Hunt the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

Plagued by her dark thoughts, Sally turned her attention to the first thing that caught her eye.

  The box she’d left on the night table.

  She frowned, studying the hieroglyphs that glowed with a silver light in the shadows.

  Earlier, she’d spent hours running her fingers over the delicate carvings while she waited for her potions to brew. Her fascination had been more than just an appreciation for the beauty of the glyphs.

  She was growingly convinced that she could actually understand what the box was trying to tell her.

  Madness, of course. But she couldn’t entirely shake the sensation.

  “You’re quiet,” Roke murmured, his lips nuzzling the side of her neck.

  She shivered, startled by tingles of heat that darted through her.

  It seemed obscene that such a light caress could make her melt with need.

  With an effort, she fought the urge to wiggle her ass against his cock, which was already hardening in anticipation. She’d just accepted that sharing such intimacy with Roke was far too dangerous to her fragile heart. Did she want to make it worse?

  Yes, yes, and double yes, a wicked voice whispered in the back of her mind.

  “I’m thinking,” she forced herself to mutter.

  He tensed. “Oh hell, that can’t be good.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The silver eyes shimmered with a breathtaking beauty as he swept his gaze over her face.

  “I don’t want you trying to convince yourself this was a mistake.”

  Keep it light, Sally.

  There was no use in confessing that she was swiftly making a bad situation worse by tumbling head over heels in love with him.

  “Don’t be a jackass this time and I won’t,” she said.

  “Touché.” He grimaced, obviously recalling the last time he had her in bed. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

  “This.”

  Twisting out of his arms, she sat up and reached for the box.

  “Not my first guess,” he muttered, reluctantly shoving himself up to lean against the headboard. “The glyphs are growing brighter.”

  She kept her gaze glued to the box, knowing the sheet would have fallen down to his waist, exposing the bronzed beauty of his chest and the dragon tattoo that she’d so recently outlined with the tip of her tongue.

  “Yes.” She was forced to clear her throat. “I tried to muffle them with another layer of magic earlier, but it doesn’t look like it’s working.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “No.” She shook her head, her fingers tracing a glyph as the magic pulsed deep inside her. “I was studying it before I went to bed, and I could swear I—”

  “What?”

  “That I can decipher a few of the symbols.”

  There was a startled silence as Roke stared at her in blatant confusion.

  “You read ancient fey?”

  “Of course not, but . . .” She struggled to find the right words. “It’s almost as if it speaks to me.”

  “Shit,” he growled, his brows snapping together.

  She flinched, startled by his intense reaction. “You think I’m going crazy?”

  “No, I think the box has more power than I feared,” he corrected in dark tones. “What does it say?”

  “It’s still mostly garbled. Like a radio station that’s not quite tuned in,” she said, knowing she wasn’t making much sense. “But this is royalty.” She pointed to a glyph that resembled an elaborate star, before moving to the one that Cyn had assumed was a closing door. “And this isn’t the retreat of the fey.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “A prison.”

  Roke nodded, accepting her explanation without hesitation.

  Sally clenched her teeth against the renegade flutter of her heart. His absolute faith in her was almost as unnerving as his tender concern.

  “Royalty in prison,” he murmured. “Do the two glyphs go together?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it.”

  Not that it helped, she ruefully acknowledged.

  Even if she was learning how to decipher the glyphs, they weren’t giving her the sort of information that could tell her why she was suddenly attracting fey like bees to honey.

  “Anything else?” Roke asked, his fingers lightly brushing her shoulder as she hesitated. “Sally?”

  The casual contact sent tiny jolts of pleasure through her, threatening to drive any rational thought from her mind.

  She turned the box over, grimly ignoring the cool fingers that continued to stroke over her acutely sensitive skin.

  “I think this is a map.”

  Roke leaned forward, the sweep of his hair against her cheek as soft as satin.

  “A map to where?”

  She breathed in the scent of potent male, soothed by the dark spice even as it stirred her arousal.

  “I don’t know. But it’s important.” She wrinkled her nose, glancing to the side to meet Roke’s steady gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  His hand moved to cup her chin, turning her head so he could study her rueful expression.

  “Sorry about what?”

  “I know you would rather be searching for my father so we can break our mating,” she said. “Not chasing down some imp in Chicago.”

  His eyes flashed with silver fire, as if annoyed by her words.

  “What I want is to know that you’re safe, after that . . .” He leaned down to kiss her with a mind-numbing intensity before giving her lower lip a punishing nip. “Nothing else matters.”

  “Roke—”

  Her hand had lifted to touch his cheek, forgetting that she’d just decided it was far too risky to give in to her passions, when the temperature abruptly dropped and Roke was leaping off the bed.

  “Get dressed,” he commanded in low, urgent tones, moving to yank open the nearby closet and pulling on a pair of faded jeans he found hung inside.

  Scrambling off the bed with far less grace, Sally hurried to where she’d left her clothes folded on a nearby chair.

  “What is it?”

  “Our least favorite demon,” he muttered, his expression grim as he grabbed a gun from the floor.

  He must have brought it up with him when he heard her cry out.

  “Crap,” she muttered, hastily pulling on the clothes she’d washed earlier before slipping her feet into her tennis shoes. “What’s the plan?”

  He moved toward the window, his gaze inspecting their surroundings.

  “We need to get to the garage,” he at last decided. “There should be something with enough horsepower to outrun even the fastest demon.”

  “I’m ready,” she said, tucking the box in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

  Roke led the way to the door, halting on the landing as he tilted back his head to allow his senses to flow through the silent house.

  He leaned down to speak directly in her ear. “We’ll go out the back.”

  “Through the kitchen,” she whispered back.

  “Why?”

  “My potions.”

  He gave a short nod. “Let’s go.”

  They pressed against the wall as they moved down the stairs, carefully avoiding the splashes of moonlight.

  He forced her to pause again as they reached the bottom of the stairs, his muscles coiled to strike as he tested the air for the location of their enemy.

  At last he gave a jerk of his head and Sally hurried into the kitchen, gathering the small jars of potion she’d prepared during the long day.

  They wouldn’t be much help.

  One was a disguise spell she intended to use once she’d located the necessary amulets to mask their trail, and the other was a potion to create a small explosion that might help confuse the enemy.

  “This is all I have.”

  He crossed the tiled floor, pulling open the back door. Scanning the darkness, he at last gave a wave of his hand.

  “Stay behind me,�
� he growled.

  For once Sally didn’t argue.

  She might be a powerful witch, but Roke was the superior fighter.

  She didn’t want him hesitating to attack because she was in the way.

  The chilled air wrapped around her as Sally stepped out of the house, the scent of pine trees and frost teasing at her nose.

  Roke, however, obviously caught a less pleasing odor as his lips curled back to reveal his massive fangs.

  Hissing in fury, he turned to the side, his head tilting backward as a shadow detached itself from the roof of the house to aim straight at his head.

  Sally had a blurry glimpse of brown robes flapping around a pudgy body before the creature was hitting the ground as Roke moved to fluid speed to avoid a collision. She took a stumbled step backward, and the Miera demon straightened, a strange narrow stick held between his lips.

  Baffled, Sally had no idea what the hell he was doing until Roke made a sound of impatience and tugged the tiny dart from his neck.

  A blowgun?

  That seemed . . . underwhelming.

  “Roke,” she cried out.

  More annoyed than hurt, Roke emptied his gun into the demon who moved with surprising speed to avoid the bullets. Forced to accept the weapon was worthless against this particular enemy, Roke tossed aside the gun and bared his fangs.

  “We end this now,” he snarled.

  The pale eyes darkened to an unnerving black with a crimson slit as the creature glanced toward Sally.

  “Yes, we will.”

  Roke snarled, leaping forward. The Miera dodged to the side, dropping the stick as he pointed a finger toward Roke. Almost instantly the strange vibrations began to fill the air.

  Roke leaped again, managing to slice his claws across the demon’s face before he was knocked to his knees by the vibrations.

  He growled, forcing himself upright despite the blood dripping from his nose.

  Oh . . . hell.

  Sally muttered a swift spell beneath her breath, tossing the potion jar directly at the demon. It shattered at his feet, and the Miera glanced downward in surprise.

  It was immediately obvious that he wasn’t familiar with witches. If he had been, he might have reacted with greater speed. As it was, his momentary hesitation made certain he was still standing in place when the explosion sent him flying backward.

  Roke was instantly charging through the debris to land on top of him, pinning him to the ground and sinking his fangs deep in his neck.

  It should have been over.

  Sally didn’t know of any demon who was capable of withstanding the attack of a vampire clan chief.

  But even as she prepared for the grisly death, she was caught off guard when Roke was being tossed aside and the demon was rising to his feet.

  “Roke.”

  She stepped forward, wracking her mind for a spell that might help as both men flowed to their feet.

  The Miera was looking worse for wear with his face sliced open and his throat mangled, but oddly there was no blood. Roke, on the other hand . . .

  She sucked in a startled breath.

  He looked god awful.

  His bronzed face had been stripped of color until it was a horrifying shade of ash, while the blood now dripped from his eyes as well as his nose.

  Was it the strange demon power affecting him?

  Or something else?

  Whatever the cause it was swiftly weakening him, although he refused to concede defeat.

  Surging upright, he swung his fist toward the demon’s pudgy face, managing to connect with sickening force. The Miera flew through the air, slamming into a tree. Still, he didn’t go down.

  Blessed goddess.

  What did it take to kill the damned thing?

  Clearly wondering the same thing, Roke braced himself for the demon to attack, his fangs bared and a dagger held in one hand.

  Feeling ridiculously helpless, Sally mentally flipped through the spells she could use without a potion or proper preparation.

  There were a few. Unfortunately most of them were too weak to hurt a demon, and those that were potent enough were too unpredictable. Casting a spell wasn’t like shooting a gun. She could only aim in the general direction and hope for the best.

  She wasn’t going to risk hitting Roke.

  More out of frustration than hope that it would help, Sally lifted her arm and launched her last jar of potion at the aggravating creature.

  The disguise spell couldn’t hurt the Miera, but it might distract him long enough for Roke to get in another shot.

  The jar flew through the air, unnoticed by the two males who were both coiled to strike, shattering at the Miera’s feet.

  An odd silence followed the crash as they all stared at the mist curling around the demon’s feet. Sally frowned, glancing at Roke. She’d expected him to attack while the Miera was preoccupied, but his eyes were glazed and the dagger dropped from his slack fingers.

  Oh . . . shit.

  His injuries were even worse than she first assumed.

  Her wary gaze returned to the demon, wondering if it intended to kill her slow or fast.

  She was hoping for the fast option.

  The demon, however, remained distracted, his pale eyes widening as if he were shocked.

  Sally took a hesitant step forward. If she could get close enough she might be able to hit him with a paralysis spell. It wouldn’t hold him for long, but it might be enough to get Roke far enough away that he could recover his strength.

  Three feet away she came to an abrupt halt.

  There was something . . . weird about the Miera. A strange blurring around him that reminded her of the first time she’d seen the demon.

  Only now the faint flickering in and out of focus was becoming far more pronounced, as if he were about to fade from view entirely.

  Not sure what was happening, Sally jerked back into motion, this time heading directly toward Roke.

  Lowering herself to her knees, she watched as the demon tried to kick away the clinging mist. He was reacting to the simple spell with a fear that was way out of proportion.

  Or maybe not so out of proportion, she slowly realized.

  The spell continued to crawl up the demon’s body, smudging his physical shape, inch by inch.

  Could the spell be causing an interruption with his personal demon magic?

  Sally didn’t know, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was the frustration that marred the pudgy face before the demon gave a lift of his hand and disappeared.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Uncertain if the demon was truly gone, or if he might suddenly reappear, Sally ran a frantic hand over Roke’s face, her breath ripped from her lungs at the feel of his icy skin.

  He was always cool to the touch. Every vampire was. But not . . . frigid.

  There was something seriously wrong with him.

  “Roke.” She leaned down to whisper directly in his ear, terrifyingly certain he was slipping away from her. “Roke, can you hear me?”

  “He’s fading.”

  The sound of the low, musical male voice had her jerking her head to the side to discover a slender imp with emerald eyes and long hair the shade of newly minted copper.

  He was dressed in a camouflage robe that blended with the nearby trees, and she never would have noticed him if he hadn’t spoken. A knowledge that did nothing to reassure her.

  Still on her knees, she held up a warning hand, mentally preparing a spell of revulsion. It wouldn’t hurt the imp, but it might convince him to go away.

  “Stay back.”

  The stranger placed a hand over his heart, offering the traditional gesture of peace among the fey.

  “I only wish to help,” he said, his face impossibly beautiful in the moonlight.

  She licked her dry lips. They’d been running from the fey for what seemed like forever, but he didn’t act aggressive. After all, there was nothing to stop him from attacking her if that’s what he intended.


  Of course, he might be trying to lure her into a sense of security to get his hands on the box.

  “Who are you?” she asked, remaining on guard.

  He surprisingly offered a low bow. “A loyal subject.”

  “Subject?” she muttered in confusion.

  He straightened, meeting her puzzled gaze. “You are a Chatri, aren’t you?”

  A Chatri?

  As in fey royalty?

  A cold chill inched down her spine at the unexpected question.

  It was the box.

  It had to be.

  “No.” She gave a violent shake of her head. “I’m just a witch.”

  He looked instantly contrite. “Forgive me. I understand if you want to keep your identity a secret.”

  Okay, this was going from weird to weirder.

  If she hadn’t been desperate to help Roke, she’d be fleeing in the opposite direction.

  Instead, she forced herself to glance at the vampire who remained unconscious on the ground.

  “I just want to help my . . .” Her lips twisted as she said the word she’d been avoiding for the past month. “Mate.”

  The imp sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re mated to a vampire?”

  “Yes,” she admitted in impatient tones. “Can you help him?”

  “May I approach?”

  The imp waited for her to give a reluctant nod before gingerly crossing the ground with a grace that would match a vampire. He lowered himself to his knees, his fingers reaching to touch Roke’s ashen cheek.

  Sally watched in silence as the imp closed his eyes and appeared to be assessing Roke’s injuries.

  “What is it?” She at last broke the silence.

  The imp opened his eyes, his expression troubled. “I can’t determine the precise poison, but it must be something specifically designed to harm vampires.”

  Sally frowned. How could Roke have been . . . oh. Her hands clenched as she remembered the dart that the demon had shot at Roke.

  At the time it’d seemed like nothing more than an irritant. Now it was obvious the demon had used it to administer the poison with the intention of keeping Roke distracted until it could go into effect.

  He hadn’t counted on Sally’s spell to ruin his plans.

  Bastard.

  “Can you help him?”

  The imp shook his head. “No.”

  “Then who can?”