That was a Sally Grace specialty.
“You,” he called out.
The fairy came to a reluctant halt, eyeing Roke with impatience. “Me?”
“Is that tray for the witch?”
“I—”
“Is it or not?”
“Yes,” the man grudgingly admitted.
“Give it to me.” Roke held out his hands. Then, when the fairy just stood there staring at him like an idiot, he snapped his fingers. “Well?”
“There’s no need to bother yourself,” the man said, stubbornly holding on to the tray. “I’m sure you have better things to be doing.”
Roke leaned forward, his power making the plates rattle. “That wasn’t a suggestion, fairy.”
“But—”
“Give. Me. The. Tray.” As expected the fairy hastily shoved the tray into Roke’s hands, tumbling over the rose and jostling the stack of books. Roke frowned. “What the hell is with the books?”
The fairy hunched a shoulder, his expression petulant. “I promised that I would bring her something to read. She’s bored.”
Bored? An image of how he could keep the pretty little witch entertained seared through his mind before he managed to slam shut the door on the treacherous temptation.
“This isn’t the damned Ritz.”
“I don’t mind.” A hint of eagerness returned to the narrow face. “In fact I’m happy to—”
“I mind,” Roke snapped, infuriated by the man’s obvious obsession with Sally. “You’re not to return to the dungeons, is that clear?”
The fairy had the nerve to hesitate, almost as if he was actually considering defying Roke’s command. Suicidal fey. Then, after a long moment, he gave a grudging nod. “It’s clear.”
Whirling on his heel, Roke headed toward the nearby stairs that led to the lower level. “Freaking fairies,” he muttered, ignoring the startled glances from the vampires watching the surveillance equipment lining the entrance to the lower dungeons. Waiting for the younger vampire with short, brown hair and dark eyes to jump up and open the heavy steel door, Roke swept past them and headed down the corridor between the cells.
His knee-high moccasins that were laced over his black jeans made no sound as he ghosted forward. But something must have alerted Sally that she was no longer alone. He was barely halfway down the corridor when he heard her push herself off the cot and cross to the bars of her cell.
“Lysander?” she called softly, the sweet scent of peaches filling the air.
Roke’s fingers tightened on the tray. Oh . . . hell. What was it about that maddening scent?
Annoyed as much by his instant, painful arousal as by the sound of another man’s name on her lips, Roke took the last few steps to arrive at her cell. “No, not Lysander,” he said, watching her expectant expression harden with a flare of obvious frustration.
“You,” she breathed, shoving back her tangled curls that glowed with the rich colors of autumn beneath the overhead lights.
The sort of hair a man wanted brushing against his naked skin.
“Your pet fairy has resigned his babysitting duties.”
“Resigned or was fired?”
“Take your pick.”
Her hands clenched, her chin tilted to a militant angle. “Why? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t return.”
Roke ignored her accusation. He wanted answers on what was going on between her and the fairy. “What did you do to that poor man?”
She stilled, as if she were caught off guard by his question. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“He was foaming at the mouth to get down here. I thought I was going to have to wrestle him for the honor of bringing your dinner tray.”
“So?” She licked her lips, her expression suddenly guarded. “He happens to be a gentleman. Unlike you.”
Roke studied her pale face. What was she trying to hide? “How many times has he been down here?”
“Only once.” She stepped away from the bars, her arms wrapping around her slender waist. “He came down to ask what I wanted for dinner.”
“And in that short time you managed to bewitch him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she denied with more force than was necessary. “I can’t use my magic in this cell.”
Was she joking?
His gaze made a reluctant trip over her small form, which was perfectly curved to entice a man’s appetite. It didn’t matter if he was vampire or fey.
“There’s more than one kind of magic a female can use to bewitch a male, as you well know,” he growled.
There was the slightest flicker of her lashes before her guarded expression was being replaced by a mocking smile. “Tell me, Roke, do you hate all women, or is it just me?”
Roke muttered a curse, abruptly recalling Styx’s words: You do remember how to seduce a young, beautiful woman, don’t you . . . ?
Dammit. He was supposed to be charming the female, not pissing her off.
Shifting the tray, he waved a hand in front of the cell door, using his powers to turn the lock. As it swung open he stepped through and closed it behind him with his foot.
Entering the cell, he moved to set the tray on the narrow cot before straightening to meet her frustrated glare.
Okay, time to be charming.
Forcing his muscles to unclench, he strolled forward. “Maybe you could change my opinion,” he murmured, his gaze lowering to the sensual curve of her lips.
Sally blinked, clearly baffled by his abrupt change. “I don’t care enough to make the effort,” she at last retorted. “I prefer Lysander’s company.”
Roke battled back his surge of anger. “Forget the fairy,” he warned in soft tones. “He’s obviously too susceptible to be an adequate guard.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Because he didn’t beat me?”
He hissed, dangerously disturbed by the thought of any man daring to raise a hand to this female. “No one would dare mar that perfect skin,” he rasped, moving close enough that he could run his fingers down the bare skin of her neck.
She shivered, her eyes widening. “What are you doing?”
Fan-fucking-tastic question.
“Sit,” he muttered, lowering his hands to grasp her arms so he could steer her to the bed. Only when she was perched on the edge of the mattress did he release his hold. “Eat while it’s hot.”
Rolling her eyes, she reached for a ham sandwich and took a savage bite.