Beware the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  He flinched, his brows snapping together. “You lie.”

  “It’s no lie.” She tilted her chin, her expression defiant. “You will be leaving to find your mate.”

  Mate? Tarak frowned. What the hell was she talking about? He wasn’t interested in seeking out his mate. Not when the female he wanted was…

  Nope. He slammed the door on that dangerous thought. He wasn’t ready to consider the complicated instincts that were churning inside him.

  “I’m not going anywhere until Riven is dead,” he assured her.

  She arched her brows. “And then?”

  “I haven’t considered anything beyond my revenge.”

  Her eyes darkened, as if she was battling back an intense emotion.

  “Well I have. You will perish attempting to kill Riven or you will succeed and return to your clan.”

  Tarak grimaced as the truth sliced through him. She was right. Whether he failed or succeeded, their time together was swiftly coming to an end.

  He instinctively tugged her tighter against him. “And you?” he asked. “What will you do?”

  Genuine fear rippled over her face. “If Riven remains king, I will be trapped in the castle.”

  She didn’t have to add that she would also be trapped in the bastard’s bed. That knowledge hung in the air like a toxic cloud.

  “And if he dies?” Tarak demanded.

  Waverly shrugged. “Someone must care for our people until a new leader is chosen.”

  Tarak scowled. That wasn’t the answer he wanted, although he wasn’t sure what he did want to hear. Perhaps that Waverly intended to follow him when he left the castle. And that she was pledged to be at his side no matter where he traveled.

  “Riven will be dead,” he assured her in icy tones.

  She shivered, her face paling. Was she recalling Riven’s threat to force her into his bed?

  “Dear goddess, I pray you’re right,” she rasped.

  Tarak lowered his head, absorbing her scent. Warm, exotic passion fruit and tropical breezes. It swirled through him, sinking deep into the darkness of his soul.

  “He can’t have you,” he stated in flat tones.

  Her jaw tightened, her scent sharpening with a hint of frustration. “What do you care?”

  “You belong to me.”

  “I don’t—”

  He put an end to her protest by the simple method of pressing his mouth against her parted lips. It was effective, plus it had the added bonus of sending glorious heat flowing through his veins.

  His hands slid down the silk of her gown to cup her backside. At the same time, he dipped his tongue into the moist temptation of her mouth.

  A groan rattled through his chest. He wasn’t sure when he’d become addicted to this female, but it was too late to give her up.

  For a glorious minute he felt Waverly melt against him, her lips softening in a silent invitation. Tarak deepened the kiss, allowing his fangs to press against the plush curve of her lower lip.

  He was suddenly starving for a taste. As if he was under some compulsion to sink his fangs into her flesh and draw deep of her luscious blood.

  Was it possible that Riven was using his powers to urge Tarak to feed so he would have more power? No. This compulsion had nothing to do with the merman. Instead it came from some raw, primitive place in the center of his being.

  The realization would have rattled him if he’d been thinking clearly. But at the moment he was too distracted by the feel of Waverly snuggled against him to care.

  Hell, the roof could probably collapse and he wouldn’t notice.

  He’d desired Waverly since he’d first set eyes on her. What male wouldn’t? But now each sensation that sizzled through him was sharper, more intense. Had the prison muffled his response to her? It would make sense. Any magic that was powerful enough to hold him captive had to have some sort of damper spell involved. That would inhibit his emotions, perhaps even his natural instincts.

  Now…

  His dazed thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Waverly turned her head, breaking their kiss.

  “Stop,” she breathed.

  Tarak lifted his head, his hands skimming up the curve of her back. She trembled, as if battling her own desire. “Why?”

  She turned her head to meet his narrowed gaze. “We have to figure out how to kill Riven.”

  Her words felt like cold water being tossed over him. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten Riven, or the fact that the King of the Mer-folk was currently searching the castle for him. But for a blessed few seconds he’d been allowed to lose himself in something beyond his dark thirst for revenge.

  A dangerous indulgence.

  Unless he wanted to end up back in his prison, or dead, he needed to leash his potent desire for this female. Once he’d rid the world of Riven, he could decide what he wanted to do about Waverly.

  Dropping his arms, he stepped back and studied her with a narrowed gaze. “You claimed it couldn’t be done.”

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if she was suddenly cold. Or maybe missing his touch.

  The thought pleased him.

  “And you claimed that it could,” she challenged him.

  His lips twisted at her quick response. A male would be a fool to ever think this princess would be a docile, easily controlled female. She possessed quick wits and a spine of steel.

  Turning away, he forced himself to concentrate on the only thing that mattered. Killing Riven.

  Not that there was much to concentrate on. His choices were limited. He could fight a battle that Waverly claimed he couldn’t win, or try to destroy Riven’s ability to use Tarak’s strength. He had no notion if it would compel the male to give up his hold on the Tryshu, but surely it would weaken the bastard.

  “If there is no way to kill him, we have to find the artifact,” he said

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It is.” He shrugged, turning back to face her. “You wait here, and I’ll search Riven’s rooms. Once I find the artifact I’ll destroy it.”

  “And how will you recognize it? I thought vampires couldn’t sense magic.” She held his gaze. “You need me to come with you.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Her features hardened. “Then neither of us will go.”

  “If Riven catches us together—”

  “He’s not going to catch us,” she interrupted.

  Tarak studied her, sensing a determination that had been missing earlier. “You have a plan?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Tell me,” he commanded.

  She hesitated. Did she suspect he wasn’t going to like her plan? Probably. Unless it included locking herself in these rooms and waiting for him to kill Riven he wasn’t going to like it.

  “I can use my powers to distract the guards—”

  “No.”

  She released an exasperated sigh. “You are impossible. First you insist I help you and now you’re angry that I’m offering my assistance.”

  He glared down at her. “It’s your fault.”

  “Mine?” She slammed her hands onto her hips. “Now you’re just being an ass.”

  He was, but that was tough luck. He’d been held prisoner for five centuries. And every second of those five centuries had been spent dreaming of destroying his enemies. As painfully as possible. Now, when he was at last within striking distance, he was being distracted by the feel and taste of this female.

  If he wanted to be an ass, then dammit, he’d be an ass.

  “You’re making me…”

  “What?” She pressed him to continue.

  “Question my sanity.”

  “I assure you the feeling is mutual.” She glared at him with a prickly impatience. “Are you going to listen to my plan or n
ot?”

  With an effort, Tarak forced himself to bury his primitive need to keep Waverly locked in her rooms. No one knew this castle or Riven better than this female. He’d be an idiot not to accept her help.

  “Tell me.”

  “I can create an illusion of myself,” she reminded him. “It will be simple enough to attract the attention of Riven and his guards. Once they’re following my image I can keep them occupied long enough for us to search the royal chambers.”

  Tarak arched a brow, recalling her appearance in the swamp. It’d been real enough to fool anyone at a distance. And since Riven already suspected that Waverly was helping him, they were sure to follow her. “That might actually work.”

  “Of course it will.” With a soft swish of satin, Waverly was hurrying across the marble floor, her skirts swirling around her legs. Pulling open the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “Come on.”

  With long strides, Tarak was standing directly in front of her. “Princess.”

  “What?”

  “If we run into trouble, I want your promise that you’ll let me handle it.”

  She sent him an offended glare. “I’m not helpless.”

  He reached to cup her chin in the palm of his hand. “We’re not leaving this room until you promise me that you’ll escape from this castle if there’s the least hint that we’ve been discovered.”

  “My sister—”

  “Your promise.”

  Her lips pressed together, but she was smart enough to know that her agreement was non-negotiable.

  “Fine. I promise.”

  * * * *

  Inga stomped her way down the hallway, her hands clenched into massive fists. The tiny gargoyle was darting in front of her, his head tilted to the side as he concentrated on the silence that surrounded them.

  It’d been like this for the past half hour. They would follow the voice down one long corridor, only to come to a dead end and have to retrace their steps.

  Without warning, Levet came to a halt. He paused, then fell to his knees before he pressed his head against the stone floor. Inga released a low growl. Her strained patience was reaching its snapping point.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh.” Blissfully indifferent to Inga’s smoldering temper, Levet waved a silencing hand. “There is a madness to my method.”

  “Doubtful,” Inga muttered, more annoyed at herself than her companion.

  She should be grabbing the creature by his stunted horn and hauling him out the confusing maze of hallways. They had to get to a place in the castle where she could open a portal. Instead, she was trailing behind him like a…

  She grimaced. Like a besotted cow. Even worse, there didn’t seem to be a damned thing she could do to force herself to take command of the situation.

  Not for the first time, she wished she possessed the heart of a pureblooded ogre. She wouldn’t have given a crap about anyone but herself. But her mushy mermaid heart continued to get her into hot water.

  First with her devotion to Lilah, whom she’d protected for the past five hundred years. And now Levet.

  Stupid, stupid Inga.

  “Bonjour,” Levet called out, clearly focused on his role as the Knight in Shining Armor. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, can you hear me?” The disembodied voice echoed through the air.

  “You are fading.” Levet’s wings flapped, his ugly little face scrunching with concentration. “Where are you?”

  “The nursery,” the voice answered.

  Levet lifted his head. “You are trapped in the nursery?” he demanded in confusion.

  “Please, I need your help.”

  There was the faint scent of an ocean crashing over rocks before it suddenly dissipated. As if whoever was talking to them had vanished.

  Levet scrambled to his feet and darted toward the end of the hallway. Inga muttered a curse she’d learned from her goblin slave-master and lumbered after him.

  “Levet,” she called out, fear curling through her belly as they turned the corner to discover a staircase. Had that been there before? Or was the strange voice leading them into a trap? She was betting on the trap theory. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To find the nursery,” Levet said, giving a squeak when Inga reached out to grasp one of his fairy wings.

  “Absolutely not.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, seemingly baffled by her refusal to dash into an obvious snare. “We must assist the poor female.”

  Inga ground her pointed teeth. Why was the stupid creature so worried about the unknown female?

  “What about me?” she burst out.

  He furrowed his brow in confusion. “What about you?”

  Inga debated giving the gargoyle a good shaking. It might rattle some sense into his thick skull.

  “You heard the guards before we were pulled through the portal. They intend to kill me,” she said, contenting herself with a petulant glare. “Is that what you want?”

  Levet was instantly outraged. “Of course not. If any guard threatens you, I will blast him with this.”

  The gargoyle held up his hand, allowing a fireball to form in the center of his palm.

  “No.” Inga leaped to the side as the fireball sizzled past her.

  “See,” Levet said with obvious pride. “There is no need to fear.”

  Inga straightened, glancing down to discover several scorch marks splattered down the side of her muumuu. “You singed my dress.”

  Levet wrinkled his snout. “Not a great loss.”

  Inga’s head jerked up. What was he talking about? This was her favorite muumuu. “You don’t like it?”

  “That is not what I meant,” Levet quickly protested. “It is very…colorful.”

  Inga smoothed her hands down the soft material. “Bright things make me happy.”

  His expression softened, as if sensing he’d hurt her feelings.

  “Perhaps when we travel to Paris we will stop by the fashion houses and find you a new gown,” he suggested in helpful tones.

  She jutted out her lower jaw. Did he think she was stupid? She couldn’t squeeze one leg into a fancy gown from Paris. And even if she could find one her size, she would look ridiculous.

  Besides, she had spent most of her life as a slave. Now that she was free, she intended to savor the ability to make her own choices.

  Including her love for garish clothes.

  “First we have to get out of here,” she growled.

  “After we have rescued the prisoner,” Levet insisted, heading up the stairs with a speed that made it impossible for Inga to stop him.

  “We are not rescuing that female,” Inga called out.

  Levet clicked his tongue, not bothering to turn as he reached the top and headed down the upper hallway.

  “Do not be absurd. We are heroes. It is what we do.”

  Stomping her feet with enough force to crumble the stone, Inga climbed the stairs.

  “Trust me. I’m no hero,” she muttered.

  Chapter 10

  Tarak forced himself to stand across the room as Waverly closed her eyes to weave her magic. Not only did she need to concentrate, but he could no longer trust himself to be next to her and not give into his overwhelming urge to touch her.

  Not long ago he would have been humiliated by the realization he couldn’t keep his hands off one of the mer-folk. How could he possibly be so obsessed with his enemy?

  Now, however, he accepted that some deep, primitive part of him had determined that this female wasn’t his adversary. She was—

  His mind screeched to a halt, refusing to take the thought any further.

  As if it knew he wasn’t prepared to accept what was about to be exposed.

  “I found the guards.” Waverly’s words than
kfully interrupted his dark musings. Crossing the room, he watched as her lashes lifted to reveal her unfocused eyes. “Riven is with them.”

  “Where are they?” he demanded.

  “Searching through the servants’ quarters,” she said. “I’ll lead them to the kitchens.”

  Tarak waited, disliking the tension that vibrated through her slender body. She was expending an enormous amount of energy. “How long can you maintain the illusion?”

  She hesitated before admitting the truth. “Not long.”

  He reached up to touch a drop of perspiration that beaded her forehead. “You should stay here and conserve your strength.”

  She gave a shake of her head, returning her focus to him. “No.”

  Tarak felt a pang of frustration. It was a perfectly reasonable request. “Stubborn creature.”

  Her eyes widened at his muttered words. “You spent five hundred years in a prison, and instead of fleeing you’re here trying to kill a male who is indestructible,” she pointed out in tart tones. “I don’t think you’re in a position to call me stubborn.”

  He didn’t argue. He told himself it was because he didn’t want her wasting her limited strength. A voice in the back of his head, however, whispered that she was right.

  A wise vampire would walk away and savor every moment of his newfound freedom. Why risk everything for revenge?

  It was a question that was rooted in his very soul.

  There was no way he could find happiness if he didn’t put the past behind him. And the only way to do that was to kill the demons responsible for imprisoning him. The Anasso was dead. Riven was next.

  Wrapping an arm around Waverly’s shoulders, he steered her toward the door.

  “Let’s go.” He paused as they reached the hallway. “Which way?”

  Her expression was once again distracted. “Left.”

  They headed down the wide hallway, Waverly leaning heavily against him.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded.

  She nodded. “They’re following my image. Once I have them in the kitchens I’ll release the spell. It will take them a while to realize I’m not hiding in one of the pantries.”

  They continued forward, Tarak’s boots clicking loudly on the marble floor. Dammit. If there were any guards around they would hear him coming a mile away. This was why he hated marble.