Smart vampire.
Even if he was about to die.
Again.
"Your theatrics do not frighten me, Styx," Desmond managed to rasp even as he shuffled beneath the malevolent stare. "You are surrounded and your mate is within my grasp. You will do as you're told or pay the consequences."
Styx could see the vampire's lips moving. No doubt he was making some sort of threat or another, but he was long past listening. The only sound that mattered was the thunder of the power that rushed through his body.
Deepening the chill that swirled through the air, he moved forward, ignoring the arrow that whizzed past his ear.
"Styx?" Desmond stumbled back, his hands held outward. "Don't be a fool. My clan will kill you . . ." His words of warning came to a halt as Styx wrapped his hands around the scrawny throat and squeezed.
Shouts of alarm filled the air, and lifting the squirming vampire, Styx easily used Desmond's body to block the flurry of arrows. Desmond groaned as the projectiles plunged deep into his back, the silver burning his flesh.
From behind, Styx could sense the rush of an attack, and with a derisive motion he tossed Desmond toward the vampires, who were regarding their leader with horror. Instinctively they scrambled to assist the chief, leaving Styx free to turn and meet the charge of the infuriated Jacob.
The vampire was nearly as large as himself and deranged by his own anger, but his power was no match for Styx.
With a roar Jacob launched toward Styx's throat only to give a growl of frustration when Styx easily sidestepped his charge. As he moved, Styx swept out his leg and easily tripped the fool. In the blink of an eye, he pulled his long sword from its sheath, and while the vampire was struggling to push himself upright, Styx was slicing his weapon through the air.
Jacob didn't even manage to get to his knees when Styx sliced the sword through the back of his neck, taking off his head with one smooth motion.
Not waiting for the body to disintegrate, Styx kicked it aside and whirled just in time to meet the stake being thrust straight at his heart.
He jerked up his arm in time to take the blow. The stake sank deep into the muscles of his forearm, but he didn't so much as flinch. He had avoided a killing strike, and now it was his turn.
The attacking vampire widened his eyes as Styx's hand closed over his fingers holding the stake. The bones cracked beneath the pressure as Styx yanked the stake free and slowly turned it toward the vampire's heart.
There was a brief struggle as the younger man's panic lent him a surge of strength, but the end was predictable.
Still keeping the vampire's fingers crushed against the stake, Styx gave a low growl and shoved it into the narrow chest.
There was a grunt of pain before the vampire was falling backward and hitting the ground in a shower of dust.
A place deep within Styx mourned the loss of his brothers. Enemies or not they were still of one blood. The grief, however, did not halt him as he clutched his sword and turned toward the remaining vampires.
They intended to harm Darcy. For that they would die.
Two of the clansmen were still bent over their fallen leader, but three others were gathering their courage to attack.
Styx widened his stance and bent his knees as he prepared for the charge. They would be trained to separate and surround him. He couldn't allow that to happen.
He would have to strike, and strike quickly.
Tilting back his head, he gave a low roar and called on the power that flowed through his blood.
Viper was cursing as the van at last came to a halt and his clansmen poured in the night to surround the house.
He hadn't wanted to leave Styx. A vampire did not abandon a brother on the battlefield. Especially not when that brother was the Anasso.
But once Styx gave a command he had no choice but to obey. And in truth, it had been far more sensible for him to go in search of reinforcements. For him to have remained would only have ensured both their deaths.
The logic, however, didn't ease the cold dread that clutched at his heart, or lessen the fury that pounded through his blood.
He wanted to kill something.
A lot of somethings.
Flowing toward the back of the house. Viper held his sword in one hand and a lethal silver dagger in the other. He could smell death in the cold air. More than one vampire had died. And recently.
Bloody hell.
If Styx were ...
The dark, horrible thought had barely had time to form when a hair-raising roar shattered the night.
A grim smile touched Viper's lips.
Styx.
He was still alive. And in a very, very bad mood.
With a last burst of speed, Viper rounded the corner of the house and then came to a startled halt as he watched Styx launch himself toward the three charging vampires.
Or at least tried to watch.
Styx was little more than a blur of speed as he flowed forward. There was a flash of steel and one of the vampires tumbled headless to the ground before the poor fools ever realized their danger.
The remaining two halted in shock before attempting to backpedal out of the reach of the whirling sword.
It was a wasted effort.
An icy mist formed around their bodies as Styx held them in place with his fierce power. They were helpless to do anything but watch their own death stalk toward them.
With an effort Viper shook off his grim fascination with the slaughter and turned his attention to his surroundings.
Three vampires remained toward the edge of the yard, one stretched on the ground and obviously wounded, and two others frantically attempting to tend to him.
Giving a lift of his hand, Viper directed his clansmen toward the distant traitors. He had commanded to take as many alive as possible. Not out of any sort of sympathy. Hell, he would willingly bind each of the vampires to the ground and leave them for the sun. But he understood the wisdom of making an example of Desmond and his clan. He wanted their executions so visible that no other chief would ever again be stupid enough to dare raise a hand toward the Anasso.
He waited until his men had the vampires wrestled to the ground and safely in the silver shackles he had brought before returning his attention to Styx.
There was only one vampire remaining.
Viper hesitated.
He should no doubt intervene.
Styx was out of his mind with fury, but eventually he would come back to his senses and he might very well feel regret at the carnage. The vampire had always been way too concerned with morals and ethics.
One glance at the bronzed face, however, halted any thought of stepping between the man and his enemy.
There was no mistaking that bleak, ruthless expression.
The vampire had released his battle lust. Perhaps for the first time in his entire existence.
Anyone stupid enough to step in Styx's path was doomed to death.
Even Viper himself.
Inching close enough to take action should things start to go wrong, Viper allowed himself to simply enjoy the sight of Styx as he prowled forward, the sword moving in an intricate, beautiful dance.
All vampires were blessed with strength and power, but few could match Styx in either. And even fewer could claim his lethal skill with weapons.
He was a master doing his thing, and it was a pleasure to watch.
The terrified vampire managed to raise the crossbow he held in his hand and aim it in Styx's direction. The effort was too little and far too late. With a large bound Styx was standing directly before him yanking the crossbow from his hands and crushing it with a low growl.
Stupidly the vampire did not fall to his knees and beg for mercy as he should have. Instead, he fumbled beneath his cloak for some hidden weapon.
A lethal smile touched Styx's lips as he lifted his sword. There was a blur of movement, and the young vampire was suddenly standing without his head.
Viper grimaced.
Yow. Battle lust, indeed.
He stepped forward, intending to capture his friend's attention when Styx tilted back his head to sniff the air. With a motion too swift to track, he whipped around to study the vampires who were neatly shackled and guarded by Viper's clansmen.
A low growl made the hair on the back of Viper's neck stir. Oh, shit.
Styx still smelled blood. And at the moment he had no real understanding of friend or foe. To him anything moving was fair game.
It was going to be up to Viper to somehow calm the ravaging beast.
Perfect. Just freaking perfect.
Slipping his sword into its sheath, Viper was careful to keep the dagger in his hand as he moved toward his friend. He didn't want to hurt Styx, but he couldn't allow him to kill his clansmen.
Muttering a curse, Viper forced himself forward. Once Styx started his charge there would be no stopping him.
Making a wide circle, Viper made sure that Styx had plenty of opportunity to see him before he began his approach. A wise man never approached a twitchy vampire from behind.
"Styx. My lord." He held his hands up in a gesture of peace. "It's over. The enemy has been defeated."
The dark eyes flashed toward Viper, but there was no indication that he truly saw him.
At least not anything more than an irritating impediment to his goal.
"Desmond lives," the towering vampire bit out in an awful voice.
"He is properly shackled," Viper said slowly. "If he manages to survive his injuries he will be executed before the Committee and clan chiefs. He must be made a lesson to others."
Styx hissed, his eyes still unfocused and glittering with death. "He will die by my hands."
"Of course he will," Viper soothed. "But only after he has been branded and condemned by our people."
Without warning Styx shot out his hand to grab Viper by the front of his shirt and yanked him off his feet.
"Darcy," Styx growled.
Viper resisted the urge to struggle against Styx's grasp. He wasn't hurting him ... yet. He didn't want to provoke his friend into violence.
Especially when he was in direct line for that violence.
"Darcy is not here, my friend," he said firmly. "She is safe with Dante and Abby."
"No." Styx gave him a sharp shake. "She is in danger."
Damn newly mated vampires, Viper silently cursed.
"My lord, you are not thinking clearly—"
His words were choked off as Styx gave him another shake. "The vampires whom I took under my protection are traitors."
Viper gave a shocked hiss. "You are certain?"
"They sought my protection only to find my vulnerability for their master. They found it in Darcy."
"This was an attempted coup d'elal?"
"Yes."
Viper cursed, furious that he had been so blind. He should have sensed there was something off about Desmond and his bumbling rampage through town. He should have taken the trouble to investigate what the clan chief was up to before putting his Anasso in danger.
"Bloody hell."
The black eyes flashed. "They must be punished."
"In time." Reaching up, Viper grasped Styx's wrist and, with a mighty tug, managed to break loose from his hold. "First we have to get back and warn Darcy."
The bronzed features tightened with an agony so intense that Viper could physically feel his pain.
"They already have her," he rasped. "They are bringing her here."
Shit. Viper clasped his friend's shoulder, praying for all their sakes that Darcy hadn't been harmed.
He wasn't sure he could halt the bloodbath if Styx went over the edge.
"If that's true then we need to get ready to capture them," he said. "But I think we had better contact Dante. The two vampires might have planned to take Darcy, but I doubt they would have found it an easy task." He smiled wryly. "Your mate possesses many hidden talents."
Styx slowly fell to his knees, his face buried in his hands.
"I at last understand."
Viper knelt at his side, his arm around his shoulders. "You understand what?"
Styx lifted his head to regard Viper with haunted eyes. "I understand what you meant when you said you would sacrifice everything to keep your mate safe."
"Yes." Viper gave a slow nod. "You are well and truly mated, old friend. But there will be no sacrifices necessary on this night. Soon enough Darcy will be back in your arms, where she belongs."
Darcy wasn't at all surprised to awaken with a headache the size of Texas. Or a jaw so swollen it felt as if she had stuffed a grapefruit in her cheek. She wasn't even surprised to discover she was in a strange room and chained to a bed.
In fact, it all seemed fairly par for the course.
How scary was that?
Swallowing a groan, she managed to force her heavy lids open and glanced cautiously about the room.
It was barely worth the effort.
There was nothing to see. Not unless you counted the faux wood paneling that was haphazardly nailed to the walls and puke-yellow carpeting that was growing a lovely crop of mold.
It was a narrow, grim room that looked exactly like any other room in a seedy hotel. She had lived in enough of them to recognize it by its stench.
No, not exactly like any other seedy hotel, she acknowledged as she turned her head enough to see the heavy bars across the window. They were obviously a new addition that did nothing to lighten the morose ambiance.
And ridiculously unnecessary considering she was chained and leashed like a raving lunatic.
Shifting on the hard mattress, Darcy glared down at the iron shackles that encircled her wrists. They were connected to heavy chains that were bolted to the floor. Chains that no doubt weighed as much as herself.
If her kidnappers thought she was the most dangerous creature to hit Chicago since Al Capone, or they needed her chained and helpless for a reason.
Crap.
She hoped it was the scary Al Capone option.
Nothing good could come from someone wanting a person chained and helpless.
Ignoring the lingering pain in her head, Darcy wriggled on the narrow mattress, using her feet to help push herself up the headboard to a seated position.
She was no closer to escape, but at least she didn't feel quite so helpless.
Thank Cod since the door across the room was being thrust open to reveal a now familiar woman.
Her own beloved mother.
The rotten bitch.
Darcy was momentarily shocked by the force of her anger toward the woman who supposedly gave birth to her.
Granted their first meeting had hardly been the stuff of dreams. Not unless her dreams included being cold-cocked, kidnapped, and chained to a bed. But while she could reasonably expect a sense of betrayal and even disappointment, the sharp, tangible anger was definitely out of character.
Perhaps because Darcy could no longer cling to her childhood fantasy of a mother who was kind and gentle and loving.
A mother who had been forced to give her up. but still held a deep affection for her lost child.
The knowledge left an aching hole in her heart and made her long to lash out at the woman who had created it.
After closing the door, the woman casually strolled toward the bed. Darcy shivered as a strange prickle ran over her skin. It was a sensation she was beginning to associate with being in the presence of a Were.
As if something in her body recognized she was in the company of her own species.
Oh ... poop.
Halting near the window, the woman folded her arms over her chest and allowed her gaze to take in the sight of Darcy.
She didn't appear particularly impressed with her daughter. Not surprising. Darcy was well aware she looked like a grunge groupie. Her mother, on the other hand, was boasting an ivory pantsuit that looked like it came straight out of the fashion pages, and her hair had been elegantly braided and coiled at the nape of her neck.
She
would have been stunningly beautiful if her expression hadn't been cold enough to frost the air.
"So you are awake," the woman commented in an offhand tone.
Darcy narrowed her gaze. "So it would seem."
"I was beginning to fear that I had hit you too hard. It would be a shame to have killed you after we have at last found you again."
The anger humming through Darcy's body picked up steam.
That was what her dear, beloved mother had to say?
That she was glad she hadn't killed her?
"Please, your concern is overwhelming," Darcy gritted.
A mocking smile touched her mother's perfect lips. "Would you rather that I kiss your boo-boo and make it better?"
"Considering you were the one to give me the boo-boo I think I'll pass."
"Suit yourself."
Darcy shifted on the mattress, a surge of irritation rushing through her at the dull rattle of chains.
"Since I'm obviously to be a guest here, whether I want to be or not, I think you should at least introduce yourself."
"But you already know, my dearest child." The mocking smile widened. "Of course, I shall become quite violent if you dare to call me mother. I am Sophia."
Sophia. Somehow it suited her, Darcy decided. Far more than mother ever would.
"It never occurred to me to call you mother," she lardy assured her companion. "Where am I?"
"Salvatore's lair." Sophia cast a disparaging glance around the room. "A pigsty, isn't it?"
"I've seen worse."
"Perhaps you have." Her mother tilted her head to one side as she studied Darcy's fierce gaze. "You have a fragile look to you, but there is fire in your eyes. As is only fitting for your position. You will need a great deal of fire, my daughter. Weakness is not tolerated among the purebloods."
"I'm assuming that good manners aren't high on the list either." Darcy glanced pointedly at the shackles. "When I used to fantasize about meeting my mother it didn't include being attacked and chained to a bed."
"It is not how I would have wished our first meeting to be, but it is entirely your own fault, you know."
"My fault?"
Sophia lifted her hand to study her perfect manicure. "You should have listened to Salvatore when he first approached you. It would have saved us all a great deal of trouble."
Guardians of Eternity 03 - Darkness Everlasting Page 26