When Darkness Ends (10 page)

She glanced at him in surprise. “How do you know it's a human male?”

His gaze remained trained on the shadowed form as it weaved its way from one tunnel to the next, occasionally halting and brushing his hand over the wall.

“The way he walks,” Cyn said in absent tones.

“You can barely see how he walks beneath that cloak.”

“I'm a predator. I've devoted centuries to studying my prey.” He nodded toward the bowl. “That's a human male.”

She rolled her eyes. “Arrogant.”

He shrugged aside her insult. “I know what he is, not who he is or why he's in the tunnels.”

“Maybe I can focus on his face.”

Fallon held her hand over the bowl, a trickle of sweat inching down her spine as she concentrated her magic on the hood that covered his head. It was one thing to set the bowls and leave them locked on a specific place. The pull of power was a steady drain that she could offset with the proper nutrition and rest. It was another to manipulate the scrying. Such a blast of energy couldn't be compensated for.

The image of the man narrowed to the shadowed opening of his hood, giving a hint of unremarkable features.

“He's looking for something. Or someone,” Cyn murmured as the stranger turned in a slow circle, his head tilted back. Then without warning, he came to a halt, seeming to peer directly at them through the bowl. A low growl rumbled deep in his throat. “Can he sense you?”

“No, it's impossible,” she assured him, even as a cold chill inched down her spine.

“
Impossible
is a dangerous word, princess,” he warned.

“But—”

On the point of explaining the numerous reasons that there was no way the man could detect her scrying, Fallon had the breath knocked from her as Cyn shoved her to the side. At the same time a visible bolt of magic shot out of the water and slammed into the vampire.

With a small cry Fallon watched as Cyn fell backward, his body crashing onto the floor with enough force to tumble a vase off a nearby table.

Ignoring the shattered porcelain, Fallon crawled toward the unconscious vampire, dread clenching her stomach.

“Cyn,” she rasped, desperately grasping his shoulders to give him a shake.

He was lying so still. As if he was . . .

No. She couldn't allow herself to think the worst.

Torn between staying with Cyn and needing to find some way to help him, Fallon compromised by screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Help. Someone help.”

Absently smoothing back the braids from his too-pale face, she kept herself between his unconscious body and the bowl. Later she would try to figure out how the hell the cloaked figure had managed to send magic through her scrying bowl, but for now she simply needed to make sure that Cyn wasn't hit again.

Preparing to go in search of help, Fallon was relieved when the door was pushed open and Levet stepped into the room.

“What has that bully of a vampire . . .” The gargoyle's words came to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of Cyn collapsed on the floor. “Oh.
Bravo, ma belle
.”

“It wasn't me,” she rasped. “He's truly hurt.”

Easily sensing her panic, Levet crossed the carpet to lean over Cyn with a puzzled frown. “Human magic.” He lifted his head to meet her worried gaze. “How?”

“Through my scrying bowl.”

The fairy wings fluttered in shock. “Truly?”

“Can you help him?”

“
Non
.” The gargoyle gave a shake of his head. “A vampire can only receive strength from their own kind.”

Fallon surged to her feet. She didn't know exactly where to find the beautiful Lise, but she had to be close by.

“His clan—”

“Styx,” Levet interrupted, halting her step toward the door.

“The king?”

“
Oui
.” A grimace wrinkled his tiny snout. “He might be an annoying creature, but he is the most powerful vampire and his position as the Anasso means he has a connection to Cyn.”

It made sense.

Her own father could share his powers with his people when they were in need, giving them strength or assisting the healers on the rare occasion when one of them was grievously wounded.

Still, he was half a world away.

“I can't form a portal without knowing where I'm going.”

Levet squatted down beside Cyn, his hand pressing to Cyn's chest. Fallon felt a tiny tingle of magic flow through the air as the gargoyle did his best to keep the vampire's life-force from slipping away.

“Can you travel to your fiancé?”

Fallon stiffened in confusion. Did the creature think that she was going to run away when Cyn was hurt?

“Why would I want to do that?”

“He's staying with Styx.” Ignoring Fallon's gasp, Levet glanced up with a worried expression. “I suggest you hurry.”

Styx had reluctantly returned to his lair an hour before sunrise.

Darcy had urged him to remain in St. Louis where she was helping her sister with her new litter of pups, but Styx declined. He'd told her that a vampire didn't accept the hospitality of the King of Weres. Which wasn't exactly a lie. While he currently had a truce with Salvatore, it wasn't that long ago they'd been mortal enemies.

But the truth was that he was feeling growingly uneasy.

It wasn't just the fact that his mate wasn't in his bed where she belonged.

Or that Cyn was still MIA.

Or that his lair had somehow become a hotel for the Chatri.

Or even that he had a treacherous imp locked in his dungeons.

It was quite simply that Styx had been through too many near-apocalyptic disasters not to sense trouble when it was brewing.

Entering the house from the gardens, he headed straight toward the dungeons. He was in no mood to run into the prissy Prince Magnus.

He paused to speak with the two vampire guards on duty before he traveled along the narrow pathway between the cells. Each small cubicle was built to hold a specific demon, with the fey cages at the very back of the room.

Built of iron with powerful hexes scraped into the walls, they added to the spells that already dampened the magic in his lair.

Not even the strongest fey could create a portal here.

Clearly hearing his approach, Keeley was standing near the door when Styx pushed it open.

“It's about time,” the imp groused, his golden hair limp and his clothes rumpled. Standing in the barren cell that held nothing but a narrow cot, the creature looked nothing like the arrogant fey who used to prance through the lair of the previous Anasso. “I thought you had forgotten I was down here.”

Styx bared his fangs. Damn, he hoped the bastard gave him a reason to rip open his throat.

“Do you really want to start this conversation by pissing me off?” he asked, his voice lethally soft.

Only a bully raged and yelled. A truly dangerous predator never lost control of his emotions.

Belatedly recalling his life was hanging in the balance, Keeley performed a deep bow. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. It was my fear speaking.”

“You should be afraid.” Styx leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, folding his arms over his massive chest. “You betrayed my master and led him to his ultimate death.”

Keeley straightened, his face pale. “It wasn't me. Damocles was the one who brought the drug addicts to poison the Anasso.”

“With your assistance,” Styx pressed, carefully monitoring the imp's face.

He wasn't particularly interested in dredging up the past. He had his own share of guilt when it came to the death of his master. But he wanted to see the imp's reaction to the reminder that Styx had every reason to want him dead.

“I had no choice.” The fey licked his lips, the smell of tainted strawberries filling the air. “I was as much a victim as the Anasso.”

Styx wrinkled his nose. Pathetic worm.

Still, he'd gotten his answer.

Keeley was terrified of him. So what the hell could drive him to try spying on this lair with the certain knowledge he would be caught?

“Why are you here?” he abruptly demanded.

The pale green eyes shifted to peer over Styx's shoulder, as if he was looking for something. Or someone.

“I . . . heard you have a Chatri here.”

Styx grimaced. He suspected every fey in the world had heard the elusive Chatri were here. It'd taken the threat of death to run off the hordes that had gathered outside his gates trying to catch a glimpse of the royal family.

It seemed like a reasonable excuse, but Styx wasn't buying it.

“Unfortunately I have a number of demons who are convinced they have a right to stay in my lair. What's so special about the Chatri?”

“They are gods to us,” he said, the words sounding as if he'd memorized them. “How could I resist the opportunity to see one in the flesh, so to speak?”

Styx narrowed his gaze. “Why don't I believe you?”

“I have no idea.” Keeley pressed two fingers to his heart, a layer of sweat beading his forehead. Not that it meant anything. Most demons tended to sweat when confronting the King of Vampires. “I swear my only interest is in the Chatri.”

There was enough truth in his words to make Styx hesitate.

Perhaps the cunning little twit did travel to Chicago because of the Chatri, but there was more going on here than a simple wish to catch sight of a pure-blooded fey.

“I've forbidden the public to gawk at my lair,” he at last said.

“Oh, I didn't know.” Keeley pasted on an unconvincing smile. “I've been out of the country.”

“And now that you do know you will leave?”

“Of course.” The smile slowly faded beneath Styx's steady glare, the sweat trickling down the side of his face. “Although—”

“What?”

“I can't help but be intrigued by the sudden return of the ancients.” The imp nervously cleared his throat, his gaze continuing to dart over Styx's shoulder. “Have they said why they have returned?”

“I assume if they wanted you to know they would tell you.”

That should have been the end of the conversation.

If his interest was nothing more than casual interest, then he would have accepted Styx's contemptuous refusal to gossip about his houseguests.

Prodding a vampire was like poking at a snake.

A good way to get bit.

“You can't blame my curiosity,” Keeley grimly continued. “The Chatri have been gone for so long that many of our younger generation have begun to believe they're mere myths. It must be a compelling need to lure them from their homelands.”

So. This was more than mere nosiness.

But what?

“Extremely compelling,” he murmured, hoping to lure the imp into exposing the true reason he'd been spying on the lair.

Beating it out of him would, of course, be more fun. But there was always the chance the annoying weasel would lie.

“Does it have anything to do with fey business?” Keeley at last asked.

“No.”

“Are they considering a return to this world?”

Styx didn't have to fake his shudder. “God forbid.”

“Then the Chatri sense trouble?”

Ah. They were getting somewhere.

“What possible trouble could they be sensing?”

“I . . .” The imp nervously licked his lips. “There's always some sort of disruption in the demon world,” he finished lamely.

“True, but you were referring to a specific incident.”

Realizing he'd said too much, Keeley gave a strained laugh. “Don't be silly.”

The temperature dropped as Styx narrowed his eyes. “I'm many things, but I'm never silly.”

Keeley made a choked sound. “I didn't intend to insult you. I was merely speculating on why the Chatri were here.”

“I can smell lies, Keeley,” Styx warned. For now he was willing to use verbal intimidation since the imp's interest seemed locked on the Chatri. The second he suspected the bastard was a threat to vampires, he intended to rip out his heart. “Why are you here?”

“I told you.” Keeley took a covert step backward, wise enough to know Styx was reaching the end of his patience. “Curiosity.”

Styx tapped one of his massive fangs with the tip of his tongue. “Try again.”

Keeley instinctively raised a hand to cover his neck. As if that would stop Styx from ripping out his throat.

Idiot.

“I wanted—”

The stammered words were abruptly interrupted as Styx caught the sound of his name being called from the entrance of the dungeon.

Without hesitation he was headed out of the cell and closing the door firmly behind him.

“Wait,” Keeley cried. “Where are you going?”

Styx ignored the imp. No one would dare to disturb him unless it was important.

With long strides he was moving down the line of cells and out the heavy door that was closed behind him by the guards. Then, stepping out of the security room, he found Jagr waiting for him.

The leader of his Ravens was a towering Goth warrior with dark blond hair and features that looked like they'd been carved in granite. Dressed in black leather with a sword in his hand, he was an imposing sight.

“Talk to me,” Styx commanded.

“A female appeared just outside the gates, demanding to see you,” Jagr said, his tone revealing his opinion of unwanted visitors. “She claims to be Fallon.”

Styx jerked in surprise. “Christ.”

“Do you want me to call for the starchy prince?” Jagr asked.

With a sharp shake of his head, Styx moved to jog up the nearby staircase. He'd waited weeks to discover the location of his brother. He intended to find out what the hell happened.

Now.

“Not until I've had a chance to talk to her.”

“Are you sure? We aren't entirely certain just what powers she has.” Jagr easily kept pace at his side, his expression even more grim than usual. “For all we know she's responsible for causing Cyn's disappearance.”

“Then it's all the more imperative that I speak with her.”

Jagr muttered a low curse. “You're a pain in the ass to guard. You know that, Styx?”

Styx sent his friend a wry smile. “You can take comfort in the knowledge I'm too stubborn to die. Where did you put her?”

“I left her on the front veranda,” Jagr grudgingly revealed. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.” Halting at the top of the steps, Styx nodded back toward the dungeons. “Keep an eye on the prisoner as well as the prince. I don't want any fey surprises biting me in the ass.”

With the unwavering loyalty that made him Styx's most trusted Raven, Jagr gave a nod. “You got it.”

Confident his back would be protected, Styx headed directly to the foyer, catching the intoxicating scent of champagne as he pulled open the door.

His brows arched at the sight of the tall, slender female with a golden tumble of hair that held highlights of a cresting dawn. Her eyes were a rich amber flecked with emerald and her features perfectly carved.

Hell, who would blame Cyn for wanting to disappear with this female?

Of course, he wasn't yet sure that Cyn had gone anywhere willingly.

Folding his arms over his chest, he silently studied her tense expression and the way she was twisting her hands together. As if she was struggling to keep some raging emotion under control.

“You wanted to see me?” he demanded.

She flinched at his frigid tone, but grimly held her ground. “Are you the king?”

“I am.”

“Thank God,” she breathed, shivering as a sharp breeze whipped through the air. In the hour just before dawn the temperature in Chicago dipped well below freezing. “You have to help.”

“Help who?”

“Cyn.”

Styx stepped forward. Fallon might look as fragile as a fairy, but there was always the danger one of the Chatri could form a burst of light that was lethal to demons.

“What have you done with him?”

“Not me,” she protested. “It was . . .” She bit her lip, her eyes darkening with regret. “I don't know. I can explain when we get there.” She held out her hand. “Come with me.”

Styx flicked a brow upward. He didn't doubt she was genuinely frantic, but there was no way in hell he was going to be led into a trap.

“Come where?”

She hissed with impatience, waving her hand toward his house. “I can't create a portal here. I'll have to do it outside the magical barriers you have around your lair.”

“You think I'm just going to follow you into a portal?” He shook his head. “I'm not the smartest vampire in the world, as Darcy will happily assure you, but I'm not stupid.”

Her lips thinned, her chin tilting to a stubborn angle. “Cyn has been injured and I don't know how to help him. Levet said to come to you.”

Styx stiffened, not sure if he was more troubled by the thought that Cyn was hurt or that Levet was somehow involved.

“You know the gargoyle?”

She nodded. “He's staying with us.”

“Where?”

“At Cyn's lair.”

“Impossible.” Styx had his people out searching for the missing clan chief for weeks. There was no way they wouldn't have known he was back in Ireland. “I would have heard if he'd returned to his home.”

“We had to keep it a secret,” she insisted.

Styx narrowed his gaze. A convenient story.

“Why?”

She glared at him with rising frustration. Styx had seen that look before. He didn't doubt she was considering the pleasure of zapping him with her fairy power.

“Because that's what the Oracle ordered us to do.”

Oracle. Styx frowned. First Levet and now one of the Commission? Christ. Had everyone known where Cyn was but him?

“What Oracle?” he snapped.

“Siljar,” she said. “She's the one who took us from my father's palace.”

“Meddlesome . . .” Styx bit off his furious words. He should have known without asking it would be Siljar. The tiny Oracle always managed to dump Styx into a shitload of trouble. “What did she want from Cyn?”

“I can't tell you.” Tears filled her beautiful eyes, her voice thick with fear. “Please, you have to believe me.”

He did.