Darkness Unleashed (Guardians of Eternity #5)(93)

Or at least he was floating until the bushes were ruthlessly ripped aside and Salvatore’s angry face was looming over him.

“Levet?”

With a squawk, Levet scrambled to his feet, not at all pleased to have been caught fantasizing like a horny teenager.

“Sacrebleu, did your mother never teach you not to sneak up on a gargoyle? I could have turned you into a steaming pile of dog poop.”

The Were’s lean features were hard with displeasure. Not unusual. The King was always displeased with something or other. Just like a stupid vampire. Only with fur.

“What are you doing skulking in the bushes?”

Levet didn’t hesitate. There was a time for truth and a time for lies.

This was one of those lying times.

“I am keeping watch like you commanded, to make certain this is not a trap.”

“Keeping watch?”

“Oui.”

Without warning, Salvatore grasped him by the horn and plucked him off the ground, twirling him around as if he were a peculiar rock to be investigated, instead of a dignified demon.

Damned dog.

“Then why are you covered in mud?” the King demanded.

“Do you not have anything better to do than barbeque me?”

“Barbeque?” Salvatore’s brows snapped together. “Cristo, it’s grill, not barbeque.”

“Barbeque…grill…what is the difference?” Levet huffed. “Now put me down.”

“You still haven’t explained the mud.” Salvatore leaned his head down to suck in a deep breath. “Or the fact that you reek of water sprite.”

Levet folded his arms over his chest. “Hey, a gargoyle has to have some fun.”

“Meaning that you allowed yourself to be distracted,” Salvatore growled.

“There might have been the tiniest bit of distraction, but nothing could get by me, that I assure you.”

“We shall see.”

With a flip of his hand, Salvatore rudely dropped Levet back to the ground and turned to make his way easily up the steep bank. Stumbling behind with all the grace of a drunken sailor, Levet shifted through his mind for some spell that would shrink a Were’s balls to marbles.

In the distance, he could smell the scent of Salvatore’s curs spread throughout the surrounding woods, and something else. Something that smelled like…blood.

“Cristo,” Salvatore muttered, bolting toward the small cabin with a speed that Levet couldn’t hope to match.

“What?” Huffing and puffing, Levet at last reached the open door. “What is it?”

Kneeling beside a lifeless cur that was fully shifted into wolf form, Salvatore turned his head to stab Levet with a glowing gaze.

“Nothing can get by you?” he growled. “How do you explain this?”

“Mon Dieu,” Levet breathed, stepping onto the bare wooden floor, although he stayed far away from the corpse.

Salvatore touched the cur’s head in a soft benediction. “Duncan, I presume?”

“Oui.” Levet’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t liked the treacherous cur, but he would never have wished this on him. “He was fine just an hour ago.”

“How long?”

“Well, perhaps it was closer to two or three hours ago.”

“Worthless demon,” Salvatore growled, returning his attention to the dead dog.

Levet flapped his wings. He wasn’t taking the fall for this disaster. Even if he was responsible.

“Do I look like one of your sniveling curs?” he demanded. “No, I do not. I am here only as a favor to Regan, and if you think I am going to stand here and be insulted by a lice-infested, mangy dog, then you have another thing…”

“Shut up, and come here,” Salvatore interrupted.

“Arrogant bastard.”

“Levet.”

Throwing up his hands, Levet waddled across the floor. “I am coming. Do not get your thong in a bunch.”

Slashing him an impatient frown, Salvatore pointed at the lifeless cur.

“How did he die?”

Levet’s tail twitched, warily wondering if the King had taken a recent blow to the head.

“Well, this is only a guess, but it might have something to do with that huge silver dagger sticking in his heart.”

Salvatore hissed as he yanked the dagger free and tossed it across the barren room.

“If he’d been killed by silver, he would have shifted back to human form. He was already dead when someone stuck the dagger in his heart.”

Levet frowned. “Why would someone stick a dagger into a dead cur?”

“I’m more interested in how he died.”

Holding out his hands, Levet circled the main room of the cabin, pausing at the stone fireplace, as well as the wooden table and chairs that were the only furniture.

“There’s no hex marks or magic, at least not a spell directed at him.” Sensing a faint tingle in the air, Levet hopped onto one of the chairs and grabbed the half-empty glass of wine that was left in the center of the table. “Can a cur be poisoned?”

Flowing to his feet, Salvatore studied the bottle of wine with a frown.

“Where did that come from?” he demanded.

“It was sitting on the table, along with the two glasses, when we arrived.” Levet shuddered as the air thickened with Salvatore’s power. “What is it?”