She awkwardly stepped away, her expression wary.
Despite their bond she still didn’t trust him.
Hell, the woman had been taught she couldn’t trust anyone.
“My mother’s room is this way,” she muttered, leading them out of the front parlor down a short hallway.
Pushing the door open, she stepped aside as the gargoyle entered the small bedroom and began investigating the dust-coated furnishings.
“Do you sense anything?” she demanded as Levet stuck his head in the closet.
“Non.”
Roke moved across the hall to the second closed door. “What’s in here?”
“Stop,” Sally rasped, a hint of embarrassment in her voice.
“Your room I assume?” Roke smiled with wicked amusement as he pushed the door open to take a peek at the pink bedspread on the narrow bed and lace curtains. “It’s very . . . frilly.”
She sent him an evil glare. “Not all of us sleep in moldy crypts.”
He wandered forward, studying the poster hung over the bed. “The Backstreet Boys?”
“I’ve always preferred my men cute and sexy.”
He glanced over his shoulder, the memory of her melting beneath his kisses shimmering in his eyes.
“Not anymore.”
She rolled her eyes, but even as she searched for the words to deflate his ego, Levet was scooting past her and heading directly to the bed.
“What do I sense?” he asked, opening the nightstand to pull out the plain wooden box she’d kept hidden from her mother.
“It’s just a music box,” she readily answered. “I found it here not long after we arrived at this cottage.”
The gargoyle glanced at her, his tail twitching. “You found it or it found you?”
Sally blinked. “I don’t understand. It was tossed in a pile of rubbish behind the shed. If I hadn’t been hiding from my mother, I would never have seen it.”
Roke’s momentary amusement was snuffed out. “Why were you hiding from your mother?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I was playing with her favorite crystal and set the curtains on fire.”
“And you were afraid you were going to be punished?”
“It wasn’t that. I was used to being punished.”
Roke’s jaw clenched. If the witch wasn’t already dead, he would take great pleasure in skinning her alive.
“Then why were you hiding?”
“I had to get rid of the crystal. I didn’t want her to know—”
“The level of your talent,” he finished for her.
“Exactly.” Sally unconsciously rubbed her arms as Roke’s anger dropped the temperature in the room. At least he hadn’t brought the ceiling down on their heads. “My mother liked to believe that she was the most powerful witch ever born.”
“How old were you?”
“Six.”
Six? Christ. She’d been a baby.
Levet cleared his throat. “Tell me exactly how you found the box.”
Sally furrowed her brow as she shifted through her memories.
“I intended to hide the crystal until the spell wore off so I went behind the shed and stumbled over the pile of rubbish.”
“Was the box dirty?” Levet prodded. “As if it had been there a long time?”
She shook her head. “No, but it could have been tossed out by the previous owners.”
“Did you feel drawn to it?”
Sally lifted her hand in confusion. “Any six-year-old girl would be enchanted by a music box.”
Levet wasn’t satisfied, his wings fluttering with a sudden emotion.
“Did you ever feel compelled to keep it with you?”
Sally hesitated and Roke stepped toward her, a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Sally?” he urged.
“I suppose I thought about the box over the years, but I never felt compelled to retrieve it,” she admitted. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
Levet pointed a claw toward the box. “There’s an illusion wrapped around it.”
“Impossible,” Sally breathed. “I would have sensed a spell.”
“It is demon magic, not human,” Levet explained.
“Oh.”
Roke instinctively moved closer to Sally. Why the hell did it always have to be magic?
He’d braved the battles of Durotriges to become a clan chief.
He’d killed an entire tribe of full-grown orcs with a kitchen knife.
He could crumble a building to rubble with the force of his anger.
But magic?
He shook his head in frustration.
“Can you break it?” he demanded.
“Do you mean to insult me?” the gargoyle huffed. “There is none greater in destroying magical illusions than moi.”
Roke made a sound of disgust even as he wrapped an arm around Sally’s shoulders and tugged her away from the bed.
“Stand back,” he warned.
Sally sent him a worried frown. “Why?”
“That gargoyle is a menace.”
“Hey,” Levet protested.
Roke pointed an impatient finger toward the box. “Just do your thing.”
With a sniff the gargoyle turned back to the box, his tail stirring the dust on the floor as he waved his hands dramatically in the air.
Roke clenched his teeth.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Levet was the only one around who could reveal the magic surrounding the box, Roke would have him tossed over the cliff.
Three weeks was longer than any rational man should have to endure with the aggravating pest.
There was another wave of his hands, then a faint pop as the illusion was destroyed.
“Voilà,” Levet murmured, turning around to offer a small bow.
Sally watched the gargoyle in silence, not quite certain what to think of the tiny creature.
He’d always been kind the few times their paths had crossed in Chicago. But he worked with the vampires.
Which meant she wasn’t prepared to fully trust him.
She sighed. What was she thinking?
She wasn’t prepared to trust anyone.
Period. End of story.
Still, when Levet moved aside to reveal the once-smooth box now covered with intricate markings, she couldn’t help but be impressed.
“How beautiful,” she murmured, moving forward to lean over the nightstand.
“Sally, wait,” Roke commanded.
Naturally she ignored him.
The man was way too fond of tossing out orders and expecting them to be obeyed.
Besides, the box belonged to her. It was her duty to discover the truth of its origins, no one else. Even if that meant putting herself in danger.
Whispering a soft spell, she studied the intricate carvings.
They were fascinating. Delicate swirls that were connected by various lines and dots that combined to make an exotic design that seemed to call to some part of her.
She frowned, disturbed by the sensation the markings were somehow familiar.
“They’re not magical,” she said.
“That doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous,” Roke snapped, clearly annoyed that she’d ignored his command.
She turned to send him a glare. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I’m not stupid.”
The silver eyes seemed to glow in the gloom of the room, holding a power that was almost hypnotic.
“No, you’re impulsive, unpredictable, and a magnet for disaster,” he countered.
Magnet for disaster?
Why the . . . ass.
“Forgive me. I’m only thirty years old,” she mocked. “You can’t expect me to be a stodgy bore like someone who’s been around four or five centuries.”
Levet chuckled. “Oh, snap.”
Roke sent the gargoyle a warning glare. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Non. Unless . . .” Levet tilted back his head, sniffing the air. “Is that
shepherd’s pie I smell?”
“And sweet and sour pork, and spaghetti, oh, and apple pie,” Sally added. “I left them on the counter in the kitchen.”
“Ah. J’adore apple pie,” the gargoyle sighed, heading out of the room with a happy wiggle in his waddle.
Roke moved to stand beside her, the annoyance fading from his expression as he studied her with a piercing intensity.
She shifted uneasily, always more comfortable when they were sniping at each other.
They both understood the attraction that smoldered between them. And the danger that it could combust the second they lowered their guard.
The spark had ignited the minute he’d strolled into Styx’s dungeon.
And the mating had only intensified the hunger until it was almost unbearable.
Their squabbling was a necessary barrier.
“What?” she demanded as he continued to stare at her.
“I haven’t forgotten your impressive appetite.”
She blushed, remembering his shock when she’d eaten enough food to feed a football team during her incarceration. Her magic, both human and demon, burned through calories at an accelerated rate.
“I’m a growing girl.”
He shook his head, his brows drawing together as his gaze took a slow inventory of her slender body.
“No, you’re not,” he denied in gruff tones, his hands lifting to cup her face. “In fact, you’re shrinking.”
She shivered beneath his gentle touch, her hands reaching to grasp his wrists.
“Roke.”
“And you have shadows beneath your eyes.” He ignored her protest, his thumb brushing the purple bruises that marred her pale skin. “Why haven’t you taken better care of yourself?”
She shivered, the cool brush of his fingers sending tiny jolts of pleasure through her.
“I’ve been busy.”
“That’s why you should never have run from me.”
She scowled, but she made no effort to pull away from the soft stroke of thumbs.
“If you try to tell me you would have done a better job searching for my father, I’ll turn you into a toad,” she warned.
“I was going to point out that if I had been with you I would have made sure you ate proper meals and rested when you were tired.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No, you need your mate,” he growled. “You allowed your pride to deny the natural instinct to be with me and your body suffered the consequences.”
Her breath caught.
Okay, she’d been unreasonably weary. And her enormous appetite had faded. And she hadn’t been able to shake the gnawing sense of emptiness.
But that could be stress, couldn’t it?
The Goddess knew she had enough of that in her life.
“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.
Shocked by the raw, potent yearning, Sally turned away.
“I don’t have time for this,” she hissed, fiercely trying to concentrate on the music box.
“Denying the truth won’t change it. Believe me, I’ve tried,” he muttered, grabbing her arm as she waved her hand over the box and whispered a quick spell. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” She sent him an impatient glare.
“Panties?” A dark brow arched. “You think I wear panties?”
She gave a choked sound, the visualization of Roke commando beneath the tight black jeans burning through her brain.
No, no, no. She wasn’t going there.
“I . . .” She licked her dry lips. “I put a protective ward around the box.”
There was a tense second when Sally was sure Roke was going to throw her on the bed and put them both out of their misery. Then, with an obvious effort, he leashed his hunger and turned toward the nightstand.
“It’s safe to touch?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes.”
With obvious wariness, Roke reached to pluck the box from the nightstand to study the carvings. Sally watched him in silence.
“Fey,” he at last pronounced.
Fey? How . . . odd.
“You recognize the artist?”
“This isn’t art.” His slender finger traced a curving line that resembled a crescent moon. “These are runes.”
“You’re sure?”
His gaze remained on the box. “My talent is reading glyphs. That’s why Styx insisted I come to Chicago in the first place.”
She watched his finger move to a swirl that ended with three vertical dots, once again experiencing that tug of almost-recognition.
“What do they say?”
“I’m not sure.”
She frowned. “You just said that your talent is reading them.”
“These are . . . unusual. Perhaps ancient.” He gave a shake of his head. “I need to do some research.”
A bad feeling started to bloom in the pit of her stomach.
“And where do you have to do this research?”
“My lair in Nevada.”
“Are you screwing with me?”
His smile was slow and decadently beautiful, the hint of fang making her shiver.
“Not yet.”
Chapter Three
No one would give the house built on the bluffs that overlooked the Mississippi River a second glance.
It was the same as any other farmhouse in the Midwest. A simple, two-story structure, with a wraparound porch and sharply angled roof. At one time it’d been painted white, although it was peeling in several places and there was mold creeping up the foundation.
Nearly hidden behind the large oak and dogwood trees, it looked abandoned from the distant road and the overgrown path deterred any stray trespassers.
Even the locals had learned to avoid the area, disturbed by the odd silence and strange sense of being watched by unseen eyes.
The location of the house was no accident. Beneath the bluffs along the river was a spiderweb of caves that had been the source of local legends for years.
Some claimed they had been Jesse James’s hideout. Or connected to the Underground Railroad. Others said they’d been used by smugglers.
And the always favorite rumor that they were a body dump for the Chicago mob.
The truth was far more dangerous.
The caves had been home to demons since long before the humans had ever arrived.
Standing in one of the deepest caves the small man was lost among the shadows.
Not that he would have stood out even in brightest sunlight.
He was one of those people who were easily overlooked.
Short, with sporadic tufts of gray hair on an almost bald head, he had pale skin that was nearly translucent and a pudgy belly that was hidden beneath a loose brown robe. His eyes were a watery blue, although they were usually covered by a thick pair of reading glasses.
He was insipid. Forgettable.
And if it weren’t for his ability to retain vast amounts of knowledge he would never have been invited to become one of the rare Oracles that sat on the Commission.
He was a walking, talking library.
He was also a warning on the dangers of judging a book by its cover.
Speaking a spell of protection that would alert him if anyone approached the isolated cavern, Brandel allowed his spirit to slip from his corporal body, and entered the shimmering portal.
He shivered, despite his lack of a physical form.
The silvery fog that lay between dimensions had always unnerv
ed him.
Perhaps because he understood illusions.
The fog might feel tangible, but the truth was that there was a gaping void lurking just out of sight.
He made a sound of impatience as a large Adonis with a halo of golden curls and bronzed naked body appeared.
Raith was addicted to his current body, refusing to leave it behind even when it meant expending a vast amount of his energy.
Vain moron.
“I told you never to contact me when the Commission is in session,” he said telepathically, easily able to communicate his annoyance without speaking out loud.
Raith shrugged one broad shoulder. “There is a disturbance.”
Brandel made a sound of impatience. “The danger to the vampires has been contained. There is no threat to our arrangement,” he said, referring to the spirit that had so nearly created complete chaos.
“I do not speak of the vampires.”
“Then what?”
The perfect features hardened. “A whisper of ancient magic.”
Brandel felt a stirring of fear. “Our . . . guest?”
“He remains locked in stasis. But—”
“What?”
“He seeks to connect with someone in your world.”
“Damn.” Brandel could be arrogant, but he never forgot that their prisoner was a powerful demon who could destroy them if he ever broke free. “The last time he did this he succeeded in luring a witch into his prison.”
The wide, guileless eyes that were perfect for the Adonis face briefly flickered to reveal the black eyes slit with red that were Raith’s true form.
“Yes, a peculiar waste of his efforts. The witch was powerful, but her dark magic would never have been capable of destroying the barriers that hold him captive.” Raith gave a shake of his head, still puzzled by the creature’s peculiar behavior. “And he had to have sensed my spell would wipe her mind of their brief encounter as soon as she returned to her own world.”
“The bastard no doubt wanted a quickie. He always was an obnoxious, self-indulgent ass.”
Raith smiled with mocking amusement. “Still annoyed that he managed to seduce your mate?”
Brandel hissed, his unsubstantial form shivering in fury. Like most of his kind he’d sought his mate among the fey. And he’d found her in a beautiful, red-haired imp who’d made his soul sing. The fact that Glenda had never truly bonded with him had never bothered him.