Styx snorted. If he was as omnipotent as people expected him to be, he’d be wearing a cape and leaping over tall buildings. “No. We’re going to need backup.” He grimaced, barely able to form the words. “Get Levet.”
Jagr blinked. Then blinked again. No doubt wondering if Styx had taken a blow to the head. “I hate to question your decisions,” he said cautiously, “but I don’t think the gargoyle has the magic to deal with this.”
“No, but my power has no doubt drained our phones,” he admitted, all too familiar with his effect on modern technology. Usually, he was happy as hell to do without the constant buzz and intrusion of electronic devices, but right now he’d give his right nut for a working phone. “And he’s the only one who can contact the lair so they’ll send out the troops.”
Jagr pulled out his phone to glance at the black screen with a grimace. “Fine. I’ll have him contact Regan. She’ll be able to organize things from Chicago.”
Styx nodded. Regan was Jagr’s mate and his own mate’s sister. The female Were was proving to possess a talent for detailed organization. She’d already rearranged Jagr’s massive library so a covey of harpies—who were astonishingly brilliant when they weren’t in mating season—could sift through them in search of any prophecies that might have been overlooked, as well as set up safe houses for children and those too weak to protect themselves.
Jagr was torn between undiluted pride in his mate and a resigned acceptance that his life would never be the same.
There was a blast of frigid air as Jaelyn skidded into the room at the same moment a demon with jagged horns, skin the color of puce, and a long snout that made him look like a perverted anteater climbed through the rift.
“What the hell?” the female vampire hissed in shock.
“Yeah, my words exactly,” Jagr muttered, stepping forward to swing his sword at the creature.
Styx motioned Jaelyn forward. “I’m going to need you, Hunter.”
“Of course. I haven’t had a good fight in days.” She smiled, revealing her razor-sharp fangs in a smile of anticipation. “Move out of the way, Goth-boy.”
Pulling out her sawed-off shotgun, Jaelyn began firing silver bullets into the creature as Jagr muttered a curse and leaped to the side.
“You’re a menace,” he informed his fellow vampire.
Jaelyn shrugged, kicking the demon back through the rift. “You should see me when I’m pissed off.”
Both men shuddered. Jaelyn pissed off was a sight neither wanted to experience.
Then, as there was the sound of nearing growls through the rift, Jagr turned to head for the door. “I’ll return as soon as Levet has contacted Regan.”
“Jagr,” Styx called out.
“Yes?”
“Have Salvatore send some of his Weres, but tell him to remain at my lair. This could be yet another distraction.”
Jagr nodded. “Is that all?”
“Make sure my mate returns to Chicago.”
The large vampire snorted as he continued out the door. “I’m not a miracle worker.”
Styx grimaced. He knew better than to hope his mate would return to the safety of his lair. But then, he wouldn’t leave her behind. Why should he expect anything different from her?
Poised for attack, Jaelyn glanced over her shoulder. “Did Kostas create this?”
“No.” Styx’s expression was grim. “The Dark Lord.”
“Shit.” The blue eyes darkened as she instantly comprehended the danger. “The ceremony has been completed?”
“I’m sure it has by now.” His jaw tightened beneath the tide of frustrated fury. “She has the child as well as a sacrifice.”
Unexpectedly, Jaelyn frowned. “But she hasn’t come through?”
“Not yet.” He was struck by a sudden, hideous thought. “Or at least not here.”
“You think there’s other rifts?”
“‘Pathways that have been hidden will be found and the Veil parted to the faithful,’” he quoted in harsh tones.
“Oh hell.” Jaelyn glanced toward the swarms of distant shapes that crawled on the other side of the opening. “That can’t be good.”
No it wasn’t good.
In fact, things were going in the toilet at hyperspeed.
And all he could do was try and hold back the tidal wave of disaster. Like Hans Brinker sticking his finger in the dyke.
“We have to get the warning out.”
The Dark Lord’s prison
Gaius remained on his knees, his head pressed to the ground, which was cloaked by white. He’d been in the same position since his abortive attempt to flee with the prophet, simply waiting for the torture to begin.
Why fight the inevitable? He’d rolled the dice and lost. Now it was time to pay his debts.
Barely aware of the passing time, he remained kneeling, praying for a swift, painless death even as he accepted it was going to be slow and bloody and quite likely to stretch over centuries, if not longer.
After what might have been minutes or an eternity, the punishing pain that warned of the Dark Lord’s approach slammed into him.
“Ah, my faithless Gaius,” she purred, her low voice nearly peeling the skin off his flesh.
His teeth clenched in agony. “Mistress.”
Without warning, he was grasped by his hair and yanked to his feet.
“Do you think that groveling will save you?” the Dark Lord demanded, her eyes smoldering with crimson fire.
He hung loosely in the painful grip, his gaze shifting to the unconscious fairy that the Dark Lord had dropped at her feet.
How . . . odd.
The powerful bitch gave him a violent shake, reminding Gaius that he hadn’t answered her question.
“No, Mistress.”
“Ah.” Fingers grasped his chin, forcing his head up to meet the fiery glare. “So you are pretending to be resigned to your fate.”
Her gaze blazed through him like a blowtorch, making Gaius flinch despite his numbing sense of defeat.
“As you say.”
“Don’t be such a . . .” The burning eyes returned to blue as the Dark Lord considered her words. “What is the saying? A wet blanket?”
With a casual flick of her hand she sent Gaius flying backward. He landed awkwardly on his side, breaking at least two ribs, but with an effort he forced himself to his feet and walked back to stand before her.
“Forgive me, Mistress.”
She sniffed, not entirely pacified. “Certainly you shall be punished for your betrayal, but for now you’re in for a special treat.”