Vampire.
The word whispered through the back of her mind even as a tingle of awareness warmed her blood. It wasn’t just any vampire. It was her vampire.
Tarak.
Panic blasted through her. Had Riven managed to capture Tarak after all? Was he even now being hauled to his prison?
No. With a grim effort, Waverly battled through her irrational fears. There was no way Riven would risk his prisoner being seen by one of the mer-folk. It would spark questions the male couldn’t possibly answer.
So how had Tarak gotten into the castle? It wasn’t like he could stroll up to the front door. The only way to reach this hidden lair was with fey magic, which meant the royal guard had captured him, but before they could lock him in the prison, he’d somehow managed to escape.
Barely daring to breathe, Waverly cast a covert glance at the male seated on the throne. She couldn’t deny that Riven was exquisitely handsome with his lean, perfectly chiseled features and deep, startling blue eyes. His brown hair was kept cut short despite the mermaid tradition of long, flowing locks and he’d chosen to grow a goatee that was neatly trimmed. Waverly assumed he’d taken on the appearance of a human while he’d lived among them, and had simply decided he preferred the look.
He did, however, wear the royal armor. Whatever his preference for human styles, he understood that his people demanded a certain amount of tradition.
At the moment, she wasn’t interested in anything beyond his brooding expression.
Did he know that Tarak had escaped his guards? Was that why he’d called for this strange gathering? To ensure that none of the mer-folk accidentally stumbled across a vampire?
She gave a small shake of her head. She would worry about those questions later. Right now, nothing mattered but finding Tarak before he was caught. First, however, she had to find a way to leave the throne room without attracting attention.
She was busy pondering the problem when fate stepped in to provide the perfect solution.
With a faint creak one of the heavy double doors was pushed open to reveal a heavily armored guard. Riven glanced toward the intruder with his brows lifting in a silent question. The guard gave a reluctant shake of his head.
Waverly heard Riven release a gurgling growl before he was shoving himself to his feet. The crowd froze, the faint whisper of their silken gowns the only sound as they waited for their king to speak. Waverly watched them with a sense of regret. From the dais they looked like a reef of brilliant coral, but Waverly could see the brittle unease that had become a part of life for the mer-folk.
Riven was a temperamental, unpredictable leader who could lash out without warning. They all felt like they were walking on broken glass and the tension was starting to take its toll.
Ignoring the expectant crowd, Riven slammed the butt of his trident three times on the dais, indicating that the gathering was at an end. Confused, the mer-folk looked toward Waverly. Her father had been the previous king, which meant she carried the title of a princess, but it didn’t give her the birthright to rule. Still, her years of assisting her father to care for their people made them depend on her for unspoken comfort.
Which was precisely why Riven insisted that she stand next to his throne. He was convinced her presence offered him legitimacy as the current ruler.
Plus, he wanted to make sure he could keep a close eye on her.
Maintaining her grim composure, she gave the faintest dip of her head. It was enough to send her people surging toward the exits. Without glancing at Riven, Waverly stepped off the dais and melted into the crowd. She wanted to disappear before Riven could command her to stay. Or worse, to lock her in her rooms. A habit he’d started after Tarak had escaped from his prison.
She remained with the others until they were out of the throne room, then, keeping a slow, steady pace, she peeled away to disappear through an arched opening that led to a flight of stairs.
The chill was coming from above her. Thankfully no one else seemed to realize that the drop in temperature was caused by a vampire. But it was just a matter of time.
Once out of sight, she lifted the hem of her flowing gown to keep it from tangling around her bare feet. Then, racing up the marble steps, she’d just managed to reach the upper balcony when a hand reached out to grab her.
There was no opportunity to struggle—or even to scream—as she was hauled into the ballroom and the door was shut.
Struggling to catch her breath, Waverly discovered her back pressed against one of the fluted columns. In front of her was a tall, gorgeous vampire.
Tarak.
Her heart squeezed and then expanded before racing with breathless anticipation. Just as it had done the first time she’d stepped into the prison to discover the vampire she was supposed to feed. At the time, she’d told herself it was terror. Riven had commanded her to enter the prison without concern that the trapped male might rip out her throat.
Thankfully, Tarak had been wary and infuriated at being held prisoner, but he hadn’t taken out his anger on her. In fact, he’d shown nothing but gentle care as he’d taken blood from her throat. And despite the endless years he’d been confined, he’d never touched her with anything but tenderness.
Waverly’s fear had slowly eased, but her heart continued to skip and flutter whenever she caught sight of this male. More alarming was the knowledge that she could sense him even when she had returned to the castle. As if they were connected on an intimate level.
Now her gaze swept over his strong features with the bold nose and sensuous lips before meeting the dark gaze that smoldered with fury. And something else. Something that echoed deep inside her.
“Ah. Beautiful, Waverly,” he whispered in a low, mesmerizing voice as his slender hands skimmed down the side of her body. “You’re very much real this time.”
Waverly shivered, staring into the male face that haunted her dreams. “What?”
His hands continued to explore her body, his expression brooding. “You’re not an illusion.”
With an effort, Waverly managed to avoid becoming lost in the delicious sensations that were vibrating through her. She loved when he touched her.
“How did you get here?” she breathed.
His brows drew together. “I’m not sure. I think the gargoyle did something.”
“Gargoyle?” She blinked in confusion. Why would a gargoyle interfere? Then she lifted her hand, preparing to create a portal. “Never mind,” she muttered. “You have to get out of here.”
A low growl rumbled in Tarak’s chest, his spicy male scent swirling through the chilled air.
“Not until I’ve killed Riven.” His gaze lifted to the top of her head. “I assume he was the one wearing the matching crown?”
“My father’s crown,” she instinctively protested.
“Your father is the king?”
“He was until his death nearly six hundred years ago.”
“What happened?”
She battled back the jolt of pain, her hand dropping as she clenched her hands. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Tarak curled his lips to reveal large fangs that were fully extended. “It’s my turn to make the rules,” he snapped. “Did Riven kill your father?”
She glared at him in frustration. Riven would have his guards searching the castle, and while those who’d offered their loyalty to the new king weren’t the best or the brightest of the mer-folk, they would eventually stumble across this ballroom.
“No, my father died of a broken heart.”
“Then how did Riven take the throne?”
She met his gaze that held a blatant suspicion. She sensed that he was determined to distrust everything she said. Understandable. As far as he was concerned, she was as responsible as Riven for his confinement.
“He stole it,” she forced herself to admit.
T
arak’s suspicion only deepened. “How could he steal it?”
Waverly glanced toward the closed door before glaring at the vampire who appeared remarkably indifferent to the fact they might be discovered at any second.
“We don’t have time for this,” she reminded him. “I have to get you out of here.”
There was another flash of fangs. Waverly trembled, but not from fear. Instead, the memory of those fangs sliding deep into her flesh was sending strange tingles through her body. Like brushing up against an electric eel, only a lot more fun.
Sweet, tingly pleasure.
“I’ve told you. I’m not leaving until Riven is dead.” He narrowed his dark eyes. “Now tell me how he stole the throne.”
She swallowed her frustration. There was no way to force the stubborn vampire to enter any portal she created. Clearly she would have to somehow convince him to flee.
“What do you know about the history of the mer-folk?” she demanded.
“More than I ever wanted.”
His words hit her like a hammer. Why? She might have allowed her stupid emotions to become entangled over the past five centuries she’d visited this male in his prison, but as far as he was concerned, she was nothing more than the enemy.
She paused, forcing herself to take a deep breath before she continued.
“Once upon a time we traveled freely through the oceans as well as walking on land, but several millennia ago we were caught between two warring dragon clans,” she told him. Her voice held a small tremble despite the fact she had no memory of the dreadful dragon battles that’d spread molten fire through the oceans. Entire species of fish had been exterminated as well as the rare coral sprites. “My mother was killed along with thousands of other mermaids before my father created this castle.” She halted to clear her throat. “We are free to come and go as we please, but most prefer to spend the majority of our lives within these walls.”
His gaze lifted to sweep over the elegant ballroom. “Sounds tedious.”
Waverly shrugged. “It can be, but it is also secure. Or at least that was my father’s intent when he used his magic to create the castle.” She tilted her chin, revealing her pride in her father. He had been utterly devoted to the welfare of his people. Even after the tragic death of his mate. “He was determined to protect me and my older sister, Sabrina, along with our people.”
His gaze returned to study her upturned face, his expression grim. “What does this have to do with Riven?”
She hid her grimace. If she’d hoped to soften his attitude toward herself and her people, she was failing. Miserably.
“The mer-folk aren’t like many other fey creatures,” she said. “My father was the king, and I am a princess by birth, but I don’t inherit the throne.”
A grudging curiosity appeared to seize Tarak. “Because you’re a female?” he demanded.
“No, because I wasn’t chosen.”
“By whom?”
She ignored the tiny voice in the back of her mind that warned she was revealing mer-folk secrets. What choice did she have? “Not whom. By what,” she said.
His hands gripped her hips, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to reveal he was close to snapping.
“Get to the point, princess,” he rasped.
“The leader of the mer-folk has always been chosen by the Tryshu.”
Tarak arched his brows. “What the hell is that?”
“The trident that Riven is carrying.”
“A trident chooses your king?”
“Not any trident,” she clarified. “The Tryshu.”
His grasp on her hips tightened. “Is this a trick?”
She shook her head. There wasn’t time to explain how the first of the mer-folk had been lured from their tropical islands by the call of a potent magic. And that when the trident had appeared from the brilliant coral reef, it had transformed them into fey creatures who could alter their shape to swim freely through the oceans.
It had also chosen their first leader.
A tradition that had remained for endless years.
“From the beginning of time only the true leader could wield the Tryshu.” She cut to the important part of the long history.
“What if someone else tried to take it?” Tarak demanded.
She shook her head. When she was very young she could remember a mermaid named Cellas, who’d assumed that her father had been weakened after he’d expended so much magic to create the castle. During a feast night she’d made a mad grab for the trident lying next to her father’s chair. The sparks that had danced from the weapon had been blinding and the female’s scream had given Waverly nightmares for years. Cellas had survived, but she’d never been the same.
“It would be impossible,” she assured Tarak.
Tarak made a sound of impatience. “You just claimed that Riven stole the throne.”
The chill in the air thickened and Waverly wished she possessed the physical strength to push him away. It was bad enough to be distracted by her acute awareness of his lean, sculpted body that was just brushing against her. She didn’t need to worry about frostbite.
Fiercely she attempted to concentrate on her story. The sooner she was finished, the sooner he would hopefully agree to leave this place.
“In the past, the Tryshu would choose a new leader without warning.”
“How?”
“I never witnessed the actual event, but I was told that the current leader would suddenly drop the trident to the ground, as if they had been burned, and another would feel compelled to pick up the weapon.” She repeated the words that had been told to her. “It usually happened because the ruler had become weakened, or because the needs of our people had changed. My father remained a king for far longer than most. And even after his death, the Tryshu remained dormant.” Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. At the time, she’d thought nothing could be worse than having the throne remain empty. Then Riven had appeared and she’d quickly learned there was at least one thing worse. “We feared that it might have lost its magic with the passing of my father.”
His fingers eased their grip on her hips, sliding up to her waist in a soothing caress. Did he sense her grief when she talked about her father? Or had he momentarily forgotten that he hated her?
“What happened?”
“Riven returned. He’d been living among the humans for nearly a century, but one day he appeared at the castle and grabbed the Tryshu.” Waverly grimaced. She’d been in shock when she’d watch Riven stride into the throne room and grab the trident. “By the evening he was forcing all of us to bow at his feet.”
His lips gave the faintest twitch at the resentment she couldn’t hide. She’d never bowed to anyone, let alone gone on her knees for a male she was certain had somehow cheated to earn his place on the throne.
“Which means he’s the king,” Tarak said.
“I couldn’t believe it. Riven has always been…”
“A cowardly bastard?” He offered when her words trailed away.
“Yes,” she quickly agreed. Cowardly bastard was the perfect description for Riven. “He has no morals, no decency, and no concern for the mer-folk. When he first left I assumed he would live out his existence among the humans where he could cheat and swindle to his heart’s content.” She released a short, humorless burst of laughter. “I wish to the goddess he’d stayed up there.”
“A king doesn’t always have to possess morals.” Ice suddenly coated the column behind Waverly as if Tarak was suddenly reminded of the Anasso who’d betrayed him. “Or even to care for his people. Trust me, I learned the hard way.”
Waverly resisted the urge to lay her hands against his chest. Tarak didn’t want comfort. Not from her.
“I might have eventually accepted his place as king. I could, after all, leave the castle and create a lair far from here. But…�
� The words died on her lips, the fear that lay over her like a shadow threatening to overwhelm her.
Tarak frowned, studying her face with a searching gaze. “Tell me.”
She lowered her voice, barely speaking above a whisper. “Shortly after he returned he came to my private rooms.”
“Did he want you as his consort?”
Waverly widened her eyes. She was as startled by the question as she was by his harsh tone.
“Hardly. Riven is too conceited to share his throne with anyone,” she told him.
There was a strange emotion that flared through his dark eyes, but it was there and gone so quickly it was impossible to decipher.
“Then why did he seek you out?” Tarak demanded.
“To blackmail me,” she whispered.
“What?” Tarak jerked in surprise. Then, slowly, his gaze lowered to her throat. “The bastard forced you to feed me.” The words were a statement, not a question.
She gave a small nod. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” There was another blast of ice and a violent shiver raced through Waverly. “I truly don’t,” she insisted, wondering if her lips were turning blue. “But I suspect that he’s found some sort of magic that allows him to draw power from you.”
Tarak’s gaze never wavered from her face, but he thankfully dialed back on the ice. She hoped she would be able to feel her toes again.
“Enough power to claim the Tryshu?” he demanded.
“That’s my only explanation of why he would hold you captive.”
He gave a slow nod, his expression distracted as he considered her explanation. “It makes sense. It would also explain why he sent his guards to capture me, instead of wanting me dead.” There was a short pause before he spoke again. “How did he blackmail you?”
Waverly cast a quick glance toward the door, still terrified that Riven might overhear her revealing the secrets he’d forced her to keep.
“He’s holding my older sister captive.”
“Captive?” He looked surprised by her explanation. “Where?”
Waverly clenched her teeth. She’d spent five hundred years in a futile quest to locate her sister.
Beware the Darkness Page 6