“Don’t try to bully me, He-Man,” she muttered. “This is my domain.”
“Your domain?” He lifted a brow. “And that would make you Skeletor?” “Ha, ha. Hysterical.”
He stepped closer, his expression hardening with an unmistakable warning. “Tell me where we are.”
“I don’t know if it has a name or not.” She shrugged. “I stumbled into it by accident.”
He glanced around, an odd fire burning in the honey eyes. “It’s another dimension?”
“No, it’s more a corridor that runs between them. I use it when I need to travel in a hurry.” She flicked a deliberate glance down his half naked body. “Or when I’m trying to escape from a demented vampire.”
He turned a complete circle, his hand clutching his dagger as he studied the seemingly solid mist that surrounded them.
“How do we get out?”
Laylah frowned. Tane was acting … peculiar. Which in itself was peculiar.
Vamps were nothing if not predictable.
Arrogant, dangerous, and sickeningly aware of their superiority.
Could it be that the mighty Tane was actually anxious to find himself in the mists?
Swift to take advantage, Laylah headed toward the unconscious gargoyle.
“The same way we got in,” she said.
“Then do it.”
“No.”
“Laylah.”
She scooped Levet into her arms, swallowing a groan. Gods. What did the creature eat? Lead?
“I’m taking the gargoyle to London and you can’t stop me,” she grunted, headed through the mists.
Swearing, Tane followed in her wake. “Why is it so important that you go to London?”
“I have to find the Jinn.”
“Is it a relative of yours?” he snapped.
“That’s what I intend to discover. I never …” she bit off her revealing words.
Naturally he couldn’t let well enough alone.
“What?”
She flashed him an annoyed frown. “I thought I was the only one. Okay?”
He abruptly stiffened, as if bothered by her stark honesty. Then with a curse, he glanced toward the fog, his expression shuttered.
“Get us out of here and I will see that you get to London.”
Did she have stupid tattooed on her forehead?
“Liar.”
“What did you call me?” he snapped.
“I called you a liar.” She turned her head to meet the smoldering honey gaze. “We both know if I was idiotic enough to return us to the barn there’s no way in hell you would let me go to London.”
Chapter 4
The eighteenth century terrace house near Green Park in London was considered a fine example of Robert Adam’s architecture. It was, in fact, a great pride of the historical society, although the neighbors weren’t nearly so enthused.
Certainly there was a classical beauty in the aging bricks and simple portico. The windows were tall with carved stone swags set above them. And it was rumored the interior was even more stunning. Carved marble staircases and grand rooms with painted ceilings, Chippendale furniture, and priceless works of art.
But the museum-quality perfection couldn’t erase the chill of evil that shrouded the building or make the beautiful Lady Havassy any less unnerving when she made her rare appearance.
It was said that the exquisitely beautiful woman with long dark curls and flashing black eyes that contrasted so sharply with her pale, pale skin was some sort of Hungarian nobility. The locals didn’t care where she came from, only that there had been a rash of disappearances since her arrival some ten years before.
More amused than concerned by the suspicions of the humans, Marika ran a hand through her glossy curls as she absently descended into the cellars deep beneath the city streets. She was wearing a thin, gauzy gown that emphasized her lush curves, but did nothing to battle the damp chill in the air. Not that it mattered. A vampire was as impervious to the weather as she was to nosy neighbors.
As she reached the cement floor, the torches flared to life and a tall man with silver hair that spilled halfway down his back approached from the shadows.
Most women would consider Sergei Krakov handsome. He had a narrow face with high Slavic cheekbones and icy blue eyes that held a cunning intelligence. His body was lean and muscular and at the moment covered in a fine Gucci suit in a pale shade of gray.
Marika, however, didn’t keep the mage around for his male beauty or for his taste in expensive clothing.
Allowing him to take her hand and lead her across the open room, she glanced through the window at the attached cell. She grimaced at the pretty young blonde who was chained to the wall.
The female’s head was slumped forward, her long curtain of hair covering her face. Her naked body was boneless, straining against the manacles that held her upright.
“Is she to your taste?” Sergei urged.
Marika tapped a crimson nail against the window, not particularly surprised when the woman remained in her comatose state. The bruises blooming on her pale skin revealed that Sergei had already taken his own pleasure.
“Did you break her?”
Sergei chuckled, no hint of apology on his lean face. “She might be a trifle damaged around the edges, but she still has some fight left in her.”
With a sound of disgust, Marika turned away, a hand pressed to her aching forehead.
“Perhaps later.”
Sergei hurried to her side, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.
“You must eat, Marika. You are too important to allow yourself to become weakened.” He made a shallow effort at concern. “Do you prefer a fey? Or maybe you’re in the mood for a harpy? They always scream so sweetly.”
“Enough, Sergei.” With a casual twist of her hand she had Sergei by the neck and was slamming him against the wall. “I’m not a child. If you want to fuss over someone return to your plaything.”
Sergei passively dangled from the fingers wrapped around his throat. He hadn’t survived several centuries as her favorite pet by being stupid.
Waiting until she’d regained control of her swift, gypsy temper and at last released him, Sergei smoothed his black satin tie and summoned an expression of concern that was almost convincing.
“Please, tell me what’s troubling you.”
With a hiss, she paced to the center of the floor, her hand again pressed to her temple.
“It’s her. She’s restless.”
Sergei didn’t need any further explanation.
There was only one her.