“Out of respect for their brethren’s spells. Plus, those hex-hacks are likely to run into bounties on their own heads as well. None of them want to face the Gaolers.”
“What’s so scary about them?” Mirceo asked. “They sound like your typical Lorean gang.”
“They’re demigod wraiths who act as a type of Lore patrol. They quarantine contagious Loreans, capture any humans about to broadcast proof of our world, and dispatch evil immortals to lifelong torments.”
“Contagious Loreans?”
Caspion nodded. “Plague-stricken vampires, ghouls, zombies. There’s a reason why Wendigos haven’t overrun the mortal plane.”
“Where are these bounties taken?” Mirceo asked.
“No one knows for sure, but some whisper of an immortal prison.”
Mirceo stiffened. “Mortals put my uncle in such a place.” Even an ancient immortal like Lothaire had barely gotten out alive.
“This is supposed to be an entire dimension, but no one can confirm or deny its existence. Bottom line: The Gaolers are not the type of beings you want to come in contact with.”
“I have no fear of facing them. I’ve done no evil. Well, not an excessive amount of evil.” Mirceo shrugged. “You’ve outlined some considerable challenges to my bounty. More and more, this operation—or op, as we bounty hunters like to say—is beginning to sound like a heist. Fortunately for us, I am a vampire of many talents. Even nonsexual ones.”
“You’re not listening. . . .” Caspion pinched the bridge of his nose.
“How do you know so much about this?”
“Over the last five centuries, whenever I heard a hunter was going after Harea, I traced to edge of that valley to study the attempt. The Wendigos took out most. The gulgs got the rest. Only one—a winged volar demon—neared the pyramid’s mystical barrier. The scyllas snatched him down. These were all talented hunters, often men I knew. I watched them try, and I watched them die. And now you must participate in this hunt or you’ll be killed!” He stabbed his fingers through his tousled hair. “Mirceo, I can’t simply fix this for you.”
“So either way I’m damned?”
Caspion rasped, “Yes.”
“There, there.” He patted the demon’s shoulder. “If I’m on borrowed time, we should get going. One last adventure!”
Caspion’s eyes widened. “You impulsive, rash child, are you eager to die?”
“I did put some thought into this.” At the demon’s disbelieving look, he said, “I plan to float right past all the security protocols. The only danger would be in dying from boredom.”
“Arrogant leechling. What are you talking about?”
“Would a sorcerer have the foresight to protect against the abilities of a ‘mythical’ species? Dacians can turn themselves into mist. Now that you’ve blooded me, I can turn you as well.”
Caspion’s lips parted on a breath.
Mirceo grinned at his reaction. “Not such an impulsive leechling after all, am I?”
Recovering from his surprise, he said, “If you lost your focus like you did in that Forbearer skirmish, you’d be dead. I won’t always be able to protect you.”
Mirceo squared his shoulders. “I’ll hold my own, demon. You forget, I’m not asking you for permission. I am inviting you—on my op. Perhaps I should invite another hunter?” He turned toward the entrance of the tavern.
Making a sound of frustration, the demon traced in front of him. “Even if we somehow breached the fortress, we’d still have to subdue the sorcerer, and Harea is not just some random Poly warlord. I have mystical restraints that will dampen his magic, but until we shackle him, we’re at risk.”
“What powers does he possess?”
“He’s the Sorceri King of Sand, which means he controls every grain of it. Trust me when I say he’s got a lot of ammunition on Poly. And he’s ancient—some say his sorcery created the great pyramids.”
“He sounds like a heavy-hitter. Luckily, we are as well. You’re a five-century-old death demon who’s racked up a legion of kills, and I’m a Dacian, which is enough said. We are going to be unstoppable.”
“You’re truly serious about this.” Exhaling a long breath, Caspion said, “Fine. I’ll help you, saving your ass yet again.”
Part of him was shocked that Caspion had agreed. “Excellent.”
Pointing his forefinger at Mirceo’s face, the demon said, “You do not speak to anyone there. Do not look at anyone. Do not touch anything.”
“Yes, sir!” Mirceo said, fighting a smile. “Any other commands?”
“Yeah. Put on a fucking shirt.”
SIXTEEN
The winds in Poly could scour skin down to the bone. Mirceo’s bared chest wasn’t going to cut it.
Once the vampire had returned from donning a form-fitting black shirt, he flashed Cas his rakish grin. “Do I pass muster?” he asked, all too aware of his sex appeal.
Cas had seen him wield it like a weapon. “You’ll do,” he said dismissively, though his cock had stirred from just that grin. “It’s impossible to predict Poly’s day and night from this realm. We could be heading into noonday sun, so I’ll trace you to a shelter first.” The few bars there were filled with deadly beings—who could prove just as lethal to Mirceo as the sun—so Cas would have to take him to his former home. “We might have to wait it out.”
More waiting on Poly? Just when Cas had thought he was free of that hellhole, he got sucked back in.
Were they actually going to do this? Wasn’t like they had a choice. For a male who revered options, Cas had none—because Mirceo had behaved with such recklessness. Expected, considering his age.
Did Cas want that bounty? Of course. But he also recalled how he’d felt watching Mirceo fight. So much risk. Exhaling with resignation, he gripped the vampire’s arm, then teleported him to an isolated cave in the northern mountains of Poly.
Cas released him and crossed the dark toward a lantern. As light chased away the gloom, he tried to see the place through Mirceo’s eyes.
The area was spartan and organized with military precision. Trunks of weapons and gear lined one wall. Peat logs lined another. The bed consisted of furs piled atop a raised shelf of rock. Beside the nearby fire pit, smoke stains stretched up to the cavern ceiling.
Outside, the winds howled, whipping the flap of canvas that served as a door. Caspion traced to the flap, peering out. “It’s night, but not late enough.” He returned to sit on a trunk. “We’ll head out in an hour.”
The vampire meandered through the cave. “Was this one of your camps?”
What insights into Cas’s private life could a clever male like Mirceo gain from this visit? “You’re looking at home sweet home.”
“You lived in this dismal little cave for centuries?” The spoiled princeling’s tone was aghast.
“Unlike you, I don’t need much.” Cas was used to little.
“Why did you leave gear here?” The vampire traced to one of the trunks, opening the lid.
“Always good to have a bolt hole.”