Beyond the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  “He was secretive. Short-tempered. Dangerously unstable,” he admitted, recalling his resentment as Mackenzie increasingly ignored his duties to the Weres and remained alone in his lair. “I thought he was battling the Telos.”

  “What’s that?”

  He considered his words. “Like all immortals, Weres are vulnerable to the punishment of time,” he at last said. “Endless days that become decades and centuries and millennia. Despair can be as destructive as any illness.”

  The hazel eyes darkened, perhaps for the first time comprehending that immortality had a cost.

  “What happens?”

  “It’s different for each individual.” He stroked his thumb over her knuckles, comforted by the feel of her satin skin. It was said that Weres who found a true mate never endured the Telos. “Most complain of a numbing apathy or a lurking darkness they can’t escape. Eventually they call on the Vekpos, a mystical fire that will consume a pureblood from the inside out.”

  “Yikes.” Harley grimaced. “We can’t do it by accident, can we?”

  “No. A Were must be in the throes of the Telos for the power to emerge, and it’s a very rare occurrence. Most Weres are too violent not to die in battle long before the threat of ennui can consume them.”

  She choked back a laugh. “Fantastic. I’m completely reassured.”

  “You asked.”

  “The previous king had this…” She stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “Telos?”

  He shook his head, turning to absently study the pastel paintings hung on the wall.

  “That was my assumption. And when his ashes were discovered in his lair, it simply confirmed my theory.”

  “Sounds fairly cut-and-dry,” she pointed out. “Just because Briggs made some wild accusations doesn’t make them true.”

  Intellectually, Salvatore agreed.

  Briggs had been an accomplished liar long before he’d ever traded his soul for power. Hell, he’d nearly convinced the Roman werewolf pack to return to the ancient tradition of sacrificing humans to appease the Were gods before Salvatore had stepped in and halted the nonsense.

  His instinct, however, refused to dismiss the wild claim.

  He couldn’t afford to overlook any possibility.

  God knew his blind assumptions had already led to near disaster.

  “No, but even at the time I knew that the Telos didn’t completely explain Mackenzie’s furtive habits,” his voice thickened with self-disgust. Maybe if he hadn’t ignored the vague doubts about Mackenzie all those centuries ago, he could have stopped Briggs before he managed to acquire his black powers. Then he gave a shake of his head. There was no going back, only forward. “Those who are committed to death devote their last years performing small rituals to easing the grief of those they’ll leave behind.”

  She squeezed his hand, as if sensing his inner torment. “What sort of rituals?”

  “They give away their belongings, they travel to visit the burial grounds of their ancestors, they surround themselves with the pack.”

  “Grim, but understandable, I suppose.” She wrinkled her nose. “What did Mackenzie do?”

  “He hid in his lair, refusing my pleas to return to his throne, even as the Were packs fractured and turned on each other.”

  She considered his explanation a long moment, then astonishingly, cut straight to the heart of the matter.

  “Did the Weres begin losing their powers beneath the previous king?”

  Salvatore surged to his feet, hating the knowledge that he was stumbling through the dark, constantly one step behind.

  Dio. The fate of the Weres depended on him.

  If he failed, they all failed.

  “It’s difficult to pinpoint an exact moment or even decade, but it was whispered that the decline started shortly after Mackenzie’s reign began.” His wolf prowled just below his skin, needing a tangible enemy to rip into shreds. “Maybe he sensed the encroaching weakness and turned to desperate measures.”

  Harley crossed to his side, her brow furrowed. “Or maybe he used the black magic to become king, and that started the troubles.”

  Salvatore gritted his teeth, wanting to deny that any king would be willing to put his own ambitions ahead of the good of his people, but the lies wouldn’t pass his lips.

  Magic couldn’t force the throne to accept a Were as king, but a corrupt Were could certainly use it to clear the field of contenders.

  “It’s possible that Mackenzie used black magic to dispose of the true heirs ahead of him.”

  “Wait.” Her eyes widened, as she was struck by a sudden thought. “If he sold his soul to the devil, why wasn’t he offered the Lazarus treatment that Briggs got?”

  Salvatore shrugged. “Maybe Briggs made a pact with the same devil to make certain Mackenzie couldn’t rise again.”

  “Honor among thieves, and all that?”

  “Briggs is desperate for the throne.”

  Harley shuddered, wrapping her arms around her waist. Salvatore didn’t blame her. Briggs was shudder-worthy.

  “So how does Caine fit into all this?”

  Salvatore felt another pang of self-disgust. He’d been following Brigg’s false trails for years. Like a particularly stupid hound hunting the chickens and allowing the fox to escape his notice.

  “A distraction,” he gritted.

  She snorted. “He wasn’t much of a distraction considering he spent most of his time cowering in his various lairs.”

  “Actually, you and your sisters were the true distractions,” he corrected. “Briggs knew that I would follow your trail anywhere in the world, and that I wouldn’t rest until I’d found you.” He scanned her beautiful face, his heart whispering it was worth every sacrifice to have at last discovered his mate, while his sense of duty rebelled at having endangered his people. “By dividing the four of you into different locations and constantly keeping on the move, he did a bang-up job of making sure I wasted my time chasing my own tail.”

  “Distract you from what?” she demanded.

  His lips twisted as Harley once again pounced on the most significant point.

  He would be a fool to ever try to deceive this woman.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “What do you suspect?”

  “I think I was lured from Italy to America for a very specific purpose.” He lifted a hand as her lips parted with the inevitable question. “And before you ask, I don’t have a clue what the purpose might be.”

  “Inconvenient.”

  His humorless laugh echoed through the room at her stunning understatement.

  “A little more than inconvenient.” He shook his head, resuming his impatient pacing. Tonight he felt every one of his numerous years. “Cristo, for all I know, I’m completely wrong about everything. In the past I’ve blamed the troubles of the Weres on the gods, on the changing societies, and even on the vampires. Perhaps I’m seeking another evil force to accuse so I don’t have to admit that my people are destined for extinction.”

  Silence filled the room, the distant din of Santiago’s unruly guests thankfully muffled by the heavy door.

  At last Salvatore halted his pacing. He could sense Harley standing just behind him. She hadn’t tried to slip away while he was distracted. And so far she hadn’t stuck anything in the middle of his back.

  Which meant she was thinking.

  A dangerous activity.

  Turning, he met her guarded gaze.

  “Harley?”

  “If there’s even a possibility you might be right, then shouldn’t you be returning to Italy?”

  He was caught off guard by her abrupt words. “Trying to get rid of me, cara?”

  “You don’t have to be Ken Jennings to figure out that if the bad guy wants you here, you should be there.”

  Was she concerned for his safety?

  Dio, the sky was surely about to fall.

  Salvatore prowled forward, his blood heating as she instinctively backed away. He maneuv
ered her until her ass was pressed against the edge of the desk, caging her legs between his thighs.

  “We’ll eventually return to my lair in Rome,” he promised her, satisfaction gripping his heart at the thought of Harley in his classically elegant home. She would add a golden warmth that was badly needed amongst the acres of marble and gilt. “But not until I’ve dealt with Briggs and whatever demon is pulling his strings.”

  Her hands landed against his chest. “Very macho.”

  He claimed her lips in a kiss of sheer possession. “I can be a lot more macho, if only you’d let me,” he muttered.

  “Stop that.” She arched back to stab him with a worried gaze. “I’m being serious. You’re the king—you should act like one.”

  His gaze lowered to appreciate the tight stretch of her tank top. “I’m trying.”

  “Salvatore.”

  With a sigh, he lifted his gaze. “What kingly act do you want from me?”

  “Tell me what would happen if Briggs manages to kill you and take the Were throne?”

  His jaw clenched. “Not going to happen.”

  “Unless you’ve been covering up a special ability to read the future, you can’t know that.” Her expression was stern, unflinching. “Is your pride worth risking the future of your people?”

  Salvatore met her unwavering gaze. He was a dominant. An alpha who didn’t accept having his decisions questioned.

  He’d taught more than one Were that painful lesson.

  But oddly, he didn’t feel the familiar urge to snarl. Harley wasn’t his subordinate. The wolf in him had accepted her as a mate. She was his partner, not one of his pack.

  “Harley, Briggs is too dangerous to ignore.” His hands stroked up her bare arms to grasp her shoulders. “I can’t return to Italy until he’s destroyed.”

  “You don’t have royal ass-kickers to take care of your killing for you?”

  “Any number, but none who would be immune to Briggs’s ability to control their minds.”

  She couldn’t dismiss his logic, but that didn’t stop her from finding a new argument.

  Women were women, regardless of their species.

  “Supposing you do manage to kill him…”

  “Such faith.”

  “How do you intend to keep him dead?”

  Salvatore didn’t have an answer.

  And at the moment, he had far more important matters on his mind.

  Framing her face in his hands, he lowered his head to brush searing kisses over her cheek.

  “A worry for tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Harley forgot how to breathe as Salvatore found her lips in a slow, drugging kiss.

  No big surprise.

  His touch was magic.

  With a soft groan, his tongue teased her lips wider, his fingers stroking down her throat. It was Harley’s turn to groan. He tasted of whiskey and wolf and wild power. A combination that ignited something untamed deep inside her soul.

  A compelling, ruthless heat flowed through her blood, making her hands slip beneath the edge of his open shirt to find the satin steel of his chest.

  Okay, she might be responsible for her hands doing the full-body search, but he was certainly responsible for shutting down her higher brain functions. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have shoved him across the room, not discovered the intimate terrain of his upper body.

  His hands shifted to cup her aching breasts, his thumbs circling the rigid thrust of her nipples until she was squirming against him.

  “Harley…”

  His husky words were cut short as Salvatore abruptly lifted his head and glanced toward the door. Harley felt a prickle of energy and the heavy bolt slid shut just as she caught Santiago’s approaching scent.

  “Go away,” Salvatore barked, his muscles coiled and prepared for action.

  There was a soft chuckle as Santiago halted near the door, but the vamp was smart enough not to try and enter the room.

  Thank God.

  “The entertainment is about to begin,” he said, his voice deliciously cool and filled with invitation. “I’m certain Harley would enjoy our modest show.”

  A golden glow illuminated Salvatore’s eyes, his rich, musky scent filling the room.

  “Santiago, ‘go away’ is a fairly simple command to understand. Of course, I could come out there and explain it to you.”

  “I prefer you send Harley out.”

  “A leech with a death wish,” Salvatore growled. “My favorite kind.”

  Harley heaved the universal sigh of a woman dealing with two stupid men.

  “Is this really necessary?”

  Salvatore flashed a wickedly infectious grin. “No, but it’s always fun.”

  “Harley, if you are able to slip from your furry leash, feel free to join me. Drinks…” Santiago deliberately paused. “And whatever else you might desire, are on the house.”

  “I’ll keep your offer in mind, Santiago,” Harley said, her gaze warning Salvatore to keep his mouth shut. She wasn’t in the mood for a pissing match. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Salvatore’s tension eased as Santiago’s scent faded. “I hate vamps. Now…” His fingers lightly traced the line of her tank top, the heat of his fingers singeing her skin with pleasure. “Where were we?”

  One step away from complete insanity, Harley abruptly realized.

  Shoving her hands against his chest, Harley edged enough space to slip away from the desk and Salvatore’s oh-my-God touch.

  “So what’s the entertainment that he’s talking about?”

  Salvatore squeezed his eyes shut, as if in great pain. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he turned to lean against the desk, his arms folded over his chest.

  “Have you ever been to a demon nightclub?”

  She snorted at the ridiculous question. “Are you kidding? Caine never let me go anywhere I might be seen by a Were. He told me it was for my safety. Jackass.”

  “Then I would suggest that your introduction to demon society wait.” His brooding gaze slid down her body, not bothering to hide his hunger. “Viper’s establishments are always over the top.”

  “Let me guess—you have your own entertainment in mind.”

  “Now that you mention it…”

  The golden eyes flared and the power of his desire smacked into her, nearly sending her to her knees. Holy crap. Her stomach clenched as the vivid image of Salvatore bending her over the desk and roughly taking her from behind seared through her mind.

  She rushed toward the door. “I want a drink.”

  “Do I get a veto?” Salvatore muttered, then as Harley threw the bolt and yanked open the door, he hurried to her side, taking her arm in a possessive grip. “Damn. Wait for me.”

  She shivered as he led her across the lobby, his mesmerizing, musky scent seeping into her skin as if attempting to brand her.

  “There’s no need for you to go.”

  “Trust me, there’s every need,” he said in dark tones, his brows lifting as she unconsciously rubbed her prickling arms. “Is something wrong?”

  “Did you put on cologne?”

  An oddly rueful smile curved his lips. “Dolce & Gabbana. Do you like it?”

  “It’s…memorable.”

  “More like eternal.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “This way.” He ignored her question and pointed toward a set of double doors guarded by a matching set of vampires.

  And what vampires they were.

  Yow.

  Chiseled perfection with the polished golden skin of ancient Egyptians, they had ebony hair that hung down their backs in long braids. Their faces were sculpted masterpieces of high cheekbones, hawkish noses, and noble brows. As she neared, she realized that they had a heavy band of kohl tattooed into their skin to emphasize their almond black eyes, and a hint of color on their full lips.

  As if their stunning beauty needed any artificial assistance.

 
They were mouthwatering enough in their teeny tiny loincloths that revealed the sort of bodies that must have made Cleopatra howl in appreciation.

  As they neared, the two silently pulled open the heavy doors, their gazes lingering on Harley with silent invitations of sultry pleasure.

  Salvatore swept her past the demons as if they were invisible, his profile hard as they started down the wide stone steps that led deep beneath the building.

  “You’re sure about this?” he demanded, his hand tightening on her arm as the air thickened with the scent and sounds of the gathered crowd.

  “I’ve lived with a pack of curs for thirty years. There’s nothing that can shock me.” Her unfounded bravado lasted until they reached the bottom of the steps and Salvatore shoved open yet another door, this one of steel, and the full force of the gathered demons hit her. “Okay. I might have spoken a little hastily.”

  “Do you want to leave?”

  Harley barely heard his question, her attention focused on the scene spread below her.

  In contrast to the airy elegance above, the vast room was circular and made of black marble that terraced downward. On each tier were a series of steel tables and stools that were bolted to the marble, and a series of staircases that led to the huge metal cage set in the lowest level of the chamber.

  Overhead, heavy chandeliers spilled pools of light on the crowd of guests, battling back the shadows that twined along the edges, hiding those guests who preferred to remain concealed.

  It looked more like Thunderdome than a nightclub.

  Salvatore bent to speak directly in her ear, the clamor of the crowd nearly deafening.

  “Do you want to leave?”

  Her mouth was dry as her gaze skimmed over the demons of varying species. The only thing they had in common was the tangible sense of violence that crackled around them.

  She briefly hesitated, torn between good old-fashioned common sense, and the desire to flirt with danger.

  She’d always wanted to discover the world outside Caine’s lair, hadn’t she? Well, here it was. In all its glory.

  Or rather, its lack of glory.

  “Not on your life,” she said, tilting her chin with a display of courage she was far from feeling.