Darkness Everlasting

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Brutal, but honest I suppose,” she muttered.

  Viper shrugged. “It prevents any confusion.”

  Her chin tilted. “I would never hurt anyone unless I was protecting myself. And I certainly wouldn’t hurt someone who is already injured.”

  “Then why are you here?” he demanded.

  “I told you, I want to help.”

  Viper looked far from convinced, but before he could speak there was a rustle from the bed. Even with out vampire speed Darcy managed to leap past Viper and seat herself on the bed beside Styx.

  “Styx?”

  The thick lashes opened with painful slowness. “Angel?”

  “I’m here.”

  His hand reached out to grasp her fingers in a near painful grip. “Viper. Was he harmed?”

  Viper shifted to be within easy sight of Styx. “I am here, old friend.”

  Relief rippled over the bronzed features before they abruptly hardened. “Was it Salvatore?”

  “I believe so. He was certainly a pureblood with a talent for masking his scent. I very nearly missed his presence.”

  “Damn.”

  “My thoughts precisely,” Viper said in a tight voice. “When you are healed we definitely need to have a long conversation with that mutt.”

  “A short conversation.”

  “Even better.” Viper regarded him steadily. “Do you wish to go into the earth to heal?”

  Styx considered for a moment before giving a shake of his head. “No.”

  “It will make the process less painful, not to mention much quicker,” Viper pointed out.

  “We cannot be certain the curs do not plan to attack.”

  “They would never get past your Ravens. Or me.”

  Styx gave a painful shake of his head. “You must return to Shay. She will be concerned.”

  Viper frowned. “No.”

  “That was not a request.”

  Intrigued by the obvious warmth the two men shared, Darcy was unprepared for the cold glare that Viper flashed in her direction.

  “She should not remain.”

  Darcy bristled even as Styx’s fingers tightened around her own. “You have used your senses to touch her soul, have you not?” he demanded.

  Darcy frowned. Touched her soul? Well, that didn’t sound good.

  “Yes,” Viper admitted in a grudging tone.

  “Then go,” Styx commanded.

  Viper gave an annoyed shake of his head. “If you get yourself staked I’m going to be pissed.”

  A small smile touched Styx’s mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Muttering beneath his breath, Viper turned to cross the room, pausing at the door to glare over his shoulder at Darcy.

  “If he is harmed there is no place where you can hide. Not even death will keep you from my wrath,” he warned before stepping over the threshold and slamming the door behind him.

  Darcy shivered. It was a threat she took seriously. Hard not to when he had so deliberately flashed his fangs.

  She cleared the lump from her throat. “He is very protective.”

  “We go back a few years.”

  “How many years?”

  “Almost two thousand, give or take a few decades.”

  Her attention whipped back to Styx’s harshly beautiful features.

  “Cripes.”

  “You did ask,” he said wryly, giving a small hiss of pain as he attempted to scoot higher on the mound of pillows.

  She pressed a hand to his shoulder, her brow furrowed with concern. “Don’t move.”

  “Then come closer.” He gave a firm, relentless tug on her hand. “I need to feel your heat.”

  Darcy wavered. It couldn’t be a good idea to snuggle with a vampire. Any vampire. And most especially one that made her entire body tremble with awareness.

  On the other hand, she had always been a sucker for any creature that was weak and injured.

  And for all his attempts to appear his usual arrogant self, there was no mistaking the pain that tightened his features and the weakness that plagued his splendid body.

  With a sigh at her own stupidity, she carefully scooted farther onto the soft mattress and stretched out next to his much larger form.

  She swallowed another sigh. This time at the startling pleasure as his arms curved gently around her and pressed her tightly to his chest.

  “Is that better?” she demanded, unable to stop herself from breathing deeply of his exotic male scent.

  She couldn’t even remember why she shouldn’t.

  Mmmmm.

  “Much better,” he whispered, his lips brushing over her temple.

  Oh. Her heart nearly halted.

  He needed to stop that.

  “Viper said you were attacked by Weres?” she managed to croak.

  His arms tightened. “They simply took advantage of my presence near their lair.”

  “Why were you near their lair?”

  Styx stilled at her question. As if he was forced to consider his answer.

  “I intended to punish him for trespassing on my territory,” he at last confessed in a cold tone.

  Darcy tilted back her head to regard him in shock. “You knew he was here?”

  “I could smell him on you.”

  She grimaced, resisting the urge to sniff at her skin. She had never been a stinky sort of person, but being surrounded by uber-noses was making her downright paranoid.

  “Oh.”

  The dark eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Why did you not tell me he had approached you?”

  “Because I knew you would seek him out and try to punish him.” She met his glare with steady determination. “I won’t be responsible for bloodshed, even if it’s not my own.”

  His annoyance wavered at her simple explanation. “I suppose it’s bad for your karma?”

  “Very bad.”

  His lips thinned as if he was battling the urge to smile. “What did he say to you?”

  “That he intends to rescue me from your evil clutches,” she retorted without thinking. Not until his arms tightened about her to the point of pain. She didn’t know if it was the thought of Salvatore plotting to rescue her or the bit about his evil clutches that had caused him to tighten his grip, but whichever it was that grip was enough to make her gasp. “Um, Styx, I’m human enough to need to breathe.”

  “Sorry.” The arms instantly loosened their grip, but only slightly. “Did he tell you how he intends to rescue you?”

  “No. Just that I should expect a message from him.”

  “And what of his reason for desiring you?”

  “He said that he couldn’t tell me because you would kill me if you discovered the truth.”

  “He claimed that I would kill you? The bastard.” He struggled to sit up, no doubt prepared to leap from the bed and seek out the Were. An obvious mistake, for he gave a sharp gasp and collapsed back on the bed. “Damn…”

  Worried that Styx had further injured himself. Darcy propped herself on her elbow and peered down at him with concern.

  “What can I do to help? I know of any number of herbs that will ease your pain.”

  His harsh features miraculously softened as he leached up to touch her cheek.

  It never failed to amaze her that such a large, formidable man could be so gentle.

  “I fear herbs have no effect on vampires.”

  She grimaced as she realized how ridiculous her offer had been. “No, I don’t suppose they would. You need blood.”

  He slowly nodded, pain still etched around his eyes. “Yes.”

  Darcy sucked in a deep breath, not giving herself time to consider the dangerous thought that popped into her mind.

  If she did, she would no doubt bolt from the room and never look back.

  “Is fresh blood better than the bottled?”

  His expression was wary as he cupped her cheek. “It is better, but not necessary. I will heal.”

  “But you would heal faster with fresh bloo
d?”

  He gave a sharp hiss. “Angel…”

  “Would you?” she pressed.

  “Do not offer, Darcy.” He closed his eyes as a shudder wracked his body. “You do not truly want this, but I am far too weak to resist temptation.”

  “You are not allowed to tell me what I truly want,” she protested, although she couldn’t deny there was some truth in his words.

  It wasn’t that she feared he would hurt her by taking blood. Heck, what was a little pain for a good cause? Instead, she remembered all too clearly just how pleasurable it could be.

  And she had to accept that there was a deep, dark longing inside her that wanted to feel that pleasure again.

  His eyes slowly opened as his lips curled in a weak smile. “Forgive me. I do not mean to offend your feminist heart, but there is no need for you to make such a sacrifice. I will send one of the Ravens for blood.”

  Darcy met his gaze squarely. She was not a subtle person. She was more the “call a spade a spade” kind of person.

  “Styx, do you want my blood or not?”

  His eyes widened, but he couldn’t disguise the tension in his body or the swift lengthening of his fangs.

  Oh yeah, he wanted.

  “Gods…” he whispered, his hand shifting to the back of her head. “If you knew how much I want you, you would be running from me in terror.”

  Darcy thought she might have been doing just that if her own body hadn’t been playing traitor.

  The heat sizzling in the air between them wasn’t just coming from Styx.

  She was putting out more than her fair share.

  Watching the emotions ripple over her face, Styx tugged her head downward, his touch so light that Darcy knew she could pull away at any moment.

  She expected him to go directly for her neck. He was a vampire, after all. Instead, his mouth found hers and she gave a soft moan as his tongue slipped between her lips.

  Yow. Yow. Yow.

  The man hadn’t wasted his last two thousand years. At least not in the kissing department. His lips were gentle, but there was an urgency in his touch, a restrained hunger, that made her feel fiercely desired.

  A feeling that was all too rare.

  Leaning into his chest, Darcy grabbed the long braid and began tugging the thick strands loose. Just once she wanted to see him draped in the satin length.

  His hands slid down her back, caressing the small swell before cupping her hips, and without warning he flipped her until she landed on top of his hard body.

  She pulled back with a small gasp. “You must be careful. Your injury.”

  A slow smile curved his lips as his hands slipped beneath her robe to stroke a path of searing heat over her skin.

  “Angel, it’s going to take more than an arrow in the chest to stop me from enjoying you in my arms,” he said huskily.

  Chapter Eight

  Styx growled deep in his throat.

  The pain and weakness still plagued him, but they were forgotten as the delectable heat of Darcy was draped over his body.

  His hands impatiently traced over her satin skin as he nibbled his way down the length of her jaw. His hunger screamed through his body, but he forced himself to relish each sweet kiss, each nip with his teeth, and stroke with his hands.

  Her tender heart had led her into his arms this night. Who knew if he would ever have such an opportunity again.

  He had to savor every moment.

  And savor. He traced the line of her vein down her throat with his tongue. And savor. His hands impatiently tugged off her heavy robe and tossed it onto the floor. And—he pulled her legs until she straddled his aching erection—savor.

  Her breath caught as he pressed his hardness against her. Styx stilled as he prepared for her to pull back in rejection. Her body was soft and eager, but he knew humans well enough to know that they often denied themselves what they most desired.

  There was a tense pause that felt like an eternity to Styx before she buried her face in his hair and moved her hips in a tantalizing invitation.

  “Darcy.” He managed to rip off the shreds of his shirt to feel her heat against him before angling his head and allowing his fangs to slip smoothly through her soft flesh.

  She gasped in startled pleasure, and with delicate care Styx sipped her precious blood.

  Life flowed through his body, healing his wounds and stirring sensations that made him shiver with need.

  It was a need that went beyond nutrition. Beyond healing. Even beyond sex.

  This was a need that came from a place deep inside him that he had forgotten he possessed.

  Moaning at the feel of her fingers smoothing through his hair, Styx allowed his hands to trail over the curve of her bottom to the softness of her inner thighs.

  Her skin was warm and smooth as satin as his finger tips traced down to the back of her knees, and then, back to the juncture between her legs.

  “Cripes,” she hissed as he allowed a finger to dip into her moistness.

  Retracting his fangs, Styx licked the small wounds closed and allowed his lips to trail down her neck and over her shoulder. By the gods, she tasted of innocence. The sort of innocence that came from the soul and heart. It was an erotic temptation that could drive a vampire to madness.

  “Angel, I want to be inside you. I want to feel you wrapped about me,” he said in a husky tone.

  “Yes.” Her face pressed into his neck and her hot breath sent a jolt of bliss down his spine. “Yes, I want that too.”

  He meant to say something romantic and charming, but he managed no more than a low growl as she gave his neck a sharp nip with her teeth. Desperate desire coursed through his body as he slipped his finger into her wetness and used his other hand to undo his pants and hastily yank them out of his way.

  In this moment he wasn’t the skilled vampire lover who offered pleasure with a remote detachment. He was just a man who was desperate to be inside a woman who was making him frantic with desire.

  “Angel. I cannot make this last.” he whispered, kissing a path down her collarbone and over the swell of her breast.

  Her fingers yanked at his hair, the small pain only increasing his fevered passions.

  “Then don’t,” she commanded in a hoarse tone.

  He didn’t. Capturing her nipple in his mouth, he allowed his fangs to gently press into her skin even as he shifted her over his erection and slid deep into her heat.

  Darcy gave a startled gasp. Her head arched back as her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

  Styx paused to give her a moment to adjust.

  And a moment to gather his own control.

  Nothing had ever felt so good as being thrust in her body, her wet tightness squeezing him until he feared he might not last more than a stroke.

  Waiting until she began to move her hips of her own will, Styx caught her slow rhythm and rocked himself ever deeper. His eyes closed as the pleasure surged through his body. The heat, the scent, the feel of her was cloaking him in a dark bliss.

  “Styx…” she whispered, her breath coming in small pants.

  He sucked deeper of her blood, clutching her hips in his hands as he stroked into her over and over. There was no sound but the meeting of their flesh and her low moans of pleasure. Outside the Ravens would be keeping watch and the gargoyle was no doubt causing some sort of havoc.

  In this room, however, the world had disappeared and there was nothing but this woman who was becoming far too necessary to his life.

  Opening his eyes to watch Darcy moving above him, Styx quickened his pace. He could sense her hovering climax. It was near. So near.

  Just for a moment he was distracted by the sheer beauty of her face caught in the throes of pleasure. The softly flushed features. The eyes darkened and half closed. The lips parted in passion. It was a sight he wanted branded into his mind for all eternity.

  She gave a small scream as the orgasm overwhelmed her and the soft clenching around his erection tumbled him sharply
over the edge.

  The release hit him with shocking force.

  With a rasping groan he lifted his hips off the bed and sank as deep within her as he could go.

  “Bloody hell, angel,” he gasped.

  “Wow.” She flopped onto his chest with a deep sigh. “Are you healed?”

  Styx smiled wryly as he glanced down to where the arrow had pierced his chest. He had forgotten all about the wound.

  No surprise there.

  “I am as good as new,” he said.

  “As good as new, eh?” She propped herself on her arms to make her own diagnosis. Styx groaned as the movement made him harden inside her. She seemed unaware of the danger as she stared at his chest with obvious interest. “Good lord, there’s barely a mark.”

  “Your blood is far more potent than most humans’,” he said huskily.

  She grimaced at his words. As if not pleased at being reminded she was not entirely human.

  “That’s quite a tattoo you’ve got going on there,” she said, clearly determined to change the conversation.

  Styx glanced down at the golden dragon with its crimson wings that was etched over his skin. He had possessed it for so many years that he rarely recalled he even carried the demon mark.

  “It’s not a tattoo.”

  Her brows arched in disbelief. “You’re not going to convince me that it’s a birthmark.”

  “No. It’s the mark of CuChulainn.”

  She regarded him blankly. “And that would be?”

  He paused. He found himself reluctant to discuss the violent trial by combat. Not out of concern for revealing secrets. But quite simply because of her innate innocence.

  “The mark of a clan chief,” he at last admitted. “It is given after enduring the battles of Durotriges.”

  She wrinkled her pretty nose. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “They are an organized means of choosing our leaders. I assure you that while they are bloody and often lethal, they prevent open warfare.”

  She was unimpressed by his claim. Of course, she had no notion of the endless years of barbaric hostilities they had endured. Or the brutal slaughter of hapless demons caught in the fray.

  Styx, however, remembered all too vividly.

  It was the only reason he had agreed to be shoved into the position of the Anasso.