Darkness Everlasting (Guardians of Eternity #3)(88)

"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?