Levet backed away with his hands in the air. “Non. A thousand times, non. I am allergic to dogs. Not to mention long sharp teeth and nasty claws.”
“Surely a mighty gargoyle fears nothing?”
“Are you deranged? I am three feet tall with magic that sucks and little girly wings. I am frightened of everything.”
Styx shrugged. “Being small means that you could slip into their lair unnoticed.”
“Are you certain that arrow went through your chest and not your brain?” Levet snorted in disgust. “Why would I risk myself for you?”
“Because it is not for me. It is for Darcy,” Styx said smoothly. “Until we know why the Weres are so desperate to get their hands on her, she will be at risk.”
The gray eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair.”
It wasn’t, of course. But Styx was not above using whatever means necessary.
He had to know what secrets the Weres were hording. Not only for Darcy, but for the fragile peace that held the bloodshed at bay.
“And I suppose if you succeed I could find some means to recompense your efforts,” Styx grudgingly conceded.
“Damn straight, you could.”
“What is it you desire?”
“To be a six-foot tall rock star with buns of steel and washboard abs,” Levet promptly demanded.
Styx gave a lift of his brows. “I’m a vampire, not a wizard.”
“Fine, fine.” The gargoyle pointed a finger toward Styx’s face. “I will do this, but only for Darcy, you understand?”
Styx was wise enough to hide his smile. He hadn’t doubted for a moment that the demon’s soft heart would get the best of him.
“Of course.”
“And if I end up in the gullet of a Were, I will come back, here to haunt you for all eternity.”
“A thought that is enough to give any vampire nightmares.”
Levet muttered a string of French curses beneath his breath. “You know, Styx, you’re just one good staking away from a decent personality.”
“More powerful demons than you have tried, gargoyle.”
Making what Styx assumed was a rude gesture, the tiny demon stalked down the hall toward the kitchen.
Naturally he had to have the last word.
“ Talk to the tail, vamp,” he growled.
—
The armory beneath Viper’s estate was a thing of beauty.
Not only did it possess a collection of weapons large enough to equip a small army, but it had also been built with all the apparatus necessary for a vampire to keep his skills well honed.
There was a firing range, a line of targets for archery practice and knife throwing. There were padded dummies for hand-to-hand combat, and even armored dummies for swordplay.
There was also a small arena that was perfect for genuine competition.
Stripped down to a pair of leather pants and soft suede boots, Styx slashed his sword toward the waiting DeAngelo. They had been sparring for over an hour, and they both had the bleeding wounds to prove it.
Mock battles between vampires always tended to be more battle than mock.
Despite his wounds, however, Styx found his tension molting beneath the familiar rush of pleasure at pitting himself against a worthy opponent.
DeAngelo was a master swordsman, and quite capable of holding his own, even against Styx.
Silently they performed the flowing, beautiful dance of the swords. It might have continued another hour, or even more, if Styx hadn’t sensed Darcy entering the room.
Although she remained silently in the shadows, Styx was not fool enough to spar with DeAngelo with such a distraction nearby. That was a good way to find a sword stuck through his heart.
Not a wound he particularly desired to experience on this night.
“Enough, DeAngelo,” he commanded, holding his sword hilt toward his opponent. “We will continue this tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, master.”
With a deep bow the Raven took both swords and moved toward the inner armory. Styx trusted his servant to clean and oil the weapons before returning them to their sheaths. Styx also trusted that the vampire would have the sense to lock the door behind him so that Styx could be assured of being alone with his bewitching captive.
Grabbing a towel, Styx swiftly moved toward the waiting woman, his predatory nature on full alert. Darcy had managed to elude him for too long.
Now he was anxious to have her in his grasp.
In his arms. In his bed. Moaning beneath him.
Oh, yes. That was precisely what he wanted. So badly his entire body ached with the need.
He halted before her and swallowed a low growl as a sweet, tempting smile curved her lips.
“Very impressive,” she murmured softly.
Styx shrugged, his attention still on her lush mouth. His skill as a warrior was renowned throughout the demon world. It was something he accepted without thought.
“I’ve had several centuries of practice.”
Her smile widened as her gaze deliberately lowered to his bare chest. “I wasn’t talking about your swordsmanship.”
Styx shuddered at the fierce flare of excitement that raced through him. Her mere glance was enough to make him hard and aching.
He stepped close enough to feel her heat wrap about him. “A woman of discerning taste,” he said huskily.
Caught off guard, she took a hasty step backward, her nose wrinkling as she studied the various wounds marring his chest.
“Well, I must admit that my taste does run to a bit less bloody.”
Styx cursed himself as he hastily wiped the blood away with the towel. He so rarely spent time among humans that he tended to forget their squeamish nature. No doubt being mortal had something to do with it.
“They will heal,” he reassured her, tossing the towel aside.
She raised her gaze to regard him with a hint of confusion. “But doesn’t it hurt?”
He blinked at the odd question. “Of course.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“I must stay in practice.” He paused before giving a small shrug and continuing, “And, in truth, I enjoy sparring. It makes me feel… alive.”
Her lips twisted. “Rather ironic.”
“That a vampire can feel alive?”
“No, that flirting with death would make you feel alive.”
Styx stepped close once again, pleased when Darcy did not back away. A rueful smile touched his lips.
It seemed that the true irony was that a vampire who relied upon his ruthless reputation to keep the demons around the world under his control panicked at the mere thought that this tiny woman might fear him.
“What is life without a bit of danger?” he murmured, unable to resist reaching out to outline those tempting lips with the tip of his finger.
“Safe?” she retorted.
Her skin was sheer silk beneath his touch, stirring his muscles to a painful hardness.
“Dull,” he managed to mutter.
“Comfortable.”
“Tedious.”
“Prudent.”
“Dreary.”
She abruptly nipped at his roaming finger, sending a jolt of pure lust to his toes.
“Maybe we should just agree to disagree,” she said, her green eyes smoldering with a dangerous fire. “I prefer my life far more peaceful, with as little danger and violence involved as possible.”
Styx cupped her cheek. He couldn’t deny that a part of him was strongly attracted to her gentle soul. It was an irresistible solace after centuries of endless brutality. But he was nothing if not a realist.
Alone in the world this woman was a victim waiting to happen.
Actually, it was amazing she had survived relatively unscathed for so many years.
“It is a beautiful life, angel, but there are very few who possess your tender heart,” he said softly. “You need someone to keep you safe.”
The green eyes slowly narrowed. Styx wasn’t at all c
ertain that was a good sign.
“You think I can’t protect myself?” Darcy demanded.
He suddenly felt as if he had fallen into a hole he didn’t even recall digging.
“I think you would sacrifice yourself before harming another,” he warily admitted.
“I don’t need a sword, or dagger, or gun to defeat a vampire.” Without warning, she stepped closer and placed her hands flat against Styx’s chest. He hissed sharply as she boldly began to explore his clenched muscles. “There are all sorts of weapons that are far more fearsome.”
“Angel…” His voice choked off as she leaned forward to flick her tongue over his hardened nipple.
“Yes?”
By the gods. His arms whipped around her and he pressed her fully against his aroused body.
She had made her point. He was well and truly defeated by this tiny slip of a woman.
“Dangerous weapons, indeed.” His arms tightened. “But I had better be the only vampire you are using them upon.”
She chuckled at his fierce tone. “Since the other vampires look at me as if I’m something they found stuck to the bottom of their shoes, I think I can safely make that promise.”
Styx was shocked by the unexpected, dark emotion that clenched his heart. Possession. There was no other word for it.
“Perhaps I should make clear that I mean all demons, humans, fairies, and creatures in this world, or any other.”
She tilted her head to regard him with a searching gaze. “That’s very… inclusive.”
“Completely and totally inclusive.”
Her lips twitched, as if she found something amusing in his unnerving reaction. But before he could protest, her head had once again lowered and her lips were skimming over his healed chest.
“So you don’t want me doing this…” Her fingers trailed tantalizingly down his stomach to the waistband of his pants. “Or this…” With a tug she had the button opened and then pulled his zipper down. Styx gave a strangled groan as her fingers softly curved around his hard cock. “To any other man?” She stroked him from bottom to top.
Styx buried his face in the sweet curve of her neck. “By the gods, you are lethal,” he rasped, silently adding that he would kill any man she touched in such an intimate way.
There didn’t seem to be any need to trouble her pacifist soul with that thought.
“I did warn you,” she breathed.
She had. But her warning hadn’t included her lips brushing his nipples, his sternum, the small depression running between his abs, and then shockingly she was on her knees and her mouth closed over the tip of his erection.
His fingers threaded through her soft curls as she impatiently tugged down his pants and her hands cupped him with a knee-buckling touch.
“Bloody hell, angel.”
Ignoring his strangled words, thank the gods. Darcy pulled him deeper into her mouth. His eyes closed and his fangs fully extended at the feel of her tongue tracing over the head of his cock.
Nothing had ever been meant to feel so good.
So damnably good he was certain he could die in that moment with a smile on his lips.
Groaning as she squeezed and licked him with an enthusiasm that threatened to bring a swift end to his shocking pleasure, Styx struggled to keep the climax at bay.
He had claimed that danger made him feel truly alive.
It was nothing—nothing—compared to this.
And he wanted it to last more than a handful of blissful strokes.
“Angel… enough,” he groaned, lowering himself until he was on his knees before her.
She smiled with smug pleasure at the sight of his extended fangs and darkened eyes.
“You don’t like?” she teased.
“I like too much,” he breathed, his hands running down the curve of her back until he could grasp the bottom of her sweatshirt. With one smooth motion he ranked it over her head. “Now, it’s your turn.”
He could hear her breath catch as he tugged free her bra and at last cupped the soft mounds of her breasts. Thank the gods he didn’t have to worry to breathe, he acknowledged as heat burst through his body. How could a man remember such tedious things when confronted with such beauty?
With tender care his thumbs brushed over the tight peaks of her nipples, his fingers savoring the curve of her breasts. He had touched countless humans before, but never had he been so intrigued by the texture of mere skin.
Just like warm silk, he realized in fascination. Warm silk with a faint tingle of pulsing life that made his every instinct roar with need.
Perhaps sensing his odd bemusement, Darcy slid her hands up his bare arms to his shoulders.
“Styx?” she questioned softly. “Is something wrong?”
He leaned his head down to press his forehead to hers. “Each moment you are near, I forget everything but you,” he confessed in a husky tone. “If I could lock the doors and keep out the world for the rest of eternity I would, just so we could be alone.”
Her fingers slid over his shoulders and down his back. “And that troubles you?”
He groaned, his lips skimming down her slender nose and brushing over her mouth.
“Not nearly as much as it should.”
Unwilling to brood on his strange obsession with this woman, Styx claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips. In this moment he was ready and willing to forget about the world, and the responsibilities awaiting him outside the door.
His duty would find him sooner or later.
He wanted it to be later.
Much, much later.
Cradling Darcy in his arms he propelled her backward, laying her on the matted floor before covering her with his body. Her nails dug into his back as he kissed his way down the curve of her neck and lingered on the line of her collarbone.
“You taste of spring,” he murmured as he trailed his tongue down to the tip of her nipple.
Darcy moaned as she arched her back in silent invitation. “What does spring taste like?” she demanded.
His fangs pierced her skin to taste of her sweetness.
“Honey,” he whispered, his tongue continuing to tease the hard nub, “and nectar, and sunshine.”
Her eyes squeezed shut at his insistent caresses. “Cripes.”
“I’ve only started, angel,” he promised, his hands following the slender lines of her waist.
With a minimum of fuss he had her pants undone. Pulling them downward, he tugged them off, along with her shoes. Then, as long as he was down there, he nibbled the tender arch of her foot and sucked her toes into his mouth.
She gave a soft cry as he slowly meandered up her calf, pausing to tease the back of her knee. He hadn’t lied. She did taste of nectar. Sweet enough to cloud the mind of any vampire.
Dragging his tongue up the tempting vein of her inner thigh, Styx shuddered with longing. This time was for Darcy, but soon he intended to return to this precise spot and taste her as only a vampire could.
Giving her the lightest of nips, he worked his way upward, spreading her legs to seek out her most sensitive flesh.
“Styx.” Her fingers clenched in his hair as he stroked his tongue through the moist heat. “Oh…”
He smiled as she nearly pulled his hair out by its roots. The pain was a small price to pay for her husky moans of desire.
Dipping his tongue deep into her, Styx pleasured her with a steady rhythm. Her hips writhed as her moans became breathless pants. She was close. He could taste it on his lips.
With a last, loving stroke Styx pressed himself upward, claiming her mouth in a fierce kiss. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he lifted his hips and with one smooth thrust buried himself deep inside her.
They clutched at one another as the pleasure rolled over them in searing waves.
“You must truly be an angel,” he breathed as he slowly pulled out of her to thrust back with a roll of his hips. “Because you have shown me heaven.”
She gave a soft laugh that was choked off with a groan as her back arched in building excitement.
Spreading kisses over her beautiful face, he pumped himself into her heat. This was heaven. And she was his angel. He buried his face in the curve of her neck. Continuing his relentless pace, he waited for her to tense beneath him.
It was when she gave a soft cry of release that he allowed his fangs to slip into her skin and he sucked in the very essence of her. With one last thrust he buried himself as deeply as he could reach and allowed his climax to slam into her with electric force.
Bloody hell.
It was a good thing he was an immortal.
Surely such pleasure would put a mere man in his grave.
Chapter Ten
“This way.”
Salvatore allowed Hess to lead him to the dank basement of their current lair. His mood was almost as foul as the thick air that cloaked around them.
Sophia would arrive in Chicago in less than a week and he still did not have Darcy in his clutches.
Now Hess was moaning about some sly intruder who supposedly had slipped into the building through the sewers and was now set to…
Well, Hess hadn’t been entirely clear on what he sus pected the intruder intended to do. Of course, Hess rarely bothered to use the lumpy gray mass that was stuck in his skull.
Why bother thinking when you could flounder around with raw instinct?
Thankfully unaware of Salvatore’s less than complimentary thoughts, Hess came to a sudden halt and peered into the inky blackness.
“There, I warned you,” the cur hissed, his finger pointing toward a distant corner. “An intruder.”
A jolt of surprise raced through Salvatore as he studied the tiny demon who was currently grumbling beneath his breath as he attempted to clean his delicate wings.
He sniffed deeply, unable to believe this stroke of fortune.
“The gargoyle. The same one I smelled at Styx’s lair,” he whispered. “How intriguing.”
Hess stiffened, the air prickling about him as he struggled not to shift into wolf. “He belongs to the vampire?”
“So it would seem.”
“Not much of a gargoyle. I will swallow him in one bite.”
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