He was hoping the sudden stillness was a sign that the magic that surrounded the building had entrapped the furious dragon. It was that or Synge was preparing to melt them with his dragon-fire.
Non. He would not consider the notion that he was about to be liquefied into a pile of goo. He’d discovered over the years that sticking his head in the sand was always a legitimate way to deal with a threat.
Beside him, the Anasso cocked his head to the side, no doubt trying to determine the threat level, while Viper was moving through the crowd below, trying to soothe the terrified demons.
“Shouldn’t you go speak with Synge?” Levet prompted.
The oversized vampire turned his head to glare down at Levet.
“I have a better idea,” he growled. “You go speak with him.”
Levet took a hasty step backward, his tail twitching between his legs. He was not scared. But he was not the king. He was not even a prince. This was the sort of thing demons with big swords were supposed to take care of.
“Why should I go?” he demanded.
A frigid anger crackled through the air. “You’re the one who told the dragons that vampires were responsible for his daughter’s curse.”
Levet clicked his tongue. Really, why was the male obsessed with that tiny, insignificant point?
“I told you. I simply shared what I discovered,” he said.
There was the sound of footsteps before a large vampire dressed in black leather appeared on the balcony. One of the Ravens, Styx’s personal bodyguards.
Styx moved to speak with the male, their voices too low for Levet to pick up the words. A few minutes later the vampire turned to leave and Levet moved to study Styx with a stab of impatience.
Every second that passed was another second that Synge might turn them all to toast.
“Well?” Levet prompted.
Styx’s expression was grim. “Our protection spells are currently holding Synge in stasis, but it will only last a few hours.”
Levet hid his expression of relief. No reason to reveal that he was going to use those few hours to get as far away from Chicago as possible. “What about Baine?”
Styx managed to look even more grim. An astonishing achievement.
“He’s asking for an audience.”
“Ah.” Levet took another step back. “It appears you have the situation in hand—”
A squawk was wrenched from Levet’s throat as Styx grasped the massive sword that was sheathed across his back and pulled it free. With one smooth motion he had the tip of the lethal weapon pressed against Levet’s neck.
“This is your mess,” the vampire informed Levet. “Now you’re going to fix it.”
Levet’s tail twitched, but he didn’t move. The sword was sharp enough to chop off his head. The one certain way to kill a gargoyle.
“Moi?” He pretended he didn’t notice the massive weapon jabbing into his thick hide. “It was a bloodsucker who was responsible. As the Anasso it is your responsibility to ensure they do not go about cursing dragons.”
Ice crystals formed in the air as Styx leaned down, his power beating against Levet.
“Listen carefully, gargoyle.”
Levet grimaced. “I do not like those words.”
Styx ignored his grumbled complaint. “You are going to find the missing dragon.”
Levet was momentarily confused. Then, he frowned as he realized who Styx meant.
“Blayze? How can I find her?”
“You claim to be a hero. Doesn’t that include rescuing damsels in distress?” Styx demanded.
“Oui, but would it not make more sense to track down the vampire responsible for the curse?”
“What do you think is going to soothe a pissed-off dragon? The vampire who cursed his daughter? Or having that daughter back in his lair where he can protect her?”
Levet wrinkled his snout. It was true that if he managed to locate the vampire and hand him over to Synge, the dragon would torch him and remain pissed at the entire vampire race.
If he could find Blayze, the male might be distracted enough to return to his lair.
“Good point.”
Styx straightened, lowering his sword. “You have eight hours.”
“Or?”
Styx flashed his fangs. “Dragons will be the least of your concern.”
Mon dieu.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Blayze was surprised how easy it was to assume the role of an arrogant, pureblooded dragon. Almost as if she was born to the role. And she supposed she was, despite the fact she’d been isolated her entire life.
She could only hope her brittle façade could last long enough for her to do a search of the lair.
Acutely aware of the heavy press of power that crackled and sizzled in the air as they reached the throne room, as well as Char’s seething disapproval, she halted and removed her hand from the guard’s arm.
“I can find my way now.”
“My lady.” The male offered a small bow before he was disappearing among the guests.
She dismissed him from her mind as she allowed her gaze to wander over the large room. It was remarkably plain, with woven rugs on the stone floor and torches stuck into the walls. At the far end was a high dais with two thrones. At the moment both of them were empty.
Her attention turned to the guests who were gathered in small clumps. Most of them were pureblooded dragons, although she could sense several fey creatures, as well as a few vampires.
Could one of them be responsible for her curse?
Taking a step forward, she abruptly felt her arm being grabbed in a tight grip as Char tugged her into a shadowed corner.
“What are you doing?” he hissed in frustration.
She reluctantly transferred her attention to the angry dragon standing in front of her. It wasn’t just that she was in a hurry to search the room, but she’d discovered that it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything but Char when he was near.
How was a poor female supposed to think clearly when she was gazing at those pale, perfect features and the gray eyes that could appear as soft as smoke or harden to platinum? And how was she supposed to resist the urge to run her hands over his lean body so she could fully appreciate the steely strength of his muscles?
With an effort, she leashed her renegade reaction to the tempting male. She would fully explore her intense sexual awareness of Char once they weren’t facing imminent death.
Her dragon huffed in protest.
Later, later, later…
“I’m attempting to locate the spell,” she forced herself to say.
He paused, considering her explanation. “How can you find magic that hasn’t been cast?”
The truth was that she hadn’t entirely thought through her strategy. She only knew that she’d been brought to this point in time by the curse.
Surely that meant it was here?
“My mother always suspected that the curse had been created by a witch,” she said.
Fewer than a handful of demons could actually create a curse with their own powers. More often than not, a demon was forced to seek out a witch who could create the curse and place it in a vessel until the caster was ready to release it.
Char blinked, looking suddenly hopeful. Witches were always human.
“If that’s true, then it should be easy enough to spot a mortal. It’s not like your father would invite a hundred of them to waltz through his throne room.”
She wrinkled her nose. Like many other demon species, dragons had always harbored a deep distrust of humans in general, and witches in particular.
“It’s doubtful the witch would be here,” she admitted. “They more than likely bartered the spell to a dragon.”
Char grimaced. “Do you think you can sense it?”
“That’s my hope.”
“And then?”
Her answer came without hesitation. “I will kill them.”
The gray eyes flared with heat. Char clearly approved
of her lust for blood.
The thought warmed her heart.
Char’s fingers trailed up her arm, igniting sparks of pleasure. But before he could speak there was an oppressive sense of power that landed on top of them like a ton of bricks.
Blayze winced before she turned to face the dragon who was striding toward them with a suspicious expression. Damn. The guard had apparently left her to run and tattle to her father.
Now Synge was coming to demand explanations.
A large, brutish male with his dark hair shorn close to his head and eyes the color of polished pewter, he was an intimidating beast.
Instinctively, Blayze lowered her head and sank into a graceful curtsy. “My lord.”
“My guard tells me that you are from my mate’s clan,” he said in blunt tones.
No one had ever accused Synge of being a diplomat.
“Yes.” Straightening, Blayze lifted her head and met the older male’s smoldering gaze.
Synge stilled, confusion rippling over his broad face as he caught sight of her unusual eyes. Then his nose flared as he tested her scent.
“Do I know you?” he demanded.
“I am Blayze,” she said, remembering to keep her words formal. They had traveled backward in time, and the rules of etiquette were different.
Synge gave a slow shake of his head. “You seem familiar.”
She offered a bland smile. She needed to get away from this male before he figured out why she seemed so familiar.
“I am here to celebrate the birth of your daughter.”
Without warning the brutish features abruptly melted into an expression of deep, aching affection.
“My daughter,” he breathed. “An unexpected blessing.”
Blayze felt as if she’d just been slugged in the gut. How dare he act like he actually cared about his unborn child?
What game was he playing?
“Females are rare,” she managed to say.
“She is a blessing because she carries the essence of my mate,” he gruffly insisted, his gaze sweeping toward the female across the room.
Ravel was small for a pureblooded dragon, with delicate features. She had long, brilliant red hair and the same odd, opal eyes as Blayze. At the moment she was wearing a white silk gown that swept the floor and outlined her protruding stomach. She looked as if she was only minutes away from giving birth.
Blayze’s heart twisted. Her mother had sacrificed everything to keep her alive. Including her own mate.
“I hope you keep them protected,” she said before she could halt the words.
Heat scorched through the air, the ground trembling beneath her feet as her father stepped toward her.
“You have heard of a threat?”
“No,” she hastily denied. “But there are always those who seek to harm a vulnerable hatchling. Even among our own people.”
He scowled, like he was offended by the mere suggestion he might be less than diligent in protecting his family.
“Be assured that nothing will be allowed to harm my child. I will guard her with my life,” he informed her in sharp tones.
Blayze hissed. The memory of how swiftly this male had turned his back on his precious child suddenly boiled through her blood.
He might mouth the words that claimed he would sacrifice his life for her, but as soon as she was cursed he’d been eager to toss her to the wolves. Or rather, he’d tossed her to the less than tender mercy of the Dragon Council, who’d condemned her to death.
“You—” Her words were cut short as Char reached out to give her arm a warning squeeze. She grimaced. Char was right. Venting her feelings would only put them in more danger. That was the last thing she wanted. “You are precisely the warrior I would desire to have at Ravel’s side,” she said in smooth tones.
Synge continued to frown, but seemingly accepting she wasn’t a threat, he stepped back. “I must go,” he said, swiveling on his heel to stride across the room.
Like a covey of nervous dew fairies, the guests scurried out of the way of the dragon who headed straight for the tiny, pregnant female across the room.
Blayze made a choked sound of disgust as she watched Synge place a protective arm around Ravel’s slender shoulders. It was extremely rare for dragons to find a true mate. Most pairings were nothing more than political alliances meant to strengthen a clan.
But there was nothing political in the way Synge was gazing down at Ravel. Or how he reached to lay a gentle hand on her swollen belly.
“How is it possible?” Blayze rasped.
Char moved to stand beside her, his fingers stroking down her back. His touch was light, but it was enough to ease a portion of the anger that bubbled through her.
“How is what possible?” he asked.
Blayze nodded toward her parents. “How could he pretend he is so devoted to his unborn child?”
Char’s fingers continued to move up and down her spine, the heat of his dragon wrapping around her in an unspoken cloak of comfort.
“I don’t think he’s pretending,” he told her in soft tones.
She clenched her hands at her side, the pain of betrayal a hot knot of agony in the pit of her stomach. “A father who truly cares for his daughter doesn’t allow her to be destroyed.”
“Even if he believes it’s what is best for you?” Char asked.
She sent him a disbelieving glare. “How could death be better?”
His fingers slid beneath her hair to cup her nape. Gently he massaged her rigid muscles. “He thought you were suffering.”
She frowned. “He told you that?”
“No, but I spent several decades in this lair before I was given to Baine as his personal guard,” he told her.
“And?”
Char turned his head, his gaze sweeping toward the couple across the room. The crowd of demons had moved to surround them, like a cluster of satellites caught in the gravitational force of a star. But Synge was large enough to tower over all of them.
“The Synge I know is a cold, brutal bastard who rules with fear and intimidation,” Char said. “Until I witnessed him standing beside your bed after you’d been discovered alive, I would have sworn that he didn’t possess a heart.”
Blayze snorted. “He doesn’t.”
“Look at him, Blayze,” Char urged in soft tones. “That isn’t the expression of a male who doesn’t care. It’s the expression of a male who cares too much.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It had taken Levet less than five minutes to find a pretty imp who could open a portal so he could travel from Chicago to New York City.
Manhattan, to be more specific.
He sucked in a deep breath, catching the familiar combination of car exhaust, street food, and pure adrenaline.
There was no other place in the world like New York.
The narrow streets that were framed by towering buildings. The brilliant billboards flashing with a blinding explosion of color. The double-decker buses that belched out foul-smelling smoke.
Darting away from the public streets that were thickly crowded, Levet threaded his way between alleys until he was in a neighborhood that was never visited by the tourists.
When Styx had made his threat, Levet’s first impulse had been to disappear for the next few centuries. Not even a vampire could hold a grudge forever, could he?
But even as the large vampire had stalked away to speak with Baine, Levet had been struck by a crazy notion.
After breaking the illusion in Blayze’s private chamber, he hadn’t sensed any intruder. Which meant he didn’t have the skills to discover who had taken her, or where they might be now.
But there might be someone who could help.
Reaching a narrow brick building that looked abandoned to anyone passing by, Levet allowed a smile of relief to touch his lips. Even from a distance, he could feel the magic that pulsed in the air.
The club was still there.
Crossing the dark street, he laid his palm against
the spell that surrounded the shabby building. A second later it began to pulse and crack. Enchantment sprinkled the air, rich with the scent of warm honey. Then, without warning, the sidewalk shuddered and the illusion shattered.
The decrepit dump was gone, and in its place was an elegant structure that looked like a Grecian villa with lots of white marble, fluted columns and tall windows. Levet waddled up the narrow flight of stairs and knocked on one of the double doors.
On cue, a small panel in the door slid open and a gruff voice floated through the air. “Levet?”
“Oui.” Levet spread his arms wide. “‘Tis the world-famous Levet.”
“About damned time,” the unseen demon muttered.
Levet gave a flutter of his wings. It was always a pleasure to be appreciated by the lesser—
“Eek.” He released a small shriek as one of the doors was jerked open and a hand reached out to grab him by the horn.
With a blur of motion, he was pulled into the public room of the club.
A quick glance revealed a long, sunken room with white marble floors and glass walls that reflected the crowd of demons that filled the tables. Above his head, the ceiling was sparkling with tiny, magical butterflies that glittered over the dance floor below them.
For a demon bar it was astonishingly elegant. Classy.
Vampires tended to be civilized, but the other demon species remained barbarians. Usually they gathered in holes in the ground that were filled with drunken trolls and fighting cages. This place catered to guests that avoided most other clubs.
Harpies. Pixies. And even a few human witches.
The combination sizzled with emotions, as if the crowd that filled the room was electrifying the very air.
Levet returned his attention to the demon who had so rudely snatched him off the front step.
The creature was a mongrel, with a mishmash of ancestors. There was some troll blood that had allowed him to grow over seven feet tall with heavy features that included a protruding brow, a lower jaw that jutted out with a set of curved fangs. But his pale, hairless skin suggested he had some orc blood mingled in. Probably a bit of fairy in there somewhere as well.
He was unique enough that Levet instantly recognized him.
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