Bound By Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  Chapter 4

  Ariyal didn’t believe in Santa Claus.

  If a fat man in a red suit snuck into his lair he would slice off the bastard’s head.

  But he had to assume there was some magic involved in beautiful vampires appearing out of thin air.

  Especially when it was this particular beautiful vampire.

  That was a gift any man could appreciate.

  For a crazed moment, he simply savored the sensation of her slim body pressed beneath him. God, it had been so long since he’d felt genuine desire.

  Not since Morgana le Bitch had taken him into her harem.

  Now his body was determined to make up for lost time.

  Still, for all his rampaging desire, he wasn’t so lost to reason that he didn’t recall this female posed an extreme danger to him.

  “How the hell did you get here?” he growled, keeping the knife poised near her throat even as he made certain it didn’t mar the perfection of her alabaster skin.

  Her hands pressed against his chest, but she made no attempt to kill him.

  Progress.

  “Get off me, you ass,” she hissed.

  “Not until I’m certain you don’t intend to alert all of London to our presence.”

  Something that might have been embarrassment at her less than graceful entrance rippled over her starkly beautiful face before she was glaring at him in outrage.

  “Don’t blame me. It was your little spirit who dumped me here.”

  “Spirit?”

  “Yannah.”

  He scowled. He had occasionally conjured a spirit who went by the name of Yannah, but she wouldn’t be able to enter Avalon. And certainly she couldn’t have brought Jaelyn to London.

  “Spirits are incapable of forming portals.”

  “Spooks are your specialty, not mine,” she muttered, her expression abruptly shuttered. “All I know is that she made an unexpected appearance in Avalon and shoved me through a portal. Next thing I knew I was making a face-first landing in London.”

  She was lying.

  He was certain of that much.

  The question was whether anything she told him was the truth.

  “I sensed there was something different about Yannah when I summoned her from the underworld,” he at last admitted.

  “Obviously you should be more careful when you’re inviting in creatures from hell,” she taunted.

  Yeah, he wasn’t going to argue with her logic.

  “I was distracted at the time, if you’ll recall. And it was you who allowed her to escape before I could properly banish her.”

  “Whatever.” She refused to meet his gaze. “Now will you get off of me?”

  Damn. What the hell was she hiding from him?

  “Spirit or not, why would Yannah follow us to Avalon and then conveniently be around to help you escape?”

  There was a barely perceptible pause. “She owed me for releasing her from your bondage. I called in my debt.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She struggled, the sensation of her hard muscles squirming against him nearly sending him up in flames. Holy shit. If only he could turn all that pent-up aggression to passion she’d be naked and riding him like a bucking bronco.

  The image burned into his brain, making him so hard and ready he feared he might explode.

  “Tough,” she growled.

  He ground his teeth. Dammit, he wouldn’t let himself be distracted.

  At least, not without the promise of satisfaction.

  “Why did you follow me here?”

  “You know why.”

  He smiled without humor, pressing his aching arousal against her hip.

  “Tempting, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to have your wicked way with my body,” he mocked. “At least until I’ve halted Armageddon.”

  Her eyes flashed with indigo fire, her struggles becoming serious.

  “My only interest in your body is hauling it to the Commission.”

  He pressed the knife against her throat, refusing to regret the smell of burning flesh.

  If she tried to take him to the Commission then he’d have to do a hell of a lot worse than singe a bit of skin.

  “Wrong answer.”

  “Shit, that burns.”

  “Hold still and you won’t be hurt,” he informed her, lifting his free hand to form a portal.

  Instantly the familiar shimmer floated beside him. No other fairy could match his speed in forming a portal. Or his tolerance to iron.

  Which were only two of many reasons he’d been chosen to lead his people.

  Jaelyn froze, her gaze trained on the magical opening that hung near her head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Returning you to Avalon.” His gaze narrowed. “And this time I will make certain no one will be coming to your rescue.”

  She cursed, grudgingly turning her head to meet his ruthless gaze.

  “Wait.”

  “Why should I?”

  “We ...” She looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. “... might be able to negotiate.”

  Instinctively he lifted the dagger from her neck, absently watching her skin heal the small burn.

  He should return her to Avalon. No ifs, ands, or freaking buts. The odds were that she was either there to haul his ass to the Commission.

  Or kill him.

  Neither possibility was particularly pleasant.

  Still, he hesitated.

  Wasn’t there some human saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?

  It was surely wiser to have her in sight until he discovered how she truly had escaped from Avalon?

  Dubious logic, but he was going with it.

  “Another bargain, poppet?”

  “Something like that.”

  His gaze lowered to the small breasts perfectly outlined by the black spandex.

  “What do you intend to offer?”

  She growled, but amazingly she made no effort to sink her pearly fangs into his arm. In fact, her mouth curled into what he assumed was intended to be a smile, although it was remarkably closer to the onset of rigor mortis.

  “I’m willing to give you a few days to track down Tearloch,” she managed to choke out. “If you swear you will only capture the child and not sacrifice her.”

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  “Why?”

  “I won’t help you kill an innocent.”

  He pressed the blade back to her neck. “Don’t play stupid.”

  She snapped her fangs, barely missing his fingers. “Careful, fey.”

  “Earlier you refused to even discuss my need to stop Tearloch and Sergei,” he reminded her. “What changed?”

  She shifted until the blade was no longer burning her skin, her raven braid spilling across the damp pavement.

  “I’m no more anxious than you for the world to end. Especially if it means becoming enslaved by the minions of hell.”

  Ariyal shook his head. “You really are a terrible liar, poppet.”

  She made a sound of impatience. “Look, I’ve offered to give you the time you need to track down your tribesman. What does it matter why?”

  “Because I don’t trust you.”

  She met him glare for glare. “Believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual.”

  “I should return you to Avalon.”

  Something that might have been panic flared through her eyes before she was crushing it beneath a layer of ice.

  “I’ll only escape again,” she warned in frigid tones. “And the next time I won’t hesitate to haul your ass to the Commission.”

  Ariyal silently cursed.

  He was an idiot.

  His tribe had suffered untold pain and humiliation to be rid of their ties to the Dark Lord. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now that there was a chance the brutal bastard might be returned to this world.

  The sensible solution would be to kill the perilously tempting vampire. Or at the very leas
t to return her to Avalon and lock her in the lower harems where nothing could escape.

  Instead, he was going to keep her with him.

  What choice did he have? There wasn’t any place he could put her, not even in her grave, where she wouldn’t be nagging at his thoughts.

  “You swear not to interfere?” he rasped.

  “Not unless you try to kill the child.”

  “Bloody hell, I know I’m going to regret this,” he muttered, rising to his feet, although he kept the dagger handy.

  Jaelyn was upright and angrily tossing back her long braid in less than a heartbeat.

  “You and me both.”

  Still fully aroused from the feel of her body beneath him and furious with his odd compulsion to have her near, Ariyal grasped her upper arm and jerked her across the road.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Go?” She scowled, but allowed herself to be led toward the back of the looming townhouses. “Where?”

  “If you insist on hanging around then you can at least make yourself useful.”

  Her lips parted to offer a scathing comment, only to snap shut as they came to a halt near a servants’ entrance.

  “The mage,” she said, her hand instinctively reaching for the shotgun that she usually carried strapped to her side. She glared at him when she came up empty. “And he’s brewing something.”

  He nodded, catching the sweet scent drifting through the air.

  “Yes.”

  “It smells ...” She blinked in surprise. “... good.”

  “Fey.”

  “What?”

  Ariyal breathed in deeply. “The plants he’s using are grown only by the fey.”

  Her surprise hardened to suspicion. “Do you know what he’s concocting?”

  He shrugged. “I would guess it’s a potion used to keep him from aging. Mages are humans and must use magical herbs to make them immortal.”

  The suspicion remained.

  No big surprise.

  “You’re sure it’s not a spell he’s about to cast?”

  “He’s a dark mage.”

  “Yeah, I got that,” she snapped impatiently. “All the more likely he’s about to create some nasty potion, right?”

  He studied her pale, perfect face. It was impossible to determine a vampire’s age. Jaelyn could be a few decades old or several millennia. But he suspected that she was barely out of her foundling years, despite her skills as a Hunter. There were too many gaps in her knowledge for her to be an ancient.

  “His power comes from blood.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Blood magic was a perverted form of true magic. “Either his own or that of a sacrifice.”

  Her gaze weighed his open revulsion toward Sergei. “And your power?” she demanded.

  “A gift from nature.”

  It was the truth, and yet Jaelyn’s gaze narrowed as she sensed he was keeping something hidden.

  “There’s more.”

  He hesitated. He preferred to keep a few of his lesser-known skills ... lesser known. It was, after all, his secret tolerance to iron that had allowed him to escape from Jaelyn just days ago.

  Who the hell knew when he might need another surprise or two?

  But her expression warned that she wasn’t going to stop nagging until she was satisfied with his answer.

  Dammit.

  “When necessary I can draw on the powers of others,” he admitted between clenched teeth.

  She stiffened. “How exactly does that work?”

  “Relax, poppet,” he assured her dryly. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I need power from a leech.”

  She studied him, not entirely convinced. “Hmmm.”

  He made a sound of impatience, pointed toward the nearby townhouse.

  “Can you sense the child?”

  Her lips thinned, as if she was annoyed to have to be reminded of why they were lingering in the foggy night.

  “No,” she muttered, “but I think the spell that guards the baby prevents me from being able to scent it.” She tilted back her head, allowing her acute senses to absorb her surroundings. She abruptly turned to regard him with a hint of bewilderment. “The Sylvermyst is missing.”

  He nodded. “Tearloch left just before your dramatic arrival.”

  “He left? Do you know where he was headed?”

  His lips twisted. “South.”

  Her annoyance intensified. “You know what I mean. I find it hard to believe he would willingly leave behind the baby after he went postal trying to track it down.”

  Ariyal had been equally startled when he’d caught sight of Tearloch’s slender form hurrying away from the townhouse. He had even taken a step to follow him, when he realized that the Sylvermyst was alone.

  He’d melted back into the shadows, forcing himself to recall that he was there to steal the baby, not confront his tribesman.

  “If it was me, I would be seeking allies,” he shared his assumption. “Tearloch’s crazy, not stupid, and he has to know that we’ll be coming after him. And once word gets out he’s in London with the child ...”

  She shuddered. “Yeah, every nasty demon with delusions of grandeur is going to be trying to get their hands on the kid.”

  “Which is why we’re going to be first in line.”

  “We?”

  He met her mocking smile with a lift of his brow. “You’re the one who followed me, remember?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  His gaze drifted down her slender body. “Then we’re in this together.”

  “Fine.” She snapped her fingers before his face until he returned his attention to her frustrated glare. “What’s your plan?”

  Plan?

  Hell, he hadn’t had a plan since following his former prince into the mists of Avalon.

  Look how that had turned out.

  Now he preferred to stumble from one disaster to another.

  “Is the mage alone?”

  She again allowed her powers to search through the darkness. “I don’t sense anyone else.”

  “Then let’s do this.” He moved to stand directly before the door, holding out a hand as Jaelyn stepped to stand at his side. “Wait.”

  “A spell?”

  “Yes.”

  The sharp chill of her frustration filled the air. “I hate mages.”

  He ran his hand over the door, testing the magic that kept it sealed shut.

  “It’s one of defense, not offense.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “It’s either an alarm system or a curse. Difficult to say.” He stepped back, flashing a taunting smile toward his companion. “Ladies first.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  Pulling her away from the door, he led them toward the back garden.

  “Trust me, poppet, I don’t intend to let anything happen to you,” he murmured, flashing a wicked smile. “At least not until I’ve had my fill.”

  She bared her fangs. “Are you trying to make me kill you?”

  A hot, urgent need hardened his cock. Shit, what was wrong with him?

  For all he knew Jaelyn was just waiting for the opportunity to force him back to the Commission.

  Or to rip out his throat.

  But beneath her prickling aggression he could smell the sweet tang of her matching arousal, and the need to press her against the wet bricks and plunge deep into her body until they were both screaming with satisfaction was becoming an overwhelming compulsion.

  “I just can’t seem to resist,” he confessed with a stark honesty that scared the hell out of him.

  Caine’s private lair outside Chicago

  Santiago stood outside the brick farmhouse with a grim expression.

  He was an impressive sight with his black jeans that clung to a tight butt and long muscular legs and a black T-shirt that was stretched over his broad chest. His face was narrow with high cheekbones and his eyes the deep brown of his Spanish ancestors. He was exquisitely handsome with long, raven hair that was left to fal
l in a perfect curtain down his back.

  But it took only a glance to know precisely what he was.

  A trained vampire warrior who would kill without mercy.

  Which might have explained why the coven of witches who’d been bustling about the cur’s lair for the past two nights had been torn between sexual fascination and abject terror when he strolled past.

  That and the big-ass sword he had strapped to his back.

  Santiago barely noticed the females as they chanted and brewed and lit their candles.

  Like all vampires he detested magic.

  Unfortunately, Styx had commanded that Santiago find his mate’s missing sister.

  And when the Anasso commanded, a wise vampire obeyed.

  Even if it meant calling upon the local coven to break through the layers of hexes, curses, and other nasty magical traps that had been laid around the farmhouse.

  Of course, he hadn’t expected it to take the witches so long to breach the protective layers around the house, he acknowledged with a flare of impatience.

  He’d been told the cur was paranoid. Hardly surprising considering the fact he’d made a deal with a zombie Were with ties to a demon lord. And now he had Cassandra to protect.

  A true prophet.

  The rarest creature to walk the earth.

  It was a task he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

  Still, Santiago was damned tired of waiting for the witches to do their mumbo-jumbo crap and get him inside.

  As if on cue a tall, silver-haired woman dressed in a neat black skirt and white shirt warily approached him. She looked as if she should be handing out loans in a bank, not brewing potions as she waved her heavily jeweled hand toward the house.

  “We’ve cleared a path to the door.”

  Santiago studied the double line of candles that led from the hedges to the front door. Despite the late-summer breeze that stirred the night air the flames stood at stiff attention, not so much as flickering.

  He grimaced.

  Madre Dios. He hated magic.

  “You’re certain it’s safe?”

  “It should be so long as you remain between the candles.”

  “And the house?”

  She patted her neatly coiffed hair. “There’s nothing we can detect inside, but I can’t make any guarantees.”

  Santiago pulled the sword from the leather sheath. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”