“Charming,” he muttered as he reached the lower floor. “I’d like to shove a charming fist right into his smug face.”
It wasn’t that he was arrogant enough to assume that the Anasso was deliberately trying to piss him off. It was obvious that Styx had his hands full with this latest threat. Still, he wasn’t pleased to be back on witch duty.
He was supposed to be devoting this night to scrubbing away every thought of Sally Grace. Not giving his overactive libido even more reason to plague his day with erotic dreams.
Muttering a string of curses, Roke was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Which explained why he’d nearly missed the male fairy who was hurrying down the hallway with a tray of food, along with a rose and several leather-bound books.
Roke came to a sharp halt, knowing beyond a doubt the overly pretty demon was rushing to be with Sally. Who else would put that smile of anticipation on the narrow face that was surrounded by a tumble of golden hair? Or the eagerness shimmering in the hazel eyes?
Although there were any number of lovely, not to mention lethal, females scattered around the mansion, most of them were mated. And not even a fairy was stupid enough to try and come between a vampire and his mate.
Or even a pure-blooded Were for that matter.
Besides, Roke recognized that vaguely bewildered expression beneath the enchantment.
That was a Sally Grace specialty.
“You,” he called out.
The fairy came to a reluctant halt, eyeing Roke with impatience. “Me?”
“Is that tray for the witch?”
“I—”
“Is it or not?”
“Yes,” the man grudgingly admitted.
“Give it to me.” Roke held out his hands. Then, when the fairy just stood there staring at him like an idiot, he snapped his fingers. “Well?”
“There’s no need to bother yourself,” the man said, stubbornly holding on to the tray. “I’m sure you have better things to be doing.”
Roke leaned forward, his power making the plates rattle. “That wasn’t a suggestion, fairy.”
“But—”
“Give. Me. The. Tray.” As expected the fairy hastily shoved the tray into Roke’s hands, tumbling over the rose and jostling the stack of books. Roke frowned. “What the hell is with the books?”
The fairy hunched a shoulder, his expression petulant. “I promised that I would bring her something to read. She’s bored.”
Bored? An image of how he could keep the pretty little witch entertained seared through his mind before he managed to slam shut the door on the treacherous temptation.
“This isn’t the damned Ritz.”
“I don’t mind.” A hint of eagerness returned to the narrow face. “In fact I’m happy to—”
“I mind,” Roke snapped, infuriated by the man’s obvious obsession with Sally. “You’re not to return to the dungeons, is that clear?”
The fairy had the nerve to hesitate, almost as if he was actually considering defying Roke’s command. Suicidal fey. Then, after a long moment, he gave a grudging nod. “It’s clear.”
Whirling on his heel, Roke headed toward the nearby stairs that led to the lower level. “Freaking fairies,” he muttered, ignoring the startled glances from the vampires watching the surveillance equipment lining the entrance to the lower dungeons. Waiting for the younger vampire with short, brown hair and dark eyes to jump up and open the heavy steel door, Roke swept past them and headed down the corridor between the cells.
His knee-high moccasins that were laced over his black jeans made no sound as he ghosted forward. But something must have alerted Sally that she was no longer alone. He was barely halfway down the corridor when he heard her push herself off the cot and cross to the bars of her cell.
“Lysander?” she called softly, the sweet scent of peaches filling the air.
Roke’s fingers tightened on the tray. Oh . . . hell. What was it about that maddening scent?
Annoyed as much by his instant, painful arousal as by the sound of another man’s name on her lips, Roke took the last few steps to arrive at her cell. “No, not Lysander,” he said, watching her expectant expression harden with a flare of obvious frustration.
“You,” she breathed, shoving back her tangled curls that glowed with the rich colors of autumn beneath the overhead lights.
The sort of hair a man wanted brushing against his naked skin.
“Your pet fairy has resigned his babysitting duties.”
“Resigned or was fired?”
“Take your pick.”
Her hands clenched, her chin tilted to a militant angle. “Why? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t return.”
Roke ignored her accusation. He wanted answers on what was going on between her and the fairy. “What did you do to that poor man?”
She stilled, as if she were caught off guard by his question. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“He was foaming at the mouth to get down here. I thought I was going to have to wrestle him for the honor of bringing your dinner tray.”