“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?”
“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?”
The tiny demon lifted his hands. “Stand back.”
Wrapping his arms around Harley, he hauled her to the back of the cell, doing his best to protect her from the silver bars, as well as the coming explosion.
“What are you doing?” she muttered. “The silver…”
“Trust me, the silver is the least of our worries,” he said, tucking her head in the hollow of his shoulder.
He had a clarifying instant to recognize just how perfectly she fit against him before the shocking concussion hit, the air filling with a deadly bombardment of silver shards as Levet burst open the cell. Hastily spinning, Salvatore used his back as a shield, grinding his teeth as tiny slivers of silver lodged in his shoulder.
“Holy shit,” Harley breathed.
“Hold on,” Salvatore growled, already knowing what was coming next.
There was another explosion, this one sending powdered cement rather than the deadly silver pelting against him, thank God, and tightening his arms around Harley, he braced himself as the floor beneath them disappeared and they tumbled into the tunnel below.
The jarring impact of the landing wrenched Harley from his arms, and cursing the pain of the silver digging into his flesh, Salvatore crawled forward, using his hands to search for his mate through the thick cloud of dust.
“Harley.” His hands found her sprawled on the hard dirt. “Are you hurt?”
She coughed, sitting up to brush the dirt from her face.
“I’m fine.” The dust began to clear and she glanced up at the gaping hole above. “Levet?”
“I am here, ma belle.” With a delicate flap of his wings, Levet stepped off the edge of the hole and floated down, landing beside Harley with a small bow. “Your magnificent knight in shining armor in all his glory.”
Salvatore rose to his feet, inwardly contemplating the pleasure of roasting the gargoyle over an open fire. The damned demon didn’t have a speck of dust on him, while the rescue had left Salvatore covered in a new layer of filth, his back aching from the fall, and a half dozen silver splinters in his shoulder that were already aching.
“Your glorified head is going to be displayed on Caine’s trophy mantel if you don’t get a move on it,” he rasped.
Levet snorted, assisting Harley to her feet. “As if I fear a flea-bitten cur.”
Striding forward, Salvatore knocked away Levet’s hand and pulled Harley close. His logical mind understood he was being ridiculous. His instincts, however, couldn’t bear for any man to be near this woman.
“Caine’s working with a powerful Were who has tapped into black magic,” he snapped.
Levet’s eyes widened in alarm. “Sacre bleu. What are you waiting for?”
Salvatore shook his head as the demon scurried down the dark tunnel, his tail twitching in agitation. He turned to regard his companion with a somber expression. Who knew what was waiting for them?
“Stay close,” he warned softly.
Her eyes flared in the darkness. “As if I have a choice.”
“You never did,” he said, leaning forward to steal a short, possessive kiss.
Then, grabbing Harley’s hand, he tugged her to him as they strode after the retreating gargoyle.
Salvatore kept their pace slow but steady as they wound their way through the dark tunnel. He wasn’t running headlong from one enemy, only to blunder blindly into the clutches of another.
Not that his reasonable caution was appreciated by his companions.
At his side, Levet muttered French curses and behind him, Harley kept herself occupied by comparing him to several body parts of animals, none of them complimentary.
What was the point in being king if he couldn’t have a little respect?
Gritting his teeth, Salvatore attempted to ignore the silver that remained imbedded in his flesh, making it impossible for him to shift into wolf form. His wounds wouldn’t heal so long as the silver remained.
And worse, it was another drain on his fading strength.
