Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity)

Chapter Four


Sally watched Roke pace the claustrophobic confines of her childhood bedroom. She shivered. He was like a caged panther.

One that could devour her in one vicious bite.

If she was smart she would keep her mouth shut and wait for an opportunity to once again escape.

But of course, she wasn’t that smart.

The impulse to needle the annoyed vampire was simply too irresistible.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” she said. “It was just a motorcycle.”

His pacing came to an abrupt halt, his expression one of horror.

“Just a motorcycle?” he growled in disbelief. “It was a custom-built, turbine motorcycle that cost half a million dollars.”

“A half a million?” She gave a choked cough. Sheesh. Being a vampire obviously paid better than being a witch. She had less than twenty bucks to her name. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Why?” He shrugged. “I like speed.”

“Yeah, well I like diamonds, but I wouldn’t spend a half million on one,” she muttered.

Without warning the silver eyes darkened. “I would.”

“You would what?”

“I would spend half a million on diamonds if it pleased you,” he said, his voice low, rough.

Her mouth went dry. “I was just kidding.”

“I’m not.” With a fluid movement he was standing directly before her, his fingers trailing down the curve of her throat. “This satin skin should be draped in the finest gems.” His brooding gaze followed his fingers as they traced the loose neckline of her sweatshirt. “And champagne.”

Excitement tingled through her body, her nipples tightening with unspoken need.

She struggled to think clearly.

“Champagne?”

“I have a rare bottle of Dom Perignon I intend to lick off your body.”

Her gaze lowered to the sensuous promise of his mouth, the vivid image of being stretched on the bed while he licked her from head to toe stealing her breath.

He would be slow, thorough, wickedly skilled.

Oh . . . hell.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

No sex with the yummy, aggravating vampire.

Even if it was fantasy sex.

With an effort she forced her reluctant feet to take a step backward, breaking contact with his destructive touch.

“I don’t suppose there’s any reason to linger here,” she mumbled, awkwardly tugging at her sweatshirt.

There was a flash of fang as Roke struggled to regain control of his own hungers, assuring Sally that whatever was happening between them wasn’t one-sided.

Did the knowledge please or terrify her?

Impossible to say.

“Have you considered the fact that our only means of transportation was my motorcycle you so recently mocked?” he demanded.

Well, of course she hadn’t considered that fact. She’d been zapped around the country by Yannah for the past three weeks, she hadn’t had to consider transportation.

She frowned. “The village—”

“Is locked up tight for the night,” he interrupted.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to hotwire a car.”

His brow arched. “And you feel up to walking the fifteen miles in the cold?”

Her lips parted to point out that he could easily carry her that distance only to snap shut.

Roke was as aware as she was of the option.

Which meant that he intended to make her beg for his help.

Yeah. Hell would freeze over first.

“Then what do you suggest?” she instead gritted.

“Cyn will be here by tomorrow night.” He glanced toward the window that overlooked the bleak, windswept emptiness that surrounded the cottage. “This is as good a place as any for meeting.”


Tomorrow? She shook her head. “I thought you said he was in Ireland?”

“He is.”

“Is he a magical vampire?”

He snorted. “No, just one with a private jet that’s built specifically to carry vampires even during the day. Once he arrives in Canada he’ll use a helicopter to reach us.”

She blinked. Somehow she’d never considered vampires jet-setting around the world.

Stupid considering they’d embraced every other technology.

Now she was going to be stuck in the cramped cottage with yet another vampire.

Of course . . .

Her heart gave a sudden leap. There were options.

Sensing Roke’s sudden suspicion, Sally grimly slowed her pulse and smoothed her expression.

“The marvels of modern technology,” she said in deliberately light tones.

He narrowed his gaze, but thankfully didn’t press for an answer.

“Is there anything you need before the sun rises?”

She shrugged. “Where do I start?”

“Food? Clothing?”

“A wooden stake?” she sweetly added.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he snapped with a sudden burst of impatience. “Have you eaten dinner?”

She hesitated. Had she?

The past days had been a blur.

“I think I had an apple earlier,” she at last said.

“Come.”

She should have been used to his lightning movements, but it still caught her off guard when he captured her hand and ruthlessly tugged her out of the bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

His pace never faltered. “Making sure you take better care of yourself.”

She tried to tug her hand free. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I need to do this, Sally.” Coming to a halt in the center of the sitting room he whirled to face her, shoving up the sleeve of her sweatshirt to reveal the intricate crimson tattoo that ran beneath the skin of her inner forearm. “So long as you carry my mark, I’m compelled to protect you.”

Her irritation at being yanked around like a misbehaving child faded as the ever-present guilt returned.

Because of her demon powers they both carried the mating mark. And Roke was instinctively forced to fulfill his role as her own personal champion.

She heaved a rueful sigh. “Even from myself?”

“Especially from yourself,” he dryly agreed.

“Fine.” She waved a hand toward the kitchen. “I don’t think Levet could have eaten all the food.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “Clearly you underestimate the appetites of the stunted creature.”

She was struck by a sudden thought. “Yannah insisted that we bring extra. Do you think she knew Levet was coming?”

“More than likely. She’s a strange demon.” He grimaced, giving her hand a gentle tug as he steered her toward a nearby chair. “Sit and I’ll serve you.”

She sank onto the worn cushion, telling herself that it was easier to give in to the stubborn man than to continue a worthless fight. But deep in her heart she knew that wasn’t the entire reason for her capitulation.

The truth was that she was hungry.

Ravenous.

For the first time in three weeks her mouth was watering and her stomach growling at the mention of food.

Crap. Was Roke right?

Was she one of those demons who couldn’t physically tolerate being away from their mates?

No. She shook her head in fierce denial.

Not even her luck was that crappy.

Was it?

Refusing to contemplate the hideous thought, Sally pretended she didn’t notice the satisfaction on Roke’s face when he returned to the room and she nearly snatched the plate loaded with shepherd’s pie and apple pie from his hand.

Instead she polished off the mound of food while he efficiently added logs to the fire she’d started when she’d first arrived at the cabin.

Setting aside the empty plate, Sally covertly watched as Roke straightened and wiped his hands on his jeans.

As always his dark, brooding beauty was like a punch to her gut.

The clean, perfect lines of his male profile.

The rich luster of his dark hair.

The sculpted hardness of his body.

“What about you?” she asked before she could halt the words.

Turning, he studied her with his piercing silver gaze. “I have no craving for apple pie.”

The air prickled with the smoldering awareness that never truly went away.

“If you need to feed—”

“Are you offering?” he overrode her words, his voice rough.

A shudder of eagerness shook her body at the thought of his fangs sinking deep into her flesh, her blood heating as if preparing to feed her mate.

The sheer intensity of her reaction made her shake her head in horrified denial.

“Of course not.”

His jaw tightened at her blunt refusal.

“Don’t worry, little witch, as I said earlier, as much as I hunger for the taste of you, I’m not going to risk making this permanent.”

Ridiculously, Sally was instantly offended by his equally blunt response.

“Good,” she snapped. “Because I can’t think of a worse fate.”





Roke swallowed a growl as he watched Sally surge to her feet and jerkily move across the room.

The woman was a menace.

One minute she was looking at him as if she wanted him to devour her and the next she was acting as if he’d crawled from beneath a rock.

Was it any wonder he didn’t know if he wanted to shake some sense into her or jerk her off her feet and wrap those slender legs around his waist so he could plunge deep into her body?

Still seething, he frowned in confusion when she came to a halt in front of a blank wall. It was only when he noticed the charred darkness that marred the wood that he was struck by a sudden pang of regret.

“Damn.” He shoved frustrated fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

“Think about what?”

“This cottage holds nothing but nightmares for you.” He grimaced. “It’s no wonder you can’t relax.”

She slowly turned, her expression oddly puzzled.

“You’re right, I can’t relax,” she muttered. “But, it’s not the memories that bother me.”

He stiffened, assuming she was once again insulting him. It was, after all, her favorite pastime.

“I’m not leaving.”

She absently shook her head. “For once, it’s not you either.”

He moved to stand directly in front of her. “Tell me.”

“I am . . .” She struggled for the words. “Not really sure.”

He placed a hand on her forehead, sensing her barely leashed unease.

“Are you ill?”

“No.”

“Talk to me, Sally,” he urged.

“It’s difficult to explain.” She furrowed her brow. “I didn’t even realize I was being affected until you said something.”

He tensed, his senses on full alert as he caught the scent of her subtle fear.

“Affected how?”

“It feels like there’s been a change in the air.” Her fingers absently stroked the mating mark that he’d exposed when he’d shoved up her sleeve. It was a habit he’d formed himself. Comfort? Confusion? Usually it was a combination of both. “Something that’s nagging at me.”

He forced himself to concentrate on her concern. “How do you feel it?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Is it a taste, a sound, a premonition?”

“Oh.” She considered. “It’s magic,” she at last concluded.

He grimaced.


Of course it was.

“Your magic?”

“No.” The denial was emphatic. “It’s not human.”

Roke glanced toward the window, allowing his powers to flow outward. He could pick up a few distant water sprites and an even more distant pack of hellhounds, but none of them were close enough to disturb Sally with their magic.

So what could be . . .

The answer struck without warning.

“Fey?” he demanded.

Sally was too intelligent not to instantly follow his train of thoughts.

“You think it might be the box?”

“When did you start to feel the change? Before or after the spell was broken?”

She chewed her bottom lip, silently searching her memory.

“After,” she finally pronounced. Roke whirled away, headed for the bedroom. “Hey, where you going?”

“To get the box.”

She was directly behind him as he reached the bed and plucked the box off the quilt.

“Do you think it might be dangerous?”

He wasn’t idiotic enough to admit he thought anything to do with magic was dangerous.

He’d already made his opinion of witches painfully clear when they first met.

Now wasn’t the time to remind her of his initial prejudices.

“I think that if you can feel the magic, then so can others,” he said. “Thankfully this place is isolated enough that it shouldn’t attract too much attention.”

“We could toss it off the cliff.”

He met her worried gaze. “I have a nasty suspicion it would find a way back to you.”

She shivered, clearly considering the perfectly logical tactic of running the hell away, before calling on that remarkable courage that alternately impressed and infuriated him.

“I suppose I could try to put a dampening spell around it,” she suggested.

“That might help.” He studied her pale face. “Do you have what you need?”

She gave a slow nod. “I think so. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

In silence they made their way through the cottage, Roke stepping aside as she began bustling around the large room, with an efficiency that spoke of years of practice. Soon she had a small chalice filled with dried herbs and strange ingredients. She filled a second chalice with a potion she pulled from one of the cupboards then took both to the center of the circle.

Next she gathered a dozen candles, carefully spacing them around the circle before she walked toward him and held out her hand.

Reluctantly he handed over the box.

It wasn’t just his dislike for magic that made him edgy. He understood that it was necessary to try to muffle the fey magic.

But while she was performing her spell, she would be cut off from him.

Completely and utterly.

It was the sort of thing that made any mate crazy.

In an effort to distract his growing discomfort, he moved to watch her set the box in the center of the circle and then slowly begin to light each candle.

“Why can you speak some spells and others you have to cast?”

“Like vampires, every witch has her own strengths,” she answered even as her attention remained on completing her delicate task. “My talent lies in molding the environment.”

He recalled her earlier words. “That’s how you set the curtains on fire?”

“Yes.” An absent nod as she grabbed the chalice filled with the dark potion and walked along the inner perimeter of the circle, dribbling the potion on the flickering flames. “And how I put the protective bubble around the box.”

He grimaced as the candles hissed and a strange stench filled the air.

“A bubble of what?”

She shrugged. “Weaves of air.”

He shifted nervously, his gaze clinging to the delicate perfection of her profile and unconscious grace of her movements. Any second he was going to snap and yank her out of that circle. Distraction. He needed a distraction. Pronto.

“How is a dampening spell different?”

She completed the ritual and set aside the bowl.

“I’m going to try to blend the glyphs in a stew of magic.”

“Stew?”

“Stew is a mixture of tastes so it’s difficult to pick out one ingredient.”

“Ah.” It made an odd sort of sense.

She knelt beside the box, sending him a warning glance. “I’m going to raise a protective shield around the circle now. Don’t try to come near me.”

She lifted her hands, but as she began to chant soft words Roke went rigid with an unexpected alarm.

“Sally,” he hissed.

She frowned with impatience. “I’m just starting.”

“There’s something outside.”

Her eyes widened. “Levet?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

He concentrated on the vague presence that had arrived outside the cottage without warning.

The intruder was demon, but the scent kept shifting, as if it weren’t entirely stable.

“I can’t . . .”

He gave a frustrated shake of his head, reaching to pull the large dagger he kept holstered beneath his leather jacket. Then, turning toward the back door, he braced for an assault.

Not that being prepared did a damned bit of good when the attack came.

How did you fight a wave of sonic vibrations that shuddered through the air?

Clenching his teeth, he ignored the damage to his soft tissue that was already healing, whirling to discover Sally bent over, blood running from her ears and nose.

“Shit.”

Forcing herself back to a kneeling position, Sally waved an impatient hand.

“Get in the circle.”

He didn’t hesitate. Sally might want to strangle him, but she wouldn’t put the protective shield until he was safely beside her.

Leaping over the candles, he knelt next to her trembling body.

“Now.”