Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #11)(2)

“You’re certain this isn’t some trick?”

“I’m not certain of anything beyond the need to find a way to break the bond.”

Salvatore poured another shot of brandy. “Do you have a plan?”

Plan? Styx grimaced. The closest they’d had to a plan the past year had been to charge from one disaster to another.

Why would this be any different?

“Sally left almost three weeks ago to search for any clues that would reveal who her father might be,” he said.

“And Roke?”

“He’s trying to catch her.”

Salvatore arched a brow. “You let him go alone?”

“Of course not.” A slow smile curved Styx’s lips. “I allowed Levet to go with him.”

Salvatore choked on his brandy at the mention of the tiny gargoyle who’d attached himself to both Darcy and Harley. Like a freaking barnacle that couldn’t be scraped off.

A three-foot pest with delicate fairy wings in shades of blue and crimson and gold, Levet could drive a sane man to gargoyle-cide in three seconds flat.

“You are a bad, bad vampire,” Salvatore murmured.

“I try.”

Chapter One

Northern Canada

Roke hadn’t yet given in to his overwhelming desire to commit gargoyle-cide.

But it was a near thing.

Roke was antisocial by nature, and having to endure endless chatter from a stunted gargoyle for the past three weeks had been nothing short of torture.

It was only the fact that Levet could sense Yannah, the demon who’d helped Sally flee from Chicago, that kept him from sending the annoying twit back to Styx.

His mating connection to Sally allowed him to sense her, but Yannah’s ability to teleport from one place to another in a blink of an eye meant by the time he could locate her, she was already gone.

Levet seemed to have a more direct connection to Yannah, although they still spent their nights chasing from one place to another, always one step behind them.

Until tonight.

With a small smile he came to a halt, allowing his senses to flow outward.

The sturdy cottage tucked on the western coast of British Columbia was perched to overlook the churning waves of the North Pacific Ocean. Built from the gray stones that lined the craggy cliffs, it had a steep, metal roof to shed the heavy snowfalls and windows that were already shuttered against the late autumn breeze. A garage plus two sturdy sheds surrounded the bleak property, but it was far enough away from civilization to avoid prying eyes.

Not that prying eyes could have detected him.

Leaving his custom-built turbine-powered motorcycle hidden in the trees, Roke was dressed in black. Black jeans, black tee, and black leather jacket with a pair of knee-high moccasins that allowed him to move in lethal silence.

With his bronzed skin and dark hair that brushed his broad shoulders, he blended into the darkness with ease. Only his eyes were visible. Although silver in color, they were so pale they appeared white in the moonlight, and rimmed by a circle of pure black.

Over the centuries those eyes had unnerved the most savage demons. No one liked the sensation that their soul was being laid bare.

On the other hand, his lean, beautiful features that were clearly from Native American origins had been luring women to his bed since he’d awoken as a vampire.

They sighed beneath the touch of his full, sensual lips and eagerly pressed against the lean, chiseled perfection of his body. Their fingers traced the proud line of his nose, the wide brow, and his high cheekbones.

It didn’t matter that most considered him as cold and unfeeling as a rattlesnake. Or that he would sacrifice anything or anyone to protect his clan.

They found his ruthless edge . . . exciting.

All except one notable exception.

A damned shame that exception happened to be his mate.

Roke grimaced.

No. Not mate.

Or at least, not in the traditional sense.

Three weeks ago he’d been in Chicago when the demon world had battled against the Dark Lord. They’d managed to turn back the hordes of hell, but instead of allowing him to return to his clan in Nevada, Styx, the Anasso, had insisted that he remain to babysit Sally Grace, a witch who’d fought with the Dark Lord.

Roke had been furious.

Not only was he desperate to return to his people, but he hated witches.

All vampires did.

Magic was the one weapon they had no defense against.

Regrettably, when Styx gave an order, a wise vampire jumped to obey.

The alternative wasn’t pretty.

Of course, at the time none of them had realized that Sally was half demon. Or that she would panic at being placed in the dungeons beneath Styx’s elegant lair.

He absently rubbed his inner forearm where the mating mark was branded into his skin.

The witch claimed that she was simply trying to enchant him long enough to convince him to help her escape. And after his initial fury at realizing her demon magic had somehow ignited the mating bond, Roke had grudgingly accepted it had been an accident.

What he hadn’t accepted was her running off to search for the truth of her father.

Dammit.

It was her fault they were bound together.

She had no right to slip away like a thief in the night.

“Do you sense anyone?”

The question was spoken in a low voice that was edged with a French accent, jerking Roke out of his dark broodings. Glancing downward, he ruefully met his companion’s curious gaze.