Then, she gave a shrug.
What did it matter how many knew of his imprisonment if she couldn’t figure out how to rescue him?
And Troy, the Prince of Imps, could provide her with far more information than any book she might be able to find in Styx’s library.
Holding the emerald gaze, she confessed the truth.
“My father is being held captive. I need to help him.”
“Captive?” Shock rippled over the pale face before Troy was abruptly narrowing his emerald gaze. “Wait. Does Roke know about this?”
She tilted her chin, her deeply entrenched sense of independence instantly outraged by the question.
“Roke is my mate, not my keeper.”
Troy snorted. “He’s a vampire.”
“Yeah, I had noticed.”
He studied her stubborn expression before giving a slow nod of his head.
“Very well,” he said, his tone implying she was playing with fire. Something she didn’t need pointed out. “Do you know where your father is?”
“No.” She held up the box. “This is supposed to lead me to him.”
Troy stilled, his gaze attached to the box that shimmered with magic.
“May I approach?” His voice was low, reverent.
She gave a nod. “Yes.”
With slow steps, Troy crossed the marble floor, halting when he was a few inches from her.
“I’ve never been near a defaro when it’s connected to a Chatri,” he murmured.
Defaro. Sally frowned, her fingers unconsciously stroking the box.
“Is that what this is called?”
“Yes. I have several in my collection.”
Her lips twisted into a rueful smile, wondering if fate had crossed her path with Troy just when she needed him, or if her father had somehow manipulated her yet again.
And did it matter?
She pushed aside the niggling worry to brood on later.
“Can you read the glyphs?”
“Only a few.” Troy lifted his head to meet her steady gaze. “Why?”
“I need to figure out how to decipher the map,” she said. “Until then I can’t do anything to help my father.”
“You don’t need to read the glyphs to follow the map.”
She glanced at the box, searching for something besides the glyphs that might be a map.
“I don’t understand.”
“The glyphs will lead you in the right direction without being able to read them.”
She made a sound of irritation, holding the box toward the imp.
“Show me.”
Troy held a slender hand over the box, careful not to touch the wood that glowed with her father’s power. Leaning down he spoke a foreign word that resonated deep inside her.
The box grew warm in her hand and Troy stepped back. “Keep your eye on the glyphs and walk across the room,” he said, waiting until she’d reached the double doors before speaking again. “Now this way.”
She walked back toward the imp, her breath catching as she turned the box over to discover one corner had changed colors.
“This glyph is glowing brighter.”
“Northwest,” Troy said. “It’s leading you in the right direction.”
Sally frowned. “So it’s like a game of hot-hot-cold?”
Troy blinked. “I never thought about it like that, but yes, it’s similar.”
“That doesn’t seem very efficient,” she muttered. “Why not draw a map like a normal person?”
“Security.”
She furrowed her brow. “Glowing glyphs don’t seem particularly secure.”
“They only glow when you’re holding the box,” Troy explained, reaching to gently take the box from her hand. “Watch.”
The second her hand left the box, the glyph returned to its previous color.
“Oh.” She reached to take back the box, too distracted to notice the sudden drop in the temperature. “So I just wander around the countryside following the glowing box?”
“No. Way. In. Hell,” a familiar voice warned as Roke stepped into the foyer.
Roke knew he was handling Sally all wrong. It didn’t take a genius to know that the one certain way to make her do what he didn’t want her to do was to tell her she couldn’t do it.
But dammit, she was making him nuts.
Why would she even think about trying to help a father who considered her nothing more than a means to his escape?
And that’s exactly what she was plotting.
Why else would she be with the damned imp learning how to use the map on her box?
Moving forward, he pointed a finger at Troy. “Leave us,” he growled.
The imp gave a toss of his crimson braids, but blowing a kiss in his direction, he turned to sashay down the hallway.
With a sound of disgust, Roke moved to stand in front of his mate, matching her glare for glare.
“Are you having fun tossing around your orders?” she demanded.
“Not particularly.” He reached to touch her cheek, hiding a rueful smile at the scent of scorched peaches that filled the air. “Have you had dinner?”
“Don’t change the subject,” she snapped.
He leaned until they were nose to nose. “The only subject I care about is why you’re so determined to put yourself in danger.”
She stepped back, a mutinous frown pulling her brows together.
“I can’t just pretend my only family isn’t being held prisoner and that he needs me.”
His fingers slid beneath her chin as he held her wary gaze. “I’m your family.”
“Only because I forced a mating on you.”
“No.” He pressed his thumb to her lips, angered by her insistence on dwelling on how the mating had started. It was meaningless. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“It isn’t. This . . .” His lips twisted as he struggled to find the word that expressed his volatile reaction when he’d first caught sight of her in Styx’s dungeon. “Attraction between us started before we mated.”
She shook her head, but he didn’t miss the abrupt sizzle of awareness that heated their bond.
She recalled their first meeting as vividly as he did.
“You didn’t even know me,” she tried to protest. “I was a prisoner that you resented even being near.”
His thumb stroked her bottom lip. “It’s true I resented you, but not for the reason you think.”
“You didn’t want to babysit a witch.”
His lips twisted. That’s what he’d told himself. And anyone else who would listen.