He ignored her bad temper as he moved forward to hold out his gift.
"I brought you a robe. I thought you might wish to have something to cover you so that you can leave these chambers."
She tentatively took the beautiful garment and regarded it with an odd expression.
"I'm sorry," she at last said softly.
"What?" '
"I'm not usually so bitchy." She lifted her head and offered a wry smile. "And despite the fact that you totally deserve it, being angry is bad for my karma."
He gave a bemused shake of his head. He could speak a hundred languages fluently, but he was beginning to suspect that Darcy spoke a language entirely her own.
"Your karma?"
She shrugged. "You know, my life force."
"Ah." Styx smiled wryly. "I fear I don't recall any life force I might have had."
Her expression was more curious than horrified at the reminder that Styx was no longer human.
"You were a human once, weren't you?" she demanded.
"A very long time ago."
"But you don't remember?"
"No." Styx struggled to concentrate. Hell, what man wouldn't struggle when there was a beautiful, half-naked woman standing so close he was wrapped in the scent of her warm, tempting skin? "When a human is ... transformed into a vampire there is no memory of any past life."
"No memory at all?"
"None."
"That's strange."
He smiled wryly. "No more strange than waking up a vampire in the first place."
"How did it happen?" She ran an absent hand through her short, spiky hair. Styx had always liked long hair on women, but the style seemed to suit the tiny, pixie face. Not to mention the fact that it gave a delicious view of her slender neck. "I mean, how do you become a vampire?"
Styx paused. As a rule vampires rarely discussed their heritage with others. It wasn't precisely a secret, but most demons were by nature secretive.
In this moment, however, he was far more concerned about reassuring Darcy that neither his touch nor his bite would turn her into a vampire.
"It only occurs when a vampire drains a human completely," he confessed. "Most die, of course, but on rare occasions a human will share enough of the vampire's essence to rise again. There is no way to know which human will survive and which will perish."
"So you were dead?"
"Quite dead."
Her brow furrowed as she attempted to accept the difficult truth. "And now?"
"Now?" He shrugged. "I live."
"For all eternity?"
He smiled. "There are never any guarantees."
She gave a small nod, silently mulling over his words. "And what about werewolves? How are they made?"
Styx frowned. Her interest in the demons that were desperate to get their hands on her was understandable, but he didn't care for the thought of her brooding on the undoubtedly handsome Salvatore.
"There are true werewolves, or purebloods, as they prefer to be called," he grudgingly revealed. "They are born to a mated pair of Weres and are very rare. Then there are curs. They are humans who have been infected by a werewolf and managed to survive the attack. They are far less powerful than purebloods and have little control over their instincts."
Darcy abruptly sat on the edge of the bed. "So there are vampires and werewolves just roaming around everywhere?"
Styx resisted the urge to join her on the bed. As difficult as it might be to admit, he was not at all certain he could depend on his once flawless control.
It was downright embarrassing.
"Vampires and werewolves and a great number of other demons," he muttered without thinking.
"How many other demons?"
"Hundreds."
There was a sharp intake of breath as she regarded him with disbelief. "How come no one knows?"
Realizing that he wasn't being precisely comforting, Styx grimaced. Maybe the damn gargoyle was right. He had a great deal to learn when it came to having a young woman beneath his roof.
"Vampires are capable of altering the memories of humans they encounter, and most demons can hide their presence entirely." He studied her intently. "Besides, most mortals would rather convince themselves that the supernatural world is nothing more than a figment of their imagination."
She smiled, but it held such a deep sadness that it made Styx's heart clench with an odd sensation.
"I suppose that's true enough," she whispered. "No one believed me. Even my psychiatrist refused to accept that I was truly different. Not even when I showed him how swiftly I healed. He swore it was no more than a parlor trick that I had concocted to draw attention to myself. He said it was a simple need for self-validation."
Styx heaved a sigh. Well, there was nothing like taking a bad situation and making it worse. Perhaps it was time to retreat and regroup.
"After you change will you join me in the kitchen for dinner?"
She slowly rose to her feet, making a visible effort to shrug off her dark mood. She even managed a faint smile.
"As long as I'm not on the menu."
"I have blood," he assured her as he moved forward. Unable to resist temptation, he lightly reached out to touch her cheek. "Although I will not apologize for drinking from you. Nor will I deny that I wish to hold you in my arms and taste you again." He touched her lips with his finger as she tried to interrupt. "But I will not force you. Not ever." He bent down to brush his lips across her mouth before turning and making his way to the door. "I will await you downstairs."
Darcy waited until Styx had silently closed the door before returning to the bathroom to exchange the towel for the robe.
Common sense warned her to stay in her rooms. When she was alone she could easily remember that Styx was a coldhearted vampire who fully intended to use her to suit his own purposes.
When he was near ...
Well, when he was near all she could think about was just how much she had enjoyed his touch, his kisses ... his bite.
And the stark loneliness that lurked deep in his black eyes.
A loneliness that could equal her own. A loneliness that tugged dangerously at her heart.
Drat it all.
Still, common sense couldn't compete with her natural instinct to be rid of the confining chambers. One of her foster mothers had called her a wood sprite for her habit of sneaking from the house, even in the middle of the night, to be beneath the open sky.
No matter how luxurious her surroundings she needed space.
Entering the black and ivory bathroom, she placed the robe on the marble vanity and was reaching for the knot she had tied in her towel when a hand was placed over her mouth and the feel of a hot, hard body was pressed against her back.
"Shhh," a male voice whispered in her ear. A voice she instantly recognized as Salvatore's. "I will not harm you."
She jerked free and spun about to glare at the werewolf. He was just as handsome as she remembered, although he had chosen tight black pants and a thin black sweater instead of his silk suit.
He was also just as dangerous.
Even in the muted light the gold eyes shimmered with warning, and the lean face was even more predatory with the dark hair pulled into a short tail at his nape.
A brief, hysterical urge to scream raced through her mind only to be dismissed.
If he wanted to hurt her, then screaming wasn't going to change a damn thing. The vampire guarding her door would find nothing more than a bloody corpse if Salvatore decided he wanted her dead.
Maybe less.
Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to square her shoulders and meet that disturbing gaze without flinching.
If she was going to die it would be with a bit of pride intact. (Hey, she had watched enough old westerns to know that that was important.)
"For goodness sake, what is it with you guys and sneaking up on people?" she demanded.
A smile touched his lips, as if he was pleased with her display of courage.
"I wished to speak with you in private."
Her gaze narrowed. "How did you get in here?"
He shifted with a languid grace to lean against the door, a slow smile revealing his startling white teeth.
The security system is good, but not good enough. There is no place I can't get into if I wish."
"Hardly a skill to take great pride in."
"It is only one of many, I assure you," he drawled, his gaze deliberately roaming over her near-naked body.
Well, freaking bully for him.
"What do you want?"
His eyes narrowed. No doubt he was shocked that she hadn't melted at his feet. Granted, he was melt-worthy. He was the sort of gorgeous, sexy, dangerous man whom most women found irresistible.
Unfortunately for him, Darcy already had her hands filled with another gorgeous, sexy, dangerous man.
One per century was her limit.
Salvatore studied her for a long moment, as if reevaluating just how to deal with her. A fairly common occurrence.
"I know you were taken against your will by the vampire," he said. "I intend to rescue you."
