A relief to be rid of the pain, but not particularly reassuring.
Briggs had bet everything on the mysterious demon lord who promised him the throne that had been stolen by Salvatore. The damned creature should already have sensed trouble.
“Impossible.”
“Impossible or not, he’s returning power to the Weres.”
The town proved to be typical for the Midwest.
Settled on the Mississippi River, it was a combination of small businesses, fast-food restaurants, and chain stores along Broadway Street, while the traditional main drag was lined with historic homes that were battling the passage of time with varying degrees of success.
After swinging through Arby’s to buy enough roast beef sandwiches and fried mozzarella sticks to feed a football team plus the cheerleading squad—even supposing cheerleaders would come within a mile of a fried mozzarella stick—Tonya drove them to the waterfront, stopping the Mercedes behind a small brick building with a green awning painted with the words TEAS AND CAKES.
Harley briefly caught a glimpse of small tables with frilly doilies and a front counter with a glass case of pastries. There was a mass of humans stuffed into the small space, with a line out the front door, their expressions tense as they waited to feed their unwitting addiction.
A powerful hex, indeed.
With a grimace, Harley followed Tonya into the attached warehouse that looked in dire need of some kindling and a match to put it out of its misery. There was a faint tingle as they entered the back door, and Harley’s eyes widened as she took in the vast lobby decorated in a neoclassical style, with inlaid wood floors and pale green walls with silver engravings. The ceiling was painted with Apollo on his chariot dashing through the clouds, and the handful of chairs were hand-carved.
All extremely elegant and amazingly tasteful.
Belatedly, she realized the warehouse had been wrapped in an enchantment that magically projected an image of shabby abandonment. No doubt it also held an aversion spell that would keep humans from entering.
From the lobby, she and Salvatore had been led to private apartments on the second floor of the warehouse. There were a few raised brows when she’d insisted on separate rooms, but in a thankfully short amount of time she was locked in a bathroom with a lot of black marble and gilt to shower away the hardened mud.
Returning to the attached bedroom, she found a pair of jeans and a turquoise tank top waiting for her on the black-and-gold comforter spread over the jumbo-sized bed. There was also a new set of panties and matching bra, as well as a pair of running shoes.
Yow, vampire hospitality was obviously full service.
The only question was what they charged for that service.
Once dressed, she pulled her damp hair into a ponytail and headed back toward the lobby. She hesitated at the bottom of the sweeping staircase, surprised to discover several large demons entering through a side door and heading directly toward the back of the lobby.
She instinctively shifted so she was hidden behind the elegantly carved banister, keeping a careful eye on the dangerous crowd.
Night had obviously fallen since several of the demons possessed the unearthly beauty of vampires, and at least one was an Ichari demon, a species that remained immobile during the day.
The others…
She didn’t have a clue. There were some with horns, some with extra appendages, some with wings and razor-sharp teeth. The only thing they had in common was the unmistakable aura of being predators.
Not really in the mood to rub elbows with the motley crew, Harley headed in the opposite direction, opening a door set in an alcove to discover what appeared to be a private office.
Crossing the slate gray carpet, she avoided the heavy walnut desk and wooden shelves that held the sort of high-tech surveillance equipment that would make the CIA salivate. Instead she concentrated on the French Impressionist paintings that were hung on the paneled walls and carefully preserved behind glass cases.
Good Lord. They were breathtaking, but surely they should have been in a museum?
“So the rumors are true.”
Harley slowly turned, not surprised to discover the exquisitely handsome vampire with long raven hair and distinctly Spanish features leaning against the doorjamb, studying her with a faint smile. She’d already sensed his approach.
“I’m afraid to ask,” she murmured.
“You shouldn’t be.” Pushing from the door, he slowly moved to stand directly before her. Dressed in a black silk suit and charcoal tie, he filled the room with his cold power. “You are as beautiful as your sister.”
“You know my sister?”
“I am Santiago, and it is my honor to call Darcy my queen.”
“Queen.” She gave a shake of her head. “Unbelievable.”
The vampire lifted his brows. “It troubles you that she is mated to a vampire?”
Harley’s lips twisted. She wouldn’t have been troubled to discover her sisters were mated to tree frogs.
“No. I was told that my sisters were murdered. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact they’re alive and kicking.”
There was a hint of rueful humor in the dark eyes. “Darcy is very much alive and quite happy to do whatever kicking necessary to keep Styx in line.”
“And she’s happy?”
“Of course.” His gaze deliberately lowered to appreciate the curves revealed by the tank top. “Vampires possess an extensive knowledge of how to please a woman.”
Oh, she didn’t doubt that for a moment.
Everything about the beautiful demons screamed pleasure.
A pity her taste ran to aggravating, arrogant, outrageously sexy Weres.
“Extensive, eh?”
“Extensive and…” His smile revealed a flash of pearly white fangs. “Creative.”
“And oh-so-dead if you take one step closer, Santiago,” Salvatore drawled, stepping into the room and allowing his heat to blast through the air.
Harley wisely stepped away from the vampire as she turned to appreciate the sight of Salvatore freshly showered and wearing a pair of silky black pants and a sheer white shirt that had been left open to reveal his smooth, bronzed chest.
If there was going to be a fight, she didn’t intend to be in the middle of it.
Santiago offered a mocking bow. “Giuliani.”
Strolling forward, Salvatore deliberately halted at her side, his hand possessively cupping the back of her neck. The male equivalent of “She’s mine, back off.”
Harley might have been furious if he wasn’t looking so frigging gorgeous, with his hair pulled back with a gold clasp, emphasizing the stark beauty of his face.