She had to ...
In the midst of trying to clear her mind and consider precisely what she needed to do, her panic was pierced by an odd sensation. The feeling that this couldn't be right. That she would know with absolute certainty if Styx was hurt.
When she thought of Styx, what she experienced was a ... vibration. Like the hum of an angry bee.
Styx was flat-out furious. She could sense nothing of physical pain.
A rough hand touched her arm and she glanced down into Levet's concerned eyes.
"Are you all right, Darcy?" he demanded.
"Yes ... I ..." She gave a shake of her head and forced her attention back to the waiting vampires. "How badly is he injured?"
The woman gave a lift of her slender hand. "I cannot say. I only know that he wishes you to be with him."
Levet's fingers squeezed on Darcy's arm. "Don't worry, cherie. I will go with you."
"No."
Darcy blinked at the Viking's abrupt refusal. "Why not?"
"The master said nothing of bringing the gargoyle. You must come alone."
Okay, her shitmeter was starting to tilt.
None of this made sense.
If Styx was hurt why wouldn't he have come back here? Not only was Dante here, but there was an honest to goodness goddess in the house. Where could he possibly go that would be better protected?
And even if he was at some other lair, why would he send these two vampires to bring her to him?
He had five Ravens whom she knew and trusted to escort her.
She covertly inched back, her hand gripping the door. "Where are Shay and Abby?"
There was a beat before the woman gave a slow blink. They are below attending to Viper."
"He was injured as well?"
The Viking gave a low growl. "We must be on our way. Dawn will all too soon be approaching."
Darcy inched another step back, her gaze on the woman. "How did he contact you?"
Blink, blink, blink. "I beg your pardon?"
"Styx. How did he contact you?"
"He sent a messenger."
"I want to speak with this messenger."
"Enough," the Viking growled, his fangs flashing. "Take her."
The words were still leaving his lips when Darcy slammed the door shut and snapped the lock in place.
With a squeak of surprise, Levet looked at her as if she had lost her mind.
"Darcy?"
"Something's not right," she breathed, pressing her hands against the door as the vampires on the other side struggled to break through.
"No shit," Levet muttered, moving to add his own strength to the shivering door. "You must run. This door won't last long."
"No way."
He gave a low curse. "Martyrs are tedious creatures, Darcy. Get the hell out of here."
Darcy gritted her teeth and dug in her heels as she battled next to Levet to hold the door shut. She didn't think for a minute that she could face off against two vampires and survive. Hell, she didn't think she could manage to land a good punch. But she wasn't about to run off and leave Levet.
"I don't bail on my friends," she muttered as the wood shuddered beneath her hands. Soon enough the door would shatter and then the fun would begin.
With his arms bulging beneath the strain, the demon glared into her determined expression.
"Sane bleu, vampires cannot hurt me if I shift. Not even their fangs are sharp enough to chew through stone."
He had a point. A damn good point, but Darcy was nothing if not stubborn.
"I won't leave you."
"You're only in my way." Levet gave a grunt as a hinge popped from the door and flew a mere inch from his face. "I have several spectacular spells I have been longing to cast, but I can hardly perform them while you are standing here watching me."
"Why not?"
He sent her a glance filled with grim warning. "Performance issues. Just go."
A subtle glow began to surround the small gray form and Darcy forced herself to back away. She still had vivid memories of the spectacular explosion that had ripped through the air when she had been sneaking into the estate. If Levet had anything of that sort of magic in mind, then she had to agree that she didn't want to be anywhere near when things started shaking.
And in all honesty, if she was gone, then Levet would be free to turn into statue form. As he had pointed out, not even vampires could harm him once he shifted to stone.
Ignoring the sharp pang of guilt, Darcy turned on her heel and headed for the window. With the door blocked by rabid vampires, the window was the only exit. Besides, what quicker method of getting downstairs to alert Abby that her home was harboring traitors.
Crossing her arms over her head, Darcy hit the window with a burst of speed that launched her through the glass and into the frigid night air. She grunted as jagged shards ripped through her skin, but her attention was far more focused on the hard ground that was rapidly rising up to meet her. Cuts and bruises, no matter how deep, she could heal in a matter of hours. A broken neck .. . not so much.
Flailing her limbs as if she could fly—not a talent generally associated with werewolves—Darcy did manage to twist enough in the air so that she ended up landing on her back, rather than her head. A small comfort, though, since the landing punched the air from her lungs and sent a shock of pain through her body.
Gripes.
With a moan she forced herself to rise to her feet. It was a surprise to discover she could actually accomplish the task. She was bleeding from a dozen wounds, bruised beyond bearing, and her head was pounding, but she didn't seem to have one broken bone or busted internal organ.
The night was looking up.
Glancing toward the house, she was on the point of deciding where the nearest door might be when there was the faintest sound behind her.
She whirled about quite prepared for anything to charge out of the dark.
Vampire, werewolf, holy deity . . .
Lions and tigers and bears.
Tensing as she prepared to deal with the latest disaster, Darcy felt her mouth fall open as a slender woman walked from behind an ancient oak.
Despite the cloaking darkness, Darcy had no trouble making out the silver blond hair that swirled about her shoulders and the green eyes that held an unmistakable glow.
Pure shock held her motionless as the woman moved with a liquid grace to stand directly before her.
This was a moment Darcy had dreamed of every night for the past thirty years.
It was her most secret hope come to life.
Now she struggled to accept that this could possibly be real.
"Mother?" she at last whispered in disbelief.
"Yes, darling, I am indeed your mother." A smile touched the features that were so eerily like her own.
"How very thoughtful of you to drop at my feet. It saves me a great deal of effort."
"What..."
Utterly bemused Darcy never saw her mother moving. Not even when her arm lifted.
It wasn't until her fist actually connected with Darcy's chin that she realized that sometimes dreams and reality were not always the same.
Darcy tumbled back onto the cold, frozen ground as the waiting darkness flooded her mind.
Yeah, reality was a bitch.
Chapter Twenty-One
Pointing his finger directly at the heart of his enemy, Styx could feel the air crackle with the frozen blaze of his fury.
In the distance he could sense the sharp agitation of the circling vampires, could smell their unease, and hear the sound of fingers tightening on the crossbows.
None of that mattered.
The world had narrowed to the gaunt vampire who stood directly before him.
A vampire who had lost his smug smile and was regarding Styx with a new wariness.
Smart vampire.
Even if he was about to die.
Again.
"Your theatrics do not frighten me, Styx," Desmond managed to rasp even as he shuffled beneath the malevolent stare. "You are surrounded and your mate is within my grasp. You will do as you're told or pay the consequences."
Styx could see the vampire's lips moving. No doubt he was making some sort of threat or another, but he was long past listening. The only sound that mattered was the thunder of the power that rushed through his body.
Deepening the chill that swirled through the air, he moved forward, ignoring the arrow that whizzed past his ear.
"Styx?" Desmond stumbled back, his hands held outward. "Don't be a fool. My clan will kill you . . ." His words of warning came to a halt as Styx wrapped his hands around the scrawny throat and squeezed.
Shouts of alarm filled the air, and lifting the squirming vampire, Styx easily used Desmond's body to block the flurry of arrows. Desmond groaned as the projectiles plunged deep into his back, the silver burning his flesh.
From behind, Styx could sense the rush of an attack, and with a derisive motion he tossed Desmond toward the vampires, who were regarding their leader with horror. Instinctively they scrambled to assist the chief, leaving Styx free to turn and meet the charge of the infuriated Jacob.
The vampire was nearly as large as himself and deranged by his own anger, but his power was no match for Styx.
With a roar Jacob launched toward Styx's throat only to give a growl of frustration when Styx easily sidestepped his charge. As he moved, Styx swept out his leg and easily tripped the fool. In the blink of an eye, he pulled his long sword from its sheath, and while the vampire was struggling to push himself upright, Styx was slicing his weapon through the air.
