Alexandra Ivy - Hunt the Darkness

Not that prying eyes could have detected him.

Leaving his custom-built turbine-powered motorcycle hidden in the trees, Roke was dressed in black. Black jeans, black tee, and black leather jacket with a pair of knee-high moccasins that allowed him to move in lethal silence.

With his bronzed skin and dark hair that brushed his broad shoulders, he blended into the darkness with ease. Only his eyes were visible. Although silver in color, they were so pale they appeared white in the moonlight, and rimmed by a circle of pure black.

Over the centuries those eyes had unnerved the most savage demons. No one liked the sensation that their soul was being laid bare.

On the other hand, his lean, beautiful features that were clearly from Native American origins had been luring women to his bed since he’d awoken as a vampire.

They sighed beneath the touch of his full, sensual lips and eagerly pressed against the lean, chiseled perfection of his body. Their fingers traced the proud line of his nose, the wide brow, and his high cheekbones.

It didn’t matter that most considered him as cold and unfeeling as a rattlesnake. Or that he would sacrifice anything or anyone to protect his clan.

They found his ruthless edge . . . exciting.

All except one notable exception.

A damned shame that exception happened to be his mate.

Roke grimaced.

No. Not mate.

Or at least, not in the traditional sense.

Three weeks ago he’d been in Chicago when the demon world had battled against the Dark Lord. They’d managed to turn back the hordes of hell, but instead of allowing him to return to his clan in Nevada, Styx, the Anasso, had insisted that he remain to babysit Sally Grace, a witch who’d fought with the Dark Lord.

Roke had been furious.

Not only was he desperate to return to his people, but he hated witches.

All vampires did.

Magic was the one weapon they had no defense against.

Regrettably, when Styx gave an order, a wise vampire jumped to obey.

The alternative wasn’t pretty.

Of course, at the time none of them had realized that Sally was half demon. Or that she would panic at being placed in the dungeons beneath Styx’s elegant lair.

He absently rubbed his inner forearm where the mating mark was branded into his skin.

The witch claimed that she was simply trying to enchant him long enough to convince him to help her escape. And after his initial fury at realizing her demon magic had somehow ignited the mating bond, Roke had grudgingly accepted it had been an accident.

What he hadn’t accepted was her running off to search for the truth of her father.

Dammit.

It was her fault they were bound together.

She had no right to slip away like a thief in the night.

“Do you sense anyone?”

The question was spoken in a low voice that was edged with a French accent, jerking Roke out of his dark broodings. Glancing downward, he ruefully met his companion’s curious gaze.

What the hell had happened to his life?

A mate that wasn’t a mate. A three-foot gargoyle sidekick. And a clan that had been without their chief for far too long.

“She’s there,” he murmured, his gaze skimming over the creature’s ugly mug. Levet had all the usual gargoyle features. Gray skin, horns, a small snout, and a tail he kept lovingly polished. It was only his delicate wings and diminutive size that marked him as different. Oh, and his appalling lack of control over his magic. Roke turned back to the cottage where he could catch the distinctive scent of peaches. A primitive heat seared through him, drawing him forward. “I have you, little witch.”

Scampering to keep up with his long, silent strides, Levet tugged at the hem of his jacket.

“Umm . . . Roke?”

“Not now, gargoyle.” Roke never paused as he made his way toward the back of the cottage. “I’ve spent the past three weeks being led around like a damned hound on a leash. I intend to savor the moment.”

“While you’re savoring, I hope that you will recall Sally must have a good reason for—”

“Her reason is to drive me nuts,” Roke interrupted, pausing at the side of the nearest shed. “I promised her that we would go in search of her father. Together.”

“ Oui . But when?”

Roke clenched his teeth. “In case you’ve forgotten, she nearly died when the—”

“Vampire-god.”

Roke grimaced. The creature that they’d so recently battled might have claimed to be the first vampire, but that didn’t make him a god. The bastard had nearly killed Sally in an attempt to break the magic that held him captive.

“When the ancient spirit attacked her,” he snapped. “She should be grateful that I was willing to wait for her to regain her strength.”

Levet cleared his throat. “And that is the only reason you tried to keep her imprisoned?”

“She wasn’t imprisoned,” he denied, refusing to recall his panic when Sally had lain unconscious for hours.

Or his fierce reluctance to allow Sally to leave Styx’s lair.

“ Non? ” Levet clicked his tongue, seemingly oblivious to how close Roke was to yanking that tongue out of his mouth. “I would have sworn she was locked in the dungeons.”

“Not after Gaius was destroyed.”

“You mean after she saved the world from the vampire-god?” the gargoyle taunted. “Generous of you.”

Oh yeah. The tongue was going to have to go.

“Don’t push me, gargoyle,” he muttered, allowing his senses to spread outward.

He would deal with the aggravating gargoyle later.

Testing the air, he caught the scent of salty foam as waves crashed against the rocks below, the acrid tang of smoke from the chimney, and the distant perfume of a water sprite playing among the whales.

But overriding it all was that tantalizing aroma of warm peaches.

A potent aphrodisiac that once again compelled him forward.

Levet grabbed his back pocket. “Where are you going?”

Roke didn’t miss a step as he swatted the pest away. “To get my mate.”

“I do not believe that is a good idea.”

“Thankfully I don’t give a shit what you think.”

“ Très bien, ” the gargoyle sniffed. “You are the panty boss.”

“Bossy-pants, you idiot,” Roke muttered, heading directly for the back door.

He’d officially run out of patience twenty-one days and several thousand miles ago.

Which would explain why he didn’t even consider the fact Sally might be prepared for his arrival.

Less than a foot from the back steps he was brought to a painful halt as an invisible net of magic wrapped around him, the bands of air so tight they would have sliced straight through him if he’d been human.

“What the hell?”

Levet waddled forward, his wings twitching as he studied Roke with open curiosity.

“A magical snare. Sacrebleu . I’ve never seen one so strong.”

Roke flashed his fangs, futilely struggling to escape.

Damn, but he hated magic.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” he snarled.

“I did,” the gargoyle huffed in outrage. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

Okay, he hated magic and gargoyles.

“You didn’t tell me there was a trap.”

“You are chasing a powerful witch. What did you expect?” The damned beast dared to smile. “Besides, it’s such a fine spell. It would have been a pity to spoil Sally’s fun.”

“I swear, gargoyle, when I get out of here—”

“Are all vampires always so bad-tempered, or is it just you?” a light female voice demanded, the scent of peaches drenching the air.

Roke swallowed a groan, a complex mixture of fury, lust, and savage relief surging through him.

None of it showed on his face as he turned to study the tiny female with shoulder-length hair that was a blend of deep red tresses streaked with gold. She had pale, almost fragile features with velvet brown eyes and full lips that begged to be kissed.