’s not?”



She lifted her hands, searching for the right words. “It has the physical appearance of a book, but it’s only a focal point for the power.”



Roke frowned, but not bothering to try and question what a focal point might be, he honed in on the most important detail of her revelation. “That doesn’t explain why it affects the spirit.”



Styx paced toward the door and back, clearly lost in his own thoughts. “Santiago said that the creature feeds on emotion,” he abruptly stated.



“So a void . . .” Roke’s eyes widened. “Of course. It would starve him.”



It took a minute for Sally to follow their line of logic, then she gave a sound of shock.



The void was absorbing emotions.



A perfect weapon to battle the creature.



Whether or not it was created to perform some other purpose was impossible for her to say.



“Can the book, or whatever the hell it is, be moved?” Styx asked, his warrior mind already considering the best way to use their unexpected advantage.



She shrugged. “In theory.”



Styx nodded. “So now the question is, how do we track a spirit that can seemingly jump from body to body?”



It was Sally’s turn to be struck by a sudden fear. Not for herself. But for Roke, who would insist on being a part of the hunt for the spirit.



“Santiago knows this is the only thing that can hurt the creature,” she hurriedly pointed out. “He’ll do everything in his power to return him to this warehouse.”



Styx looked far from pleased by her sensible suggestion. Like all vampires he had the patience of a human five-year-old.



Or maybe the need to leap willy-nilly into danger was a male thing.



“So we wait?” he growled.



She shrugged. “What else can we do?”



Without warning, Roke was straightening, dragging her upright so he could wrap her in his arms. “I know what you’re going to do,” he said in tones that made the hair on her nape stand upright.



“What’s that?”



“You’ve done your part.” He held her gaze, his expression ruthless. “It’s time for you to return to your rooms.”



“I agree,” Styx abruptly nipped her urge to argue in the bud. “It’s . . .”



There was no warning.



At least none that Sally could detect.



It was simply as if an invisible doorway opened and an entwined trio of vampires tumbled into the room.



“Too late,” she croaked.



Santiago had endured torture on an epic scale.



In the Gladiator pits mere survival meant enduring pain that would kill a lesser demon.



But even prepared, he couldn’t prevent his grunt of agony as Nefri’s fangs sank into his throat and her claws dug deep grooves into his back.



Cristo.



He’d known she was lethal, but even without using her innate powers she was a formidable enemy. He would have only minutes before she tired of her game and ended him.