Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #11)(28)

“We need to find someplace where you’ll be safe while we figure out what is so important about your box.”

“Right.” Another flash of fire in the dark eyes. Thank the gods. “Would you go to a witch’s coven?”

He ignored her question.

“We’ll meet Cyn there and you can get something decent to eat.” He held up a hand as her lips parted to protest. “If you’re not comfortable, we’ll leave. Okay?”

Her lips snapped together, the ice returning. “Fine.”

He bit back a curse. The sun had barely set and it already promised to be a long night.

He shoved impatient fingers through his hair. “Is there anything else you need?”

She met his gaze. “Privacy.”

His lips twisted. A direct hit.

“You want me to turn my back?”

“The spells are woven to keep intruders out.” Her chin tilted. “Not to keep people from leaving.”

A low growl rumbled through Roke. The primitive urge to remain and make sure his mate was taking proper care of herself was a ruthless compulsion that beat through him even as he forced his feet to carry him toward the front of the room.

She needed space.

He could at least give her that.

“I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”

Not waiting for a response, he leaped upward, landing on the edge of the hole.

His feet barely touched the grass when he was yanking his dagger from its sheath.

Fey.

The scent was all around them.

Fairy. Imp. Even a few wood sprites.

He scanned the darkness, sensing the gathered crowd scurrying away at his abrupt appearance.

Concentrating on their rapid departure, Roke nearly missed the stack of items that had been piled at the edge of the clearing.

Flowers, ceramic pots filled with fresh honey, carved wooden figurines, and exquisite golden jewelry set with priceless gems had been left behind.

“What the hell?”

Sally quickly scrubbed herself clean with the hot water and soap that Roke had prepared, telling herself that she didn’t care if it was the first time anyone had ever considered her comfort. Had he scented the water with dried lavender? No . . . it didn’t matter.

Just as it didn’t matter that her body still tingled with the pleasure of his skillful touch.

He was an ass.

First clouding her mind with his deceitful-sneaky-vampire seduction and then leaping off the bed as if she were carrying the plague.

Pulling on her clothes, she suddenly blushed.

Okay, maybe he hadn’t actually seduced her. She recalled being a fairly willing participant.

Still, there’d been no reason to insult her.

Not unless he was afraid that she might start to believe this mating was real.

Two souls eternally entwined . . .

It was that humiliating thought that had given her the ability to face him with a composure she was far from feeling.

She’d be damned if she would let him know how easily he could wound her.

Fully dressed, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and grabbed the music box. Then, extinguishing the candles, she made her exit by the more mundane method of the steps built into the cement wall.

Crawling over the edge of the hole, she straightened, startled to discover that Roke was standing nearby, his gaze trained on the edge of the clearing.

She’d expected him to be out doing . . . what?

Vampire things.

Hunting. Sucking blood. Pissing off witches.

Instantly on alert, she moved to his side, at last catching sight of strange objects.

“Blessed goddess, where did those come from?”

The ground trembled with his power. He obviously wasn’t pleased with the strange gifts.

Giving her a warning glance to stay put, he moved to walk around the pile of flowers and pots and . . . good Lord . . . was that jewelry?

“It came from the fey,” he murmured, his hand reaching to grasp a delicate necklace spun from strands of gold and sprinkled with shimmering opals.

Naturally she ignored his warning, walking to join him. “Why?”

He gave her a frustrated glare before shaking his head.

“I don’t—”

She studied the pure, elegant lines of his profile shown to perfection in the moonlight.

“Roke?”

“A tribute.”

“A what?” She glanced toward the pile that was clearly filled with items that would be precious to any fey. Why would they leave a tribute here? “Oh.” She was struck by inspiration. “Could this be a holy site?”

Roke straightened, dropping the necklace back onto the pile. “It’s possible.”

Translation: He didn’t believe for a minute this was a holy site.

She absently rubbed her inner arm, an unconscious habit she’d developed since the mating mark appeared.

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”

He turned to meet her worried gaze, his eyes glowing silver in the darkness.

“It could be for some fey deity, or it could be for the box. Or—”

She grimaced. “I’m not going to like this ‘or,’ am I?”

His expression was grim. “Or for you.”

She was shaking her head before the words left his lips. “No.”

With a frown he reached out his hand, cupping her cheek with his slender fingers.