“That’s a lot of ifs,” Styx muttered.
“It’s surely worth a try?”
Was it?
Styx scowled, not yet prepared to concede defeat. “Have you considered what happens if Abby or the goddess she carries inside her are destroyed?”
Viper studied him with an unwavering gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Right now we still have the hope that we can injure the Dark Lord’s current form sufficiently to drive its essence out and she will be forced to retreat back to her prison,” he pointed out, just as he had for Salvatore. “If we lose the Phoenix nothing will stop her.”
Viper didn’t hesitate. “And if we do nothing?”
Styx briefly contemplated the pleasure of rearranging Viper’s perfect features. It wasn’t the first time. Viper was one of the few vampires with the balls to stand up to him. Something that Styx didn’t always accept with grace.
Instead he gave a shake of his head. “There has to be another way—” he began, only to break off as a shrill beep cut through the air. Digging the cell phone out of his pocket, he was astonished to discover his burst of power hadn’t destroyed the thing. He almost wished it had when he caught a glimpse of the message waiting for him. “Shit.”
“Now what?” Viper demanded.
“Regan heard from Jagr.”
Viper curled his hands into fists, already sensing the news wasn’t good. “Another rift?”
Styx tossed the phone on his desk. “Two more.”
“We’re out of time.”
It was true.
As much as he hated to put Abby in danger, they had to find some means of destroying the Dark Lord before the hordes of hell overwhelmed them.
Now the question was how to get Abby to the nearest rift before it was too late.
“Get Levet,” he abruptly commanded.
Viper blinked in confusion. “Why the gargoyle?”
“We have to get a message to Abby without interference from Dante. If he suspects we intend to use his mate as bait he’ll do everything in his power to stop us,” he said, grimacing at the knowledge Dante would never forgive him. “Levet is the only one who can reach directly into her mind.”
The gardens at the back of Styx’s mansion were just as rigidly formal as the rest of the estate. Perfectly manicured hedges that framed the individual rose beds, marble fountains circled by wrought-iron benches, and in the center of the flagstone pathways, a domed grotto that was bigger than most homes.
Lovely, of course, Levet acknowledged, but nothing compared to the gardens he’d known in France. No one could outdo the sun kings when it came to lavish excess.
Kicking a stray stone, Levet wandered aimlessly through the darkness, his wings twitching and his heart heavy. He hadn’t wanted to contact Abby. Not when he realized that Styx was asking her to deliberately put herself in front of the rift to piss off an evil deity.
But what choice had he had?
The vampires had insisted that without the presence of the Goddess of Light the entire world was doomed to be overrun with evil....
Rubbing his stunted horn, Levet wallowed in his misery, blithely unaware of the hint of brimstone that suddenly mixed with the scent of roses in the air.
So it was no wonder he nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand lightly touched his shoulder and a female voice whispered next to his ear, “Why so sad?”
“Sacrebleu.”
Leaping to the side, Levet glared at the small female demon with black, oblong eyes and a pale braid that hung nearly to the ground.
Yannah.
The female who’d bewitched him to the point of dropping everything to search for her like a Were in heat.
Imbecile.
“Hello, Levet.”
“You.” He scowled, in no mood to be teased. “Go away.”
She blinked, her heart-shaped face a picture of innocence. As long as he ignored the sharp, pointed teeth that could rip through stone. Oh, and the power that thundered through the air.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” He tilted his chin, refusing to acknowledge the sizzling awareness that burned through him. So what if he felt like he’d been struck by lightning every time he caught a glimpse of this female? Or that his heart soared with delight? He was finished making a fool of himself. “I have followed you from here to Paris and back again. And for what?” He lifted his hands, waving them in magnificent disgust. “Not so much as a kiss.”
She tilted her head, looking like an inquisitive bird. “Would a kiss take away that frown?”
A kiss?
His heart gave one of those flutters, his blood heating at the mere thought of pulling her tiny body into his arms and tasting her brimstone passion. He had waited so long.
“It might—” He snapped his lips together. Mon Dieu. She had nearly done it to him again. “Non. This is no time for your games.”
She pouted, but catching sight of his sour expression, she heaved a sigh. “Perhaps you’re right.”
He glanced around the shadowed garden, half expecting Yannah’s mother to be hiding among the hedges. Which was ridiculous. Siljar was an Oracle, not a thief that skulked in the bushes. Not to mention the pertinent fact, she had the sort of power signature that could crush at a hundred paces.
If she was nearby, he would know.
He returned his attention to the tiny female who moved to stand in front of him, her white robe long enough to brush the paving stones. “Why are you here?”
“I sensed your unhappiness.” She reached to gently stroke the tip of one stunted horn. “Tell me.”
“I’ve done something I will never forgive myself for,” he shocked himself by admitting.
It had nothing to do with her soft touch or the hint of sympathy in her dark eyes, he assured himself. He wasn’t that easily manipulated.
It was just . . . he needed someone to talk to.
Anyone would do. Even the marble statue of Neptune that spouted water out of his head.
Yeah, that was it.
“Ah.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve called for the Goddess of Light.”
Levet didn’t bother to ask how the female knew he’d used his magic to speak directly into Abby’s mind. Or that he’d urged her to travel to the rift. Yannah had more than one mysterious talent.
“Oui.”
“Why does that trouble you?” Yannah frowned, obviously puzzled by his distress. “It’s the purpose of the Phoenix to stand against the tide of darkness.”
“Because the Phoenix will not be charging into the battle alone,” Levet said, his wings drooping at the mere thought of sweet, oh-so-fragile Abby standing face-to-face with the Dark Lord. “The spirit will take ma chérie amie along for the outing.”