Darkness Returns

by Alexandra Ivy

  His words were cut off as the door to the study was thrown open and Levet stepped inside.

  “I have arrived,” the tiny demon announced in a booming voice.

  Levet wasn’t what most people expected of a gargoyle.

  He had the usual grotesque features, the thick gray skin, the reptilian eyes, the horns, and the cloven hoofs. He even had a long tail he polished on a regular basis. But he was barely three-foot tall, and he possessed a pair of delicate fairy wings that shimmered in vibrant reds and blues with veins of gold. Even worse, his magic was as combustible as a harpy’s temper, and he had more courage than sense.

  It was little wonder he had been voted out of the Gargoyle Guild.

  “Too late,” Viper muttered.

  The stunted gargoyle blew a raspberry toward Viper before he turned his attention to Styx.

  “This summons had better be important,” he said with a sniff, as if Styx couldn’t crush him beneath his size sixteen boot. Levet had a bloated opinion of his own importance. “I was enjoying a lava bath with a lovely fire imp.”

  Styx forced himself to count to ten. “We’re going to Vegas.”

  “Vegas?” Levet’s wings twitched excitement before he abruptly scowled. “This is not a trick, is it? The last time you promised me we were going on a vacation together you locked me in the dungeon.”

  Styx bared his fangs. “You tried to sell my sword on eBay.”

  Levet stuck out his bottom lip. “I do not know why your panties are in a kink. It is not like you ever use the rusty thing.”

  The floor trembled and ice formed in the air as Styx reached over his shoulder to grasp the handle of his massive weapon, which was strapped to his back. With one smooth motion, he had the tip of the blade pressed against Levet’s short snout.

  “Lucky you,” he growled. “I’m taking it to Vegas.”

  Levet’s wings drooped. “I do not feel very lucky.”

  Chapter 2

  Chiron’s penthouse office was designed to make a statement. Wealth. Sophistication. Power. The three things that impressed the mortals he dealt with routinely.

  The outer reception room had a bank of windows that looked out over the Mojave Desert on one side and the lights of the nearby Vegas Strip on the other. Anyone who entered the room was immediately captivated by the view.

  The carpet was silver, the furniture a sleek chrome with black leather. There was one wall covered by shelves that held a priceless collection of pottery from the Persian empire.

  Chiron’s private space was more suited to a vampire. No windows, dim lighting, and heavy furniture that could withstand the weight of a full-grown orc. It still managed to be an elegant testament to good taste, with a sleek desk and a silver-and-black décor.

  It was a perfect setting for Chiron.

  Like all vampires, he was blessed with a compelling beauty that was used to lure his prey. But Chiron’s was even more dramatic than most.

  His glossy black hair was cut short and smoothed from his pale, finely sculpted face that was a breath from beautiful. His nose was long and thin, his cheekbones prominent, his brow wide. His lips could curve into a wickedly charming smile or thin with icy displeasure. His eyes were as dark as ebony and surrounded by thick lashes. They were strikingly attractive, but if one looked close enough, they would discover an ancient pain that smoldered in the darkness.

  He was currently wearing a tailored Hugo Boss suit, a crisp white shirt, and a smoke-gray tie. His shoes were Italian leather and his cuff links handcrafted. Seated behind his desk, his slender fingers toyed with the ivory dice that were over four centuries old. They were a reminder that life was a gamble.

  And that there was no guarantee of a tomorrow.

  He lived each night to the fullest.

  “It’s a trap,” his companion growled.

  Chiron glanced toward the corner where his faithful guard was standing at attention.

  Ulric was a pureblood Were with golden eyes that glowed with the power of his inner wolf. His skin was the creamy color of cappuccino and he kept his head shaved. He stood over six foot, with the sort of wide, muscled body that was usually acquired by massive doses of steroids. For Ulric, it was all natural. Along with his rabid temper and an eagerness to use violence to solve his problems. He made the perfect personal guard for Chiron.

  Chiron had released the Were from the slave pens beneath the Anasso’s hidden lair centuries ago. He’d gone there to demand the release of Tarak only to be turned away. At the time he’d released the prisoners, he’d been more intent on punishing the King of the Vampires than performing any act of heroism. It was a childish, petty action; still it was one that had paid off with astonishing dividends.

  Although vampires and Weres had a long history of being mortal enemies, Ulric had pledged his life to Chiron. His loyalty and friendship were gifts Chiron never took for granted. They were worth more than the two dozen casinos and resorts Chiron had built from Paris to Monte Carlo to Vegas.

  “Perhaps,” Chiron agreed. He was still trying to process the visit from the new Anasso.

  The male had arrived two hours before, striding into the casino without warning and demanding a meeting with Chiron.

  Chiron had met Styx before. The massive vampire had been the top lieutenant to the previous king. He’d also been the one to swear that Tarak had been a traitor who’d been exiled, and that the Anasso would never hold him prisoner.

  Now he was claiming he’d been fooled by his former master. And that he not only had proof Tarak had been imprisoned, but he had a scroll that might actually provide the means to free him.

  It was enough to make any vampire’s head spin.

  Ulric took a step forward. “You should have let me kill Styx as soon as he arrived in Vegas.”

  A bitter smile touched Chiron’s lips. Once upon a time he’d been as eager as Ulric to challenge Styx and his master. He’d tried to warn his brothers there was something rotten at the heart of the Anasso. A sickness that had taken centuries to expose. Eventually, he’d managed to convince Tarak the king was a traitor to their cause.

  That was when all hell had broken loose.

  Figuratively, if not literally.

  “We can’t fight against the Anasso. We both learned that lesson the hard way,” he reminded the Were.

  Gold fire flared in Ulric’s eyes. “Times change.”

  Chiron tossed aside the dice and reached for the heavy scroll that was placed in the middle of his desk.

  “So it would seem.”

  Heat flared through the air as Ulric released a low growl. “You can’t seriously be thinking about going in search of your master?”

  Was he? Chiron’s lips twisted. Of course he was. Tarak had been his clan chief. And friend.

  And perhaps more importantly, Chiron had been tortured by guilt since the day Tarak had disappeared. He would sacrifice everything he possessed to ease his conscience.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked.

  Ulric shrugged, his muscles rippling beneath the olive-green Henley he had tucked into his faded jeans. “Stay here and get laid. Or go to Monte Carlo and get laid. Or—”

  “I get the point,” Chiron interrupted.

  “You have a lot of options. None of them involving you risking your life on some wild-goose chase.”

  Chiron’s gaze returned to the scroll in his hand. It was fragile with age and smelled of mold. As if it’d been hidden in a damp location. There was also a fading scent of blood. In the olden days, witches hadn’t used ink to write out their spells.

  “Why would Styx send me on a wild-goose chase?” he questioned, speaking more to himself than Ulric. “We’ve managed to coexist for centuries without playing games.”

  “Maybe Tarak is dead. This could be a trick to lure you away from your guards so they can kill you before you can seek your revenge.” Ulric suggested. The Were had a talent for seeing the worst in any situation. “Or challenge the Anasso to become king.”

&
nbsp; Chiron grimaced. “I have no interest in challenging Styx.”

  “What about revenge?”

  There was a long pause as Chiron considered the question. He didn’t think Tarak was dead. Not that he had an actual connection to his master. Unlike many demon species, vampires could only bond with their true mate. But he did have an unusual talent.

  He could delve into people’s minds. If they were humans, he could pull out their thoughts as easily as plucking a grape from the vine. Demons could be trickier. And vampires were the hardest of all.

  Styx had stood close enough for him to get a fuzzy glimpse.

  “Not yet,” he said. “I believe him.”

  “You…” Ulric’s words trailed away as he gave a vague wave of his hand. “Did your thing?”

  Chiron’s lips twitched. He’d witnessed Ulric shoving his fist through a goblin’s chest and ripping out his heart when the beast had gone on a rampage near their lair, but he was as nervous as a dew fairy whenever Chiron discussed his ability to peer into minds.

  “Yeah, I did my thing,” he said. “I could sense that he was reluctant to be here. And that he’s a vampire of honor. If this is a trap, the Anasso isn’t behind it.”

  Ulric wasn’t satisfied. Predictable. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “I have to know,” Chiron said, rising to his feet as he abruptly came to his decision.

  He couldn’t ignore the chance to release Tarak. Even if there was a risk it was a trap.

  He was a gambler at heart.

  Ulric heaved a resigned sigh. “I’ll pack.”

  Chiron gave a sharp shake of his head. “Not this time, Ulric. I need you here.”

  Ulric clenched his hands into tight fists. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Quite likely.”

  “I’m not letting you leave Vegas without me.”

  Most vampires would have punished the Were for daring to argue. Chiron, however, understood his guard. The wolf had witnessed his entire pack being sacrificed to the previous Anasso and his perverted hungers. Now Chiron was his family. He couldn’t bear another loss.

  “You’re the only one I trust to take care of my business,” Chiron said.

  Ulric jutted out his heavy jaw. “I belong at your side.”

  “I know, amigo.” Chiron rounded the desk and walked toward his companion. There was no way he was going to tell the proud warrior he wouldn’t risk taking him into an unknown danger. Chiron was the gambler, not Ulric. Besides, Tarak was his master and his duty to rescue. Instead, he placed his hand on the Were’s shoulder and used logic. “But until I find the key, there’s nothing you can do to help.”

  “I can watch your back,” Ulric muttered.

  “I’d rather you watch my bank account.”

  Ulric’s answer was lost in a low growl.

  Chiron dropped his hand and took a step back. “I appreciate your concern, amigo, but I’m not helpless. If the gargoyle attempts—” Chiron bit off his words as he realized the tiny demon wasn’t standing near the door where Styx had commanded him to wait. “Where’d Levet go?”

  “He can’t have left the office without tripping the alarm.” Ulric tilted back his head, sniffing the air. “He’s in the reception room.”

  Chiron moved quickly through the connecting door, expecting the gargoyle to be admiring the view. It was stunning, even if he did say so himself. Instead, the bizarre creature was plopped on the carpet with a dark bottle clenched between his hands.

  Chiron had been mildly amused when Styx had claimed the gargoyle possessed the ability to follow the magic in the scroll to the mysterious key. A convenient talent. But even as the older vampire had assured him the gargoyle was necessary to his search, Chiron had detected some sort of hidden agenda.

  As if Styx was eager to get rid of the tiny demon.

  Now he understood why.

  “Is that my private cognac?” he demanded in disbelief. No one should be able to see through the illusions he paid a fortune to wrap around his private safe in the corner of his office. And even if they could, no one was stupid enough to actually try to steal from him.

  No one but this…beast.

  The gargoyle gave a flutter of his wings, taking a deep swig straight from the bottle.

  “Oui. It is not as fine as Viper’s, but I suppose it is adequate.” The gargoyle gave a shrill squeak when Ulric crossed the floor in three long strides. Grabbing the demon by the horn, Ulric lifted him off his feet. “Hey,” Levet protested, kicking his feet. “It is rude to dangle a gargoyle as if he is a sack of pimentos. Release me, you mangy cur.”

  Pimentos? Chiron frowned. Did he mean potatoes?

  “Can I eat him?” Ulric demanded.

  “Not until I find the key.” Chiron moved to snatch the half-empty bottle out of the gargoyle’s hands. “Then you can do what you want with him.”

  Levet crossed his arms over his small chest. “And I thought Styx was bad.”

  * * * *

  The demon hotel in Florida was well hidden from humans. Not only was it surrounded by wetlands and shrouded beneath a thick canopy of trees, it was protected by a powerful spell that had been placed around the property so long ago, no one remembered who’d put it there.

  For those lucky enough to discover the remote hotel, they found themselves in a fairy-tale land, complete with a sweeping, plantation-style home the size of Versailles, and gardens filled with lush flowers that laced the air with an intoxicating perfume.

  The owner of the hotel, Lilah, was currently strolling along the paved pathways that led to the back terrace. She was a small female, at least in stature. She stood barely over five foot tall. But she possessed lush curves currently covered by a damp robe. Her golden hair was a mass of untamed curls that fell past her shoulders and contrasted with the honey sheen of her skin. Her eyes hovered between green and gold, depending on her mood.

  She’d just finished a swim in her private pool hidden behind a powerful illusion and strictly off-limits to any guests. It was a nightly indulgence that refreshed her in a way she couldn’t find anywhere else.

  Reaching the stone staircase, she climbed up to the terrace, already prepared to find Inga waiting for her.

  Lilah’s former nanny stood well over six foot, with the broad shoulders of a human football player. Her hair was reddish and grew in tufts on top of her large, square head, and her features were blunt. Her eyes were blue, but they could turn red when she was annoyed. Her teeth were pointed.

  Some might say she wasn’t the most pleasant female. She was half ogre, after all, and they weren’t known for their charming personalities. But Lilah loved her. In part because Inga had raised Lilah since she was a young child, but mostly because she’d proven to be a loyal servant who remained despite the fact that Lilah was now a grown woman.

  Crossing the terrace, Lilah halted in front of the ogress and offered a bright smile.

  “Isn’t it a lovely evening, Inga?”

  As expected, the large female sniffed in disdain. Then she planted her fists on her wide hips, as if preparing for battle. The sight might have been terrifying if the ogress hadn’t been wearing one of the muumuu dresses she’d discovered during the hideous fashion trends of the sixties. No one had the nerve to tell her that it puffed out like a blimp when she was charging up and down the hallways.

  Tonight’s muumuu was a stunning shade of lime green with huge orange lilies. Yikes.

  “It’s an evening like any other.”

  Lilah folded her hands together. Inga’s mood was even more foul than usual.

  “Did you get our new guests settled?” she asked.

  The sound of a car approaching had reached Lilah just as she was entering the grotto. She hadn’t bothered returning; Inga was capable of handling the hotel without her. Even if she wasn’t the most personable hostess.

  “I did.”

  Lilah swallowed a sigh. Inga wasn’t going to be satisfied until she’d been allowed to vent her displeasure.<
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  “Is something wrong?”

  Inga gave another loud sniff. She sounded like a foghorn. “I don’t like the look of them.”

  “What is it this time?” Lilah tilted her head to the side. “Are they shifty-eyed? Or shady?”

  “Both.”

  “Mmm.”

  Inga scowled, no doubt sensing Lilah’s amusement at her predictable reaction to new guests. As far as the older female was concerned, she would be quite happy if no one ever came to the hotel. She was obsessive in her desire to keep Lilah isolated from the world.

  “This time I’m serious,” she muttered.

  “I suppose they’re vampires?” Lilah asked. Inga had a special hatred for the walking undead.

  “One of them is.”

  “That explains your mood,” Lilah said wryly. “You are always…”

  “What?”

  Lilah searched for the proper word. “Temperamental when we have vampire guests.”

  Inga peeled back her lips to reveal her pointy teeth. “I don’t trust anything that doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

  Lilah shrugged. Unlike her nanny, she possessed an appreciation for the demons who were willing to offer her money to stay in her home. She needed the income to pay the pack of brownies who came to do basic upkeep and repairs on the ancient house, along with the fairies who tended the gardens. Plus, she had two maids and a cook who depended on her to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table.

  “They happen to be our best-paying customers, not to mention the least troublesome,” she reminded her companion. “As long as they have plenty of blood, privacy, and a promise to keep out the sunlight, you barely know they’re around. Unlike the fairies who stayed here last week and got drunk on nectar and trashed their rooms, including several priceless antiques. Or the Weres who held the mating ceremony in the glades and howled so loud the human police came to see what was happening.”

  Inga refused to budge. Her rampant prejudice ran too deep. “Vampires are dangerous.”

  “You’ve already warned me a thousand times,” Lilah pointed out with a small sigh. “Who’s the other one?”