Conquer the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Yes.” Ulric gave a slow nod, feeling a pang of guilt. How could he have ever been jealous of Chiron’s devotion to Tarak? The vampire would never have been capable of offering Ulric a home if he hadn’t been taught to care for others. “It’s rare to have a master you can also call a brother,” he said in rough tones.

  Something in his voice must have alerted Rainn that he was struggling to stay upright.

  “You need to rest,” she said, reaching out to grasp his arm. “I’ll keep watch.”

  “There’s no need,” he assured her.

  She tugged him toward the bed. “We don’t know how long it will take Zella and Brigette to dig out of the burrow.”

  Ulric willingly moved forward, flopping onto the mattress. It was that or collapse into a puddle of goopy exhaustion.

  “The tunnel will flood with the afternoon tide,” he reminded her.

  Rainn frowned, busily crossing to the bottom of the bed to grab a blanket that was miraculously pristine. More magic.

  “That won’t stop them,” she said, laying the blanket over his body.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as he sank into the mattress. His body was starting to hurt. Everywhere.

  “No, but the waves will erase our scent,” he said.

  “Okay.” She straightened, her eyes growing misty.

  A sure sign she was doing some sort of magic. Perhaps a web of air over the door. Or some invisible alarm system. That was fine with Ulric.

  He wasn’t offended. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust his judgment. She simply needed the security of her own magic protecting the hidden lair.

  Reaching up, he grabbed her hand. The small movement wrenched his side, making him gasp in pain.

  “I should go for help,” she breathed.

  The mere thought of her leaving the lair without him sent a jolt of panic through Ulric.

  “No, I just need to rest.” Before she could guess his intent, he gave a sharp tug on her hand.

  She toppled onto the mattress, her expression annoyed even as she took care not to struggle against his grip. Was she afraid she would hurt him?

  “You aren’t this weak just because you’re tired,” she protested. “That woman must have poisoned you. I need to find someone—”

  He interrupted. “There’s actually another explanation.”

  She stilled, gazing at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  Ulric hesitated. He didn’t want to tell her what was bothering him. Hell, he was trying to pretend that it was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

  But the fear that she might take off while he was sleeping meant he had to reveal the truth.

  “What do you know about werewolves?” he asked.

  “About as much as you know about zephyrs.” She tried to tease. Did she sense the gravity of what he was about to tell her? “I know that Weres are born from pureblooded werewolves, while curs are humans who are transformed by the bite of a Were. Oh, and that you’re short-tempered, impulsive, and arrogant.”

  He pretended to be outraged. “Short-tempered? I’m as mild as a—”

  “Rabid dog?” she interrupted.

  “I’m only rabid when someone pisses me off.”

  “Hmm.” Her expression softened. “I also know you’re loyal and fiercely protective of those you consider a part of your pack.”

  “That part is true.”

  Ulric carefully rolled onto his side so they were face-to-face. A mistake. He was instantly consumed with the acute awareness that seethed between them.

  Sensations tingled through parts of him that shouldn’t be tingled. At least not at this precise moment.

  She was so…perfect. The pale beauty of her face. The misty gray eyes. The satin sheen of her dark hair. The fragile exterior that hid the steel beneath.

  And that scent…He sucked in a deep breath, allowing it to sink deep inside him.

  “Does this have something to do with your wound?” she demanded.

  Unable to resist temptation, he reached out to brush a silky strand of hair from her cheek. “It does.”

  She froze, as if shocked by his light touch. “Ulric?”

  His fingers skimmed downward, tracing the line of her jaw. “Werewolf females are strong. And when they are protecting their young there’s nothing more lethal,” he murmured. “But they don’t have the same brute power of a male.”

  She studied him with blatant concern. As if wondering if he was slipping into delirium. “Are you talking about Brigette?”

  “I’m talking about females in general.”

  “I thought we were discussing your wound.”

  He moved his hand to rest against the side of her neck. She was right. He did have a fever. He could feel it burning through his blood. But it wasn’t the result of his wound. Or at least, not entirely.

  “Rainn.” His lips twisted with a humorless smile. “I’m making a disaster of this.”

  “I think you have a fever,” she warned. “You should sleep.”

  Ulric swallowed a humorless laugh. The few times he’d considered this memorable moment, he’d assumed he’d have created the perfect setting. A romantic dinner for two. Candles. Expensive wine. Flowers piled around the room.

  Instead they were on the run from a crazed spirit who was polluting the land. Hidden in a damp cave. And he was wounded and weak as a kitten.

  Pathetic.

  “I will rest,” he promised. “But first you need to know what’s happening to me.”

  She paused before giving a reluctant nod. “Okay.”

  His fingers traced the neckline of her sweater. It was soft, but not as soft as her pale skin.

  “It’s…” He faltered. How did you explain destiny? “Biology,” he at last said, only to shake his head in frustration. That wasn’t it. At least, that was only a small part of it. “Or perhaps it’s magic,” he amended. “Either way, it’s a maddeningly wonderful thing.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath as his finger slid beneath the sweater to skim over the gentle swell of her breast. “Why is that?”

  Ulric smiled. Her voice was unsteady as her heartbeat quickened. She wasn’t immune to his touch.

  “It ensures that when a male Were finds his true mate, he’s incapable of forcing her to accept him,” he murmured.

  Her eyes darkened to smoke even as the scent of a spring rain spiked with arousal swirled through the cave. “How?”

  He ran his fingers back up the curve of her throat. His fangs ached to be buried in her soft flesh. He didn’t drink blood like a vampire, but his wolf was eager to claim this female. The primitive need to mark her was vibrating through his body.

  “Until she accepts him, his power is leashed,” he told her.

  “So.” She wrinkled her brow. “You think the wound is causing your body to think it has found its mate?”

  Ulric swallowed his growl. Was she being deliberately obtuse? Surely she had to know that he was talking about her? Then, with an effort, he reminded himself that Rainn wasn’t a werewolf. All of this was new to her.

  “No.” He firmly denied the suggestion that this was a trick of magic. “The weakness started before I was scratched.”

  She continued to study him in confusion. “Brigette?”

  “Goddess, no!” he roared. Even if Brigette hadn’t turned out to be a treacherous, evil bitch, he would never have felt the urge to mate with her.

  They were family.

  She blinked at his fierce response. “It can’t be Zella.”

  “Enough,” he snapped, thoroughly ruffled. If he’d thought this whole revelation of his mating urges had started off bad, it was now skidding toward complete disaster. “You know who it is, Rainn.”

  She sharply shook her head, her hands pressing against his chest. “No.”

&nbs
p; Ulric flinched. Then he groaned as the sudden movement tugged at his wound. He’d considered mortals to be incessant whiners. They always seemed to have some ache or pain.

  Now he had a new appreciation for lesser beings who didn’t automatically heal.

  It not only felt like a hot poker was being shoved in his side, but it was draining with alarming tenacity what little strength he had left.

  Forcing himself to count to ten, he managed to study Rainn with commendable calm. Yay, him.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I’m not a Were.”

  His gaze swept over her delicate features and down her slender curves that were instinctively arching toward his own. Her mind might try to deny the truth of his words, but her body was obviously less conflicted.

  The knowledge sent jolts of sizzling pleasure through him. Even with the pain and weariness, his cock was hardening in anticipation.

  Still, it wasn’t enough. As much as he desired to roll her onto her back and sink deep into the moist heat between her legs, he wanted her heart. And her soul.

  Nothing less would do.

  “I know you accuse me of having more muscles than brains,” he said in dry tones. “But I’m capable of recognizing that you’re not a Were.”

  She flushed at his light teasing, but her expression remained tight with tension.

  His fingers gently cupped her cheek, a dark dread spreading through his heart.

  He hadn’t expected her to squeal with delight at his confession. Well, he might have hoped for a squeal or two. But the panic in her wide eyes felt like a punch to the gut.

  “Then how could I be your mate?” she demanded.

  He pressed his lips to the center of her forehead, silently attempting to ease her anxiety.

  “That’s a mystery beyond my comprehension,” he murmured, brushing his hand down the curve of her back.

  “When did the weakness begin?” she demanded.

  Ulric allowed his lips to drift over her temple and down to her cheek.

  “During the flight to Wales,” he admitted. “At first, I assumed I was weary from the run through the desert and then the shock of discovering that Brigette was still alive.”

  Her hands continued to lay against his chest, but they were no longer trying to push him away. Ulric was going to take that as a good sign. Right now, he was willing to cling to anything that could give him hope.

  “I’m sure that was it,” she hurriedly agreed.

  “No, it only became worse when we reached the village.”

  “Brigette must have done something to you,” she said.

  “Impossible,” he told her. “She doesn’t have magic.”

  “Zella might be able to use her as a conduit for her powers. Or maybe—”

  “Rainn.” Ulric lifted his head, gazing down at her in wary confusion. “Why are you so anxious to dismiss the idea of being my mate?”

  Her expression was impossible to read. She was better than a vampire at hiding her emotions.

  “You’ve known me for twenty years,” she said. “Why would it suddenly happen now?”

  It was a legitimate question. Unfortunately, Ulric didn’t have an answer. At least not one that made any sense to anyone who wasn’t a Were.

  “My wolf wasn’t ready.”

  She waited, as if expecting him to continue. Ulric shrugged. That was all he had.

  “And now it is?”

  He laid his hand over hers, pressing her fingers tight against his chest. She might not be able to see his animal, but he could ensure that she felt the thunder of his heart and catch the musky scent that clung to his skin.

  Inside, his wolf howled with hunger.

  “Desperately ready,” he admitted in rough tones.

  Without warning, Rainn jerked her hands away. Her face had drained to a sickly white and her eyes were dull as slate.

  “Ulric.”

  He resisted the urge to wrap her in his arms and tug her close. It wasn’t his right. Not yet.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged.

  “I can’t,” she breathed. “I just…can’t.”

  The dread solidified into a stark, riveting rejection. His wolf cringed inside him as something precious began to shrivel and die.

  He’d heard of wolves being bonded with a partner who wouldn’t or couldn’t mate with them. It wasn’t unusual for them to go into isolation. Or even will themselves to die.

  Now he understood why.

  As if sensing the soul-deep pain that was searing through him, Rainn parted her lips. Was she seeking to find the words to ease his agony?

  Blessed goddess, the only thing worse than Rainn’s rejection would be her pity.

  “Shh.” He pressed his fingers to her lips. “You don’t have to say any more.”

  “Ulric.”

  Squeezing his eyes shut to avoid her shattered expression, Ulric halted his battle against the weariness. With shocking speed a darkness rose up to crash over him. As if he’d been holding it back by sheer will.

  He was drifting into the welcome void when he felt something soft press against his lips.

  A kiss?

  His wolf whined in need, even as the man told himself he was being an idiot.

  Rainn didn’t want him.

  He was alone.

  For all eternity.

  Chapter 12

  Levet handed the book to Inga. It was tiny in her large hands, but there was something about it that made it appear bigger and heavier than it was. As if it was so important that it possessed its own aura.

  He grimaced. Only a book with enormous power could do that.

  “Can you read it?” he asked his companion.

  Inga hesitated. She could obviously sense that it wasn’t an ordinary book. Then, squaring the impressive width of her shoulders, she started to flip through the pages.

  Her heavy brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s a strange mishmash of languages.” She tilted the book so Levet could see the various glyphs that had been sketched on the fragile parchment. “Look. This is harpy,” she said. She turned to another page. “Here is troll.” She searched toward the back of the book. “And these hieroglyphs are human.”

  Levet made a sound of surprise, pointing a claw at the flowing script with an elaborate border.

  “That’s gargoyle.” He wrinkled his snout, barely capable of deciphering the words. “Really, really old gargoyle. I haven’t seen such formal writing for thousands of years.” Despite being a bunch of stodgy traditionalists, the language of the gargoyles had evolved over time. He lifted his head to meet Inga’s steady gaze. “Why would a book be written by different species?”

  “I have no idea,” she admitted. “Maybe your vampire will have an explanation. You’re welcome to take it to him.”

  “Non.”

  Inga looked confused. “Isn’t that what you came here for?”

  It was, of course. Okay, deep inside there’d been a secret, urgent desire to see Inga. But that was something he’d already decided not to ponder. Not when there was a more important reason for his need to visit this castle.

  After all, Ulric—and more importantly, Rainn—were in extreme danger. Plus, the nasty fog was destroying the land. What if it spread? Not even demons wanted to live in a toxic dump.

  “Oui, but the reason I was sent here was because the other books had been turned to Cinderellas,” he reminded her.

  “Cinders,” she corrected in absent tones.

  “Exactly.” Levet glanced around the small room. The layers of magic were a physical presence. “It is possible that removing the book from the protection of this space would leave it vulnerable to whatever destroyed the other copies.”

  “You’re right,” Inga instantly agreed. Levet inwardly preened at her readiness to accept that he was
more than just another pretty face. He had brains and talent and nutty skills. “I suppose I could bring the vampire here,” Inga continued, her tone reluctant. “But I need to warn my people. They’re still jittery after Tarak killed their king.”

  Levet was puzzled. “I thought they were celebrating Riven’s death. He was a nasty fish-man.”

  Inga gave an awkward shrug. The female might hate the previous king who’d used and abused her, but Levet sensed that she was still sensitive at the knowledge that his gruesome death at the hands of Tarak had led to her current position as queen.

  It gave “climbing the corporate ladder” a whole new meaning.

  “They were happy to have Riven off the throne, but they were disturbed to have him slaughtered by an outsider. And then I was chosen as their leader.” Inga glanced down at her solid body stuffed in the stupid, gauzy gown. She sighed. “They’ve been very isolated down here. These changes are difficult for them to accept.”

  Levet sniffed. The mer-folk were idiots if they didn’t adore their new leader.

  “Then we will decipher it ourselves,” he announced.

  “Us?”

  Why did she look surprised? Had she forgotten that he had single-handedly saved the world just a few years ago? Well, perhaps it had not been single-handed. Still, he and Inga could accomplish far more than any leech.

  “We are both intelligent demons who have traveled throughout the world,” he said.

  She held out her arm, exposing the crude tattoo carved on her wrist. “I was a slave, not a tourist.”

  “Which only means that you had to adapt to all sorts of cultures.”

  She blinked, then a wry smile curved her lips. “I suppose that’s true.” With a determined step she moved to the corner of the room. Placing the book on the flat surface of a small desk, she waited for Levet to hop onto a chair so he could see.

  “Do you smell that?” Levet demanded, reaching to touch the pyramids carved into the leather of the front cover.

  She nodded. “Blood.”

  “Human blood.”

  Opening the book, Inga slowly turned the pages instead of flipping through them. There were several drawings. Most looked like a river that was painted a strange green. Like it was contaminated with an icky sludge.