Fear the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #9)(75)

“But that’s it, isn’t it? You’ve been used and discarded. Not a surprise.” Styx flicked a dismissive gaze down the man’s stiff body, lingering on the weapons before returning to meet the dark, resentful glare. “You have always had an overly bloated opinion of your worth.”

“You know nothing,” the vampire blustered. “The mistress has favored me above all others.”

Styx shook his head as he heard the desperation in the man’s voice. He was wasting his time. This idiot was nothing but another meaningless minion that had believed the promises whispered by the Dark Lord. Pathetic.

“You’re the one who knows nothing,” he growled, lifting his sword. “Which means I have no reason to keep you alive.”

Realizing that Styx had every intention of chopping off his head, Kostas backed up until he hit the corner of the table. “You can’t do this.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I can. Do you want me to demonstrate?”

“No.”

Styx smiled with anticipation. “It was more of a rhetorical question.”

With a futile effort to halt his inevitable death, the Hunter vaulted over the table, his gaze lifted heavenward. “Hear me, blessed mistress.”

Styx rolled his eyes. Idiot. “You don’t actually think—”

His mocking words were interrupted as a sizzling heat seared through the room.

With a grunt of surprise, Styx gripped his sword, sensing the approach of something . . . big.

Something big and bad and evil.

Had the bastard actually managed to call the Dark Lord? It would be just his luck that of all the pathetic pleas, the treacherous bitch would choose to hear Kostas. If only to screw with Styx.

He took an instinctive step backward, warily watching the shimmering line that formed directly over the table. The long, thin streak didn’t look like a portal, although he was no expert.

Actually, it looked like the air had been sliced open.

Kostas continued his crazy babble, but Styx kept his attention pinned to the wavering line. Slowly it began to widen, as if the air was being ripped open by a profound power. Gods, was this it? Was this the moment of the Dark Lord’s return?

He briefly considered yelling for Jagr and Jaelyn, only to squash the impulse. What was the point until he could be certain he wasn’t calling them to certain death?

The heat intensified, bringing with it the stench of burned sulfur. Styx shuddered, but he refused to budge another step. The time to run was gone.

He would take a stand and pray for the best.

As if mocking his spurt of bravado, the heat that seared against his skin became laced with electric jolts of pain. As if he was being skewered by unseen lightning.

Holy . . . shit.

He felt like a shish kebab being grilled over an open flame.

The rift spread wider and with a low moan, Kostas fell to his knees. “Mistress, you have heard the pleas of your most loyal servant.”

The stench of burning sulfur thickened, nearly making Styx gag. Kostas, however, had an expression of euphoria as a light spilled through the rip in space to spill over him.

“The sacrifice,” a voice pulsed through the air, nearly driving Styx to his knees.

“What?” Kostas appeared momentarily confused. Then, his puzzled gaze shifted to the fairy who had been wise enough to faint. “Yes, of course.”

Scrambling to his feet, Kostas darted across the room and scooped the limp female in his arms. Styx took a step forward, his first thought to protect the fairy from the evil that blanketed the room. But even as he moved, the blazing light flared toward him, driving him backward.

Blinded, Styx lifted his sword, hearing Kostas cross the room and the sound of the fairy being dumped on the table.

“Here,” the vampire said. “My offering for you.”

Styx’s eyes cleared in time to see a glowing hand reach through the rift to grasp the fairy by her hair, yanking her into the black mist that swirled on the other side of the opening.

“You have served me well, Kostas.” There was a low laugh that sent shards of agony shooting through Styx’s brain. “A pity you shall not survive to appreciate your efforts.”

“No.” Belatedly realizing he was about to be abandoned by his faithless mistress, Kostas leaped onto the table, his hand reaching through the opening. “Wait.”

Styx had only a moment to appreciate the sight of the once-smug vampire’s groveling before the black mist boiled from the rift. In the blink of an eye the darkness was crawling over the screaming Kostas, consuming him on a cellular level.

“Christ.” Styx leaped backward, watching in horror as the powerful vampire became nothing more than a stain on the table.

He half expected the mist to continue pouring into the room, destroying everything in its path. Instead, it retreated back through the opening.

Styx had a brief second of relief. Just enough time to believe he’d dodged a bullet, he wryly conceded as all hell broke loose.

Quite literally.

Even as the black mist receded, Styx caught a glimpse of a crimson-tinted landscape with black, razor-sharp rocks that were dissected by rivers of flowing lava. The opening had shifted from the Dark Lord’s prison to a hell dimension—whether by accident or intent, he didn’t know. All he was certain of was that a creature that looked something like a troll with a large, muscular body covered in a thick, hairless hide and a large head with beady crimson eyes and a snout with protruding fangs was crawling through the opening.