Hunt the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  As it was, she held the music box in a death grip and took another step forward.

  “Roke?” she called.

  There was no answer beyond the rustle of the breeze through the flowers, but suddenly she caught the scent of a rich full-bodied wine.

  It was intoxicating.

  “Is someone there?” she called out.

  Without warning a marble grotto appeared in the center of the field.

  Built of white marble it had fluted columns and a dome roof that glittered gold in the sunlight.

  Sally gasped, stunned by the magic that sizzled in the air.

  She’d never felt anything so raw, so . . . primal.

  And more disturbing, it was stirring a thunderous reaction deep inside her. As if a dam had suddenly burst to release a flood of magic she never knew she possessed.

  Blessed goddess. What was happening to her now?

  Still trying to process the tidal wave of magic, Sally was distracted as a shadow appeared between the columns of the grotto.

  Crap. There was something coming.

  That couldn’t be a good thing.

  Barely daring to breathe, she watched as a tall, elegant form stepped from between the columns, moving down the steps with a liquid grace.

  Sally blinked. Then blinked again.

  He was . . . beautiful.

  Staggeringly, breathtakingly beautiful.

  Wearing a robe of purest white, the stranger had long hair the color of spun gold held from his face by a narrow band of silver studded with priceless gems. His eyes were faintly slanted and the color of polished amber flecked with jade. His skin was unblemished and so silky smooth it didn’t look real, while his lips were sensuously carved and tinted the shade of ripe strawberries.

  He moved toward her with such a regal air she nearly curtsied, his gaze skimming over with a clinical curiosity.

  As if she were a wild animal that strayed into his fairy-tale land.

  “Ah, Sally,” he murmured, his voice brushing over her like velvet. “At last.”

  He knew her name. How?

  Sally licked her lips, trying to think beyond the magic bubbling through her.

  “Who are you?”

  “Sariel.”

  Which told her precisely nothing.

  “Where am I?”

  He seemed to consider. “A difficult question.”

  Sally grimaced. The fact that Sariel didn’t have a straightforward answer wasn’t comforting.

  “Not usually.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “The place does not matter.”

  “Fine.” Obviously he wasn’t going to answer the question. Move on. “How did I get here?”

  “I called and you came.”

  “How?”

  He smiled. “Your powers grow with every passing hour.”

  She frowned. “You’re saying I brought myself here?”

  “Of course.”

  She had a flashback to magic that seared through her just as the swirl of color had engulfed them. Was it possible that she actually created a portal that had brought her here?

  She was shaking her head before the thought could fully form.

  “That’s impossible.”

  The amber eyes continued to study her, his exquisite face impossible to read. Had he never seen a witch before?

  “You’ll discover nothing is impossible once you’ve fully embraced your birthright.”

  Embrace her birthright?

  She didn’t know what that meant and she didn’t care.

  All she wanted was to be away from this too-perfect place and in the arms of her mate.

  “No,” she denied. “Where’s Roke?”

  “The vampire?”

  “Yes.”

  He paused, the magic thickening in the air. “Your portal sent him to the King of Vampires,” he at last said.

  Sally released a shaky sigh. Relief was flooding through her at the knowledge that Roke was safe, even as she tried to wrap her brain around the idea she’d created a portal that not only sent Roke to Chicago, but brought her to this place.

  “Dear goddess.” She pressed a hand to her aching head. “This is madness.”

  “I agree,” Sariel surprisingly murmured. “And only you can bring it to an end.”

  “Me?”

  “It’s the reason you were created.”

  She flinched at his unexpected words, then a bitter laugh was wrenched from her lips.

  “Newsflash, Sariel, I was created to maintain a sorcery spell I inherited from my mother.”

  He gave a slow blink, as if wondering why she would bother him with such boring trivialities.

  “The spell was inconsequential,” he informed her.

  “Inconsequential?” she repeated, stupidly offended by his lack of interest. “That . . . vampire could have destroyed the world.”

  She’d nearly died during the battle. Hardly inconsequential. At least not to her.

  “Perhaps, but your mother’s need for a daughter was only a minor reason for your conception.”

  She clenched her teeth. The man might be all kinds of beautiful, but he had the personality of a slug.

  “How would you know?”

  He easily held her gaze. “Because I am your father.”

  Roke paced until the grass was trampled and a small groove was worn into the ground.

  It was that or crossing the short distance to grab the Prince of Imps by his long red hair and shaking the shit out of him.

  Something Styx had made him swear he wouldn’t do.

  When Levet had returned with Troy, Roke had exploded in fury.

  The creature looked like he should be working in a strip club.

  Large and muscular with the build of a linebacker, he was wearing zebra striped spandex pants and a see-through shirt that revealed the width of his pale chest and the nipples that had been pierced so he could run a delicate gold chain between them.

  The crimson fire of his hair was pulled into a dozen intricate braids that emphasized his delicate features while the emerald eyes smoldered with a sensuality that was almost tangible.

  He was a walking, talking invitation to sex.

  What the hell good could he do?

  But once Styx had briefly explained they needed him to seek out the fey magic, the imp had set to work with an efficiency that helped to ease Roke’s initial desire to toss him into the trash.

  And it didn’t hurt that Levet had stomped toward the mansion, muttering something about visiting Darcy.

  There was no way Roke’s nerves could endure both Levet and Troy, the Prince of Imps, in the same space.

  Still, as the seconds ticked past and the imp continued to kneel a few feet away, his hands raised as if he could feel something floating in the air, Roke’s attempt at patience was about to come to a violent end.

  “Well?” he at last barked.

  Troy slowly rose to his feet, brushing the dust off his obnoxious spandex pants.

  “There has definitely been a portal opened here,” he said. “Recently.”

  Roke hissed in frustration. “We know that much.”

  Styx stepped next to him, placing a warning hand on his shoulder before speaking directly to the imp.

  “Can you identify who opened the portal?”

  Troy shrugged, a bemused expression settling on his narrow face.

  “It is fey, but . . . more.”

  “More what?” Roke snapped.

  “More everything.” The imp once again held his hand toward the empty air, as if he could feel precisely where the portal had opened. “The magic is intoxicating.”

  Roke bared his fangs. “You’re not helping.”

  “Leeches.” Troy slid a hand down his too-tight pants. “Yummy, but always so impatient.”

  Styx tightened his hand on Roke’s shoulder, keeping him from lunging.

  “Tell us who opened the portal,” Styx commanded.

  The bemused expression returned to Troy’s face. “If I did
n’t know better, I would say it was a Chatri.”

  Roke jerked in shock. “Shit.”

  Troy’s eyes narrowed, revealing a cunning he hid behind his frivolous façade.

  “You know fey history?” the imp asked.

  “More than I ever wanted to,” Roke growled, his hand pressing against the empty ache in the center of his chest. Had a Chatri somehow created a portal that had stolen his mate? Or was the magic merely a residue. “Can fey magic be contained in a box?” he abruptly demanded.

  Troy widened his eyes in surprise. “What sort of box?”

  “A music box decorated with ancient glyphs,” Roke answered.

  “How would you know of such an object?”

  “My mate has one.” Roke clenched his hands at the stab of pain that sliced through his heart. “Is it dangerous?”

  Troy shook his head. “No, from what little information we have, the boxes were used by the Chatri to share information, not magic.”

  The imp acted sincere, but Roke remained unconvinced. Demons were notoriously reluctant to give up secrets about their individual species.

  “What sort of information?” he probed.

  Troy shrugged. “Family histories, the ingredients for rare spells, occasionally maps.”

  “Maps?” Roke latched on to the unexpected revelation. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I have a collection of boxes in my private vault,” Troy said. “At least two are maps to entrances of the hidden fey dimensions.” The imp studied Troy with a puzzled gaze. “Why are you asking?”

  Roke forced himself to give a shake of his head. So Sally hadn’t been mistaken when she confessed she thought she was beginning to understand the language of the glyphs. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to help him find her.

  “Later,” he muttered. “Could a box create a portal?”

  “No.” Troy’s response was emphatic, his hand lifting toward the spot where the portal opened. “This was the work of an extremely powerful fey. One who can call on the talents of the Chatri.”

  Roke grimaced.

  They were wasting time and he hadn’t discovered anything beyond the fact the imp insisted there was some sort of ancient fey magic involved.

  “Can you trace it?”

  Troy looked confused. “You mean follow it back to where it originated?”

  “No.” Roke forced himself to count to ten. No sense in killing the one fey who might be able to help him. “I want you to open the portal.”

  “Why?”

  Roke flashed his fangs. “You don’t need—”

  “Roke believes his mate is stuck inside it,” Styx interrupted Roke’s furious words, his own voice smooth.

  Troy frowned at Roke. “You’re mistaken.”

  Roke growled. Okay. Now the damned imp was just trying to piss him off.

  “I’m rarely mistaken,” he said, the earth trembling.

  “Easy, leech,” Troy said, hastily trying to lessen the violence that prickled in the air. “A portal won’t close if there’s still someone inside it.”

  Roke cursed. If Sally hadn’t been left behind in Nevada, and she wasn’t in the portal, then where the hell was she?

  “Then why isn’t she here?” he snapped, as if Sally’s absence was entirely the imp’s fault.

  Troy took a cautious step backward, clearly having dealt with unreasonable vampires before.

  “My only guess would be that she took a detour.”

  Detour? The ground split open just inches from his feet.

  “What the hell does that mean?” he snarled.

  Troy paled, taking another step backward. “The truly skilled fey are capable of creating more than one opening. She could have brought you here and continued on to another location.”

  Styx glanced toward Roke, his expression troubled. “Can she create portals?”

  Roke shoved his fingers through his hair. There was no denying that Sally had been changing over the past weeks. She’d always been a powerful witch, but now her innate demon blood was vying for dominance and there was no telling what talents might spontaneously erupt.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” he muttered, his gaze glued to the imp. “Can you find where she went?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Then who can?”

  Troy gave a helpless lift of his hand and gave the wrong answer.

  “No one.”

  Sally would have laughed if she could have forced it past the lump in her throat.

  “Father?” she muttered, staring in horror at the impossibly beautiful creature.

  She’d fantasized about this moment since she was old enough to realize other kids had dads who did more than donate sperm.

  Late at night, after her mother had forced her to endure hours of unrelenting training and at last locked her in her room, she’d lie on her bed and pretend that her father was just about to arrive and take her away.

  Some nights he would be a badass superhero, like a Navy Seal or a storm chaser. She would pretend that he was off saving the world and that was why he hadn’t come to visit.

  Some nights he would be a kind, comfortable sort of man. Maybe a teacher. Or a doctor. And he didn’t yet know that he had a daughter, but as soon as he discovered the truth, he would be rushing to take her to his home, which was filled with all the love a lonely little girl craved.

  Then, she’d been forced to accept it wasn’t human blood running through her veins and her fantasies had become less idealistic and more resigned.

  Obviously her mother’s quickie had been with a random demon who’d been competent at disguising his true identity and that was that.

  No father rushing to claim her as his daughter.

  No Christmas-card family waiting in her future.

  Just a common, nameless demon whom she would never have sought out if she hadn’t needed his help to end her accidental mating.

  Now she struggled to accept this . . . glorious, unnervingly alien being . . . was her father.

  “Is that some sort of joke?”

  He gave a slow blink. “Why would I jest about such a thing?”

  Yeah. That was the question of the day, wasn’t it?

  She shivered despite the heat of the sun. “I’ve stopped expecting anything to make sense after I fell down the rabbit hole.”

  “This is no . . .” Sariel seemed to struggle over the unfamiliar word. “Joke. You are indeed my daughter. Blood of my blood.”

  Sally licked her lips. This was some sort of trick. It had to be.

  “If that’s true, then how did you meet my mother?”

  His answer came without hesitation. “She was under the influence of a powerful spell that allowed me to pull her through the barriers.”

  “What spell?”

  “A fertility spell.”

  Sally frowned. How had he known? “You could sense it?”

  “Yes. It was like a beacon for me to latch on to.”

  “So you brought her here and . . .” Sally grimaced. No daughter should have to consider the ins and outs of her mother’s sex life. “Seduced her?”

  “Not here.” He shrugged. “But yes, I did seduce her.”

  The ick factor doubled in value.

  “No.” She shook her head, unconsciously pressing the box against her stomach as if it might whisk her away from this psycho wonderland. “I don’t believe you.”

  Sariel’s slender nose flared in outrage. “You accuse me of lying?”

  “My mother would have known the second she caught sight of you that you aren’t human,” Sally informed him, her voice two octaves too high. “She hated demons. She certainly wouldn’t have willingly crawled into bed with one, no matter how gorgeous you might be.”

  The man smiled with pure arrogance. “I can be very persuasive.”

  “Okay . . .” Sally held up a hand in protest. “TMI.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Sally shook her head. “Even if you did manage to overcome her prejudice, there’s no w
ay she wouldn’t have aborted me once she discovered she was pregnant.”

  “Ah.” He didn’t look particularly concerned that Sally might have died before she was ever born. But then, Sally was beginning to suspect that the demon didn’t have many feelings that weren’t directly connected to his own survival. “Her memories would have been stripped when she left my bed.”

  “By you?”

  He gave an impatient shake of his head. “No, by the barriers that surround me.”

  Sally bit her lower lip. It was hard to deny the sincerity in his voice. He truly believed that he was her father.

  Was it possible?

  She studied the painfully beautiful face, searching for the truth.

  “So she didn’t remember she slept with you?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then she must have slept with a human male and assumed I was the result of that hookup,” Sally said, grudgingly accepting that Sariel’s story made as much sense as anything else.

  “If you say.” He waved a dismissive hand. “My only concern was for you.”

  Concern. She made a sound of disbelief.

  “Yeah, right. If you actually had any concern for me, you wouldn’t have ignored me for the past thirty years.”

  He looked puzzled by her accusation, the soft breeze stirring his satin gold hair.

  “There was no need to attempt to contact you until you came into your powers. You were of no use until then.”

  She should have been prepared for the callous explanation.

  A father who hadn’t bothered to send her so much as a postcard in the past thirty years wasn’t interested in her as a person, no matter how many fantasies she’d woven about him.

  If he suddenly decided to contact her, it had to be about what-can-you-do-for-me.

  Just like it’d been with her mother.

  Still, she couldn’t halt the heavy sense of disappointment that lodged in the pit of her stomach.

  “What powers?” she at last forced herself to demand. Might as well get all the bad news over with at once.

  Like ripping off a bandage.

  “The power to create a portal, first of all,” Sariel said, impervious to her thickened voice and slumped shoulders.