Conquer the Darkness Read online

  They made a wide circle around the fog that was continuing to spread outward. Instinctively they both crouched low as they scurried toward a nearby hill. The cresting sun threatened to expose their presence to everyone in the area. Including any humans.

  But expecting Ulric to veer off the road, Rainn barely avoided ramming into his large form when he came to an abrupt halt.

  “Now what?” she asked, glancing around in alarm.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Do you smell that?”

  She sniffed. The rich scent of wild thyme and heather was laced with the ocean breeze. But there was something else. Something cold.

  “Vampire,” she whispered.

  “Tarak.”

  “Chiron’s master?” she asked in surprise.

  Tarak had been released from imprisonment a few months ago. She hadn’t met him, but she knew he’d been secluded with his new mate in his private lair.

  Ulric nodded, bending down to touch a small imprint on the dirt road. “His trail is headed for my old village. Chiron must have sent him to look for us.”

  Rainn’s heart clenched with fear. Oh crap. Had the vampire been sucked into the fog? She scanned the area, looking for any sign of the leech.

  Then, she realized the cold scent was laced with the hint of salt.

  “He was with the mermaid,” she said, following the scent until it abruptly disappeared. “He left through a portal here.” Her nose wrinkled as yet another smell teased at her nose. Then relief raced through her. “Oh, and the gargoyle. He’s alive.”

  Ulric snorted as he straightened. “Of course the aggravating pest survived. He’s like a cockroach.”

  Rainn ignored his sour words, glancing around the emptiness that surrounded them. “If they were here to help us, they’re gone now.” She glanced toward Ulric. “We need to put some space between us and Zella.”

  He offered a slow nod, his expression distracted, as if he was considering their limited options.

  “Let’s see if we can find Tarak’s lair,” he abruptly announced.

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Scotland.”

  “That’s a fairly large area to search,” she pointed out in dry tones.

  He shrugged. “It’s on the northern coast.”

  She swallowed a sigh. As much as she wanted to urge him to find the nearest human city and hop on a plane back to Vegas, she knew it was a waste of breath. Ulric wasn’t going to return home until he’d destroyed the spirit responsible for massacring his pack.

  Besides, she wasn’t here to worry about Ulric. Or his safety. She was supposed to be performing the task the Oracles had sent her to do. And she had no doubt in her mind that Zella was the evil she was supposed to battle.

  Still, she needed an opportunity to rest and regain her strength before she returned to do her duty.

  “I don’t have the ability to make portals,” she muttered.

  It was a source of unending annoyance. Every other fey creature could easily travel from place to place. A zephyr, however, who was a master of the wind, found it impossible.

  Ulric gave a lift of his shoulder. “Then we’ll drive there.”

  She glanced around, once again noting just how isolated they were. “Drive?”

  Ulric pointed toward a patch of grass that had been nibbled to the ground.

  “There have been sheep through here recently,” he said. “And where there are sheep, there are humans.” He nodded toward the hills. “Let’s find them.”

  Chapter 10

  Levet stepped out of the portal that Waverly created inside the mer-folk castle deep beneath the ocean. He glanced around, ignoring the faint breeze as the portal closed behind him. He was far more interested in his surroundings.

  Ah. Waverly had brought him to the empty throne room. It was a familiar spot that helped to orient him.

  Of course, the last time he’d been there, the marble floor had been busted and there’d been a gaping hole in the wall where Riven, the former King of the Mer-folk, had tried to escape.

  Now he noticed the repairs to the floor had been completed and the hole in the wall was at least closed. The exquisite mural of a vibrant coral reef and delicate fish, however, was still in progress.

  His heart missed a beat. It had to be Inga’s work. She was blessed with a breathtaking artistic talent.

  His survey of the room was distracted by the sudden odor of a breeze blowing over the ocean. Almost as if the thought of Inga had conjured her scent. Then the ground vibrated beneath Levet’s feet and he knew it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

  Slowly turning, he faced the double doors. There was a strange sensation niggling in the pit of his stomach. What was it? Nerves?

  Non. That was absurd.

  Why would he be nervous? Inga had been the one to mess with his mind. She’d made him believe that he was her personal Knight in Shining Armor.

  Granted, she’d been fleeing from Tarak, a crazed vampire, who she had helped to trap in a prison for over five hundred years, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. As well as Riven, who wanted her dead.

  Still, it was rude to tinkle with his mind.

  No, wait. Not tinkle. Tinker. Oui, tinker.

  Which was why he’d walked away as soon as the spell had been broken, he grimly assured himself.

  It had nothing to do with the fact that he believed she was a former slave who’d been abandoned by her family and forced to make her own way in the world.

  A misfit.

  Just like himself.

  Instead it was revealed that she’d been ripped from the arms of her mother. And that her family had spent endless centuries trying to find her. Oh, and that she was the rightful ruler of the mer-folk.

  While he was…well, he was still a misfit.

  Nope. Nothing. At. All.

  Squaring his shoulders, he held his wings at a proud angle as Inga burst into the room.

  The current Queen of the Mer-folk didn’t look like a mermaid. She’d taken after her ogre father, standing well over six foot, with the broad shoulders of a human weight lifter. Her hair was reddish and grew in tufts on top of her large, square head. Her features were bluntly carved, and her teeth were pointed.

  Only her eyes, which were a misty blue, spoke of her mermaid mother, although they flashed red when she was annoyed.

  She was holding a large trident called the Tryshu.

  The ancient weapon was filled with a mysterious magic that chose the leader of the mer-folk. Only the true king or queen could hold the trident. Like Arthur’s sword, only without the whole round-table thing.

  Charging into the room, Inga came to a sharp halt. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared, as if drawing in Levet’s scent.

  “I knew it. I could sense—” She abruptly clamped her lips together as if battling to hide her intense reaction to his arrival. Then, tilting her chin, she peered down at him. “How did you get here?”

  Levet barely heard her words as his gaze ran over the female.

  What was happening? Her red, fuzzy hair had been smoothed to lie flat against her head, and her outrageous muumuu dress had been replaced by a shimmering gown that hugged her large frame.

  There was even something on her face. “Are you wearing makeup?” he abruptly demanded.

  She blinked, a dark blush staining her cheeks. “What?”

  Levet waddled forward, pointing toward the dark pink gloss he could see glistening on her lips. “I asked if you—”

  “Answer my question,” she interrupted, her brows snapping together. “How did you get here?”

  Levet sniffed at her sharp tone. “I see you have become a true royal. They never have any manners.”

  “I didn’t have manners before I became a royal.”

  Levet couldn’t argue. The female was rud
e, impatient, and occasionally vulgar.

  And to be honest, he liked her rough manner. There was a charming lack of sophistication about her.

  “I suppose that is true enough,” he agreed.

  His words did nothing to ease her burst of annoyance. “Well? I’m waiting.”

  Her foot tap, tap, tapped on the marble floor. The ground trembled beneath the impact.

  Levet shrugged. “Waverly brought me.”

  Inga’s irritation vanished, her expression brightening with anticipation. “She’s here?”

  “Non. She had to stay with Tarak.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Inga cleared her throat, pretending not to be disappointed. “I’m sure she’s busy.”

  Levet’s heart melted. Inga had spent centuries believing the mer-folk had sold her into slavery. Now she was desperate to bond with her family.

  “She wanted me to assure you that she intends to visit very soon,” he said in gentle tones.

  “And Lilah?” she demanded, speaking of the human witch whom she’d considered her daughter for over five hundred years. “She’s well?”

  “Obscenely happy,” Levet admitted. “A baffling circumstance, considering she is stuck with a leech.”

  Inga smiled, but it was strained. It was obvious she wanted Lilah to be happy, but it pained her to be separated.

  “I’m pleased for her.” Giving a faint shake of her head, Inga visibly focused on Levet. “Why are you here?”

  “I need to search your library.”

  “Library?” An odd expression rippled over her face. Was it…disappointment? “What for?”

  Levet stepped closer, breathing in her soft ocean scent. “Ulric and Rainn are stuck in a magical fog and all the books we need are toasty.”

  “Toasty?” Inga was momentarily baffled. “Do you mean toasted?”

  Levet nodded. “That’s what I said.”

  “Ulric.” Inga tested the name. “That’s Chiron’s werewolf?”

  “Oui.”

  “Who is Rainn?”

  “A zephyr sprite.”

  “Are you serious?” Inga waited, as if trying to decide if Levet was joking. “I thought they were a myth.”

  “That is what most creatures assumed about mermaids,” Levet reminded her.

  She waved aside his comment. “Is the magical fog in Vegas?”

  “Non. It’s…” His words dried on his lips as a familiar demon swept into the room.

  Non, not swept. He swooshed into the room.

  Troy, Prince of Imps, was a large male with the sort of muscles that Levet secretly envied. He was wearing a strange pair of stretchy zebra-print pants and a fuzzy sweater that had a vee neckline that dipped to his belly button. His eyes were a vivid green and he had long, brilliant red hair that looked like a river of fire.

  Oozing with sensuality, the creature halted next to Inga. “There you are, my love,” he chided, waving a finger in her face. “Why did you disappear? I haven’t finished styling your hair.”

  Levet flapped his wings in shock. The last time he’d seen Troy, they had been standing in the cavern beneath Lilah’s hotel. “What are you doing here?”

  Troy flicked a dismissive gaze over Levet. “Clearly I am the Master of the Wardrobe.”

  Levet scowled. “The bastard of the wardrobe? What is that?”

  “Master.” Troy flashed a condescending smile. “I fear you wouldn’t understand. You don’t have royal blood in your veins.”

  Levet slammed his fists on his hips, puffing out his chest. “I have an abundance of royal blood. I reek of nobility. As far as I am concerned it worth less than…” He snapped fingers.

  Inga snorted. “Less than that if you ask me.”

  Levet furrowed his brow. “Then why are you allowing this—”

  “Careful.” Troy cut off his insult.

  Levet scrunched his snout. Most male demons were pathetically predictable. Lots of growling and gnashing their fangs. Oh, I’m going to rip off your wings. Oh, I’m going to grind you to rubble. Troy…not so much.

  He hid his potent magic beneath a mocking smile and outrageous flirtations. Levet was never quite certain what he might do if he was angered.

  Still, the imp had no right to be doing anything to this female. She belonged…

  He shut down the thought before it could form. Instead he glared at Inga.

  “Allowing this imp to change you?” he demanded.

  She folded her arms over her impressive bosom. “He’s not changing me.”

  “Then why do you have paint plastered on your face?” He waved a hand toward the glittery dress. “And what is that you are wearing?”

  She stuck out her lower lip. “It’s a gown.”

  “It’s not your style,” Levet said.

  She glanced away, the color on her cheeks darkening to crimson. “I have been informed that my previous dresses were not appropriate for the Queen of the Mer-folk.”

  Levet’s tail twitched around his feet. He didn’t care what the imp might do to him. If he’d hurt Inga’s feelings, Levet intended to shrivel his manly bits to sour little grapes.

  “Informed by who?” He pointed toward Troy. “This fool?”

  A fruity scent swirled through the air as the imp took a sudden step forward. “I did warn you.”

  “Troy.” Inga hurriedly moved between the two males. “I need a few minutes with Levet.” She rolled her eyes when Troy continued to glare at Levet. “Alone, please.”

  There was a tense beat before Troy had regained command of his temper. He gave a faint lift of one shoulder. “Fine, I’ll wait for you in your bedchamber.” He strolled past Levet, offering him a taunting smile. “For the record, I was not the one to suggest that Queen Inga alter her style. I applaud originality.” He reached the double doors, pausing long enough to blow a kiss toward Inga. “Ciao, bellissima.”

  Levet stomped his foot. “He stays in your bedchamber?”

  Inga turned back to face him. “Do you care?”

  “I…” Of course he cared. The female had been used and abused her entire existence. First by the ogres, who’d killed her father and sold her to the slavers. And then by Riven, who’d taken advantage of her desperation to be a part of the mer-folk. But he found the words impossible to say. He hunched his shoulders. “I do not trust him,” he finally muttered.

  Inga’s jaw tightened. “That’s all?”

  “Why did he come here?”

  “He arrived shortly after you left,” she admitted. “He said he’d never met a mermaid before and…”

  “And what?”

  Inga glanced away. As if trying to hide her expression. “We were strolling down the hallway when we overheard a group of mer-folk who were standing on the balcony discussing the embarrassment of having me as their queen,” she said, her voice carefully devoid of all emotion. “They said it was bad enough that I look like a monster without dressing like a human clown.”

  An anger blasted through Levet that was greater than any he’d ever felt before.

  “Where are they? I will turn them into newts.” He started stomping his way toward the doors. “Non. Newts are too good for them.”

  “Levet.” Inga quickly stepped to block his path. “You thought the same thing. Even when you were under my spell you tried to change my appearance.”

  Levet came to a sharp halt. “Nonsense.”

  She arched her brows. “Are you saying that you don’t remember offering to take me to Paris, so I could have new clothes designed for me?”

  Levet was struck by the memory of saying those exact words. He cringed. Perhaps for the first time in his very long existence.

  “Sometimes I am not so smart,” he admitted.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered.

  “It does to me.” He inched toward her. H
ow often could she be hurt before she shattered? He didn’t want to find out. “You are perfectly fine the way you are.”

  She stiffened, a fragile vulnerability in her eyes, before she was sharply shaking her head. “Tell me about the book you need,” she commanded.

  Levet swallowed a sigh. Perhaps it was best to focus on his reason for being there. At least for now. Later he would devote the time necessary to assuring this female that anyone who desired to change her was a jerky jerk-face.

  With an effort, Levet forced himself to recall the tedious lecture that he’d endured just before he’d stepped through the portal. “Cyn said—”

  “Who’s sin?” Inga interrupted in confusion.

  “Cyn,” Levet corrected. “The annoying clan chief of Ireland. A bad-tempered vampire who happens to have a very large library.”

  “Oh.” She waved a hand for him to continue.

  “Cyn said that the cover should be dark blue with gold trim. And there are markings on the front that look like two pyramids overlapping. And something else.” He furrowed his brow trying to remember the exact word. “A Vidalia.”

  Inga blinked. “An onion?”

  “Non. That cannot be right.” Levet shuffled back through his memories. It was a difficult chore. When vampires opened their mouths it usually sounded like yak, yak, yak. “I believe it is some round metal thingy.”

  “A medallion?” Inga suggested.

  “Oui.”

  Inga abruptly headed across the long room, pausing to touch the wall behind the massive throne.

  “Let’s see if we can find it,” she said, waiting for a portion of the brilliant mural to disappear.

  Levet felt a tingle of excitement. A hidden door! He loved surprises.

  Scurrying forward, he followed Inga into the narrow hallway. It was low enough that Inga had to stoop over, and so narrow Levet had to fold back his wings. The smell of salt was thick in the air and the darkness was heavy enough to be a physical pressure.

  Levet’s claws scraped against the marble floor, his tail twitching as they turned into one side tunnel after another. It was all so fantastic. He’d never suspected the castle possessed so many secrets.