With an effort, she leashed her renegade reaction to the tempting male. She would fully explore her intense sexual awareness of Char once they weren’t facing imminent death.
Her dragon huffed in protest.
Later, later, later…
“I’m attempting to locate the spell,” she forced herself to say.
He paused, considering her explanation. “How can you find magic that hasn’t been cast?”
The truth was that she hadn’t entirely thought through her strategy. She only knew that she’d been brought to this point in time by the curse.
Surely that meant it was here?
“My mother always suspected that the curse had been created by a witch,” she said.
Fewer than a handful of demons could actually create a curse with their own powers. More often than not, a demon was forced to seek out a witch who could create the curse and place it in a vessel until the caster was ready to release it.
Char blinked, looking suddenly hopeful. Witches were always human.
“If that’s true, then it should be easy enough to spot a mortal. It’s not like your father would invite a hundred of them to waltz through his throne room.”
She wrinkled her nose. Like many other demon species, dragons had always harbored a deep distrust of humans in general, and witches in particular.
“It’s doubtful the witch would be here,” she admitted. “They more than likely bartered the spell to a dragon.”
Char grimaced. “Do you think you can sense it?”
“That’s my hope.”
“And then?”
Her answer came without hesitation. “I will kill them.”
The gray eyes flared with heat. Char clearly approved of her lust for blood.
The thought warmed her heart.
Char’s fingers trailed up her arm, igniting sparks of pleasure. But before he could speak there was an oppressive sense of power that landed on top of them like a ton of bricks.
Blayze winced before she turned to face the dragon who was striding toward them with a suspicious expression. Damn. The guard had apparently left her to run and tattle to her father.
Now Synge was coming to demand explanations.
A large, brutish male with his dark hair shorn close to his head and eyes the color of polished pewter, he was an intimidating beast.
Instinctively, Blayze lowered her head and sank into a graceful curtsy. “My lord.”
“My guard tells me that you are from my mate’s clan,” he said in blunt tones.
No one had ever accused Synge of being a diplomat.
“Yes.” Straightening, Blayze lifted her head and met the older male’s smoldering gaze.
Synge stilled, confusion rippling over his broad face as he caught sight of her unusual eyes. Then his nose flared as he tested her scent.
“Do I know you?” he demanded.
“I am Blayze,” she said, remembering to keep her words formal. They had traveled backward in time, and the rules of etiquette were different.
Synge gave a slow shake of his head. “You seem familiar.”
She offered a bland smile. She needed to get away from this male before he figured out why she seemed so familiar.
“I am here to celebrate the birth of your daughter.”
Without warning the brutish features abruptly melted into an expression of deep, aching affection.
“My daughter,” he breathed. “An unexpected blessing.”
Blayze felt as if she’d just been slugged in the gut. How dare he act like he actually cared about his unborn child?
What game was he playing?
“Females are rare,” she managed to say.
“She is a blessing because she carries the essence of my mate,” he gruffly insisted, his gaze sweeping toward the female across the room.
Ravel was small for a pureblooded dragon, with delicate features. She had long, brilliant red hair and the same odd, opal eyes as Blayze. At the moment she was wearing a white silk gown that swept the floor and outlined her protruding stomach. She looked as if she was only minutes away from giving birth.
Blayze’s heart twisted. Her mother had sacrificed everything to keep her alive. Including her own mate.
“I hope you keep them protected,” she said before she could halt the words.
Heat scorched through the air, the ground trembling beneath her feet as her father stepped toward her.
“You have heard of a threat?”
“No,” she hastily denied. “But there are always those who seek to harm a vulnerable hatchling. Even among our own people.”
He scowled, like he was offended by the mere suggestion he might be less than diligent in protecting his family.
“Be assured that nothing will be allowed to harm my child. I will guard her with my life,” he informed her in sharp tones.
Blayze hissed. The memory of how swiftly this male had turned his back on his precious child suddenly boiled through her blood.
He might mouth the words that claimed he would sacrifice his life for her, but as soon as she was cursed he’d been eager to toss her to the wolves. Or rather, he’d tossed her to the less than tender mercy of the Dragon Council, who’d condemned her to death.
“You—” Her words were cut short as Char reached out to give her arm a warning squeeze. She grimaced. Char was right. Venting her feelings would only put them in more danger. That was the last thing she wanted. “You are precisely the warrior I would desire to have at Ravel’s side,” she said in smooth tones.
Synge continued to frown, but seemingly accepting she wasn’t a threat, he stepped back. “I must go,” he said, swiveling on his heel to stride across the room.
Like a covey of nervous dew fairies, the guests scurried out of the way of the dragon who headed straight for the tiny, pregnant female across the room.
Blayze made a choked sound of disgust as she watched Synge place a protective arm around Ravel’s slender shoulders. It was extremely rare for dragons to find a true mate. Most pairings were nothing more than political alliances meant to strengthen a clan.
But there was nothing political in the way Synge was gazing down at Ravel. Or how he reached to lay a gentle hand on her swollen belly.
“How is it possible?” Blayze rasped.
Char moved to stand beside her, his fingers stroking down her back. His touch was light, but it was enough to ease a portion of the anger that bubbled through her.
“How is what possible?” he asked.
Blayze nodded toward her parents. “How could he pretend he is so devoted to his unborn child?”
Char’s fingers continued to move up and down her spine, the heat of his dragon wrapping around her in an unspoken cloak of comfort.
“I don’t think he’s pretending,” he told her in soft tones.
She clenched her hands at her side, the pain of betrayal a hot knot of agony in the pit of her stomach. “A father who truly cares for his daughter doesn’t allow her to be destroyed.”
“Even if he believes it’s what is best for you?” Char asked.
She sent him a disbelieving glare. “How could death be better?”
His fingers slid beneath her hair to cup her nape. Gently he massaged her rigid muscles. “He thought you were suffering.”
She frowned. “He told you that?”
“No, but I spent several decades in this lair before I was given to Baine as his personal guard,” he told her.
“And?”
Char turned his head, his gaze sweeping toward the couple across the room. The crowd of demons had moved to surround them, like a cluster of satellites caught in the gravitational force of a star. But Synge was large enough to tower over all of them.
“The Synge I know is a cold, brutal bastard who rules with fear and intimidation,” Char said. “Until I witnessed him standing beside your bed after you’d been discovered alive, I would have sworn that he didn’t possess a heart.”
Blayze snorted. “He doesn’t.”
“Look at him, Blayze,” Char urged in soft tones. “That isn’t the expression of a male who doesn’t care. It’s the expression of a male who cares too much.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It had taken Levet less than five minutes to find a pretty imp who could open a portal so he could travel from Chicago to New York City.
Manhattan, to be more specific.
He sucked in a deep breath, catching the familiar combination of car exhaust, street food, and pure adrenaline.
There was no other place in the world like New York.
The narrow streets that were framed by towering buildings. The brilliant billboards flashing with a blinding explosion of color. The double-decker buses that belched out foul-smelling smoke.
Darting away from the public streets that were thickly crowded, Levet threaded his way between alleys until he was in a neighborhood that was never visited by the tourists.
When Styx had made his threat, Levet’s first impulse had been to disappear for the next few centuries. Not even a vampire could hold a grudge forever, could he?
But even as the large vampire had stalked away to speak with Baine, Levet had been struck by a crazy notion.
After breaking the illusion in Blayze’s private chamber, he hadn’t sensed any intruder. Which meant he didn’t have the skills to discover who had taken her, or where they might be now.
But there might be someone who could help.
Reaching a narrow brick building that looked abandoned to anyone passing by, Levet allowed a smile of relief to touch his lips. Even from a distance, he could feel the magic that pulsed in the air.
The club was still there.
Crossing the dark street, he laid his palm against the spell that surrounded the shabby building. A second later it began to pulse and crack. Enchantment sprinkled the air, rich with the scent of warm honey. Then, without warning, the sidewalk shuddered and the illusion shattered.
The decrepit dump was gone, and in its place was an elegant structure that looked like a Grecian villa with lots of white marble, fluted columns and tall windows. Levet waddled up the narrow flight of stairs and knocked on one of the double doors.
On cue, a small panel in the door slid open and a gruff voice floated through the air. “Levet?”
“Oui.” Levet spread his arms wide. “‘Tis the world-famous Levet.”
“About damned time,” the unseen demon muttered.
Levet gave a flutter of his wings. It was always a pleasure to be appreciated by the lesser—
“Eek.” He released a small shriek as one of the doors was jerked open and a hand reached out to grab him by the horn.
With a blur of motion, he was pulled into the public room of the club.
A quick glance revealed a long, sunken room with white marble floors and glass walls that reflected the crowd of demons that filled the tables. Above his head, the ceiling was sparkling with tiny, magical butterflies that glittered over the dance floor below them.
For a demon bar it was astonishingly elegant. Classy.
Vampires tended to be civilized, but the other demon species remained barbarians. Usually they gathered in holes in the ground that were filled with drunken trolls and fighting cages. This place catered to guests that avoided most other clubs.
Harpies. Pixies. And even a few human witches.
The combination sizzled with emotions, as if the crowd that filled the room was electrifying the very air.
Levet returned his attention to the demon who had so rudely snatched him off the front step.
The creature was a mongrel, with a mishmash of ancestors. There was some troll blood that had allowed him to grow over seven feet tall with heavy features that included a protruding brow, a lower jaw that jutted out with a set of curved fangs. But his pale, hairless skin suggested he had some orc blood mingled in. Probably a bit of fairy in there somewhere as well.
He was unique enough that Levet instantly recognized him.
“Oh, it is you, Crowley,” he said, his tail twitching as the demon continued to hold him off the ground. Really, why were demons forever grabbing his horns? It was as if they had some strange fetish. “What a lovely surprise,” he continued, a smile pasted to his lips. “Is that a new tumor on your neck? It is quite stylish.”
“I’ve been looking for you,” Crowley snarled, his eyes glowing red.
“For moi? How nice.”
“It’s nice for me. Now I don’t have to worry about trying to hunt you down,” Crowley said, his protruding lower jaw making the words come out slurred.
Levet’s smile never faltered. “You do know that most demons find that the chase is much more entertaining than capturing your prize?”
“Nothing will be more entertaining than ripping out your heart and eating it.”
He lifted Levet even higher.
As if he was judging whether he could eat him in one bite.
“No need for haste, Crowley.”
The demon pulled back his lips, revealing his razor-sharp teeth. “Don’t worry. I intend to take my time.”
“If this is about your daughter—”
Crowley released a deafening roar that sent the nearby pixies diving beneath their tables and the butterflies zigzagging in a dizzying circle, like a strobe light the humans used in their clubs.
Levet grimaced. It’d been two centuries since Levet had met Crowley’s daughter at a tribal gathering in Siberia. It was not his fault that the awkward young female had developed a violent crush on him and tried to follow him back to America.
He was quite simply irresistible to women.
Crowley’s flat nose flared with fury. “I am going to smoosh you.”
“Smoosh me?” Levet clicked his tongue. He had been insulted and badgered by the very best. This demon was a sad disappointment. “Troll mongrels are as tedious as full-blooded trolls. If you are going to threaten me, you could at least come up with something more clever.”
Crowley tilted back his head to bray like a mule. Levet assumed it was the mongrel’s version of a hissy fit.
Before he could do any smooshing, however, a rich, throaty voice echoed through the club, brushing over Levet’s skin like black velvet.
“Release him, Crowley.”
Levet swiveled his head in time to watch a female step out of a door near the back of the club.
She was a tiny wisp of a creature with a heart-shaped face and golden eyes that held flecks of starlight. Her hair was inky black and cut so short it should have made her look like a boy. But there was nothing boyish about her. Not even with the leather pants and heavy boots that she wore.
Maybe it was the red, sparkly halter that molded to her firm breasts. Or the sway of her hips as she strolled toward him. Or, more likely, it was the feminine power that burned around her with tangible force.
No one could mistake her for anything but a fiercely dangerous female.
Levet smiled. He’d met Vex in Greece shortly after he’d been kicked out of the Gargoyle Guild. She’d been tossed out of the Succubus Guild about the same time. It was only natural that the two outcasts would form a friendship that had lasted over the centuries.
“Oui, Crowley, release me,” he said to the demon who continued to dangle him by the horn.
Crowley growled, curling back his lips as if about to take a bite. Then power zapped through the room, silencing the guests and making the troll mongrel give a small whimper. Vex had the ability to enter a person’s mind and do all sorts of bad, bad things.
“Crowley, I said release him.”
The troll mongrel dropped Levet to the ground and scurried away with his stunted tail between his legs.
Levet flapped his wings as Vex strolled to stand at his side. She topped him by several inches, but she was one of the few demons who didn’t tower over him.
“Still making friends wherever you go, eh Levet?”
Levet gave a lift of his hands. “But of course. I am adorable.”
“Hmm.” Her lip
s twitched. “What are you doing here? The last I heard, you were too good for the rest of us riffraff. Aren’t you rubbing elbows with royalty now?”
Levet puffed out his chest. “It is true my services are in high demand with the most powerful demons.”
“So what brings you to the gutters?”
Levet snorted, glancing around the large room filled with marble, crystal and drunken guests.
“As a demon who has spent many years in the gutters, as well as the sewers, and several moldy crypts, I can assure you this fine establishment does not resemble any of those nasty locations,” he said.
Vex shrugged. She was well aware that an invitation to her private club was a privilege that demons often fought over.
“Let’s get a drink,” she said, turning to lead him across the dance floor. Instantly the crowd scurried to get out of her path. She might be small, but there was no doubt that Vex was queen of her domain. “I have a private stash of nectar in my office.”
Levet waited until they’d entered the long room that looked more suited for a human professor. The walls were hidden behind shelves stuffed with leather-bound books, and woven carpets covered the floor. At the far end a massive desk was situated near a fireplace.
“You may not feel so generous with your nectar when you discover why I am here,” Levet warned, watching the slender succubus as she poured a thick, amber liquid into two fluted glasses.
Vex turned to thrust a glass into his hand before she leaned against the edge of the desk. “Are you in trouble?”
Levet sipped the nectar, his tail twitching as the fey magic warmed his blood.
“It was not my fault,” he assured his companion.
Vex rolled her eyes. “It never is. Not even when you dared that Baon demon to try and sneak into the orc nest to steal his demon brew.”
Levet tried to look innocent. Baon was a slough demon who was terrorizing a tribe of wood nymphs when Levet and Vex happened to be passing through. Levet challenged the idiot to see who could steal the demon brew the quickest.
“How could I know that he was protected by a pack of hellhounds?”
Vex chuckled. “The last I saw of the demon he was running down the side of the mountain with at least two hellhounds biting his ass. I bet he couldn’t sit for a month.”
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