HUNT THE DARKNESS
“Witches don’t mate,” she muttered.
“Perhaps not, but demons do.” His thumb skimmed down her cheek to tease the corner of her mouth. “And you, my love, are most definitely demon.”
Their eyes clashed. The air sizzled with that ever-ready hunger.
His thumb slipped between her lips . . . and just that quickly, she was desperate for his kiss.
She needed the hungry press of his mouth, the dangerous scrape of his fangs, the intoxicating heat that scorched through her body....
Books by Alexandra Ivy
Guardians of Eternity
WHEN DARKNESS COMES
EMBRACE THE DARKNESS
DARKNESS EVERLASTING
DARKNESS REVEALED
DARKNESS UNLEASHED
BEYOND THE DARKNESS
DEVOURED BY DARKNESS
BOUND BY DARKNESS
FEAR THE DARKNESS
DARKNESS AVENGED
HUNT THE DARKNESS
The Immortal Rogues
MY LORD VAMPIRE
MY LORD ETERNITY
MY LORD IMMORTALITY
The Sentinels
BORN IN BLOOD
Historical Romance
SOME LIKE IT WICKED
SOME LIKE IT SINFUL
SOME LIKE IT BRAZEN
And don’t miss these Guardians of Eternity novellas
TAKEN BY DARKNESS in YOURS FOR ETERNITY
DARKNESS ETERNAL in SUPERNATURAL
WHERE DARKNESS LIVES in
THE REAL WEREWIVES OF VAMPIRE COUNTY
And look for this Sentinel novella
OUT OF CONTROL in PREDATORY
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
HUNT THE DARKNESS
ALEXANDRA IVY
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
HUNT THE DARKNESS
Books by Alexandra Ivy
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SENTINELS
Copyright Page
Prologue
Styx’s lair
Chicago, IL
Styx was fairly certain that hell had frozen over.
Nothing else could explain the fact that in the past year he’d become the Anasso (King of All Vampires), moved from his dank caves into a behemoth of a mansion that contained acres of marble, crystal and gilt—gilt for Christ’s sake—and mated with a pure-blooded Were who also happened to be a vegetarian.
Then, as if fate hadn’t had enough laughs at his expense, he’d been in an epic battle against the Dark Lord, which meant he’d been forced to make allies out of former enemies.
Including the King of Weres, Salvatore, who was currently drinking Styx’s finest brandy as he smoothed a hand down his impeccable Gucci suit.
Of course, if it wasn’t for the fact that their mates happened to be sisters, he would never have allowed the bastard over his doorstep, he pacified his battered pride. His own mate, Darcy, was very . . . insistent that she be allowed to spend time with Harley, who was growing heavy with her first pregnancy.
Or was it litter?
Either way, Styx and Salvatore were forced to play nice.
Not an easy task for two über-alphas who’d been opponents for centuries.
Settling his six-foot-plus frame in a chair that had a view of the moon-drenched gardens, Styx waited for his companion to finish his drink.
As always, Salvatore looked more like a sophisticated mob boss than the King of Weres. His dark hair was pulled to a tail at his nape and his elegant features were cleanly shaved. Only the feral heat that glowed in the dark eyes revealed the truth of the beast that lived inside him.
Styx, on the other hand, didn’t even try to appear civilized.
A towering Aztec warrior, he was wearing a pair of leather pants, heavy shitkickers, and a white silk shirt that was stretched to the limit to cover his broad chest. His long black hair was braided to hang down to his waist and threaded with tiny turquoise amulets. And to complete the image, he had a huge sword strapped to his back.
What was the point in being a badass if you couldn’t look like one?
Setting aside his empty glass, Salvatore flashed a dazzling white smile. A sure sign he was about to be annoying.
“Let me see if I have this right,” the wolf drawled.
Yep. Annoying.
Styx narrowed his dark eyes, his features that were too stark for true beauty tight with warning.
“Do you have to?”
“Oh yes.” The smile widened. “You asked the clan chief of Nevada to babysit a witch you had locked in your dungeons?”
Styx silently swore to have a chat with his mate once their guests were gone.
He hadn’t intended Salvatore to know that one of his most powerful vampires had been magically forced into a mating.
Hell, he’d had a hard enough time divulging the info with Jagr, his most trusted Raven. It was only because he needed the vampire to do research that he’d revealed the secret.
A mating was the rarest, most sacred, most intimate connection a demon could experience.
To think for a second that it could be inflicted on a vampire against his will was nothing less than . . . rape.
You didn’t reveal that kind of weakness to your enemies. Even if you did have a peace treaty.
Darcy, however, was a genuine optimist who blithely assumed that Salvatore would never abuse privileged information.
Now Styx was stuck revealing the truth to the mangy mutt.
“Sally Grace was not only a powerful witch who was capable of black magic, but she worshipped the Dark Lord,” he grudgingly explained, not about to admit that it had been more habit than fear that had led him to lock the female in his dungeons. Sally Grace was barely over five feet and weighed less than a hundred pounds. She hadn’t looked like a threat. And she probably wouldn’t have been if she hadn’t been so scared. “Of course I wasn’t going to take any chances.”
“Why Roke?”
Styx shrugged. “I was busy dealing with the ancient spirit that was trying to turn vampires into crazed killers.”
Naturally Salvatore wasn’t satisfied.
“And?” he prodded.
“And the prophet had warned that Roke would be important to the future,” he muttered. He’d truly thought keeping Roke in his lair would protect him. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and vampires. “How the hell was I supposed to know Sally Grace was half demon?”
Salvatore grimaced. “It must have been quite a shock to poor Roke to discover himself mated to a witch.”
Styx’s humorless laugh echoed through the library at the memory of Roke’s fury.
“Sh
ock isn’t the word I’d used.”
“She’s lucky he didn’t kill her on the spot.”
Frustration simmered deep inside Styx. Roke might be an arrogant pain-in-the-ass, but he was a brother. And more importantly, he was a clan chief who had a duty to his people. They had to find a way to break the mating.
And how to make damned sure it never happened again.
“He might have killed her if the magic she used didn’t feel as real as any true mating.”
Salvatore’s amusement faded. “That bad?”
“Worse.” Styx surged to his feet. “Without her knowing who or what fathered her, the witch doesn’t even know how to reverse the damage.”
“You’re certain this isn’t some trick?”
“I’m not certain of anything beyond the need to find a way to break the bond.”
Salvatore poured another shot of brandy. “Do you have a plan?”
Plan? Styx grimaced. The closest they’d had to a plan the past year had been to charge from one disaster to another.
Why would this be any different?
“Sally left almost three weeks ago to search for any clues that would reveal who her father might be,” he said.
“And Roke?”
“He’s trying to catch her.”
Salvatore arched a brow. “You let him go alone?”
“Of course not.” A slow smile curved Styx’s lips. “I allowed Levet to go with him.”
Salvatore choked on his brandy at the mention of the tiny gargoyle who’d attached himself to both Darcy and Harley. Like a freaking barnacle that couldn’t be scraped off.
A three-foot pest with delicate fairy wings in shades of blue and crimson and gold, Levet could drive a sane man to gargoyle-cide in three seconds flat.
“You are a bad, bad vampire,” Salvatore murmured.
“I try.”
Chapter One
Northern Canada
Roke hadn’t yet given in to his overwhelming desire to commit gargoyle-cide.
But it was a near thing.
Roke was antisocial by nature, and having to endure endless chatter from a stunted gargoyle for the past three weeks had been nothing short of torture.
It was only the fact that Levet could sense Yannah, the demon who’d helped Sally flee from Chicago, that kept him from sending the annoying twit back to Styx.
His mating connection to Sally allowed him to sense her, but Yannah’s ability to teleport from one place to another in a blink of an eye meant by the time he could locate her, she was already gone.
Levet seemed to have a more direct connection to Yannah, although they still spent their nights chasing from one place to another, always one step behind them.
Until tonight.
With a small smile he came to a halt, allowing his senses to flow outward.
The sturdy cottage tucked on the western coast of British Columbia was perched to overlook the churning waves of the North Pacific Ocean. Built from the gray stones that lined the craggy cliffs, it had a steep, metal roof to shed the heavy snowfalls and windows that were already shuttered against the late autumn breeze. A garage plus two sturdy sheds surrounded the bleak property, but it was far enough away from civilization to avoid prying eyes.
Not that prying eyes could have detected him.
Leaving his custom-built turbine-powered motorcycle hidden in the trees, Roke was dressed in black. Black jeans, black tee, and black leather jacket with a pair of knee-high moccasins that allowed him to move in lethal silence.
With his bronzed skin and dark hair that brushed his broad shoulders, he blended into the darkness with ease. Only his eyes were visible. Although silver in color, they were so pale they appeared white in the moonlight, and rimmed by a circle of pure black.
Over the centuries those eyes had unnerved the most savage demons. No one liked the sensation that their soul was being laid bare.
On the other hand, his lean, beautiful features that were clearly from Native American origins had been luring women to his bed since he’d awoken as a vampire.
They sighed beneath the touch of his full, sensual lips and eagerly pressed against the lean, chiseled perfection of his body. Their fingers traced the proud line of his nose, the wide brow, and his high cheekbones.
It didn’t matter that most considered him as cold and unfeeling as a rattlesnake. Or that he would sacrifice anything or anyone to protect his clan.
They found his ruthless edge . . . exciting.
All except one notable exception.
A damned shame that exception happened to be his mate.
Roke grimaced.
No. Not mate.
Or at least, not in the traditional sense.
Three weeks ago he’d been in Chicago when the demon world had battled against the Dark Lord. They’d managed to turn back the hordes of hell, but instead of allowing him to return to his clan in Nevada, Styx, the Anasso, had insisted that he remain to babysit Sally Grace, a witch who’d fought with the Dark Lord.
Roke had been furious.
Not only was he desperate to return to his people, but he hated witches.
All vampires did.
Magic was the one weapon they had no defense against.
Regrettably, when Styx gave an order, a wise vampire jumped to obey.
The alternative wasn’t pretty.
Of course, at the time none of them had realized that Sally was half demon. Or that she would panic at being placed in the dungeons beneath Styx’s elegant lair.
He absently rubbed his inner forearm where the mating mark was branded into his skin.
The witch claimed that she was simply trying to enchant him long enough to convince him to help her escape. And after his initial fury at realizing her demon magic had somehow ignited the mating bond, Roke had grudgingly accepted it had been an accident.
What he hadn’t accepted was her running off to search for the truth of her father.
Dammit.
It was her fault they were bound together.
She had no right to slip away like a thief in the night.
“Do you sense anyone?”
The question was spoken in a low voice that was edged with a French accent, jerking Roke out of his dark broodings. Glancing downward, he ruefully met his companion’s curious gaze.
What the hell had happened to his life?
A mate that wasn’t a mate. A three-foot gargoyle sidekick. And a clan that had been without their chief for far too long.
“She’s there,” he murmured, his gaze skimming over the creature’s ugly mug. Levet had all the usual gargoyle features. Gray skin, horns, a small snout, and a tail he kept lovingly polished. It was only his delicate wings and diminutive size that marked him as different. Oh, and his appalling lack of control over his magic. Roke turned back to the cottage where he could catch the distinctive scent of peaches. A primitive heat seared through him, drawing him forward. “I have you, little witch.”
Scampering to keep up with his long, silent strides, Levet tugged at the hem of his jacket.
“Umm . . . Roke?”
“Not now, gargoyle.” Roke never paused as he made his way toward the back of the cottage. “I’ve spent the past three weeks being led around like a damned hound on a leash. I intend to savor the moment.”
“While you’re savoring, I hope that you will recall Sally must have a good reason for—”
“Her reason is to drive me nuts,” Roke interrupted, pausing at the side of the nearest shed. “I promised her that we would go in search of her father. Together.”
“Oui. But when?”
Roke clenched his teeth. “In case you’ve forgotten, she nearly died when the—”
“Vampire-god.”
Roke grimaced. The creature that they’d so recently battled might have claimed to be the first vampire, but that didn’t make him a god. The bastard had nearly killed Sally in an attempt to break the magic that held him captive.
“When the ancient spirit attacked
her,” he snapped. “She should be grateful that I was willing to wait for her to regain her strength.”
Levet cleared his throat. “And that is the only reason you tried to keep her imprisoned?”
“She wasn’t imprisoned,” he denied, refusing to recall his panic when Sally had lain unconscious for hours.
Or his fierce reluctance to allow Sally to leave Styx’s lair.
“Non?” Levet clicked his tongue, seemingly oblivious to how close Roke was to yanking that tongue out of his mouth. “I would have sworn she was locked in the dungeons.”
“Not after Gaius was destroyed.”
“You mean after she saved the world from the vampire-god?” the gargoyle taunted. “Generous of you.”
Oh yeah. The tongue was going to have to go.
“Don’t push me, gargoyle,” he muttered, allowing his senses to spread outward.
He would deal with the aggravating gargoyle later.
Testing the air, he caught the scent of salty foam as waves crashed against the rocks below, the acrid tang of smoke from the chimney, and the distant perfume of a water sprite playing among the whales.
But overriding it all was that tantalizing aroma of warm peaches.
A potent aphrodisiac that once again compelled him forward.
Levet grabbed his back pocket. “Where are you going?”
Roke didn’t miss a step as he swatted the pest away. “To get my mate.”
“I do not believe that is a good idea.”
“Thankfully I don’t give a shit what you think.”
“Très bien,” the gargoyle sniffed. “You are the panty boss.”
“Bossy-pants, you idiot,” Roke muttered, heading directly for the back door.
He’d officially run out of patience twenty-one days and several thousand miles ago.
Which would explain why he didn’t even consider the fact Sally might be prepared for his arrival.
Less than a foot from the back steps he was brought to a painful halt as an invisible net of magic wrapped around him, the bands of air so tight they would have sliced straight through him if he’d been human.