When Darkness Ends (17 page)

Anthony stepped out of the portal and into his library with a sense of relief. It didn't matter how many times he traveled through dimensions, he never became used to the sense of electricity dancing over his skin.

And it only made it worse that after leaving Chicago he'd forced Yiant to take him to a private sanitarium in Amsterdam to visit the woman who was his current wife. It was a duty he forced himself to perform despite his annoyance with Clarice. He'd chosen her from one of the finest families in Dublin, using her standing among society to elevate his career in politics. Who knew she would be such an ill-bred bitch, snooping through his things and having him followed until she'd discovered he was using fairy potions to keep himself from aging.

His first thought was to kill her.

She wouldn't be the first or last wife he'd had to get rid of.

But then he realized that after a suitable time of mourning he would once again be expected to remarry.

It was far better to keep the one he had . . . only slightly modified.

With one burst of power he'd crushed her mind, leaving her locked in a deep coma. Then he'd placed her in a distant hospital. Unfortunately he had to make the occasional visit to keep his in-laws from complaining.

Now he walked straight across the library to pour himself a large glass of whiskey. He needed something to rid himself of the stench of antiseptic and fading flowers.

“Wait.” Draining the fiery liquid in one gulp, he abruptly turned his head as he heard the unmistakable sound of retreating footsteps. He glowered at the fairy who was clearly attempting to slip away unnoticed. “Where are you going?”

Yiant licked his dry lips. “I must return to my Court. It is a feast day.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Every day is some ridiculous feast day among the fey.”

“Traditions are important to us.”

“Not as important as keeping me happy,” he reminded the fool.

Yiant looked petulant as he straightened the thick folds of his elaborate robe. “What do you want of me?”

“I need you to remain here for the next few days.”

“Why?”

Anthony leaned against the edge of his desk. “I might need to travel.”

“What of my people?”

“They'll no doubt survive without you sitting on the throne and basking in your own importance,” he mocked.

The fairy visibly restrained his temper. A wise choice. Anthony was at the end of his considerable patience.

“I will at least need a few changes of clothing.”

Anthony swiveled to touch a button that was hidden beneath the lip of his desktop. There was a faint creak, then a hidden door slid open to reveal a narrow staircase.

“I'm sure Keeley left his belongings behind. Feel free to use whatever you want. He won't be needing them.”

Yiant grimaced, but the reminder that Anthony had just destroyed the imp who'd been locked in Styx's dungeons, had him grudgingly heading toward the secret passageway.

“As you command.”

Waiting until the door closed behind the fairy, Anthony left the library and headed down to the tunnels hidden beneath his estate.

Halting at a thick, wooden door, he carefully unwrapped the layers of protective magic. It took nearly half an hour before he was able to enter his inner sanctum, and another half hour before he was safely sealed inside.

Only then did he light the candles that revealed the vast, cavernous room.

Dug deep into the limestone, it was larger than a football field and in the center was a ring of standing stones. Towering nearly a hundred feet high, they were precisely spaced with lintel stones that connected them at the top.

Even at a distance Anthony could feel the power that radiated from the circle. He smiled as he moved forward, intoxicated by the pulses of energy.

This was the true magic.

A mystic power that came from the earth.

Nothing at all like the vile, unholy powers that the demons used.

Such toxic magic had to be purged from the world, along with the creatures who spread their infection among humanity like a disease.

Stepping between the stones, he entered the circle. He grimaced as he realized the usual sense of peace that entered him in this place had faded since his last visit. For centuries the powers of the druids had been used to create harmony. It wasn't intended to become a weapon.

An unfortunate sacrifice necessary for the greater good, he assured himself, stepping to the center of the limestone floor where he'd placed his wooden altar where a small fire was burning.

Anthony offered a small prayer before he was peering into the dancing flames.

There was no heat, no sound from the fire. It simply floated above the altar, feeding off the spell he'd cast months ago.

Leaning forward, he opened his senses, allowing the magic to seep deep inside him.

He trembled at the heat that scoured through him, a cleansing flame that threatened to melt his very bones.

Balanced somewhere between agony and ecstasy, Anthony first concentrated on the prison that kept the elder druids from interfering in his plans.

A smile touched his lips. He could see each of the four druids aimlessly wandering through the maze of magic. It had been his first attempt at creating a labyrinth. Now he understood why it'd been banned.

Confident the elder magic-users were effectively trapped, Anthony turned his attention to the spell that he'd cast in the depths of the Commission's tunnels.

Unlike the labyrinth, the Compulsion spell was a complex spiderweb of magic. Dozens of filaments linking him to the Oracles, each one too fragile to force them to obey his commands. But with each layer of magic the filaments were threading together, creating an unbreakable bond that would give him complete control.

Choosing one of the threads, Anthony closed his eyes as he focused on the connection. Two thousand miles away he sensed the Mosnoff demon who was deeply asleep. He paused, making certain that the demon didn't realize that Anthony was delving into his mind.

As the demon remained asleep, Anthony cautiously gave a tug on the thread. On cue the Mosnoff sat upright, his eyes snapping open as he rose from the narrow bed and crossed the barren cavern. Then, ignoring the sweat that trickled down his face, Anthony urged the Mosnoff to reach for the delicate crystal that was carefully stored in a velvet-lined box.

Anthony gave another tug on the thread, forcing the demon to pluck the crystal from the box. More sweat dribbled down his face as the demon instinctively tried to resist Anthony's compulsion.

It'd been a battle they'd fought several times, although the Mosnoff had no memory of Anthony's “tests.”

Usually Anthony could compel the demon to this point, and then the Mosnoff would refuse to go any further.

This time, however, he grimly forced the demon to cross the room to the fireplace that warmed the chilled cavern. Then, with one last burst of power, he coerced the Mosnoff to toss the irreplaceable family heirloom directly into the flames.

The crystal landed in the fire, the soul that had been stored inside the quartz swiftly becoming unstable. Within seconds it had reached a critical point and combusted into a hundred tiny shards.

Through the thread, Anthony could feel the horror as the demon watched one of his beloved ancestors being lost to the flames.

Still, Anthony managed to maintain control long enough to urge the Mosnoff back to his bed and back to sleep.

Only when the demon was snoring did Anthony release his hold and lift a shaky hand to wipe the sweat from his face.

He'd done it.

Granted, he'd only be in control of one Oracle, but it was one of the strongest of the Commission. And he'd made the demon destroy one of his relatives.

An act that could only be forced by having complete command of the creature.

Stepping away from the flame, Anthony sucked in a deep breath.

He had to believe that the experiment proved he had gained the necessary control to compel the Oracles to complete the spell.

It didn't matter whether or not Keeley had revealed his plans. Or if the Chatri were here to try and stop him.

He could feel time swiftly slipping away from him.

If he was going to strike it had to be soon.

Grimacing at the fine tremors that shook his body, Anthony turned to head back to his house. Before he did anything, he had to rest.

He was still in the circle when a silvery chime echoed through the cavern, making Anthony stiffen in outrage.

“Intruders.” Turning on his heel, he headed back to the altar. “Damn.”

 

 

Tonya stepped out of the portal with a shiver.

The air was certainly warmer despite the fact it was night, but there was a weird sensation that brushed over her skin.

As if she'd just stepped through an invisible web.

Tonya hated spiders.

“Where are we?” she demanded, unconsciously brushing her hands over her bare arms. Dammit, why had she decided to wear a barely there spandex dress?

Okay, that was a stupid question.

She'd put on the outfit because she wanted to make Magnus drool.

Now she wished she'd chosen a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

Moving to stand beside her, Magnus glanced around the untamed fields that were divided by waist-high fences built of gray stone. In the distance were rolling hills and a thatch-roofed cottage that was tucked into a small valley.

“Ireland,” he at last said.

“How odd.”

Magnus narrowed his gaze. “More than odd.”

She sent him a confused frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Cyn is the clan chief of Ireland,” he said, the words clipped.

“That's not a newsflash,” she muttered, wondering what bug had crawled up the prince's ass this time.

“Now we track the killer to his homeland.”

Ah. Now she got it.

“Are you implying Cyn was the killer?” she demanded.

His features tightened at her blatant incredulity.

“He did send Fallon to lure Styx away from his lair, no doubt knowing that I would follow.”

“Why would Cyn sneak around?” She shook her head. “If he wanted the imp dead, then he could have demanded that Styx hand over his prisoner. It's not like Styx would have cared what happened to a fey who'd already betrayed him once.”

He waved aside her logic in his usual princely fashion. Jackass.

“Perhaps he feared the imp had information he didn't want the King of Vampires to know.”

“Information?”

Magnus shrugged, his gaze scanning the dark countryside, almost as if he sensed some sort of approaching danger.

“He's holding a Chatri princess in his lair,” he said, his tone absent. “We can't truly know that he isn't using her for his own nefarious purpose.”

A sharp, unexpected jealousy sliced through her heart.

It was . . . insane.

She was never jealous. She had no interest in holding on to a lover who'd turned his attention to another female. After all, there were plenty of males anxious to earn a place in her bed.

But there was no mistaking the ugly anger that was twisting her stomach at the mere mention of Fallon's name.

“So you're suddenly worried about your fiancée?” she ground out.

He sent her a wry smile. “Did you not want me to display more compassion?”

“Whatever,” she muttered, giving a toss of her head as she headed toward a narrow lane.

The voice of reason had told her not to come with Magnus on his search for the magic-user. It'd warned her that spending more time in this man's company was a mistake.

One of these days she was going to listen to that voice.

“No.” Without warning Magnus was grabbing her arm, yanking her to an abrupt halt. “Wait.”

Tonya tugged her arm free. Magnus might be a horse's patootie, but he'd never been a bully.

“What the hell?”

Magnus grimaced. “A trap.”

 

 

Cyn moaned as Fallon wrapped her legs around his waist, allowing him to sink deeper into her warm, welcoming body.

It didn't matter that he'd spent the past six hours ravishing this female. He was fairly certain that he could spend the next century exploring her from the top of her silken hair to her tiny toes and still feel obsessed with the need to have her in his arms.

Lightly scraping his fangs down the length of her neck, he gripped her hips and plunged into her silken heat, a groan wrenched from his throat.

“Cyn,” Fallon breathed, her fingers tangled in his hair as she arched beneath him. “Please.”

He shuddered, the violent urge to sink his veins into her flesh an overwhelming need.

Bloody hell.

His every instinct was screaming to mark this woman, to complete the mating so she would be bound to him for all eternity.

Instead he buried his face in the champagne scent of her silken hair, increasing the tempo of his thrusts.

Until Fallon was willing to accept that they were destined to be together he wouldn't force the issue.

She'd spent her entire life being bullied by the men who were supposed to respect her. She'd been told what she could and couldn't do.

She had to come to him freely.

“Please what, princess?” he roughly demanded, trailing his lips down her collarbone. “What do you need?”

Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips lifting off the mattress to meet him stroke for stroke.