“I know,” Caine soothed. “Are you getting any . . .” He waved his hand in vague motion.
“Any what?”
“Vibes.”
She blinked in confusion before at last realizing he was referring to her visions. “Oh.” She paused, searching for any hint of a foretelling. “No,” she at last said. “There’s nothing.”
He heaved a sigh. “So you get the command to watch the video, but nothing to tell us what to do about it?”
“That’s how it works.” She shrugged, pointing toward his phone. “You have to call.”
His gaze followed her finger, his muscles abruptly tensing as he studied the image of Ingrid still filling the screen. “Not yet.”
“Caine . . .” She halted her pleading words, sensing his distraction. “You have a plan?”
“Not so much a plan as a desperate hope that we can spring the trap before it’s set and escape with your sister unscathed,” he corrected.
“Is that possible?”
He tapped the screen. “I recognize where Ingrid took this video.”
“Really?”
“It’s Salvatore’s wine cellar.”
“You were in the wine cellar of the King of Weres?”
“Of course.” He turned to meet her expression of disbelief. “Salvatore used to be my enemy. Hell, he still wants to nail my furry ass to the wall.”
“So why were you in the wine cellar?”
“When he turned up in America I needed a secret way to enter his lair if I had to take drastic measures to protect myself. There’s a tunnel that leads into his wine cellar.”
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose I should expect such madness from you. You are far too reckless. But this female . . .” She frowned at the cur’s smug confidence that was captured by the video. “Is she insane?”
“I always suspected she came from the shallow end of the gene pool,” Caine said. “Why?”
“Who would be stupid enough to hold the mate of the King of Weres hostage in his own wine cellar?”
“Salvatore must be out of state or Ingrid wouldn’t have managed to get within a mile of the lair, let alone get her hands on Harley,” he explained.
Cassie still thought the female must be a nut bar.
“So you think they’re still in the wine cellar?”
“Doubtful, but we should be able to pick up Ingrid’s scent and track her from there.”
Her nails unconsciously dug into his arm, her wolf eager to be on the hunt even as her heart clenched with fear. “What if she hurts Harley or the babies before we can reach them?”
“We have twenty-four hours. If we don’t pick up Ingrid’s trail, then I’ll make the call.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing her lips with a soft kiss. “I promise nothing’s going to hurt your sister.”
She leaned her forehead against his, taking strength in his familiar scent.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
Salvatore’s lair in St. Louis
Gaius was fuming as he paced from one end of the wine cellar to the other.
Who could blame him? He was standing in the lair of the King of Weres with two curs who looked like matching G.I. Joe dolls and a goth witch who was wearing a tight leather skirt and spike-heeled boots that were as impractical as they were ridiculous. He’d been forced to shape-shift to look like the Queen of Weres in an attempt to lure the prophet into his clutches. And now he was stuck waiting with his trio of idiots on the off chance the plot would work.
Plus, adding insult to injury, the entire place reeked of dogs.
Che macello.
Clearly possessing more brawn than brains, the male cur sauntered within striking distance of Gaius, seemingly indifferent to the frigid fury that prickled through the air. “It really is remarkable,” Dolf murmured, compounding his stupidity by lifting a hand toward Gaius’s long mane of blond hair.
“Touch me and your sister will be dragging you out of here as a corpse.”
The cur jerked his hand back, his face flushed at the icy warning. “No need for threats,” he protested. “We’re all on the same side here.”
Gaius curled his lips. “Do not remind me.”
The cur grimaced. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why are you in such a pissy mood?”
Gaius narrowed his gaze. “Are you trying to be amusing?”
“No, I just—”
“Do you think I want to humiliate myself with this”—Gaius waved a hand to indicate his slender, delicately curved body—“female form?”
The flush drained from Dolf ’s face to leave him a frightened shade of gray. “Of course not.”
“Or to spend hours trespassing in the lair of the King of Weres?” Gaius continued, his voice edged with a bitterness that was capable of flaying the skin off a lesser creature. “Who, by the way, has his full powers returned and would happily kill me on sight.”
Dolf lifted his hands in a desperate attempt at damage control. “I told you, Ingrid’s source says that the king and queen are in Chicago for at least two more days.”
Gaius wasn’t any more impressed now than he’d been when he first heard the reassurance. Not that he was given any choice, he grimly reminded himself. When Ingrid had approached him with the suggestion of using his ability to alter shapes to bait a trap for the prophet, he’d emphatically refused.
He wasn’t about to make a fool of himself by prancing around looking like a damned female while lurking in the wine cellar of the King of Weres. He did have some pride left. But, of course, the witch had instantly done her wireless communication with the Dark Lord and Gaius discovered himself on his knees, agreeing to travel to St. Louis and pose as Harley.
He didn’t, however, agree to like it.
“Her mysterious source could be mistaken,” he pointed out in biting tones. “Or hoping to keep us here long enough to become lambs to the slaughter.”
“Ingrid knows what she’s doing.” Dolf sent a glance that was far too intimate toward his sister. Creepy. “She came up with the plan to trick Caine into coming to this wine cellar, didn’t she?”
“So she did.” Gaius shifted his attention toward the female cur who leaned against the shelves of wine, her muscular arms folded over her chest. “You’re certain he will come to this cellar instead of calling as you demanded?”
Ingrid shrugged. “Caine is pathologically suspicious, which makes it almost impossible to ambush him. We have to convince him that he’s actually avoiding the trap while we nudge him where we want him to go.”
“You’re assuming that he watches the video you sent and then ignores your demands to call despite the threat to his queen.” Gaius impatiently brushed back his long blond hair, which was proving to be a constant nuisance. Cristo, he would be relieved when this stupid charade was done and he could return to his true form. “And that he recognizes this wine cellar.”
The cur smiled. “Trust me.”
Gaius hissed in disgust. “Never.”
Chapter 6
Salvatore’s lair in St. Louis
Caine left the Jeep parked several miles away from Salvatore’s lair, located in a northern suburb of the city. Then, leading Cassie along the edge of the large lake surrounded by brick mansions set like fine jewels among the manicured lawns and formal gardens, he came to a halt behind a boathouse.
It was late enough that the neighborhood was shrouded in a slumbering darkness, but his night vision easily allowed him to scour his surroundings for any sign of danger. Not that there was any to be found.
He dismissed the incubus currently fulfilling the fantasy of a neglected housewife and the nest of harpies who were hidden on the small island in the middle of the lake. They posed no threat to a pureblooded Were.
Far from reassured, he studied the vast three-story home perched on a hill that overlooked the lake. The back walls, which were made almost entirely of glass, were partly obscured by a large veranda framed
by marble columns. Trellised gardens descended the length of the steep slope, coming to a halt at the edge of a stone grotto that not only served as a perfect picnic spot, but a lookout for Salvatore’s guards.
Guards that should have been on duty.
So where the hell were they?
He was still searching for an answer when he felt Cassie crouch beside him, her wide gaze trained on the mansion above them.
“Good Lord,” she breathed. “That’s Harley’s house?”
“One of them.”
“It’s very large.”
His lips twisted at the understatement. The place was big enough to lodge a small country. “If you like it I could have one built for you.”
She shuddered. “No, I spent too many years in soulless caverns to feel comfortable in such a place,” she said. “I prefer your home.”
He reached to give her hand a light squeeze. “Our home,” he corrected.
“Yes.” Her dimples made a brief appearance. “Our home.”
Satisfaction seared through him and with a small groan, Caine tugged her close enough to claim her lips in an urgent kiss. Our sounded amazingly perfect.
Then, with a curse, he forced himself to pull away. Now wasn’t the time to be distracted. No matter what the temptation.
Even if this wasn’t a trap, he knew that Salvatore had a bounty out on his head. If the king’s pack caught scent of them he would never shake them off their trail.
“Do you sense anything?” he asked, returning his attention to the seemingly abandoned house.
She tilted back her head, sniffing the air. “No.”
“Neither do I.”
She grimaced. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
That was the question, wasn’t it?
“Salvatore would never have left Harley completely alone,” he muttered. “If she was kidnapped, his pack should be swarming through the neighborhood searching for her.”
Cassie shrugged. “Maybe they don’t know she’s missing.”
“Then they should at least be guarding the house.”
“You think it’s a trap?”
His jaw tightened. “Absolutely.”
She blinked at his blunt honesty. “Then shouldn’t we be somewhere that isn’t here?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head to the side, regarding him in confusion. “Caine?”
He heaved a sigh. His every instinct screamed to toss Cassie over his shoulder and rush away from Salvatore’s lair at top speed. The very air whispered a warning.
But he’d spent enough time with Cassie to know that she wouldn’t be satisfied until she was certain that Harley had been rescued and was safely back in the hands of her mate.
“Shit,” he muttered. “What?”
“If I’m going to pick up Ingrid’s scent I have to get closer.”
Without hesitation she pushed herself to her feet, as always completely fearless.
“Then let’s go.”
“Wait.” He straightened, taking her hands in a warning grip. “I want your promise that you won’t leave my side. Not even for a second.”
Cassie hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “I’ll try,” she at last conceded.
“Cassie.”
“That’s all I can promise.”
His lips twisted as he met her candid gaze. “I suppose it is.”
He grasped her hand and led her along the lakeshore, ignoring the stone steps leading to the house. Cassie fell into step beside him, a puzzled frown marring her brow.
“Where are we going?”
Caine led her past the boat dock and at last halted at a line of Dumpsters near the gravel service road. “The entrance to the secret tunnel is hidden inside the Dumpster.”
“Clever,” Cassie said, only to slap a hand over her nose and mouth as Caine broke the lock and threw back the lid on the green metal bin set slightly away from the others. “And pungent,” she muttered, taking an instinctive step backward. “Yow.”
Prepared for the spell of revulsion, Caine ignored the foul smell billowing from the Dumpster as well as the magical “push” to turn and walk away. “It keeps demons from sniffing close enough to discover the entrance,” he said, vaulting into the bin and holding out his hand.
“A very effective deterrent,” Cassie gagged out, reluctantly taking his hand and climbing into the Dumpster.
Once they were both through the barrier the spell abruptly vanished to reveal a scrupulously clean container with a trapdoor cut into the metal bottom. Caine bent down, sliding his fingers along the outline of the door until he found the hidden lever. With a faint click the door abruptly swung downward to reveal a tunnel dug into the ground.
Reaching behind him, he grabbed Cassie’s hand and tucked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. “Hold on and don’t let go,” he commanded.
She wrinkled her nose. “Bossy.”
“No. Terrified.”
Without giving her time to reply, Caine dropped into the tunnel, landing on the cement floor with Cassie descending lightly behind him.
He paused, searching the darkness with his heightened senses. There was . . . nothing.
No lurking enemies.
No waiting traps.
And no scent of curs.
He growled in frustration. “Ingrid didn’t come in or out of the tunnel.”
“Then we have to go on,” Cassie whispered softly. “We know she was in the wine cellar. We can pick up her scent there.”
He shot a glance over his shoulder, meeting her stubborn glare. “And what if this is a trap?”
She managed to look even more stubborn.
Stubboner.
Was that a word? If not, it should be.
“I’m not leaving until we find the trail leading to my sister.”
He turned to move down the tunnel, muttering beneath his breath. Man, it had to be the greatest cosmic joke ever. Fate had given him his deepest desire and transformed him into a pureblood Were only to punish him with the constant pressure of keeping the most endangered creature in the entire world safe.
He was supposed to be enjoying a carefree existence at the top of the food chain, surrounded by his adoring harem and collecting hordes of ill-gotten gains. Hadn’t that been his fantasy?
Certainly, it hadn’t been creeping through the dark, tormented by the fear that he was somehow going to fail the female who’d become an essential part of his life.
Fingers tightened on his waistband, and his bout of self-pity was forgotten as the scent of warm female and lavender wrapped around him.
Cassie.
He wouldn’t trade one hour with this female for all the harems and fortunes in the world.
Oh, how the mighty were fallen.
Shaking his head at his foolishness, Caine followed the tunnel that led straight to the cellars beneath Salvatore’s lair. Then, as they reached the heavy wood door imbedded with iron spikes, he sucked in a deep breath, not at all comforted by the strange void filling the air.
There should be some odors.
On full alert, he reluctantly shoved the door open, doing his best to keep Cassie behind him as they entered the room, which had a dirt floor and cement walls lined with towering shelves that held hundreds of dusty bottles. In the center of the room sat a collection of aged-wood barrels and across the vast space were a number of arched doorways that led to storage alcoves and high-tech refrigerators.
Focused on searching the nearby shadows for an ambush, Caine nearly missed the slender, blond-haired Were that was sprawled in a chair next to the wine racks, apparently knocked unconscious.
He did, thankfully, sense the moment Cassie prepared to launch herself across the room. Grabbing her arm, he grimly held on. “Wait.”
“It’s Harley,” she hissed, straining against his grip. “We have to help her.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, speaking directly in her ear. “Cassie, there’s something missing.”
“What?”
>
“Smell.”
“I don’t smell . . .” She stiffened as she realized there wasn’t any hint of her sister’s scent in the air. “Oh.”
On the point of shoving her back through the doorway, Caine felt the air stir as one of the shelves swung open to reveal a hidden chamber. He had a brief impression of a small cement-lined cell before his attention turned to the two matching curs and dark-haired witch who spilled out of the cramped space.
“Very good, Caine,” the female cur mocked, obviously overhearing their private conversation.
“Ingrid.”
Caine’s lip curled in derision as his attention shifted to the male cur. The twins looked like Tweedledum and Tweedle-dummer on steroids with their matching buzz cuts and muscular bodies bulging beneath the olive wife-beaters and cammo pants. He’d always been creeped out by Ingrid’s overly intimate relationship with her twin, and not just because Dolf was a magic-user.
His opinion of the two hadn’t improved when he discovered the male had managed to get turned into a cur.
In fact, he’d been downright homicidal. And it was only because the cur had gone into hiding he hadn’t given in to his impulse to rid the world of his perverted presence.
“And Dolf,” he sneered. “I should have known there wouldn’t be one without the other.”
The male shrugged, the crystal hung around his neck glinting in the muted overhead light. “Did you think you could keep me in the closet forever?”
“I should have killed you the minute I realized your sister had managed to get you turned.” He covertly shifted to stand between the curs and Cassie. “You’re a freak of nature.”
“I’m a freak of nature?” Dolf mocked, folding his arms over his chest. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, Caine? You’re the one who walked into a cave as a cur and walked out as a Were.”
“Yeah,” Ingrid added. “We’re all agog with curiosity at how you performed that little miracle.”
“Is that why you lured me here?”
Without warning, the faux Harley rose from the chair, shaking back her long mane of blond hair. “No.” The female moved to the side, her gaze seeking Cassie. “You’re here because the Dark Lord has requested the presence of the prophet.”
Fear the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity) Page 8
