When Darkness Ends Page 2

  Cyn gave a startled hiss, his eyes widening at the creature who could easily pass as a young girl with her small stature and long silver braid that nearly brushed the floor. Cyn, however, wasn’t fooled. He recognized the strange oblong eyes that were a solid black and the sharp, pointed teeth.

  This was no harmless juvenile.

  She had enough power to crush him and his entire clan.

  Even worse, she was an Oracle. One of the rare demons who sat on the Commission, the ultimate rulers of the demon world.

  “Enough squabbling, children,” she chided, folding her hands together as she studied them with an unnerving intensity.

  “Holy shite.” Cyn offered a belated bow. “Siljar.”

  Fallon crouched on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees in a futile effort at modesty.

  “You know this person?”

  “Not person,” Cyn corrected, shivering as Siljar’s energy sizzled over his skin. “Oracle.”

  The amber eyes widened. “Oh.”

  “Forgive me.” Siljar gave an absent wave of her hand and Cyn made a strangled sound of shock as he found himself covered by a plain white robe that hit him just below the knees. The Oracle gave another wave of her hand and Fallon was covered in a matching robe. “I haven’t created a portal into the fairy homeland for a number of centuries.”

  Cyn scowled, ignoring Fallon’s I-told-you-so glare. “You brought us here?” he demanded.

  Siljar gave a nod of her head. “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have need of you.”

  His acute hearing picked up Fallon’s soft sigh of relief as she rose to her feet and brushed her hands down the satin robe.

  “You need the vampire?”

  “I have a name,” he reminded the princess with a snap.

  Siljar clicked her tongue, her gaze shifting from Fallon to Cyn.

  “I need both of you.”

  Cyn stiffened. It was never, ever a good thing when an Oracle had need of him.

  “Why?”

  There was the unmistakable scent of sulfur as Siljar’s expression tightened with anger.

  “I fear the Commission is being tampered with.”

  Cyn arched a brow. Hadn’t Styx sent word that they’d uncovered the plot by the strange demons who’d been holding Fallon’s father captive?

  “Aye, we know the Nebule planted a spy to pose as an Oracle,” he said.

  Siljar shrugged. “He has been destroyed.”

  Oh. Cyn grimaced. “You suspect there’s another traitor?”

  “That was my first thought,” Siljar admitted. “But I believe that on this occasion the Oracles are being manipulated without their knowledge.”

  That seemed . . . unlikely.

  “Why are you suspicious?” he demanded.

  Siljar hesitated a second before revealing what was troubling her.

  “Over the past few weeks I’ve found myself awakening as if from a trance to discover I’m seated in the Council Room,” she at last said.

  Cyn blinked in confusion. That was it? He’d been kidnapped and dropped naked in these caves because the old gal was becoming forgetful?

  He forced himself to consider his words. Only an idiot implied that an Oracle might be going a bit batty.

  “The past year has been stressful, especially for the Commission,” he murmured.

  “It has. And if I was the only Oracle to experience the strange phenomenon, then I would assume that your implication that I’m suffering from some sort of mental decay was right.” Her lips twitched as he flinched at her blunt words. “I am, after all, quite old and it wouldn’t be entirely unlikely that I would accidentally transport myself to a familiar location without realizing what I’m doing.”

  Cyn ignored Fallon’s barely hidden amusement at his discomfort.

  “But?”

  “More than once I discovered I wasn’t alone.”

  Cyn grimaced even as he heard Fallon suck in a startled breath.

  Having Siljar suffering from an occasional blackout was one thing. To think of the entire Commission being controlled by some unseen force . . . bloody hell.

  “The other Oracles didn’t know how they got there either?” he rasped.

  Siljar gave a somber shake of her head. “No.”

  When Fallon had opened her eyes to discover herself far removed from her fairy homeland, she’d been more annoyed than frightened.

  Strange, considering that it was the first time in her life she’d ever awakened in a dark cave, stark naked, and in the company of an equally naked vampire.

  Hell, it was the first time she’d ever been away from her father’s vast palace.

  She should have been freaking out.

  Shouldn’t she?

  But while she’d tried to convince herself that he must be some sort of deranged beast who’d stolen her from her home for God only knew what sort of perverted reason, she couldn’t truly make herself believe he was intending her harm.

  She hadn’t spent much time with Cyn, but while the massive clan chief was obviously a terrifying predator, she’d easily sensed he posed no danger.

  No, that wasn’t true, she wryly conceded.

  He posed all sorts of danger, not the least of which was the unwelcomed excitement that sizzled through her whenever he happened to glance in her direction.

  But she didn’t for a second believe he would physically hurt her.

  Not unless he believed she was a threat to his people. The tiny demon in front of her, however, had just sent a chill of terror straight down her spine.

  She knew of the Commission, of course.

  Unlike most Chatri, the pure-blooded ancestors of the fey, Fallon had never been content with her secluded existence. Others might be happy in her father’s royal palace, surrounded by lush gardens and meadows that were drenched in perpetual sunshine, but for her it was all too . . . flawlessly monotonous.

  There was only so much perfection a woman could endure before she became bored out of her mind. Which meant that Fallon had been driven to develop a secret life just to keep her sanity.

  No one among her people knew that she’d created a hidden chamber where she honed her skill at scrying until she could not only peer into other dimensions, but she could maintain several images at once.

  Over the years she’d spent endless hours studying this world, fascinated by the rapidly changing cultures while her own life remained stagnant. She’d even kept up on the current fads and speech patterns, telling herself that she might have the opportunity to visit this world, even when she’d known deep in her heart that her father would never allow her to leave their homeland.

  Now she wondered if she’d been mistaken in her belief that the powerful Oracles were both wise and fair leaders for the demon world.

  “What would be the point of trancing you?” she demanded in confusion.

  Siljar regarded her with an unblinking gaze. It was . . . creepy.

  “My guess would be that they want us in the Council Room,” she said.

  Fallon forced herself not to wilt beneath that basilisk stare. “Why?”

  “It’s the place we gather to share information, and to settle disputes between demons,” Siljar explained, abruptly pacing across the cave with jerky movements. As if she was trying to contain her emotions. “And in extreme cases it’s where we share our power.”

  “Do you think it could be a demon who is trying to influence you to judge in his favor?” Cyn abruptly demanded.

  “I asked myself the same question. We are currently negotiating a land treaty between the mountain ogres and the woodland sprites.” Siljar gave a sharp shake of her head. Swish. Swish. Her white robe brushed the uneven floor. “But now I fear the plot is far more nefarious.”

  “Nefarious?” Cyn demanded.

  Siljar nodded. “I think someone is trying to force the Commission to combine their powers to cast a spell.”

  Cyn grimaced. “Who or what could have the necessary
strength to influence the entire Commission?”

  Siljar halted her pacing, regaining her composure to turn and meet the vampire’s troubled frown.

  “That’s what I need you to discover.”

  “You want me to spy on the Oracles?” Cyn rasped.

  “Of course not,” Siljar chided. “I want Fallon to spy on them.”

  Fallon’s mouth dropped open, her blood running cold. “Me?”

  Siljar lifted a brow. “You are a master at scrying, are you not?”

  Oh . . . damn.

  “How did you—”

  “I know many things, my dear,” Siljar smoothly interrupted.

  Fallon shuffled beneath the dark, steady gaze. What else did the tiny demon know about her? Not that Fallon had an exciting enough life to hoard many secrets, but still . . .

  Cyn sent her a searching glance, as if surprised that she might have an actual skill.

  Jerk.

  “What does a master of scrying mean?”

  Siljar answered. “Fallon can keep track of the Oracles, even when they travel between dimensions.”

  He didn’t look particularly impressed. “How will that help?”

  “She can see if there is anyone in particular who has contact with all of the Oracles,” Siljar explained. “Or if there is someplace they travel where they could be manipulated.”

  “How close does she have to be to scry?” Cyn demanded of the Oracle.

  Fallon muttered a low curse. Had she suddenly become invisible?

  “Distance doesn’t matter,” she informed the vampire, not about to be treated as if she couldn’t speak for herself. She’d had enough of that in her father’s court. “The only thing I need is a location to start.”

  Without warning, Siljar was moving to stand directly in front of Fallon, her hand reaching to press against her cheek.

  “There,” the demon said, searing the image of a vast complex of caves into Fallon’s mind. “You can track them?”

  Fallon hissed in shock as the location locked in her mind and she realized just what was expected of her.

  Crap. What was wrong with her? She should have told Siljar she couldn’t scry. That she’d made some sort of mistake.

  Instead she’d practically boasted about her skill.

  As if she was trying to impress . . .

  No. She locked out the disturbing thought.

  Cyn was an arrogant lug with an oversized ego. Okay, he was gorgeous. And sexy. And his hard, warrior body was lickably delicious. But she certainly wasn’t going to waste her time trying to impress him.

  Siljar cleared her throat. “My dear, can you track them?” She repeated her question.

  Fallon swallowed a sigh. It was too late to get out of her unwelcomed duty.

  Besides, if her talent would help, then she surely had a duty to do whatever she could. “I think so,” she said.

  “Good.” Cyn folded his arms over his chest. “Then she can return to fairyland?”

  Fallon’s mouth dropped open at his blunt words. “Why, you rude—”

  Siljar held up a hand. “No.”

  Cyn’s jade green eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “Although it has been several weeks since you left Fallon’s homeland—”

  “Several weeks?” Fallon forgot her annoyance with Cyn as she sucked in a shocked breath. How was that possible? It felt as if it’d only been a matter of minutes since she was standing in the small reception room in her father’s palace.

  Siljar gave a lift of her hands. “Traveling through dimensions can often create temporal fluctuations.”

  She was lying. Oh, it was true that traveling through dimensions could screw with time, but Fallon suspected that the cunning Oracle had deliberately altered time for her own purpose.

  With a low growl Cyn clenched his hands in frustration, clearly more pissed than suspicious.

  “What’s the date?” he demanded.

  “The middle of January.”

  The vampire’s icy powers pulsed through the air, making Fallon shiver.

  “Shit,” he rasped.

  Siljar calmly smoothed her hands down her robe, pretending there wasn’t a massive vampire filling the cave with enough power to make it collapse on their heads.

  “As I was saying, I brought you here so Fallon could concentrate on her task without the interference of her father and her fiancé who are both searching for her.”

  Fallon widened her eyes. It made sense that her father would come in search of her. But her fiancé?

  The prince barely remembered she was alive most of the time.

  “Magnus is here?”

  “Fiancé?” Cyn muttered, sending Fallon an oddly angry glare before turning his attention to Siljar. “You can’t expect me to be her babysitter.”

  “I request that you give her your protection.” Siljar spoke before Fallon could call him a jackass. “Which will be considerably easier if you remain behind the potent magic that hides your lair from prying eyes.”

  “And what about my people?” he snarled. “I’ve already been gone too long. They need their chief.”

  Siljar waved away his concern. “You surely have a trusted servant who can keep your presence here a secret and yet allow you to ensure the welfare of your clan?”

  The chill in the air became downright frigid. “There are others more suited to taking care of a fairy.”

  Fallon met him glare for glare. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Siljar reached into the pocket of her robe, pulling out a small scroll.

  “But they would not be more suited to deciphering this.”

  Chapter Two

  It wouldn’t come as a shock to anyone that Styx was the Anasso, King of Vampires.

  At six foot five with dark eyes, and the fierce Aztec features of his ancestors, he was the poster child for BADASS. Dressed in leather pants and white silk shirt that emphasized his massive chest, he had his long raven hair braided and decorated with tiny turquoise amulets. There was another amulet around his neck, this one a traditional medallion that held the power of his people. His size thirteen feet were shoved into a pair of shit-kickers that looked decidedly out of place in the elegant library.

  Of course, there was no place in the sprawling mansion north of Chicago that he didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. His home was filled with marble columns and painted ceilings and an explosion of gilt. And the furnishings weren’t Louis XIV rip-offs. The furniture had actually come from the king’s palace. Which meant they were so delicate, a poor vampire was constantly terrified it would crack beneath his weight.

  Unfortunately his mate, Darcy, insisted that he needed a lair that would impress the demon world. And if it made Darcy happy, then that was all that mattered.

  The vampire walking through the door, however, was the exact opposite of Styx.

  Not to say that Viper wasn’t equally lethal. He hadn’t earned a position as the Chicago clan chief because his eyes were as dark and beguiling as a velvet night sky. Or because his features were as beautiful as a fallen angel. Or because his long, silver hair shimmered like the finest satin.

  He was one of the most ruthless killers to stalk the streets of Chicago.

  But while Styx looked like death walking, Viper resembled an eighteenth-century dandy dressed in a dark velvet jacket that reached his knees and a ruffled pink shirt.

  Crossing the priceless Parisian carpet, Viper headed directly to the side of the room, pouring himself a brandy before turning to face Styx who was leaning against the heavy desk.

  “This had better be important,” Viper growled, tossing the brandy down his throat.

  Styx arched a raven brow as Viper set the empty glass on a low, walnut table.

  “Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

  Viper nailed him with an exasperated glare. “I hadn’t left my bed, Your Majesty. I was enjoying a rare evening alone with my mate.”

  Ah. That would explain the pissy mood.

  Styx s
hrugged. “A pity.”

  Viper rolled his eyes. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

  “I would be more sympathetic if my own mate wasn’t back in St. Louis,” Styx muttered.

  Darcy’s sister had recently given birth to a litter of pureblood Weres and Styx had discovered himself living the life of a bachelor as the females fussed and cooed over the babies.

  He tried to be patient, but it wasn’t his greatest talent.

  Oh hell, who was he kidding? It was at the bottom of the list of his talents.

  Viper grimaced. “I’ve discovered that no mere male can compete with the allure of newborn babes. Even Shay insists on traveling to see them when there isn’t a waiting line outside Salvatore’s lair.”

  “Yes.” Styx’s annoyance with Darcy’s absence eased at the thought of Salvatore, the King of Weres, being tormented by endless guests forcing their way into his lair. The arrogant hound was at the edge of snapping. “Poor bastard.”

  Viper abruptly chuckled. “Once again I detect a distinct lack of genuine sympathy.”

  “True.” Styx smiled. Truce or not, it gave him genuine pleasure to think of the arrogant bastard ripping out his hair. “The dog deserves the aggravation.”

  “So why did you require that I come over tonight?” Viper demanded. “Just the pleasure of my sparkling personality?”

  Styx’s brief amusement disappeared. “Salvatore isn’t the only one with unwanted houseguests.”

  “I thought Sariel was out searching for his daughter?” Viper said, referring to the King of Chatri who claimed that his daughter had been kidnapped by Cyn, the clan chief of Ireland.

  Styx snorted. How the hell did this happen?

  One day he’d been celebrating the survival of yet another end-of-the-world-disaster, and the next his house was filled with fairies.

  Fairies, for God’s sake.

  It was enough to make any vampire consider burning the place to the ground.

  “He is, but he has left Prince Magnus, his soon-to-be son-in-law, here.”

  His tone left no doubt of his opinion of the prince.

  Viper scowled. “Why?”

  “He claims that he wants Magnus to be here in case Fallon appears while he’s gone.”

  “You don’t believe him?”