“Your belief in me is, as always, heartening,” he mocked.
“Salvatore is the king, Damon,” she pressed, one of the few who refused to be intimidated even after he’d taken command of the pack and moved them from Siberia to Greece. “The true king.”
Damon curled his lips. He was sick to fucking death of hearing the note of awe in the voices of Weres when they spoke of Salvatore.
Perhaps the current King of Weres had defeated the demon lord and restored the traditional powers to the Weres, but he’d also offered a treaty to the damned vampires, not to mention dragging purebred Weres into a fight against the Dark Lord.
Did no one else care that ancient traditions were being destroyed, one by one?
“Only until a stronger heir defeats him,” Damon pointed out.
Concern tightened Gia’s features. “And you’re certain you’re stronger?”
He sucked in a harsh breath. “Another insult to my manhood.”
With a sound of impatience, Gia stepped back. Instantly, Damon regretted the distance.
When they were apart there was something vital missing from his world.
“I don’t question your physical strength.”
“No?”
“No.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “I question your heart.”
Abruptly Damon turned away from the too-knowing gaze. This female knew where he was most vulnerable.
“Don’t.”
Of course she didn’t listen to his warning.
Gia could be as stubborn as he was. An amazing feat.
“You don’t want to be king,” she said, her gaze lowering to where the golden medallion shimmered against his silk shirt. “You’ve never wanted it.”
He blocked out the truth of her words. “It’s my destiny.”
“It’s the delusion of a woman who went mad from grief.”
His hands clenched; his heart filled with regret.
He still hadn’t recovered from his shock when he had entered the dank cabin after having traveled the countryside with Gia in their wolf forms. He’d been gone for days, and he had dreaded confronting his mother who was no doubt furious with his absence.
But when he’d finally forced himself to step through the open doorway, there’d been no recriminations. No furious slaps across his face.
Instead he’d found a pile of ash where his mother had called on the fires of Telos to destroy herself. Leaving him behind to bear the pain of her suicide.
“A grief I caused.”
He heard Gia heave a resigned sigh. “You didn’t cause her death, Damon.”
“I did.” He turned to glare at Gia’s obstinate expression. “She willed herself to die because I wouldn’t give her what she needed.”
Gia was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “Damon, you know she’d been sick since your father shunned her. It had nothing to do with you.”
“I didn’t give her what she needed.”
“And what about what you need?” she pleaded softly. “What I need?”
“Gia—”
“Stay,” she interrupted in an urgent voice. “Be my mate.”
A wrenching sorrow settled in his heart. “I can’t.”
Frustration flared through her dark eyes. “Why?”
Damon grimaced, shoving his fingers through his hair. “She haunts me,” he admitted in harsh tones. His dreams had been tormented since his mother’s death. “She won’t rest until I’ve done my duty.”
Gia studied him for a long time, then without warning her shoulders slumped and her eyes lost the sparkle that had always warmed his soul.
“Then go.”
He held out a hand, shoving aside his pride as he pleaded for her understanding. “I’ll be back for you.”
She shook her head. “Don’t bother. Even if you succeed I won’t be your queen.”
Icy fear trickled down Damon’s spine. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Her chin tilted to a militant angle. “This is wrong. I won’t watch you follow in your father’s footsteps.”
Damon flinched at the deliberate attack. Gia knew better than anyone how deeply he hated his father.
To be compared to the bastard was the worst insult she could offer.
“Haven’t you always condemned my mother for using emotional blackmail?” he said, his cold voice making her frown.
“This isn’t blackmail.”
“It’s an ultimatum,” he growled. “I do as you want or you’re finished with me.”
She heaved a resigned sigh. “I suppose it is.” With a grimace, she turned and headed across the marble floor. “Go challenge Salvatore. Get yourself killed just because you’re too stubborn to work through your guilt. I’m done.”
Levet watched the interplay between Damon and Gia with a growing sense of outrage.
Mon Dieu. Had the Were lost his mind?
The beautiful young female had done everything but get on her knees and plead for him to stay.
What sort of man turned away such obvious devotion?
Levet abruptly wrinkled his snout, recalling his own lack of female companionship.
Obviously, he was no expert on relationships. And he was beginning to suspect that he never would be.
Most gargoyles might choose consorts for political or financial means, but he would never be capable of such a cold-hearted, calculated joining. He adored women. All women. He would never use one for his own advantage.
He was slowly beginning to accept that he was meant to fly free.
Still, he had seen plenty of mated pairs. They were miserable when they were apart.
Even the cold-blooded vamps were obsessively devoted to their mates.
It was their only redeeming quality as far as Levet was concerned.
“Well, that was . . .” He struggled for the perfect word as the dark mist began to form and the man next to him jerked back to life. “Pathetic. You do realize you are an idiot?”
Damon sucked in a strained breath, his face hardening as he tried to clamp down his emotions.
“You know nothing about my situation.”
“I know that you just turned away a beautiful woman who was begging you to stay and simply be with her.”
“Shut up, gargoyle.”
Levet sniffed, his wings fluttering as the mist thickened. “Not many men can claim a true mate. You are just throwing yours away.”
The Were was rigid, his hands clenching and unclenching as if battling the urge to reach for a weapon.
Predictable. Weres were incapable of sharing a perfectly reasonable conversation.
Levet could only assume that their hormones were unbalanced.
“This is none of your business,” Damon growled.
“Maybe not, but I know a broken heart when I see one.” Levet sent him a chiding frown. “She was devastated.”
The muscle of Damon’s jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth until they nearly shattered. “I will return for her. She—”
“Will forgive you?” Levet completed Damon’s sentence as his words faded away.
Damon grimaced, the raw agony he was trying so hard to disguise flaring through the champagne eyes.
“She has to,” he breathed.
“Non,” Levet countered. “She does not.”
The Were stubbornly refused to listen to reason. “She’s my mate.”
Levet threw his hands in the air. “Then you should behave as a mate. Which means you should put her needs above your own.”
The air prickled with the heat of Damon’s wolf. “They aren’t my needs.”
Levet snorted. He’d allowed his own mother’s disapproval to torment him, although he’d hidden the pain behind a façade of indifference. It hadn’t been until he’d returned to Paris to confront the old bat that he’d at last put the ghosts of his childhood behind him.
Or, at least, he thought he’d put them behind him until tonight....
His tail twitched as he shoved aside the unpleasant dou
bts that had threatened to ruin his holidays. In this moment it was his duty as a temporary Christmas angel to make Damon see reason.
Surely that’s what Sera intended him to do?
“They might have started as your mother’s needs, but she is dead.” Levet refused to back down despite the wolf ’s furious glower. “If you continue this quest you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Damon cursed, his eyes glowing as his wolf struggled to take command. “Get us out of here.”
Levet gave a click of his tongue. Really, how many times had he told the stupid Were that he . . .
His annoyed thought was interrupted as the mist abruptly thickened to a choking blanket of black. Then with a sickening jolt they were being hurtled through time and space, the speed making Levet’s tail stand on end.
Chapter 4
Salvatore was still snuggled with Harley on the bed when he was forced from the room by the arrival of Harley’s sisters, Regan, Cassie, and Darcy. Not that he truly resented their arrival. How could he when their presence brought such obvious joy to his mate?
Of course, he didn’t for a minute believe that they had traveled to St. Louis alone.
Slipping out the back to avoid the crowd of Weres who were still celebrating in his living room, Salvatore made his way toward the edge of the lake. Within minutes he was joined by a tall, Aztec warrior dressed in leather with a long braid hanging down his back.
Styx was the current Anasso (King of Vampires), and mated to Darcy. No doubt, Regan’s mate, Jagr, as well as Cassie’s mate, Caine, were both prowling nearby.
Still edgy, Salvatore forced a stiff smile to his lips.
“I thought I smelled dead meat,” he drawled, never able to resist the opportunity to mock the vampire’s massive arrogance.
Styx folded his arms over his broad chest, flashing his fangs as if the humongous sword strapped to his back wasn’t intimidating enough.
The King of Vampires was a firm believer in overkill.
Literally.
“Better than wet mutt,” he countered.
“Why are you skulking out here?” Salvatore’s gaze skimmed toward the nearby guards who were clearly unhappy to have a vampire so near the lair. The truce that had been established between Weres and vamps was still difficult for many to accept. They’d been enemies for too many centuries to instantly become allies. Besides, the two species were both too aggressive to ever be truly easy in each other’s company. “Trying to terrify my poor servants?”
Styx shrugged. “I assumed you would be reluctant to allow guests too close to your new pups.”
Salvatore nodded. He’d cut out his tongue before he’d admit it, but he appreciated Styx’s consideration.
“It’s been . . . difficult,” he admitted, his gaze shifting to his home on top of the hill. He squashed a sigh at the sight of the numerous guests that he could see through the floor to ceiling windows.
“I can imagine,” Styx muttered.
“No, you truly can’t.”
Styx gave a lift of one raven brow. “If you need me to clean out your unwelcome visitors, just say the word. I’d be delighted to kick some Were ass,” he offered, a glow of anticipation in his dark eyes. The vampire was always eager for a fight. “It’s been far too long.”
Salvatore grimaced, rolling his tense shoulders. The persistent sensation of approaching danger was making him jumpy as hell.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I wish I could let you,” he said.
Styx shrugged. “You’re the king. Throw them out the door.”
“It’s because I’m the king that I can’t.”
The Anasso snorted at Salvatore’s resigned explanation. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve broken too many traditions,” Salvatore admitted. The past century had been a difficult one for the purebreds. Not only had they been drained of their powers by the previous king’s connection to a demon lord, but the world had become a rapidly changing landscape that wasn’t always easy for an immortal to adapt to. “The Weres need to be confident that I respect our past while I try to drag them kicking and screaming into the future.”
Styx gave a slow nod. He was having his own battles to try and haul the vampires out of the dark ages. “You have my full sympathies.”
“Besides, my people have waited too long to celebrate the return of Were children,” Salvatore continued. “This feast is a symbol of hope.”
As if to prove his point, there was a roar from inside the house, followed by the sound of splintering wood. It was doubtful that the furniture would survive the celebration.
“How is Harley?” Styx asked, thankfully drawing Salvatore’s thoughts away from the destruction of his beautiful lair.
“Weak, but delirious with happiness.” His smile became genuine as he thought of his mate, her face flushed with a joy that came from her very soul. “She hasn’t allowed the pups out of her sight since they were born.”
“And you?”
“Dazed. And equally delirious.”
Styx narrowed his eyes. “There’s something troubling you.”
Salvatore tried to look casual. Did the damn bloodsucker have to be so perceptive? It was annoying.
“I’m a little on edge.”
“A little?” Styx gave a short laugh. “You’re about to combust.”
“Becoming a father is proving to be a constant source of terror,” Salvatore said, his words the truth, if not the full truth. “What if I fail them?”
Predictably the vampire refused to be distracted. “Your unease seems more . . . specific.”
“Have your talents grown to include mind reading?” Salvatore growled.
“I’m a predator.” Styx offered a lethal smile. “I know when my prey is distracted.”
The frozen air instantly prickled with the heat of Salvatore’s wolf. Styx was the only demon in the world powerful enough to match Salvatore in a head-to-head battle.
“Prey?”
Styx gave a sudden laugh, dispelling the tension. “Tell me what’s got you jumping at shadows.”
Salvatore made a sound of impatience, knowing the vamp wasn’t going to stop pushing until he had the truth.
Intrusive bastard.
“I don’t know. It feels as if . . .” Salvatore shivered, but it had nothing to do with the icy breeze. He’d never before experienced such a creeping sense of doom. “Cristo. Perhaps I’m losing my mind.”
“Possible.” Styx gave a lift of his shoulder. “You are well past your prime.”
“At least I was born after fire was invented,” Salvatore shot back, but his heart wasn’t in the insult.
Instead his gaze moved toward the south, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end.
Styx instinctively reached to grasp his sword. “You sense a threat?”
“Sì.” Salvatore gave a shake of his head. “But I don’t know who or where it’s coming from.”
“A premonition?”
Salvatore grimaced. “Whatever it is, it’s getting closer.”
Levet tried to peer through the black mist that continued to swirl around them.
He had a vague impression of a clearing in the middle of a thick ring of trees, but beyond a coating of snow that covered the ground and a hint of shadowed forms that might be people, it was impossible to determine a precise location.
Something that clearly annoyed his companion.
“Where have you brought us now?” Damon snarled.
Levet sent the Were an impatient glare. Really, he was one of the most ungrateful creatures that Levet had ever tried to help. And that was saying something considering he’d had to deal with both Styx and Salvatore over the past year.
“I don’t have any idea,” Levet said, his tail twitching with displeasure. This was Christmas Eve. He should be tucked in front of a warm fire with a cup of hot chocolate and a pretty demon on his lap. Instead he was stuck with an ill-tempered Were who had no sense of appreciation. “This is your past, not mine.”
Damon scowled. “I’ve never been here.”
“You are certain?”
“Of course I’m certain,” he snapped, his gaze barely flicking toward the misty surroundings before returning to stab Levet with a suspicious glare. “Your little wand clearly failed to produce the illusion you wanted.”
Levet wondered if the Were had been struck on the head.
He clearly had an inability to remember simple conversations.
“How many times must I tell you that the wand does not belong to me?” Levet said in slow tones. Perhaps the wolf was a bit dim-witted. “It is the property of the Christmas angel.”
“Ah, yes, the mythical Christmas angel.” Without warning, Damon reached over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword, pulling it from the sheath and pointing it directly in Levet’s face.
Levet’s eyes crossed as he warily studied the tip of the sword that nearly touched his snout.
It looked big and sharp and far too close for comfort.
“What are you doing?” he squeaked.
A cold smile twisted the Were’s lips. “You were tactically smart enough to keep me distracted with visions from my past, but I’m done with your evil magic.”
Evil? Levet sucked in a shocked breath.
Had the demented fur-ball called him evil?
“My magic is not evil. It is a powerful force for good,” Levet protested, his wings twitching with outrage. Really, some demons. “I am like Batman. Only cuter.”
Damon gave a low growl, his eyes glowing. “Who sent you? Was it Salvatore?”
Levet scowled in confusion. “Are you a nutty-bar? I am a gargoyle. Why would I take orders from the King of Mutts?”
“Who else could it be?”
“I told you—”
The sword actually touched the end of Levet’s snout. “You say the words ‘Christmas angel’ one more time, and I’ll chop off your head.”
Levet considered the pleasure of lobbing a spell at the oversized mutt. The aggravating wolf would perhaps have a few more manners after Levet had turned him into toadstool.
Unfortunately, Levet couldn’t risk using his magic when they were already in the clutches of the Christmas angel’s spell.
Bad things happened when magic smashed into magic.