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Authors: Alexandra Ivy

BOOK: Bound By Darkness
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“No, it's the simple truth.” He met her gaze squarely. “And I'm willing to admit that I'm not invulnerable. I won't allow pride to stop me from bartering for someone to guard my back while I'm busy stopping the apocalypse.”
“What makes you think I won't plant a knife in your back instead of protecting it?”
Excellent question.
Not quite as excellent as questioning why the hell he had offered the dumb-ass bargain to begin with.
Granted, he was the equivalent of Kim Jong-il among the demon world, but he possessed the skill to travel without attracting unwanted attention. And he hadn't boasted of his power to overcome all but a rare few enemies. With any luck at all he could retrieve Tearloch and the babe before anyone realized what was happening.
The last thing he needed was to drag along a feral vampire who distracted him on a cellular level.
But the thought of leaving without her, or worse, allowing her to simply walk away, was unacceptable.
“Because the good guys are so disgustingly concerned with their honor.” A self-derisive smile twisted his lips. “Once you give your word you won't be able to break it.”
Her beautiful face was unreadable as she stood with that eerie stillness that only a vampire could achieve.
“You've forgotten one important point.”
“And that is?”
“I've already given my word to the Oracles and more importantly, the Addonexus has already been paid for my services. They own my loyalty.” The indigo eyes had frosted over, hiding the passion that burned beneath. That was fine. He knew it was there, just waiting for him. “At least until the job is done.”
He shook off the warning. The reason the rulers of the demon world had contributed the money and effort to hiring a Hunter to capture him was yet another thing he wasn't going to burn any brain cells on.
If he didn't intend to get caught, then what did it matter?
“The job ended the moment I pulled you through the portal,” he informed her, reaching to wrap a strand of her black hair around his finger. “I won and now you're in my power.”
She jerked her head back, and Ariyal swallowed a groan at the feel of the cool silk of her hair moving against his skin. Just the thought of being naked with Jaelyn saddling his hips and that ebony mane brushing his chest was enough to make him painfully hard.
“You haven't won until I'm dead,” she hissed.
“Now that would be a waste.” His brooding gaze lowered to the full lips that could send a man to paradise. “Accept my bargain, Jaelyn, and make both of us happy.”
If he hadn't possessed the heightened senses of a powerful fey, he wouldn't have caught the dilation of her eyes, or the faint flare of her nostrils as she reacted to the scent of his desire.
“ No.”
“Then you will remain my prisoner.”
“You can't hold me captive forever.”
He couldn't help but smile at her unmitigated arrogance. Typical leech.
No, not typical
, a voice whispered in the back of his head.
Even among vampires she was ... astonishing. Special.
“You might manage to free yourself from the chains, but you can't escape Avalon.” He nodded his head to the thick mists that were visible through the heavily shaded window. “And there's something else you should know.”
“What?”
“Time moves differently within the mists.”
She frowned, easily sensing the truth of his warning. “How differently?”
“It's never constant,” he admitted. It was his theory that the mists that Morgana had created were similar to the mists that ran between dimensions that the Jinn used to travel. It would explain why time ran differently from the outside world. “A few hours might have passed since we arrived on Avalon or it could be several weeks.”
“Then why did you bring us here?” she demanded in frustration. “For all you know Sergei has already resurrected the Dark Lord.”
He shuddered. This female was too young to have any memory of the Dark Lord or his loathsome hordes of minions. Otherwise she would never speak of his return as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience.
“We would know if the gates of hell had been opened,” he assured her dryly. “And it was the one place I could keep you hidden from your fellow leeches.”
Too late he realized just what he'd revealed.
“You risked the end of the world just to take me hostage?”
Abruptly turning to hide his discomfort, he paced to stare out the door that opened to the attached baths. He grimaced as he realized the shallow pools were still filled with the scented waters that Morgana had demanded her sex slaves use to wash in before coming to her bed.
“I told you, I need someone to watch my back,” he snapped, his voice suddenly harsh.
“Don't you have a tribe roaming around nearby?”
“They attract precisely the sort of attention I'm hoping to avoid.”
“And?”
He turned to meet her disbelieving gaze. “There is no ‘ and. '”
The chain rattled as she took an impatient step forward, clearly sensing he was not being entirely honest.
“Yes, there is.”
“Damn, that's annoying,” he muttered.
“Then release me.”
Not a chance in hell.
His gaze skimmed over the hard lines of her body. She was like a sleek greyhound. All muscle and grace.
And his.
He shook off the disturbing thought, concentrating on a half-truth that would satisfy her freakish, insanely annoying talent.
“I'm not entirely certain that Tearloch's madness is an isolated incident.”
She was thankfully distracted. “You think it's infectious?”
“No, but the veils between the worlds are thinning, increasing the opportunity for the Dark Lord to touch the minds of others.” Regret that he hadn't prevented the darkness attacking Tearloch sliced through his heart. Yeah, he was quite the prince, wasn't he? “And unfortunately it's impossible to detect his influence until too late.”
A strange emotion rippled over her exquisite face before she was abruptly turning to stare at the far tapestry.
Sympathy?
Not bloody likely.
Not from his cold-hearted Hunter.
“How do you know that I'm not under some Jedi mind control?” she mocked, proving her indifference.
“Vampires are impervious to such tricks,” he growled. “Not to mention the fact you're too irritatingly stubborn for the Dark Lord to bother with.”
Her lips thinned. “No.”
“No, you're not stubborn?”
“No, I don't accept your bargain.”
He surged forward, ignoring the danger as he grasped her shoulders and forced her to meet his fierce glower.
“You're willing to remain trapped here as my prisoner?”
Her chin tilted. “Yes.”
“Why?” He searched the indigo eyes. “Because I'm an evil Sylvermyst?”
“That's one of many reasons.”
“And the others?”
“I refuse to stand aside while you slaughter an innocent child.”
His fingers dug into her flesh before he forced himself to ease his grip. Logically he understood she was an immortal vampire who could kick his ass given a chance, but towering above her slender form, he couldn't ignore how fragile her bones felt beneath his hands.
And how screwed up was that?
“Not a child,” he gritted. “A vessel created by the Dark Lord.”
“That has yet to be determined.”
He growled. What did he have to do to convince the demon world that the babe had one purpose and one purpose only? Let Tearloch and Sergei destroy this dimension?
“Fine,” he rasped. “What if I promise merely to capture the babe and return it here where I can protect it?”
She refused to back down. Predictable.
“Even if I was foolish enough to trust you, which I'm not, I'm still bound by my contract with the Oracles.”
His hands traced the line of her shoulders and down the sleek muscles of her arms. His gut clenched at the cool slide of her creamy skin beneath his palm.
“I don't believe you'll turn me over to the Commission,” he said, his voice thickening.
She stiffened, but oddly she didn't pull away from his lingering touch.
“Why wouldn't I?”
“Because you couldn't bear to have me destroyed.”
She made a sound of disgust. “I can't decide whether you're just arrogant or suicidal.”
“Experienced.” A wicked smile curved his lips at her faint tremor. “I know enough about females to recognize when one is desperate for my touch.”
She took a sharp step away, her expression defiant. “Definitely suicidal.”
He pulled in a deep breath that did nothing to ease his throbbing erection; then with a muttered curse, he was headed toward the door.
To hell with it.
It was obvious that Jaelyn intended to remain an uncooperative pain in the ass.
“I don't have time for this.”
“Where are you going?”
His steps never faltered. “Things to do, people to see.”
“When will you return?”
He headed out the door, refusing to give in to the impulse to glance over his shoulder. She would be there waiting for him when he was done with Tearloch.
“The question, poppet, is not when I'll return,” he taunted, “but
whether
I'll return.”
There was a rattle of chains followed by a low, wholly feminine hiss of fury.
“Damn you.”
Chapter 3
London, England
 
Dusk shrouded the narrow streets of London as the two men halted near a high hedge.
One was a slender, impossibly beautiful man with skin the color of rich cream and long copper hair he kept tamed in a tight braid. He might have passed for human if not for the metallic shimmer to the sterling silver eyes, and thick scent of herbs that clung to his tattered robe, which blended into the green bushes behind him.
The other was equally slender, although he didn't possess the same unearthly grace, or beauty. He was of an indeterminate age with high Slavic cheekbones, and an icy blue gaze that held a cunning intelligence. And under normal circumstances he was stylishly dressed in a Gucci suit with his shoulder-length silver hair smoothed from his narrow face.
But these were far from normal circumstances.
After nearly three weeks hiding in the Florida swamps, Sergei Krakov was tired, filthy, and wishing to the gods he'd never become involved with the child he held in his arms.
Well, at least he was home now, he silently attempted to ease his raw nerves, heaving a sigh as his gaze ran over the eighteenth-century terrace house near Green Park.
The historical society claimed the building had been designed by Robert Adam. And pedestrians often halted to gawk at the classic beauty of the aging bricks, the elegant portico, and the tall windows with carved stone swags set above them. A brave few had even attempted to catch a glimpse through the door at the carved marble staircases and grand rooms that were filled with Chippendale furniture and priceless works of art.
A mistake that often led to their deaths when Marika-the-vampire had used the house as her lair.
With a curse, Sergei shut down any thought of his previous mistress.
It wasn't because he was horrified at the memory of watching the vampire female have her head chopped off by her own niece. After four centuries of being the bitch's whipping boy, he was happy as hell to see her turned into a pile of ash.
But for all her vicious temper and addiction to causing pain, she had been a powerful partner in crime. What demon was stupid enough to cross a vampire who was teetering on the edge of insanity? She was definitely a “kill first and ask questions later” kind of gal.
Now he was without her protection, which might have been fine if he'd been allowed to escape the Russian caves without having to barter for his safe passage with yet another lunatic, this time a crazed Sylvermyst, and a child who had been created by the most evil of all evils.
Perfect.
On cue, Tearloch poked him with the tip of the massive sword he was never without. Not even in his sleep.
Which was the only reason that Sergei hadn't tried to strangle the bastard before now.
Or turned him into a frog.
“What is this place?” the dark fey demanded.
“Civilization.” Sergei breathed in the damp air. Summer had arrived, but the fog remained.
Ah, good ol' London.
“You're welcome to skulk around in the filthy swamps, but I've had enough. I want a bath and a bed with satin sheets.”
“Pampered human,” Tearloch sneered, his gaze roaming over the line of tidy houses. “These walls make you weak.”
“Mage, not human,” Sergei corrected in cold tones, allowing the air to fill with a hint of his magic. “And I don't need to live like an animal to prove my powers.” He deliberately paused. “Do I?”
The fey snorted, although he made no effort to prove his superiority.
At the moment the two men were precariously balanced between hate and need. One misstep and they would erupt into violence that might very well leave them both dead.
“Does Ariyal know of this lair?” he instead demanded.
“What does it matter?” Sergei shrugged. “The vamps are obviously holding him hostage or he would already have tracked us down.”
The silver eyes narrowed. “Don't be so certain. There could be any number of reasons he has not yet come in pursuit.”
At last convinced that the house was empty and that no enemies lurked among the shadows, Sergei tucked the motionless child beneath his ragged jacket and crossed the street.
“If you're scared of the traitor then feel free to return to the muck,” he muttered.
Predictably Tearloch was directly on his heels.
“I'm not leaving without the child.”
“Then it would seem we're at a stalemate.”
Sergei climbed the steps and muttered words of magic beneath his breath. There was a faint click before the door swung open. He stepped into the black-and-white-tiled foyer, reluctantly waiting for Tearloch to join him before he shut the door and reset the spell of warding.
Nothing would be able to enter the house without alerting him.
Then, climbing the curved marble staircase, he headed directly for a back nursery that was dusty from disuse. Crossing the Aubusson carpet that matched the pale yellow and lavender upholstery, he set the child in the hand-carved cradle. The babe didn't stir, her eyes remaining firmly shut.
So far as Sergei could tell the child was still under the stasis spell that had kept her and her twin brother unchanged and impervious to the world for centuries.
Tearloch glanced down at the child, but he was wise enough not to try and touch her.
Sergei had wrapped the babe in a blanket that held a powerful curse. A Sylvermyst, or any fairy for that matter, foolish enough to try and steal the child would suffer excruciating pain.
“When do you intend to perform the ceremony?” the fey demanded.
Sergei grimaced.
Never
sounded good to him.
A damned shame that he was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.
Once upon a time he'd been stupid enough to believe he was destined for greatness, but after years of being exposed to Marika's cruelty he'd realized that infesting the world with a horde of creatures that made her look like a Girl Scout wasn't exactly a future to covet.
But while Tearloch hadn't tried to take the child from him, Sergei hadn't lived so long by being a moron. He knew that he was only alive because the Sylvermyst was depending on him to cast the spell that would resurrect the Dark Lord's soul into the child. If he refused ...
Well, he didn't intend to discover what would happen.
“I told you, I need to wait for the signs to align so I will be at my greatest strength,” he said, desperate to put off the inevitable.
Tearloch eyed him with blatant suspicion. “I begin to suspect that these mysterious signs are no more than an attempt to avoid fulfilling your duty.”
“Do you truly want to take the chance of ruining your best shot at returning your master—”
“
Our
master.”
“Because I'm not at the pinnacle of my power?” Sergei continued, ignoring the harsh correction.
Tearloch muttered a foreign word of power that made the air stir with a prickle of warning.
“You have until the full moon.”
“Is that a threat?” Sergei demanded at his most imperious.
In the less of the blink of an eye the tip of the massive sword was digging into Sergei's throat, the Sylvermyst leaning forward until they were nose to nose.
“Yes.”
Sergei heard the sizzle as the strange blade absorbed the drop of blood from the pinprick wound in his throat. Then the fey was spinning away and heading out the door.
“Crazy bastard,” Sergei muttered.
 
 
It took Jaelyn nearly an hour and several layers of skin to at last wrestle out of the chains that held her captive. Once free, she gingerly inched her way out of the harems, her senses on full alert.
Damn, but the place was a disaster.
Shattered glass, crumbling stone walls, and missing dome ceilings that allowed the swirling mist to creep through the vast spiderweb of chambers.
She shuddered to imagine the power necessary to create such damage, even as she cursed Ariyal for having abandoned her on the godforsaken island.
Not only was she forced to constantly retrace her steps to avoid the seemingly perpetual sunlight that pierced the mists at unexpected junctures, but the endless series of corridors seemed to lead from one dead end to another.
Was it true?
Was it possible that she was trapped on Avalon?
Halting before an arched door with odd carvings that blocked her current path, she was debating the best means of destroying the heavy iron lock when she felt the air pressure shift behind her.
“I would not stray too far, Hunter,” a low female voice warned. “Morgana le Fay had a nasty habit of leaving traps for the unwary.”
“Holy ...” Spinning on her heel, Jaelyn flashed her fangs at the intruder. Expecting a massive demon who would match the crushing flare of energy that filled the dark corridor, she was caught off guard by the tiny female, who was no larger than a child, with a heart-shaped face and long silver hair that was pulled into a braid that hung nearly to the tiled floor. She frowned. The black almond eyes and razor-sharp teeth appeared remarkably similar to those of the spirit whom Ariyal had summoned to hold Jaelyn captive in the Russian caves, as did the long white robe. But this female appeared older. Oh yeah, and not a spirit. “Yannah?”
The female stepped forward, her hands folded neatly at her waist.
“No, I am Siljar.” She paused. “An Oracle.”
Ah. Of course. An Oracle would explain the deluge of power that battered against her.
Jaelyn hastily fell to her knees, her head bowed. Although she hadn't been personally approached by the Commission when she was hired to track down Ariyal, she'd been schooled in the proper etiquette.
It was the same etiquette that a person used when confronted by any lethal predator who could kill you with a thought.
“Forgive me.” Jaelyn kept her head lowered. “You startled me.”
“Yes, you did appear to be preoccupied.”
Wondering how long the female had been watching, Jaelyn carefully glanced upward.
“I was attempting to escape.”
“Hmm.” The female tilted her head to one side. “I fear there is no means of escaping Avalon without fey blood.”
“You're fey?”
She instantly regretted the impulsive question as Siljar wrinkled her nose in visible disgust.
“Certainly not.” Her brief annoyance was replaced by a sudden smile as she gave a wave of her hand, indicating that Jaelyn could rise. “But I am impervious to Morgana's magic, which means I can come and go as I please. A fact that used to infuriate the woman.”
Jaelyn cautiously straightened, not foolish enough to believe that the danger had passed.
Oracles didn't drop by for idle chitchat.
“You were acquainted with Morgana le Fay?” She politely kept the conversation ball rolling.
The smile widened to emphasize the razor-sharp teeth. “I had the pleasure of reminding her that she was not above the laws of the Commission.”
“From what I've heard the Queen of Bitches thought she should be ruling the world. I can't imagine she was happy to be reminded she had to obey the laws.”
“It's true our little visits tended to sour her mood.” The woman heaved a small sigh. “A pity she did not heed my warnings.”
Jaelyn glanced toward the crumbling walls. There had been endless rumors concerning Morgana's last battle, but no one seemed willing to reveal what had actually happened to the woman.
“Is she dead?”
“Worse.”
“What—” Jaelyn abruptly bit off her question. “No, I don't want to know.”
“A wise choice.” The Oracle's black, unblinking gaze held a hint of warning. “I have discovered that curiosity does indeed kill the cat.”
Yow.
Jaelyn squashed her lingering questions, fiercely reminding herself that for once she wasn't the baddest, scariest thing in the room.
Not the happiest thought when she had to accept there was only one reason that an Oracle would seek her out.
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to stand with her spine straight and her shoulders squared.
“Ariyal mentioned that time passes differently here.”
“It does.”
“What's the date?”
Siljar immediately understood her question.
“Three weeks have passed since you entered the mists.”

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