The pale eyes darkened to an unnerving black with a crimson slit as the creature glanced toward Sally.
“Yes, we will.”
Roke snarled, leaping forward. The Miera dodged to the side, dropping the stick as he pointed a finger toward Roke. Almost instantly the strange vibrations began to fill the air.
Roke leaped again, managing to slice his claws across the demon’s face before he was knocked to his knees by the vibrations.
He growled, forcing himself upright despite the blood dripping from his nose.
Oh . . . hell.
Sally muttered a swift spell beneath her breath, tossing the potion jar directly at the demon. It shattered at his feet, and the Miera glanced downward in surprise.
It was immediately obvious that he wasn’t familiar with witches. If he had been, he might have reacted with greater speed. As it was, his momentary hesitation made certain he was still standing in place when the explosion sent him flying backward.
Roke was instantly charging through the debris to land on top of him, pinning him to the ground and sinking his fangs deep in his neck.
It should have been over.
Sally didn’t know of any demon who was capable of withstanding the attack of a vampire clan chief.
But even as she prepared for the grisly death, she was caught off guard when Roke was being tossed aside and the demon was rising to his feet.
“Roke.”
She stepped forward, wracking her mind for a spell that might help as both men flowed to their feet.
The Miera was looking worse for wear with his face sliced open and his throat mangled, but oddly there was no blood. Roke, on the other hand . . .
She sucked in a startled breath.
He looked god awful.
His bronzed face had been stripped of color until it was a horrifying shade of ash, while the blood now dripped from his eyes as well as his nose.
Was it the strange demon power affecting him?
Or something else?
Whatever the cause it was swiftly weakening him, although he refused to concede defeat.
Surging upright, he swung his fist toward the demon’s pudgy face, managing to connect with sickening force. The Miera flew through the air, slamming into a tree. Still, he didn’t go down.
Blessed goddess.
What did it take to kill the damned thing?
Clearly wondering the same thing, Roke braced himself for the demon to attack, his fangs bared and a dagger held in one hand.
Feeling ridiculously helpless, Sally mentally flipped through the spells she could use without a potion or proper preparation.
There were a few. Unfortunately most of them were too weak to hurt a demon, and those that were potent enough were too unpredictable. Casting a spell wasn’t like shooting a gun. She could only aim in the general direction and hope for the best.
She wasn’t going to risk hitting Roke.
More out of frustration than hope that it would help, Sally lifted her arm and launched her last jar of potion at the aggravating creature.
The disguise spell couldn’t hurt the Miera, but it might distract him long enough for Roke to get in another shot.
The jar flew through the air, unnoticed by the two males who were both coiled to strike, shattering at the Miera’s feet.
An odd silence followed the crash as they all stared at the mist curling around the demon’s feet. Sally frowned, glancing at Roke. She’d expected him to attack while the Miera was preoccupied, but his eyes were glazed and the dagger dropped from his slack fingers.
Oh . . . shit.
His injuries were even worse than she first assumed.
Her wary gaze returned to the demon, wondering if it intended to kill her slow or fast.
She was hoping for the fast option.
The demon, however, remained distracted, his pale eyes widening as if he were shocked.
Sally took a hesitant step forward. If she could get close enough she might be able to hit him with a paralysis spell. It wouldn’t hold him for long, but it might be enough to get Roke far enough away that he could recover his strength.
Three feet away she came to an abrupt halt.
There was something . . . weird about the Miera. A strange blurring around him that reminded her of the first time she’d seen the demon.
Only now the faint flickering in and out of focus was becoming far more pronounced, as if he were about to fade from view entirely.
Not sure what was happening, Sally jerked back into motion, this time heading directly toward Roke.
Lowering herself to her knees, she watched as the demon tried to kick away the clinging mist. He was reacting to the simple spell with a fear that was way out of proportion.
Or maybe not so out of proportion, she slowly realized.
The spell continued to crawl up the demon’s body, smudging his physical shape, inch by inch.
Could the spell be causing an interruption with his personal demon magic?
Sally didn’t know, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was the frustration that marred the pudgy face before the demon gave a lift of his hand and disappeared.
Chapter Thirteen
Uncertain if the demon was truly gone, or if he might suddenly reappear, Sally ran a frantic hand over Roke’s face, her breath ripped from her lungs at the feel of his icy skin.
He was always cool to the touch. Every vampire was. But not . . . frigid.
There was something seriously wrong with him.
“Roke.” She leaned down to whisper directly in his ear, terrifyingly certain he was slipping away from her. “Roke, can you hear me?”
“He’s fading.”
The sound of the low, musical male voice had her jerking her head to the side to discover a slender imp with emerald eyes and long hair the shade of newly minted copper.
He was dressed in a camouflage robe that blended with the nearby trees, and she never would have noticed him if he hadn’t spoken. A knowledge that did nothing to reassure her.
Still on her knees, she held up a warning hand, mentally preparing a spell of revulsion. It wouldn’t hurt the imp, but it might convince him to go away.
“Stay back.”
The stranger placed a hand over his heart, offering the traditional gesture of peace among the fey.
“I only wish to help,” he said, his face impossibly beautiful in the moonlight.
She licked her dry lips. They’d been running from the fey for what seemed like forever, but he didn’t act aggressive. After all, there was nothing to stop him from attacking her if that’s what he intended.
Of course, he might be trying to lure her into a sense of security to get his hands on the box.
“Who are you?” she asked, remaining on guard.
He surprisingly offered a low bow. “A loyal subject.”