Styx was moving before he could even think.
That dog put a finger on Darcy? He would see him in hell first.
Springing forward, he was unprepared for the large form that suddenly loomed before him. He slammed into Viper with a stunning force, sending them both to the ground.
In the blink of an eye Styx was on his feet, but so was Viper.
"Styx, no," Viper growled, his fierce expression warning that he was quite prepared to fight Styx to keep him from pursuing the damnable Were. "It is too near dawn for you to be battling the Weres. We have to get out of here. Now."
"And leave him free to track down Darcy?" Styx demanded, his entire body trembling with the need to follow after the Were. "He will have her long before sunset."
A strange expression rippled over his companion's pale, elegant features.
"If she truly is his consort then you must step aside, Styx," he said in a careful tone. "Not even the Committee will allow you to hold the mate of a king as a prisoner."
"Darcy is no werewolf," he retorted in a frigid tone.
"But..."
"No more, Viper. As you have so tediously repeated, dawn is approaching."
Turning on his heel, Styx crossed the warehouse, his power sending the dust swirling about him and the glass in the windows bursting beneath the pressure.
He was a vampire in a snit, and anything near was in danger.
Dammit all.
He would not even consider the notion that Salvatore wasn't lying.
He had to be.
Darcy couldn't possibly be a wolfs consort.
Not when he was absolutely certain that she had been intended by fate to be his own mate.
Chapter Fourteen
Darcy awoke with a cramp in her leg and a painfully stiff neck.
Obviously sports cars were all well and good to drive around in looking spiffy, but they were a bitch for a poor woman trying to catch a few hours of sleep.
Rubbing her neck, she struggled out of the car and glanced around the small park she had chosen to hide in.
It was one of the carefully manicured gardens that could only be found in the most elegant neighborhoods. A place she didn't have to worry about being attacked while she slept. At least not by humans. And since she had managed to steal the sort of car that could only belong to someone with considerable wealth, not even the police had bothered to disturb her.
Her stomach rumbled, and she sighed as she recalled the yummy granola that she had left behind in the bag Gina had brought for her.
Dang it.
That stupid werewolf had ruined everything.
Of course, the woman was probably regretting her attack even more than Darcy did. At least at the moment.
Darcy's stomach rolled again at the lingering memory of the violent confrontation. Jeez, the woman was clearly demented. How could she possibly be jealous when Darcy had barely spoken to Salvatore?
Maybe all werewolves were simply demented.
Or maybe she was the one demented, Darcy acknowledged with a small sigh.
What woman with a lick of sense would be hanging around this park when she could be in her car driving as fast and as far away from Chicago as possible?
She had picked up her belongings and started over more times than she could count. After all, she never had had anything, or anyone, to keep her in one place.
A new town, a new job, a new beginning.
Big deal.
But even as the temptation whispered through her mind, she knew there was no way she was leaving.
Not until she knew the truth of that picture.
Pressing a hand to her rumbling stomach. Darcy slowly stilled as an odd prickling stirred the hair at the nape of her neck.
The park seemed to sleep quietly beneath its light quilt of snow, but she instinctively knew that she was no longer alone.
Something, or someone, was creeping through the nearby trees with a silence that was not remotely human.
Inching her way back toward the nearby car, Darcy was fully prepared to flee when the elegant form of Salvatore stepped from the shadows. She recognized the hulking giant directly behind him from the night they had first approached her. Mr. Muscle was even dressed in the same black T-shirt and jeans, as if it were eighty degrees instead of twenty.
Salvatore, of course, was garbed in yet another priceless suit. This one was a smoky shade of gray with a pinstriped shirt and perfect silk tie.
She wondered if he bought them by the gross.
"Cripes," she breathed, backing against the car with a sudden jolt.
Seeing her fumble for the door latch, Salvatore took a swift step forward and held up a pleading hand.
"Please, Darcy, don't run," he commanded, his accent more noticeable in his urgency. "I swear I'm not here to hurt you."
She grimaced as she recalled her last encounter with a werewolf.
"And I should believe you because . . . ?"
He gave a shrug. "Because if I wanted to harm you there is nothing you could do to stop me."
Well, that was calling a spade a spade.
Or perhaps, a wolf a wolf.
"That's supposed to be reassuring?"
He slowly smiled. "Actually you should not need my reassurances. You have proven that you are more than capable of holding your own when necessary."
She flinched, disliking the note of pride in his voice. Good lord, the last thing she would ever want would be to be admired for hurting another.
"You were at the warehouse?"
"Yes."
"Is the woman ... is she okay?"
"She will recover from her wounds." The dark, fiercely handsome features subtly shifted. As if his emotions rippled beneath his skin rather than over it. "But whether she will be okay is still entirely up in the air. I have yet to decide how to punish her."
Darcy didn't bother to hide her frown. "Punish her?"
The golden eyes glowed in the bright sunlight. She decided that it was just as unnerving at noon as it was at midnight.
See, she wasn't entirely stupid.
"There is no alternative," he informed her in a tone that offered no compromise. "She not only defied my direct commands, but she dared to attack you. That I will not tolerate."
"If you ask me, I think she has been punished enough," Darcy muttered. She had no love for the woman who had tried to chomp off her head, but she refused to be used as an excuse to cause the werewolf further pain.
Salvatore heaved a small sigh as he carefully adjusted the cuffs of his crisp shirt.
"You really must overcome your gentle nature, cara. In our world it will get you killed."
Her chin stuck out. She wouldn't be lectured as if she wore a child. She made no apologies for lacking a bloodthirsty nature.