Roke moved to the center of the room, folding his arms over his chest.
“What are you doing here?”
Cyn gave a lift of one broad shoulder. “I’m the leading expert on fey. And from what I’ve heard, you’re up to your ass in the creatures.”
Roke snorted. “If you’re such an expert, then why didn’t you know that my mate is a Chatri?”
Cyn’s lack of astonishment revealed that Styx had already shared the information of Sally’s bloodline.
“I have a theory,” Cyn informed him.
“I do too,” Roke said. “You were distracted by nymph tits.”
“They were very nice tits,” Cyn pointed out with a reminiscent smile. “But I wasn’t distracted.”
Roke rolled his eyes, but he inwardly had to admit that Cyn might prove helpful.
As he rightly claimed, he knew more about the fey than any other vampire.
“Tell me your theory.”
“Most mongrels—”
“Careful,” Roke interrupted, baring his fangs.
Cyn grimaced. “Half-breeds, if that makes you happier.”
Roke didn’t know if it made him happy, but it sure the hell was better than calling his mate a mongrel.
“Fine,” he muttered.
“They tend to come into their powers after they hit puberty.”
“Sally is past puberty.”
Cyn smiled, the jade eyes darkening with appreciation. “Yes, I noticed.”
Roke scowled, the temperature of the room dropping. “Don’t notice.”
Cyn chuckled, clearly appreciating yanking Roke’s chain before he was leaning forward, his expression serious.
“Most half-breeds have a combination of their parents’ DNA. One species might be more dominant, but they both exist. But when one of the species possess powers that are overwhelming when compared to the other they do more than just mix bloodlines. They scour away any genetic material until they leave behind a pureblood.”
“Like a Chatri and a human?”
“Yes.” Cyn rose to his feet, his massive body consuming far more than his fair share of the room. “I would guess that her blood has been slowly altering for years.”
Roke gave a shake of his head. He’d been mated to Sally barely a month, but in that time she’d gone from a human witch with a talent for black magic, to a demon who could not only compel a vampire clan chief to do her bidding, but could create a portal to haul three people across the country.
The gods only knew what she would be able to do a week from now.
“Not a bad theory, but her powers have been skyrocketing over the past days, not slowly altering.”
Cyn refused to be dissuaded. “It would’ve taken time for the Chatri blood to fully consume her human half. Especially since she was a powerful witch. But once it reached a critical mass”—he made a gesture of a bomb exploding—“the power would have blasted through her.”
Okay. That made sense.
“Does that mean she’s fully fey now?”
“She’s fully Chatri, my friend,” Cyn corrected. “Which isn’t at all the same.”
Roke shrugged. He didn’t give a shit what blood ran through Sally’s veins.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does,” Cyn protested. “For one thing it makes reversing your mating more difficult. We know very little about the Chatri magic. Lucky for you I’ve been doing some research and—”
“Stop it,” Roke snapped.
Cyn frowned in confusion. “Stop what?”
“The research.” Roke paused, concentrating on leashing his anger. Only when he was certain he wasn’t going to bring the roof down on their heads did he continue. “Sally is my mate. There will be no reversing it.”
“Roke.”
“No,” Roke bit out. “That’s the last word on the subject.”
Cyn flattened his lips, obviously fighting the urge to insist that Roke wasn’t thinking clearly.
A good thing.
If one more person tried to convince him to get rid of his mate, he was going to . . .
The various possibilities ran through his mind, each bloodier than the next.
As if sensing he was on the brink of snapping, Cyn held up his hands in a gesture of submission.
“Whatever you want.”
Roke wasn’t stupid. Cyn would continue searching for a way to break the mating no matter what Roke said. They were all certain he would come to his senses and demand the bond with Sally be ended.
So long as they kept their thoughts to themselves, he didn’t give a shit.
He understood.
Their mating was eternal.
Just as it was supposed to be.
Giving a shake of his head, Roke squashed his anger and instead concentrated on how he could best use Cyn’s presence.
“If you actually want to help, you’ll tell me what you know about the Nebules,” he at last demanded.
Cyn’s eyes widened, easily recalling the glyphs he’d been trying to decipher for Roke.
“Of course,” he muttered. “The mist people that were mentioned on the music box. You think the glyph was talking about the Nebules?”
“Yes.”
Cyn shook his head, the beads at the end of his narrow braids banging against his chest.
“I thought they were extinct?”
“That was the general opinion.”
“What’s your opinion?”
Roke didn’t hesitate. “I think one is hunting my mate.”
Cyn nodded, accepting Roke’s fear without question. “Do you know why they would be interested in her?”
Roke paced toward a glass case filled with ancient scrolls. Styx’s vast collection of books, scrolls, and artifacts were beginning to take over the McMansion despite Darcy’s best attempts to keep them contained.
“I’m not sure, but it seems to have something to do with the music box,” he said, his voice harsh with frustration. “A music box that just happens to have a map leading to Sally’s father.”
“Ah. You think they’re trying to find the Chatri?”
“I don’t know,” Roke admitted, feeling a vast indifference when it came to his father-in-law. “He claims that he’s being held captive.”
“The Nebule is being held captive?”
“No.” Roke turned back to meet Cyn’s puzzled frown. “Sally’s father.”
“Christ.” Cyn planted his hands on his hips. “Are you deliberately trying to confuse me?”