When Darkness Ends (2 page)

That seemed . . . unlikely.

“Why are you suspicious?” he demanded.

Siljar hesitated a second before revealing what was troubling her.

“Over the past few weeks I've found myself awakening as if from a trance to discover I'm seated in the Council Room,” she at last said.

Cyn blinked in confusion. That was it? He'd been kidnapped and dropped naked in these caves because the old gal was becoming forgetful?

He forced himself to consider his words. Only an idiot implied that an Oracle might be going a bit batty.

“The past year has been stressful, especially for the Commission,” he murmured.

“It has. And if I was the only Oracle to experience the strange phenomenon, then I would assume that your implication that I'm suffering from some sort of mental decay was right.” Her lips twitched as he flinched at her blunt words. “I am, after all, quite old and it wouldn't be entirely unlikely that I would accidentally transport myself to a familiar location without realizing what I'm doing.”

Cyn ignored Fallon's barely hidden amusement at his discomfort.

“But?”

“More than once I discovered I wasn't alone.”

Cyn grimaced even as he heard Fallon suck in a startled breath.

Having Siljar suffering from an occasional blackout was one thing. To think of the entire Commission being controlled by some unseen force . . . bloody hell.

“The other Oracles didn't know how they got there either?” he rasped.

Siljar gave a somber shake of her head. “No.”

 

 

When Fallon had opened her eyes to discover herself far removed from her fairy homeland, she'd been more annoyed than frightened.

Strange, considering that it was the first time in her life she'd ever awakened in a dark cave, stark naked, and in the company of an equally naked vampire.

Hell, it was the first time she'd ever been away from her father's vast palace.

She should have been freaking out.

Shouldn't she?

But while she'd tried to convince herself that he must be some sort of deranged beast who'd stolen her from her home for God only knew what sort of perverted reason, she couldn't truly make herself believe he was intending her harm.

She hadn't spent much time with Cyn, but while the massive clan chief was obviously a terrifying predator, she'd easily sensed he posed no danger.

No, that wasn't true, she wryly conceded.

He posed all sorts of danger, not the least of which was the unwelcomed excitement that sizzled through her whenever he happened to glance in her direction.

But she didn't for a second believe he would physically hurt her.

Not unless he believed she was a threat to his people. The tiny demon in front of her, however, had just sent a chill of terror straight down her spine.

She knew of the Commission, of course.

Unlike most Chatri, the pure-blooded ancestors of the fey, Fallon had never been content with her secluded existence. Others might be happy in her father's royal palace, surrounded by lush gardens and meadows that were drenched in perpetual sunshine, but for her it was all too . . . flawlessly monotonous.

There was only so much perfection a woman could endure before she became bored out of her mind. Which meant that Fallon had been driven to develop a secret life just to keep her sanity.

No one among her people knew that she'd created a hidden chamber where she honed her skill at scrying until she could not only peer into other dimensions, but she could maintain several images at once.

Over the years she'd spent endless hours studying this world, fascinated by the rapidly changing cultures while her own life remained stagnant. She'd even kept up on the current fads and speech patterns, telling herself that she might have the opportunity to visit this world, even when she'd known deep in her heart that her father would never allow her to leave their homeland.

Now she wondered if she'd been mistaken in her belief that the powerful Oracles were both wise and fair leaders for the demon world.

“What would be the point of trancing you?” she demanded in confusion.

Siljar regarded her with an unblinking gaze. It was . . . creepy.

“My guess would be that they want us in the Council Room,” she said.

Fallon forced herself not to wilt beneath that basilisk stare. “Why?”

“It's the place we gather to share information, and to settle disputes between demons,” Siljar explained, abruptly pacing across the cave with jerky movements. As if she was trying to contain her emotions. “And in extreme cases it's where we share our power.”

“Do you think it could be a demon who is trying to influence you to judge in his favor?” Cyn abruptly demanded.

“I asked myself the same question. We are currently negotiating a land treaty between the mountain ogres and the woodland sprites.” Siljar gave a sharp shake of her head. Swish. Swish. Her white robe brushed the uneven floor. “But now I fear the plot is far more nefarious.”

“Nefarious?” Cyn demanded.

Siljar nodded. “I think someone is trying to force the Commission to combine their powers to cast a spell.”

Cyn grimaced. “Who or what could have the necessary strength to influence the entire Commission?”

Siljar halted her pacing, regaining her composure to turn and meet the vampire's troubled frown.

“That's what I need you to discover.”

“You want me to spy on the Oracles?” Cyn rasped.

“Of course not,” Siljar chided. “I want Fallon to spy on them.”

Fallon's mouth dropped open, her blood running cold. “Me?”

Siljar lifted a brow. “You are a master at scrying, are you not?”

Oh . . . damn.

“How did you—”

“I know many things, my dear,” Siljar smoothly interrupted.

Fallon shuffled beneath the dark, steady gaze. What else did the tiny demon know about her? Not that Fallon had an exciting enough life to hoard many secrets, but still . . .

Cyn sent her a searching glance, as if surprised that she might have an actual skill.

Jerk.

“What does a master of scrying mean?”

Siljar answered. “Fallon can keep track of the Oracles, even when they travel between dimensions.”

He didn't look particularly impressed. “How will that help?”

“She can see if there is anyone in particular who has contact with all of the Oracles,” Siljar explained. “Or if there is someplace they travel where they could be manipulated.”

“How close does she have to be to scry?” Cyn demanded of the Oracle.

Fallon muttered a low curse. Had she suddenly become invisible?

“Distance doesn't matter,” she informed the vampire, not about to be treated as if she couldn't speak for herself. She'd had enough of that in her father's court. “The only thing I need is a location to start.”

Without warning, Siljar was moving to stand directly in front of Fallon, her hand reaching to press against her cheek.

“There,” the demon said, searing the image of a vast complex of caves into Fallon's mind. “You can track them?”

Fallon hissed in shock as the location locked in her mind and she realized just what was expected of her.

Crap. What was wrong with her? She should have told Siljar she couldn't scry. That she'd made some sort of mistake.

Instead she'd practically boasted about her skill.

As if she was trying to impress . . .

No. She locked out the disturbing thought.

Cyn was an arrogant lug with an oversized ego. Okay, he was gorgeous. And sexy. And his hard, warrior body was lickably delicious. But she certainly wasn't going to waste her time trying to impress him.

Siljar cleared her throat. “My dear, can you track them?” She repeated her question.

Fallon swallowed a sigh. It was too late to get out of her unwelcomed duty.

Besides, if her talent would help, then she surely had a duty to do whatever she could. “I think so,” she said.

“Good.” Cyn folded his arms over his chest. “Then she can return to fairyland?”

Fallon's mouth dropped open at his blunt words. “Why, you rude—”

Siljar held up a hand. “No.”

Cyn's jade green eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Although it has been several weeks since you left Fallon's homeland—”

“Several weeks?” Fallon forgot her annoyance with Cyn as she sucked in a shocked breath. How was that possible? It felt as if it'd only been a matter of minutes since she was standing in the small reception room in her father's palace.

Siljar gave a lift of her hands. “Traveling through dimensions can often create temporal fluctuations.”

She was lying. Oh, it was true that traveling through dimensions could screw with time, but Fallon suspected that the cunning Oracle had deliberately altered time for her own purpose.

With a low growl Cyn clenched his hands in frustration, clearly more pissed than suspicious.

“What's the date?” he demanded.

“The middle of January.”

The vampire's icy powers pulsed through the air, making Fallon shiver.

“Shit,” he rasped.

Siljar calmly smoothed her hands down her robe, pretending there wasn't a massive vampire filling the cave with enough power to make it collapse on their heads.

“As I was saying, I brought you here so Fallon could concentrate on her task without the interference of her father and her fiancé who are both searching for her.”

Fallon widened her eyes. It made sense that her father would come in search of her. But her fiancé?

The prince barely remembered she was alive most of the time.

“Magnus is here?”

“Fiancé?” Cyn muttered, sending Fallon an oddly angry glare before turning his attention to Siljar. “You can't expect me to be her babysitter.”

“I request that you give her your protection.” Siljar spoke before Fallon could call him a jackass. “Which will be considerably easier if you remain behind the potent magic that hides your lair from prying eyes.”

“And what about my people?” he snarled. “I've already been gone too long. They need their chief.”

Siljar waved away his concern. “You surely have a trusted servant who can keep your presence here a secret and yet allow you to ensure the welfare of your clan?”

The chill in the air became downright frigid. “There are others more suited to taking care of a fairy.”

Fallon met him glare for glare. “I couldn't agree more.”

Siljar reached into the pocket of her robe, pulling out a small scroll.

“But they would not be more suited to deciphering this.”

It wouldn't come as a shock to anyone that Styx was the Anasso, King of Vampires.

At six foot five with dark eyes, and the fierce Aztec features of his ancestors, he was the poster child for BADASS. Dressed in leather pants and white silk shirt that emphasized his massive chest, he had his long raven hair braided and decorated with tiny turquoise amulets. There was another amulet around his neck, this one a traditional medallion that held the power of his people. His size thirteen feet were shoved into a pair of shit-kickers that looked decidedly out of place in the elegant library.

Of course, there was no place in the sprawling mansion north of Chicago that he didn't stand out like a sore thumb. His home was filled with marble columns and painted ceilings and an explosion of gilt. And the furnishings weren't Louis XIV rip-offs. The furniture had actually come from the king's palace. Which meant they were so delicate, a poor vampire was constantly terrified it would crack beneath his weight.

Unfortunately his mate, Darcy, insisted that he needed a lair that would impress the demon world. And if it made Darcy happy, then that was all that mattered.

The vampire walking through the door, however, was the exact opposite of Styx.

Not to say that Viper wasn't equally lethal. He hadn't earned a position as the Chicago clan chief because his eyes were as dark and beguiling as a velvet night sky. Or because his features were as beautiful as a fallen angel. Or because his long, silver hair shimmered like the finest satin.

He was one of the most ruthless killers to stalk the streets of Chicago.

But while Styx looked like death walking, Viper resembled an eighteenth-century dandy dressed in a dark velvet jacket that reached his knees and a ruffled pink shirt.

Crossing the priceless Parisian carpet, Viper headed directly to the side of the room, pouring himself a brandy before turning to face Styx who was leaning against the heavy desk.

“This had better be important,” Viper growled, tossing the brandy down his throat.

Styx arched a raven brow as Viper set the empty glass on a low, walnut table.

“Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

Viper nailed him with an exasperated glare. “I hadn't left my bed, Your Majesty. I was enjoying a rare evening alone with my mate.”

Ah. That would explain the pissy mood.

Styx shrugged. “A pity.”

Viper rolled his eyes. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

“I would be more sympathetic if my own mate wasn't back in St. Louis,” Styx muttered.

Darcy's sister had recently given birth to a litter of pureblood Weres and Styx had discovered himself living the life of a bachelor as the females fussed and cooed over the babies.

He tried to be patient, but it wasn't his greatest talent.

Oh hell, who was he kidding? It was at the bottom of the list of his talents.

Viper grimaced. “I've discovered that no mere male can compete with the allure of newborn babes. Even Shay insists on traveling to see them when there isn't a waiting line outside Salvatore's lair.”

“Yes.” Styx's annoyance with Darcy's absence eased at the thought of Salvatore, the King of Weres, being tormented by endless guests forcing their way into his lair. The arrogant hound was at the edge of snapping. “Poor bastard.”

Viper abruptly chuckled. “Once again I detect a distinct lack of genuine sympathy.”

“True.” Styx smiled. Truce or not, it gave him genuine pleasure to think of the arrogant bastard ripping out his hair. “The dog deserves the aggravation.”

“So why did you require that I come over tonight?” Viper demanded. “Just the pleasure of my sparkling personality?”

Styx's brief amusement disappeared. “Salvatore isn't the only one with unwanted houseguests.”

“I thought Sariel was out searching for his daughter?” Viper said, referring to the King of Chatri who claimed that his daughter had been kidnapped by Cyn, the clan chief of Ireland.

Styx snorted. How the hell did this happen?

One day he'd been celebrating the survival of yet another end-of-the-world-disaster, and the next his house was filled with fairies.

Fairies,
for God's sake.

It was enough to make any vampire consider burning the place to the ground.

“He is, but he has left Prince Magnus, his soon-to-be son-in-law, here.”

His tone left no doubt of his opinion of the prince.

Viper scowled. “Why?”

“He claims that he wants Magnus to be here in case Fallon appears while he's gone.”

“You don't believe him?”

“Of course not.” As if Styx would trust the word of any fey. Let alone the King of Fey. “Sariel is convinced that Cyn kidnapped his daughter and that I'm helping them remain hidden. He planted that annoying twit in my house to spy on me.”

Viper looked hopeful. “Did you want me to kill him?”

“Hell, no.” Styx shoved himself away from the desk, his power filling the room with an icy chill. “If anyone is going to kill the prissy pain in the ass it's going to be me. Unfortunately I'm not prepared to start a war with the fairies, no matter how tempting.”

“Ah.” Viper flashed a smile. “Then you invited me to chain you to the dungeon wall so you don't do anything stupid?” He offered a mocking bow. “My pleasure, Your Majesty.”

“You can shove that ‘Your Majesty' up your ass,” Styx growled.

His people knew just how badly he hated any symbol of authority. Well, except for his big-assed sword that could cut through an ogre with one swipe.

The one sure way to grate on his nerves was to call him by some stupid title.

Viper's smile widened. “Fine. What do you need from me then?”

“Nectar.”

“Nectar?” The clan chief waited for the punch line. When Styx merely studied him with growing impatience, he gave a shake of his head. “What kind of nectar?”

“How the hell should I know?” Styx made a sound of disgust. “The stupid prince keeps bleating about some nectar that is essential to his survival.”

“He'll die without it?” Viper shrugged. “Problem solved.”

Styx shook his head. After a week of enduring Magnus's moans and groans, he was ready to stake himself.

“Not if I have to listen to him complaining until he finally croaks.” Styx shuddered. “I just want to shut him up.”

Viper moved to stand near the windows that offered a stunning view of the moon-drenched rose garden.

“Understandable. No one likes a whiny fey. But I'm not sure why you called me.” He turned back to send Styx a puzzled frown. “I don't have any nectar.”

“You have clubs that cater to the fey.”

“And?”

Styx swallowed a growl of annoyance. Viper was obviously in no mood to be helpful. No doubt it had something to do with being taken away from his beautiful mate.

“And at least one of them must have some damned nectar,” Styx snarled.

Viper pulled his phone from his pocket, accepting that Styx wasn't going to allow him to leave until he had what he wanted.

“I suppose I could check around.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

With a grimace, the silver-haired vampire began contacting his various managers that ran his chain of demon bars. Styx didn't doubt at least one of them would have what he needed.

Viper's clubs were notorious for satisfying the desires of his guests. No matter how outrageous those desires might be.

“Got it,” he at last muttered, glancing at Styx. “Tonya has a fresh batch.”

Thank the gods.

“Tell her to bring it.”

“Now?” Viper scowled, a businessman to his very soul. “The club—”

“Now.”

Viper rolled his eyes. “Bring what you have to the Anasso's lair,” he commanded the beautiful imp who was in charge of his club a hundred miles south of Chicago. “But don't try to travel directly into the estate,” he warned. Styx had a layer of barriers wrapped around his home to prevent magic. He had a lethal dislike for unwanted guests popping in. “You'll have to stop at the edge of the estate and wait for an escort to bring you inside.”

Styx reached behind him to punch a button that opened the intercom to his security team, warning them to expect the imp.

When he turned back, Viper had put away his phone and was adjusting the lacy cuffs of his ridiculous shirt.

“Have you had any word from Cyn?”

“Nothing.”

Styx felt a familiar stab of frustration. When Roke had informed him that the clan chief of Ireland had disappeared along with the Chatri princess, Styx had assumed that they would turn up within a few hours. There were few women who wouldn't leap at the chance to spend some time alone with the charming vampire. But as the days, and then weeks passed, the mildly annoying incident had turned into a looming disaster. The Chatri were the ruling class of the fey and if they decided that the vampires had insulted their king, they could make things very unpleasant.

He gave a sharp shake of his head.

“If Cyn has returned to this dimension he's remaining well hidden.”

Viper shook his head. “I know Cyn. He can be impulsive—”

“He's a damned maniac,” Styx muttered, recalling the night the clan chief had released a herd of cows in King James's palace. It'd caused a near riot.

“But he would never kidnap a fairy princess,” Viper insisted.

“Unless she wanted to be kidnapped,” Styx pointed out.

“If that was the case then he wouldn't remain in hiding. He would confront Sariel head-on, not skulk in the shadows.”

“I agree.” Styx grimaced. “He's never been subtle.”

“Which means he's in trouble.”

Trouble.

It was a word that he'd heard too often over the past year.

Was it really too much to ask that he have one damned week without some disaster lurking?

“I have my Ravens searching for him,” he said. “Between them and the fey there's no rock that will be left unturned. And once I have my hands on whoever is responsible”—his power made the electricity flicker—“there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes, there will be, no matter who is responsible for kidnapping the princess,” a male voice drawled from the doorway.

Styx's fangs lengthened, aching for the opportunity to drain the idiot who waltzed into the library as if he owned the place.

Prince Magnus was exactly what you would expect of a pure-blooded fey.

His long hair shimmered like the finest rubies in the light from the chandelier. His brow was wide, his nose a thin, noble blade, and his lips lushly carved. And his eyes were the color of cognac and rimmed with gold.

Tonight he'd put aside his usual flowing gown encrusted with jewels to wear a pair of black slacks and a jade green silk shirt, revealing his surprisingly muscular body.

A humorless smile twisted Styx's lips. The clothes had changed, but the outrageous arrogance was the same.

Viper moved to stand at Styx's side. “I presume this is Magnus?”

The Chatri lightly touched the large emerald pendant that was hung around his neck, the intoxicating scent of finely aged whiskey filling the room.

“Prince Magnus,” the fey corrected, his expression pinched as if he had a corn cob stuck up his ass.

Styx wondered if his expression would be the same if it was a size thirteen boot stuck up there.

Viper smiled, deliberately exposing his fangs. “The last royal I met ended up as my dessert.”

The pale, elegant features hardened, hinting at a dangerous power hidden behind the fey's pretense of namby pamby stupidity.

“I do not fear you, vampire,” he said.

Viper tapped the tip of his fang with his tongue. “Then you're even more stupid than you look.”

“Enough,” Styx interrupted, not entirely pleased by the suspicion that Prince Magnus wasn't quite the harmless fribble he'd first assumed. “What do you want now?”

The prince sniffed, once again a harmless, aggravating pain in the ass.

“I smelled imp,” he said.

Styx belatedly caught the scent of plums at the same time that Viper glanced in his direction.

“He's right. Tonya's here.”

“Thank God for portals,” Styx muttered, lifting a hand as the female imp appeared in the doorway. “Enter.”

A hum of male appreciation buzzed in the air as the tall woman with lush curves and a stunning mane of dark red hair sashayed across the carpet. Tonya was the sort of imp that could make any demon rejoice at being a male.

It was more than her pale, perfect skin and slanted emerald eyes. It was the blatant sensuality that oozed from her, enticing and provoking the male senses.

“You wanted nectar,” she murmured, holding up a jar that contained a pale gold liquid.

Styx nodded toward the man standing near the marble fireplace.

“It's for him.”

“Who . . .” The imp turned, her flirtatious expression freezing as she caught sight of the Chatri prince. “Oh.”

“Well?” Magnus snapped his fingers. “Bring it to me, imp.”

“Yes.” Clearly bedazzled by the fey, Tonya obediently headed toward Magnus.

Waiting until she was standing directly in front of him, Magnus took the jar from her hand and sniffed at the golden liquid.

“Pedestrian,” he muttered. “But I suppose it will have to do.” Setting the nectar on the mantel, he turned his attention to the enthralled female. “Why are you not on your knees?”