Guardians of Eternity 03 - Darkness Everlasting

by Alexandra Ivy

  "Styx," she breathed, barely resisting the urge to grab his hair and drag him back up to cover her.

  "Yes, angel?" he demanded while planting those maddening kisses over the gentle swell of her stomach.

  "You said now."

  He laughed softly as he settled even more firmly between her legs and nuzzled the inner softness of her thigh.

  "So I did." His tongue stroked over her skin. "And I am always a man of my word."

  Expecting him to shift over her, Darcy was unprepared when she felt a faint pressure and then Styx's fangs sliding deep into her thigh.

  She gave a small yelp as she nearly leaped off the bed. Not in pain, or even fear. But simply in pure erotic bliss.

  Nothing, nothing at all, could compare to the sensation of such an intimate vampire feeding.

  With each pull her entire body tightened, spiraling higher and higher. Her heart thundered and her breath was locked in her lungs.

  It was too much.

  She gave a strangled moan and, as if waiting for that particular sound, Styx began moving with fluid speed. He kneeled between her spread legs, his hands shifting beneath her hips to lift her lower body off the mattress.

  Darcy was briefly startled, feeling oddly vulnerable as he gazed down at her with smoldering desire. Then any coherent thought was vanquished as with one firm thrust he entered her.

  Her teeth clenched as he stretched and filled her completely. She could feel him in every part of her body as if his essence was spreading through her very blood.

  For a moment he held himself still, as if savoring the feel of being so deeply speared within her. Only when she was certain that she could bear no more did he slowly begin to rock his hips, pumping himself in and out of her with a steady pace.

  Her legs wrapped around his waist as she welcomed him into her body, meeting each thrust with a lift of her hips.

  He gave a deep groan as his head fell back and his face tightened with a sensual concentration. His hair flowed down his back and the small medallion slid over the smooth bronze of his chest.

  Darcy was quite certain she had never seen anything so beautiful.

  Her dark, powerful Aztec.

  His pace quickened, driving him deeper and deeper into her, and Darcy closed her eyes as her lower body clenched with that sweet tension. A shimmering joy hummed through her, sharpening and focusing until at last her release exploded with a shattering force.

  She cried out at the same moment that Styx gave a low shout, and with one last, delicious thrust, he buried himself deep inside her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Salvatore returned to his decrepit lair and closeted himself in his cramped office.

  Some might claim that he had gone in there to sulk. Never to his face, of course. But Salvatore contented himself with the thought that he was merely considering his options.

  Almost absently he gazed out the darkened window as he recalled his brief encounter with Darcy.

  She was a beautiful thing. There was no questioning that. And he was confident he would have no trouble bedding the woman. Which, of course, was the entire point of tracking her down.

  Still, he couldn't deny that she was not his usual type.

  There was none of the dangerous fire that might lash out with lethal force. None of the raw, smoldering sensuality that enticed every male in her vicinity. None of the restless energy that marked most Weres.

  She was a vegetarian, for Christ's sake.

  He gave a faint shake of his head before he plucked the crossbow from his desk. It was aimed directly at the door as it was pushed open to reveal the hulking form of Hess.

  The weapon remained steadily pointed at the man's chest as Salvatore glared toward the unwelcome intruder.

  "I warned you, Hess, I'm in no mood to be bothered," he snarled.

  The cur gave a shallow bow, his gaze remaining on the lethal arrow.

  "There is a car arriving, my king," he warned.

  With a frown, Salvatore glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, a long, gleaming limo pulled to a halt in front of the building. His muscles tensed. There was only one person who would dare to draw such unnecessary, gaudy attention.

  The last person he desired to see at this moment.

  "Damn," he muttered, not bothering to watch the woman slide from the back of the huge car.

  Returning his attention to Hess, he tossed the crossbow onto the desk and replaced it with two silver daggers that he slipped into sheathes hidden beneath his jacket. Unlike Darcy, this woman was always eager to unleash her more feral nature.

  "Take the curs to the street and don't return until I give you word," he commanded as he smoothed his hair from his face.

  "You want us to hide?"

  Salvatore smiled at the cur's ruffled pride.

  "Sophia possesses a temper even worse than my own, and she is not going to be pleased with the news I have to share. I don't want any accidental deaths before she has an opportunity to calm down."

  "Oh." Hess swallowed heavily. "Good thought."

  "Yes."

  Salvatore watched as the cur scurried from the room.

  He could trust Hess to gather the rest of the pack and hustle them safely out of the building.

  Of course, that meant he would be alone to face the queen's wrath.

  Leaning casually against the edge of the desk, he was as prepared as he was going to get when the powerful pureblood swept through the door and moved to stand directly before him.

  Any other man would have fallen to his knees at the sight of her. Not only was she drop-dead gorgeous in her skintight leather pants and barely there halter top, but the air around her actually seemed to smolder with sexual invitation.

  It took another Were to sense the predatory hunger that shimmered in her green eyes and her love for violence in the hard edge of her smile.

  "Ah, Salvatore, as devastatingly gorgeous as ever," she purred as she boldly pressed her body against his. "Mmm . . . surely you have a kiss for your queen?"

  Salvatore grasped her upper arms. "Not now."

  She gave a taunting laugh as her hand ran down his body to cup his cock. His teeth snapped together as she gave a teasing squeeze.

  "You are such a naughty boy to keep me from sharing all this delicious goodness."

  Salvatore pushed her sharply away. He didn't mind a predatory woman, but he did draw the line at offering his seed to a woman who shared her bed with a dozen men. All at the same time.

  He was a king, not a lowly member of the pack.

  He would choose his consort, and she would belong to him alone.

  "Now is not the time for this," he growled.

  Sophia's beautiful features, which looked as youthful as those of a teenager, despite the fact that she was well over three hundred years old, briefly hardened before she forced a tight smile to her lips.

  "Still sulking because I refuse to give you exclusive use of my body?"

  He gave a lift of his brows. "Not even exclusive use could tempt me to taste what has been shared by every Were and cur on five continents."

  With a blur of movement, Sophia reached out to backhand him. Salvatore accepted the blow with a faint smile that was designed to irritate.

  "You bastard. You may be king, but you do not yet rule me," she hissed.

  That was true enough. As a pureblood who had managed to become regularly pregnant and to even whelp a full-term litter, this woman was revered among all Weres.

  Until he could produce his own litter, he was forced to offer her at least a measure of respect.

  "Then keep your hands off me unless you're invited."

  She snapped her teeth at him before turning to stroll around the cramped room. A hint of disdain touched her face at the shoddy surroundings.

  Not surprising.

  Sophia was more the Ritz-Carlton than slumming it type.

  "Where is your pack?" she at last demanded when she came to a stop.

  "Patrolling the streets."


  Her lips curled. "You fear an attack here?"

  Salvatore straightened from the desk. "Do I look stupid? Of course I fear an attack. The vamps would love nothing better than to exterminate us once and for all."

  "Tell me of this Styx."

  "Cold and dead and too arrogant to know he should be in his grave," Salvatore snapped. He detested vampires under the best of circumstances, and he had had a belly full of Styx, freaking master of the universe.

  Sophia laughed at his sharp tone. "Ah, you reek of jealousy, Salvatore. This vampire has really managed to crawl beneath your fur. I must meet him."

  He forced a smile to his lips. "I'll arrange a meeting if you want, although I really must warn you that he obviously prefers a ... younger version of you."

  A sudden heat crackled through the room, as if lightning was about to strike. Sophia was not without power, or a temper to rival his.

  With an effort, the woman controlled her savage anger and stabbed Salvatore with a smoldering glare.

  "Where is the girl?"

  "Darcy?" Salvatore deliberately used her name. Despite the fact that Sophia had given birth to the four female babies, she possessed no maternal feelings. To her mind, her duty ended once the babies left her body. It was the pack's responsibility to raise them. Of course, these babies were special enough that she had been forced to join in the search once they were lost. A fact that had done nothing to improve her temper. "She is not currently here."

  Predictably the green eyes flashed with fury. "And what the hell does that mean? Not currently here? You told me you had her in your grasp."

  He shrugged. "Do not worry. I have spoken with her. It is only a matter of time before she contacts me again."

  Her low growl trickled through the room. "What did you say to her?"

  "I told her that she had a family who was very anxious to meet her." His lips twisted with sardonic humor. "Especially her most devoted mother."

  Sophia ignored the sarcasm as she returned to her pacing. "She knows what she is?"

  Salvatore shivered at the feel of heat that swirled through the room. It had been too long since he had taken a pureblood to his bed.

  He needed Darcy, and he needed her soon.

  "I tried to tell her." A surge of annoyance tightened his expression. "Not surprising, she was less than convinced. She didn't even believe in werewolves until a few days ago."

  "I should have known you would make a botch of this."

  "A botch?" His hands itched to circle her slender neck. He was king. His decisions were not open to debate. "I notice you do not have any of your delightful daughters tied to your apron strings. I, at least, have managed to locate and make contact with Darcy. It is considerably more than you have been able to do."

  Sophia moved with sinuous grace to sand before him. "And where is she now? In the hands of the vampires?" she sneered. "Ah yes, you've done a magnificent job."

  He resisted the urge to once again push her away. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing her proximity bothered him.

  "As I said, she will soon come searching for me. I have the answers she so desperately desires."

  "You fool. We can't sit around simply hoping she might decide to contact you."

  "What do you intend to do?"

  "I intend to bring my daughter home."

  His eyes narrowed. "Or more likely send her fleeing in terror."

  "And what is that supposed to mean?"

  "Darcy was raised by humans," he reminded her in a mocking tone. "Do you truly think that you can play the role of June Cleaver?"

  Her lip curled. "I can for long enough to lure her from the arms of her vampire. After that, any doting will have to be done by you."

  Doting?

  Salvatore gave a mental shrug. He had never tried doting, but if that's what it took to get Darcy in his bed, then so be it.

  He needed heirs. Strong heirs who could replenish the fading Weres.

  He would do whatever was necessary to achieve that.

  Styx realized that he had completely lost his wits.

  There was no other explanation for why he was anxiously pacing the floor while Darcy dressed in the adjoining bathroom.

  By the gods, the woman was twenty-five feet away. Close enough he could hear her every movement and smell the warm scent of her skin. He could be at her side within less than a blink of an eye.

  But the mere fact that there was a slender door between the two of them was enough to make him long to snarl and snap with aggravation.

  It went beyond ridiculous.

  Tugging on his clothes with a sharp impatience, Styx was still chiding himself on his strange unease when a faint, muffled cry echoed through the room.

  With a flare of fear he was across the room and smashing the door open. His gaze swept the bathroom, searching for whatever had made Darcy cry out.

  What he discovered was Darcy seated on the edge of the vast tub wearing only her jeans and a lacy bra as she regarded her arm with horror.

  Presuming she must have somehow hurt herself, he flowed to her side and knelt before her.

  "Darcy," he said softly, waiting until her gaze at last lifted to meet his concerned regard. "Angel, what is it?"

  "My arm." Looking oddly dazed, she held out her arm. "There's something wrong with it."

  He carefully cradled her arm in his hands, his lingers instinctively tightening as he caught sight of the crimson scrolling that crawled beneath the skin of her forearm.

  Just for a moment he stilled, attempting to accept what he was seeing. It wasn't that he didn't know what it was. Every vampire could recognize such an ancient symbol.

  And it wasn't even that some part of him hadn't expected the appearance of the mark. He had known from the beginning that his reaction to this woman was for more powerful than it should be. And when she had taken his blood into her, it had all but settled the issue.

  Still, it took a long minute before realization truly settled into his mind.

  A realization that was swiftly followed by a flash of overwhelming satisfaction.

  A fierce male joy in possession.

  It was his reaction that shocked him more than anything.

  "Bloody hell," he at last breathed.

  "What?" Her fingers curled into a fist as she struggled to contain her panic. "Am I sick? Do I have some disease?"

  Styx sternly shook off his shock and forced himself to concentrate on the woman seated before him.

  She had no idea what was happening to her. The question was whether not knowing or knowing would terrify her more.

  "No." He forced his fingers to loosen although he was wise enough to keep his grip on her. "You are perfectly fine, Darcy, that I promise you."

  "You know what this is?"

  He hesitated before giving a slow nod. "Yes."

  "Tell me," she demanded.

  "Do you swear that you won't run from me if I tell you the truth?"

  She sucked in a sharp breath. "Dammit, Styx, you're scaring me."

  He leaned close, his gaze boring into her own. "There is nothing to be frightened of, angel, but I want your promise that you will hear me out before you do something reckless."

  A portion of her fear oddly seemed to fade as her wariness deepened. No doubt she was beginning to suspect that the crimson that shimmered beneath her skin had nothing to do with any fatal disease.

  "Did you do this to me?" she demanded.

  "I do not yet have your promise, Darcy."

  "For God's sake, just tell me," she rasped with impatience.

  Accepting that he wasn't about to receive any promise, Styx tightened his grip. Obviously he would have to take direct measures to make sure that she didn't manage to slip away.

  "This is the mark of mating," he said softly.

  Her wide gaze lowered to her arm. "I have a tattoo because we slept together? Jeez. That's something you might have mentioned. I mean . . . crap, what does it say? I had sex with Styx?"

  He hid his
flare of amusement at her outrage. Ah, if it were only that simple.

  "It is a symbol, Darcy, not words, and you do not have it because we had sex. It is the physical representation of an ancient bonding."

  "Could you say that again in English?" she demanded.

  He swallowed a sigh. She was not a vampire and had no knowledge of the demon world, he reminded himself sternly. She was bound to be confused.

  "It is the mark of a true mating."

  "True mating?" Her face visibly paled. "As in ... happily ever after and after and after?"

  "In part."

  "What do you mean, in part?"

  "This mark reveals that you are my true mate, but for a complete melding, you would have to open yourself to me utterly and without hesitation."

  He felt her stiffen before she pulled free of his grasp and rose to her feet. Grudgingly he allowed her the small amount of space. He could easily halt her if she bolted for the door.

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, she regarded him with troubled green eyes.

  "Okay, let me get this straight I have this... thing on my arm and now we're mates?"

  "I am bonded to you as your mate," he explained cautiously.

  "And that means what?"

  "It means that I belong to you and you alone for all eternity. There will never be another for me."

  She blinked, as if stunned by his frank confession. "Yow."

  His lips twisted. "That is one way of putting it."

  "And what about me? Do I belong to you?"

  A dark emotion flared to life within Styx.

  Of course she belonged to him. He would kill anyone who tried to take her away.

  With an effort he struggled to control the savage desire to yank her into his arms and warn her that he would never let her go.

  He had made enough mistakes with Darcy. He wouldn't force or manipulate her into becoming his mate, no matter how desperately he wanted her.

  "You must willingly offer yourself, as I took your blood to become mated."

  "But... I have offered myself willingly on more than one occasion."

  "Not your body, Darcy." He sought for words to explain the mystical union. "You must offer your heart and your soul. Your very essence."

  She considered for a long moment. "What happens if I don't?"