Beyond the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  Caine bent down, studying the damage caused by the fierce battle between the two powerful Weres. Claw marks gouged the ground, splashes of blood and chunks of fur spread over the broken branches. He touched a tuft of pale fur, knowing it didn’t belong to Giuliani.

  “What is it?”

  “A warning.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Caine straightened, his jaw clenched. “A soldier only becomes a hero if he picks the winning side.”

  Salvatore had always been a predator. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he was the biggest, baddest creature around. And that’s exactly how he liked it.

  Suddenly becoming the prey…

  It sucked.

  Silently cursing Briggs and Caine and the persistent curs who he could sense in the distance, Salvatore angled toward the Illinois side of the river.

  Sitting with white-knuckled tension at his side, Harley shot him a wary frown.

  “What is it? Is there something wrong with the boat?”

  He slowed as they neared the bank, grimacing at the thick tangle of mud and weeds that lined the river. Thank God his Armanis were safely tucked in his St. Louis lair.

  “We’re not going to sink, cara.”

  “Then why are you stopping?”

  “The curs are back on our trail.”

  She shrugged, obviously having sensed already that they were being hunted.

  “They’re still miles behind us.”

  “As they have been for the last two hours.”

  “So…” The magnificent hazel eyes widened. “Oh.”

  “Exactly.” Salvatore allowed the boat to idle as they drifted into the muddy shallows at the edge of the river. “They’ve found a means to track us.”

  Harley considered a long moment. “It has to be the witch who made the amulets.” She at last concluded. “She’s the only one who could cast a spell to discover our location.”

  Salvatore reached to grasp a low-hanging branch, bringing the boat to a halt. Actually, the witch was preferable to the thought that Briggs had recovered swiftly enough to send the curs after them. His own body had healed, but his strength was ebbing toward low.

  He was hoping to put off round two until he could recharge his mojo.

  “All the witch can sense is the amulets?” he asked, a plan already forming in his mind.

  “Yes.”

  “Does Caine have any hunters?”

  “Only Duncan.”

  Salvatore’s lips twisted. It was Duncan he’d been scheduled to meet in Hannibal. The same cur he’d found murdered on the floor of the cabin just minutes before Caine had attacked him.

  “Then Caine was an idiot to kill him.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “So you say.”

  “Harley…” He swallowed his protest. Only time would ease the suspicions that had been drilled into her. “Someday you’ll trust me.”

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  He held out his hand. “Give me your amulet.”

  She readily untied the amulet and placed it in his outstretched palm. Salvatore hid a satisfied smile as he yanked his own amulet from his neck. Harley might not realize it, but on some level she did trust him.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded as he threw both amulets on the floor of the boat and then vaulted over the side to land in the waist-deep water.

  “If the witch wants to chase the amulets, the least we can do is keep her entertained.”

  “Why don’t we just toss the amulets overboard and keep going?”

  “They realize by now we’re following the river north,” he said, waiting for her to clamor out of the boat and stand at his side. Reaching forward, he thrust the throttle in gear, shoving the boat away from the bank and toward the middle of the river. “If they have any intelligence at all they’ll have sent a few curs ahead to ambush us.”

  Harley watched the boat zip away, her color slowly returning. Obviously the muddy water and slimy moss that slithered around her body was preferable to continuing their boat ride.

  “They’ll eventually stumble across our scent,” she pointed out.

  Salvatore’s expression hardened. He would do whatever necessary to protect Harley, but this division between Weres and curs had to end.

  Damn Caine.

  Briggs was deliberately using him to weaken Salvatore’s power base.

  “Let’s hope for their sake that they don’t.”

  Chapter Ten

  Harley climbed the bank, relieved to discover that the Illinois side of the Mississippi River was a flat expanse of recently plowed fields, rather than the rolling bluffs she was accustomed to. She wasn’t a wuss. She could run for hours without breaking a sweat. Hell, she could do it carrying a few hundred pounds on her back.

  But at the moment her cheap canvas shoes were covered in slimy mud and her wet underwear was crawling into places it shouldn’t be. The last thing she wanted was to slog up and down endless hills.

  Besides, she didn’t have to be a psychic to sense that Salvatore wasn’t running on a full tank.

  Big surprise there.

  He’d been caged, pelted with silver shrapnel, attacked by a zombie Were, and forced to discipline the curs chasing after them.

  She doubted any other Were would still be on his feet, let alone be fully alert and on guard as he led them northward, choosing a path far enough from the riverbank to avoid the tangled overgrowth, and yet far enough from the farmhouses that dotted the patchwork of fields to avoid being easily spotted by a curious human.

  They walked for nearly half an hour, the distant scurrying of animals and whisper of leaves rustling in the wind the only sounds to break the silence. Harley sucked in a deep breath, appreciating the firm ground beneath her. Despite her nasty shoes and unruly underwear, she’d rather hike for hours than spend another minute in the damned water. That’s why she had feet, not fins.

  Of course, she’d always wanted to try flying. Now that looked like a fine way to travel.

  Private jet, sipping champagne, and relaxing in plush seats, a yummy steward who specialized in introducing a woman into the mile high club.

  Her heart skipped a beat as her fantasy of the blond Nordic steward morphed into a dark-haired, golden-eyed Were with a touch that could make a female howl in pleasure.

  She sucked her thoughts away from the inevitable flashback. She didn’t need a slow motion replay of Salvatore lying beneath her, his eyes glowing with a searing pleasure and his bronzed skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

  Sex, even fantastic oh-my-God-don’t-ever-stop sex, was a complication she didn’t need right now.

  Returning her attention to their surroundings, Harley caught sight of the glint of steel beams of a large bridge spanning the river just visible over the top of the trees.

  A bridge meant a town, thank God.

  She’d kill for dry clothes and something to eat.

  A very large something to eat.

  A side of beef sounded just about perfect.

  Her mouth watered, but her visions of a medium rare sirloin were shattered by the sound of an approaching car. Expecting Salvatore to ease back into the shadows of the trees, Harley lifted her brows as he instead crossed his arms and waited for the elegant black Mercedes to come to a halt in the middle of the dirt road.

  “Now what?” she demanded.

  Salvatore sniffed the air. “Imp. The scent is familiar.”

  “A friend of yours?”

  “I make it a rule to spend as little time in the company of imps as possible.” A smile touched Salvatore’s sensuous lips as the door of the car opened, and a tall woman with perfect curves and a stunning mane of shimmering red hair stepped out. “Of course, there’s an exception to every rule.”

  “Creep,” Harley muttered, astonished by the pang of envy.

  Okay, the woman was drop-dead gorgeous with her pale skin and slanted emerald eyes. But what woman with a brain larger than a pea drove around country back roads in a skimpy black gown tha
t barely covered the essentials and three-inch heels?

  Slut shoes out here? Really?

  Harley had never fantasized about becoming one of those upmarket women who bartered beauty for wealth. She liked women who kicked ass.

  Give her Lara Croft over Cinderella any day.

  “Don’t worry, cara,” Salvatore drawled. “I have quite unexpectedly become addicted to one particular female. There’s not another who could possibly tempt me.”

  Yeah, right.

  She rolled her eyes. No man acquired Salvatore’s talent in bed by reading how-to books.

  “Does that bullshit work on your harem?” she mocked.

  He managed to look surprised. “I’ll let you know if I ever acquire one.”

  “The King of Weres without a harem? I don’t believe it.”

  “Being king isn’t just a figurehead position, Harley.” His shoulders lifted in a restless motion, as if in response to the heavy burdens he carried, his expression suddenly bleak. “The entire Were race is depending on me to save them from extinction. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for collecting women.”

  Sashaying—yes, she actually sashayed—around the front of the car, the imp tossed her long mane of crimson hair, the scent of plums filling the air.

  “Your Majesty?” She dipped her head in an oddly formal manner. “I am Tonya, sister to Troy.”

  “Cristo.”

  Tonya chuckled at Salvatore’s horror. “I take it that you remember my twin brother?”

  “He’s difficult to forget.”

  “It’s his gift.”

  “Not the word I had in mind.” The golden eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “How did you recognize me?”

  Tonya pointed a finger in Harley’s direction. “I recognized her. She’s the spitting image of her sister.”

  Harley forgot her unreasonable dislike for the imp. “You know my sisters?”

  “I worked in Chicago until last month, when I transferred to Viper’s club here.”

  “Viper opened a club in this backwoods?” Salvatore glanced around the quiet farmlands. “It hardly seems a mecca for demons.”

  “We have a specialty coffee shop that caters to humans, and a connected building for our more exotic clientele.” The imp sent Salvatore a smoldering smile. Bitch. “You offer the right scratch for someone’s itch and they’ll drive miles to find you.”

  “And your job entails roaming the back roads for potential customers?” Harley snapped.

  Tonya ran a deliberate hand down the curve of her hip, her eyes holding the knowledge that there wasn’t a woman alive who wasn’t jealous of her outrageous beauty.

  “The only thing that would bring me to the back roads is a command from Santiago. Oh, and the promise of some lovely cha-ching, of course.” The imp actually purred at the mention of money. “There’s a cash reward for whoever finds you first.”

  A perilous heat blasted through the air as Salvatore grabbed the imp’s arm.

  “Who’s offering this reward?”

  The imp had enough sense to step back in alarm. “The Anasso. He sent out a BOLO for the King of Weres and his mate’s sister after he received some sort of mental text from a gargoyle. Since it was still daylight, Santiago sent out his nonflammable servants to keep watch.”

  Harley licked her lips, bombarded by a muddle of emotions. A growing confidence that her sisters were indeed alive. A relief that Levet had seemingly made it out of the tunnels. And a vague impulse to take off running and never look back.

  Her life had always been predictable. Caine might move them from lair to lair, and the curs guarding her had changed throughout the years, but her days were pretty much the same no matter where they were.

  Now…not so much.

  Amazingly, being thrown into the middle of an adventure wasn’t quite the exciting buzz she’d always assumed it would be.

  Salvatore waved a hand toward the waiting car. “Take us to Santiago.”

  Tonya pouted. “What about my reward?”

  A dangerous smile curved Salvatore’s lips. “I won’t leave you tied to a tree for the hungry pack of curs chasing us. Good enough?”

  “Party pooper.” Turning on her heels, an impressive feat considering the rutted dirt road, she returned to the car. “Let’s go.”

  Harley lifted her brows as Salvatore led her toward the car. “Charming as always.”

  A smile filled with wicked promise shimmered in his eyes. “I need a good woman to teach me manners.”

  “Don’t look at me.”

  “Oh, I intend to do more than look.”

  “Watch it, Salvatore, or I’ll kick your royal ass.”

  He reached to pull open the door to the backseat, whispering in her ear as she bent to climb inside.

  “Promises, promises.”

  Heat swirled in the pit of her stomach, making her stumble and sprawl awkwardly across the leather seat.

  Damned Were.

  Straightening, she glared as Salvatore slid smoothly beside her, but his attention was on the imp as she turned a wide circle through the field before bouncing them back onto the road.

  “Do you have any werewolves as customers?”

  Tonya glanced in the rearview mirror. “Those of the furry persuasion tend to avoid vampire establishments. A pity.” Her voice lowered to a husky invitation. “They always make the best strippers.”

  Salvatore slid a glance in Harley’s direction. “Stripping is not all we do well.”

  “Amen,” Tonya breathed.

  Harley could have added a few amens of her own, but instead she gritted her teeth. The imp and her femme fatale act was wearing on her nerves.

  “Are you done?”

  “Not nearly…” Salvatore began, only to grunt in surprise when she nailed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Ah, I’m done.”

  “Good choice,” Harley muttered.

  His smile widened. “At least for now.” He returned his attention to the imp. “We need food. Any drive-thru will do.”

  “I can prepare you a meal at the club.”

  “I prefer my dinner hex-free.”

  Harley frowned in confusion. “I thought purebloods were immune to hexes. It was one of the numerous things Caine used to bitch about.”

  “Tonya is not just another imp if she’s related to Troy. She’s royalty. Which means her hexes are considerably stronger.”

  Tonya batted her annoyingly long lashes. “I’m not allowed to hex Santiago’s guests. Only the customers.”

  “The drive-thru,” Salvatore commanded.

  Tonya shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Harley settled back in the leather seat. “He always does.”

  Briggs was wrenched violently from his healing sleep.

  He groaned, the pain of his wounds thundering through his stiff body.

  Damn Salvatore. The bastard was going to pay for every second of his suffering.

  With interest.

  For a moment he savored the image of Salvatore on his knees before him, his pride crushed as he begged for mercy. Then the lovely fantasy was interrupted by the savage pull of his master.

  Shuddering at the sensation of an icy hand clutching his heart, Briggs tumbled off the narrow cot that was set in the back of a bleak cave.

  He paused long enough to throw cold water on his face from a ceramic pitcher and pull a clean cloak from the carved chest set next to the bed before leaving the cave to enter the tunnel that led through the vast catacombs.

  Briggs didn’t know who had originally burrowed beneath the graveyard that was attached to the abandoned Victorian church outside of Chicago. Or even who had kept the ancient catacombs maintained during the years. He had been led here only a few weeks ago by the ruthless call of his master.

  Until that moment, his contact with the demon lord had been through the former Were king’s amber pendant that Briggs had stolen after it became obvious Salvatore Giuliani was destined to become the heir. Or the painful process of the demon speaking dire
ctly into his mind.

  Something that always left him regretting his blood oath to the bastard.

  Then, without warning, the demon lord had commanded that Briggs leave behind his very comfortable lair in Kansas City to squat in the barren caves like a forgotten hermit. Even worse, the inner chamber that had once been an altar to the dark lord allowed the barriers between dimensions to thin. Briggs had traded his morals for power long ago, but even he had to shudder at the throat-clogging evil that crawled through the air.

  He moved through the tunnels that headed ever lower, struck as always, by the smoothly polished stones beneath his feet that were unmarred by so much as a speck of dust or stray cobweb.

  Not even vermin would dare disturb the malevolent shadows.

  Bypassing the caves that had once been prisons for immortals, with their silver chains and walls lined with lead, Briggs entered the inner chamber, his nose curling at the lingering stench of human blood.

  More than one sacrifice had been made in front of the forgotten altar in the middle of the floor.

  And very soon there would be one more. Although this one wouldn’t include worthless humans.

  The knowledge was almost enough to compensate for the wounds that were taking far too long to heal.

  Almost.

  Gritting his teeth, Briggs forced himself to kneel before the altar, flinching as the gold brazier flared to life next to him and a frigid blast filled the chamber. Above the altar, the air began to shimmer with a warped rip in the fabric that held the worlds apart, the odor of rotting flesh spilling into the cavern.

  “Master,” he said. “You have need of me?”

  “You have proven to be a sad disappointment, Briggs, just as your father before you,” the hollow voice echoed through the cavern, biting into Briggs’s flesh.

  Father. Briggs curled his lips.

  Among purebloods, the pack superseded any family connection. Cubs were kept in the same lair and fiercely protected by all the adults. The concept of two parents and siblings was a human tradition.

  Briggs, however, had barely been out of puberty when the king had taken him aside to claim him as his son and heir.

  At the time he’d been busting with pride. He’d suspected even as a cub that he was destined for greatness.