Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity)

Chapter Three


No one would give the house built on the bluffs that overlooked the Mississippi River a second glance.

It was the same as any other farmhouse in the Midwest. A simple, two-story structure, with a wraparound porch and sharply angled roof. At one time it’d been painted white, although it was peeling in several places and there was mold creeping up the foundation.

Nearly hidden behind the large oak and dogwood trees, it looked abandoned from the distant road and the overgrown path deterred any stray trespassers.

Even the locals had learned to avoid the area, disturbed by the odd silence and strange sense of being watched by unseen eyes.

The location of the house was no accident. Beneath the bluffs along the river was a spiderweb of caves that had been the source of local legends for years.

Some claimed they had been Jesse James’s hideout. Or connected to the Underground Railroad. Others said they’d been used by smugglers.

And the always favorite rumor that they were a body dump for the Chicago mob.

The truth was far more dangerous.

The caves had been home to demons since long before the humans had ever arrived.

Standing in one of the deepest caves the small man was lost among the shadows.

Not that he would have stood out even in brightest sunlight.

He was one of those people who were easily overlooked.

Short, with sporadic tufts of gray hair on an almost bald head, he had pale skin that was nearly translucent and a pudgy belly that was hidden beneath a loose brown robe. His eyes were a watery blue, although they were usually covered by a thick pair of reading glasses.

He was insipid. Forgettable.

And if it weren’t for his ability to retain vast amounts of knowledge he would never have been invited to become one of the rare Oracles that sat on the Commission.

He was a walking, talking library.

He was also a warning on the dangers of judging a book by its cover.

Speaking a spell of protection that would alert him if anyone approached the isolated cavern, Brandel allowed his spirit to slip from his corporal body, and entered the shimmering portal.

He shivered, despite his lack of a physical form.

The silvery fog that lay between dimensions had always unnerved him.

Perhaps because he understood illusions.

The fog might feel tangible, but the truth was that there was a gaping void lurking just out of sight.

He made a sound of impatience as a large Adonis with a halo of golden curls and bronzed naked body appeared.

Raith was addicted to his current body, refusing to leave it behind even when it meant expending a vast amount of his energy.

Vain moron.

“I told you never to contact me when the Commission is in session,” he said telepathically, easily able to communicate his annoyance without speaking out loud.

Raith shrugged one broad shoulder. “There is a disturbance.”

Brandel made a sound of impatience. “The danger to the vampires has been contained. There is no threat to our arrangement,” he said, referring to the spirit that had so nearly created complete chaos.

“I do not speak of the vampires.”

“Then what?”

The perfect features hardened. “A whisper of ancient magic.”

Brandel felt a stirring of fear. “Our . . . guest?”

“He remains locked in stasis. But—”

“What?”

“He seeks to connect with someone in your world.”

“Damn.” Brandel could be arrogant, but he never forgot that their prisoner was a powerful demon who could destroy them if he ever broke free. “The last time he did this he succeeded in luring a witch into his prison.”

The wide, guileless eyes that were perfect for the Adonis face briefly flickered to reveal the black eyes slit with red that were Raith’s true form.

“Yes, a peculiar waste of his efforts. The witch was powerful, but her dark magic would never have been capable of destroying the barriers that hold him captive.” Raith gave a shake of his head, still puzzled by the creature’s peculiar behavior. “And he had to have sensed my spell would wipe her mind of their brief encounter as soon as she returned to her own world.”

“The bastard no doubt wanted a quickie. He always was an obnoxious, self-indulgent ass.”

Raith smiled with mocking amusement. “Still annoyed that he managed to seduce your mate?”

Brandel hissed, his unsubstantial form shivering in fury. Like most of his kind he’d sought his mate among the fey. And he’d found her in a beautiful, red-haired imp who’d made his soul sing. The fact that Glenda had never truly bonded with him had never bothered him.

Not until she’d run off with another.

“I had the last laugh,” he reminded his companion, recalling with vicious satisfaction how he’d forced his unfaithful wife to watch her lover being entombed in his eternal prison before he’d ripped her heart from her chest.

“So far,” Raith warned. “As you said, he has always been arrogant, but he is also a cunning, lethal adversary who could ruin both of us if he manages to escape.”

Brandel didn’t need the reminder.

The dangerous game he played was constantly on his mind.

Not only the fear of their prisoner escaping, but the constant dread that the Oracles would discover the truth of his presence on the Commission.

Death would be a welcome escape from what the powerful demons would do to him.

“Have you strengthened the shields that hide your guest?”

“Yes, and I’ve placed a tracer spell on the magic.”

“You seem to have it in hand. What do you want from me?”

Raith frowned. “Obviously I need you to follow my spell and investigate the source of the magic.”

“I can’t.”

There was a low vibration in the air. A resonance that threatened to scramble him on a molecular level.

“You wish to terminate our highly profitable partnership?”

“No, of course not,” he hastily soothed the older demon.

“Then you will do as I command.”

“Be reasonable.” Brandel floated backward, putting some distance between him and Raith. The vibrations hadn’t done any real damage, but they’d hurt like hell. “Leaving at this time will attract the sort of attention we can’t afford.”

Raith’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Siljar.”

“She is an Oracle, is she not?”

Brandel’s anger stirred the fog. Damn but he hated the interfering, busybody of a demon.

“Not only an Oracle, but the Queen Bitch herself.”

“Queen?” Raith asked. “I thought the Commission was a democracy?”

“So they claim. We each have a vote, but the majority of the Oracles have allowed themselves to be castrated by their fear of Siljar.” There was another stirring of the fog. “They have become nothing more than a committee of ass-kissers.”

“And you would prefer that they kiss your ass?”

Of course he did.

He’d always lusted for power, but more than that, he lusted for the respect and admiration of others.

Someday, he silently promised himself.


But not today.

“I would prefer that she would bring an end to our tedious gathering,” he answered. The Oracles had been called during the King of Vampires’ battle with the King of Weres, but as one disaster had followed another, they’d been forced to remain and contain the damage. “So long as we’re stuck in these caves my every move is being monitored.”

Raith frowned. “Do you think she is suspicious?”

“Of course not,” Brandel swiftly denied. “She is merely drunk on her own power.”

“You had better pray to our god you are right. We both have much to lose if we are discovered.”

Dammit. Brandel didn’t need to be told what they risked.

“You take care of your end of the business and I’ll take care of mine,” he snapped, mind to mind.

“Very well. Your end of the business is tracking the spell and determining if it is a threat to us,” Raith swiftly countered, faint vibrations humming in the air. “Understood?”

Did he have a choice?

“Yes.”

Raith chuckled. “I always enjoy our little chats.”





Roke frowned as Sally paced the small bedroom, her movements jerky and her face paler than normal.

It wasn’t unusual for her to be agitated when he was around.

They’d been striking sparks off one another from the beginning.

In more ways than one.

But this was more . . .

He could sense a true fear that she was desperately trying to hide behind a pretense of anger.

“Why are you being so stubborn?” he at last demanded.

She halted, her glare shifting to the box he held in his hands.

“We don’t even know if this box has anything to do with me or my father.”

“Do you have a better lead to follow?”

Her lips tightened. “No.”

“Then you have nothing to lose in coming to Nevada with me.”

She looked less than impressed by his logic.

“The last time I trusted the word of a vampire I ended up in the dungeons.”

Thanks a butt-load, Styx, he silently chastised his king.

The Anasso’s decision to toss Sally in his formidable prison had made certain she had a perfectly legitimate excuse not to trust the vampires.

“I live in the middle of the desert.” He offered a teasing smile. “My only dungeon is a nearby gold mine. You could strike it rich while you were down there.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

Roke took a cautious step forward. She was twitchy enough to bolt if he wasn’t careful.

“What are you afraid of, Sally?”

She scowled at the soft question. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

He shook his head, his fingers lifting to press against the pulse thundering at the base of her throat.

“You know better than to try and lie to a vampire. Even if I wasn’t bonded to you I could detect the increased beat of your heart and catch the scent of adrenaline.” His fingers lightly traced the faint shadow of her jugular vein, his fangs aching for a taste. “Of course, I could be mistaken.”

“You mistaken?” she tried to mock. “Shocking.”

He cupped the side of her face, the satin heat of her skin against his palm a sensation he could easily become addicted to.

“It could be lust,” he murmured, his gaze lowering to the sensual curve of her lips. “And I know the perfect remedy.”

“Fine.” She pulled away from his touch, but not before Roke caught the intoxicating scent of her arousal. “Vampires hate witches.”

With an effort, Roke allowed her to retreat. It was so very tempting to haul her into his arms and seduce her into soft, melting compliance.

It might even work for a few hours.

But he wasn’t so vain as to think that getting her into bed would earn her trust.

Hell, she’d probably use it as another reason to push him away.

“How many times do I have to promise I will do whatever necessary to keep you safe?” he instead asked, holding her wary gaze.

“From your own clan?”

“So long as you’re under my protection they wouldn’t dare hurt you.”

“Even if they believe I have you trapped in a spell? Come on, Roke.” She shuddered, as if imagining the horror of being ravaged by crazed vampires. “They would kill me in a heartbeat if they thought it was for your own good.”

His lips parted only to snap shut.

Shit.

She had a point.

His clan had spent far too long beneath the rule of a chief who’d been more concerned with pleasing his demanding mate than caring for his people. For over a century they’d floundered, so weakened that they’d nearly lost everything before Roke had traveled to the battles of Durotriges to earn the right to become a chief.

That’s why he’d been so infuriated by the magical bonding. He’d already made the decision that his mate would be a rational, loyal female who would dedicate herself to the good of his people.

And why his clan was unreasonably overprotective of him.

They were going to be on the warpath when they discovered he’d been bound by a witch.

“I’ll speak with them,” he promised.

“And tell them what?” she rasped, her hands clenched. “A nasty witch who used to work for the Dark Lord forced a mating on their beloved clan chief. Yeah, that should go over well. They’ll be standing in line for the pleasure of killing me.”

His growl rumbled through the room. “So what do you suggest? That we aimlessly run around the world in the hope that we stumble across your father?”

“You can take the box back to Nevada and I can stay here and question the locals.” She shrugged. “Someone must have known my mother.”

“No.”

She blinked, meeting his ruthless silver gaze with an audible huff of annoyance.

“That’s it? Just, no?”

“We stay together.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s killing you to be apart from me.”

The stark words hung in the air for a long, tension-fraught moment, then Sally was instinctively shaking her head in denial.

“Oh, my God,” she jeered. “Could your ego get any more bloated?”

“It’s not my ego, Sally.” He moved to touch the shadows beneath her beautiful eyes. “You’re fading away.”

She rigidly held her ground. “It’s just stress.”

“And if it’s not?”

“What are you trying to imply?”

He tucked an autumn curl behind her ear, the strands of gold shimmering in the moonlight.

“I’m not implying, I’m saying flat out that there are demons who are bound so tightly to their mates they suffer physical damage when they’re apart.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “So you truly believe I was pining for you like some cheesy Victorian bimbo?”

His lips twitched. “Yes.”

The dark eyes narrowed. “A toad. No, wait. A cockroach.”

“You’re babbling,” he murmured, his fingers skimming down the side of her neck.

She quivered, her pulse leaping beneath his fingers. “No, I’m deciding what I’m going to turn you into.”

He allowed his fingers to circle her throat. Not a threat. An intimate claim.

“Sally, we’re in this together,” he said, his voice low with a genuine weariness. “I’ve suffered as much as you have.”

The tough-girl fa?ade wavered as she bit her lower lip. “I . . . know,” she muttered. “I’m trying to find a way to break the mating.”


“And I’m trying to help you.” His thumb absently stroked the line of her stubborn jaw. “Why won’t you let me?”

She held his fierce gaze. “I’ve been running from people who’ve wanted me dead since I was sixteen. I won’t walk into a clan of bloodsuckers who will blame me for harming their chief.”

He didn’t have to see the strength of her determination etched on her beautiful face; he could easily sense it through their bond.

If he wanted to take her to his clan, he would have to physically drag her there.

Always assuming she didn’t follow through on her threat to turn him into a toad.

“Oh, hell,” he growled, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

He scrolled through his contacts, then swiftly typed in his message.

“Sending a text to Cyn.”

She eyed him warily. “What’s a Cyn?”

“Not a what. A who,” he explained. “He’s clan chief of Ireland.”

The wariness only deepened. “Why are you contacting him?”

“He’s an expert on the fey.”

She glanced at the box he still held in his hand. “Why don’t we just find one of the fey?”

He curled his lips to reveal his fangs. “Because I don’t trust them.”

She folded her arms around her waist, the tug on her sweatshirt molding the fabric against the soft curve of her breasts.

“And I don’t trust vampires.”

He struggled not to be distracted by the thought of stripping off the sweatshirt to expose the exquisite beauty beneath.

“Do you believe I would deliberately try to hurt you?” he bluntly demanded.

“I—”

“The truth.”

She hesitated, clearly reluctant to admit that she might have the smallest faith in him.

“No,” she at last muttered.

“Then trust that—”

His soft words were rudely interrupted as the gargoyle stomped his way into the room, his tail twitching.

“Ha.”

Roke glowered at the unwelcome intruder. “What now?”

“I have sensed her,” Levet announced.

“Sensed who?”

“Yannah.”

Sally stepped toward the gargoyle in surprise. “She’s returned?”

“Non, but I can track her.”

Roke’s annoyance abruptly faded. It was about damned time.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” he told the demon who’d been a constant pain in the ass over past three weeks.

Sally sent him a chiding frown. “Roke.”

Impervious as always to being insulted, Levet moved to take Sally’s hand.

“Au revoir, ma belle,” he murmured, kissing her fingers. “I suspect that our paths will cross again.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Roke growled, trembling as he watched the tiny demon waddle from the room.

Logically he understood the gargoyle was no threat.

Sally had no romantic interest in the aggravating pest.

But the mating wasn’t about logic.

It was about raw male possession that couldn’t bear to see another man near his woman.

Tossing the music box on the nearby bed, Roke prowled forward. He needed to touch his mate.

To replace the scent of another creature with his own.

Easily sensing his laser focus, Sally inched backward, not halting until she was flat against the wall.

“What are you doing?”

“All alone.” He halted a mere breath from her stiff body, his hands gently stroking over her shoulders and down her arms. “At last.”

“Roke.”

Lost in the heady scent of peaches and warm female desire, Roke almost missed the distant roar of an engine.

Then, realizing there could be only one explanation for the sound, he charged toward the window and threw open the shutters.

“Damn,” he hissed.

Sally was swiftly at his side. “What?”

“That winged lump of granite stole my bike.”