Darkness Unleashed

by Alexandra Ivy

  A renewed sense of alarm had her tugging her hand free so she could step back.

  “It wouldn’t have if you hadn’t mentioned that whole mate thing.”

  He searched her tight expression. “Are you afraid I intend to trap you?”

  “I just…” She wrapped her arms around her waist, unable to find the words for her unease. “Are you certain?”

  “Certain?”

  “About me being your mate?”

  “You don’t carry my mark yet, but yes, I’m certain.”

  She shook her head, telling herself it was all some cosmic mistake. This large, beautiful, incredibly sexy predator deserved a mate who could offer untarnished, unconditional devotion. Not a screwed-up Were who was torn between fleeing in utter terror, and a breathless dread of never seeing him again.

  “How can it even be possible? I mean, we’ve done nothing but argue since we met.”

  “One of fate’s little jokes, no doubt.”

  Ridiculously, she felt a prick of disappointment at his mocking tone.

  “You don’t sound particularly happy.”

  “Should I be?” He planted his fists on his hips, the movement stretching the shirt over his massive chest. “After centuries of being alone, I at last find the female destined to be my mate, and she has commitment issues. Forgive me for not jumping for joy.”

  She tilted her chin, although her gaze kept straying down to the enticing ripple of muscle beneath that damned shirt.

  Hey, she might be a demon, but she was all female.

  Who wouldn’t be distracted?

  “I don’t have issues, I just…”

  Golden brows arched as she struggled to find the words. “Yes?”

  “I’m just not ready to think about the future.”

  “You’ve found Culligan. What else do you have to think about but the future?”

  She latched onto the first thing that came to mind. “My sister for one thing.”

  He frowned. “Darcy?”

  “No, the one being held captive by Caine.” She met his exasperated gaze with a tight smile. “I think we might have a means to track her.”

  Levet was not a happy gargoyle.

  He’d come to Hannibal to rescue Regan from the clutches of the evil imp. He was supposed to be the hero who won the fair damsel and was celebrated among the demon-world.

  Instead, he’d not only lost the girl to yet another devious vampire, but he was now stuck playing babysitter to a bad-tempered cur who couldn’t decide if he wanted to be a good or bad guy.

  Where was the justice in that?

  And to top it off, he was stuck in a cramped fishing cabin that was nearly hidden in a tangle of trees, waiting for Salvatore to make an appearance at dawn.

  Kicking a stray rock, Levet negotiated the narrow trail that ran along the Mississippi River.

  When Salvatore had commanded Duncan to meet him at a private sanctuary less than an hour north of St. Louis, Levet had held on to the hope the place would be along the lines of Hefner’s Playboy Mansion. Salvatore might be a dog, but he was King of the Dogs, and rumors were that he liked the ladies.

  Stupid Were.

  The splash of water wrenched Levet out of his satisfying bout of self-pity, and with a sinking heart he turned toward the river to watch as Bella’s head popped into view, the rest of her body remaining hidden in the murky waves.

  “Well, well.” A smug smile touched her lovely face. “If it isn’t the stunted gargoyle.”

  “Sacrebleu.” Levet threw up his hands in resignation. “Am I to be forever tormented by you? Why will you not go away?”

  The water sprite pouted. Oy. She managed to make even that a thing of beauty.

  “Until the cur makes his third wish, I am free to roam as I please.”

  “Then roam somewhere else, you annoying pest.”

  She swam closer. “You’re only mad because I managed to lure you into a trap.”

  Levet snorted, refusing to admit his pride was stung at having been so easily distracted by the tempting sprite.

  “I am mad because you make my head hurt.” His eyes narrowed as he was struck by a sudden thought. “Wait. Duncan has wishes?”

  “He summoned me,” she said, sounding annoyed that he would even ask such an obvious question. “That’s the deal. You summon me, you get three wishes.”

  Of course Levet knew the basics of calling a water sprite. He’d accidentally done it just a few weeks ago. His interest was in whether or not Duncan was playing some devious game.

  “Then why didn’t he just wish for you to make him impervious to harm?” Levet snapped.

  “I’m a sprite, not a god. I can alter physical appearances, as I did with you, or conjure material possessions.” She deliberately reminded him of his brief stint as a full-sized gargoyle. One capable of plundering, pillaging, and wholesale destruction. Ah, good times. “But I can’t make someone immortal, or influence anyone other than the person making the wish.”

  “So he couldn’t wish away his enemies?”

  “Nope.”

  “Or make Caine forget him?”

  “Again, nope.”

  “So what did he wish for?”

  She grimaced. “The usual.”

  Levet’s brief suspicion began to ease. “Riches?”

  “Of course. So tedious.”

  “What else?”

  “His own private island.”

  “Why would he want an island?”

  “I believe he has some grandiose scheme to take over the renegade curs and start his own pack, once Salvatore kills Caine for him.”

  His wings snapped with mocking amusement. “What a titty.”

  “Titty?” Bella blinked in confusion. “Oh…do you mean boob?”

  “Titty, boob, whatever,” he dismissed. “Salvatore will never allow the curs to escape to some private Garden of Eden. They’ll be lucky to keep their hides. The King of Weres might be a pureblood, but he’s as rabid as any dog. He should have been put down years ago, if you ask me.”

  “I don’t tell my victims…” Bella hastily tried to cover her slip. “I mean, I don’t tell my fortunate masters what to wish for. I just obey.”

  Levet wasn’t fooled. As a full blooded demon, he was immune to the water sprite’s curse, but most men greedy enough to accept the offer of her three wishes, soon learned the truth in the old saying, “If it sounds too good to be true…”

  “So why hasn’t Duncan demanded his last wish?”

  Her lips curled. “He’s a cur, not a demon.”

  It took a minute, then his eyes widened. “Ah. So like a human, his last wish will condemn him to the watery depths of your nest?”

  “Such a smart little gargoyle,” she murmured, swimming forward and stepping out of the river to reveal her full glory.

  And what glory it was.

  Levet’s tail went stiff as the moonlight lapped over the tiny, perfectly formed woman wearing nothing more than a sheer toga. The sprite might be the most dim-witted, annoying creature ever to have crossed his path, but with her white skin, slanted blue eyes, and pale green hair, she was causing all sorts of things to hum and jump and grow.

  Grow really hard.

  “Mon Dieu,” he groaned in genuine pain.

  Smiling, she sashayed toward him, her hands running down her generous curves. “Do you like?”

  Levet muttered his favorite curses. The damned sprite had made a fool of him once. He was horny (holy bat dung, was he horny), but he wasn’t stupid.

  “I am a male—I enjoy a good ogle as well as the next—but I am also a gargoyle with powers that make the demon-world shudder in fear,” he muttered. “My…man parts do not rule me.”

  “A shame.” She closed the tiny space he’d managed to earn, enveloping him in the scent of spring rain. “I’ve thought about you so often during my long, lonely days beneath the water.”

  “Oui, thoughts about putting my precious testicles into a vise.”

  “Oh, no. When
I thought about your testicles, they were in quite a different place.”

  She deliberately licked her lips, and Levet nearly swallowed his tongue.

  He wanted to be ruled by his man parts.

  Actually he wanted to rule her with his man parts.

  This whole being sensible thing sucked.

  “Bah,” he managed to croak. “Do you think I have forgotten that you betrayed me at the first opportunity?”

  She did another one of those charming pouts. “I will admit I was the teeniest bit annoyed that you condemned me back to my nest after I helped you rescue your friends. Can you blame me?”

  A thread of irritation managed to bubble through his raging lust.

  “Hell, yes, I can blame you. I was magic-bombed…by a cur.” He pounded a fist against his chest. “Me. Do you know the indignity I will suffer if that little embarrassment gets back to my family?”

  “Oh, pooh. Who will tell them?”

  “Well, let me think…” He pointed a claw in her direction. “You. You will tell them. What better revenge than to make me a source of mockery among my brethren?”

  She studied him with a vacant gaze. “But I would think you were already…” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oops.”

  Levet quivered with outrage. “I am already what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, it was something.” He turned his hand over, allowing a small ball of flame to dance in his palm. “Maybe I should just change you into a toad and be done with it. At least I won’t have to worry about you flapping your lips.”

  Rather than trembling in terror, the aggravating pest leaned down to stroke her fingers lightly on the tip of his wings.

  “Now, let’s not be hasty, my tiny gargoyle.”

  Ohhhhh. It was good. So good.

  “I am not tiny,” he denied, his voice strained. “I am majestically petite.”

  Her fingers dipped and fondled and caressed.

  “I like petite.”

  He groaned against his will. “Stop that.”

  “Your lips say no, but your wings say yes.”

  Levet glanced over his shoulder, realizing the treacherous things were glowing like a neon light in front of a cheap bar.

  “Stupid wings.”

  “And what about these delectable horns?” Her hands skimmed up to toy with the stunted nubs. “What do they have to say?”

  “Bella…” She stroked a particularly tender spot, and his knees nearly gave way. Now this was a sprite who knew the secrets of pleasing a gargoyle. “Oh. Sacrebleu. Where did you learn to do that?”

  “Here and there.” She leaned down to lick the tip of one horn. “Do you want to discover what else I’ve learned?”

  Eyes rolling back in his head, Levet conceded defeat. No, he leaped headfirst into defeat.

  If this was a trap, then screw it.

  “Yes. Gods, yes.”

  The great philosophers, poets, and playwrights devoted entire lives to revealing the ironies of life.

  Jagr had made a study of their works.

  He’d intellectually understood their struggles to make sense of a sometimes senseless existence. But there’d always been a part of himself removed from their experiences.

  For centuries he had remained distant from society, watching from the shadows and rarely interacting. Shrouded in peace and solitude, he often considered the portrayals of intimate relationships as nothing more than melodramatic drivel.

  How could love, or even affection, offer such uncertainty, such confusion, such downright torture?

  Now he understood with painful clarity.

  Since Regan’s arrival in his world, nothing was the same.

  It was like existing in the midst of a whirlwind, he grimly acknowledged, pacing Tane’s bedroom with jerky steps. One moment he was drowning in sensual pleasure, the next he was struggling against the bleak tide of resignation as Regan panicked at the thought of being his mate.

  And the next…

  The next he was consumed with pure fury as Regan revealed her adventures in stupidity while he’d been locked in Gaynor’s prison.

  “You went searching for Sadie without Tane?” he gritted, his voice dripping with ice as he sought to contain his ravaging emotions.

  Standing near the door to the bathroom, Regan jerked a brush through her glorious curls, her jaw set in stubborn lines even though she had to know she was in the wrong.

  “He was a little too sun-combustible to join me.”

  Jagr fiercely refused to remember just how wondrous it had felt to run his fingers though that golden mane.

  “Dammit, when you said you found Culligan, I didn’t realize you’d been out roaming the countryside alone.”

  The green eyes shimmered with warning. “Because a pureblooded Were can’t take care of herself without a vampire playing bodyguard?”

  “Because if something happened to you, it would send me over the edge,” he ground out the brutal truth. “And nothing would bring me back.”

  He heard her catch her breath, the brush dropping from her fingers as her defensive expression softened.

  “Look, all I intended to do was see if I could track the curs. I had no plans to confront them without Tane and Styx.”

  Jagr stilled, struck by the sudden realization that Regan had managed to do what he’d tried and failed to do.

  “How did you track them?”

  Her lips twitched at the hint of irritation he couldn’t hide.

  “Gaynor mentioned Sadie’s obsession with his peanut butter fudge. Once I had the scent, I searched until I ran across it again.”

  “Peanut butter fudge?”

  “It worked.”

  He muttered an ancient curse. “And that’s where you found Culligan?”

  “He was chained in the shed.” She shrugged, but it didn’t disguise the lingering revulsion. “When I questioned him, I learned that Gaynor’s portal was weak, and that you were probably being held close to where you disappeared. I decided to take his amulet and see if I could find you.”

  Jagr bit back his harsh words. As furious as he might be, he’d rather cut out his tongue than cause Regan unnecessary distress.

  “And Duncan?” he instead demanded.

  “We stumbled over each other when I left the cabin.”

  The thought of the cur not only attacking Regan, but actually holding her captive was enough to make his fangs lengthen and the room fill with a frigid burst of power.

  Not bloodlust, just good old-fashioned fury any male would feel at his mate being harmed.

  “He could have killed you.”

  With an impatient click of her tongue, Regan moved to stand directly before him.

  “One more word about me putting myself in danger and we’re done with this conversation, chief.”

  Chief. Absurdly, the pet name helped to calm his temper. It reminded him that for all her protests, Regan wasn’t as emotionally detached as she wanted to be.

  “Fine,” he grudgingly conceded. What was the point in arguing? Regan would do what she wanted. Always.

  And in some twisted way, it was what he admired most about her.

  Irony, indeed.

  “Besides, it all worked out for the best,” she pointed out. “Now we can at least hope my sister can be rescued.”

  Well, that was true enough. Jagr scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling weary despite his recent feeding of the cur.

  A small part of him wished he’d managed to pack his bag and return to the sanctity of his lair. Every moment spent in Regan’s company was bound to deepen the sense of loss when she disappeared from his world.

  But even as the cowardly thought flared through his mind, he was dismissing it.

  So long as this beautiful Were had need of him, he would stand at her side.

  Pitiful, but true.

  With a restless shake of his head, Jagr headed toward the door to the outer rooms.

  “We must share this information with Styx.”

>   “Jagr.”

  Halting, he glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

  She licked her lips, strangely uncertain. As if she struggled with some inner demon.

  At last she gave a jerky shake of her head.

  “Never mind.”

  Jagr bit back his curse of impatience. He might not be the most perceptive vampire, but he did learn from his mistakes. And trying to press Regan would only make her dig in her heels deeper.

  A knowledge that did nothing to ease his temper as he stormed from the rooms and went in search of his Anasso.

  Following the unmistakable scent of power, Jagr moved through the surveillance rooms to a large library, complete with plasma TV. Not surprisingly, Styx was engrossed in a rare book on the history of the Huguenots rather than watching Cinemax. The ancient vampire had never possessed Jagr’s interest in the ever changing society, and it was only because he was determined to please his new mate that he wasn’t still living in a damp cavern without one modern convenience.

  As Jagr stepped through the door, Styx was on his feet, his lifted brow revealing he was well aware of his companion’s tangled emotions, although he was smart enough not to comment.

  Instead he listened in silence as Jagr revealed Duncan’s attempted negotiations with the Weres, and the cur’s promise he could reveal the location of Regan’s missing sister.

  As he finished, Styx pulled a cell phone from his pocket and swiftly dialed Salvatore’s number.

  Absently, Jagr listened to the short, tense argument, his body flaring with awareness as he felt Regan entering the room behind him.

  He deliberately kept his gaze on Styx’s imposing form as she halted beside him, not that it mattered. She had only to be near for him to drown in her jasmine-scented presence.

  With an audible snap, Styx closed his phone and stuffed it into the pocket of his leather pants. Perhaps not surprisingly, Regan took a step closer to Jagr.

  Styx was overwhelming under the best of circumstances. With the scowl marring his stark features, and his massive body tense with annoyance, any creature not brain-dead would be wary.

  Either unaware, or simply ignoring the prickles in the air, Styx lifted a hand to smooth over the raven hair he’d pulled into a braid that hung nearly to his knees.