When Darkness Ends (26 page)

A soul-deep relief surged through him, even as the druids' barrier began to disintegrate beneath the pressure.

Damn.

He instantly turned, using his powers to hold off the collapsing spell long enough for the others to escape.

Close to complete exhaustion, Magnus didn't have time to consider the irony of his exquisite life of utter selfishness coming to an end while he was playing the role of hero.

His only thought was that Tonya had escaped.

And that was enough.

Falling to his knees, he bowed his head in pain, knowing the spell would soon reach a critical mass and explode him into oblivion.

At least it would be quick.

Resigned to his fate, he didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

It wasn't until slender fingers wrapped around his forearm that he realized he wasn't alone.

“Magnus.”

Glancing around in horrified shock, he met Tonya's determined gaze.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snarled. “I told you to go.”

She jerked him upright with surprising strength, dragging him toward the opening.

“Not without you.”

He struggled to break free of her grasp, knowing she'd never make it if she had to drag him along. Damn, the stubborn female. She was supposed to be safe. Now she threatened to ruin his one act of noble bravery.

“No . . . Tonya . . . leave me.”

Refusing to release him, Tonya wrapped an arm around his waist, half carrying, half dragging him as his knees gave out.

“We're in this together, prince,” she managed to rasp, hauling him ever closer to the opening.

They were less than a few feet away when the pain became unbearable, and Magnus knew the end was near.

Lifting his weary head, he locked his gaze on Tonya's delicately carved profile.

If he was going to die, he wanted this to be his last sight.

Still struggling forward, Tonya gave a soft cry as the spell around them shuddered. She tightened her grip on his waist, moaning at the crushing pain.

Then, as they stood just inches from the opening, there was an ear-splitting screech and the spell exploded into a thousand pieces.

 

 

Tonya had endured her fair share of hangovers. Hell, she ran a demon club. There were bound to be a few nights that she overindulged.

Like the night she hosted a mating dance for two woodland fairies who'd brought an entire wagonload of fermented ambrosia to the club. Or the unforgettable party that Viper had thrown when Styx had taken over as Anasso. The drinks had been on the house and there hadn't been a sober demon in a hundred-mile radius. Including her.

But no matter how hard she'd partied, she'd never felt as if a railroad spike was being drilled into the back of her head and her skin scraped down to the nerve endings.

Careful not to move her throbbing head, Tonya forced her eyes open, baffled by the sight of her barren surroundings.

Where was her pretty canopied bed and walls painted to look like a sunny meadow?

Confusion raced through her as she realized she was in a dark cavern, lying on a smooth slab of rock.

What the hell? That really must have been some bender.

She glanced down, relieved to discover she was wearing clothes. That was something. Or it was until her gaze focused enough for her to see that her dress had several small holes and had been singed at the hem.

It looked as if she'd been in a fire.

No, wait.

An explosion.

Yes. She pressed a hand to her temple. Her memory started to come back.

The labyrinth had been collapsing and Magnus had remained behind, supporting the barriers so they could escape. She'd been furious when she discovered he wasn't with them.

Dammit. He was supposed to be a selfish, arrogant prince. Not a martyr.

The stubborn ass.

So, of course, she'd gone back to rescue him.

And they'd very nearly made it. They'd been only steps away from the opening when everything had gone . . . kablooey.

With a groan, she pressed herself to a seated position on the hard slab, warily glancing toward the towering stone circle.

“Where am I?” she muttered, nearly jumping out of her skin when a male voice spoke directly behind her.

“Beneath the lair of the druid.”

“Oh.”

She turned her head, warily watching as Magnus strolled to stand directly in front of her.

Like her, his clothing had been scorched and he had a few healing wounds on his impossibly beautiful face, but the explosion clearly hadn't dented his enormous arrogance as he peered down his long nose at her.

“Why did you do that?”

She winched. “Yow, prince, tone it down,” she muttered, pressing a finger between her eyes. “My head hurts.”

“Of course it hurts.” His hands clenched and unclenched, as if he were under a great stress. “You were caught in the backlash of a very powerful spell. I told you to run.”

She scowled at his sharp words. She hadn't expected him to fall on his knees in gratitude for her saving his life. But . . . Christ.

He could at least throw out a “thank you” before snapping at her.

She narrowed her gaze. “Since when do I take orders from you?”

He folded his arms over his chest, his gaze oddly piercing as he studied her upturned face.

“Why?”

“Why don't I take orders?”

His lips flattened. “Why did you come back for me?”

She shrugged. That was a question she didn't want to consider too deeply.

“Because I'm mental,” she muttered.

He leaned forward, surrounding her in the scent of aged whiskey.

“Answer the question.”

She made a sound of impatience. Dammit. Why couldn't he just let it go?

“Obviously because I was afraid you weren't going to make it out.”

The cognac eyes held her gaze with mesmerizing ease.

“Would it bother you if I didn't?”

She bit her lip, a shudder shaking her body. She would never forget the moment she'd glanced back to discover this man wasn't following them out of the collapsing spell.

It'd felt as if someone had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart.

Something she very much hoped never to feel again.

“Of course it would,” she muttered.

“Why?”

“Oh, for God's sake, stop saying ‘Why?',” she snapped, forcing herself to scoot off the slab and stand on her shaky legs.

Where the hell were Levet and the druids?

Magnus stepped nearer, his fingers closing around her upper arms.

“You think I'm arrogant,” he said.

“Because you are.”

He frowned, staring at her as if she were a ginormous puzzle.

“You believe I was cruel to Fallon.”

She hunched a shoulder. If she had to hear that woman's name on his lips one more time . . .

“You were,” she said in clipped tones.

“You don't like me.”

His touch was like a brand against her raw skin. So acutely pleasurable it was almost painful.

“You can be an ass,” she said, her voice husky.

His fingers skimmed up her arms, the heat of him wrapping around her with an intimate promise.

“So why do you care if I survive?”

Her lips parted to give a flippant response, then snapped shut as her breath tangled in her throat. Just for the briefest second she'd caught sight of something in those amazing cognac eyes.

Something that looked remarkably like vulnerability.

“Oh hell,” she muttered, heaving a deep sigh. “You've grown on me.”

His brows drew together. “Grown?”

“I . . .” She licked her dry lips. “I would miss you if you weren't around.”

The world halted, the air heavy with a sense of anticipation as Magnus slowly lowered his head.

“You've grown on me as well,” he confessed, brushing her lips with a soft, reverent kiss. Her toes curled, something deep inside her melting. God Almighty, she was in trouble. He pressed another kiss to her lips, this one staking his claim before he lifted his head to regard her with a brooding gaze. “But if you ever do anything so foolish again I will have you chained to the wall.”

Ignoring the pleasure that continued to shiver through her, Tonya went onto her tiptoes so they were nose to nose.

“I'd like to see you try.”

He gave a low growl, reclaiming her lips in a kiss that made her forget her aching head, their damp surroundings, and the fact they'd nearly been exploded into a thousand tiny pieces.

There was no telling how long they would have remained lost in one another if someone hadn't loudly cleared their throat, making Tonya abruptly pull away.

Glancing over Magnus's shoulder, she discovered Levet standing near the circle of stones.

“You can kissy-face later,” the gargoyle chided. “The druids need you.”

Magnus muttered a low curse before he grudgingly released his hold on Tonya.

“Someday I'm going to kill that gargoyle.”

Levet gave a flick of his wings. “If only I had a euro for every time I have heard that.”

Cyn wasn't happy as he watched as Styx and Viper silently faded into the early-evening darkness before he turned and headed toward the bluff overlooking the Mississippi River.

It had been less than an hour since Fallon had created a portal so they could travel to Chicago.

No surprise that Styx had been waiting for their arrival along with Viper and Dante. But when Cyn had been prepared to insist that Fallon remain in the safety of the Anasso's lair while they travel to the caverns where the Oracles were gathered, the aggravating princess had neatly outwitted him by insisting her brief meeting with Siljar meant that she could use her as an anchor to open a portal.

He'd forbidden her to come, of course.

A total waste of time.

Not only had Fallon ignored him, but Styx had refused to listen to reason. Instead he'd agreed with Fallon, firmly overriding Cyn's protest.

At least the aggravating bastard had drawn the line at letting Fallon go charging into the caves in search of the magic-user, he wryly acknowledged. That was something.

Stepping through the tight cluster of trees, he found Fallon waiting for him exactly where he'd left her. A wry smile touched his lips. It would be nice to think she'd stayed there because he'd asked her to, but the truth was that she was standing at the edge of her portal to keep it open.

There was a very real possibility they would need a quick getaway and she was there to provide it.

He halted at her side, pulling free the large sword he'd strapped to his back before leaving his lair.

“What's happening?” Fallon demanded, her beautiful face pale but set in lines of grim determination.

His heart twisted. The prehistoric male inside him wanted to treat Fallon as a pampered Chatri princess that needed to be protected against the world. But he wasn't entirely stupid. This female had been denied the right to discover exactly who she was and what she was capable of accomplishing for far too long.

He couldn't deny her the right to prove her worth.

Within reason.

He turned so he could keep his gaze locked on the small farmhouse that appeared harmless enough. No one passing by would realize that beneath it was a complex layer of caves that were currently home to the most powerful demons in the world.

“Styx and Viper are more familiar with the caves,” he said. “They're going to track down the druid. Once they've found him they'll contact me.”

“And Dante?”

He nodded toward the pathway that ran parallel to the river.

“He's going to scout for any unseen enemies.”

“And you?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “I'm going to protect our fastest means of escape if things go to hell.”

He barely heard her soft sigh. “You mean you've been put on babysitting duty.”

“No.” He shook his head, his senses on full alert. Everything was eerily still. Understandable, of course. Humans and wildlife might not be aware of the pulses of power that throbbed in the air, but their sixth sense would urge them to leave the area. And no demon was foolish enough to willingly linger so near the Commission. Just because they happened to be the leaders of the demon world didn't make them nice guys. Hell, just the opposite. Which made it easy to keep watch. If anything moved, he intended to kill it. “If Styx believed my place was in the caves, that's where I would be,” he assured her. “They hope to locate the druid without alerting him to their presence, so the fewer people with them the better.”

“Hmm.”

Sensing her continued tension, he turned to study her strained features.

“This is where I belong.” His brows snapped together as she gave a violent shiver. “You're cold.”

“No.” Her hands ran up and down her arms in a convulsive motion. “It's—”

He knew immediately what was wrong.

“You sense something?”

“Magic,” she whispered.

He grimaced. Of course it had to be magic. It couldn't be a hellhound. Or even a troll. Anything he could use his big sword to kill.

“The druid?”

She licked her lips. “No. This is demon magic.”

The faint sound of a twig snapping had him turning toward the trees to their left.

“Something's coming,” he growled, catching the faint scent of lava. A Manasa . . . fire demon. “Fallon, return to Styx's lair,” he snapped.

She turned, as if preparing to retreat, but before she could disappear into the portal she gave a pained cry and collapsed to the ground.

At the same time he was hit with a spell freezing him in place.

“Shit,” he rasped, watching in helpless horror as the eerily beautiful demon moved into view. “Phyla.”

“You will come with me,” the powerful Oracle commanded, her copper hair floating around the pure oval of her face and her green eyes speckled with silver that glowed in the moonlight.

“Phyla.” Cyn struggled against the invisible bands that held him immobile. “Can you hear me?”

The female drifted past him, her movements oddly sinuous as she leaned down to grab Fallon by the throat. Then, lifting the unconscious Chatri off the ground, she waved a hand toward Cyn, releasing him from her spell.

“This way.”

With a blur of movement, Cyn was standing directly in front of the demon, his sword beneath her chin.

“Wait.”

With an unnerving strength, the demon continued to hold Fallon by the throat, the fingers tightening as if she were prepared to crush the unconscious woman's throat.

“You will obey or I will kill the female,” she said in a low hiss.

For a crazed second Cyn felt a red mist begin to cloud his mind.

The sight of his female being threatened was enough to tip him into his berserker rage.

It was only the realization that Phyla could destroy Fallon with one blast of her magical fire that forced back the tidal wave of fury so he could think clearly.

Stepping back, he slowly lowered his sword.

It was obvious the demon was under the control of the druid. Which meant he couldn't physically prevent her from harming Fallon.

He'd have to use his own skills to try and break through the compulsion.

“Fine,” he growled. “I'm coming.”

“This way.”

She headed toward the nearby farmhouse, seemingly indifferent to the massive vampire at her side. Cyn, however, angled himself so he was walking two steps ahead of her and capable of looking her directly in the eye.

“Where are we going?” he demanded, adding a subtle layer of compulsion to his tone.

The damned druid wasn't the only one who could sway the minds of others.

And luckily, Cyn's talent was stronger than most vampires.

Her pace never slowed, but something flickered in the silver-flecked eyes.

“To join your brothers.”

Hell. His gut twisted with dread. Styx and Viper must have been caught. He could only hope that Dante hadn't yet been detected.

“What have you done with them?”

“They are preparing to die.”

“Phyla.” Cyn planted himself directly in front of the demon, his voice low with command. “Stop.”

Her steps stumbled, then came to a halt. Her face twisted with obvious pain, her body trembling as she was attacked by two contradicting compulsions.

“We must go,” she rasped.

He reached out to touch her face, increasing his pressure on her tortured mind.

“The druid has cast a spell on you,” he said. “You must fight it.”

Her trembling increased. “I—”

“Concentrate on me,” he urged, his hand stroking her cheek. “Release the Chatri.”

Her breath came in short, painful gasps. “It's impossible. The death spell I placed on her will trip if I release her.”

Cyn swallowed his curse. He was going to need help.

“What happened to the vampires?”

“They're being held in the prisons beneath the caves.”

Cyn frowned. Styx had told him about the large holding pens that the previous Anasso had used to confine his drug-addicted humans. He assumed that must be what she was referring to.

“What about the druid?”

She paused, no doubt using the connection the druid forced on her to track him.

“He's in the altar chamber.”

“What about the Oracles?”

“They're gathering in the Council Room. I must join them.”

“Can you lead me to the druid?”

“Yes. But—”

She made a gagged sound, as if something or someone was cutting off her words.

“What is it?”

The muscles of her neck bulged as she struggled to spit out the words.

“The amulet.”

He frowned. “What amulet?”

She didn't answer. Instead, she gave a violent shudder, pain flaring in her eyes before they abruptly went dull and lifeless.

“We must go,” she said, her monotone voice revealing she was once again under full command of the druid.

Cyn continued to stand in her path, desperate to break the spell.

“Phyla.”

Fire flickered over the demon's skin. “Move or I'll kill her.”

“Damn.”

Cyn leaped to the side, his gaze locked on Fallon to make sure the flames didn't touch her vulnerable skin. Locked in the demon's spell, he didn't know if she could survive being burned or not.

Dampening the fire, Phyla started forward again, leading Cyn into the mouth of a cavern hidden behind the farmhouse.

Cyn grimaced as they moved across the smooth floor and into the tunnel that led sharply downward.

He didn't need to be able to sense magic to realize that there was something big happening. He could feel it in the heavy press of air that seemed to cling to his skin and the tiny quakes beneath his feet. There was even a smell of electricity in the air. As if lightning was about to strike.

Not the most comfortable sensation for a vampire.

They followed the main tunnel until they entered a large cavern with a number of openings that branched in every direction.

Cyn frowned as Phyla headed to the very back of the cavern. Where the hell was she going? There was nothing but a large pile of rubble that towered nearly to the ceiling.

As if blind to the mess, Phyla continued forward, her pace never slowing.

Then, as she stepped directly into the stones, he muttered an exasperated curse.

An illusion.

Of course.

Holding his sword in a white-knuckled grip, Cyn forced himself to ignore what his eyes were telling him. Not easy, since he had a moral objection to walking face-first into a stone wall.

Tingles rushed over his skin and the scenery blurred before they'd stepped through the magical barrier to reveal they were standing in a cramped tunnel.

Phyla continued forward, nearly scraping the unconscious Fallon against the jagged edge of the wall as the channel narrowed and curved. Cyn snapped his fangs, trembling with the effort not to snatch his princess from the bitch's hand.

Soon,
he silently promised himself.

Soon he would have his fangs buried deep in the druid's throat and he would take exquisite pleasure in draining the life from the bastard.

Until then he would have to be patient.

A task easier said than done for a hedonistic berserker vampire.

Grimly reminding himself of the price of failure, he allowed Phyla to lead him to the deepest part of the cavern, the top of his head brushing the low ceiling before they at last came to a heavy steel door that blocked the tunnel.

Phyla used her free hand to shove open the door, revealing a small, barren space that had been roughly carved out of the rock.

Cyn hissed at the sight of the two vampires that were lying motionless in the center of the floor.

Styx and Viper.

But no Dante.

Thank God.

“Enter the cell,” Phyla commanded, allowing her hand to become engulfed in flame as Cyn hesitated. “Do it now or I burn the female.”

“Shit.” Cyn grudgingly bent down to step through the low opening, whirling to face Phyla with his fangs bared. “Where are you taking Fallon?”

“She will ensure your good behavior,” the demon informed him, slamming shut the door.

Shrouded in utter blackness, Cyn tilted back his head and roared in fury.

 

 

Fallon remained limp with her eyes closed as the female demon carried her up the stairs that had been chiseled into the side of the wall.

She'd awakened shortly after they'd entered the caverns, but sensing the spell that was wrapped around her, she'd forced herself to feign sleep. Any attempt to free herself from the choking grasp would trigger the death magic.

Her only choice was to remain motionless and wait until the spell was removed. Then she could hopefully catch the demon off guard and escape.

Smoke filled her lungs as they reached a level surface. There was a fire near. And something else . . . blood.

She struggled not to react as the demon came to a halt and rudely dropped her onto the hard floor. Her head banged sharply against a rock, but it was worth the pain as she felt the spell being jerked away from her.

Before she could even think of launching an attack, however, there was the scent of an approaching human male.

“Shackle her to the wall and take your place in the Council Room,” the male commanded.

Shit. It had to be the druid.

Forced to maintain her charade, she was roughly yanked across the floor. If they believed her to be unconscious, they might leave her alone to . . .