Beyond the Darkness Page 6

  Harley felt a flutter of unease as she recalled how Salvatore had held Caine captive.

  “No frigging way,” she rasped.

  He laughed softly, his breath brushing against her skin, making it prickle with excitement.

  “In every way.” He pulled back to regard her with an unnerving intensity. “And just a word of warning, Harley, I don’t share.”

  Her mouth went dry even as she was shaking her head in denial.

  “God, I thought Caine was off his nut.”

  The golden gaze skimmed down to her mouth. “I make no guarantee of my sanity, but I do promise that my claim to you is very real.”

  “Salvatore.”

  “I like the sound of my name on your lips,” he muttered, abruptly lowering his head as if unable to resist temptation. “And the taste,” he whispered against her mouth. “I especially like the taste.”

  It was the biting need clutching her body that at last pushed her unease to sheer panic.

  Without giving herself time to think, she shoved her hands against his chest, sending him flying off her and onto his back on the cement floor.

  “What part of ‘get off me’ did you not understand?” she rasped, scrambling to her feet to glare down at his amused expression. “What’s so funny?”

  With a liquid grace he was on his feet, his raven hair tumbling about his lean face and the golden eyes glowing with anticipation.

  “I’m a predator.”

  Like that was some sort of secret?

  The man reeked of danger.

  “And?”

  “And there’s nothing I enjoy more than the chase.” He smiled, his teeth startling white against his bronzed skin. “Well…almost nothing. I have a feeling that on this occasion, the capture is going to be even more satisfying.”

  Prey? Her eyes narrowed. “You’re an idiot if you think I’m some sort of helpless female that’s yours for the taking.”

  “I wouldn’t want you if you were helpless. At least not unless you were in the mood to be at my mercy.” He reached to stroke a brazen finger down the low scoop of her sports bra. “You might enjoy a night in my handcuffs.”

  “Yeah.” She slapped his finger away. “About as much as I would enjoy having my eyes gouged out.”

  His smile widened. “I’m going to enjoy teaching you just how many pleasures are waiting for us.”

  With short, jerky steps, she moved to glare at the door across the room.

  “For God’s sake, now is not the time or place for this.”

  He moved to stand directly behind her, the heat of his body searing her back.

  “Then when is the time?”

  “How does never sound to you?”

  “Unbearable,” he breathed into her ear.

  Harley wrapped her arms around her waist. It was either that, or wrapping them around the edible Were. Damn him to hell.

  “Can you control Caine even at a distance?” she demanded roughly.

  There was a taut silence, then with a faint sigh Salvatore moved to stand at her side, his profile hard.

  “Not with you…” He sharply cut off his words, sliding a covert glance in her direction. “Not at the moment. The silver disrupts my powers.”

  She frowned, wondering what he was hiding from her.

  “He won’t be stupid enough to get that close again.”

  “He’ll be back.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So now you’re clairvoyant?”

  “There’s no need for clairvoyance. Caine’s kept me alive for a reason. Eventually that reason will force him to return.”

  “It won’t help if he’s not already in your power. He’ll just tranq you or fill the basement with gas like he did before.”

  He grasped her shoulders, turning her to meet the power of his golden gaze.

  “Harley, one way or another, I promise you that we’re going to get out of here.”

  “And you’re never wrong?”

  “Never.”

  “Arrogant.”

  He flashed that devastatingly sexy smile. “Confident.”

  The fact that she couldn’t simply laugh at his egotistical boasts pissed her off. The conceited beast would get them out just to prove her wrong.

  She pulled from his grip and eyed him with suspicion.

  “You know the Were who’s helping Caine?”

  His smile faded, his expression suddenly grim and forbidding.

  “Si.”

  “I’m assuming from your tone that the two of you aren’t BFFs?”

  “He was my greatest competition toward claiming the throne.”

  Harley lifted her brows. “Is there really a throne?”

  “Of course.” He seemed startled she would even ask. “It’s a massive wooden chair with a lot of gilt and velvet cushions. It’s also bespelled so that only the true king can sit on it. It helps clear up any doubt as to the next heir.”

  She grimaced. No doubt there was also a big, gaudy crown with a lot of flashy jewels.

  “And your contender’s ass wasn’t royal enough to fit?”

  A feral smile curled his lips. “He wasn’t in the mood to try after I ripped out his throat.”

  “Nice.” Harley tossed her head, hoping he didn’t notice her tiny shiver of alarm. Salvatore Giuliani would make a very bad enemy. Something to remember. “It’s no wonder he’s chummy with Caine. They both hate your guts.”

  “Actually, it’s more than a wonder. It’s nothing less than a miracle.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, after I ripped out Briggs’s throat, I cut off his head, carved out his heart, and burned his carcass.” The golden eyes flashed. “He should be dead.”

  “Yeah,” she breathed unsteadily. “You’d think.”

  Salvatore watched Harley grimace, belatedly realizing that it might not be the best strategy to reveal just how brutal he could be when the occasion demanded. Not if he was to convince her that her only hope of safety was in his hands.

  Then he shrugged. Unless Caine developed the ability to think with his brain instead of his ego, Salvatore was going to have to kill him. And anyone else who threatened Harley.

  Perhaps it was best she knew the truth from the start.

  As if coming to the same conclusion, Harley breathed in a deep breath and met his gaze squarely.

  Brave and tough.

  Just his kind of woman.

  “Have you considered the possibility that maybe the Were who’s tag teaming with Caine isn’t Briggs?”

  Ah, if only it were that simple.

  “No, the description fits too perfectly.” Salvatore shook his head in disgust. “Cristo. I should have known his death could not be so simple.”

  Her sharp bark of laughter echoed through the cell. “You did everything but eat his carcass for dinner. That isn’t simple by anyone’s standard.”

  “Not for most Weres, but I already suspected that he was dabbling in magic.”

  She took a sharp step backwards, her expression oddly wary. “Weres can do magic?”

  His smiled with rueful amusement. If he could do magic, he wouldn’t be stuck in this damned cell.

  “They aren’t born with the ability to perform magic like a witch, but any creature—” He broke off as he realized he wasn’t being entirely honest. “Well, any creature besides a vampire can be imbued with magic.”

  “Imbued? I don’t understand.”

  “There are ancient demons who can share their powers with others.”

  She considered a moment, her expression dubious. “I haven’t met many ancient demons, but they’ve never struck me as the sort to share anything, let alone their power.”

  “Very perceptive, cara,” he said. “Only the very stupid or the very desperate would agree to become a vessel for borrowed magic. The cost is far too high for whatever reward you hope to gain.”

  “What’s the cost?”

  “Your life, if you’re lucky.”

  She hesitated before asking the obvious questi
on. “And if you’re not lucky?”

  “Your soul.”

  “Damn.” The hazel eyes were troubled as she glanced toward the door, perhaps realizing for the first time just how truly perilous their situation was. “Why would this Briggs be willing to give up his soul?”

  It wasn’t a tough question to answer. Like Caine, Briggs had always been an egotistical jackass who assumed he was a God-given gift to Weres.

  The mere thought he wasn’t going to be top dog (quite literally), was enough to send him over the edge.

  “He’s nearly a century older than myself, and until my birth he was considered the leading candidate to become the next King of Weres.”

  Harley caught on quickly. “And you stole his thunder?”

  “What can I say?” He smiled with a faux modesty. “It was known since I was in the cradle that I was destined for greatness.”

  “You’re impossible,” she muttered. “What makes you suspect this Briggs is borrowing some demon’s power?”

  “Besides the fact he came back to life?”

  She waved aside his logic. “You said you already suspected he was dabbling in magic before his creepy resurrection. Why?”

  Damn, the woman didn’t miss a thing.

  “Once a Were reaches puberty and begins to shift, his power is more or less set. It’s possible to learn fighting skills or to become more cunning, but the level of power doesn’t change.”

  She considered for a moment, then she gave an abrupt nod. “Okay, that makes sense.”

  “After it became obvious that I would outrank Briggs, he disappeared from Rome for several years, and when he returned I began to sense he had gained strength that he shouldn’t have possessed.” Salvatore shuddered. “And, of course, there were his eyes.”

  “His eyes?”

  “They stayed crimson even in his human form.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That he’s more wolf than human. He maintains his intelligence and cunning, but any human morals and ethics have been replaced by sheer animal instinct.” Salvatore’s smile was sour. “Not that he had many morals to begin with.”

  “And he has black magic.”

  “Si.” Salvatore’s jaw tightened. “He will kill without mercy or remorse.”

  There was a sharp flare of alarm in her eyes. For all her bravery, Harley had the sense to be frightened when she should be.

  Thank God. He had enough soldiers willing to throw their lives away.

  “Did you ever confront him about his power boost?”

  “It was not my place so long as the previous king still sat on the throne.”

  She snorted. “I find it hard to believe there was ever a time you didn’t assume you were the boss.”

  Salvatore ground his teeth, recalling those long, dark centuries as the previous king retreated from his duties, leaving his subjects in disarray and vulnerable to attack. It was then that the Weres had begun to falter, and even with all his power, Salvatore had yet to halt the slow decline.

  A knowledge that gnawed at him with remorseless need to alter the grinding wheels of fate.

  And one he rarely shared with anyone.

  He shrugged. “I can be diplomatic when the occasion demands.”

  “Right,” she drawled in blatant disbelief. “So what happened?”

  He sucked in a deep breath, crushing his ancient fury before it could cloud his concentration.

  He would dwell on Briggs and his past mistakes later.

  There were enough problems just a tad more urgent at the moment.

  “I tried to keep an eye on Briggs, but then the king died and before I could voice my suspicions, Briggs attacked.”

  “Obviously, you won.”

  “I did, but it was much more difficult than it should have been.” His tone was flat, his words not revealing the grisly battle that had taken him nearly a month to recover from. “One mistake and I would have been the one in the grave.”

  Something flashed through the hazel eyes.

  Horror? Dismay?

  Disappointment that Briggs had screwed up the chance to chop off his head?

  “Now he’s back,” she said.

  “So it would seem.”

  “And with a grudge.”

  “No, with a plan,” he softly corrected.

  The grudge was a given. Briggs had wanted him dead since the day he was born. The very fact that he hadn’t ambushed Salvatore before he realized the bastard was lurking around hinted that he had some plot beyond murder.

  “What kind of plan?” she demanded.

  “That, cara, I don’t yet know.”

  She stabbed him with a frustrated glare. “Well, thanks a butt-load for dragging me into the middle of your feud.”

  Salvatore moved to capture her face between his hands. There was no way he was going to be the villain of the piece.

  “Ah, no, I won’t take the entire blame. Caine was the one to drag you and your sisters away from the safety of my lair.”

  Her chin tilted to that stubborn angle he was beginning to recognize.

  “Oh, yeah? If you hadn’t been messing with our DNA, then he never would have taken us.”

  Salvatore studied her breathtaking beauty with a brooding gaze. “I wonder.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “If Briggs is responsible for Caine’s mystical visions, then he’s no doubt the one who convinced the gullible cur to steal you from my nursery,” he said slowly, speaking his vague suspicions out loud.

  “Why?”

  “Just another question with no answer.”

  “Great.”

  Salvatore stilled as a familiar scent of granite whispered through the air.

  “Damn.”

  Her eyes widened. “What is it?”

  “The cavalry,” he muttered with a grimace. “Unfortunately.”

  “Why unfortunately?”

  Salvatore turned his head to watch the drain cover in the middle of the cement floor shoot upward, followed by a small gray form pushing out of the hole.

  “Because the only thing worse than being stuck in this cell is being rescued by that.”

  Once clear of the drain, Levet gave himself a shake like a wet dog to regain his usual lumpy shape, a smirk curling his lips as he met Salvatore’s resigned frown.

  “Oh, Wilma, I’m home.”

  Chapter Six

  Obviously less conflicted about their rescue, no doubt because she had yet to spend any quality time with the annoying pest, Harley hurried toward the edge of the cell, kneeling beside the silver bars.

  “Levet,” she breathed, her voice softening in a way that made Salvatore grit his teeth. How the hell had he become the bad guy, while the stunted gargoyle was treated like a long lost friend? “What are you doing here?”

  Levet waddled forward, careful to keep a distance from the bars. Even gargoyles were allergic to silver.

  “Ma belle, you did not believe I would abandon you to a pack of mangy dogs?”

  “How did you follow us?”

  “Fah.” He waved a clawed hand. “As if I could be outwitted by a mere witch.”

  “Stop preening and get us the hell out of here,” Salvatore growled.

  “I see that you are in your usual charming mood,” Levet sniffed, carefully reaching through the bars to pat Harley’s hand. “I do not envy you, poor Harley, for being trapped with this foul beast.”

  She shot Salvatore a taunting glance. “You have no idea.”

  “Levet, do you remember that conversation we had about your wings and whether or not they remain attached to your body?” Salvatore said, his soft tone making the gargoyle take a hasty step backwards.

  “Bully.” His tail twitched. “If it were not for your lovely companion, I would leave you here to rot.”

  “Just hurry, gargoyle.”

  Moving to the door of the cell, Levet studied the lock, his heavy brow lowering.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”
<
br />   “The lock has been spelled.”

  “I thought that no witch could outwit you?”

  Levet managed to look offended. “I can blast through it, but you are always so testy when I blow things up.”

  Salvatore muttered a curse. “Perfect.”

  Levet tilted back his head and tested the air. “There are six curs in the house and three more outside.” He stabbed Salvatore with a questioning glance. “Can you overpower them?”

  “No.”

  “Some king you are…” Levet bit off his words, his gaze sliding toward Harley as he belatedly recalled the reason for Salvatore’s lack of power. “Oh.”

  “Precisely.”

  “What?” Harley frowned. “What’s going on?”

  Salvatore ignored his companion as he concentrated on the small gargoyle.

  “Can you reach Styx?”

  “Non, we are too far away. I attempted both Tane and Jagr, but I could not locate either of them. I could perhaps reach your curs.”

  “No, I won’t have them rushing here on a suicide mission,” Salvatore said without hesitation.

  “Oh, but it is fine for me to risk my neck?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Levet sent him a raspberry, but before Salvatore could reach through the bars and rip out the gargoyle’s tongue, Harley straightened and sent him an impatient glare.

  “Can we just concentrate on getting out of here?” she snapped. “Caine might be a lowly cur, but eventually he’s going to smell a gargoyle in his basement.”

  Salvatore swallowed a sigh of resignation. If it was ever discovered he’d been rescued by a pint-sized gargoyle, he’d never live it down.

  “Can you blast a hole big enough for us to get through?” he grudgingly demanded.

  Levet glanced toward the thick ceiling. “Not without the possibility of the house falling on our heads.”

  “Not up,” Salvatore corrected. “Down.”

  Levet paused, sniffing the air. “A tunnel.”

  “More than one.” Salvatore shifted his gaze to Harley. “Do you know where they lead?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I was never allowed in them.”

  “We’ll have to risk it,” he said, knowing even as the words left his mouth he was going to regret this. The gargoyle was a walking disaster. “Levet?”