“They’re all fey.”
“Fey?” Styx frowned. “If there is someone or something killing the fey shouldn’t you be discussing the problem with their leaders?” he demanded only to be hit in the side by Viper’s elbow.
“What?”
That’d been diplomatic, hadn’t it?
At least for him.
Siljar shook her head. “I can’t be certain how far the corruption has penetrated.”
Styx hid his grimace. He hated vampire politics, but fey affairs made his own seem tame by comparison.
By nature the fey were cunning, treacherous, and utterly fickle. It was impossible to pinpoint their loyalty.
It shifted like the wind.
“What do you want us to do?”
Siljar paused, her eyes shifting toward a silent Viper before returning to him.
“I think a squabble would be just the thing,” she at last murmured.
Styx waited. That was it?
He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Having two alphas in the same city is bound to create tension,” she said, as if that explained everything.
Viper blinked. Not a necessary vampire function, but the elders instinctively maintained the image of a living human no matter where they were.
“You want the two of us to fight?”
She offered a smile, flashing her pointed teeth. “It doesn’t have to be a physical battle, but it must be convincing enough that it’s worthy of petitioning the Commission.”
Styx lifted a brow. “At the caves?”
“How else can we discover who is behind the disappearances?”
With the impatient question still ringing in the air, Siljar lifted her hand and . . . disappeared.
Poof.
Gone.
“Shit, I hate when she does that,” Viper muttered.
“It could be worse,” Styx growled. “She could still be here.”
Viper threw his hands in the air, heading toward the door. “Next time I need to speak with you I’m sending you a text.”
“At least you get to pretend to be pissed at me,” Styx said to the retreating back.
“Who’s pretending?”
Chapter Nine
Roke remained on edge as he led Cyn through the club to the room where Sally was waiting for them.
It didn’t matter that Cyn was now dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a heavy cable-knit sweater. Or that the older vampire had made his distaste of witches more than clear.
The strange mating was still too new, too . . . raw, to easily allow another male so close.
He hadn’t been kidding when he warned Sally he would kill a man who touched her.
Waving aside the vampires who stood guard in the hallway, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. Instantly his gaze went to Sally as she rose from the table, taking careful note of the empty plates and the lingering scent of apple pie.
Good, she’d eaten.
“Sally,” he murmured. “This is Cyn.”
She warily eyed the large vampire. “Cyn.”
Cyn stepped forward, frigid tingles filling the air. “So you’re the bitch who abused her powers and—”
Immediately Roke was in his friend’s face, his fangs fully exposed.
“Don’t.”
“I told you this was a bad idea,” Sally muttered from behind them.
Roke kept his gaze glued to Cyn. “I’m beginning to agree.”
“You can’t expect anyone to be happy you were shackled by a witch,” Cyn snarled.
“Hey, he isn’t the only one shackled,” Sally groused, the scent of scorched peaches filling the air. “You think I’m any happier about this?”
Cyn glanced over Roke’s shoulder to send Sally a disbelieving glare.
“Any female would be damned lucky to have a vampire as a mate.”
“Oh yeah? Well for your information if anyone is lucky it’s Roke,” Sally countered, as willing as ever to spit in the face of danger. Or in this case, a lethal vampire. “I would make any man a fantastic mate.”
Roke smiled wryly at his friend’s astonished expression. Cyn could make grown trolls piss their pants with a single frown. He hadn’t expected the fragile-looking female to fight back.
“Careful, Cyn. Her temper is like a loaded gun in the hands of a toddler,” he murmured.
“You know what? Screw both of you,” Sally hissed. “I don’t need—”
He caught her as she headed toward the door leading onto the terrace. Gently turning her around, he ran soothing fingers up and down her arms.
“Sally, I know this is difficult, but I think it’s important we find out what those glyphs mean.”
She held herself stiff beneath his touch, battling against her desire to continue with her dramatic exit.
Typical.
Sally Grace made a habit of striking out and then fleeing.
She was a hit-and-run master.
Then, clearly forcing herself to remember she needed answers, she shoved the box into his hands.
“Here.”
He leaned down to brush his lips over her troubled brow before turning to offer the box to the scowling Cyn.
Instantly the vampire’s anger was replaced with wonder, his large hand cradling the box with ginger care as one finger lightly traced the glyphs.
“Astonishing.”
“What’s astonishing?” Roke prompted, knowing Cyn could become lost in his fascination with the carvings.
Few people knew that beneath Cyn’s hunger for physical gratification was an even greater hunger for knowledge.
He was one of the few vampires with whom Roke could share his own fascination with history, which was the primary reason for their unlikely friendship.
“These are old,” Cyn murmured, turning the box as he studied the flowing curves.
“I could tell that much.” Roke leaned forward, a sudden chill inching down his spine at the realization the shimmer that glazed the glyphs had become more pronounced. And they were pulsing, as if they were connected to a heartbeat. “What do they say?”
“No, I mean these are really old.” He lifted his head, the beads at the end of his narrow braids rattling as they banged against his chest. “Pre-Morgana.”
“Morgana? Morgana le Fey?” Sally said in choked tones.
Roke grimaced, abruptly reminded of just how young she truly was.
For him Morgana le Fey was a part of his history, but to her the Queen of Fairies was no doubt a myth that had been lost in the mists of Avalon. Not that Morgana had ever been lost. Well, not until a few months ago when . . .
He gave a shake of his head, concentrating on Cyn.