All About Levet

by Alexandra Ivy

  Damon’s heart clenched with regret.

  His conscience wouldn’t allow him to concede defeat. Not when he was weirdly convinced his mother’s ghost was watching him with disappointment.

  As the king had said . . . there was only one conclusion.

  Feeling almost compelled by a force greater than himself, Damon bunched his muscles, then with one mighty surge, he was flying forward.

  Salvatore was prepared. Rising onto his back legs, he met Damon’s charge with a flurry of teeth and claws. Snarls filled the clearing as the two predators battled, the air scented with the tang of blood. Distantly Damon was aware of the shouts from the onlookers, and even the chilled power of the vampires, but the focus of his attention remained locked on the Were who had used his large body to force Damon to the ground.

  He was losing blood at a rapid rate now, his muscles weakening as Salvatore’s teeth clenched around his throat.

  It was all about to be over, was his final thought.

  But it wasn’t.

  Without warning, he felt a familiar tingle of magic as his body abruptly turned back to human.

  Damon cursed, baffled by the unwelcome transformation.

  To turn human signaled his surrender. The one thing he’d been determined to avoid.

  Unaware that Damon had intended the fight to be to the death, Salvatore instantly released his lethal clamp on Damon’s throat. Then, with a shimmer of power, Salvatore shifted to his human form, kneeling in the snow beside Damon’s body that remained sprawled on the snow.

  Damon made a sound of frustration, desperately trying to call on his wolf. But he was suddenly paralyzed, as if his injuries had left him incapable of controlling his own body.

  Perhaps this was what it felt like to die, he acknowledged wryly, an unexpected warmth beginning to spread over his chest.

  Odd, he had thought it would be more . . . memorable.

  His naked body relaxed in the snow as he prepared to meet death with at least the pretense of dignity, watching as a frown tugged at Salvatore’s brow.

  What the hell was wrong with the arrogant bastard? Had he hoped for a bloodier battle? Or perhaps he was annoyed it was taking Damon so long to die?

  Wishing he had the strength to get in one last punch, Damon was startled when Salvatore sucked in a harsh breath, his narrowed gaze lowering to Damon’s chest.

  “Cristo,” he muttered, his expression filled with revulsion as he studied the medallion that hung around Damon’s neck. “What’s that?”

  Damon managed to shake off the paralysis, lifting his arm so he could grasp the medallion. He was startled to discover it was hot enough to burn the skin of his palm.

  “It belonged to my father,” he muttered, glancing down as a black cloud began to pulse in the air around them.

  With a roar of outrage, Salvatore surged to his feet, glaring down at Damon. “The magic of the demon lord,” he hissed, pointing toward the medallion. “Traitor.”

  Demon lord?

  A sickening horror jolted through Damon as he watched the cloud begin to spread through the air, wrapping around Salvatore. Instantly the stench of burning flesh assaulted his senses.

  “No,” he breathed, struggling to sit up, his hand trying to yank the medallion from his neck as the blackness continued to spread through the clearing, attaching itself to the curs who darted forward to protect their king.

  “Stop!” Salvatore roared, falling to his knees as his skin melted from his shuddering body. “You will destroy us all.”

  Damon couldn’t breathe as the nightmare continued to unfold. “I can’t.”

  “Dammit.” Salvatore glared at him with utter condemnation. “You’re just like your father.”

  Damon shook his head, panic thundering through him.

  Mackenzie had been a crazed, brutal tyrant. A wolf willing to commit any atrocity to retain control of the throne.

  Damon was nothing like him.

  “I’m not,” he hissed, his stomach churning as the curs were consumed by the hungry darkness.

  “Your vain ambition has released the evil back into this world,” Salvatore rasped, tumbling forward as the repulsive blackness continued to crawl outward, destroying any cur or Were in its path.

  Damon shook his head, a choking sense of dread squeezing his heart. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

  His whispered words were frozen on the still air as the darkness headed directly toward the nearby house where the baby Weres were being cuddled by their mother and aunts.

  There was a roar as a massive vampire charged forward, his movements so swift that Damon barely had time to catch sight of the sword before it was slicing through his throat.

  The world disappeared in a blaze of pain.

  Levet was frantic.

  Sacrebleu. This was the . . . Worst. Christmas. Ever.

  Not only was he stuck with an ill-tempered Were who didn’t have the least amount of gratitude for Levet’s attempt at playing a Christmas angel, but Levet had been forced to watch that . . . that nightmare cloud of death and destruction.

  Even as the image faded, and he was once again alone in the darkness with Damon, Levet felt himself trembling with fear.

  That had to be a glimpse of the future.

  The grand, horrifying conclusion to Damon’s determination to challenge Salvatore for the throne.

  Turning, Levet waited for Damon to return to the body that was suddenly naked and covered with wounds. Well, perhaps he did not precisely wait.

  He kicked and punched at Damon’s leg until the traitorous creature at last gave a groggy shake of his head.

  “Stop that,” the Were growled, taking an awkward step away from Levet’s furious attack.

  Levet grudgingly gave up his attempt to hurt the beast. Without his magic he could do little more than chip his claws.

  “What did you do?” he instead demanded, his wings trembling with panic that continued to race through him.

  Damon shook his head, reaching up to yank the medallion off the leather strap around his neck. Even in the gathering mist it seemed to glow with a malevolent golden light.

  “Nothing.” He shoved the finely etched piece of metal toward Levet. “It was the medallion.”

  Levet took an instinctive step away from the medallion, sensing the evil that pulsed from the intricate carvings.

  How had he missed the danger of the golden artifact? He was a master of magic. Even if it had been wrapped in illusion, he should have sensed the danger.

  Of course, it could have been that the magic was dormant until it was triggered by a specific event.

  “Magic of the demon lord,” Levet breathed, shuddering with revulsion. “How is it possible?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Damon snarled, glaring at Levet with a barely leashed terror. “Destroy it.”

  Levet shook his head, his tail twitching. “My powers cannot defeat such evil.”

  “You have to do something.” Damon pointed toward the clearing that had nearly disappeared behind the mist. “This can’t happen.”

  A surge of outrage stiffened Levet’s spine. How dare the ridiculous beast imply that this was Levet’s mess to clean up?

  Had he been the one plotting for years to challenge the king?

  Had he accepted a tainted medallion from his crazed mother?

  Had he left behind his beloved mate to satisfy his arrogant ambitions?

  Non. Non. And non.

  Levet pointed the wand in the Were’s face. “It was your choice.”

  Damon’s lean face was a sickly shade of ash as he licked his dry lips, the champagne eyes dark with regret.

  “It was my mother’s dying wish.”

  His muttered words sparked a sudden question in Levet’s tangled thoughts.

  A demon lord artifact didn’t suddenly appear out of thin air. Did it?

  “How long did your mother possess the medallion?” he demanded.

  Damon regarded the golden artifact with a grim hatr
ed. “Since my father banished us. I assume she stole it as a reminder of her position as Queen of Weres.”

  Levet was beginning to suspect it was more than mere vanity that had urged the theft.

  “Maybe she was compelled to take it,” he suggested in soft tones.

  Damon scowled. “What are you suggesting?”

  “The medallion clearly holds a connection to the demon lord that Salvatore battled.”

  The Were shuddered. “And?”

  “There are some objects that are created to manipulate those who own them,” Levet pointed out. He had seen entire villages controlled by the power of a magical artifact. One mere Were wouldn’t be too difficult to sway. “The medallion could have first tainted your father and then, sensing he had tumbled into his madness, encouraged your mother to steal it before she was forced to leave.”

  Damon sucked in a harsh breath, his expression twisted with a soul-deep pity for the female Were who’d been tormented for decades by her lust for power.

  “It could have caused her obsession.”

  “Oui.” Levet held Damon’s troubled gaze. “And your own.”

  A strangled groan was ripped from Damon’s throat. “God. What have I done?”

  Chapter 6

  Under other circumstances Damon might have been relieved to discover that his family had been controlled by the magic of a demon lord. After all, it was preferable to believe that it was the medallion that had made his father an abusive bastard, and his mother a demented lunatic, and himself a . . . a selfish idiot who might very well destroy the world.

  A sound of acute pain was wrenched from his throat.

  It didn’t matter how he’d come to this point in time.

  All that was important was making sure that the Weres were protected from destruction.

  With an effort he forced himself out of his fog of grief, grimly squaring his shoulders as he glared at the miniature demon at his side.

  “We can’t let this happen.”

  “We?” The gray eyes widened, the delicate wings fluttering in obvious agitation. “I have done nothing but attempt to halt your reckless quest.”

  Damon clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to give the gargoyle a good shake. The tiny bastard was right.

  Damon had no one to blame but himself.

  “Fine. I can’t let this happen,” he said between clenched teeth. “And you have to help me.”

  The gargoyle was shaking his head before Damon stopped speaking. “I told you; I do not possess enough power to defeat the magic of a demon lord.”

  Damon growled. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. His gaze shifted to the slender piece of wood sputtering tiny sparks that Levet clutched in his hands.

  “Then use the damned wand,” Damon commanded.

  “This?” Levet scowled. “But we do not know what it would do.”

  Damon shook his head in disbelief. The Weres were facing genocide and the stupid gargoyle was worried about something bad happening?

  “What can it hurt?”

  Levet’s eyes widened, as if he were astonished by the simple question. “What could it hurt?” He clicked his tongue. “Mon Dieu. You know nothing of magic. It could destroy us all.”

  “Give it to me,” Damon snarled, reaching for the wand. The Weres were going to die unless he did something.

  “Non. Do not.” Levet scampered backward, ridiculously smacking Damon with the slender wand.

  Damon barely felt the blow against his forearm, but before he could pluck the magical stick from the gargoyle, the mist abruptly thickened, and once again they were being whisked through the darkness.

  Shit.

  How much worse could it get?

  Not at all anxious to find out, Damon struggled to keep his balance as he felt his feet land against the frozen ground.

  This time there was no gradual clearing of the mist that surrounded them.

  One second it was there, and the next it was gone.

  Warily, Damon glanced around the moonlit field coated in newly fallen snow before shifting his attention toward the distant river that looked vaguely familiar.

  “What have you done?” he snapped, braced for whatever might be coming.

  Levet turned in a slow circle, his tail stuck straight out behind him. “I have brought us back to where we started.”

  The creature sounded as unnerved as Damon felt, but after slowly counting to a hundred he finally accepted that he wasn’t going to be forced to endure yet another out-of-body experience.

  Immediately his attention turned toward the golden artifact that remained warm against the palm of his hand.

  “There has to be a way to destroy the medallion,” he snarled.

  Levet grimaced, his expression troubled as if he had been struck by an unpleasant thought. “In the past the demon lord attempted to use Salvatore’s blood to gain entry into this world.”

  Damon glanced down at his naked body, belatedly realizing that his various wounds had yet to fully heal. A sickening horror jolted through him.

  “It’s feeding off my blood?”

  The gargoyle gave a slow nod. “I believe so.”

  Damon didn’t bother to try and toss the medallion away. Or even to demand to be taken to a healer. He understood that now that the magic had been awakened by his blood, there would be no stopping it.

  Not until the fuel it was feeding on was destroyed beyond repair.

  “Then there is only one solution,” Damon said, more to himself than to the creature who watched him with a wary gray gaze.

  Falling to his knees, Damon clutched the medallion tightly in his hand, trying his best to clear his mind.

  He had no practical knowledge of how to call on the Telos. Weres didn’t teach their children how to commit suicide. But it had to be like any other natural instinct.

  Or at least, he hoped to God it was.

  Focusing first on the destruction that was about to be unleashed, Damon slowly allowed himself to visualize himself kneeling in the snow. He was still naked. Still coated in blood from his wounds. Then he imagined a fire being lit deep in his soul.

  It wasn’t a normal fire.

  It was a cleansing fire.

  A fire that would consume him utterly and completely.

  Just as it had his mother.

  “What are you doing?” Levet demanded as Damon felt a trickle of sweat inch down his bent spine.

  “Ending this,” he muttered.

  A searing heat began to spread through his bloodstream, making the snow steam where it touched his legs.

  Levet sucked in a sharp breath. “Non.”

  The heat continued to spread, the pain swiftly threatening to become unbearable.

  With an effort Damon lifted his head, needing to pass along one last message.

  “Tell Gia . . .” His words broke off as he caught the unmistakable scent of chamomile. Was the lethal magic making him delusional? Gritting his teeth against the pain, he turned his head toward the line of trees that framed the edge of the field. On cue, a slender female Were stepped out of the shadows and ran across the snow. Damon gave a slow shake of his head. “What the hell?”

  The female halted at his side, clearly having overheard at least the tail end of the conversation.

  “Tell Gia what?”

  Damon desperately savored the pale, perfect face and dark, oblong eyes. The long, black hair was pulled into a tidy braid and her slender form covered by a sensible pair of jeans and bulky winter coat, but she’d never looked more beautiful to him.

  “I love you,” he rasped.

  Her eyes briefly lit with a joy that pierced Damon’s heart. Damn. Why hadn’t he simply appreciated what he’d already possessed? Why had he allowed the madness to consume him?

  Easily sensing Damon’s distress, Gia’s happiness vanished, her gaze belatedly taking in the sweat that now coated him from head to toe.

  “What are you doing?” She slowly lowered herself until she was kneeling next to him. “Damon?
Tell me.”

  He grimaced, caught between delight that he’d been blessed enough to see her one last time, and regret that she would be forced to witness his end.

  “I must call upon the Telos,” he admitted in low tones.

  “What?” She reached out to touch him, only to yank her hand back as if his skin had burned her. “Oh God, Damon, stop it.”

  He gave a weak shake of his head, trying to distract himself from the fiery agony that was increasing with every sluggish beat of his heart.

  “How did you get here?”

  She futilely tried to choke back her tears. “I followed you, you stubborn, pig-headed Were.”

  His lips twisted. “I should have known.”

  “Yes, you should have,” she growled, her raspy voice revealing her wolf was close to the surface. “I can’t live without you.”

  His own wolf struggled to reach her, understanding the need for death but still anxious to feel the comfort of its mate.

  “I’ve been so wrong, Gia,” he admitted, his heart heavy with sorrow. “I allowed myself to be blinded by madness. But this time I will make it right.”

  “No.” Tears tracked down Gia’s lovely face, her expression pleading. “Please—”

  “All right.” A light female voice abruptly intruded into the very private conversation, and Damon jerked his head toward the side where Levet was standing next to a tiny woman with a heart-shaped face and long, black hair that tumbled nearly to her waist. In the moonlight her skin appeared as pale and smooth as ivory, and her ears were pointed. She also had a pair of gossamer wings in shades of white and silver. Fairy? “I believe that is enough.”

  “Who are you?” he asked in confusion.

  Levet gave a loud sniff. “This is the Christmas angel you refused to believe was real.”

  Damon scowled, studying the strange creature with a wary gaze. “I’m still not convinced.”

  The angel moved across the ground without leaving a trace of her passage in the snow, a beguiling smile curving her lips.

  “You can call me Sera.”

  Damon narrowed his gaze. The tiny creature might look all fragile and charming, but she’d put him through hell over the past . . . Damn, he didn’t even know how much time had passed.