He needed to know now what they were planning.
The sooner the better.
“Bring him to me,” he softly commanded, turning back to meet the imp’s horrified gaze.
“What?”
Anthony picked a piece of lint off the sleeve of his smoking jacket, waiting for the imp to gather his composure.
“I believe you heard me,” he at last murmured.
“Why me?”
“You have a connection to Styx, don’t you?”
Keeley made a strangled sound, clearly not overjoyed at the promise of being reunited with his vampire friends.
“Not one that’s likely to endear me to him,” he managed to choke out. “He blamed my cousin Damocles for the destruction of the previous Anasso and he won’t have forgotten that I was related to him. He’ll kill me if I return to America.”
“Nonsense.” Anthony clicked his tongue. The fey, even half fey were annoyingly dramatic. “If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“But—”
“Keeley, find a way to make him invite you into his home,” he interrupted, his voice deceptively gentle. “I need to know if they’ve somehow managed to discover my plans.”
The stench of cherries made Anthony’s nose wrinkle as the imp fought his instinct to refuse the direct command.
A wise choice.
The vampire might kill him, but Anthony . . . ah, he would make the imp wish he were dead . . . over and over again.
“And if they have learned that you’ve been interfering with the Commission?”
A good question.
Anthony reached for his glass of whiskey he’d left on a small table next to the chair.
Unfortunately he didn’t have a good answer.
“Then I suppose we will have to accelerate our timetable.”
Keeley frowned. “Is that possible?”
“You sound concerned.” Anthony sipped his whiskey, capturing the imp’s nervous gaze. “You aren’t getting cold feet, are you?”
“No.” Keeley took a nervous step backward. Smart imp. “Of course not.”
“Then bring me the Chatri.”
Draining the whiskey, Anthony set aside the glass and headed toward the door. He was stepping into the formal gallery when he heard Keeley mutter behind him, “Bastard.”
Anthony shrugged. The imp wasn’t wrong.
He was a bastard.
Chapter Three
Fallon gasped when Siljar disappeared as swiftly as she’d appeared.
One second she was patting Cyn’s arm and the next . . . poof.
No smoke. No mirrors. No abracadabra.
Just there and then gone.
Damn.
What was wrong with her?
She should have insisted that the powerful demon return her to her homeland. Even with Sariel’s interference she could have kept watch on the Commission. It wasn’t as if she’d ever let her father or fiancé interfere in her fascination with scrying before.
It was easy to tell herself that it was the shock of waking up in a strange cave with a dangerous vampire, swiftly followed by the appearance of an Oracle demanding her help in spying on the Commission, that had rattled her brain. How could any poor female think clearly under such circumstances?
But a part of her knew that she’d allowed herself to be steamrolled by the tiny Oracle quite simply because she didn’t want to go home.
She’d spent centuries trapped in the glorious palace her father had created. She’d been petted and pampered and . . .
Trapped.
And worse, she’d known deep in her heart that she would never escape.
Not so long as her father considered the pure-blooded Chatri above the lesser fey.
So was it really surprising that she would be reluctant to give up this unexpected miracle even if it meant enduring the company of an obnoxious vampire?
It wasn’t like she had to actually work next to him.
He was a clan chief. His lair should be large enough for them never to cross paths, right?
As if to prove her point, Cyn was abruptly heading toward the far end of the cave, his face grim although he held the scroll with obvious care.
Far more care than he was willing to give her. Jackass. With a swift step, Fallon had moved to place herself directly in his path.
“Where are you going?”
He came to a grudging halt, his gaze narrowed. “To have a shower.”
“What about me?”
He shrugged. “Aren’t you supposed to be spying on the Oracles or something?”
Her fists clenched. She’d never hit anyone before, but now seemed a good time to start.
“Now look here, you big lug—”
“You have an obsessive fascination with my size.” He ran a slow, deliberate gaze down her tense body before leaning forward to whisper directly in her ear, “In case you’re interested, I’m large everywhere.”
The brush of his lips against her skin sent darts of white-hot excitement sizzling through her.
How was that possible?
She’d lived with the most beautiful men in the world. Her own fiancé, Magnus, was breathtaking. But never, ever had one of them made her so acutely aware of being a woman. As if Cyn had some magical ability to arouse her darkest, most intimate desires.