“This mate was a vampire?” Styx demanded.
“Yes, but very weak,” he explained, not bothering to disguise his disgust for the female who’d destroyed so much. “Her only true power was her beauty and she used it like a weapon to get her way. Gunnar went from being a strong, decisive leader of a clan no one would dare to attack, to a slave to his lusts who spent so much time pandering to his female we lost everything.”
He sensed it as Styx moved to stand at his side. “Everything?”
He gave a restless shrug. “The mines that made our wealth were allowed to be overrun with humans and the majority of our land was taken by a rival vampire clan, along with our best warriors.”
“What happened to Gunnar?”
Roke hesitated. The history of his clan wasn’t a secret. But the ultimate fate of Gunnar was something that was never discussed.
Not by anyone.
“While I traveled to enter the battles of Durotriges he was killed when his lair was struck by lightning and burned to the ground.” He reluctantly turned to meet Styx’s unwavering gaze. “Or that was the story I was given.”
Predictably the older vampire pounced on his suggestive words. “You don’t believe it?”
“I made no secret of the fact that if I survived the battles I intended to challenge Gunnar to become the chief.” He grimaced. “I fear . . .”
Styx laid a hand on his shoulder. “Roke?”
The memory of his beloved sire burned through his brain. The female vampire had been a wisewoman before being turned, and while she had no memory of her past, she possessed an unshakable belief in mystic portents.
Including an omen that she’d read the night Roke was turned.
She’d claimed that it meant that Roke would one day be a great leader.
He’d always humored the ancient vampire, never suspecting she might take matters into her own hands.
At least not until Gunnar was dead.
“I suspect that someone made certain there wouldn’t be any chance of me losing that challenge,” he grudgingly admitted.
Thankfully Styx didn’t press for answers Roke had no intention of giving. Instead he gave Roke’s shoulder an understanding squeeze. “That’s why you’ve been so anxious to return to your people,” he said, his words a statement, not a question.
Roke nodded. “I swore when they made me their chief I would devote myself to protecting them. Instead I’ve abandoned them.”
“You didn’t abandon them,” Styx interrupted him, his hawkish features unyielding. “I forced you to remain in Chicago.”
“The result is the same. They’re without their leader,” Roke pointed out in sour tones, refusing to console himself with the knowledge he’d left them in perfectly capable hands. Kale might be dependable enough, but it was Roke’s responsibility to be with his clan. “And now, for the true cherry topper, I’m mated to a witch who not only sold her soul to the Dark Lord, but who hates vampires.”
Styx’s fingers tightened to a painful grip. “Roke . . .”
He shrugged off the warning hand, on a sudden roll. “Hell, I couldn’t possibly have been trapped with a worse mate if I tried.”
The scent of peaches filled the air. No, not peaches . . . scorched peaches. As if the scrumptious fruit had been tossed in a raging fire.
Shit.
Slowly turning, Roke met the furious glare of his mate, forced to hastily duck as she tossed a heavy crystal vase at his head.
“Right back at you,” she hissed, tossing another vase. “Jackass.”
Roke groaned. His only emotion should be relief that the female hadn’t been able to use her magic. He would no doubt be missing a vital part of his male anatomy right now.
Instead, all he could feel was a fierce, searing need to gather the angry Sally in his arms and promise that she would never be hurt again.
Especially not by him.
Chapter 22
Gauis’s lair in Wisconsin
Gaius struggled to shake off the clinging sense of lethargy that shrouded him in a thick blanket of unconsciousness.
He hated the sensation.
He hated it even more when he could sense a presence leaning over his helpless body.
With a threatening growl, he forced open his heavy lids, relieved to discover he’d taken the precaution of spending the day on a narrow cot in the cellar. The house might be sun-proof, but an enemy could always find a way to break through his shutters and expose him to the deadly rays.
Especially when he was so deeply asleep he couldn’t detect an approaching trespasser.
Surging upward, he discovered Dara standing near the narrow door that was the only entrance to the cellar. She smiled as she slid an affectionate glance over his rumpled hair and naked body.
“Habibi, are you rested?” she asked in her soft voice.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, sensing that night had fallen while he’d been unconscious. “How long have I been asleep?”