Fear the Darkness

“If the vampire has betrayed us, then I don’t care if Santiago is thinking clearly,” Styx said in hard tones. He was running empty on compassion these days. “I want the bastard dead.”



“It’s not always so easy to kill those we consider our family, even when we know it’s for the greater good.”



Styx hissed at the reminder that he’d nearly condemned the vampire race to the insane brutality of the former Anasso out of misplaced loyalty. “Point taken.”



Viper reached into his pocket to remove a slim cell phone. “Do you want me to call him home?”



He shook off the unwelcome memories, his lips twisting in a wry smile. “You can try.”



Viper lowered the phone, his expression suspicious. “Is there something I should know?”



“Darcy claims I have the social sensitivity of a slug demon, but even I’ve noticed how Santiago watches Nefri when he thinks no one is looking.”



“And how’s that?”



“Like he’s longing to devour her.”



Viper made a sound of shock. “Nefri?”



“Why not? She’s a very beautiful woman.”



“Stunningly beautiful,” the clan chief agreed. “And dangerous.”



“True.” Styx couldn’t argue. She was the only vampire he’d met who could match him in strength. Actually, in a head-to-head battle he wasn’t sure who would win. “Her power is off the charts. Not every man is capable of accepting a female who possesses such strength.”



“That’s not it.” Viper gave an impatient wave of his hand. “Santiago has always chosen women of power.”



“Then what’s the problem?”



“If the rumors are to be believed, Nefri deliberately turned her back on this world to live like a cloistered nun,” he said. “I don’t want her manipulating Santiago with her beauty to get what she needs from him and then disappearing behind the Veil. He has enough abandonment issues without her screwing with his head.”



“He’s a big boy, Viper.” Styx moved forward to clap his companion on the shoulder. “I think he can handle his private affairs.”



They both froze as the unmistakable stench of granite wafted through the air.



Viper rolled his eyes. “Were you expecting company?”



“Shit,” Styx muttered as the gargoyle waddled through the door.



Not that he was much of a gargoyle. Granted, he possessed the conventional grotesque features, covered by a thick gray skin. His gray eyes were reptilian, his horns stunted and his hoofs cloven. He even had a long tail he polished and pampered with great pride.



But his fearsome appearance was ruined by his stunted size and the pair of delicate, gossamer wings that should have been on the back of a sprite. And worse, his magic was as unpredictable as the Midwest weather.



Who could blame the Gargoyle Guild for voting him out? He was a three-foot pain in the ass who’d latched onto Viper’s and Styx’s mates and refused to be dislodged.



“Levet,” he muttered.



Oblivious to the distinct lack of welcome, Levet blew them both kisses. “Ah, mes amis, have you missed me?”



Styx snorted. He’d missed the gargoyle like he missed a hot poker shoved in his eye. “What are you doing here?”



Levet’s delicate wings, shimmering in shades of crimson and blue and gold, fluttered in confusion. “Where else would I be?”



“I thought you were searching for Yannah?” he reminded the beast, referring to the peculiar demon who had a habit of appearing and disappearing without warning.



“Bah.” Levet rubbed his stunted horn. “She is making me nutmeg.”



“Nutmeg?”



“I think he means nutty,” Viper said dryly.



“She pops here. She pops there.” Levet waved his hands. “Pop, pop, pop, pop. How can I catch her if she will not stand still?”



Viper snorted. “Females rarely make the chase easy. In fact, I’m beginning to suspect they’re born to make men utterly and completely nutmeg.”



There was a brief silence as the three males nodded in rare agreement. Then, with a sharp shake of his head, Styx pointed toward the door. “Go keep Darcy and Shay company,” he commanded. “I have business to discuss with Viper.”



“As much as I prefer the company of your charming mates, I need to speak with you.”



“Later.”



“Non.” Levet stubbornly held his ground. “This is important.”



Styx clenched his hands. As much fun as it would be to mount the damned creature over the marble fireplace, he knew Darcy would never forgive him. Dammit.



“Fine.” His lips curled back to display his massive fangs. “Spit it out.”



The gargoyle’s tail twitched, but he wasn’t so stupid as to challenge Styx’s patience. Not tonight.



“You know that I keep in contact with Darcy and her sisters?”



“Yes, you use some sort of telepathy.”



“Not exactly telepathy. It’s more a portal that I form inside their mind. . . .”



“Do you have a point?” Styx interrupted, not giving a shit how the creature managed to speak mind to mind with his mate.



Levet sniffed. “Darcy asked me to try and contact Cassie using my powers.”



“Clever,” Styx murmured, his pride in his wife swelling through his heart.



“Clever, but, unfortunately, my efforts did nothing but give me the aching head,” Levet admitted.



“So you failed?”



“Not so much a failure as a . . . misfire.”



Levet wasn’t the only one with the aching head, Styx silently conceded. “What the hell does that mean?”



“I could not contact her, but she did manage to contact me.”



A sudden tension filled the air as both vampires stared at the tiny demon in astonishment.



“You spoke with her?” Styx bit out.



Levet gave a lift of one shoulder. “Only a brief moment.”



Viper stepped forward. “What did she say?”



“Nothing, but she sent this.”



Levet held out his hand to reveal a small piece of paper. Styx leaned forward, taking the paper and unfolding it to study the squiggle of odd lines.



“What is it?” Viper demanded.



“A prophecy.” Styx lifted his head to stab his friend with a worried frown. “Get Roke.”



Gaius’s lair in Louisiana



Gaius sat in a leather wing chair in his office, holding a history book that glorified his battles as a Roman general. He might not remember his human days, but he took pleasure in the knowledge he had been a brilliant commander feared by all. Usually, it was his favorite way to spend a quiet evening in his lair.



Tonight, however, he found no peace.



Not even several hours of rough sex followed by a deep feeding had eased the sense of foreboding that had haunted him for the past two weeks. Tossing aside the book, Gaius surged to his feet and paced toward the window, his brocade dressing gown brushing the floor.



He knew what was troubling him.



After following the Dark Lord’s commands to protect the wizard spirit, he’d then returned to the mists along with Dolf. He perhaps shouldn’t have been surprised to discover the master had been resurrected into the child. But he’d been frankly unnerved by the sight of the powerful deity in the body of a teenage girl.



Thankfully, he’d concealed his growing apprehension—unlike Dolf, who had managed to incur the anger of the Dark Lord—long enough to escape out of the mists.



There was no way he was going to hang around to bear the brunt of the Dark Lord’s frustration when he couldn’t use his new body to return to the world. Drained or not, she was still powerful enough to turn Gaius into a puddle of screaming pain.



Now he was left to stew in his own doubts, caught between the urgent need to hear from the Dark Lord so they could finish their deal and he could demand the return of his beloved mate, and a growing desire to be forgotten by the evil bastard. Or rather . . . the evil bitch.



Sensing the approach of a male cur, Gaius was careful to mask his emotions as he slowly turned to watch Dolf step into the room. In the candlelight the dog was looking distinctly worse for the wear.



In the past two weeks his hair had grown past the buzz cut and had acquired several streaks of gray. Worse, he’d dropped nearly fifty pounds, leaving his face gaunt and his stomach sunken.



Not at all the cocky mutt that Gaius had first met just a month ago. But then again, they’d all lost a bit of their cock.



“You disposed of the body?” he demanded.



Dolf nodded, his eyes glittering with a hectic light. The cur was hanging on to his sanity by a thread. A thin thread.



“It’s rotting deep in the swamp with all the others.” His lips curved in a gruesome imitation of a smile. “You have quite a collection out there. Thirteen, isn’t it?”



Gaius stiffened. He didn’t like being reminded of the whores that he’d killed over the past few nights. Not because of his conscience. That had died along with Dara. But it was a nasty reminder of his loss of control.