But it was a near thing.
Roke was antisocial by nature, and having to endure endless chatter from a stunted gargoyle for the past three weeks had been nothing short of torture.
It was only the fact that Levet could sense Yannah, the demon who’d helped Sally flee from Chicago, that kept him from sending the annoying twit back to Styx.
His mating connection to Sally allowed him to sense her, but Yannah’s ability to teleport from one place to another in a blink of an eye meant by the time he could locate her, she was already gone.
Levet seemed to have a more direct connection to Yannah, although they still spent their nights chasing from one place to another, always one step behind them.
Until tonight.
With a small smile he came to a halt, allowing his senses to flow outward.
The sturdy cottage tucked on the western coast of British Columbia was perched to overlook the churning waves of the North Pacific Ocean. Built from the gray stones that lined the craggy cliffs, it had a steep, metal roof to shed the heavy snowfalls and windows that were already shuttered against the late autumn breeze. A garage plus two sturdy sheds surrounded the bleak property, but it was far enough away from civilization to avoid prying eyes.
Not that prying eyes could have detected him.
Leaving his custom-built turbine-powered motorcycle hidden in the trees, Roke was dressed in black. Black jeans, black tee, and black leather jacket with a pair of knee-high moccasins that allowed him to move in lethal silence.
With his bronzed skin and dark hair that brushed his broad shoulders, he blended into the darkness with ease. Only his eyes were visible. Although silver in color, they were so pale they appeared white in the moonlight, and rimmed by a circle of pure black.
Over the centuries those eyes had unnerved the most savage demons. No one liked the sensation that their soul was being laid bare.
On the other hand, his lean, beautiful features that were clearly from Native American origins had been luring women to his bed since he’d awoken as a vampire.
They sighed beneath the touch of his full, sensual lips and eagerly pressed against the lean, chiseled perfection of his body. Their fingers traced the proud line of his nose, the wide brow, and his high cheekbones.
It didn’t matter that most considered him as cold and unfeeling as a rattlesnake. Or that he would sacrifice anything or anyone to protect his clan.
They found his ruthless edge . . . exciting.
All except one notable exception.
A damned shame that exception happened to be his mate.
Roke grimaced.
No. Not mate.
Or at least, not in the traditional sense.
Three weeks ago he’d been in Chicago when the demon world had battled against the Dark Lord. They’d managed to turn back the hordes of hell, but instead of allowing him to return to his clan in Nevada, Styx, the Anasso, had insisted that he remain to babysit Sally Grace, a witch who’d fought with the Dark Lord.
Roke had been furious.
Not only was he desperate to return to his people, but he hated witches.
All vampires did.
Magic was the one weapon they had no defense against.
Regrettably, when Styx gave an order, a wise vampire jumped to obey.
The alternative wasn’t pretty.
Of course, at the time none of them had realized that Sally was half demon. Or that she would panic at being placed in the dungeons beneath Styx’s elegant lair.
He absently rubbed his inner forearm where the mating mark was branded into his skin.
The witch claimed that she was simply trying to enchant him long enough to convince him to help her escape. And after his initial fury at realizing her demon magic had somehow ignited the mating bond, Roke had grudgingly accepted it had been an accident.
What he hadn’t accepted was her running off to search for the truth of her father.
Dammit.
It was her fault they were bound together.
She had no right to slip away like a thief in the night.
“Do you sense anyone?”
The question was spoken in a low voice that was edged with a French accent, jerking Roke out of his dark broodings. Glancing downward, he ruefully met his companion’s curious gaze.
What the hell had happened to his life?
A mate that wasn’t a mate. A three-foot gargoyle sidekick. And a clan that had been without their chief for far too long.
“She’s there,” he murmured, his gaze skimming over the creature’s ugly mug. Levet had all the usual gargoyle features. Gray skin, horns, a small snout, and a tail he kept lovingly polished. It was only his delicate wings and diminutive size that marked him as different. Oh, and his appalling lack of control over his magic. Roke turned back to the cottage where he could catch the distinctive scent of peaches. A primitive heat seared through him, drawing him forward. “I have you, little witch.”
Scampering to keep up with his long, silent strides, Levet tugged at the hem of his jacket.
“Umm . . . Roke?”
“Not now, gargoyle.” Roke never paused as he made his way toward the back of the cottage. “I’ve spent the past three weeks being led around like a damned hound on a leash. I intend to savor the moment.”
“While you’re savoring, I hope that you will recall Sally must have a good reason for—”
“Her reason is to drive me nuts,” Roke interrupted, pausing at the side of the nearest shed. “I promised her that we would go in search of her father. Together.”
“Oui. But when?”
Roke clenched his teeth. “In case you’ve forgotten, she nearly died when the—”
“Vampire-god.”
Roke grimaced. The creature that they’d so recently battled might have claimed to be the first vampire, but that didn’t make him a god. The bastard had nearly killed Sally in an attempt to break the magic that held him captive.
“When the ancient spirit attacked her,” he snapped. “She should be grateful that I was willing to wait for her to regain her strength.”
Levet cleared his throat. “And that is the only reason you tried to keep her imprisoned?”
“She wasn’t imprisoned,” he denied, refusing to recall his panic when Sally had lain unconscious for hours.
Or his fierce reluctance to allow Sally to leave Styx’s lair.
“Non?” Levet clicked his tongue, seemingly oblivious to how close Roke was to yanking that tongue out of his mouth. “I would have sworn she was locked in the dungeons.”
“Not after Gaius was destroyed.”
“You mean after she saved the world from the vampire-god?” the gargoyle taunted. “Generous of you.”