Darkness Everlasting

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Very droll.” Levet rolled his eyes. “By intimate I mean that I graced their castles for several centuries. You would be amazed what an enterprising demon can learn when perched outside a bedroom window.”

  Darcy grimaced. “Ick, I can imagine.”

  “Of course, when it came to the queens, well, let’s us just say that my intimacy was—”

  “Enough.” Darcy firmly interrupted. She wasn’t up for a detailed account of gargoyle sexcapades. Not tonight. Not any night. “I’m not going bowling.”

  Levet planted his hands on his hips and stuck out his bottom lip. Great. A pouting demon.

  “Have you ever tried it?” he demanded.

  Darcy shivered before she could halt the betraying gesture. “When I was a teenager.”

  Easily sensing her unhappy memories, Levet moved forward with a curious expression. “What happened?”

  “The first ball I threw went through the back of the alley.” She smiled with a grim humor. “The manager asked me to leave immediately, and later that night so did my foster parents.”

  Levet made a soft sound as his pretty wings suddenly drooped with regret.

  “Oh, Darcy, I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Shit happens.”

  “Yes.” He screwed up his face. “It certainly does.”

  Darcy gave a small chuckle as she shrugged off the ugly memory. Somehow, when Levet was near things didn’t seem nearly so bad.

  On the point of suggesting a rousing game of hopscotch or “toss the gargoyle from the roof and see if he can really fly,” Darcy felt a strange prickle race over her skin.

  She turned toward the door absolutely certain that there was someone moving down the hall.

  Two someones.

  Both vampires.

  She could… smell them, dammit. Even through the thick walls and heavy door.

  Obviously she had been spending way, way too much time in the company of demons.

  “Someone’s coming,” she murmured softly.

  Levet briefly closed his eyes before snapping them back open with a frown.

  “The two vamps whom Styx has taken under his protection.” His nose was still clearly better than hers. Or perhaps he possessed other mystical, magical means of peering through the wall. “I thought that Dante had or dered them to hide in the tunnels until their chief is eliminated.”

  “Eliminated?” Darcy wrinkled her nose. Werewolf or not, she would never become accustomed to casual killing. “Yeesh.”

  Levet flashed a wicked smile. “Offed? Poofed? Gone to the big blood bank in the…”

  “Levet,” she hissed as she moved to the door and pulled it open. The two vampires were indeed standing just outside, the pale faces expressionless and their bodies eerily still. Like two mannequins propped in position, she acknowledged with a tiny shiver. For some reason their presence… troubled her. As if there was something brewing beneath those frozen faces that they were taking care not to reveal.

  Her hand tightened on the door even as she at tempted to dismiss her strange desire to slam it shut. Not only was she being ridiculous, but a mere door would never halt a determined vampire. Instead, she forced a smile to her lips.

  “Yes?”

  They bowed in unison, although the tall, dark-haired woman managed to straighten far faster than the hulking blond Viking.

  “Mistress, forgive our intrusion,” the woman said in a cool, flat tone.

  Mistress? Well, that was a new one.

  “You’re not intruding. Can I help you?”

  The tall male, with a long, blond braid and broad face, took a slight step forward.

  “We received word from the Anasso.”

  Darcy lifted a hand to press it to her racing heart. “From Styx?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s here?”

  “No, he has dealt with the traitor and now has returned to his lair,” the man said, his tone as flat as his expression. “He wishes us to accompany you so that you may join him there.”

  Darcy frowned. It wasn’t like Styx to send others to do his bidding. Especially when it came to her. If he wanted her near then he came to her; he didn’t send someone to fetch her like she was a dog.

  “Why didn’t he just come back and get me himself?” she demanded.

  The Viking appeared momentarily baffled. As if the question was too much for his poor brain to process.

  With a smooth ease the female stepped into the awkward breech.

  “I fear he was… injured during the battle,” she said.

  “Injured?”

  Darcy’s knees went weak as a dark wave of panic threatened to cloud her mind. Styx, hurt? No. Oh lord, no. She couldn’t bear it.

  She had to…

  In the midst of trying to clear her mind and consider precisely what she needed to do, her panic was pierced by an odd sensation. The feeling that this couldn’t be right. That she would know with absolute certainty if Styx was hurt.

  When she thought of Styx, what she experienced was a… vibration. Like the hum of an angry bee.

  Styx was flat-out furious. She could sense nothing of physical pain.

  A rough hand touched her arm and she glanced down into Levet’s concerned eyes.

  “Are you all right, Darcy?” he demanded.

  “Yes… I…” She gave a shake of her head and forced her attention back to the waiting vampires. “How badly is he injured?”

  The woman gave a lift of her slender hand. “I cannot say. I only know that he wishes you to be with him.”

  Levet’s fingers squeezed on Darcy’s arm. “Don’t worry, cherie. I will go with you.”

  “No.”

  Darcy blinked at the Viking’s abrupt refusal. “Why not?”

  “The master said nothing of bringing the gargoyle. You must come alone.”

  Okay, her shitmeter was starting to tilt.

  None of this made sense.

  If Styx was hurt why wouldn’t he have come back here? Not only was Dante here, but there was an honest to goodness goddess in the house. Where could he pos sibly go that would be better protected?

  And even if he was at some other lair, why would he send these two vampires to bring her to him?

  He had five Ravens whom she knew and trusted to escort her.

  She covertly inched back, her hand gripping the door. “Where are Shay and Abby?”

  There was a beat before the woman gave a slow blink. “They are below attending to Viper.”

  “He was injured as well?”

  The Viking gave a low growl. “We must be on our way. Dawn will all too soon be approaching.”

  Darcy inched another step back, her gaze on the woman. “How did he contact you?”

  Blink, blink, blink. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Styx. How did he contact you?”

  “He sent a messenger.”

  “I want to speak with this messenger.”

  “Enough,” the Viking growled, his fangs flashing. “Take her.”

  The words were still leaving his lips when Darcy slammed the door shut and snapped the lock in place.

  With a squeak of surprise, Levet looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

  “Darcy?”

  “Something’s not right,” she breathed, pressing her hands against the door as the vampires on the other side struggled to break through.

  “No shit,” Levet muttered, moving to add his own strength to the shivering door. “You must run. This door won’t last long.”

  “No way.”

  He gave a low curse. “Martyrs are tedious creatures, Darcy. Get the hell out of here.”

  Darcy gritted her teeth and dug in her heels as she battled next to Levet to hold the door shut. She didn’t think for a minute that she could face off against two vampires and survive. Hell, she didn’t think she could manage to land a good punch. But she wasn’t about to run off and leave Levet.

  “I don’t bail on my friends,” she muttered as the wood shuddered beneath her
hands. Soon enough the door would shatter and then the fun would begin.

  With his arms bulging beneath the strain, the demon glared into her determined expression.

  “Sane bleu, vampires cannot hurt me if I shift. Not even their fangs are sharp enough to chew through stone.”

  He had a point. A damn good point, but Darcy was nothing if not stubborn.

  “I won’t leave you.”

  “You’re only in my way.” Levet gave a grunt as a hinge popped from the door and flew a mere inch from his face. “I have several spectacular spells I have been longing to cast, but I can hardly perform them while you are standing here watching me.”

  “Why not?”

  He sent her a glance filled with grim warning. “Performance issues. Just go.”

  A subtle glow began to surround the small gray form and Darcy forced herself to back away. She still had vivid memories of the spectacular explosion that had ripped through the air when she had been sneaking into the estate. If Levet had anything of that sort of magic in mind, then she had to agree that she didn’t want to be anywhere near when things started shaking.

  And in all honesty, if she was gone, then Levet would be free to turn into statue form. As he had pointed out, not even vampires could harm him once he shifted to stone.

  Ignoring the sharp pang of guilt, Darcy turned on her heel and headed for the window. With the door blocked by rabid vampires, the window was the only exit. Besides, what quicker method of getting downstairs to alert Abby that her home was harboring traitors.

  Crossing her arms over her head, Darcy hit the window with a burst of speed that launched her through the glass and into the frigid night air. She grunted as jagged shards ripped through her skin, but her attention was far more focused on the hard ground that was rapidly rising up to meet her. Cuts and bruises, no matter how deep, she could heal in a matter of hours. A broken neck… not so much.

  Flailing her limbs as if she could fly—not a talent generally associated with werewolves—Darcy did manage to twist enough in the air so that she ended up landing on her back, rather than her head. A small comfort, though, since the landing punched the air from her lungs and sent a shock of pain through her body.

  Cripes.

  With a moan she forced herself to rise to her feet. It was a surprise to discover she could actually accomplish the task. She was bleeding from a dozen wounds, bruised beyond bearing, and her head was pounding, but she didn’t seem to have one broken bone or busted internal organ.

  The night was looking up.

  Glancing toward the house, she was on the point of deciding where the nearest door might be when there was the faintest sound behind her.

  She whirled about quite prepared for anything to charge out of the dark.

  Vampire, werewolf, holy deity…

  Lions and tigers and bears.

  Tensing as she prepared to deal with the latest disaster, Darcy felt her mouth fall open as a slender woman walked from behind an ancient oak.

  Despite the cloaking darkness, Darcy had no trouble making out the silver blond hair that swirled about her shoulders and the green eyes that held an unmistakable glow.

  Pure shock held her motionless as the woman moved with a liquid grace to stand directly before her.

  This was a moment Darcy had dreamed of every night for the past thirty years.

  It was her most secret hope come to life.

  Now she struggled to accept that this could possibly be real.

  “Mother?” she at last whispered in disbelief.

  “Yes, darling, I am indeed your mother.” A smile touched the features that were so eerily like her own.

  “How very thoughtful of you to drop at my feet. It saves me a great deal of effort.”

  “What…”

  Utterly bemused Darcy never saw her mother moving. Not even when her arm lifted.

  It wasn’t until her fist actually connected with Darcy’s chin that she realized that sometimes dreams and reality were not always the same.

  Darcy tumbled back onto the cold, frozen ground as the waiting darkness flooded her mind.

  Yeah, reality was a bitch.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pointing his finger directly at the heart of his enemy, Styx could feel the air crackle with the frozen blaze of his fury.

  In the distance he could sense the sharp agitation of the circling vampires, could smell their unease, and hear the sound of fingers tightening on the crossbows.

  None of that mattered.

  The world had narrowed to the gaunt vampire who stood directly before him.

  A vampire who had lost his smug smile and was regarding Styx with a new wariness.

  Smart vampire.

  Even if he was about to die.

  Again.

  “Your theatrics do not frighten me, Styx,” Desmond managed to rasp even as he shuffled beneath the malevolent stare. “You are surrounded and your mate is within my grasp. You will do as you’re told or pay the consequences.”

  Styx could see the vampire’s lips moving. No doubt he was making some sort of threat or another, but he was long past listening. The only sound that mattered was the thunder of the power that rushed through his body.

  Deepening the chill that swirled through the air, he moved forward, ignoring the arrow that whizzed past his ear.

  “Styx?” Desmond stumbled back, his hands held outward. “Don’t be a fool. My clan will kill you…” His words of warning came to a halt as Styx wrapped his hands around the scrawny throat and squeezed.

  Shouts of alarm filled the air, and lifting the squirming vampire, Styx easily used Desmond’s body to block the flurry of arrows. Desmond groaned as the projectiles plunged deep into his back, the silver burning his flesh.

  From behind, Styx could sense the rush of an attack, and with a derisive motion he tossed Desmond toward the vampires, who were regarding their leader with horror. Instinctively they scrambled to assist the chief, leaving Styx free to turn and meet the charge of the infuriated Jacob.

  The vampire was nearly as large as himself and deranged by his own anger, but his power was no match for Styx.

  With a roar Jacob launched toward Styx’s throat only to give a growl of frustration when Styx easily sidestepped his charge. As he moved, Styx swept out his leg and easily tripped the fool. In the blink of an eye, he pulled his long sword from its sheath, and while the vampire was struggling to push himself upright, Styx was slicing his weapon through the air.

  Jacob didn’t even manage to get to his knees when Styx sliced the sword through the back of his neck, taking off his head with one smooth motion.

  Not waiting for the body to disintegrate, Styx kicked it aside and whirled just in time to meet the stake being thrust straight at his heart.

  He jerked up his arm in time to take the blow. The stake sank deep into the muscles of his forearm, but he didn’t so much as flinch. He had avoided a killing strike, and now it was his turn.

  The attacking vampire widened his eyes as Styx’s hand closed over his fingers holding the stake. The bones cracked beneath the pressure as Styx yanked the stake free and slowly turned it toward the vampire’s heart.

  There was a brief struggle as the younger man’s panic lent him a surge of strength, but the end was predictable.

  Still keeping the vampire’s fingers crushed against the stake, Styx gave a low growl and shoved it into the narrow chest.

  There was a grunt of pain before the vampire was falling backward and hitting the ground in a shower of dust.

  A place deep within Styx mourned the loss of his brothers. Enemies or not they were still of one blood. The grief, however, did not halt him as he clutched his sword and turned toward the remaining vampires.

  They intended to harm Darcy. For that they would die.

  Two of the clansmen were still bent over their fallen leader, but three others were gathering their courage to attack.

  Styx widened his stance and bent his knees as he prepared for the char
ge. They would be trained to separate and surround him. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  He would have to strike, and strike quickly.

  Tilting back his head, he gave a low roar and called on the power that flowed through his blood.

  —

  Viper was cursing as the van at last came to a halt and his clansmen poured in the night to surround the house.

  He hadn’t wanted to leave Styx. A vampire did not abandon a brother on the battlefield. Especially not when that brother was the Anasso.

  But once Styx gave a command he had no choice but to obey. And in truth, it had been far more sensible for him to go in search of reinforcements. For him to have remained would only have ensured both their deaths.

  The logic, however, didn’t ease the cold dread that clutched at his heart, or lessen the fury that pounded through his blood.

  He wanted to kill something.

  A lot of somethings.

  Flowing toward the back of the house. Viper held his sword in one hand and a lethal silver dagger in the other. He could smell death in the cold air. More than one vampire had died. And recently.

  Bloody hell.

  If Styx were…

  The dark, horrible thought had barely had time to form when a hair-raising roar shattered the night.

  A grim smile touched Viper’s lips.

  Styx.

  He was still alive. And in a very, very bad mood.

  With a last burst of speed, Viper rounded the corner of the house and then came to a startled halt as he watched Styx launch himself toward the three charging vampires.

  Or at least tried to watch.

  Styx was little more than a blur of speed as he flowed forward. There was a flash of steel and one of the vampires tumbled headless to the ground before the poor fools ever realized their danger.

  The remaining two halted in shock before attempting to backpedal out of the reach of the whirling sword.

  It was a wasted effort.

  An icy mist formed around their bodies as Styx held them in place with his fierce power. They were helpless to do anything but watch their own death stalk toward them.

  With an effort Viper shook off his grim fascination with the slaughter and turned his attention to his surroundings.

  Three vampires remained toward the edge of the yard, one stretched on the ground and obviously wounded, and two others frantically attempting to tend to him.