A Very Levet Christmas (Guardians of Eternity) (4 page)

Damon cursed, his eyes glowing as his wolf struggled to take command. “Get us out of here.”

Levet gave a click of his tongue. Really, how many times had he told the stupid Were that he . . .

His annoyed thought was interrupted as the mist abruptly thickened to a choking blanket of black. Then with a sickening jolt they were being hurtled through time and space, the speed making Levet’s tail stand on end.

Salvatore was still snuggled with Harley on the bed when he was forced from the room by the arrival of Harley’s sisters, Regan, Cassie, and Darcy. Not that he truly resented their arrival. How could he when their presence brought such obvious joy to his mate?

Of course, he didn’t for a minute believe that they had traveled to St. Louis alone.

Slipping out the back to avoid the crowd of Weres who were still celebrating in his living room, Salvatore made his way toward the edge of the lake. Within minutes he was joined by a tall, Aztec warrior dressed in leather with a long braid hanging down his back.

Styx was the current Anasso (King of Vampires), and mated to Darcy. No doubt, Regan’s mate, Jagr, as well as Cassie’s mate, Caine, were both prowling nearby.

Still edgy, Salvatore forced a stiff smile to his lips.

“I thought I smelled dead meat,” he drawled, never able to resist the opportunity to mock the vampire’s massive arrogance.

Styx folded his arms over his broad chest, flashing his fangs as if the humongous sword strapped to his back wasn’t intimidating enough.

The King of Vampires was a firm believer in overkill.

Literally.

“Better than wet mutt,” he countered.

“Why are you skulking out here?” Salvatore’s gaze skimmed toward the nearby guards who were clearly unhappy to have a vampire so near the lair. The truce that had been established between Weres and vamps was still difficult for many to accept. They’d been enemies for too many centuries to instantly become allies. Besides, the two species were both too aggressive to ever be truly easy in each other’s company. “Trying to terrify my poor servants?”

Styx shrugged. “I assumed you would be reluctant to allow guests too close to your new pups.”

Salvatore nodded. He’d cut out his tongue before he’d admit it, but he appreciated Styx’s consideration.

“It’s been . . . difficult,” he admitted, his gaze shifting to his home on top of the hill. He squashed a sigh at the sight of the numerous guests that he could see through the floor to ceiling windows.

“I can imagine,” Styx muttered.

“No, you truly can’t.”

Styx gave a lift of one raven brow. “If you need me to clean out your unwelcome visitors, just say the word. I’d be delighted to kick some Were ass,” he offered, a glow of anticipation in his dark eyes. The vampire was always eager for a fight. “It’s been far too long.”

Salvatore grimaced, rolling his tense shoulders. The persistent sensation of approaching danger was making him jumpy as hell.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I wish I could let you,” he said.

Styx shrugged. “You’re the king. Throw them out the door.”

“It’s because I’m the king that I can’t.”

The Anasso snorted at Salvatore’s resigned explanation. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve broken too many traditions,” Salvatore admitted. The past century had been a difficult one for the purebreds. Not only had they been drained of their powers by the previous king’s connection to a demon lord, but the world had become a rapidly changing landscape that wasn’t always easy for an immortal to adapt to. “The Weres need to be confident that I respect our past while I try to drag them kicking and screaming into the future.”

Styx gave a slow nod. He was having his own battles to try and haul the vampires out of the dark ages. “You have my full sympathies.”

“Besides, my people have waited too long to celebrate the return of Were children,” Salvatore continued. “This feast is a symbol of hope.”

As if to prove his point, there was a roar from inside the house, followed by the sound of splintering wood. It was doubtful that the furniture would survive the celebration.

“How is Harley?” Styx asked, thankfully drawing Salvatore’s thoughts away from the destruction of his beautiful lair.

“Weak, but delirious with happiness.” His smile became genuine as he thought of his mate, her face flushed with a joy that came from her very soul. “She hasn’t allowed the pups out of her sight since they were born.”

“And you?”

“Dazed. And equally delirious.”

Styx narrowed his eyes. “There’s something troubling you.”

Salvatore tried to look casual. Did the damn bloodsucker have to be so perceptive? It was annoying.

“I’m a little on edge.”

“A little?” Styx gave a short laugh. “You’re about to combust.”

“Becoming a father is proving to be a constant source of terror,” Salvatore said, his words the truth, if not the full truth. “What if I fail them?”

Predictably the vampire refused to be distracted. “Your unease seems more . . . specific.”

“Have your talents grown to include mind reading?” Salvatore growled.

“I’m a predator.” Styx offered a lethal smile. “I know when my prey is distracted.”

The frozen air instantly prickled with the heat of Salvatore’s wolf. Styx was the only demon in the world powerful enough to match Salvatore in a head-to-head battle.

“Prey?”

Styx gave a sudden laugh, dispelling the tension. “Tell me what’s got you jumping at shadows.”

Salvatore made a sound of impatience, knowing the vamp wasn’t going to stop pushing until he had the truth.

Intrusive bastard.

“I don’t know. It feels as if . . .” Salvatore shivered, but it had nothing to do with the icy breeze. He’d never before experienced such a creeping sense of doom. “
Cristo.
Perhaps I’m losing my mind.”

“Possible.” Styx gave a lift of his shoulder. “You are well past your prime.”

“At least I was born after fire was invented,” Salvatore shot back, but his heart wasn’t in the insult.

Instead his gaze moved toward the south, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end.

Styx instinctively reached to grasp his sword. “You sense a threat?”

“Sì.”
Salvatore gave a shake of his head. “But I don’t know who or where it’s coming from.”

“A premonition?”

Salvatore grimaced. “Whatever it is, it’s getting closer.”

Levet tried to peer through the black mist that continued to swirl around them.

He had a vague impression of a clearing in the middle of a thick ring of trees, but beyond a coating of snow that covered the ground and a hint of shadowed forms that might be people, it was impossible to determine a precise location.

Something that clearly annoyed his companion.

“Where have you brought us now?” Damon snarled.

Levet sent the Were an impatient glare. Really, he was one of the most ungrateful creatures that Levet had ever tried to help. And that was saying something considering he’d had to deal with both Styx and Salvatore over the past year.

“I don’t have any idea,” Levet said, his tail twitching with displeasure. This was Christmas Eve. He should be tucked in front of a warm fire with a cup of hot chocolate and a pretty demon on his lap. Instead he was stuck with an ill-tempered Were who had no sense of appreciation. “This is your past, not mine.”

Damon scowled. “I’ve never been here.”

“You are certain?”

“Of course I’m certain,” he snapped, his gaze barely flicking toward the misty surroundings before returning to stab Levet with a suspicious glare. “Your little wand clearly failed to produce the illusion you wanted.”

Levet wondered if the Were had been struck on the head.

He clearly had an inability to remember simple conversations.

“How many times must I tell you that the wand does not belong to me?” Levet said in slow tones. Perhaps the wolf was a bit dim-witted. “It is the property of the Christmas angel.”

“Ah, yes, the mythical Christmas angel.” Without warning, Damon reached over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword, pulling it from the sheath and pointing it directly in Levet’s face.

Levet’s eyes crossed as he warily studied the tip of the sword that nearly touched his snout.

It looked big and sharp and far too close for comfort.

“What are you doing?” he squeaked.

A cold smile twisted the Were’s lips. “You were tactically smart enough to keep me distracted with visions from my past, but I’m done with your evil magic.”

Evil? Levet sucked in a shocked breath.

Had the demented fur-ball called him evil?

“My magic is not evil. It is a powerful force for good,” Levet protested, his wings twitching with outrage. Really, some demons. “I am like Batman. Only cuter.”

Damon gave a low growl, his eyes glowing. “Who sent you? Was it Salvatore?”

Levet scowled in confusion. “Are you a nutty-bar? I am a gargoyle. Why would I take orders from the King of Mutts?”

“Who else could it be?”

“I told you—”

The sword actually touched the end of Levet’s snout. “You say the words ‘Christmas angel’ one more time, and I’ll chop off your head.”

Levet considered the pleasure of lobbing a spell at the oversized mutt. The aggravating wolf would perhaps have a few more manners after Levet had turned him into toadstool.

Unfortunately, Levet couldn’t risk using his magic when they were already in the clutches of the Christmas angel’s spell.

Bad things happened when magic smashed into magic.

Instead, he could only give a resigned sniff and point out the obvious.

“How could Salvatore have known you were coming?”

Damon frowned, clearly unable to answer Levet’s question.

“Gia?” he at last muttered.

Levet clicked his tongue. “You do not believe she would betray you.”

“No.” Damon grimaced, giving a regretful shake of his head. “She would never betray me. But someone did.” He allowed his wolf to glow in his eyes. “Tell me.”

“
Sacrebleu
. I have.”

“The truth.”

Levet knocked the sword away with the wand still clutched in his hand, ignoring the angry sparks that spouted out the end.

“The truth is that I came to St. Louis to visit my dear friend, Harley, and to give my blessing to the pups,” he said, glaring at the stubborn Were. “Unfortunately there was a misunderstanding with the stupid cur who refused to let me into the lair.”

Damon rolled his eyes. “Shocking.”

Levet graciously ignored his rudeness. It was increasingly obvious that Weres were incapable of the least pretense of civility.

“It was unacceptable, but I am never one to create a scene, so I decided to return to Chicago,” he informed his companion. “I was minding my own business when I ran across a . . .” The champagne eyes narrowed in warning, but Levet wasn’t about to be bullied by a mere animal. “Christmas angel.” He deliberately emphasized the name he’d been forbidden to say. “Trapped in a portal.”

Damon’s fingers tightened on the sword hilt, but he managed to resist the urge to do any beheading.

“You expect me to believe this ridiculous story?”

Levet shrugged. He no longer cared if the dog believed his story or not.

“She gave me the wand and warned me that Harley’s pups were in danger unless I halted you.” He finished his tale with a loud sniff.

“Pups?” Damon appeared remarkably outraged considering he claimed he didn’t believe Levet’s story. “I would never hurt newly born babies.”

Levet pointed the still sputtering wand toward the Were’s irate face. “But you said that it would be a pity for the pups.”

“I regret they’ll be forced to grow up without a father,” Damon corrected stiffly. “I understand how difficult it is.”

“Oh.” Levet gave a flick of his wings, not entirely pacified. There had to be a reason for Sera to be worried. “Perhaps it is not your intention, but something you do will harm them.”

Damon’s lips parted in protest, but he forgot his words as the mist at last faded away, revealing the two large Weres who stood in the middle of the opening, circling one another as they prepared to battle.

“Shit,” Damon muttered.

Damon felt the increasingly familiar tug deep inside him before he was yanked out of his body and into . . . hell, into his other body in the center of the clearing.

There was a brief sense of disorientation before he was able to get a bearing on his surroundings.

His senses easily picked up the various curs and Weres who were standing in the darkness of the trees, no doubt acting as guards to make sure no one managed to interrupt the looming fight. There were also, astonishingly, at least two vampires with the sort of power that made his skin crawl.

Or maybe it wasn’t so astonishing, he told himself. The rumors that the King of Weres had made a treaty with the bloodsuckers were obviously true.

And he was in the presence of the king.

Turning his attention fully toward the Were standing directly in front of him, Damon reeled beneath the impact of Salvatore’s stunning power.

When Damon and his mother had been forced to leave the pack, Salvatore had already been coming into his strength, but Damon didn’t remember it being this extreme. Clearly Salvatore’s defeat of the demon lord, as well as his recent mating, had catapulted him into a level of strength that had been forgotten by most Weres.

Slowly adjusting to the sizzling power that buffeted against his body, Damon struggled to understand what the hell was going on.

Before he’d been tossed into situations from his past.

He had known exactly how the scene would play out, even if he didn’t want to relive the memory.

This time he didn’t have a damned clue what the hell was about to happen.

Which was terrifying the hell out of him.

As if sensing Damon’s unease, Salvatore narrowed his dark eyes that glowed with the power of his wolf.

“I offered you the opportunity to walk away from this fight,” the king said. “That pathway is still open.”

Damon discovered that his awareness didn’t give him control over his own body. Instead he was an unwelcome passenger as his “other” self gave a low growl and bared his teeth in open challenge.

“I’ve waited my entire life for this meeting,” he found himself saying, his breath creating small clouds of mist in the frigid air.

Salvatore cocked his head to one side, his piercing gaze searching Damon’s grim expression.

“You are . . . familiar.”

Damon felt his lips twist in a humorless smile. “I have a faint resemblance to my father.”

It took a minute before the king sucked in a shocked breath. “Mackenzie,” he muttered. “Which means you must be his youngest son, Damon.”

Damon took a sideways step, his concentration focused on the Were in front of him despite the number of lethal onlookers.

This was a “challenge.” Tradition demanded that no one interfere unless Damon attempted to cheat.

“So you remember me,” he said.

“Of course.” Salvatore matched his step, making sure Damon couldn’t attack his flank. “When you disappeared I feared your father had killed you.”

Damon made a sound of disgust. As far as he knew not one Were from their pack had made an effort to help his mother after they’d been banished. It hadn’t occurred to him that the pack might have assumed his father had simply killed them.

“Feared or hoped?”

Salvatore looked surprised. “Why would I wish you to be dead?”

“You must have known I would one day challenge you?”

“Why would I?”

Damon felt a flare of fury at the dismissive tone. “I am a potential heir.”

“Along with a dozen other Weres.”

It was true. There were always a number of potential heirs waiting for an opportunity to snatch the throne.

Of course few of them would dare to confront this particular king. Salvatore had defeated a demon lord. What chance did a mere Were have against him?

Damon, however, didn’t have a choice.

“They’ll have to get in line,” he muttered.

Salvatore frowned, as if troubled by Damon’s lack of burning ambition. “You’re not a fool, Damon. You must sense you’re no match for my power.”

Damon locked out the truth of his words.

Destiny didn’t have to make sense.

It just . . . was.

He took more steps to the side, watching as Salvatore mirrored his movements. He didn’t expect to find a weakness, but it seemed important to go through the motions.

“It’s my duty.”

Salvatore arched a brow. “Duty?”

“To my mother.”

“Cristo”.
Salvatore was once again caught off guard. “Rosina is alive?”

Damon flinched. “No longer. She went mad from grief.”

Genuine regret touched Salvatore’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Damon growled.

“You blame me?”

Damon snarled beneath his breath. Hell, he wished he did blame the king. His life wouldn’t be ruled by guilt if he could somehow convince himself that his mother’s death had been someone else’s fault.

“I only want to end this,” he rasped. “One way or another.”

Salvatore muttered a curse. “There is only one potential end.”

Despite his inner reluctance to be standing in the frigid snow, waiting to fight the most powerful Were in the world, Damon couldn’t deny a stab of annoyance at the man’s supreme confidence.

“Then why are you hesitating?” he taunted.

The dark eyes flashed a dangerous gold in the moonlight as Salvatore’s wolf strained to be released.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Damon snorted. The king might pretend regret at the thought of hurting a fellow Were, but his wolf was anxious to taste blood.

“Then give me the throne.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Damon shrugged. “Then we fight.”

Salvatore spread his arms. “Bring it on.”

Out of time and options, Damon allowed himself one last thought of his beloved Gia before he cleared his mind and reached toward his wolf.

This was the moment he’d been training for since his father had banished them from the pack.

It was his destiny.

Ignoring icy premonition of doom that trickled down his spine, Damon became lost in the exquisite agony of shifting into his wolf form.

He tilted back his head, feeling his body fall in on itself, his muscles thickening to rip apart his jeans and T-shirt. At the same time his face began to elongate and stretch as a thick fur rippled over his skin.

A primitive howl was ripped from his throat as his bones popped and snapped, shifting him from human to animal.

He had less than a second to savor the glory of his transformation before he heard a warning growl and Salvatore was racing across the clearing, already in his wolf form.

The king slammed into him with enough force to send him rolling to the side, the crack of his ribs sending a white-hot pain shooting through his side. Still, he was on his feet in a heartbeat, his massive teeth snapping toward Salvatore’s throat.

The male dodged the strike with a liquid grace that was amazing even for a pure-blood Were. Damn. Damon scrambled to regain his balance, feeling Salvatore’s teeth take a chunk out of his ear.

Damon snarled, his claws digging into the snow as he feinted to one side before launching to sink his teeth into Salvatore’s hindquarter. He had the satisfaction of tasting blood before Salvatore gave a savage kick to dislodge him.

Once again he tumbled across the snow, but before he could regain his feet, there was the sensation of tearing flesh as Salvatore managed to slice his claws along Damon’s spine. Warm blood flowed down Damon’s fur. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it was deep enough to weaken him.

Alarm sounded in Damon’s brain. Even as a wolf he understood that if he didn’t end this quickly, he would be dead.

A fine plan until he whirled around to meet the king’s glowing, golden gaze. Suddenly he realized that Salvatore hadn’t yet unleashed his full powers. Damon didn’t think the bastard was toying with him. But . . . he hadn’t truly tried to kill him.

Damon’s heart clenched with regret.

His conscience wouldn’t allow him to concede defeat. Not when he was weirdly convinced his mother’s ghost was watching him with disappointment.

As the king had said . . . there was only one conclusion.

Feeling almost compelled by a force greater than himself, Damon bunched his muscles, then with one mighty surge, he was flying forward.

Salvatore was prepared. Rising onto his back legs, he met Damon’s charge with a flurry of teeth and claws. Snarls filled the clearing as the two predators battled, the air scented with the tang of blood. Distantly Damon was aware of the shouts from the onlookers, and even the chilled power of the vampires, but the focus of his attention remained locked on the Were who had used his large body to force Damon to the ground.

He was losing blood at a rapid rate now, his muscles weakening as Salvatore’s teeth clenched around his throat.

It was all about to be over, was his final thought.

But it wasn’t.

Without warning, he felt a familiar tingle of magic as his body abruptly turned back to human.

Damon cursed, baffled by the unwelcome transformation.

To turn human signaled his surrender. The one thing he’d been determined to avoid.

Unaware that Damon had intended the fight to be to the death, Salvatore instantly released his lethal clamp on Damon’s throat. Then, with a shimmer of power, Salvatore shifted to his human form, kneeling in the snow beside Damon’s body that remained sprawled on the snow.

Damon made a sound of frustration, desperately trying to call on his wolf. But he was suddenly paralyzed, as if his injuries had left him incapable of controlling his own body.

Perhaps this was what it felt like to die, he acknowledged wryly, an unexpected warmth beginning to spread over his chest.

Odd, he had thought it would be more . . . memorable.

His naked body relaxed in the snow as he prepared to meet death with at least the pretense of dignity, watching as a frown tugged at Salvatore’s brow.

What the hell was wrong with the arrogant bastard? Had he hoped for a bloodier battle? Or perhaps he was annoyed it was taking Damon so long to die?

Wishing he had the strength to get in one last punch, Damon was startled when Salvatore sucked in a harsh breath, his narrowed gaze lowering to Damon’s chest.

“Cristo,”
he muttered, his expression filled with revulsion as he studied the medallion that hung around Damon’s neck. “What’s that?”

Damon managed to shake off the paralysis, lifting his arm so he could grasp the medallion. He was startled to discover it was hot enough to burn the skin of his palm.

“It belonged to my father,” he muttered, glancing down as a black cloud began to pulse in the air around them.

With a roar of outrage, Salvatore surged to his feet, glaring down at Damon. “The magic of the demon lord,” he hissed, pointing toward the medallion. “Traitor.”

Demon lord?

A sickening horror jolted through Damon as he watched the cloud begin to spread through the air, wrapping around Salvatore. Instantly the stench of burning flesh assaulted his senses.

“No,” he breathed, struggling to sit up, his hand trying to yank the medallion from his neck as the blackness continued to spread through the clearing, attaching itself to the curs who darted forward to protect their king.

“Stop!” Salvatore roared, falling to his knees as his skin melted from his shuddering body. “You will destroy us all.”

Damon couldn’t breathe as the nightmare continued to unfold. “I can’t.”

“Dammit.” Salvatore glared at him with utter condemnation. “You’re just like your father.”

Damon shook his head, panic thundering through him.

Mackenzie had been a crazed, brutal tyrant. A wolf willing to commit any atrocity to retain control of the throne.

Damon was nothing like him.

“I’m not,” he hissed, his stomach churning as the curs were consumed by the hungry darkness.

“Your vain ambition has released the evil back into this world,” Salvatore rasped, tumbling forward as the repulsive blackness continued to crawl outward, destroying any cur or Were in its path.

Damon shook his head, a choking sense of dread squeezing his heart. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

His whispered words were frozen on the still air as the darkness headed directly toward the nearby house where the baby Weres were being cuddled by their mother and aunts.

There was a roar as a massive vampire charged forward, his movements so swift that Damon barely had time to catch sight of the sword before it was slicing through his throat.

The world disappeared in a blaze of pain.

 

 

Levet was frantic.

Sacrebleu
. This was the . . . Worst. Christmas. Ever.

Not only was he stuck with an ill-tempered Were who didn’t have the least amount of gratitude for Levet’s attempt at playing a Christmas angel, but Levet had been forced to watch that . . . that nightmare cloud of death and destruction.

Even as the image faded, and he was once again alone in the darkness with Damon, Levet felt himself trembling with fear.

That had to be a glimpse of the future.

The grand, horrifying conclusion to Damon’s determination to challenge Salvatore for the throne.

Turning, Levet waited for Damon to return to the body that was suddenly naked and covered with wounds. Well, perhaps he did not precisely wait.

He kicked and punched at Damon’s leg until the traitorous creature at last gave a groggy shake of his head.

“Stop that,” the Were growled, taking an awkward step away from Levet’s furious attack.

Levet grudgingly gave up his attempt to hurt the beast. Without his magic he could do little more than chip his claws.