Beware the Darkness Read online

  “It seems like that is what I should want.” He looked oddly confused. “Wood sprites are always quite welcoming.”

  “And pretty.” The words were wrenched from her lips before she could halt them.

  “Oui.”

  Annoyed at the sensation that felt perilously close to jealousy, Inga released the bag she’d hung over her shoulder and headed toward the connecting door.

  “I’m going to take a bath,” she muttered. “You stay in the room.”

  Levet made a sound of protest. “But I want to see the fights.”

  “Later.”

  “But—”

  “You don’t want to leave me unprotected, do you?” Inga demanded, this time not feeling any guilt at using her trump card.

  Levet wouldn’t last ten minutes among the motley crowd that were no doubt gathered around the pits. A considerable amount of money was exchanged during the fights, and the demons’ limited sense of humor became nonexistent.

  Levet’s wings dropped as he glanced longingly at the door. “Non. I do not want that.”

  * * * *

  Tarak paced the edge of the cypress trees, growling low in his throat. Where the hell were they?

  He could smell the ogress, although her scent was muted. There was also the tang of granite in the air. A gargoyle? But one who didn’t leave the sort of destruction he would have expected from such a large demon.

  So why couldn’t he find them?

  Tarak grimaced. There could only be one explanation. Illusions.

  He released another growl. He hated magic. Almost as much as he hated mermaids. And that was a lot.

  There had to be a hidden lair. Maybe even a hotel or demon club that was shrouded in illusion. And without a specific beacon built within the spell that would direct a vampire through the magic, he had no way of finding the opening. Like a ship trying to navigate the fog with no lighthouse.

  Pacing around the grove, Tarak considered his options. The ogress had been smart enough to remain unpredictable. She would travel during the day and sleep at night. Then she would flip-flop and travel at night.

  Her journey through the bogs had been just as erratic. She had no obvious destination. Instead she zigged and zagged like a drunken troll. It made it impossible to anticipate where she was going.

  He assumed it was deliberate, since she had to know he was on her trail, but at some point she had to stop running in circles, didn’t she?

  The scent of lemons teased at Tarak’s senses. He came to a sharp halt. Ah. A male imp. Was the creature headed through the illusion?

  Tarak shrugged. It didn’t matter if that was his intended destination or not.

  He was going there now.

  Tarak weaved a silent path over the spongy ground, watching the demon from the shadows.

  The imp was tall and slender with long red hair and delicate features. He was wearing black leather pants and a motorcycle jacket left open to reveal his bare chest. Tarak grimaced. He wasn’t a fan of some the current fashion he’d seen on the television. Thankfully, he’d managed to steal a pair of jeans and heavy boots as well as a plain t-shirt from a human house on the edge of the swamp. They were comfortable enough and didn’t make him feel like an idiot when he pulled them on.

  Giving a shake of his head at his ridiculous thoughts, Tarak concentrated on the male who was about to walk between two towering cypresses. Once the creature reached the barrier of illusion, he would disappear from view.

  Moving with a blinding speed, Tarak was standing directly in front of the imp. He reached out to grasp the demon by the throat.

  “Going somewhere?” he demanded, careful to use the modern language, including the slang he’d learned from the strange shows that humans seemed to enjoy.

  He didn’t want to reveal that he’d been imprisoned for centuries. It would give any opponent an advantage. Besides, he was determined to fit into this new world. It was how vampires had managed to thrive since the beginning of time.

  The imp widened his green eyes. “Vampire,” he rasped in shock. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  “Is this your private grove?”

  “Not mine. But—”

  Tarak narrowed his eyes as the male snapped his lips together. Obviously he didn’t want to admit there was something hidden behind illusion nearby.

  “Yes?” he prompted.

  The imp tried to swallow. “What do you want?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” Tarak glanced toward the nearby trees. “I want you to take me inside.”

  “Inside?” The imp tried to appear confused. “Inside where?”

  Tarak tightened his fingers. “I’m tired and muddy and in the mood to kill something. Do you want that something to be you?”

  The imp made a strangled sound. “No.”

  “Then take me inside.”

  “I can’t.”

  Tarak resisted the urge to break the imp’s neck. He didn’t have time for the male to recover. He needed to get through the illusion before the ogress could take off again.

  “Why not?” he snapped.

  No doubt sensing the violence that pulsed around Tarak, the imp paled.

  “Vampires are off-limits,” he said.

  Tarak allowed his icy power to swirl through the air. Nearby a branch cracked and fell onto the mossy ground. “That’s not very nice, is it?”

  “I don’t make the rules.”

  “Then who does?”

  Despite the icy chill in the air, a layer of sweat covered the imp’s face.

  “A…a friend,” he stammered.

  Tarak studied the male he held by the throat. The fey creature’s fear tainted the air with scorched lemons, but his expression was set in stubborn lines. He was clearly reluctant to reveal whatever was behind the illusion.

  Tarak leaned closer. “What’s your name?”

  The imp blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Your name,” Tarak repeated.

  “Puck,” the creature finally muttered.

  Tarak tightened his grip on the male’s neck, lifting him an inch off the ground.

  “What’s behind the illusion, Puck?”

  The green eyes flared with panic. Could he see his own death flashing before them?

  “Fighting pits,” he gasped.

  Tarak frowned. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Anything else?”

  Puck started to shake his head, only to halt as if he was struck by a sudden thought. “I think there’s a few rooms for the patrons who want privacy.”

  “Where are they?”

  The male struggled to breathe. “What?”

  Tarak made a sound of impatience. “The rooms.”

  “I don’t know.” Puck released a choked squeal as Tarak gave a sharp shake. “Arg. Look, I’ve never stayed here. I just come for the fighting.”

  Tarak struggled to contain his temper. “Describe the building,” he demanded.

  “Old.” Puck shrugged. “Wood.”

  Tarak growled. Had the imp been in the pits too many times? Was his brain damaged?

  “Tell me the layout of the inside, you idiot.”

  “Oh.” Puck lifted his hands to grab Tarak’s wrist, but he didn’t bother to struggle. He was no match for a vampire’s strength. “There’s a lobby with a door that leads down to the pits.”

  “What else?” Tarak demanded.

  “I don’t—” Puck bit off his words, probably realizing just how close he was to having his heart ripped out. “Um…there’s a counter with a mongrel who takes the entrance fee.” He finally managed to recall. “I think there might be a hallway on that side of the lobby. That must be where the rooms are.”

  Tarak offered a cold smile. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  Acute relief rippled over the male’s face. “Yes,
well. If you’ll release my neck, I’ll be on my way.”

  Tarak kept the imp lifted off the ground, pulling him close enough that they were nose to nose.

  “We’ll be on our way,” he said.

  Puck trembled. “I don’t understand.”

  “I need to get through the illusion and you’re going to help me,” Tarak reminded the male.

  Something that looked like panic flared through the green eyes. “I told you. Vampires aren’t allowed in the pits.”

  Tarak curled his lips in disgust. Centuries ago the vampires had been infamous for capturing lesser demons and forcing them to fight for the entertainment of the clan chiefs. Other demons, like trolls and orcs, fought for the sheer pleasure of killing. Tarak found the pits a waste of manpower. Why throw away a potential soldier to amuse a bunch of drunken fools?

  “I’m not going to fight,” he rasped. “At least not in the pits.”

  Sweat dripped down the imp’s face. “I’ll be banned for eternity if I help you.”

  “You’ll be dead if you don’t.”

  The imp’s gaze lowered to Tarak’s fangs that were no doubt gleaming in the moonlight.

  “There’s no need for violence,” Puck croaked.

  Tarak abruptly released his grip on the male’s neck. “Then let’s go.”

  “Shit.” The imp stumbled, nearly falling to his knees as he rubbed his bruised throat. “Can’t we talk about this?”

  Tarak reached out his hand in a threatening motion, and with a shrill sound of fear, Puck was scurrying toward the trees.

  Following close behind him, Tarak resisted the urge to grab the back of the man’s jacket. The imp couldn’t outrun him. And if he tried…

  Tarak’s thoughts were driven away as he suddenly imagined he could feel a nasty brush of something over his skin. Magic. Logically he knew that he couldn’t detect the illusion, but that didn’t stop him from shivering.

  They continued forward, at last breaking through the edge of the illusion. Tarak grimaced at the sight of the large wooden building that abruptly loomed in the center of the grove. It was unnerving to know the structure had been there and he couldn’t see it.

  Giving a shake of his head, he followed the imp toward the front door, his gaze flicking around the opening. He couldn’t sense any demons lurking in the shadows, but if they were inside the illusion, he might not be able to detect them.

  Together they climbed the steps that sagged in the middle, and across the narrow porch. Then, pulling open the door, the imp walked inside and waved a hand toward the far side of the lobby.

  “There’s the hallway,” he said.

  Tarak stepped into the long room with an open-beamed ceiling and a pungent stench of sweat and blood. A quick inspection of the lobby revealed an empty space that might once have been filled with tables and chairs, and a nearby opening that led to a set of stairs going down. That had to be the way to the fighting pits. Already he could hear the noise echoing from beneath their feet. He turned his attention to the long counter at the back and the second opening that looked like a hallway leading to the rear of the building.

  He shuffled through the overwhelming tidal wave of scents. Ah yes. There it was. A hint of salt and sea air. And granite. His prey was here.

  He glanced toward the imp who was trembling at his side. “Where’s the manager?”

  “There.” The imp nodded toward a crack in the wall behind the counter that was beginning to widen. A hidden door.

  In no mood to fight his way past whatever demon was about to appear, Tarak glanced up and released a burst of power. There was a sharp crack of wood splintering, then one of the heavy ceiling beams crashed down, blocking the door.

  Puck gave a startled screech and Tarak sent him a wry glance.

  “You should go now,” he commanded.

  “Yeah.” Puck offered a sickly smile. “I have things to do, demons to see.”

  Pivoting on his heel, the imp turned and rushed from the building. Obviously the creature had decided to forgo the fights. Tarak shrugged. Probably a good idea.

  He headed across the lobby, forgetting the imp as well as the crowd cheering below. Nothing mattered right now but finding the ogress and forcing her to take him to the mermaids.

  Chapter 3

  Inga managed to slip into a light doze. She was truly exhausted. In mind, body, and spirit. And for once, she had a roof over her head and a mattress beneath her body.

  Granted, the mattress was two feet too short, and the roof was leaking. Plus, Levet was grumbling in the corner at being forced to stand guard rather than heading downstairs to enjoy the fights. But she intended to take advantage of their temporary shelter.

  Of course, it couldn’t last.

  She’d known at an early age that she’d been born beneath an evil star. Her mermaid mother had been raped by an ogre and she’d been bartered off to slave traders as soon as she’d been born. It was fate for her to be plagued with bad luck.

  Just an hour into her snooze, there was a blast of frigid air that made her shiver. She clutched the thin blanket around her shoulders, refusing to open her eyes. It couldn’t be a vampire. They had no way of getting through the illusion.

  There was another blast quickly followed by the sound of Levet’s claws scraping against the floor planks.

  “Um, Inga,” he whispered.

  She squeezed her eyes tighter. “I’m sleeping.”

  “Oui, I know. You have been snoring like my great Aunt Bertha,” he assured her. “But you did say we were avoiding vampires. A most wise decision. I possess an intense allergy to the bloodsuckers.”

  Releasing a frustrated sigh, Inga tossed aside the blanket and forced herself to climb out of the bed. Christ, she was tired.

  “How did he get in here?” she grumbled, smoothing down the muumuu with large oranges patterned over the silk material. Before fleeing the hotel, she’d taken time to pack a few essentials, including several changes of clothes, thank the goddess.

  Levet’s tail twitched as he glanced toward the door. “A question we should ponder later.”

  “Fine.” Inga grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder like a backpack. She wanted her hands free in case she needed to fight. “Let’s go.”

  Leading the way out of the room, Inga turned toward the lobby. Levet gave a small gasp, reaching out to grab her dress.

  “Non,” he protested. “The vampire is coming from the lobby.”

  Did the silly gargoyle imagine she couldn’t feel the icy power that was thundering down the hallway?

  She glared down at him. “There’s no other way out.”

  Levet lifted his arms in a dramatic motion. “I can create an opening.”

  “No.”

  He scowled at her sharp refusal. “Are you doubting my powers?”

  Inga shuddered, recalling the night before when Levet had attempted to clear a path through the thick vegetation. The fireball he’d created had bounced off the trees, forcing her to dive into a nearby bog to avoid being burned.

  “Just the wisdom of releasing it in such cramped quarters.” She tried to be diplomatic. A struggle, considering that was a skill she never practiced.

  Levet scrunched his snout. “Party crapper.”

  Inga heaved a sigh. “Pooper. Party pooper.”

  Levet ignored her. “He’s almost here.”

  Inga futilely glanced around the empty hallway. She was big and strong and capable of beating most demons in a fight, but not a vampire. She had to get out of this building and try to outrun the damned leech.

  It was the boom-boom-boom from someone pounding a drum beneath their feet that gave her the perfect solution.

  “We have to go down,” she announced.

  Levet’s wings fluttered with excitement. “To the fights?”

  “Yes.”


  “At last.” The gargoyle’s happiness abruptly disappeared, like a balloon that had been pricked. “But we must go through the vampire to get to the stairs.”

  “Not necessarily.” Inga dropped to her knees, balling her hand into a fist and slamming it against the floorboard.

  Levet jumped backward as one wooden plank cracked in two, allowing her fingers to get a firm grip on it. She ripped it aside and grabbed the next floorboard.

  “Ah. You are très magnifique,” Levet breathed. “So strong.”

  Quickly creating a hole large enough to get through, Inga felt an embarrassed blush touch her cheeks. No other creature had ever seen beyond her ugly features and massive girth. No one but Levet. She didn’t know whether to kill him or kiss him.

  It was unnerving.

  “Being this large should have some benefits,” she muttered.

  “Fah. Why would you complain about your size? I would give anything to—”

  Inga grabbed the gargoyle by the arm and tossed him through the hole.

  “Arg!” Levet cried out, giving a flap of his wings as he struggled to avoid the milling crowd below.

  Inga didn’t have the same luxury. Pushing her legs through the opening, she squeezed through the broken boards and dropped like a stone. With a heavy thud, she landed on top of a cluster of sprites, squashing them onto the hard, stone floor.

  Inga grimaced at the pain that radiated up her legs from landing so heavily, but with a grim determination she straightened and cast a quick glance around the space.

  It was hot and smoky from the torches shoved into the walls. In the center of the stone floor was a rough, iron cage with two trolls who were currently bashing each other with heavy maces. Around the edges were a mob of screaming demons who were packed in so tightly they could barely move, despite the fact that the space was surprisingly large.

  How much magic was being used to create the cavern? There had to be a powerful demon somewhere to keep this underground space not only shrouded in illusion, but completely dry.

  Inga gave a shake of her head. She didn’t have time to worry about the mystery owner of the place. Not when one of the squashed sprites staggered to his feet and lobbed a silver knife toward her head. Idiot. An ogress had a skull as thick as a brick wall.