Beware the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  Eventually they passed through a series of fluted columns, and then up five shallow steps. In front of them were a set of massive double doors.

  “I’m assuming the royal chambers are behind the golden doors?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” She came to a sharp halt, reaching to grab his hand. “Tarak.”

  He didn’t need Waverly’s warning. He’d already sensed a merman rapidly approaching from behind. With care, he pushed her toward one of the pillars.

  “Wait here.”

  Her lips parted as if she intended to argue. Then, catching sight of his fierce expression, she heaved a resigned sigh.

  “Okay. I’m waiting.”

  With Waverly out of the line of fire, Tarak whirled to watch the merman charge forward.

  “Leech,” the male hissed, attired in the strange armor that Tarak had noticed earlier.

  “Squid,” Tarak taunted.

  Keeping his gaze focused on the trident the guard held in his hand, he leaped forward and then leaped again, this time to the side to avoid the lethal strands that shot from the tip of the trident.

  Tarak wasn’t stupid. He only needed to be netted once with the silver filaments to remember to duck and roll.

  Watching the net wrap around a nearby marble statue, Tarak reminded himself that the guard wasn’t helpless as he charged toward the merman. The trident could still penetrate his heart or slice off his head. Plus, Tarak had no way of knowing whether or not the merman had some other nasty weapons hidden beneath his armor.

  Thankfully the guard was clearly commanded not to kill him, making him hesitate as Tarak pulled the silver dagger from the holster at his lower back.

  They circled one another, both looking for a weakness. The merman was smaller, and slower, but he was wearing an armor that Tarak’s knife couldn’t penetrate, plus his weapon was longer. On the other hand, Tarak had lethal fangs that could easily rip out the guard’s throat.

  Darting toward the male, he slashed the dagger at his face. The guard danced back, shooting another blast of silvery filament. Tarak managed to avoid the net, quickly striking again. This time he was able to slice a cut along the male’s cheek before the merman was shooting more silver in his direction.

  Tarak swallowed a curse as he ducked. The trident clearly had an endless supply of the lethal silver.

  “Why don’t you put down your toy and offer me a fair fight?” he demanded, twirling his dagger in his hand.

  He needed to distract the male long enough to get the trident away from him.

  The merman narrowed his eyes, his hands tightening on the trident. “As if a vampire would ever know the meaning of fair. Leeches are the dirtiest fighters in the demon-world.”

  Tarak shrugged. “I suppose that’s true. We do whatever necessary to win.”

  A smug smiled curved the guard’s lips. “But you didn’t win, did you? You’ve been rotting in a prison.”

  Tarak ignored the taunt, his attention locked on the lethal weapon. The male moved the trident in an elongated figure-eight pattern. Left. Right. Up. Down.

  “Do you know why?” Tarak demanded, continuing to twirl his knife.

  He wanted the guard concentrating on the weapon and not on him.

  “You attempted to kill our king, so he took you captive,” the merman said.

  Tarak released a humorless laugh. “Is that the story he told you?”

  “It’s the truth,” the male insisted, weaving the trident in the same pattern over and over.

  A weakness that Tarak intended to exploit.

  “If your precious king had tried to capture me, I would have ripped off his head,” he told the male, casually moving to the side, as if planning another charge forward. “I was betrayed, and Riven is using my power to maintain his grip on the Tryshu.”

  The guard hissed, releasing another spray of silver netting. “Lies.”

  With perfect timing, Tarak tossed his knife at the male’s face. Instinctively the guard threw his hands up to protect himself from the painful projectile, allowing Tarak the opportunity to reach out and grab the trident.

  Using his superior strength, Tarak yanked the weapon from the male’s hand and slammed it against the marble floor. With a satisfying crack the trident snapped in two.

  Tossing aside the broken pieces, Tarak bared his fangs, watching with satisfaction as the male stumbled backward.

  “Tarak.” Waverly’s soft voice managed to penetrate the red mist filling his mind. “Don’t kill him.”

  He wanted to ignore her plea. He might not recognize the young guard, but he wore the armor of the royal guard. He was as responsible as Riven for the past five hundred years of hell. And Tarak wanted to taste his blood. He wanted to feel the life drain from the male’s body before tossing him away like a piece of trash.

  For a second, he remained poised on the edge. Then the soft scent of passion fruit eased the haze from his brain. Like a whisper of sanity.

  Trembling from the effort of pulling back from the killing blow, he smashed his fist into the male’s terrified face, knocking him unconscious. Then he lifted his head to glare toward Waverly who was standing at the top of the steps.

  “A friend of yours?” he rasped.

  She shook her head, the blue highlights shimmering in her pale hair. “No, but the guards are only following Riven’s commands.”

  “Yeah, the same commands that will have me locked back in his prison and you in his bed,” he growled.

  She paled, but stiffening her spine, she waved a hand toward the doors behind her. “We need to hurry.”

  Muttering a curse, Tarak reached down to grasp the unconscious male by his long hair, dragging him up the stairs. He couldn’t leave him behind. Not only would someone spot him and call for more guards, but if he woke up and tried to cause trouble, Tarak intended to finish him off. He’d spared his life once. It wasn’t going to happen again.

  Reaching the doors, he lifted his leg and slammed his foot against the heavy lock. It shuddered. He kicked again. And again. At last the door flew open and they stepped inside.

  “Damn,” Tarak muttered, tossing aside the guard as he turned in a slow circle.

  The sitting room was twice the size of most vampire lairs, with a high, barrel ceiling inlaid with elaborate medallions and a dozen chandeliers that splashed a soft light over the marble floor inlaid with gold. The walls were painted with bright frescos that revealed the Tryshu being created in a swirl of magic. And the eventual crowning of a king and queen who were in their mer-form as they sat upon massive thrones made from coral.

  The furniture was made from wood, but studded with rare jewels that threatened to blind him. And at the far end of the room was another set of double golden doors.

  “Your father had a flair for the dramatic,” he told his companion.

  Waverly released a soft sigh. “I think he created this as a tribute to my mother. She loved to surround herself with beauty.”

  Tarak studied her wistful expression. Was this the first time she’d been in these rooms since her father’s death? Probably.

  “And you?” he abruptly asked.

  She looked confused. “What?”

  “Do you prefer a lavish lair?” He kept his expression unreadable even as he realized that her answer mattered to him.

  Why?

  That was one of those questions he preferred to ignore. He’d already discovered he had a talent for sticking his head in the sand when he was serving his Anasso. Might as well continue his habit of blissful ignorance.

  “Not really,” she said. “This castle is my home because it makes me feel closer to my father, but I am happiest when I’m swimming through the ocean. It’s the only place I feel truly free.”

  The ice in the center of Tarak’s heart melted just a little more at her soft words. Did she truly understand the be
auty of freedom? Perhaps she did. After all, she’d been as much a victim of Riven as he had. Only her prison had been this castle and the terror that the bastard would destroy her sister, along with the innocent children.

  “Yes,” he agreed, his voice harsh. “Freedom is worth more than any precious jewels or piles of gold.”

  With a swift motion, Waverly was standing close at his side, her hand lightly resting on his arm.

  “I can give that to you,” she breathed, her expression pleading. “Just leave, Tarak.”

  He gazed down at her, not even considering her offer. “I can’t.” He lightly touched her cheek, about to remind her that he was there for one purpose. To kill Riven.

  But even as his fingers lingered on the plush temptation of her mouth, Tarak was stiffening with shock.

  “What’s wrong?” Waverly demanded.

  Tarak crossed the long room, drawn by a scent he hadn’t encountered for over five centuries.

  “I can smell…”

  “What?” Waverly demanded, scurrying toward him.

  He closed his eyes, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the scent.

  “My former Anasso,” he said

  “That’s impossible.”

  “It’s faint, but I would recognize it anywhere,” he insisted.

  The sound of Waverly’s footsteps trailed behind him as Tarak found himself lured toward the far corner.

  “I suppose it’s possible that Riven invited the King of Vampires to meet with him in secret,” she suggested. “They did plot together to imprison you.”

  “It’s possible,” Tarak admitted. “But why would his scent linger?”

  “Where?”

  “Here.” He paused in front of spot on the wall that was painted with a pretty jellyfish.

  He frowned, touching the wall in confusion.

  “Wait,” Waverly commanded. “There’s an illusion.”

  Tarak pulled his hand away with a grimace. “Did your father create it?”

  “No.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “This belongs to Riven.”

  Tarak watched as she furrowed her brow and spoke a low word of magic. There was a faint cracking sound, like glass shattering, and then he realized he was standing in front of a towering wood armoire that was intricately engraved.

  He silently cursed magic and his inability to detect it, as a combination of smells flooded the room. No doubt he’d never have caught the hint of the Anasso’s scent if he hadn’t been so intimately connected to his master. They’d fought and nearly died together, not to mention residing in the same lair for centuries.

  Now he could also catch a dull, ancient smell that surprised him.

  “Blood,” he rasped, grabbing the knob of the armoire and yanking open one of the doors.

  He frowned as he reached in to grab a green silk cape that was torn and covered in blood. What the hell? He reached in again, this time pulling out a necklace.

  Tarak froze, horror jolting through him as he took in the sight of the massive emerald that was set in a golden necklace and surrounded by pale pink diamonds.

  Leaning forward, Waverly sucked in a startled breath as she caught sight of what he was holding.

  “Why would Riven hide a bloody cape and necklace?”

  Tarak grimaced. The last time he’d seen the necklace it had been draped around the slender neck of a beautiful imp with a glorious mane of golden curls and eyes the same deep green as the emerald.

  “My guess would be that this was how Riven forced my master into handing me over.”

  Waverly furrowed her brow. “How?”

  Tarak stroked his finger over the necklace. “When I first met the Anasso he possessed a favorite courtesan, Mallia.”

  Her jaw tightened, as if she was offended. “Courtesan?”

  He smiled with a wry humor. “It wasn’t sexist. Female vampires are just as likely to keep favorite lovers in their lair until they discover their mates.”

  She didn’t look impressed by his reassurance. “Did you?”

  Tarak shook his head. In the past he’d had lovers who’d pleaded to stay in his lair. And his Anasso had offered to share his harem, if Tarak was interested.

  He hadn’t been.

  “During my earliest years I was devoted to creating my clan and protecting them,” he said, looking back on that time with a sense of nostalgia. His destiny had seemed so clear-cut when he’d been focused on his people: they were his to protect. Simple. Straightforward. “Then later I was too occupied with carrying out the Anasso’s commands to spend time with a female who might have captured my interest.”

  She flinched. “And then you were imprisoned.”

  He gazed into her eyes, easily reading the guilt etched in the aquamarine depths.

  “Yes,” he murmured, although he suspected he was responding to her beauty, not her words.

  She cleared her throat, a sudden flush staining her cheeks. “What does the courtesan have to do with Riven?”

  Tarak glanced back at the necklace. “Forty or fifty years before I was betrayed, the Anasso traveled with Mallia to visit the various clans he’d conquered.”

  “Was she a vampire?”

  “No, an imp.” A hint of grief was laced through his words. Mallia had been with the Anasso even before Tarak had joined him. The realization that she was most certainly dead was an unexpected blow. “She was lovely.”

  He felt Waverly stiffen. “Of course she was.”

  Tarak glanced at her in surprise. Was she jealous? The thought was absurdly satisfying.

  “I had no interest in her.” He found himself instinctively reassuring her. “But my master was besotted.”

  A portion of her tension eased. “But she wasn’t his mate?”

  “No.” He paused, recalling his master’s possessive attitude toward the pretty imp. Once he’d entered the Anasso’s lair, he’d quickly learned not to ever spend more than a few seconds speaking with Mallia. And he never, ever remained in a room alone with her. It was only as he looked back that he accepted that his master hadn’t acted like a male devoted to a female, but as a hoarder protecting his favorite treasure. “But he considered her as his property,” he finally admitted.

  Her lips curled. “You admired your king?”

  He should be angered by her unconcealed disgust. She was serving a king who’d stolen the throne by keeping him captive for centuries. How dare she judge him?

  Instead, he just felt…sad. And weary.

  So much of his life had been wasted. First by his loyalty to a leader who was willing to betray him, and then by the merman who’d locked him away.

  “I always accepted that he had his faults, but I allowed my admiration for his dreams to blind me to the cost of pledging my loyalty to him,” he admitted.

  Easily sensing his shame, Waverly’s expression softened, as if she regretted her sharp words.

  She was far too tenderhearted for her own good.

  “What happened to Mallia?” she asked.

  Tarak forced himself to dredge up the memories. He hadn’t actually traveled with the Anasso during the fateful trip, but he’d heard all the gory details.

  “While they were visiting one of the clans she discovered her true mate. They snuck away while the Anasso was meeting with the chief.”

  Waverly widened her eyes. “Was her mate a vampire?”

  “Yes. The Anasso was furious.”

  His words were an understatement. When he’d finally seen the Anasso the ancient male had been incandescent with rage. In fact, he’d destroyed half the lair before his guards managed to contain him in his private rooms. Wisely, Tarak had chosen to take an extended vacation until the male had managed to gather command of his emotions.

  Waverly glanced toward the priceless necklace Tarak held in his hands. “I thought mating
s were dictated by instinct?”

  “They are.”

  She hesitated, perhaps trying to make sense of his explanation. “Then how could he be angry?”

  “I think he was obsessed with her.” His fingers tightened around the necklace. “But more importantly, she’d embarrassed him in front of his people. That was an unforgivable sin.”

  “What did he do?”

  “At first he tried to track down her down. Eventually he was forced to return to his lair and resume his duties,” Tarak said, not bothering to add that the male had been in a violent temper for several years. “Eventually, I began to hear rumors that he was offering a reward for any demon who could give him the location of his runaway lover.”

  Her lips parted, her face pale as she quickly came to the same conclusion as Tarak. “You think Riven found her?”

  “Yes.” He held up his hand. “I recognize this necklace. My master paid a fortune to buy the emerald from a goblin. He claimed it perfectly matched Mallia’s eyes. He later designed the setting for the gem.”

  “But if Riven did locate Mallia, wouldn’t your Anasso have returned her to his lair?” she demanded.

  He gave a slow shake of his head. The Anasso had been careful not to mention his determination to track down his courtesan to Tarak. And he certainly hadn’t said that he’d found Mallia and destroyed her. The older male had a true talent for understanding the vampires that he’d gathered within his inner circle. He would have known Tarak would have found his behavior reprehensible.

  “He didn’t want her back.” His voice was harsh. “He wanted to punish her.”

  Waverly shivered as she wrapped her arms around her waist. “You believe he killed her?”

  He didn’t want to, but at the moment it seemed the most likely explanation.

  “I can smell her blood on the cape, along with the Anasso,” he said, his acute senses capable of detecting that the King of Vampires had been present when the imp had been bleeding. Their two scents blended together. “Besides, it would explain a great deal. Including his descent into his addiction that must have started about the same time. It is one thing to plot your revenge. It is another to destroy the female who you loved.”