What the hell had happened to his life?
A mate that wasn’t a mate. A three foot gargoyle side-kick. And a clan that had been without their chief for far too long.
“She’s there,” he murmured, his gaze skimming over the creature’s ugly mug. Levet had all the usual gargoyle features. Gray skin, horns, a small snout, and a tail he kept lovingly polished. It was only his delicate wings and diminutive size that marked him as different. Oh, and his appalling lack of control over his magic. Roke turned back to the cottage where he could catch the distinctive scent of peaches. A primitive heat seared through him, drawing him forward. “I have you, little witch.”
Scampering to keep up with his long, silent strides, Levet tugged at the hem of his jacket.
“Umm . . . Roke?”
“Not now, gargoyle.” Roke never paused as he made his way toward the back of the cottage. “I’ve spent the past three weeks being led around like a damned hound on the leash. I intend to savor the moment.”
“While you’re savoring, I hope that you will recall Sally must have a good reason for—”
“Her reason is to drive me nuts,” Roke interrupted, pausing at the side of the shed. “I promised her that we would go in search of her father. Together.”
“Oui. But when?”
Roke clenched his teeth. “In case you’ve forgotten, she nearly died when the—”
“Vampire-god.”
Roke grimaced. The creature that they’d so recently battled might have claimed to be the first vampire, but that didn’t make him a god. The bastard had nearly killed Sally in an attempt to break the magic that held him captive.
“When the ancient spirit attacked her,” he snapped. “She should be grateful that I was willing to wait for her to regain her strength.”
Levet cleared his throat. “And that is the only reason you tried to keep her imprisoned?”
“She wasn’t imprisoned,” he denied, refusing to recall his panic when Sally had lain unconscious for hours.
Or his fierce reluctance to allow Sally to leave Styx’s lair.
“Non?” Levet clicked his tongue, seemingly oblivious to how close Roke was to yanking that tongue out of his mouth. “I would have sworn she was locked in the dungeons.”
“Not after Gaius was destroyed.”
“You mean after she saved the world from the vampire-god?” the gargoyle taunted. “Generous of you.”
Oh yeah. The tongue was going to have to go.
“Don’t push me, gargoyle,” he muttered, allowing his senses to spread outward.
He would deal with the aggravating gargoyle later.
Testing the air, he caught the scent of salty foam as waves crashed against the rocks below, the acrid tang of smoke from the chimney, and a distant perfume of a water sprite playing among the whales.
But overriding it all was that tantalizing aroma of warm peaches.
A potent aphrodisiac that once again compelled him forward.
Levet grabbed his back pocket. “Where are you going?”
Roke didn’t miss a step as he swatted the pest away. “To get my mate.”
“I do not believe that is a good idea.”
“Thankfully I don’t give a shit what you think.”
“Très bien,” the gargoyle sniffed. “You are the panty boss.”
“Bossy-pants, you idiot,” Roke muttered, heading directly for the back door.
He’d officially run out of patience twenty-one days and several thousand miles ago.
Which would explain why he didn’t even consider the fact Sally might be prepared for his arrival.
Less than a foot from the back steps he was brought to a painful halt as an invisible net of magic wrapped around him, the bands of air so tight they would have sliced straight through him if he’d been human.
“What the hell?”
Levet waddled forward, his wings twitching as he studied Roke with open curiosity.
“A magical snare. Sacrebleu. I’ve never seen one so strong.”
Roke flashed his fangs, futilely struggling to escape.
Damn, but he hated magic.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” he snarled.
“I did,” the gargoyle huffed in outrage. “I told you it was a bad idea.”
Okay, he hated magic and gargoyles.
“You didn’t tell me there was a trap.”
“You are chasing a powerful witch. What did you expect?” The damned beast dared to smile. “Besides, it’s such a fine spell. It would have been a pity to spoil Sally’s fun.”
“I swear, gargoyle, when I get out of here—”
“Are all vampires always so bad-tempered, or is it just you?” a light female voice demanded, the scent of peaches drenching the air.
Roke swallowed a groan, a complex mixture of fury, lust, and savage relief surging through him.
None of it showed on his face as he turned to study the tiny female with shoulder-length hair that was a blend of deep red tresses streaked with gold. She had pale, almost fragile features with velvet brown eyes and full lips that begged to be kissed.
“Hello, my love,” he said in a low, husky voice. “Did you miss me?”
Sally Grace had been well aware that she was being hunted.
Not only hunted . . . but hunted by a first class, grade A, always-get-my-man predator.
And she should know all about predators.
She’d been prey since her mother had tried to put an end to her existence with a particularly nasty spell on her sixteenth birthday. No one understood the difference between an okay hunter and one you didn’t have a hope in hell of shaking off your trail better than she did.
Still, she’d managed to elude him for the past three weeks.
Twenty-one days longer than she’d expected.
Now she intended to hold her ground.
No one was putting her back in a cell.
Planting her hands on her hips, she pretended a confidence she was far from feeling.
“Why are you following me?”
His beautiful eyes shimmered a perfect silver in the moonlight.
Of course, everything about him was perfect, she acknowledged with a renegade rush of awareness.
The exquisitely carved features. The dark hair that was silky smooth. The hard, chiseled body that should only be possible with photo-shop.
And the raw, sexual magnetism that pulsed in the air around him.
There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t secretly wish he’d handcuff her to the nearest bed.
A pity he was a cold-hearted vampire who would happily kill her if her magic hadn’t tied them together as mates.
She shivered despite the heavy sweatshirt and jeans she wore to combat the cold.
“Is that a joke?”
She tilted her chin. “There’s nothing funny about our situation.”
“I agree.”
“Then why don’t you return to Chicago?” she demanded in frustration. “I’m perfectly capable of tracking down my father without you.”
A dark brow arched. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“The last time you went rogue we ended up mated.” His lips twisted as he stopped struggling and instead stood there with his head held high, pride etched onto his beautiful face. As if he was above noticing her tedious spell. “Forgive me if I don’t entirely trust you.”
Sally flinched, her eyes narrowing. Dammit. She didn’t need any reminders that she was a major screw-up.
Not when she was tired and frustrated and in the mood to punch something.
Really, really hard.
“Sacrebleu,” a voice rasped, drawing Sally’s attention to the tiny gargoyle standing at Roke’s side. “You may have a death wish, vampire, but I do not. I believe I will speak with Yannah.”