Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #11)(74)

“Perhaps you can clear up a mystery.”

Troy preened, his emerald eyes promising all sorts of sensual pleasures.

“I am an imp of many talents.”

Styx ignored Troy’s blatant invitation. This was obviously not his first time dealing with the annoying twit.

“What sort of demon feeds off fey magic?” he asked.

Roke halted his pacing at the same time Troy gave a startled grunt of disbelief.

“Are you serious?” the imp rasped, his expression troubled.

“Never more serious,” Styx assured him.

“None that I know of,” Troy slowly said.

Styx frowned. “You’re certain?”

“Let me rephrase that.” In the blink of an eye, Troy’s act of a frivolous fool was gone and in his place was a cunning fey prince who made an art form of being underestimated. “There are no official demons who admit to feasting on fey magic.”

Styx snorted. “There are unofficial demons?”

Troy shrugged. “The humans have their Big Foot and Loch Ness Monster, we have our Nebule.”

Roke hissed in disgust, realizing he’d had the answer all along.

Shit. Why hadn’t he put this together sooner?

“That’s it,” he snarled.

Styx turned to eye him in confusion. “What?”

“On the box. The glyphs mentioned mist people,” he said, shoving his fingers through his hair. “It struck a memory at the time, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.”

“Explain,” Styx commanded in clipped tones.

It was Troy who answered.

“The fey have a folktale that there were a species of demons who are capable of taking any physical shape they want.”

Styx didn’t look impressed. “There are a few rare vampires who can alter their shape. They can even mist walk.”

Troy shook his head. “These aren’t vampires. They’re an entire race of people who are made of nothing but mist until they can drain a fey and use their magic to take a physical form.”

“That’s why they kill fey?” Styx asked.

Troy gave a nod of agreement. “They have no magic of their own. They must steal ours.”

Roke had run across a description of the “mist people” when he was doing research on extinct races of demons. There had been little more than a vague reference to a species who were made of mist and hunted the fey.

“What else can they do?” he asked.

Troy grimaced. “It was said that they have a strange power to vibrate the air.”

“Shit.” Roke glanced toward his king. “That’s exactly how he attacked us. Those vibrations nearly turned our insides to mush.”

Styx considered a long minute. “That wouldn’t be fatal to a vampire.”

“No, but it’s debilitating,” Roke said. “It weakened me to the point that I didn’t realize the bastard had shot me full of blood thinner and silver.” A muscle in his jaw tightened until he could barely speak. “And it might easily be fatal to Sally.”

The Anasso was grim as he returned his attention to Troy. “Where can we find these Nebule?”

“Our stories claim that the Chatri drove the last of them from our world before they returned to their homelands.” Troy smiled without humor. “But of course, there are always rumors that a few survived, and that they lurk among us just waiting for an opportunity to strike. I always assumed they were boogeyman tales used to frighten our young.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Styx growled.

“Because I have no answer.” Troy glanced toward Roke. “Do you know why he was attacking you specifically?”

“He wanted Sally’s box.”

Troy furrowed his brow. “The box? I don’t . . . oh, wait.”

Roke stepped toward the imp, desperate for any information that might help him locate his mate.

He needed her next to him . . . in his arms.

And she was never leaving his side again.

Period.

“What is it?” he snapped.

The emerald eyes were sparkling with a barely suppressed excitement.

“Tell me, does the box glow?”

Roke balled his hands into fists. It was that or grabbing the imp and shaking him for answers.

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God.” Something that looked like wonderment settled on Troy’s pale face. “It’s the magic.”

Roke growled deep in his throat. He should have destroyed the damned thing the minute they realized it was more than just a trinket.

“You said the box didn’t have magic.”

“It doesn’t contain a magical spell. Or the ability to create magic on its own,” Troy clarified, appearing far too eager. “But if it’s still bound to a Chatri, then a Nebule would be able to suck the magic from the connection.”

Fear exploded through Roke. Goddammit. He had to get to his mate. The need was clawing through him with a relentless agony.

“You’re saying this box might still be under the control of a Chatri?”

“Yes.” Troy tried and failed to disguise his rising anticipation. “My collection has the glyphs that were created by my forefathers, but now they’re just scratches in the wood. They no longer channel any magic.”