Beyond the Darkness (2 page)

Female pureblood.

Coming to a sharp halt, Salvatore savored the rich vanilla aroma that filled his senses.

He loved the smell of women. Hell, he loved women.

But this was different.

It was intoxicating.

“Cristo,”
he breathed, his blood racing, an odd tightness coiling through his body, slowly draining his strength.

Almost as if…

No. It wasn’t possible.

There hadn’t been a true Were mating for centuries.

“Curs,” Levet said, moving to his side. “And a female pureblood.”

“Si,”
Salvatore muttered, distracted.

“You think it’s a trap?”

Salvatore swallowed a grim laugh. Hell, he hoped it was a trap. The alternative was enough to send any intelligent Were howling into the night.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

He moved forward, sensing the end of the tunnel just yards in front of him.

“Salvatore?” Levet tugged on his pants.

Salvatore shook him off. “What?”

“You smell funny.
Mon Dieu,
are you…”

With blinding speed, Salvatore grasped the gargoyle by one stunted horn and yanked him off his feet to glare into his ugly face. Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed the musky scent that clung to his skin.

Merda.

“One more word and you lose that tongue,” he snarled.

“But…”

“Do not screw with me.”

“I do not intend to screw with anyone.” The gargoyle curled his lips in a mocking smile. “I am not the one in heat.”

Hess appeared beside Salvatore, halting his urge to rip off the gargoyle’s head.

A pity.

“Sire?” the cur demanded, his thick brow furrowed.

“Take Max and the other curs and keep guard on the rear. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us,” he commanded.

It was unlikely the cur would recognize Salvatore’s disturbing reaction to the female’s scent. Hess hadn’t even been transformed when the last mating had happened. Not to mention the fact that he was as thick as a stump. But Levet was certainly annoying enough to let the cat out of the bag.

Waiting for the curs to grudgingly shift back, he gave the gargoyle a shake before dropping him onto the ground.

“You—not another word.”

Regaining his balance, Levet glanced upward, his wings fluttering and his tail twitching.

“Um. Actually, I have two words,” he muttered. Then, without warning, he was charging forward, ramming directly into Salvatore and sending him flying backwards. “CAVE-IN!!!”

Momentarily stunned, Salvatore watched in horror as the low ceiling abruptly gave way, sending an avalanche of dirt and stone into the tunnel.

Because of Levet’s swift action, he had avoided the worst of the landslide, but rising to his feet he was in no mood for gratitude. Hard to believe this hideous day had just gotten worse.

Moving to the wall of debris that blocked the tunnel, he sent out his sense to find his curs.

“Hess?” he shouted.

Levet coughed at the cloud of dust that filled the air. “Are they…?”

“They’re injured, but alive,” Salvatore said, able to pick up the heartbeats of his pack, although they were currently unconscious. “Can we dig our way through to them?”

“It would take hours, and we risk bringing even more down on our heads.”

Of course. Why the hell would it be easy?

“Damn.”

The gargoyle shook the dirt off his wings. “The tunnel is clear behind them. Once they recover they should be able to find a way out.”

He was right. Hess might have a brain the size of a walnut, but he was as tenacious as a pit bull. Once he realized he wouldn’t be able to reach Salvatore, he would lead the others back to the cabin and return overland to dig them out.

Unfortunately, it would take hours.

Turning, he glanced toward the stone wall that marked the end of the tunnel.

Whatever exit the cur had used to get out of the tunnel was now buried beneath the rubble.

“Which is more than I can say for us,” he muttered.

“Bah.” With a flagrant disregard to the thin sliver of ceiling that hadn’t yet fallen on their heads, Levet gingerly climbed up the side of the tunnel. “I am a gargoyle.”

Salvatore sucked in a sharp breath. A ton of rock and dirt falling on his head wouldn’t kill him.

Being buried alive with Levet? That would be the end.

If he had to rip out his own heart with his bare hands.

“I’m painfully aware of who and what you are.”

“I can smell the night.” Levet paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or what?”

With no other legitimate options, Salvatore awkwardly scrambled behind the gargoyle, his pride as tattered as his Italian leather shoes.

“Damn lump of stone,” he breathed. “Jagr should rot in hell for sticking me with you.”

Nearly flicking Salvatore’s nose with the tip of his tail, Levet continued upward, sniffing the air. He paused as he reached the edge of the ceiling, his hands testing the seemingly smooth rock until he abruptly shoved upward, revealing the cleverly hidden door.

Levet disappeared through the narrow opening and Salvatore was swift to follow, grasping the edge of the hole and pulling himself out of the tunnel.

He crawled through the dew-dampened grass, heading away from the opening before at last rising to his feet and sucking in the fresh air.

Weres weren’t like most demons who enjoyed being hidden in damp, moldy caves and tunnels for centuries on end. A Were needed open space to run and hunt.

With a shudder, Salvatore glanced around the thick trees that surrounded him, his senses reaching out to make certain there was no immediate threat.

“Ta-da.” With a flutter of his wings, Levet landed directly in front of Salvatore, his expression smug. “Shove it up your ear, oh ye of little faith. Hey…where are you going?”

Brushing past the annoying pest, Salvatore was weaving his way through the trees.

“To kill me a cur.”

“Wait, we can’t go alone,” Levet protested, his tiny legs pumping to keep pace. “Besides, it is almost dawn.”

“I just want to find his lair before he manages to cover his trail. I’m not losing him again.”

“And that is all? You promise you will not do anything stupid until we have front up?”

“Back up, you fool.” The sweet scent of vanilla invaded Salvatore’s senses, clouding his mind and stealing his waning strength. “Now be quiet.”

At a glance, Harley was the spitting image of a Barbie doll.

She stood barely over five feet, her body was slender, her heart-shaped face was delicately carved with large hazel eyes that were thickly lashed, and her golden blond hair that tumbled past her shoulders gave her the image of a fragile angel. She also looked far younger than her thirty years.

Anyone, however, stupid enough to dismiss her as harmless usually ended up injured.

Or dead.

She was not only a full-blooded Were, but she took her training in combat skills to a level that Navy SEALS would envy.

She was working out in the full-scale gym when Caine returned to the vast colonial home. She continued lifting the weights that would crush most men as she absently listened to his bitter tirade about the ineptitude of his cur pack and the injustice of a world that contained Salvatore Giuliani, the King of Weres.

At last, Harley moved to take a swig of bottled water and wiped the sweat coating her face. She glanced toward Caine, who leaned negligently against the far wall, his jeans and muscle shirt filthy, his short blond hair tousled. Not that his bedraggled appearance dimmed his surfer good looks. Even beneath the fluorescent lights that made everyone appear like death warmed over, his tanned skin glowed with a rich bronze and his blue eyes shimmered like the finest sapphires.

He was gorgeous. And he knew it.

Barf.

Harley’s lips twisted. Her relationship with Caine was complicated.

The cur had been her guardian since she was a baby, but while he’d protected her and kept her in considerable luxury, she’d never truly trusted him.

And the feeling was entirely mutual.

Caine allowed her to roam the house and the surrounding lands with seeming freedom, but she knew she was under constant surveillance. And God knew, she was never allowed to travel away from the estate without two or three of Caine’s pet curs. Caine claimed he was concerned for her safety, but Harley wasn’t stupid. She knew his motives were far more selfish.

It might have been tempting to escape her golden cage, save for the knowledge that a lone wolf, even a pureblood, rarely survived. Weres were by nature predators, and there were any number of demons that would be eager to rid the world of a Were if they could catch one without a pack’s protection.

Besides, there was always the fear that the King of Weres was out there somewhere, anxious to kill her as he had her three sisters. Caine might be determined to use her for his own purpose, but at least that purpose meant he had to keep her alive.

Tossing aside the towel, Harley sent her companion a mocking smile.

“Let me see if I have this straight. You went to Hannibal because Sadie created some mysterious mess that you had to clean up after, and while you were there, you brilliantly decided to kidnap the King of Weres, only to drop him like a hot potato when you were nearly caught by a vampire and pack of curs?”

Caine pushed away from the wall and prowled forward, his gaze skimming over her tight spandex shorts and sports bra. The cur was nothing if not predictable. He’d been trying to seduce her for years.

“You have it in a perfect little nutshell, sweet Harley.” He halted directly before her, toying with her ponytail that had fallen over her shoulder. “Do you want a reward?”

“And your pet jinn?”

“Slipped from her leash. She’ll be back.” His smile was taunting. “Like you, she has nowhere else to go.”

Harley jerked from his touch. Bastard.

“So now you’ve lost half your pack and your demon, and you’ve left behind a trail that will lead the pissed off King of Weres and his angry posse directly to this lair.”

Caine shrugged. “I’ll call for one of the local witches. My trail will be long gone by the time the almighty Salvatore manages to get out.”

“Get out of where?”

“I collapsed the tunnel on top of them.”

“God. Are you even barely sane?”

“Once they manage to heal enough to dig out of the rubble, they’ll discover the entrance has been completely blocked. They will have no choice but to turn back.”

“You’re pretty damned cocky for a cur who has just pissed off your royal master.”

“I don’t have a master,” Caine snarled, revealing a glimpse of resentment at being a lowly cur instead of a full Were, before he smoothed out his expression. “And besides, the prophecies have spoken. I’m destined to transform the curs into purebloods. Nothing can happen to me.”

Harley snorted. Caine wasn’t a complete loon. He managed to control his large pack that he had spread throughout the Midwest with an iron hand. He was a Harvard trained scientist who made a fortune with his black market drugs. He regularly kicked her ass at Scrabble.

But at some point in his very long life, he claimed he’d been visited by an ancient pureblood who had given him a vision. Harley didn’t pretend to understand it. Something about seeing his blood run pure.

Being a scientist, he naturally assumed this miracle would be performed in a lab, which was why he kept Harley as his permanent houseguest. He thought by studying her blood he could find the answers he sought. Moronic, of course. Visions were the stuff of mist and magic, not glass beakers and microscopes.

“Look, if you want to get yourself killed because of your delusions of grandeur, I don’t give a shit.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I’m not going to be happy if you put me in the firing line.”

Caine stepped forward, reaching to trail his fingers over her shoulder. His touch was warm, experienced. She shook him off.

A woman would have to be dead not to find Caine attractive, but Harley needed more than simple lust. She needed…hell, she didn’t know what she needed, only that she hadn’t yet found it.

Besides, her skin was suddenly feeling hypersensitive. As if it had been rubbed raw by sandpaper.

“Would I ever put you in danger, sweet Harley?” Caine goaded.

“In a heartbeat, if it meant saving your own hide.”

“Harsh.”

“But true.”

“Perhaps.” His gaze dipped downward, studying her sports bra. “I need a shower. Why don’t you join me?”

“In your dreams.”

“Every night. Do you want to know what we’re doing?”

“I’d rather yank out your tongue and eat it for dinner.”

With a laugh, he snapped his teeth near her nose. “Naughty Were. You know how it makes me hard when you threaten violence.”

Spinning on her heel, Harley headed for the door. “You’d better make that a cold shower or you won’t have to worry about Salvatore Giuliani slicing off your balls. I’ll already have them dangling from my rear view mirror.”

She tuned out Caine’s low laugh as she headed toward the front of the house.

It was late and she was tired, but she ignored the carved wooden staircase that led to the bedrooms as she entered the paneled foyer.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She felt restless and on edge. As if there was a looming thunderstorm and she was about to be struck by lightning.

Telling herself it was nothing more than frustration with Caine and the mysterious games that were being played around her, she yanked open the door and stepped outside.

What she needed was a walk.

And if that didn’t work, then there was always cheesecake in the fridge.

There was nothing in the world that couldn’t be cured by cheesecake.

Salvatore crouched in the bushes and studied the large home that was stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Like most colonial homes, it had a lot of bricks and fluted columns, with a double row of tall windows that would give a vampire nightmares. There was a large front terrace with a sweeping drive that was lined by oak trees, and a covered pool behind the four-car garage.

A nice crib for a mere cur, but Salvatore’s interest wasn’t in architecture.

Instead, he tested the late spring air, futilely attempting to ignore the pervasive scent of vanilla that seeped through his body like the finest aphrodisiac, and concentrated on the bastard who had dared to try to kidnap him.

He might have escaped, but he wasn’t the forgive-and-forget type.

“The cur’s inside,” he said.

“Holy cow.” Levet flapped his wings, standing on tiptoe to glance over the bush. “Do you pay all your curs like AIG executives or do the lunatic fringe receive special bonuses?”

Salvatore’s retort died on his lips as the door was suddenly pushed open and a female pureblood stepped into the night.

She was stunningly familiar. As one of quadruplets, she possessed her sisters’ pale blond hair and slender body. A body that was deliciously revealed by her stretchy shorts and tiny bit of spandex that passed as a top. He would also bet his Rolex her eyes were a perfect emerald.

But that’s where the similarity ended.

Both her sisters, Darcy and Regan, possessed the electric energy of all Weres. But this woman.
Cristo,
he could feel her vibrant power charging the air a half mile away.

His wolf stirred beneath his skin, straining to be closer to the female that called to him at his most primitive level.

“Salvatore?” Levet snapped his fingers in front of Salvatore’s eyes. “Helllooo. Anyone home?”

“Don’t bother me, gargoyle,” Salvatore growled.

“You promised you would find the cur’s lair and then we would wait for…” The three-foot pest sucked in a sharp breath as he at last caught sight of the woman strolling toward a marble fountain. “Oh. Darcy’s sister.”

“Si.”

“Salvatore, you are not going to do something stupid, are you?” Levet stomped his foot as Salvatore rose and stepped around the bush. “
Mon Dieu.
Why do I even ask? Of course you are going to do something stupid. And who do you suppose is the one who is going to get hurt?
Moi.
That is who.”

“Return to the bushes,” Salvatore snapped, his attention never wavering from the woman who had suddenly stiffened and turned in his direction.

“Do you never watch horror films,
stupide
?” Levet squeaked. “It is always the one who stays behind who Jason or Freddie or Michael Myers chops in half.”

Salvatore made a Herculean effort to ignore his companion as he slid forward. The female had sensed his presence and was preparing to bolt.

That was unacceptable.

And not just because he’d been searching for her for the past thirty years.

Hell, that was at the very bottom of the list.

Way below getting her naked and into the nearest bed.

She took a wary step back as Salvatore neared, and he forced himself to come to a halt, raising a hand in a gesture of peace.

“Wait.”

Her eyes narrowed (not emerald, but instead a stunning hazel with flecks of gold), and her expression hardened, but there was no fear. His fascination ratcheted up another notch.

There was nothing sexier than a woman who knew she could take care of herself.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her low, husky voice brushing over him like a physical caress.

“Salvatore Giuliani.”

Recognition flashed through her eyes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the good kind of recognition. Not like finding the perfect silk tie to match his new Armani suit. More like a woman who turned over a rock and didn’t like what crawled out.

“God,” she breathed. “Caine is an idiot.”

“What’s your name?”

“Harley.”

He stretched out his hand. “Come to me, Harley.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“And I should believe you, why?”

Salvatore frowned. She wasn’t acting like a Were who’d been kidnapped and held captive by a deranged cur.

“I’m here to rescue you.”

She shook her head, her hair shimmering with pale beauty even in the darkness.

“Hip-frigging-hooray for you. Who said I wanted to be rescued?”

“You aren’t being held against your will?”

“No one holds me against my will.” She flicked a dismissive gaze over his less than pristine suit. “Especially not a man.”

Salvatore growled low in his throat. He didn’t get dismissive glances from women. Women drooled and panted and sometimes fainted when he entered a room.

“It doesn’t matter,” he rasped. “You’re coming with me.”

“Very smooth, Romeo.” Levet moved to stand at his side. “It’s no wonder the Weres are nearly extinct.”

Salvatore glared at the gargoyle. It didn’t improve his mood to know the miniature demon was right. He could seduce a woman with a mere glance, so why was he barely restraining his urge to snap and snarl?

Because the female was his,
a voice whispered in the back of his mind. And she was damned well going to admit it.

“Levet,” he warned as the demon waddled forward.

“Shh. Allow the master to work.” With a flick of his tail, Levet halted directly in front of Harley, and performed an awkward bow. “Please forgive my oafish companion, beautiful Harley. He is never troubled by the need to display good manners.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Royalty, you cannot live with them, cannot slice off their heads. Well, not without a great deal of stupid fuss.” The delicate wings fluttered. “What Salvatore intended to say was that we would be deeply honored to have your company so we can converse with you over a lovely meal.” He licked his lips. “Perhaps a roasted ox. Or two.”

A reluctant smile curved Harley’s lips and Salvatore swallowed a sigh. Men wanted to drown the gargoyle on sight, women inevitably found him charming. It was as unfathomable as black holes.

“I like you,” she murmured.

“But of course you do,
ma belle.
I am quite irresistible to the opposite sex. It is a blessing…and a curse.”

“Enough.” Salvatore scowled. “I have been searching for you for a long time, Harley. You’re not going to escape me now.”

“Oh, yeah?” A slow, taunting smile curved her lips. “Then come and get me.”

She whirled on her heel and with startling speed, was headed toward the side of the house.

In less than a heartbeat, Salvatore was giving chase, his brain shutting down as his predatory nature took over.

He didn’t know what he intended to do when he caught her. Bite her, bed her, or toss her over his shoulder and lock her in his lair. But it was going to be deeply satisfying.

“Salvatore…” Levet called, his voice nothing but a distant annoyance.

His only thought was catching the slender form that was rounding the corner of the house.

Had he been in his right mind, he would never have given chase.
Madre del dio,
it had trap written all over it. As it was, his only thought was sweet vanilla and warm woman.

Cutting the corner around the house, he had a nanosecond to realize that Harley had come to a halt and was standing with a smug grin on her lips. Then the earth beneath his feet began to shift and he was falling through empty air.

“Sucker,” the woman called, adding insult to injury as Salvatore hit the paved floor and the top of the silver cage slammed shut above him.

Harley’s heart was thundering in her chest as she paused at the entrance to the basement.

A part of her was damned proud of herself.

After years of having Salvatore Giuliani’s name used as her personal boogeyman, she hadn’t panicked when he’d suddenly appeared. In fact, she’d coolly stood her ground, and even lured the mighty King of Weres into her trap.

Piece of cake.

Harley blew out a sigh and wiped the sweat from her brow.

Liar, liar.

Her seeming composure had been nothing more than shock and temporary insanity.

The shock had been a result of the realization that the powerful Were who wanted her dead had finally tracked her down, and was standing just a few feet away.

The insanity was the raw, undeniable reaction to Salvatore’s presence.

Frigging hell.

Caine had warned her that Salvatore was a powerful beast. Werewolves didn’t have hereditary royalty. They fought and schemed and bullied their way to the top. Like
Top Model,
only with a lot more blood and less boobs.

What Caine hadn’t mentioned was that Salvatore was drop-dead, mouthwateringly gorgeous.

A shudder shook her at the thought of his lean, darkly handsome face and eyes like liquid gold. His features were pure Latin, with a long aquiline nose and full lips. His hair was a rich wave of raven satin that flowed just past his shoulders. And his body…yum. Even beneath the filthy suit, she could tell it was lean and hard in all the right places.

Still, she’d seen handsome men before.

Caine was no slouch in the looks department.

So why hadn’t any of them made her blood sizzle and her palms sweat?

It was like he possessed some sort of electric charge that was the precise current to push her buttons.

All
her buttons.

She knocked her head against the wall, telling herself to stop being an idiot.

So, Salvatore had an animal magnetism. No doubt being the king gave him an extra umph or something. That didn’t mean she was about to forget the fact that the bastard had killed her sisters.

Or that he’d been hunting her for years.

Damn his black soul.

She wished he’d never shown up, she told herself sternly. But now that she had him caged, she wanted answers.

Hiding her unease behind a mocking smile, Harley pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The basement was divided in half, one side being a high-tech lab where Caine practiced his scientific voodoo, and this side being an equally high-tech prison. Usually the three silver cages were used for curs who were stupid enough to piss off Caine, but over the past months Caine had installed the triggered traps in the yard to discourage intruders.

Her mouth went dry as she spotted Salvatore standing in the middle of the closest silver cage.

If he was dangerous before, now he was nothing less than feral.

The golden eyes glowed with a tangible heat, his lips curled to reveal the white teeth that could grow to lethal fangs in the blink of an eye.

“Let me out of here,” he demanded, his voice thick.

Harley forced her reluctant feet forward, refusing to be unnerved by the choking power that filled the room. God Almighty, she’d never felt anything like it.

“But I just went to so much effort to get you in there,” she taunted. “Well, maybe it wasn’t
so
much effort. Like all men, you see a woman and assume you naturally have the upper hand.”

Salvatore stilled, his fury morphing into something far more dangerous. With a slow glide, his gaze seared over her body, taking his sweet time in memorizing her every curve before lifting back to her face.

“Let me guess, you’re a woman who likes to be on top?”

“Always.”

“Come in here and I can show you the benefits of being on the bottom.”

A disturbing shiver raced through her body. “Being royalty really has gone to your head if you think a lame-ass line like that would ever work on a woman with half a brain.”

“Then there must be thousands of women with half a brain,” he drawled.

“The plastic blow-up kinds don’t count.”

“
Cara,
I could make you roll over and beg.”

Harley tilted her chin. Damn, what was it about this Were?

She should be getting a gun and shooting him in the head, not imagining his precise technique of getting her to roll over and beg.

“I’d rather do the gargoyle.”

Salvatore tilted back his head and delicately sniffed the air. He chuckled.

“Liar.”

Shit. Harley abruptly turned on her heel and studied the numerous torture devises hung on the cement wall.

“You said you’ve been searching for me,” she rasped.

“Si.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a very special Were.”

“Special?” Her sharp bark of laughter echoed eerily through the room. “Don’t you mean defective?”

“You’re perfect,” he smoothly countered, his voice brushing over her skin like warm velvet. “Just as you were intended to be.”

She abruptly turned back to stab him with a furious scowl. “As my sisters were before you killed them?”

Salvatore flinched, feeling as if he’d just taken a punch to the gut.

He’d been accused of a number of despicable things, many of them true. But this…

“Dio,”
Salvatore breathed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did you think I didn’t know you hunted down my sisters and murdered them in cold blood?”

Salvatore’s lips curled in a humorless smile, his shock being replaced by a grim comprehension. He’d wondered why Harley was treating him as the enemy rather than being desperate to flee Caine’s clutches.

“Clever bastard,” he muttered, stepping close enough to the silver bars to feel the painful prickles crawling over his skin. Weres were deathly allergic to silver. In fact, it was one of the few things that could actually kill a pureblood. Silver through the heart, or decapitation. “I’ll admit there have been any number of occasions Darcy and Regan have inspired thoughts of homicide, but I’ve risked my life to protect them, even after they were stupid enough to choose vampires to act as their guardians. The only danger to your sisters is Caine.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

“If you don’t believe me, then let me go and I’ll take you to them. Darcy is in Chicago with Styx and Regan was headed there to join her, the last I heard. I’m certain by now Jagr’s hot on her trail. Besotted idiot.”