In either case, they needed to be prepared for the worst.
“What do you want from me?”
The vampire pulled out the massive sword strapped to his back. “Find Jagr and tell him to start a search of the grounds.”
They had reached the stairs when Roke grasped his companion’s shoulder and pulled him to a halt. “Styx.”
The Anasso sent him a frown of impatience. “What?”
“I know Santiago is a trusted brother, but Gaius is his sire,” he reminded his king. In the heat of the moment it was too easy to overlook the obvious. “That’s a bond not easily broken.”
Styx’s expression was as hard as granite. “I don’t question Santiago’s loyalty, but I’m not blind to the fact a vampire can be torn by a competing allegiance.” He grimaced. “Either to Gaius, or to Tonya.”
“The imp?”
“She’s been a part of his family for a long time.”
“Then you realize that you shouldn’t face Santiago alone.”
Styx grunted as he was neatly cornered by his own admission that Santiago might prove to be a danger. “Cristo,” he muttered. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I try.”
Pulling out his cell phone, Roke hit Jagr’s number and concisely revealed what was happening with Santiago’s arrival and Styx’s order to start a search of the grounds.
The Anasso gave a rueful shake of his head before turning to jog up the stairs. “This way.”
Roke was swiftly at his side, baffled as he realized they were headed toward the private wing of the house. “The bedrooms? What could he . . .” With a startled hiss, he came to a halt on the landing.
“Roke?”
Roke ignored his impatient companion, his hand lifting to press to his unbeating heart.
There was a tight ball of . . . what? Fear? Anger? Pain?
Actually it felt like a strange combination of all three.
He rubbed the spot in the center of his chest, baffled by the unfamiliar sensation. The feelings were inside him, but they weren’t his.
Insanity.
No, wait.
It wasn’t insanity.
It was . . .
“Sally,” he growled.
His muscles suddenly clenched, a fear that was all his own catapulting him into action.
He moved down the hallway with a fluid speed, absently sensing Styx keeping pace while his concentration was entirely focused on his connection to his mate.
“Talk to me, Roke,” Styx commanded.
“Sally’s in danger.” He reached the door to her private rooms and threw it open. “Shit.”
Even prepared, the empty room hit Roke like a blow to the gut. Charging over the threshold, he released his hunter instincts, discovering the scent of a male vampire combined with the rich smell of peaches.
His mind clouded with pure possessive anger.
A male had forced his way into Sally’s room. He’d put his hands on her. And then, he had the balls to try and take her away.
Roke would see him in hell first.
Headed toward the open window, he was momentarily distracted by the faint scent of blood. Lowering himself to his knees, he discovered a small red stain on the carpet.
The ceiling cracked and the drywall crumbled as his fury went nuclear.
“Goddammit,” he snarled. “I’ll kill him.”
Wise enough not to startle a vampire on the edge of murder, Styx cautiously hunkered down beside him, his voice soothing. “Roke, it’s only a drop. She’s not badly hurt.”
“Yet.”
Styx grimaced. “Why the hell would he take her?”
“I intend to find out,” Roke muttered, shoving himself upright and through the window in one smooth motion.
Behind him Styx blistered the air with curses, but Roke never slowed as he hit the ground and followed the scent of peaches through the moonlight that spilled over the manicured parkland.
Reaching the back gate, he caught the smell of yet another male vampire. This one laced with an unmistakable rot of madness.
Gaius?
Not that he gave a shit.
The need to rescue Sally was thundering through his veins, leaving no room for logical thought or strategies.
But as he stepped through the open gate, he was forced to an enraged halt.
The trail ended.
Just like that.
There one step and gone the next.
He tilted back his head to roar with a savage frustration, indifferent to the scamper of terrified wildlife that darted into the nearby woods.
The sound was still echoing through the trees when Jagr and two of his Ravens appeared from around the corner of the high fence.
“Where is he?” Roke demanded.
Looking every inch the Visigoth chief, Jagr clutched a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Not that either was as dangerous as the lethal fangs that were primed for maximum damage.
“I don’t know.” The ice blue gaze continued to scan the woods that provided privacy for Styx’s lair from his distant neighbors. “I caught a glimpse of him going through the back gate, but before I could get here he’d disappeared.”
“Sally?” he managed to rasp between clenched teeth.
Jagr dipped his head. “The witch was with him.”
Styx stepped through the gate, studying the tracks that halted directly in front of them. “Gaius must have used his medallion,” he said before turning his attention to Roke. “Can you sense Sally?”
Struggling against his primitive instincts that rebelled at wasting even a second, Roke forced himself to close his eyes and concentrate on his mating bond. It was there. Oddly . . . muffled. As if something was trying to mask her presence from him. But there was no mistaking his sense of her just a few miles north of them.
“It’s muted, but she’s not far,” he said, opening his eyes to watch Jagr and Styx exchange a startled glance.
“Is the medallion limited in how far it can carry more than one person?” the large Visigoth asked.
Styx shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Then why—” Jagr bit off his words as there was an unmistakable shift in the air pressure before the scent of granite filled the air. “Shit.”
The male vampires turned, their expressions varying from resignation to outright disgust as Levet seemed to step from thin air, closely followed by Yannah.
Either unaware, or just indifferent, to his frigid reception, the tiny gargoyle gave a violent flutter of his wings, his tail standing at stiff attention.
“Mon dieu”, he breathed, clearly frazzled. “I hate traveling that way.”