Sacrifice of Darkness: A Guardians of Eternity Novella Page 2

  They were like flies buzzing around him, refusing to leave even after he waved them away.

  Turning into the hallway that led to his private rooms at the back of the club, Javad frowned when he caught sight of a large demon pressing something—or someone—against the wall.

  Rastiv.

  The nasty goblin had a square head that sat atop a bullish body. His features were brutish, and he had the manners of a… Well, the truth was, he didn’t have any couth. He was a depraved animal that should have been locked in the nearest dungeon. Unfortunately, Vynom enjoyed keeping a few savages around to maintain order. The fights stirred the mob of demons to a fever-pitch, not to mention the amount of money won and lost during each battle. They needed some sort of crowd control.

  But a few weeks before, Javad had discovered Rastiv attempting to force himself on a water sprite. He’d warned the goblin that the next time he caught him behaving like a monster, he would throw him out of the club. Obviously, the idiot hadn’t taken his threat seriously.

  Now, Javad shoved aside the slender imp currently trying to attract his attention and moved to grab Rastiv’s shoulder. At the same time, he glanced toward the female, who pressed herself tightly against the wall, watching him with large eyes.

  An emotion he’d never experienced before detonated inside him.

  Javad hissed, feeling oddly dizzy. What the hell was happening? He’d taken a thousand blows during his years as a fighter. Never once had he felt as if his knees were going weak. Nor had his head spun.

  Shocked by the intensity of his reaction to the unknown female, he allowed his gaze to sweep over her delicate features framed by thick, honey-colored curls. Her eyes were the most amazing shade of lavender, her nose a narrow blade. Her lips a lush invitation.

  He tilted back his head, absorbing her scent. Aloe vera? He frowned. Who was she?

  And why the hell did he feel an overwhelming urge to toss her over his shoulder and carry her to his private rooms?

  Annoyed by the unexpected emotions that churned within him, Javad dug his fingers into Rastiv’s shoulder and jerked him around.

  “I warned you what would happen the next time I caught you forcing yourself on a female.”

  Rastiv scowled, his thick skin covered with scales, and tusks sticking out of his lower jaw.

  “Nymph, mine,” he grunted. The tusks were formidable weapons, but they made it difficult for the male to speak.

  Nymph? Javad’s gaze shot toward the female. She looked like a nymph, but there was something…else. Some power he could sense but couldn’t name.

  “Tough. I told you to let her go.”

  “No.” The goblin grabbed the hilt of the war hammer he had strapped around his broad waist. Almost as if he was stupid enough to try and challenge Javad. “Mine.”

  Javad narrowed his gaze. “I gave you an order.”

  “You go ‘way.” Rastiv grabbed his dick in a lewd gesture. “I make female scream.”

  The nymph made a small sound of terror, and Javad’s anger combusted into a blinding fury. He told himself it was because he hated creatures that abused those smaller and weaker than themselves. Perhaps ironic, considering that he was a fighter. But he never entered the cage with an unwilling opponent.

  It wasn’t until he felt the earth shake beneath his feet that he suspected this was more than just anger at the goblin being a disgusting pig. Damn. He usually maintained iron-clad control over his ability to cause small earthquakes. No one wanted tons of rock collapsing on their head. Losing control meant that his emotions must be nearing their breaking point.

  Javad sought the lavender gaze, holding it for just long enough to ensure that it was imprinted on his memory. Then, slowly, he turned to face Rastiv.

  “I warned Vynom that you were an undisciplined liability,” Javad drawled. “You’ve proven me right.”

  The goblin scowled. Big words tended to confuse him. Of course, putting his shoes on the correct feet tended to confuse him.

  “Me fighter.” He pounded his chest. “Me best fighter.”

  Ah. Javad allowed a cold, humorless smile to curve his lips. Any creature who had to boast they were the best, proved that they weren’t. And Rastiv was obviously chafing at the knowledge he would always be second-best.

  Javad reached out, grabbing Rastiv’s tunic. Then, with the strength that had made him the most feared warrior in the world, he picked the goblin off his feet and tossed him across the narrow space.

  A smattering of laughter sounded from the nearby crowd as Rastiv smashed into the wall with enough force to crack the marble, but Javad barely heard their twittering. He was entirely focused on the infuriated goblin as he jumped to his feet and lowered his head.

  He didn’t know why Rastiv wasn’t scurrying away. Perhaps the creature had convinced himself that he was capable of defeating Javad. Or, more likely, he hoped to impress the onlookers. The idiot had always been jealous of Javad’s fame.

  It didn’t matter to Javad. He spread his feet, anticipation coursing through his body. He was going to make Rastiv pay for every second he’d terrorized the beautiful nymph.

  Every. Single. Second.

  Chapter 1

  Javad was renowned throughout the demon world. Over the past century, he’d created a posh, outrageously elite demon club. The Viper’s Nest in the heart of Vegas was by invitation only, and creatures literally begged on their knees for an opportunity to walk through the doors. Some he let in. Most he didn’t.

  Most of his customers would be shocked to discover that he hadn’t started his existence in elegant surroundings.

  They had no idea he’d been hauled from one seedy pigsty to another. Barren caverns, crypts, lava pits, and sweltering swamps. His sire, Vynom, had taken Javad around the world, using Javad’s skills as a fighter to accumulate a fortune.

  He was intimately familiar with the congested noise, the filth, and the explosions of violence that were mandatory for most demon establishments. What he’d forgotten was the pungent stench.

  Walking through the door of the Diablo Club, the smell hit him like a physical punch. Unwashed bodies. Rotting food. Blood. The club was only across town from the Viper’s Nest, yet it seemed a world away.

  Wrinkling his nose, Javad glanced around the dark, narrow room that was crammed with customers. There were several fey creatures, along with trolls and goblins and even a few vampires. Like a variety pack of demons.

  The urge to turn on his heel and walk away vibrated through Javad. He’d put these sorts of places behind him. Thank the goddess. Of course, the reason he was here was because of his past.

  So…irony at its finest.

  Tilting his head back, Javad ignored the stench and tested the air. He wasn’t stupid enough to waltz through this crowd without making sure there weren’t any unwelcome surprises.

  The ground shook beneath his feet as he released a sudden burst of power. He easily recognized a familiar scent.

  “Uze,” he muttered, his fangs now fully extended.

  He’d threatened to kill the slave trader if he ever returned to Vegas.

  With effort, Javad regained command of his temper. He silently promised himself he’d deal with the mongrel troll later. One lowlife at a time. Javad returned his attention to the other demons, confident there was nothing nearby that could kill him. At least not without a fight.

  Heading toward the back of the room, Javad strolled through the crowd that parted to give him plenty of space. Even with his fangs hidden and no weapon in sight, the customers managed to sense that he was the most dangerous creature in the club.

  A few bold females reached out as he passed. Javad was used to their eager attempts to capture his attention. It wasn’t arrogance to admit that he was fascinating to other demons, because it wasn’t personal. Just one of the benefits of being a vampire.

  And it didn’t hurt that he was tall and slender with sculpted muscles that rippled beneath his black slacks and crimson silk tunic that fell to hi
s knees. His dark hair was glossy in the muted torchlight and long enough to brush his shoulders. His face was lean, and his features were uncompromisingly stark as if they’d been chiseled from stone. And unlike many vampires, his skin held a rich color. He’d spent too many years in the brutal desert sun before being turned to entirely lose the glorious sheen.

  At the moment, his eyes were dark with sensual invitation, the primitive method of luring his prey. But when he was angry, they shimmered a bright bronze. He was told that they smoldered with enough power to send grown trolls fleeing in terror. On the side of his neck was a stylized tattoo that revealed he’d been an assassin during his life as a human.

  At last, Javad reached a small male nearly hidden in the thick shadows at the back of the club. The creature had a bald head and weirdly gaunt features. As always, he wore a loose robe that covered his body from neck to toe. His eyes were dark as a harpy’s wing, but at the very center, a crimson flame burned like the pits of Hell.

  “Rupert,” Javad said as the demon tried to sink deeper into the inky blackness.

  Rupert was a mongrel rompo, something Javad suspected he managed to conceal from most creatures who visited his club. Rompos were the scavengers of the demon world, turning into skeletons to feed on corpses. Most species considered them to be the lowest of lifeforms and detested them.

  Javad didn’t mind them. Hey, someone had to be the bottom-feeder of the gene pool.

  “Don’t start with me, leech. Not all of us have your prejudices against slave-traders, and Uze spends his money freely,” Rupert warned, his voice coming out as a strange purr. “I don’t tell you how to run your club. You can keep your damned nose out of mine.”

  Javad waved his hand in an impatient gesture. “I’m not here about the slaver.”

  “Then what do you want?” Rupert looked suspicious.

  Javad didn’t hesitate. “Information.”

  “About what?”

  “Fighting pits,” Javad told him. “Somewhere in the desert.”

  “A fighting pit?” The demon ran his fingers over his bald head, widening his eyes with faux innocence. “Seriously?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “Never heard of any.”

  Javad stepped forward. An air of suppressed violence vibrated around him. It wasn’t just his position as manager of the Viper’s Nest that made him the top demon in Vegas. It was the power that thundered through him. Even now, the building trembled beneath shockwaves of energy. Only Chiron, one of the rebel vampires who ran a casino that catered to humans, could hope to match him in strength. It was one of the reasons they tended to avoid each other.

  “Think hard, Rupert.” Javad’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Think very, very hard.”

  “I don’t have to think,” Rupert purred, stupidly ignoring the threat hanging in the air. “I don’t know anything about any fighting pits around here.”

  Javad’s hand moved with the speed of a striking snake, his fingers wrapping around the demon’s throat.

  “Wrong answer.” Javad peeled back his lips to expose his fangs.

  “Argh.”

  “Still the wrong answer.” Javad’s fingers tightened until the male’s face turned a weird shade of dark red.

  A roar sounded behind them, and Javad glanced toward a troll who was lumbering in their direction.

  “Tell your goon to stay back,” Javad warned, tightening his fingers until the demon’s face turned an even darker shade of puce.

  Hmm. Pucier?

  The rombo desperately gestured toward the large demon, who stumbled to a puzzled halt. Javad turned back to Rupert.

  “Now, one last time. Tell me where I can find the fight club.”

  “It’s out in the desert someplace,” the male choked out, gasping for air.

  “Be more specific.”

  Dark eyes flared with crimson flames. “I can’t. It’s always moving. Plus, it’s hidden behind layers of illusion.”

  “Who runs it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Javad lifted the demon until his feet dangled off the floor. Behind them, the troll growled in fury, but he wasn’t stupid enough to try and interfere.

  “You never learn, do you?” Javad smiled. “Give me a name before I start ripping off body parts. Starting with that lump of flesh between your legs.”

  That did it. Males were males, no matter what their species. Start threatening the family jewels, and they would betray their own mother.

  “A vampire called Vynom.” Rupert coughed, his breath wheezing through his crushed throat. “And before you ask, I’ve never talked to the male, he’s never visited this club, and I’ve never been to the pits.”

  Javad allowed the creature to dangle off the floor for another minute, then he dropped him with a flick of his wrist. For the moment, he would accept that Rupert was telling the truth. If he discovered he was lying, he could always kill him later.

  “Who has been to the pits?”

  Rupert regained his balance, glancing toward the crowd of rowdy demons. Javad suspected that he was more interested in hiding the crimson flames in his eyes than checking out his customers. Those eyes would reveal his heritage and stir up awkward questions.

  “None of these losers,” the bar owner muttered. “Only the most elite fighters are invited.”

  Javad abruptly turned and headed toward the door. The name Vynom had hit him with stunning force. He didn’t want anyone to detect his unwelcomed sense of vulnerability. All demons were predators. They would strike the second they suspected any sort of weakness.

  Besides, he’d just caught a familiar scent. One that he hadn’t expected in this seedy establishment.

  Keeping his pace slow and steady, Javad retraced his steps out of the club, pretending to ignore the numerous demons who watched him leave with speculative gazes. Then, following the surprising scent, he rounded the side of the low building to glare at the vampire leaning against the crumbling stucco.

  Viper. Clan chief of Chicago. And Javad’s current master.

  The male had long, silver hair as pale as the moonlight and dark eyes that held a mocking amusement. His face was lean and far too perfect to be anything but a vampire. And while he wasn’t as tall as Javad, he was equally slender. Tonight, he was dressed like a Regency dandy, in a dark green velvet coat and silk pants, with a lacy white shirt. He should have looked ridiculous. Instead, he was as regal as any king.

  Javad folded his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?”

  Viper arched a brow. “Hello, Javad. Wonderful to see you. How are you? Good, I hope. And me? Why I am in excellent health.” He ran a slender hand down the emerald pile of his coat. “Is that a new jacket? Why yes, it is. A gift from Shay. Thanks for noticing.”

  Javad rolled his eyes. Viper’s sense of humor was almost as peculiar as his choice in fashion. Of course, when you were eternal, you had the luxury of dressing however the hell you wanted. Trends and fads had no meaning. “Since when do you care about manners?”

  Viper pretended to be shocked. “You wound me, old friend. I am infamous for my exquisite charm.”

  “Only when it earns you money.”

  “Shay has been trying to civilize me.”

  Shay was Viper’s mate. Javad had met her on several occasions and genuinely liked the Shallot demon. But while she might have many fine qualities, he doubted anyone’s ability to civilize Viper.

  “Have you told her that it’s a wasted effort?”

  Viper smiled, his long fangs shimmering in the light of the flashing neon sign above the building.

  “She lives in eternal hope.”

  “Why are you here?” Javad repeated his question. As much as he enjoyed the company of his master, he was anxious to start his hunt.

  Viper shrugged. “I wanted to check on the club.”

  Javad believed that Viper had traveled to Vegas to visit the Viper’s Nest. The male liked to keep his finger on the pulse of all his busine
sses, even those that were wildly successful. But that didn’t explain why he was standing outside the Diablo.

  “Your GPS must be malfunctioning. The Viper’s Nest is across town.”

  “My GPS is just fine. Candace told me you were here. And why.”

  Damn. Javad was going to have strong words with his second in command. The female vampire was usually loyal to the point of fanaticism. Although, to be fair, Viper was her ultimate master.

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Do I look like a babysitter?”

  Javad grimaced. His master might possess a glossy sophistication that fooled the humans, but just below the surface was a ruthless demon that had survived endless challenges to his position as clan chief. Only a fool would assume he was anything but a lethal predator.

  A soon-to-be dead fool.

  “Viper—”

  “How about a friend?” Viper interrupted. “Could you use a friend?”

  Javad hesitated. His brutal past made it difficult to lower his barriers. Viper was one of the few who’d managed to earn his trust. And that had taken several centuries.

  He gave a slow nod. “Yeah. I could use a friend.”

  “I could only hear a portion of your conversation with the rompo demon. There’s a fighting pit in town?”

  A familiar fury blasted through Javad. When he’d finally walked away from the pits, he’d sworn that he would do everything in his power to make sure no other demon suffered as he had.

  “In the desert.”

  “And you’re going to close it down?” Viper demanded.

  “I made the law that fighting pits are forbidden in my territory. If I don’t take action, it will make me look weak.”

  Viper eyed him with a grim expression. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that Vynom is the one running it?”

  Javad’s fangs lengthened. Just the thought of his sire was enough to stir his most savage impulses. With effort, he forced himself to shrug with fake indifference. If Viper realized the depths of Javad’s hatred for the male who’d abused his loyalty for centuries, he would do everything in his power to halt Javad’s fierce thirst for revenge.