When Darkness Ends (4 page)

“Wait.”

“Aye?”

Lick, lick, lick of the lips.

“Perhaps something could be arranged.”

Gotcha.

Anthony hid his smug smile. The prince was as easy to play as a fiddle.

“I really do think it would be for the best, my friend,” he agreed with a sweetly encouraging smile. “It would be a pity to see the protected lands become a shopping center.”

Yiant gave a stiff nod, turning to head for the door. “I will be in contact.”

“Soon,” Anthony warned, briefly wondering precisely what had prompted the unexpected display of defiance before he was abruptly interrupted by the scent of cherries.

Turning his head, Anthony watched as the mongrel stepped through the hidden panel at the back of the room.

Keeley was a half human/half imp male who'd sought Anthony's protection after the death of the previous Anasso. The too-handsome creature with pale green eyes and a mane of sleek golden hair had once been a playmate of the dissolute King of Vampires, and worse, he'd been related to Damocles, the imp who had contributed to the downfall of the once-powerful leader.

The imp had feared that Styx might retaliate against those he held responsible for the destruction of his mentor and fled to Ireland.

Not an unreasonable fear.

So he'd allied himself with the druids, and over the past year, he'd earned a place in Anthony's inner circle.

It wasn't that he was more clever or talented or powerful than Anthony's other servants. Hell, his only real skill was creating portals.

But he was willing to follow any order, no matter how outrageous, and more importantly, he possessed an intimate knowledge of the caves where the previous Anasso had lived.

Caves that were now occupied by the leaders of the demon world, the Commission.

“You truly are evil, Benson,” the imp murmured, crossing the Aubusson carpet.

Anthony adjusted his cuffs.

The imp had no idea just how evil he could be.

Not yet.

“I don't recall inviting you to my office, imp.”

Wearing nothing more than a pair of faded jeans that emphasized his smooth, muscular chest, Keeley halted next to the wing chair.

“We have a problem.”

Anthony frowned. “The prisoners?” he demanded, referring to the elder druids who refused to accept his vision for the future as well as the two interfering fairies.

His first thought had been to destroy them. A dead enemy was the best enemy. But he hated to toss away such a valuable resource.

It would be a sin to waste such potent blood.

So instead of burning them at the stake, he'd locked them in a Labyrinth spell that kept them safely imprisoned.

Keeley shook his head. “The spell still holds them.”

“Then what has happened?”

“A friend from America sent me this.”

The imp held out his phone to reveal a photo of a slender man with a long mane of hair that glistened like rubies even in the grainy image.

“A fairy?”

“A Chatri.”

Anthony hissed in shock. It wasn't often anyone mentioned the pure-blooded ancients who were the ultimate rulers of the fey. They were written about in the secret druid legends, of course, along with dire warnings never to attract their attention.

It was said that an angry Chatri could kill with just the power of his light . . . whatever the hell that meant.

Anthony didn't know, and didn't want to find out.

“Impossible,” he growled.

“Unexpected, but clearly not impossible,” the imp drawled.

Anthony frowned. He didn't like sarcasm. It was the sign of a lazy mind.

On the other hand, he did like using his druid skills to punish those people who were stupid enough to annoy him. He liked it a lot.

Smiling, he ran his thumb over the heavy silver ring that circled his index finger.

A symbol of his authority that made the imp pale.

Satisfied, Anthony returned his attention to the image of the fairy.

“Who is he?”

Keeley had to clear his throat before he could speak. “He claims to be Prince Magnus.”

A prince?

Then he wouldn't be alone.

Royals always traveled with guards.

“They retreated from the world centuries ago,” he muttered. “Why would they return now?”

The imp returned the phone to his back pocket. “There're a dozen rumors, but no actual facts.”

“Where is he?”

Keeley grimaced. “At the home of the Anasso.”

The Anasso? Anthony lifted his brows. Things were getting stranger and stranger.

He didn't like strange any more than he liked sarcasm.

“He's with the vampires?”

“So it would seem.”

Anthony paced toward the priceless Botticelli painting that hung on the back wall, silently contemplating his next move.

He wasn't a narcissist. He didn't believe that everything that happened in the world had something to do with him.

Then again, he wasn't stupid.

The return of the Chatri after so many years had the potential to ruin everything he'd worked so hard to achieve. He had to know if they intended to cause trouble.

He considered various ruses that might lure the Chatri to Ireland, only to dismiss them. He couldn't wait and hope the powerful fey might choose to arrive on his doorstep.

He needed to know now what they were planning.

The sooner the better.

“Bring him to me,” he softly commanded, turning back to meet the imp's horrified gaze.

“What?”

Anthony picked a piece of lint off the sleeve of his smoking jacket, waiting for the imp to gather his composure.

“I believe you heard me,” he at last murmured.

“Why me?”

“You have a connection to Styx, don't you?”

Keeley made a strangled sound, clearly not overjoyed at the promise of being reunited with his vampire friends.

“Not one that's likely to endear me to him,” he managed to choke out. “He blamed my cousin Damocles for the destruction of the previous Anasso and he won't have forgotten that I was related to him. He'll kill me if I return to America.”

“Nonsense.” Anthony clicked his tongue. The fey, even half fey were annoyingly dramatic. “If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead.”

“But—”

“Keeley, find a way to make him invite you into his home,” he interrupted, his voice deceptively gentle. “I need to know if they've somehow managed to discover my plans.”

The stench of cherries made Anthony's nose wrinkle as the imp fought his instinct to refuse the direct command.

A wise choice.

The vampire might kill him, but Anthony . . . ah, he would make the imp wish he were dead . . . over and over again.

“And if they have learned that you've been interfering with the Commission?”

A good question.

Anthony reached for his glass of whiskey he'd left on a small table next to the chair.

Unfortunately he didn't have a good answer.

“Then I suppose we will have to accelerate our timetable.”

Keeley frowned. “Is that possible?”

“You sound concerned.” Anthony sipped his whiskey, capturing the imp's nervous gaze. “You aren't getting cold feet, are you?”

“No.” Keeley took a nervous step backward. Smart imp. “Of course not.”

“Then bring me the Chatri.”

Draining the whiskey, Anthony set aside the glass and headed toward the door. He was stepping into the formal gallery when he heard Keeley mutter behind him, “Bastard.”

Anthony shrugged. The imp wasn't wrong.

He was a bastard.

Fallon gasped when Siljar disappeared as swiftly as she'd appeared.

One second she was patting Cyn's arm and the next . . . poof.

No smoke. No mirrors. No abracadabra.

Just there and then gone.

Damn.

What was wrong with her?

She should have insisted that the powerful demon return her to her homeland. Even with Sariel's interference she could have kept watch on the Commission. It wasn't as if she'd ever let her father or fiancé interfere in her fascination with scrying before.

It was easy to tell herself that it was the shock of waking up in a strange cave with a dangerous vampire, swiftly followed by the appearance of an Oracle demanding her help in spying on the Commission, that had rattled her brain. How could any poor female think clearly under such circumstances?

But a part of her knew that she'd allowed herself to be steamrolled by the tiny Oracle quite simply because she didn't want to go home.

She'd spent centuries trapped in the glorious palace her father had created. She'd been petted and pampered and . . .

Trapped.

And worse, she'd known deep in her heart that she would never escape.

Not so long as her father considered the pure-blooded Chatri above the lesser fey.

So was it really surprising that she would be reluctant to give up this unexpected miracle even if it meant enduring the company of an obnoxious vampire?

It wasn't like she had to actually work next to him.

He was a clan chief. His lair should be large enough for them never to cross paths, right?

As if to prove her point, Cyn was abruptly heading toward the far end of the cave, his face grim although he held the scroll with obvious care.

Far more care than he was willing to give her. Jackass. With a swift step, Fallon had moved to place herself directly in his path.

“Where are you going?”

He came to a grudging halt, his gaze narrowed. “To have a shower.”

“What about me?”

He shrugged. “Aren't you supposed to be spying on the Oracles or something?”

Her fists clenched. She'd never hit anyone before, but now seemed a good time to start.

“Now look here, you big lug—”

“You have an obsessive fascination with my size.” He ran a slow, deliberate gaze down her tense body before leaning forward to whisper directly in her ear, “In case you're interested, I'm large everywhere.”

The brush of his lips against her skin sent darts of white-hot excitement sizzling through her.

How was that possible?

She'd lived with the most beautiful men in the world. Her own fiancé, Magnus, was breathtaking. But never, ever had one of them made her so acutely aware of being a woman. As if Cyn had some magical ability to arouse her darkest, most intimate desires.

Jerking back, she sent him a glare. “Well, your head is certainly bloated.”

His gaze lingered on her mouth. “If you're trying to charm me, it's not working.”

She wouldn't lick her lips. She wouldn't.

Her tongue peeked out, swiping her lower lip with a provocative movement. Instantly Cyn's eyes darkened with a scorching heat.

Fallon stiffened. What was wrong with her?

“I'm not trying to charm you,” she stubbornly denied.

“Fine.”

Abruptly he'd stepped around her, clearly intending to leave her abandoned in the caves.

“Wait.”

He sent an impatient glance over his shoulder. “Now what?”

“We're obviously stuck with one another for now,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

“Do you have a point?”

Heathen. Barbarian. Hulking, gorgeous, pain in the ass.

She counted to ten.

“You could at least try to be civil.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “And what does ‘civil' entail?”

“I obviously can't stay in these caves.” She waved a dismissive hand toward the damp floor, shivering at the distinct chill in the air. “I'm assuming you have private rooms I could use. And I'll need food. Oh . . .” She glanced down to the plain, too-short robe. “And clothes. Silk.”

Something dangerous lurked in the jade eyes. “Anything else, princess?”

“Nectar.” She used her most grating princess voice. She was a guest here, dammit, not a prisoner. It was time that Cyn fulfilled his duties as a host. “Preferably from my homeland.”

A stark, dangerous silence followed her daring command. The sort of silence that came before the strike of lightning.

Or a nuclear explosion.

Instead there was a flurry of movement as Cyn reached out to grasp her by the waist and with one smooth movement had her tossed over his shoulder.

Fallon gasped in shock. No man touched the royal princess. Not unless he wanted to be burned to a crisp by Sariel. And certainly they didn't haul her around like she was a sack of potatoes.

“What are you doing?” she finally managed to choke out.

Leaving the cave, Cyn headed up a narrow set of stairs carved into the stone.

“Let's get one thing straight, princess. This is my lair,” he growled.

She slammed her fist against his back only to wince in pain. Crap, the man felt as if he'd been chiseled from granite.

“I wouldn't be so quick to boast about this shabby—”

Her furious insult came to an outraged halt as his large hand landed on her butt, giving the tender flesh a deliberate squeeze. Fallon's breath tangled in her throat. She was livid. Of course she was. But more than that she was . . . oh dear God, was she aroused? Was the intimate touch of his hand turning her on?

Or maybe being in this world was screwing with her hormones. Yes. That was a much better answer.

Belatedly aware they were moving through a long hallway lined with heavy tapestries, she gave his back another punch.

“Put me down, you barbarian.”

“Berserker,” he snapped.

“Is that supposed to be better?” she ground out, wiggling in an effort to dislodge his hand that was causing tiny sparks of pleasure to race through her body. “I told you to put me down.”

Her wiggles were futile, but thankfully they'd reached a closed door and he was forced to release her butt to shove it open.

“My lair, my rules.”

They entered what appeared to be a large room with a woven carpet in shades of silver and violet.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I'm not your damned servant.” He crossed the floor, abruptly dropping her on a massive four-poster bed with a feather mattress. “So long as you're beneath my roof you'll treat me with respect.”

“Respect is earned, not commanded.”

“Actually I just did.” He planted his fists on his hips, using his powers to ignite the logs that were neatly stacked in the stone fireplace. “And you'd better pay attention.”

“Or?”

“Or I'll return you to the caves and you can rot down there for all I care.”

Fallon glared into the forcefully handsome face, catching a glimpse of snowy white fangs. Sensibly she knew she should be afraid of him.

He was a lethal predator who had her completely at his mercy.

But she wasn't afraid.

She was angry and frustrated and terrifyingly aware of the hard, male body barely concealed beneath the thin robe.

“I really dislike you,” she muttered, trying to tug the robe down her legs.

“The feeling is mutual.”

“I . . .” Fallon forgot what she was going to say as she belatedly noticed her surroundings. “Oh.”

Cyn was instantly wary. “Now what?”

She forgot her urge to slap his arrogant face as she slowly scanned the pale ash furniture that filled the room.

Beyond the canopied bed, there was a chest set beneath a large stained-glass window that was composed in shades of indigo and saffron and crimson with threads of gold. The arched masterpiece not only provided beauty, but filtered out any potential sunlight. Near the fireplace was a rocking chair that matched the large armoire near the door. And nearer the bed was a delicate washstand.

There was a definite medieval vibe, but it was the exquisite craftsmanship that captured Fallon's attention.

With a soft sigh she shoved herself to her knees, reaching to skim her fingers over the delicate pattern that had been carved into the wooden posts of the bed.

Row after row of tiny flowers and woodland creatures flowed from the top of the post to the bottom, each one charmingly different in design. And the carvings were echoed on every piece of furniture, giving the room an ethereal beauty that tugged at her heart.

“It's beautiful,” she breathed, feeling as if she were surrounded by a woodland glade despite the fact that the sun would never be allowed to stray beyond the window. “Really, really beautiful.”

Cyn made a strangled sound, as if pushed to the very edge.

“Bloody hell, you could drive a saint to drink,” he roared.

Ignoring the completely unfair accusation, she continued to stroke her fingers over the glossy wood.

“Where did you find the furnishings?”

“I made them.”

She sent him a startled glance. “You?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Fallon frowned at the hint of defensiveness in his tone. Was he embarrassed to reveal his artistic talent?

“This is fey in design.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “I was taken in by fairies while I was a foundling. Mika trained me to carve.”

Fallon couldn't deny a stab of curiosity.

She'd watched this world enough to know it was extremely unusual for any demon to foster another species, let alone a fairy taking in a savage vampire.

It would be like a human adopting a full-grown lion.

But she wasn't about to probe. Not when Cyn was already treating her as if she were some unwelcomed intruder who'd invaded his lair.

Like black mold.

“He must have been a master craftsman,” she instead murmured.

“Careful, princess. That was perilously close to a compliment,” he mocked.

Okay. That was it.

Turning her head, she stabbed him with a furious glare.

“Do you always have to be an ass?”

He abruptly grimaced, then without warning, he reached out to cup her cheek with his hand.

“No,” he said, his thumb brushing her lower lip.

Fallon stilled, sensing the electric tension that sizzled between them.

“Cyn?”

His lips twisted at the sudden uncertainty in her voice.

“We're stuck together. At least for now,” he said, his gaze lowering to her mouth. Almost as if he was imagining how it would taste beneath his own. “We need a truce.”

Fallon shivered, the image of him tumbling her back onto the mattress and covering her with his hard body searing through her mind.

It was raw and primal and scary as hell.

You're playing with fire,
a voice whispered in the back of her mind.
And you're the one who's going to get burned
.

She covertly inched back on the mattress. He carried with him a force field that threatened to suck her in.

“It should be simple enough.” She managed to sound almost indifferent. Good for her.

His gaze remained locked on her lips. “Do you think so?”

“This is obviously a large lair. There's truly no need to spend any time in each other's company.”

Something that looked like . . . hurt . . . flared through his eyes before he abruptly dropped his hand and stepped back.

“Right,” he muttered, turning to head toward the door. “A perfect solution.”

“Wait.” Feeling ridiculously guilty, Fallon scrambled off the bed, her feet barely touching the floor as the door was being slammed shut.

With a shake of her head, she flopped back on the mattress, wondering why men had to be so . . . so impossible.

 

 

Cyn didn't know why he was so pissed as he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Hell, he should be pleased the aggravating little fairy wanted to stay out of his way. This was his home. The place he indulged in his favorite vices.

The last thing he wanted was an intrusive, nagging, obscenely tempting . . .

He muttered a curse, storming toward a wide staircase to make his way to his private chambers that were built belowground. The entire castle was wrapped in spells of illusion as well as thick magic that prevented any stray trespassers. There were also heavy stained-glass windows that shielded the interior from the sun.

But old habits were hard to break. Especially for a vampire who was as old as Cyn.

Entering the cavernous room that was filled with ebony furniture and lush gold and black tapestries, Cyn crossed to the desk that was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Yanking open the top drawer, he pulled out a cell phone that was always kept charged and sent a text to his top lieutenant, using an encrypted code that warned her to meet him in his lair without alerting anyone as to where she was going.

Then, with long strides he entered the fully modern bathroom and stripped off the ridiculous robe, still bristling with a baffling sense of annoyance. Then, stepping into the shower he turned on the water, shivering beneath the icy blast.

Okay. He was attracted to Fallon. Maybe even more than just attracted. Despite her prudish nature and irritating arrogance, she was the most stunningly beautiful woman he'd ever seen. What man wouldn't be fantasizing about having her spread across his bed?