Salvatore snapped his teeth. Darcy was one of the female purebloods he’d been searching for over the past thirty years, and while he didn’t have the least fear of her, she’d recently mated with the King of Vampires.
Styx he did fear.
Hey, he wasn’t stupid.
Muttering a curse, Salvatore led the way down the tunnel, his already pissy mood plunging to foul.
“Get in my way and I’ll chop you up and feed you to the vultures. Understood, gargoyle?”
He sensed his curs falling into step behind him with Levet bringing up the rear.
“Mangy dogs can smooch my posterior,” the gargoyle muttered.
“A jinn is not the only creature capable of ripping off a wing,” Salvatore warned.
A blessed silence filled the dark tunnel and at last able to concentrate on the faint trail of cur, Salvatore quickened his pace.
It was moments like this that he regretted leaving Italy.
In his elegant lair near Rome no one dared treat him as anything other than Master of the Universe. His word was law and his underlings scrambled to do his bidding. Best of all there were no filthy vampires or stunted gargoyles.
Unfortunately, he’d had no choice in the matter.
The Weres were becoming extinct. Pureblooded females could no longer control their shifts during pregnancy and more often lost their babies before they could be born. Even the bite of Weres was losing its potency. A new cur had not been created in years.
Salvatore had to act, and after years of research, his very expensive scientists had at last managed to alter the DNA of four female pureblood babies so they could not shift.
They were a miracle. Born to save the Weres.
Until they had been stolen from the nursery.
He growled low in his throat, his anger still a potent force even after thirty years. He had wasted far too much time searching through Europe before he at last traveled to America and managed to stumble across two of the females. Unfortunately Darcy was in the hands of Styx, while Regan had proven to be infertile.
While he was in Hannibal, however, he’d managed to discover that the babies had at some point been in the hands of Caine, a cur with a death wish who’d convinced himself that he would be capable of using the blood of the females to turn common curs into Weres. Moron.
Salvatore had been in a cabin to meet with one of Caine’s pack who’d promised to reveal the traitor’s location when he and Levet had been knocked unconscious and kidnapped.
It had to have been Caine who attacked him.
Now the bastard was leaving a trail straight to his lair.
A smile curved his lips. He intended to savor ripping out the traitor’s throat.
A near half hour passed as Salvatore weaved his way through the winding tunnel, his steps slowing as he tilted back his head to sniff the air.
The scent of cur was still strong, but he was beginning to pick up the distant scent of other curs and…pureblood.
Female pureblood.
Coming to a sharp halt, Salvatore savored the rich vanilla aroma that filled his senses.
He loved the smell of women. Hell, he loved women.
But this was different.
It was intoxicating.
“Cristo,” he breathed, his blood racing and an odd tightness creeping through his body, slowly draining his strength.
Almost as if…
No. It wasn’t possible.
There hadn’t been a true Were mating for centuries.
“Curs,” Levet said, moving to his side. “And a female pureblood.”
“Si,” Salvatore muttered, distracted.
“You think it’s a trap?”
Salvatore swallowed a grim laugh. Hell, he hoped it was a trap. The alternative was enough to send any intelligent Were howling into the night.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
He moved forward, sensing the end of the tunnel just yards in front of him.
“Salvatore?” Levet tugged on his pants.
Salvatore shook him off. “What?”
“You smell funny. Mon Dieu, are you…”
With blinding speed Salvatore grasped the gargoyle by one stunted horn and yanked him off his feet to glare into the ugly face. Until that moment he hadn’t noticed the musky scent that clung to his skin.
Shit.
“One more word and you lose that tongue,” he snarled.
“But…”
“Do not screw with me.”
“I do not intend to screw with anyone.” The gargoyle curled his lips in a mocking smile. “I am not the one in heat.”
Hess appeared beside Salvatore, halting his urge to rip off the gargoyle’s head.
A pity.
“Sire?” the cur demanded, his thick brow furrowed.
“Take Max and the other curs and keep guard on the rear. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us,” he commanded.
It was unlikely the cur would recognize Salvatore’s disturbing reaction to the female’s scent. Hess hadn’t even been transformed when the last mating had happened. Not mention the fact he was as thick as a stump. But Levet was certainly annoying enough to let the cat out of the bag.
Waiting for the curs to grudgingly shift back, he gave the gargoyle a shake before dropping him onto the ground.
“You, not another word.”
Regaining his balance, Levet glanced upward, his wings fluttering and his tail twitching.
“Um. Actually, I have two words,” he muttered. Then, without warning he was charging forward, ramming directly into Salvatore and sending him flying backward. “CAVE IN!!!”
Momentarily stunned, Salvatore watched in horror as the low ceiling abruptly gave way, sending an avalanche of dirt and stone into the tunnel.
Because of Levet’s swift action, he had avoided the worse of the landslide, but rising to his feet he was in no mood for gratitude. Hard to believe this hideous day had just gotten worse.
Moving to the wall of debris that blocked the tunnel, he sent out his sense to find his curs.
“Hess?” he shouted.
Levet coughed at the cloud of dust that filled the air. “Are they…?”
“They’re injured, but alive,” Salvatore said, able to pick up the heartbeats of his pack, although they were currently unconscious. “Can we dig our way through to them?”
“It would take hours and we risk bringing even more down on our heads.”
Of course. Why the hell would it be easy?
“Damn.”
The gargoyle shook the dirt off his wings. “The tunnel is clear behind them. Once they recover they should be able to find a way out.”
He was right. Hess might have a brain the size of a walnut, but he was as tenacious as a pit bull. Once he realized he wouldn’t be able to reach Salvatore, he would lead the others back to the cabin and return overland to dig them out.
Unfortunately, it would take hours.
Turning, he glanced toward the stone wall that marked the end of the tunnel.
Whatever exit the cur had used to get out of the tunnel was now buried beneath the rubble.
“Which is more than I can say for us,” he muttered.
“Bah.” With a flagrant disregard to the thin sliver of ceiling that hadn’t yet fallen on their heads, Levet gingerly climbed up the side of the tunnel. “I am a gargoyle.”
Salvatore sucked in a sharp breath. A ton of rock and dirt falling on his head wouldn’t kill him. Being buried alive with Levet…that would be the end. If he had to rip out his own heart.
“I’m painfully aware of who and what you are.”
“I can smell the night.” Levet paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming or what?”
With no legitimate options, Salvatore awkwardly scrambled behind the gargoyle, his pride as tattered as his Italian leather shoes.
“Damn lump of stone,” he breathed. “Jagr should rot in hell for sticking me with you.”
Nearly flicking Salvator
e’s nose with the tip of his tail, Levet continued upward, sniffing the air. He paused as he reached the edge of the ceiling, his hands testing the seemingly smooth rock until he abruptly shoved upward, revealing the cleverly hidden door.
Levet disappeared through the narrow opening and Salvatore was swift to follow, grasping the edge of the hole and pulling himself out of the tunnel. He crawled through the dew dampened grass, away from the opening before at last rising to his feet and sucking in the fresh air.
Weres weren’t like most demons who enjoyed being hidden in damp, moldy caves and tunnels for centuries on end. A Were needed open space to run and hunt.
With a shudder, Salvatore glanced around the thick trees that surrounded him, his senses reaching out to make certain there was no immediate threat.
“Ta da!” With a flutter of his wings, Levet landed directly in front of Salvatore, his expression smug. “Shove it up your ear, oh ye of little faith. Hey…where are you going?”
Brushing past the annoying pest, Salvatore was weaving his way through the trees.
“To kill me a cur.”
“Wait, we can’t go alone,” Levet protested, his tiny legs pumping to keep pace. “Besides, it is almost dawn.”
“I just want to find his lair before he manages to cover his trail. I’m not losing him again.”
“And that is all? You promise you will not do anything stupid until we have front-up?”
“Back-up, you fool.” The sweet scent of vanilla invaded Salvatore’s senses, clouding his mind and stealing his waning strength. “Now be quiet.”
At a glance Harley looked like a Barbie Doll.
She stood barely over five feet, her body was slender, her heart-shaped face was delicately carved with large hazel eyes that were thickly lashed, and her golden blond hair that tumbled past her shoulders gave the image of a fragile angel. She also looked far younger than her thirty years.
Anyone, however, stupid enough to dismiss her as harmless usually ended up injured.
Or dead.
She was not only a full-blooded Were, but she took her training in combat skills to a level that Navy SEALS would envy.
She was working out in the full-scale gym when Caine returned to the vast colonial home. She continued lifting the weights that would crush most men as she absently listened to his bitter tirade of the ineptitude of his cur pack and the injustice of a world that contained Salvatore Giuliani, the King of Weres.
At last, Harley moved to take a swig of bottled water and wiped the sweat coating her face. She glanced toward Caine, who leaned negligently against the far wall, his jeans and T-shirt filthy and his short blond hair tousled. Not that his bedraggled appearance dimmed his surfer good looks. Even beneath the fluorescent lights that made everyone appear like death warmed over, his tanned skin glowed with a rich bronze and the blue eyes shimmered like the finest sapphires.
He was gorgeous. And he knew it.
Blech!
Harley’s lips twisted. Her relationship with Caine was complicated.
The cur had been her guardian since she was a baby, but while he’d protected her and kept her in considerable luxury, she’d never truly trusted him.
And the feeling was entirely mutual.
Caine might allow her to roam the house and the surrounding lands with seeming freedom, but she knew she was under constant surveillance. And God knew, she was never allowed to travel away from the estate without two or three of Caine’s pet curs. Caine claimed he was concerned for her safety, but Harley wasn’t stupid. She knew his motives were far more selfish.
It might have been tempting to escape her golden cage but for the knowledge that a lone wolf, even a pureblood, rarely survived. Weres were by nature predators and there were any number of demons that would be eager to rid the world of a Were if they could catch them without a pack’s protection.
Besides, there was always the fear that the King of Weres was out there somewhere, anxious to kill her as he had her three sisters. Caine might be determined to use her for his own purpose, but at least that purpose meant he had to keep her alive.
Tossing aside the towel, Harley sent her companion a mocking smile.
“Let me see if I have this straight. You went to Hannibal because Sadie created some mysterious mess that you had to clean up and while you were there you brilliantly decided to kidnap the King of Weres, only to lose him when you were nearly caught by a vampire and pack of curs?”
Caine pushed away from the wall and prowled forward, his gaze skimming over her tight spandex shorts and sports bra. The cur was nothing if not predictable. He’d been trying to seduce her for years.
“You have it in a perfect little nutshell, sweet Harley.” He halted directly before her, toying with the ponytail that had fallen over her shoulder. “Do you want a reward?”
“And your pet jinn?”
“Slipped from her leash. She’ll be back.” His smile was taunting. “Like you, she has nowhere else to go.”
Harley jerked from his touch. Bastard.
“So now you’ve lost half your pack, your demon, and you’ve left behind a trail that will lead the pissed-off King of Weres and his angry posse directly to this lair.”
Caine shrugged. “I’ll call for one of the local witches. My trail will be long gone by the time the almighty Salvatore manages to get out.”
“Get out of where?”
“I collapsed the tunnel on top of them.”
“God. Are you even barely sane?”
“Once they manage to heal enough to dig out of the rubble they’ll discover the entrance has been completely blocked. They will have no choice but to turn back.”
“You’re pretty damned cocky for a cur who has just pissed off your royal master.”
“I don’t have a master,” he snarled, revealing a glimpse of his resentment at being a mere cur before he smoothed his expression. “And besides, the prophecies have spoken. I’m destined to transform the curs into purebloods. Nothing can happen to me.”
Harley snorted. Caine wasn’t a complete loon. He managed to control his large pack he had spread throughout the Midwest with an iron hand. He was a Harvard trained scientist who made a fortune with his black market drugs. He regularly kicked her ass at Scrabble.
But at some point in his very long life he claimed he’d been visited by an ancient pureblood who had given him a vision. Harley didn’t pretend to understand it. Something about seeing his blood run pure.
Being a scientist, he naturally assumed this miracle would be performed in a lab, which was why he kept Harley as his permanent houseguest. He thought by studying her blood he could find the answers he sought. Moronic, of course. Visions were the stuff of mist and magic, not glass beakers and microscopes.
“Look, if you want to get yourself killed because of your delusions of grandeur I don’t give a shit.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I’m not going to be happy if you put me in the firing line.”
Caine stepped forward, reaching to trail his fingers over her shoulder. His touch was warm, experienced. She shook him off.
A woman would have to be dead not to find Caine attractive, but Harley needed more than simple lust. She needed…hell, she didn’t know what she needed, only that she hadn’t yet found it.
Besides, her skin was suddenly feeling hypersensitive. As if it had been rubbed raw by sandpaper.
“Would I ever put you in danger, sweet Harley?” Caine goaded.
“In a heartbeat if it meant saving your own hide.”
“Harsh.”
“But true.”
“Perhaps.” His gaze dipped downward, studying her sports bra. “I need a shower. Why don’t you join me?”
“In your dreams.”
“Every night. Do you want to know what we’re doing?”
“I’d rather yank out your tongue and eat it for dinner.”
With a laugh, he snapped his teeth near her nose. “Naughty Were. You know how it makes me hard when you threaten violence.”
Spinning on her heel, Harley headed for the door. “You’d better make that a cold shower or you won’t have to worry about Salvatore Giuliani slicing off your balls. I’ll already have them dangling from my rearview mirror.”
She ignored Caine’s low laugh as she headed toward the front of the house.
It was late and she was tired, but she ignored the carved wooden staircase that led to the bedrooms as she entered the paneled foyer.
What the hell was wrong with her?
She felt restless and on edge. As if there was a looming thunderstorm and she was about to be struck by lightning.
Telling herself it was nothing more than frustration with Caine and the mysterious games that were being played around her, she yanked open the door and stepped outside.
What she needed was a walk.
And if that didn’t work, then there was always cheesecake in the fridge.
There was nothing in the world that couldn’t be cured by cheesecake.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2009 by Debbie Raleigh
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 1-4201-1352-6
Darkness Unleashed Page 34
