She barely felt his feet touch the ground before they were leaping upward again, climbing the steep cliff with an ease that a billy goat would envy.
In a matter of seconds they’d reached the top of the cliff and Sally shivered as a blast of icy air hit them. He tightened his arms around her as he raised his body temperature to keep her warm.
A part of her wanted to snuggle into that unexpected warmth. To press her face into the curve of his neck and allow his scent to soothe the lingering irritation that another woman had dared to touch him.
Another part was desperate to regain some sense of control over the mind-numbing chaos that was now her life.
“Roke,” she said, angling her head to study his stark profile as he cut a fluid path through the thickening trees. “Wait.”
His steps never faltered. Typical.
“We need to hurry.”
“Hurry to where?”
His lips twisted. “What choice do we have?”
It took her a confused minute to shuffle through the meaning of his obscure words.
It was only when she noticed the stubborn angle of his jaw that the truth hit her.
“No,” she rasped. “I’ve told you, I’m not going to Nevada.”
The silver eyes blazed in the moonlight. “It’s the only place we can be safe.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I went to Styx,” she hissed.
He muttered a low curse, clearly annoyed by her refusal to forgive and forget her treatment at the hands of his Anasso.
“You are a stranger. And a witch,” he said, his gaze searching the darkness for any hint of danger. “Styx was naturally suspicious.”
“And now I’m naturally suspicious,” she mutinously countered. “‘Fool me once’ and all that crap.”
“So what do you suggest?” He slowed his pace so he could glare down at her stubborn expression. “That we run around in circles?”
She met his smoldering gaze.
For once, she’d actually given it some thought.
“Obviously we need to find a fey that we can trust to tell us what the hell is going on.”
He showed a hint of fang. “There’s no such thing as a trustworthy fey.”
The whiff of granite was the only warning before the tiny gargoyle fluttered down from the branch of a nearby tree.
“I can, perhaps, be of service.”
“Shit.” In one dizzying movement Roke had Sally lowered to the ground, shoving her behind him so his hands were free to destroy the latest threat. Even if that threat was only three feet tall. “Where did you come from?”
Levet gave a flap of his wings, impervious as ever to the danger coating the air with ice.
“From there.” He pointed toward a claw near the top of the tree. “I have been waiting for you to leave the island.”
“How did you . . .” Roke gave a sharp shake of his head, pausing as if he were silently counting to ten. Sally was fairly certain he’d better make it a hundred. Levet seemed to aggravate the vampire without even trying. “I thought you were chasing after your female?”
“Yannah sent me back to you.”
“Why?”
Levet sniffed, a petulant expression on his ugly gray features.
“Who knows why a woman does anything? The workings of the female mind are beyond comprehension.”
“Preaching to the choir,” Roke muttered.
Sally smacked him in the middle of the back.
“Careful,” she muttered, glancing around his shoulder to peer at the gargoyle. “You said you could help?”
“Oui.” Levet’s expression brightened. “I am acquainted with an imp who might be of service.”
“What imp?” she asked.
“Troy, the Prince of Imps. He resides in Chicago.”
Chapter Ten
Roke once again had Sally in his arms as they dashed over the rocky ground, stoically ignoring Levet who struggled to keep pace beside him.
His first impulse had been to run off the miniature gargoyle.
There was no way in hell he could endure his presence for another road trip.
But, he was vampire enough to admit that Levet’s unexpected arrival had worked in his own favor.
After all, there was no way in hell he would ever have convinced Sally to return to Chicago without the gargoyle suggesting the imp could be of assistance. And while he was no happier about the thought of allowing her anywhere near the fey, they would at least have the protection of the King of Vampires and his Ravens.
That Roke would insist on.
They were nearing the edge of a small town when Sally stirred restlessly in his arms.
“We can’t run all the way to Chicago.”
“I don’t intend to.” He sent his winged companion a stern gaze. “Gargoyle?”
Levet wrinkled his heavy brow. “What?”
“You took off on our only source of transportation.”
“Ah . . . oui.”
His wings seemed to droop. No doubt the little thief hoped that Roke was too distracted to remember he’d taken off with his precious bike.
“This way.”
Surprisingly, Levet headed directly toward the town. Roke assumed he would have hidden the bike in the thick underbrush at the edge of the woods.
Why risk leaving it so close to the humans?
Then, halting at a small house that was nearly hidden in the shadows of an abandoned gas station, the gargoyle stood in front of the attached garage and gave a dramatic wave of his hands.
“Ta-da.”
Roke moved forward only to come to a baffled halt at the sight of the battered Fiesta that consumed the cramped space.
“What the hell is this?”
Levet shifted from foot to foot, clearing his throat.
“I should think it is obvious. You desire transportation and I have provided it.” He gave another wave of his hands. “Ta-da.”
Roke carefully set Sally on her feet, already knowing the gargoyle was about to piss him off.
“Where’s my motorcycle?”
Levet managed a sickly smile. “A motorcycle is not precisely built for three. This is far more sensible.”
“It’s a piece of shit.” Roke narrowed his gaze. “Now where is my bike?”
“I can locate another vehicle. . . .” Levet’s eyes widened as Roke yanked him off the ground by one horn. “Eek!”
Holding the creature at eye level, Roke spoke with a cold precision.
“Where. Is. My. Bike?”
The gargoyle turned from gray to a strange shade of oyster.
“There might have been a teeny-tiny accident.”
The nearby garage creaked as Roke’s temper threatened to explode.
Only another bike-man could understand his rising fury.
“If you put so much as a scratch on my bike, I’ll rip off your wings.”
The idiotic demon folded his arms over his chest, trying to pretend he wasn’t dangling by one horn.
“I will have you know I did you a favor. That . . .” He struggled for the proper word. “Death trap was not fit for the road.” He waved a hand toward the Fiesta. “While this is obviously a classic.”
“I’ll kill you—” Roke began, knowing beyond a doubt the jackass had destroyed his pride and joy.
But even as his power swirled through the air there was a light touch on his arm. Instantly he was distracted, his entire being focused on the exquisite woman at his side.
It was . . . unnerving.
As if she had become hardwired to his emotional grid.
“Could we fight about this later?” she asked softly.
“Oui,” the gargoyle hurriedly agreed. “Later.”
He met Sally’s dark gaze, giving a slow nod of his head. “Fine. We’ll take this until we can find something better.”
He moved to pull open the passenger door of the sorry excuse for a car, settling Sally before moving to the driver’s side. He was about to slide behind the steerin
g wheel when he halted to grab the gargoyle who was hopping into the backseat.
“Not you,” he growled.
“Roke,” Sally chastised.
This time he refused to be distracted. The damned pest had destroyed a quarter-of-a-million-dollar bike.
He was lucky he was still in one lumpy piece.
“He can stay behind and disguise our trail,” he said, holding Levet’s gaze so there would be no misunderstanding.
“But—”
“I am, as ever, delighted to play the role of knight in shining armor,” Levet interrupted Sally’s protest, backing away with a speed that revealed he wasn’t entirely stupid. “It does appear to be my destiny.”
“Christ,” Roke muttered, stuffing his six-foot-plus frame into the car.
“Au revoir, mademoiselle, I shall rejoin you in Chicago,” the gargoyle called as Roke swiped his fingers over the steering column, sparking the engine to life.
They chugged out of the garage, Roke cursing the pathetic vehicle while Sally automatically fastened her seat belt.
Once away from the town, he pressed the accelerator to the floor, not surprised when the car barely managed to hit the speed limit.
Still, they were headed in the right direction, and at least for now there wasn’t a fey or weird-ass demon in sight.
Hitting the main road leading south, Roke glanced toward his oddly silent companion, his heart clenching with concern at the tension that tightened her pale profile.
“Sally, are you hurt?”
Her gaze remained trained on the narrow road. “I’m tired.”
He resisted the urge to trace the pure line of her throat. He’d always possessed a perfect, ruthless control. It’d been the only way to survive as his clan collapsed around him.
But now he was on edge, his nerves raw and exposed. He wasn’t sure he could touch Sally without offering more than simple comfort.
“Then rest,” he murmured, his voice thick with a hunger that was increasingly difficult to ignore.
“No.” She shivered, waving a hand toward the windshield. “I meant I’m tired of this.”
He frowned, scanning the empty countryside.
“Perhaps you should be more specific.”
Her hand dropped, as if she were too weary to hold it up.
“The running. The hiding.” She rested her head against the side window. “The never feeling safe.”
His gut twisted. She sounded so . . . defeated.
Nothing at all like his stubborn, spit-in-the-face-of-death witch.
“Sally, we’ll figure this out,” he assured her, slowing the car to make sure he didn’t hit a bump that would bang her head against the window.
At the moment she didn’t look capable of protecting herself from the smallest hurt.
“You think so?” she whispered.
“You don’t?”
She gave a lift of one shoulder, silent for so long that Roke thought she had fallen asleep.
Then softly her words filled the small space.
“After my mother tried to kill me I swore that I would never be a victim again. That’s why I became a disciple for the Dark Lord. I was convinced I would be protected.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “You know how that turned out for me.” Roke watched the pain ripple over her delicate face and he was fairly certain that he knew only a small fraction of what it had cost her to pledge her soul to the evil bastard. “Then I stupidly turned to the vampires for help only to end up locked in the dungeons and mated to you.” Her hand shifted to rub her inner arm. The mating mark. “Of course, I couldn’t be satisfied with those major screwups. I had to go in search of my father, like I thought I could actually accomplish something.” Another of those sharp laughs. “Now look at me. I’m some sort of fey-magnet and on the run again. You were right. I am a walking disaster.”
Roke floundered.
He wasn’t a touchy-feely guy.
Hell, the thought of touchy-feely made him break out in hives.
But he couldn’t bear the wistful resignation that was pulsing through his bond with Sally.
“All those times you were alone,” he said, his voice harsh. “You’re not alone anymore.”
She kept her eyes on the road. “I feel alone.”
The words made him flinch. As if she’d hit him dead center with a sledgehammer.
He’d done that.
He wanted her to trust him, but he hadn’t been willing to offer his own trust.
Now she couldn’t turn to him for the comfort she so obviously needed.
“Sally.” She refused to glance in his direction and he bit back a curse. “Close your eyes and relax, this is going to be a long drive,” he murmured.
For once she didn’t argue. He wished she would. Instead she allowed her lashes to lower and she disappeared into her dark thoughts.
Roke gripped the sticky wheel and forced himself to concentrate on the barren landscape.
Until he had someplace where he could be certain they were safe, his number one priority was protecting his mate.
Sally abruptly wrenched open her eyes as she felt the car come to a halt.
Good lord, had she been asleep?
She’d only closed her eyes to try to block out the aggravating vampire beside her. Roke was disturbing enough when she had her barriers in place. He was overwhelming when her emotions were scraped raw.
Now she struggled to clear the fog from her mind as her door was pulled open and Roke was helping her stumble out of her seat and across the graveled lot.
“Where are we?” she demanded, her gaze taking in the roadside café.
Built of white stone with large windows, it looked like something out of a fifties sitcom. It even came complete with a blinding neon sign that she would swear could be seen from the space station.
She squinted, tilting back her head to meet Roke’s watchful gaze.
“You need to eat,” he murmured.
“And you chose a human restaurant?”
“Do witches have their own chain of restaurants?” His impassive expression was impossible to read. “Jack in the Cauldron?”
She made a sound of disbelief. “Was that a joke?”
The silver eyes shimmered with a breathtaking beauty. “I have my moments.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, vividly recalling a few of his finer moments.
His strong arms wrapped around her. The press of fangs against her neck. The agonizing pleasure of his tongue stroking her to climax.
She stumbled before stiffening her spine.
Dammit.
She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to let him get under her skin.
Not again.
“If you say so,” she muttered.
His lips twisted with rueful humor. “Has anyone told you that you’re crabby when you’re hungry?”
“I’m even crabbier when I want to kick someone in the nuts.”
“Harsh,” he murmured, something that might have been . . . satisfaction . . . on his face.
As if he was pleased by her peevish threat.
Lunatic vampire.
Accepting she would never understand the impossible man, she turned her attention to her surroundings.
“Where are we?”
“We’re near the border.”
She blinked in shock. If they were at the border, then that meant they’d been driving for hours.
“I can’t believe I slept so long.”
“You’ve been driving yourself too hard,” he said as they reached the café, his smile fading as he studied her upturned face. “Will you eat?”
Her stomach growled before her pride could deny the hunger that was clearly determined to make up for lost time.
She rolled her eyes in resignation. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Roke pushed open the glass door to the diner, his gaze searching the empty tables arranged around the linoleum floor for signs of danger.
Once assured there was
nothing more alarming than a middle-aged waitress with a stout body stuffed into a white uniform and bleached hair pulled into a knot on top of her head, he urged her over the threshold.
Sally caught a glimpse of a long counter with stools at the back of the room, with a glass case that displayed an assortment of desserts.
“No apple pie,” Roke murmured softly.
Sally’s mouth watered at the scents that filled the air. “No, but on the plus side, there’s cheesecake.”
“Hello.” The waitress sashayed forward, her avid gaze drinking in Roke with open appreciation. Not that Sally could blame the poor woman. Men like Roke didn’t stroll into isolated cafés except in porn movies. “Can I help you?”
Roke placed an arm around Sally’s shoulders, visibly claiming them as a couple. It should have annoyed the hell out of her, but for some stupid reason, Sally didn’t even try to pull away.
“A booth with a view,” he ordered.
The woman sent Sally an envious glare before turning to lead them toward a far table.
Roke pulled out a chair, making sure that Sally was comfortable before taking his own seat, which offered a view of both the parking lot and the empty lot next them.
The waitress tossed a laminated menu that offered a handwritten list of the breakfast food on the table.
“Coffee?”
“We’ll take one of everything,” Roke murmured, his gaze never straying from Sally’s face. “Start with the cheesecake and a glass of milk.”
The waitress choked on her gum. “Everything?”
Roke at last glanced toward the woman, his gaze glowing with a power that had the woman instantly enthralled.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, no problem,” the woman instantly denied, the trance allowing her to fulfill her duties on autopilot while remaining oblivious to what Roke and Sally might say or do.
It was an old vampire trick. Once they left the restaurant the woman wouldn’t remember they’d been there.
Waiting until the older woman had moved away, Sally regarded Roke’s tense profile as he peered out the window.
“Do you think we’re being followed?”
“I always assume there’s a possibility for an attack,” he confessed. “Besides, we need to keep a watch on the local fey. It’s hard to keep a low profile with a dozen fairies kneeling in the parking lot.”