“She hasn’t seen a naked vampire?” Cyn unwittingly took his life in his hands as he stepped toward the door. “Maybe I should . . .” Roke was moving before he was even aware of what he was doing, pinning the massive vampire to the wall with one hand clenched around his throat. “Bloody hell,” Cyn rasped.
“I’m not entirely stable right now,” Roke confessed, his bloodlust simmering just below boil. “Don’t push me.”
Cyn scowled, his own power sending warning sparks of pain through Roke’s fingers and down his arm.
“So it’s true,” he growled. “That witch forced you into a mating.”
“It’s . . .” Roke dropped his hand, suddenly feeling weary. “Complicated.”
Styx’s lair in Chicago
Styx hadn’t been pleased when his mate had insisted that he leave behind the caves that had been his former lair. Darcy was convinced that he had a duty to his position as Anasso and had swiftly moved them into this house that looked like something Tony Montana in Scarface would own.
The marble, the gilt, and the priceless antiques were bad enough, but it was big enough and comfortable enough to encourage unwelcome visitors to linger far past their use-by date.
The current unwelcome visitors were Darcy’s mother, Sophia, and her new mate, Luc.
Styx had yet to forgive his mother-in-law for her participation in trying to force Darcy into the arms of the King of Weres, but for the sake of marital harmony (which was necessary to make sure he wasn’t kicked out of his bed) he’d agreed to grin and bear Sophia’s presence.
He hadn’t, however, agreed to watching the two painting one another’s toenails while they gorged on chocolate-covered strawberries.
Instead he retreated to his library hoping to find some peace and quiet, only to discover Viper waiting for him.
The current clan chief of Chicago wasn’t as large as Styx, but there was an unmistakable ripple of hard muscles beneath the ruffled white silk shirt and black satin slacks. His pale silver hair was worn long and his eyes were as dark as the night sky.
At the moment his hauntingly beautiful face was distracted as he stood beside the window overlooking the rose garden.
“I didn’t expect you,” Styx murmured, moving to stand beside his friend. “Is there trouble?”
Viper shook his head, his voice pitched so it wouldn’t carry to the various demons who strolled through the vast house.
“Not trouble, but I thought you would want to know that I was contacted by Bliss to tell me that she had an unexpected visitor at Pandora’s Box.”
Styx frowned. The name was vaguely familiar.
“Is that one of your clubs?”
“The one in Canada.”
Styx smiled with wry humor. He’d been to the club once.
Roman baths and half-dressed nymphs weren’t really his thing.
He was more a find-an-enemy-and-stab-it-with-his big-ass-sword kind of guy.
“Only you could take a frozen piece of rock and turn it into a fortune,” he said.
“I’m a man of many talents,” Viper smugly agreed.
“So who was this unexpected guest?”
“Cyn.”
“Not that unusual,” Styx pointed out. He’d only run across the path of the clan chief of Ireland on a handful of occasions, but each time Cyn had been draped in naked women. “The bastard has always enjoyed the sort of entertainment you provide.”
“Well, who wouldn’t?”
Styx snorted. “Do you have a point?”
“He said he was meeting Roke there.”
“Why?”
“Something about fey glyphs.”
Styx frowned. Fey glyphs? What did they have to do with locating Sally’s father?
“Did he say—”
Without warning the stench of brimstone filled the air and Styx was whirling toward the center of the room, cursing Darcy for making him leave his sword locked in their room. She had the ridiculous fear he might stab her mother.
Well, maybe it wasn’t entirely ridiculous.
Still, he deeply regretted the lack of a tangible weapon as he flinched beneath the blast of nuclear power that could only come from an Oracle.
“Christ,” Viper muttered, both of them staring at the tiny demon covered by a white robe, her long gray braid hanging down her back and her oblong black eyes holding an ancient knowledge.
Siljar might be the size of a small child, but she had enough strength to squash them like bugs.
“Styx.” The Oracle gave a small bow toward Styx and then his companion. “Viper.”
“Siljar.” He leashed his instinct to destroy the unexpected intruder. Vampires didn’t like people popping in. Actually, most pop-ins usually ended up with their heads chopped off. “This is a surprise.”
She regarded him with a steady black gaze. “I wished to keep our meeting a secret.”
“Ah.” Viper made a beeline toward the door. “That’s my cue to leave the two of you alone.”
“No.” Siljar brought a sharp halt to his exit. “You might be of service.”
“Yeah, get your ass back here,” Styx growled, waiting until Viper had grudgingly made his way back to his side before he asked the question he soooo did not want to ask. “How can we help?”
Siljar lifted her hand, giving a small gesture that shut and locked the door.
“What is said here must not go any further.”
Styx’s annoyance was replaced by a surge of concern. An appearance by Siljar always meant trouble, but tonight she looked even more grim than usual.
“Understood.”
“I am uneasy,” she admitted.
Styx shot Viper a worried frown.
“Has something happened?” the clan chief asked.
Siljar folded her hands at her waist. “Several somethings, but nothing I can bring into focus.”
Styx touched the amulet that hung from a leather band tied around his neck. Why the hell did Oracles always have to speak in vague warnings?
“I don’t understand.”
Something that was almost an emotion touched Siljar’s childlike features.
“There have been petitioners that have arrived at the caves only to disappear.”
“Dead?” Styx demanded in surprise.
Every demon knew that petitioners to the Commission were off-limits.
Not even a battle-raged Orc would defy the Oracles.
Siljar grimaced. “Or worse.”
Worse than death?
Shit.
“Is there a pattern?” he demanded.