She sent him a chiding frown. “If he loved her, he could never have hurt her. Even if he was a demon.”
“I agree.” Tarak quickly soothed her burst of anger. Almost as if he was worried she might think he approved of the cowardly act. “It was obsession and pride and a weakness at his very core. A weakness that led to his eventual downfall.”
She nodded, offering her approval before returning her attention to the items in his hand. “None of this explains why Riven would have the cape and necklace.”
Tarak shoved the cape and necklace back into the armoire. Just holding them in his hands made him feel as if he was tainted.
Tarak hazarded a guess. “He probably followed the Anasso to watch him destroy Mallia.” He knew without a doubt that the Anasso hadn’t given the objects to the merman. The vampire probably assumed he’d hidden them where they would never be found. “Then after my master left, he swooped in to grab the evidence.”
“Why?”
There was only one reason Tarak could imagine. “To ensure that he got what he wanted,” he said. “Me.”
She studied his face, as if wondering whether he knew more than he was sharing. He wished he did. Perhaps it might give him some clue to how Riven was tapping into his powers.
“Would the vampires have cared if they learned your master had killed his courtesan?” she asked, clearly assuming that vampires made a habit of murdering their lovers.
Tarak sent her an annoyed frown. “He broke his own laws. Not only is a vampire forbidden from interfering between a mated pair, but we are supposed to take any grievance to the clan chief, not dole out our own punishment,” he informed her in stiff tones. “How could he sit in judgment of others when he was going against everything he was preaching?”
She abruptly turned away, her head bowing as if under a tremendous weight.
“It’s all so horrible. Your Anasso who would destroy an innocent female because his pride was hurt. And Riven’s willingness to use that awful secret for his own ambition.” She released a harsh sigh. “Then together they sacrificed you for their own selfish needs.”
Tarak couldn’t argue.
It was horrible.
Chapter 11
Styx wasn’t sure who he was more annoyed with as he tromped through the nasty bogs along with Chiron. His Raven, who’d come to him with the intel that a female ogress had been chased out of a local hotel by a vampire. Or his companion, who’d been foolish enough to release his former master from his prison. Or the previous Anasso, who’d been the cause of this mess in the first place.
Of course, you could always blame yourself, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He was the one who’d found the scroll that had revealed that Tarak had been held captive for the past five hundred years. If he’d just burned the damn thing he would be home with his mate, Darcy, cuddled in his arms.
Instead…
His size-sixteen boots squished through the mud, his mood growing more foul with every sloppy step.
At last they pressed their way through a ring of cypress trees to discover a worn wooden structure that was sagging precariously in the marshy ground.
According to Styx’s guard, the place had been a demon fight club. At least until the magic surrounding it had been shattered and the surrounding swamp had flooded the underground pits.
Now it looked like it was one stiff breeze away from total collapse.
At his side, Chiron studied the building with a curl of his lips. Styx didn’t blame him. He’d recently visited one of Chiron’s casinos in Vegas. It had dripped with elegance.
This place…
It just dripped.
“Is it deserted?” Chiron demanded.
Styx took a second to test the air. He caught the scents of a dozen different demons, but all of them were fading. All but one.
“There’s someone inside. Smells like…” He paused to concentrate on the scent. It was rich and fruity and astonishingly familiar. “Shit.”
With long strides he was stomping through the mud to shove open the front door.
“What’s going on?” Chiron demanded, hurrying to catch up.
“I recognize that smell,” Styx growled, glancing around the lobby.
It was a small space that had tilted to one side, allowing the ceiling to brush the top of his head. Beneath his feet the wooden floorboards felt dangerously flimsy. As if they were just waiting for an opportunity to splinter.
“Yikes,” Chiron breathed as a hidden door was pushed open and a male stepped into the room.
The imp was surprisingly large, with bulging muscles that were blatantly outlined beneath the sheer white shirt that was studded with rhinestones and the black leather pants that looked like they’d been hot-glued onto his legs. His long hair was a brilliant red and pulled into a topknot.
There was something exotic and sensual about the male despite his flamboyant attitude.
“Hello, Troy,” Styx said in dry tones.
The male flicked a brow upward as he allowed his green gaze to travel over Styx.
“Well, well. I was just saying the neighborhood was going to hell, and you stroll in,” Troy drawled, moving to stand in the center of the lobby. “Point. Proved.”
Styx silently cursed. What evil god had dumped this particular fey in such an isolated spot?
“Do I look like I’m in the mood for your sarcasm?” he snapped.
“Hmm.” Troy ran his finger over the rhinestones on his chest. “Hard to say. You have the whole tall, dark, and brooding thing going on.”
Styx reached over his shoulder, grabbing the hilt of his sword. With one smooth motion he had it out of the sheath and pointed directly at Troy’s nose. “Does this help?”
Troy stifled a yawn. “There’s no need to wave around that oversized knife.” The imp turned his attention to Chiron, unduly confident that Styx wouldn’t slice off his head. He took a slow, thorough survey of the younger vampire before returning his attention to Styx. “What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Styx countered. “I thought you were working with Sophia?”
Sophia happened to be the mother of Styx’s mate, Darcy. The female Were had recently returned to Chicago to be reunited with her four daughters. Oh, and at the same time, she’d decided to open a strip club.
Darcy called her mother a rebel. He called her a pain in the ass. Not out loud, of course.
He preferred to keep peace in his lair whenever possible.
Troy shrugged. “I remain a consultant, but recently my cousin purchased this place. He requested that I come down and assist him.”
Styx glanced around the filthy lobby that creaked and groaned in an ominous fashion. Whatever Styx’s opinion of his mother-in-law, Sophia’s club was an elegant, high-end establishment that pulled in a small fortune every evening. So why would Troy want to come here?
“What sort of assistance?” he demanded.
“He’d grown weary of the clientele he was attracting in his fighting pits. He spent more money repairing the damage they were forever causing than he was taking in.”
“What sort of club did he want?”
“A strip club, of course.” Troy flashed a wicked smile as he ran his hands down his body. “That’s my specialty.”
“A strip club?” Styx snorted in disbelief. “Here?”
“That was my reaction as well.” Troy gave a resigned shake of his head. “I warned him that he would be better off leaving this place to the alligators and moving to Miami.” A spark of anticipation glowed in his green eyes. “Now there is a place I could create a club to die for.”
Styx narrowed his gaze. There were a lot of demons who had clubs, but most of them were like this place. Dark, dirty, and nearly destitute. The sort of places that wouldn’t attract the attention of Viper, who didn’t tolerat
e direct competition to his own chain of demon clubs.
It was only because Sophia was related to Styx’s mate that he hadn’t stepped in to shut her down.
“And you might die if Viper discovers you’re invading his territory,” he warned.
Troy sniffed. “It doesn’t matter now. Not after your friend managed to trash the place.”
Ah. At last, information that actually mattered.
“What friend?”
“I don’t know.” Troy curled his lips in disgust. “Some vampire.”
Styx lowered his sword. “Describe him.”
“Big teeth. Bad attitude,” Troy said. Styx bared his fangs. They were much scarier than his sword. No matter how large it might be. Troy hastily lifted a hand. “No need to get your thong in a twist, big boy. I forgot how ill-tempered you are.”
Styx scowled. “Don’t call me big boy.”
“Why not?” Troy blinked with a pretense of innocence. “Are you saying there are some parts of you that aren’t as full-sized as you want? Don’t worry, I have a magical pill for you.”
Next to Styx, Chiron swallowed a laugh. Damned imp, Styx fumed. And damn his own rules. In the distant past, vampires simply killed anyone who annoyed them. Now he was trying to set a better example for his people.
Which meant he occasionally had to grin and bear it.
“Describe the vampire,” he snapped.
Perhaps sensing he was stomping on Styx’s last nerve, the imp gave an airy wave of his hand. “Not as tall as you,” he said. “He had dark hair, and the face of an ancient barbarian.” He gave a delicate shudder. “Deliciously savage.”
“Tarak,” Styx muttered. “What was he doing here?”
Troy arched his brows, as if unable to believe that Styx would ask such a stupid question. “Causing destruction, of course,” the imp chided. “A typical vampire pastime and the reason your sort has been banned from the club.”
“You’re claiming that Tarak did all this damage?” Styx demanded.
“No.” Troy turned to lead them across the lobby. Then he lifted his arm and pointed down the shadowed hallway. “The massive hole in the floor was caused by an ogress who was traveling with a gargoyle I didn’t see, but who I suspect was Levet.” Troy turned to face them. “How many three-foot gargoyles are there in the world?”
“One is too many,” Styx growled.
Troy sent him a mocking smile. “Your mate finds him quite charming.”
Styx refused to rise to the bait. He wasn’t here to spar with the imp. “Why did the ogress dig a hole in the floor?”
“My guess is that she was trying to get away from the vampire,” Troy said. “She jumped through the hole into the fighting pit. You can imagine the chaos that ensued.” Troy grimaced. “During the commotion my cousin was injured and the barriers that kept the swamp out of the lower floors were destroyed. Now the building is all wonky.”
Styx didn’t need a blow-by-blow recap of the pandemonium caused by the ogress. He’d been in fighting pits before. A battle could break out because a demon looked at another demon wrong. An ogress dropping on their heads would have been…epic.
“What happened to the vampire?”
“All reports said that he chased the ogress and the gargoyle into the swamp,” Troy said, clearly indifferent to what had happened to them after they fled the pits.
Styx ground his fangs. He’d known it was too much to hope that Tarak would still be at the club, but he’d assumed there would be tracks to follow. But the deluge of swamp water had mixed the scents of the various demons until it was impossible to pinpoint one specific trail.
“Did you notice any strangers in the area?” he demanded.
Styx’s biggest fear was that Tarak would terrorize the locals until they rose up to kill him. His second fear was that the mer-folk who’d held Tarak would discover he’d escaped and come searching for him.
He had to locate the vampire before either of those things happened.
Troy shuddered. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re all strange.” He gave a startled shriek as Styx reached out to grab the front of his shirt.
“Don’t screw with me, imp,” Styx rasped.
“It’s the truth,” Troy insisted. “I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. I don’t recognize the locals yet.”
There was a sincerity in his voice that couldn’t be faked. Styx released his shirt. “Where is your cousin?”
“Unconscious in his lair,” Troy answered without hesitation. “We don’t know if he’ll wake up or not, so I fired the staff and now I’m trying to decide if I intend to burn this place or let it sink into the muck.”
Styx studied the male. “You don’t seem particularly upset.”
“I said he’s my cousin,” Troy drawled. “I didn’t say he was my favorite cousin.”
Styx rolled his eyes. This hadn’t been a complete waste of his time. He at least could be confident that Chiron had been right. Tarak was chasing after Inga and Levet. Which should make tracking them down much easier. There weren’t many places a full-grown ogress could hide.
“If you see the vampire or ogress again, you contact me immediately,” he commanded.
The imp fluttered his lashes. “If you’re staying in the area, I have a couple of rooms I’m willing to rent.”
Styx turned on his heel to stomp out of the building. “I thought it was the gargoyle who was annoying,” he muttered.
* * * *
Waverly nervously glanced around the room that had once been her favorite place in the entire castle. Despite his grief that had never eased at the loss of his mate, her father had continued to host entertainments for his people. He understood that they needed to feel pleasure in their hidden lair, or soon they would turn on him.
Or worse, begin to squabble and fight among themselves.
They had the formal ballroom for large celebrations, but this had been a place where small groups of mer-folk could dance or play games or simply relax and listen to music. Plus they had the opportunity to be near her father’s magic.
His gift had been filling a room with a sense of peace. He was like a walking, talking Prozac pill for mer-folk.
Truly magical.
A shame he couldn’t enjoy the benefits of his own magic. Inside he’d been tormented with fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep his children safe even after he’d created the castle.
And now Riven was in these rooms, corrupting the lingering sense of harmony with his wicked selfishness.
“Can you sense any other illusions?” Tarak demanded, breaking into her bitter thoughts.
With an effort, she cleared her mind and concentrated on their surroundings.
“No.” She was on the point of turning to leave when she noticed her companion was headed toward the double doors across the room. “Tarak? Where are you going?”
“The artifact has to be here somewhere,” he said, shoving open one of the doors.
“We can’t stay,” she said, unease curling through the pit of her stomach. When she’d released the image she’d used to lure the guards away, she’d lost the ability to keep track of where they were. Which meant they might very well be racing toward these rooms. “Riven has probably already figured out that I’m not hiding in the kitchens.”
Tarak shrugged as he strolled into the inner bedchamber. “Luckily this is the last place he’ll look for us.”
She scurried behind him, her gut continuing to twist and turn. “I don’t like depending on luck.”
Without warning he came to an abrupt halt, turning to grasp her upper arms as she nearly crashed into him.
“Then depend on me,” he commanded, gazing down at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.
She searched his harshly carved features, wondering if this was some trick. Did he think he had to manipul
ate her into helping him?
“You consider me your enemy,” she at last breathed, her throat tight with an emotion she couldn’t fully decipher. “How can I depend on you?”
He reached to stroke his fingers through her hair. “We both know that I haven’t considered you the enemy from the moment I tasted your blood.”
She stiffened. Did he think she couldn’t remember the endless years that she’d visited his prison, wanting to offer so much more than her blood, only to be treated with an icy anger?
“But you—”
“I have my pride,” he interrupted, his expression rueful. “How could I allow myself to admit that I was fascinated with my captor?”
His words scraped against her raw sense of guilt. “I was never your captor,” she protested.
An odd expression settled on his face. “Ironically, your hold over me might prove to be far more permanent than Riven’s.”
Her hold over him? “What do you mean?”
His fingers skimmed down the side of her neck, his eyes flaring with a midnight fire. Then, with a muttered curse, he was dropping his hand and stepping away.
“You’re right. We don’t have time to waste,” he said in clipped tones. “Can you sense any magic in the room?”
She sent him a wry glance. “Everywhere.”
He planted his hands on his hips, his expression tightening. “Show me the items that didn’t belong to your father.”
She didn’t want to. It was bad enough to enter her father’s public rooms. In this private space she could still remember the faint scent of her mother’s clothes that her father kept hanging in the wardrobe and the musical box that her mother had created with her own hands. Now she could feel the bleak emptiness that echoed through the room. As if the removal of her parents’ personal items had left a gaping emptiness Riven was unable to fill.
Still, the sooner they completed their search, the sooner they could return to her rooms and she could hide Tarak from the searching guards.
Gathering her courage, she forced her feet to carry her around the room. She ran her fingertips over the heavy tapestries that now covered the vividly painted walls.
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