Shadow's Seduction (The Dacians #2)(36)

When Mirceo reached for his hand, Cas hesitated. In conservative Abaddon, he’d never seen two males holding hands.

“Are you jesting?” Mirceo demanded. “Hand holding is taboo—after I nursed blood from your dick?”

Cas had to stifle a groan. Don’t remind me. He accepted Mirceo’s hand, frowning at the way they fit. If I was born for him, was Mirceo born for me? “Now what?”

“Now I concentrate,” Mirceo answered, tone curt. He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled, closing his eyes. Heartbeats passed.

Damn it, Cas wasn’t averse to holding another male’s hand, it was just . . . new. He recalled the first time he’d sampled lobster. It’d smelled amazing, the tender meat glistening with butter, but he hesitated to try something unfamiliar.

Cas had become set in his ways, but the vampire expected him to accept all these changes without even an afterthought. The temperature began to increase, distracting him. Was the air getting more humid? Mist arose, surrounding them.

A comforting sense of warmth enveloped Cas, as if this bank of vapor blunted all of his concerns. The rest of the world melted into the background—there, but not there. Even the sound of the wind was subdued. Their bodies faded into faint, glittering outlines. “So this is really happening?” I’m nothing but mist.

“Fate says you are a Dacian now—so you can join me. We can see, hear, and feel each other, but non-Dacians can’t detect us. In theory.”

Only the two of them existed inside this cocoon. Cas felt connected to the vampire, as he’d never been to anyone else. He wished he could be enfolded like this when he had time to savor it. “I have to admit, this is a damn handy skill.” What other jobs could they pull off together?

“Are you ready?”

Cas mimicked Mirceo: “I was born ready, sweetheart.” He grinned when the vampire muttered, “Demonic lout.”

They began to float upward, levitating farther and farther off the ground. Cas had to stifle a laugh. Amazing! As they continued to rise like a cloud, they moved toward that boundary.

Closer . . . closer . . . closer . . .

Here—

Tentacles burst from the ground, shooting toward them. Oh, fuck me! The scaly snakelike arms coiled around them—through them. Through our bodies!

Somehow Cas choked back a yell. He was about to piss himself—how was Mirceo so calm and focused? With steely determination, the prince pressed on.

They outdistanced the scyllas’ reach! Cas murmured, “Nice play, vampire. No one has ever gotten this far.”

Mirceo didn’t react, absorbed by his task.

Still rising, they approached the top of the pyramid. Would he be able to mist them inside? Everything depended on this step—all the work they’d done, all the unwitting prep Cas had completed over the centuries.

They neared . . . then passed through the stone. Cas’s senses blanked, a feeling like being momentarily blinded and muffled in cotton. Then . . . flickering light?

Gods almighty, they’d breached Harea’s stronghold!

So this is the lair of the notorious King of Sand. A fire illuminated the large chamber. Gold gilded the walls, the hearth encrusted with rubies. A scorpion the size of a small car slept before the fire. Yet more security?

A massive bed levitated a couple of feet above the marble floor. In it, a dozen unclothed females slumbered around the sole male.

The sorcerer.

He was naked as well, passed out beside a large opium pipe. The drug’s scent still spiced the air.

The jewel-draped females must be his personal harem. The concubines came in all shapes, sizes, and colors—purple, black, white, blue—like a Miss Lore competition. Was Mirceo’s gaze lingering on any of those beauties?

“We’re clear,” Cas whispered. “I’ll take Harea. You get the scorpion. But pay attention.”

As Mirceo made them solid, gravity weighed them down, their bodies reclaiming mass. The world suddenly seemed harder and colder than before. Mirceo released him, then they both drew their swords.

The scorpion scuttled to life at once. Hissing at their scent, it snapped its claws and hoisted its meaty stinger. Acidic venom dripped from it, searing holes into the floor. Mirceo traced through the acrid smoke to fend off the creature.

As females began to stir on the bed, Cas tucked his sword tip beneath Harea’s chin. Yet the sorcerer didn’t so much as twitch. Worry for Mirceo distracted Cas.

The scorpion’s tail shot forward with blistering speed, but Mirceo was just as quick, blocking the strike with his sword. The vampire wielded his blade as though it were an extension of his body. Gods, the way he moves. . . .

Mirceo targeted the scorpion’s head; it fended off his sword with its claws, jabbing that tail. The stinger plunged toward Mirceo’s leg—

Before Cas could draw a breath, the vampire glided out of the way, and the stinger crashed against the floor inches from one of his boots.

Mirceo took that instant to swing his sword. The tail plopped to the floor, writhing and dribbling acid. He dodged two claw strikes, then planted the tip of his blade into the scorpion’s head.

Creature defeated, Mirceo flashed Cas that mind-scrambling grin.

Focus. As more concubines awakened, Cas turned to a blue zalos demoness. “We’re here to apprehend Harea. I assume we have the right sorcerer.”

“Uh-huh.” She showed no distress that Harea was being taken or that their pet scorpion had just been put down. “He probably won’t wake. Been on a bender.” She canted her head. “How did you get inside? We’ve watched failed attempts for ages.”