Alexandra Ivy - Hunt the Darkness

“What are you afraid of, Sally?”

She scowled at the soft question. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

He shook his head, his fingers lifting to press against the pulse thundering at the base of her throat.

“You know better than to try and lie to a vampire. Even if I wasn’t bonded to you I could detect the increased beat of your heart and catch the scent of adrenaline.” His fingers lightly traced the faint shadow of her jugular vein, his fangs aching for a taste. “Of course, I could be mistaken.”

“You mistaken?” she tried to mock. “Shocking.”

He cupped the side of her face, the satin heat of her skin against his palm a sensation he could easily become addicted to.

“It could be lust,” he murmured, his gaze lowering to the sensual curve of her lips. “And I know the perfect remedy.”

“Fine.” She pulled away from his touch, but not before Roke caught the intoxicating scent of her arousal. “Vampires hate witches.”

With an effort, Roke allowed her to retreat. It was so very tempting to haul her into his arms and seduce her into soft, melting compliance.

It might even work for a few hours.

But he wasn’t so vain as to think that getting her into bed would earn her trust.

Hell, she’d probably use it as another reason to push him away.

“How many times do I have to promise I will do whatever necessary to keep you safe?” he instead asked, holding her wary gaze.

“From your own clan?”

“So long as you’re under my protection they wouldn’t dare hurt you.”

“Even if they believe I have you trapped in a spell? Come on, Roke.” She shuddered, as if imagining the horror of being ravaged by crazed vampires. “They would kill me in a heartbeat if they thought it was for your own good.”

His lips parted only to snap shut.

Shit.

She had a point.

His clan had spent far too long beneath the rule of a chief who’d been more concerned with pleasing his demanding mate than caring for his people. For over a century they’d floundered, so weakened that they’d nearly lost everything before Roke had traveled to the battles of Durotriges to earn the right to become a chief.

That’s why he’d been so infuriated by the magical bonding. He’d already made the decision that his mate would be a rational, loyal female who would dedicate herself to the good of his people.

And why his clan was unreasonably overprotective of him.

They were going to be on the warpath when they discovered he’d been bound by a witch.

“I’ll speak with them,” he promised.

“And tell them what?” she rasped, her hands clenched. “A nasty witch who used to work for the Dark Lord forced a mating on their beloved clan chief. Yeah, that should go over well. They’ll be standing in line for the pleasure of killing me.”

His growl rumbled through the room. “So what do you suggest? That we aimlessly run around the world in the hope that we stumble across your father?”

“You can take the box back to Nevada and I can stay here and question the locals.” She shrugged. “Someone must have known my mother.”

“No.”

She blinked, meeting his ruthless silver gaze with an audible huff of annoyance.

“That’s it? Just, no?”

“We stay together.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s killing you to be apart from me.”

The stark words hung in the air for a long, tension-fraught moment, then Sally was instinctively shaking her head in denial.

“Oh, my God,” she jeered. “Could your ego get any more bloated?”

“It’s not my ego, Sally.” He moved to touch the shadows beneath her beautiful eyes. “You’re fading away.”

She rigidly held her ground. “It’s just stress.”

“And if it’s not?”

“What are you trying to imply?”

He tucked an autumn curl behind her ear, the strands of gold shimmering in the moonlight.

“I’m not implying, I’m saying flat out that there are demons who are bound so tightly to their mates they suffer physical damage when they’re apart.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “So you truly believe I was pining for you like some cheesy Victorian bimbo?”

His lips twitched. “Yes.”

The dark eyes narrowed. “A toad. No, wait. A cockroach.”

“You’re babbling,” he murmured, his fingers skimming down the side of her neck.

She quivered, her pulse leaping beneath his fingers. “No, I’m deciding what I’m going to turn you into.”

He allowed his fingers to circle her throat. Not a threat. An intimate claim.

“Sally, we’re in this together,” he said, his voice low with a genuine weariness. “I’ve suffered as much as you have.”

The tough-girl façade wavered as she bit her lower lip. “I . . . know,” she muttered. “I’m trying to find a way to break the mating.”

“And I’m trying to help you.” His thumb absently stroked the line of her stubborn jaw. “Why won’t you let me?”

She held his fierce gaze. “I’ve been running from people who’ve wanted me dead since I was sixteen. I won’t walk into a clan of bloodsuckers who will blame me for harming their chief.”

He didn’t have to see the strength of her determination etched on her beautiful face; he could easily sense it through their bond.

If he wanted to take her to his clan, he would have to physically drag her there.

Always assuming she didn’t follow through on her threat to turn him into a toad.

“Oh, hell,” he growled, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

He scrolled through his contacts, then swiftly typed in his message.

“Sending a text to Cyn.”

She eyed him warily. “What’s a Cyn?”

“Not a what. A who,” he explained. “He’s clan chief of Ireland.”

The wariness only deepened. “Why are you contacting him?”

“He’s an expert on the fey.”

She glanced at the box he still held in his hand. “Why don’t we just find one of the fey?”

He curled his lips to reveal his fangs. “Because I don’t trust them.”

She folded her arms around her waist, the tug on her sweatshirt molding the fabric against the soft curve of her breasts.

“And I don’t trust vampires.”

He struggled not to be distracted by the thought of stripping off the sweatshirt to expose the exquisite beauty beneath.

“Do you believe I would deliberately try to hurt you?” he bluntly demanded.

“I—”

“The truth.”

She hesitated, clearly reluctant to admit that she might have the smallest faith in him.

“No,” she at last muttered.

“Then trust that—”

His soft words were rudely interrupted as the gargoyle stomped his way into the room, his tail twitching.

“Ha.”

Roke glowered at the unwelcome intruder. “What now?”

“I have sensed her,” Levet announced.

“Sensed who?”

“Yannah.”

Sally stepped toward the gargoyle in surprise. “She’s returned?”

“ Non, but I can track her.”

Roke’s annoyance abruptly faded. It was about damned time.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” he told the demon who’d been a constant pain in the ass over past three weeks.

Sally sent him a chiding frown. “Roke.”

Impervious as always to being insulted, Levet moved to take Sally’s hand.

“ Au revoir, ma belle, ” he murmured, kissing her fingers. “I suspect that our paths will cross again.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Roke growled, trembling as he watched the tiny demon waddle from the room.

Logically he understood the gargoyle was no threat.

Sally had no romantic interest in the aggravating pest.