All About Levet

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Zut. Are all dogs foul-tempered?” Levet gave a shake of his head. “It must be that nasty fur.”

  “Enough.”

  Damon moved to circle around Levet, giving a hiss of impatience when Levet moved to once again block his path.

  “Wait.”

  The champagne eyes narrowed. “What?”

  A good question. Levet cleared his throat, not at all certain what he was supposed to do.

  “I cannot allow you to challenge Salvatore for the throne,” he at last muttered.

  Damon stiffened. “How the hell did you know?”

  “The Christmas angel warned me.”

  “The Christmas . . .” The Were cut off his words, the temperature rising along with his temper. “Shit. I don’t have time for this.”

  Levet held up his hands as the Were started forward, the magic wand sparkling in the moonlight. “Stop,” he tried to command. “I do not particularly like Salvatore.” Levet grimaced, recalling how he’d been turned away as if he weren’t Harley’s bestie. “Especially not tonight. He’s a rude beast. But he has very young pups who need his protection.”

  A shadow seemed to pass over the Were’s face. “Yes. It’s a pity about the pups.”

  “Pity?” What did that mean? Was he ruthless enough to . . . Levet made a sound of distress. He couldn’t allow his mind to form the hideous thought. “Non, I will not allow you to harm them.”

  Damon appeared genuinely startled by Levet’s shrill words, but before he could respond Levet rushed forward.

  He didn’t actually have a plan.

  The wolf was twice his size and strong enough to rip Levet into itty bitty pieces. But he had to do something. There was no way he was going to allow those babies to be in danger.

  In the end he settled for taking wild swings at the Were. Unfortunately he missed the Were’s nuts as Damon grabbed Levet’s horn to try and hold him back, although Levet did manage to hit Damon on the leg with his wand.

  There was a moment of profound silence. As if the entire world had come to a sudden halt. Then, without warning they were surrounded by a choking blackness that sucked them into a portal.

  Damon roared in fury as he felt himself being catapulted through the darkness.

  Dammit. He’d waited all his life for this moment.

  He’d trained. He’d planned. He’d sacrificed.

  Damon grimaced, inwardly accepting that the words didn’t ring entirely true.

  Oh, he had trained and planned and sacrificed. But he hadn’t waited for this moment.

  In all honesty, he’d dreaded this moment.

  He didn’t want to be in the frozen wilds of America, stalking a man he’d once admired, so he could challenge him to a duel.

  But if Damon was nothing else, he was a wolf who understood the meaning of duty.

  It’d been drilled into him from the second he’d been born.

  Now the damned gargoyle had somehow managed to tumble them into a portal that led to God only knew where.

  Hoping the stunted demon hadn’t managed to dump them into the pits of hell, Damon felt a jolt as he landed on a hard stone floor.

  Slowly the black mist began to dissipate, allowing Damon to view his surroundings with a wary gaze.

  His hand instinctively gripped the holster of his gun as he took in the decrepit hovel, his gut twisting at the sight of the faded wooden walls and the rough table and chairs that were the only furnishings in the cramped cabin. On one side of the room was a large, stone fireplace and on the other was a rudimentary sink and wooden shelves.

  It wasn’t the pits of hell, but it was close enough.

  Turning his head, he glared at the tiny demon at his side.

  “What did you do?” he snapped, his wolf prowling restlessly just beneath his skin.

  The gargoyle gave a nervous flap of his wings. “I am not quite certain.”

  A low growl rumbled in Damon’s chest, and his hand reached toward the creature. “You little bastard—”

  “Hey, it was the wand. I swear,” Levet squeaked, dancing out of reach. His snout wrinkled as he took in the room that was not only shabby, but was palpably barren of the small touches that made a house a home. There were no pictures. No hand-knitted rugs. No freshly baked cookies on the counter. “Where are we?”

  A sick combination of hate and regret made Damon clench his teeth. “My mother’s lair.”

  “Oh.” The gargoyle seemed to brighten at the confession. Which only proved just how stupid the pest truly was. “Then that is not so bad.”

  “Bad?” Damon gave a sharp bark of humorless laughter. “It’s impossible.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was destroyed thirty years ago.”

  The gargoyle frowned in confusion. “Who destroyed it?”

  Damon fought back the memories of finding the charred remnants of his mother in the middle of the room, a dented crown beside the ashes, before he had set the place on fire and walked out the door forever.

  “I did.”

  Levet widened his eyes, but before he could push Damon over the edge with obnoxious questions there was a strange blurring of their surroundings. Damon felt light-headed, disoriented.

  A sensation that was only intensified as the blurring cleared to reveal Damon’s mother seated in a chair next to the fireplace, her dark gaze never wavering from the door.

  “Shit,” Damon breathed in shock, taking in the sight of the too-slender female with gray hair pulled into a stern knot on the back of her head and a face lined with bitterness.

  Rosina had once been a great beauty. A queen among her people. But the disappointments in her life had stolen her looks, her crown, and eventually her very sanity.

  Desperately trying to convince himself this was no more than an illusion created by the gargoyle, Damon barely noticed when the door to the cabin was thrust open. Not until Levet gave a startled gasp.

  “Is that you?”

  Damon’s gaze jerked to the young, dark-haired male entering the cabin, his body just beginning to fill out with muscles and his face caught between boy and man.

  “My God,” Damon growled, thoroughly unnerved. “What have you done?”

  The words had barely left his lips when Damon felt an odd tug deep inside him, as if something was compelling him forward. He grunted, trying to resist the bizarre sensation, but it was hopeless.

  One second he was standing next to the gargoyle, and the next he was yanked out of his body and thrust into the mind of the young man closing the door of the cabin.

  Damon fought against the black magic that the gargoyle had cast, but he was helpless to do more than relive the unwelcome memory as his mother rose to her feet and moved forward with a furious expression.

  “Where have you been?” the female wolf demanded, her dark eyes filled with a hectic fire.

  Damon’s younger self came to a halt near the table, his heart thundering as he tried to prepare for the inevitable confrontation.

  His mother had grown increasingly unstable over the past few years, her violent outbursts isolating her from the nearby pack.

  “Out running,” he murmured.

  “Liar,” Rosina growled. “You were with that bitch.”

  Damon’s younger body stiffened in outrage. His loyalty to his mother never wavered, but he wouldn’t tolerate any insult to his beloved Gia.

  The slender, dark-eyed female was the only saving grace in Damon’s dark, brutal existence.

  Without her . . .

  He shuddered. It was too unbearable to even imagine.

  “Gia is not a bitch,” he warned, his wolf snarling inside him. “Someday she will be my mate.”

  The blow to his head came without warning. “Listen to me well, Damon,” his mother hissed. “You have one destiny, and that is to claim the throne. I will destroy anything that threatens to divert you from your fate.”

  These were the same words that had been repeated to him since he’d been in the cradle. His mother had b
een convinced he was destined to follow in his father’s footsteps to become the leader of the Weres, despite the fact that his father had already chosen his eldest son, Briggs, for the privilege. Her belief had become a downright obsession when Damon’s father had cast Damon and Rosina out of his life and retreated into his own insanity.

  Damon had blindly accepted his mother’s demand that he devote his life to claiming a throne. Even if he had never wanted it.

  Until Gia . . .

  “Have you ever considered the possibility that I want something different for my fate?”

  “You are the son of a king.”

  Damon battled to keep the revulsion from showing. Mackenzie had been a vicious wolf who was crazed with the paranoid belief that he was surrounded by enemies. Even his own family had been suspected of being traitors.

  He’d retreated from the world, allowing only a few trusted servants to approach.

  Only decades later would Damon discover that his father had been tampering with dark magic in an effort to keep his powers.

  “A king who drove us away from his lair and nearly destroyed his pack,” he muttered.

  His mother once again slammed her fist against the side of his head. Damon flinched. Despite her tiny size, Rosina was as strong as any pure-blood Were.

  “You know nothing of what he suffered,” she rasped. “He was constantly tormented by his rivals. Especially by Salvatore. The treacherous Were’s powers were clearly a threat to your father.”

  Damon ignored the blood that ran down the side of his head. “Because Salvatore was the true heir. It was never the Weres’ tradition to pass the crown from father to son.”

  The madness in her dark eyes drowned out the glow of Rosina’s wolf. Damon wasn’t certain his mother could even sense her animal. Probably a good thing. It was no doubt rabid.

  “Shut your mouth,” she snarled. “Never say that again. Do you hear me?”

  Damon grimaced. Foam was beginning to form at the edges of his mother’s mouth, the flecks of blood more pronounced than just a few weeks before.

  “Yes.”

  “I have sacrificed everything for you.”

  A sour taste filled his mouth. It was a blatant manipulation, but that didn’t make it any less effective.

  “I know that, Mother.”

  “Then you will become the man I have trained you to be.” With a jerky motion, his mother reached into the pocket of her ragged dress, pulling out a finely crafted gold medallion that was hung on a leather strap. The ancient artifact had once belonged to his father and was reputedly imbued with a potent magic, although his mother had never been able to unlock its power. “A man fit to wear your father’s symbol of authority.”

  “I . . .” He blew out a resigned sigh as his mother tied the leather strap around his neck, allowing the medallion to fall against his chest. Rosina had decided that her son was destined to be king. Nothing he said was going to change her mind. “Yes, Mother.”

  The madness began to recede from her dark eyes, the heat in the room easing. “You are a good boy, Damon.” She patted his cheek. “You will make a powerful king.”

  Damon gave a resigned nod of his head. “If you say.”

  Rosina began to shuffle back toward her chair. She would spend the rest of the night staring at the empty fireplace, no doubt recalling the days when she was queen and her husband had managed to disguise his perverted connection to a demon lord who’d nearly destroyed the Weres.

  “Soon, my love, we will have back all that was taken from us,” she muttered, her words becoming slurred.

  Feeling as if he were smothering, Damon turned toward the door. “I have to gather wood for the fire.”

  He didn’t know if his mother heard him, and at that moment he didn’t care. He had to get out of the cabin before his frustrated wolf broke its leash and took control.

  Stepping out of the cabin he glanced around the stark Siberian landscape. After his father had shunned them, Rosina had fled to this location. She’d been smart enough at the time to understand that Briggs, Mackenzie’s son by a previous queen, might have decided that tossing them out wasn’t enough. The crazy bastard might have actually commanded their deaths.

  Barely paying attention to the thin line of trees that circled the cabin and the rough ground that was covered by tufts of grass, Damon moved toward the pile of logs he’d cut earlier in the week. Then, grabbing an ax, he began the methodical process of cutting the stack into a neat pile of firewood.

  He’d been working less than half an hour when he caught the unmistakable scent of Were.

  Clutching the ax, he turned to search the moonlit landscape. His breath caught as a tiny shadow moved between the trees, the tantalizing scent of chamomile teasing at his senses.

  Stepping into the clearing, the young female Were flashed a teasing smile. “Surprise.”

  “Gia.” Damon dropped the ax, as always struck by the sheer beauty of the woman. Long, blue-black hair that fell in a smooth curtain down her back. A pale, oval face. And dark, oblong eyes that shimmered with a love for life that Damon found addictive. The first time he’d seen her, she’d been in her wolf form. He’d caught her trespassing on their land, and he’d tried to run her off. Instead she’d shifted into her human form and laughingly thrown a snowball that had hit him on the tip of his sensitive nose. His heart had been lost in that second. “What are you doing out here?”

  She continued forward, only halting when she was close enough to place her hands flat on his chest.

  “Hoping to see you before you went to bed.”

  Damon trembled, lust jolting through him at the light touch. He’d desired this female for so long. Now it’d grown to a savage, ruthless ache that was impossible to ignore.

  “You should not be here,” he breathed, knowing he should send her away. Instead his hands lifted to tenderly frame her face.

  She wrinkled her nose, her fingers exploring over his chest. “Why not?”

  Damon swallowed a groan. Flames of excitement spread through his body as she traced her fingers over his rigid muscles. He desperately wanted to strip her of her simple cotton dress and pull her against his rising erection. To wrap her legs around his waist so he could slide his throbbing cock deep into her moist heat.

  He sucked in a deep breath, struggling to control his primal hungers.

  As much as he might hunger for Gia, his need to protect her was even stronger.

  So long as his mother lived, this female would be in danger.

  “I told you, my mother is growing more unstable with every passing day,” he reminded his companion, leaning down to press an apologetic kiss to her lips. Instantly the tantalizing taste of warm woman and chamomile exploded on his tongue, making his wolf howl with need. “If she discovers you near the lair she will hurt you.”

  Gia tilted her head to the side, silently inviting him to spread a trail of kisses down the length of her throat.

  “Did you speak with her?” she softly demanded.

  He gave a frustrated growl. He didn’t want to think about his endless battle with his mother. He wanted to concentrate on the feel of Gia’s satin skin beneath his lips.

  “Briefly.”

  “Did you tell her that you do not wish to be the king?”

  “I . . .” Damon muttered a curse, feeling once again like a failure. “I tried.”

  “Damon,” Gia chided softly.

  “Give me time.”

  The younger woman pulled back to study him with a troubled expression. “The longer you allow her to harbor her delusions, the worse it will be when she discovers the truth.”

  “Please, Gia.” He wrapped her in his arms, tugging her hard against his body. “Just let me hold you.”

  She immediately softened against him, her arms lifting to wrap around his neck. “Always, my darling.”

  Damon groaned, his hands skimming up and down her back, feeling a growingly frantic urge to carry her far away from the cabin so they could be alone.


  Just the two of them . . .

  Thankfully, while his human body was consumed with pleasure, his wolf remained on full alert. Which meant he could hear the faint sound of footsteps crossing the wooden floor of the cabin.

  “Mother,” he breathed, pulling back to meet Gia’s frustrated gaze. “You must go.”

  Her lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, then catching sight of his tortured expression she gave a rueful nod.

  “I will be waiting for you tomorrow at our spot.”

  He dared one last kiss before pushing her toward the trees. “Go.”

  Levet wasn’t often discombobulated.

  He was a three-foot gargoyle who’d been removed from the Guild when he was barely old enough to be out of the nest. His life had been a series of life-or-death disasters.

  But nothing could prepare a demon for being zapped back in time to witness a Were reliving his past.

  After realizing that the man standing beside him had gone into some weird trance, or perhaps had left his body altogether, Levet had halted his attempts to waken the stubborn Were and instead watched the unfolding drama as the action had shifted from the cabin to the chilled Siberian landscape.

  It’d been disturbing to witness the bleak and pathetic lack of affection in Damon’s childhood. Having been raised by a violent mother who’d devoted her life to making sure he understood he was nothing but a disappointment, Levet had first-hand knowledge of the pain that Damon must have felt.

  Caught up in the tragedy, Levet was startled when the vision of Damon and Gia faded into mist, and the man next to him gave a hiss of angry bewilderment.

  “Dammit.” He turned to glare at Levet. “What the hell is going on?”

  Levet ignored the question. It wasn’t as if he had an answer, after all.

  “Your father was Mackenzie,” he instead said. He didn’t know the full story of the previous Were king, but he’d heard the rumors that the Were had died because of his connection to black magic.

  Damon’s expression hardened, his hand instinctively reaching to touch the medallion that lay against his chest. “He was.”

  “And Briggs was your brother.”

  “Half brother,” he corrected in sharp, warning tones.