Uriel didn’t allow himself to question whether this was yet another trap. What did it matter? It couldn’t be any worse than where they were.
As they stepped through the gateway, the sound of Marika’s screams were still ringing in his ears.
It took nearly a week before Kata was fully recovered from her adventures through the underworld.
After falling through the gateway, they’d discovered themselves face first in the center of Stonehenge.
Thankfully there hadn’t been any pits of fire or monstrous worms or demented zombie vampires lurking nearby, and with a mutual breath of relief, Uriel had taken them directly to Victor’s lair near London.
Since then she’d been cosseted and fussed over as if she were a princess rather than a common gypsy.
Victor had arrived with news that her daughter Laylah was safely in the hands of her vampire mate. Victor’s beautiful fey mate, Juliet, had visited with the rare herbs to keep her from aging.
And even Yannah had made an unexpected visit, smugly expecting Kata’s gratitude for having led her straight into the Jinn’s lair, claiming it was the only means to break the bond between her and Marika. Once satisfied that Kata was sufficiently impressed, she’d claimed she was off to America to offer her assistance to the Child of Chaos.
Whatever that meant.
And then there was Uriel . . .
No man could have been more attentive, more devoted to making certain she was fully recovered.
With a smile, Kata snuggled closer to the delicious vampire as he led her back to his private lair, deep beneath the elegant estate.
Tonight he had surprised her with all the trappings of a traditional gypsy wedding.
There had been a magnificent feast followed by festive dancing. He’d offered a bride price to be given to a human charity that assisted with abandoned children, and given her a necklace made of golden coins. Then they’d stood together before a dozen guests and proclaimed they were man and wife.
It had been everything she’d dreamed of as a young, dewy-eyed girl, but now she was ready to be alone with her man.
More than ready, she acknowledged as a sensual heat swirled through the pit of her stomach.
Impatiently waiting for Uriel to open the heavy steel door that was protected by a dozen different locks, alarms, spells, and hexes, Kata at last stepped into the large bedroom, only to give a startled gasp.
Despite the elegance of the mansion, Uriel’s own lair was surprisingly modest with more attention paid to comfort than fashion.
This evening, however, the quilt covering the heavy oak bed was decorated with hundreds of rose petals and the matching furniture draped with the vibrant silk scarves that Kata adored.
“Dear goddess,” she breathed.
Uriel wrapped her in his arms. “Do you approve?”
She tilted back her head to meet his velvet brown gaze. “Very much, husband.”
“Mate,” he whispered softly.
“Not yet.”
He groaned, his fangs flashing in the firelight. “You’re ready?”
With a wicked smile, Kata shrugged off the spaghetti straps of her blue gown, allowing the satin fabric to slither down her body and pool at her feet. Her smile widened as he ran a hungry gaze down her naked curves.
“Completely and utterly.”
“Kata.”
With a speed that made her head spin, Kata found herself lying flat on the bed, surrounded by the earthy scent of roses and covered by Uriel’s hard, naked body. She hadn’t even noticed him removing his formal satin robe.
Laughing in delight, she looped her arms around his neck.
“I love a man of action.”
“And I love you.”
Holding her gaze, Uriel raised his arm and scored the inner skin of his wrist with his fangs. Then, with a solemn motion he pressed his bleeding wound to her mouth.
Kata closed her lips over the wound, greedily drinking the gift of his blood.
Her reaction was instant.
And wondrous.
Heat, pleasure, and overall an astonishing awareness of Uriel surged through her with giddy intensity.
Oh . . . goddess.
Moaning she allowed the golden warmth to fill her, his love for her a tangible force that healed the wounds of the past four hundred years.
“Now, Uriel,” she breathed.
Uriel gently removed his wrist, covering her mouth with a kiss of raw urgency.
Kata was quick to respond, wrapping her legs around his waist as he entered her with one slow thrust. At the same time, he sank his fangs into the tender curve of her neck, the momentary pain quickly replaced by an erotic bliss that made her nails dig into the broad width of his back and her hips lift to meet his frantic pace.
She cried out as pleasure exploded through her, followed swiftly by the sensation of Uriel’s own shuddering climax that echoed deep inside her.
Uriel pulled back to regard her with a startled glance, obviously as stunned as she’d been by the sheer intimacy of their bond.
“My mate,” he murmured, the guarded wariness that was so much a part of him at last shattered as their hearts and souls were melded together.
They were one.
Two parts of a whole.
Skimming her hands down his back, Kata basked in the knowledge that she was at long last home.
“For all eternity.”
The Guardians of Eternity are facing a final battle to save their world—but battles of the heart may be the most difficult to fight . . .
Cyn, the vampire clan chief of Ireland, is an unabashed hedonist whose beauty is surpassed only by his insatiable appetite for pleasure. It’s no wonder he’s furious when he’s transported from the magical land of the pureblooded feys to his desolate private lair—only to have his very existence thrown into a chaos that even he cannot charm his way out of . . .
Most women may be all but powerless against Cyn, but Fallon, a sharp-witted fairy princess, is less than beguiled by the silver-tongued vampire. She’s a serious soul with no time for the sort of games he plays—especially when they learn that someone is trying to close the veil that separates the dimensions. But seduction may prove the most powerful force of all, as attraction ignites between the unlikely pair even as worlds are colliding around them . . .
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Alexandra Ivy’s final Guardians of Eternity novel,
WHEN DARKNESS ENDS,
coming in June 2015!
Prologue
Laigin (Ireland), 1014 AD
The man woke with a blinding headache, stripped of his clothing as well as his memories.
With a groan, he sat up, shoving his tangled hair out of his face. It was immediately obvious he was in a damp cave. A strange place to awaken. But not nearly as strange as the abrupt realization that something was terrifyingly wrong with him.
Despite the darkness he was able to see the limestone walls that had been chiseled by the water dripping from the low ceiling as clear as if it were day. And it was not only his sight that was unbearably acute.
He could smell the distant salt of the sea. And hear the faint scramble of a bug crossing the stone floor. He could even detect the warmth of two creatures that were rapidly approaching the cave.
What madness was this?
No man should have the senses of a god. Not unless he was a monster.
The dark thoughts barely had time to form before they were interrupted by a hunger that thundered through him. He groaned. It was as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Months. But it wasn’t the thought of food that made his stomach cramp, he realized with a flare of horror.
It was . . . blood.
His mouth watered, the pain of his fangs ripping through his gums startling him as the image of the red, intoxicatingly rich substance filled his mind.
He had to feed.
Aye. That was what he needed.
Disgusted with the knowledge he slowly rose to his
feet, a virile strength running through his massive body even as his head remained thick with confusion.
His instincts urged him to leave the cave, to hunt down his prey and bury his fangs deep in their throats, but the tantalizing scent of fresh strawberries kept him frozen in place.
It appeared that his prey was willingly coming to him.
And they smelled . . . delectable.
Like an animal, he warily shuffled to the deepest shadows. From his vantage point, he silently watched the two slender creatures enter the cave. His eyes widened at the sheer beauty of the strangers. The male had hair the color of rust with bold green eyes set in a lean face, while the female possessed long tawny hair with eyes the shade of spring grass.
They looked like angels.
His fangs ached, his muscles tensing as he prepared to strike.
Angels or not, they were about to become dinner.
But before he could charge, the male held up a slender hand, the scent of strawberries becoming overpowering.
“Hold, berserker,” he commanded, a tingle of magic in the air.
He frowned. “I am a berserker?”
“You were.”
The confusion only deepened. “Were?”
“Two nights ago you were attacked by a clan of vampires.”
He shook his head, his hand instinctively lifting to touch his neck.
“I survived?”
The pretty female grimaced. “Not as a human. The local villagers left you in this cave to see if you would rise as a vampire. Even now they are on their way to either see your corpse or slaughter you.” She held out a slender hand. “Come with us in peace and we will harbor you until you are able to care for yourself.”
Vampire . . .
He went to his knees in shock.
Holy shite.
Chapter I
Ireland, Present Day
Cyn, clan chief of Ireland and former berserker, moaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His brain was fuzzy, which meant it took a full minute to realize he was lying butt-naked on the cold stone floor of a cave.
Bloody hell. It had been a millennium since he’d awakened in this precise cave, naked and disoriented. He didn’t like it any better today than he had a thousand years ago.
What’d happened?
With a groan he forced himself to a sitting position, his body hardening at the intoxicating scent that teased at his nose.
Champagne?
A fine, crisp vintage that made his entire body tingle with anticipation.
For a blissful minute he allowed the fragrance to swirl around him. It was oddly familiar. And, surprisingly, it stirred a complex mixture of emotions.
Arousal. Wariness. Frustration.
It was the frustration that abruptly forced him to recall why the scent was so familiar.
Muttering a curse, Cyn had a searing memory of following a beautiful fairy through a portal. No . . . not a fairy, he wryly corrected himself. A Chatri. The ancient purebloods of the fey world who’d retreated to their homeland centuries before.
He’d been there to help Roke locate his mate, but Princess Fallon had shoved him out of the throne room when it was obvious that Roke and Sally needed time to work out their differences, insisting that he leave them in peace.
He’d only been vaguely annoyed at first. He didn’t trust the cunning Chatri as far as he could throw them, especially not their king, Sariel. But, he wanted Roke to work out his troubles with his mate.
Besides, he was male enough to appreciate being in the company of a beautiful woman.
Or in the case of Fallon . . . a breathtakingly exquisite woman.
Her hair was a glorious tumble of rich gold brushed with hints of pale rose. The sort of hair that begged a man to bury his face in the silken mass. Her eyes were polished amber with flecks of emerald and framed by the thickest, longest lashes Cyn had ever seen. And her ivory features . . . gods almighty, they were so perfect they didn’t look real.
He might be suspicious of Fallon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy fantasizing about having her tossed on the nearby chaise longue while he peeled the gown off her slender body, he’d assured himself.
So he’d allowed himself to be distracted by the lovely female as he sipped the potent fey wine, not realizing the danger until his head began to spin and the world went dark.
Idiot.
He should have known that they were plotting something.
He might have a fondness for the fey, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t well aware of their mercurial natures.
And their love for luring the unwary into their clever traps.
With a low growl he turned his head, easily spotting the female who was sprawled naked on the ground, her golden hair shimmering even in the darkness.
He wanted to know how the hell she’d managed to bring them to the caves beneath his private lair. And he wanted to know now.
Cyn moved to bend beside her slumbering form, pretending that he wasn’t acutely aware of the enticing temptation of her long, slender body and the fragile beauty of her pale face.
Sleeping beauty . . .
A scowl marred his forehead. Aye. She was a beauty. She was also a powerful fey princess who’d managed to catch him off guard once.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
“Fallon?” Cyn murmured, his voice deep and laced with an accent that hadn’t been heard in this world for centuries. She heaved a sigh at the sound of his voice, but she remained stubbornly asleep. Cyn knelt at her side, knowing better than to touch her. The feel of that satin skin beneath his fingertips was guaranteed to make him forget he was pissed as hell at her little trick. “Fallon,” he growled, his voice a command. “Wake up.”
She gave a small jerk, her lashes fluttering upward to reveal the striking amber eyes with the shimmering flecks of emerald.
For a long moment she studied him in stunned confusion.
Understandable.
Most people found Cyn . . . intimidating.
At six foot three he had a powerful chest and thick muscles that marked him as a warrior. His mane of dark blond hair hung halfway down his back except for the front strands that he kept woven into tight braids that framed his face.
His features were chiseled along blunt lines with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His brow was wide and his jade green eyes heavily lashed. Females seemed to find him handsome enough, but there was never any mistake that he was a ruthless killer.
She sucked in a shaky breath as her gaze lowered to the barbaric Tuatha Dé Danann tattoos that curled and swirled in a narrow green pattern around his upper arms, emphasizing the perfect alabaster of his skin.
His lips twisted, as he wondered what she would think of the golden dragon tattoo with crimson wings that was currently hidden beneath the thick mane of his hair.
He’d earned the mark of CuChulainn that was branded onto his right shoulder blade after he’d survived the battles of Durotriges.
It marked him as a clan chief.
“Vampire,” she muttered, as if having difficulty remembering who he was.
He narrowed his gaze, wondering what game she was playing. “Cyn.”
“Yes . . . Cyn.” Her confusion was replaced with a horror as if she were suddenly remembering who he was. A horror that only intensified when she belatedly realized they were both butt-naked. “Dear goddess.” She shoved herself to a sitting position, curling her arms around her knees as she glared at him with angry accusation. “What have you done to me?”
“Me?” He made a sound of disbelief, unconsciously reaching to push a strand of golden hair off her flushed cheek.
“No . . .” With a flare of panic she was scrambling backward, a genuine fear flaring through the amber eyes. “Stay away.”
Cyn muttered a low curse. Her pretense of confusion was annoying the hell out of him, but he didn’t like the thought she was afraid of him.
Strange when he had devoted several centuries to terrifying his enemies.
“Settle down, princess,” he murmured softly.
“Settle down?” A flush stained her beautiful face. “I wake up naked in the company of a strange vampire far away from my home and you want me to settle down?” She bit her bottom lip, her flush deepening to crimson. “Did you—”
“What?”
“Violate me?”
What the hell? Cyn surged upright. Six foot three of quivering, offended, naked male.
“No, I didn’t damn well violate you,” he rasped. “And if I had I can assure you that you would not only remember, but you’d be on your knees thanking me for the privilege.”
Her fear was replaced by a more familiar disdain. As if he was a bug that needed to be squashed beneath her royal heel.
“Why you arrogant . . . leech.”
He folded his arms over his massive chest. “At least I’m not a stuck-up prig of a fairy.”
“If you didn’t violate me why are we naked?” she demanded, careful to keep her gaze locked on his face. Was she afraid his bare body might strike her blind? “And how did we get here?”
He snorted. “That’s a question I should be asking you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m a vampire.”
Her lips thinned in annoyance, her chin tilted as she continued her ridiculous charade of innocence.
“Yes, I had managed to figure that out.”
“Then you know that I can’t create portals,” he snapped, deliberately allowing his gaze to skim downward. Unlike the aggravating female, he had no problem enjoying a naked body. Especially one so appetizing. “Only the fey can do that.”
She frowned, belatedly realizing she couldn’t try to pin the blame of their abrupt teleportation on him.
Odd, she hadn’t struck him as stupid.
Just the opposite, in fact.
“Fey aren’t the only creatures who can create portals,” she tried to hedge.
“Well I obviously didn’t do it.”
“Neither did I.”
He made a sound of impatience. Why was she continuing with this game?