Which did nothing for her confidence in his ability to discover the truth that she needed.
She couldn't get answers from a dead wolf.
"Maybe not, but Salvatore's not very likely to answer any questions to his sworn enemy, is he?"
"He will if he knows what is good for him."
"Oh, for God's sake, you can't beat the truth out of him," she snapped, her usually sunny temperament pressed beyond all reason. "It makes far more sense for me to question him. This might be the reason he is seeking me. Maybe this woman has paid him to find me."
"Or else she is already in his clutches," he said darkly.
"Oh." She pressed a hand to her heart. The thought of the unknown woman being held by the Weres was enough to send her into a panic. "Dear God. We must do something."
"I have already promised I would deal with this, Darcy. Leave it in my hands."
She sucked in a deep breath. He had to be the most stubborn vampire ever created.
"If you insist on being involved that's fine, but I'm going to be the one to confront Salvatore."
The dark eyes flashed with warning. That is not your decision to make."
"I'm making it my decision. I won't have you endangering this woman because you want to punish the werewolves."
Darcy had argued all she intended to. She had made up her mind and that was the end of it. With firm steps she headed to the door.
"Where are you going?" Styx growled from behind her.
"To change."
Styx watched with impotent anger as Darcy swept from the room.
Well, he had managed to screw that up with stunning success.
Of course, it wasn't entirely his fault.
Whirling around, he pointed a finger directly at the tiny demon attempting to hide behind one of the wooden chairs.
"You," he breathed in a lethal tone. "You did this."
With an effort the gargoyle tilted his chin to a stubborn angle. "Hey, don't blame the messenger. After all, you're the one who sent me to that damn lair. I could have been killed."
A pity he hadn't been, Styx savagely told himself. He had come in search of Darcy in the hopes of spending the last of the fading night in her arms. He was in need of her soft touch after hours spent dealing with two demanding vampires who expected him to magically solve their troubles.
Now it appeared there was about zero chance of any soft touches.
Not when he was forced to have to convince his headstrong captive there wasn't a chance in hell of her going anywhere near Salvatore.
"So instead you return with pictures that were bound to send Darcy rushing straight into the arms of her enemies," he growled.
Level narrowed his gaze. "I would say she is already in the arms of her enemies."
"Have a care, gargoyle."
"Can you deny my charge?" The small demon moved from behind the chair, his tail twitching. "You are the one who kidnapped her. You are the one who is holding her prisoner. You are the one who is using her to further your own goals."
Styx curled his hands into tight fists. It was that or choking the gargoyle into the netherworld.
He needed no reminders that he was a villain in this absurd farce. At the moment he was far more concerned with the more dangerous villains.
"Salvatore is the one to worry about, you fool. He has invested a great deal in getting his hands on Darcy."
"You still have no proof that he intends to harm her."
"And no proof that he does not." Flushed with the need to hit or bite or kill something, Styx paced across the large kitchen. It was ridiculous. He never paced. It was a sign of a disordered mind. Forcing himself to come to a halt, he regarded the annoying demon with a cold glare. "Do you wish to put your trust in a werewolf who has already proven he has no regard for the laws that bind him?"
"I have no wish to put my trust in vampires or werewolves," Levet muttered. "They are notoriously clever at turning any situation to their own advantage."
"If Darcy is harmed I will hold you personally responsible," Styx warned. "You should never have shown her that picture."
"You would have kept it from her?"
"Of course." His gut twisted as he recalled the fragile hope that simmered in the beautiful green eyes. He couldn't bear to have that bastard Salvatore use her vulnerability to harm her. "There was no point in disturbing her."
Levet studied him with open suspicion. "Even though you know that it may offer her what she desires more than anything else in this world?"
Styx dismissed the gargoyle's words with a ruthless efficiency.
Salvatore was a clever foe who would stoop to any level to lure Darcy from this secure lair. This was no doubt just another means to capture the woman he so desperately wanted.
And if it wasn't...
A dark sense of dread filled his heart.
If it wasn't, then he still could not allow Darcy to escape him.
For the moment she was his only leverage to force the pack back to their hunting grounds without open bloodshed.
"We know nothing yet," he at last said stiffly.
"If this woman is her mother—" Levet began, only to come to a halt as Styx stabbed him with a lethal glare.
"Enough. We will discuss this later. For now I must try to convince Darcy not to charge into Salvatore's damnable trap."
Darcy was startled to discover her hands shaking as she pulled on a clean pair of jeans and soft green sweater. She glanced down at them in wonderment. Gripes. Over the years she had endured being labeled a freak, been tossed out of a dozen foster homes, and lived on the street until she could at last make enough money to find an apartment.
In the past week she had been stalked by a werewolf and kidnapped by a vampire.
It was all enough to give even the most cool, calm, and collected woman a nervous breakdown.
But nothing—nothing—had shaken her as much as that simple picture.
Pressing a hand to her quivering stomach, Darcy forced herself to take several deep breaths.
It would be so easy to leap to conclusions. No, not leap. Jump, bound, and soar to conclusions, she acknowledged wryly.
But first things first.
She had to track down Salvatore and discover the identity of the woman.
He held the key to the questions that had haunted her for far too long.
She had just Finished pulling on her leather boots when the door to her room was thrust open and Styx flowed toward her with that aloof expression that warned trouble was brewing.
Planting her hands on her hips she refused to flinch as he came to a halt only inches from her stiff body. He towered over her with enough fluid strength to crush her with one hand. And then there were those pesky fangs that could drain her dry.