“Stop her,” her father called from behind her.
Roke snorted as he moved to walk beside her. “Obviously you’ve never been mated.”
Sally heaved a faint sigh as Roke grabbed her hand, threading their fingers together.
She’d known he wouldn’t leave her.
Until the mating was broken he couldn’t leave her.
Which meant she was putting him in danger yet again.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Don’t be.” His lips twisted with resignation. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“We can’t leave the fey stuck here.” He glanced over his shoulder, making certain his words would carry. “And since the mighty king can’t be bothered to take responsibility, it looks like we’ll have to rescue his people.”
“This is absurd,” Sariel called, his seething anger filling the portal with a shimmering heat.
“No shit,” Roke muttered.
There was a stir of air before the King of the Chatri was brushing past them.
“This way,” he commanded, holding up a slender hand as he shifted the swirling strands of magic to curve toward the right.
In spite of her annoyance with her father, Sally found herself fascinated by his manipulation of the magic.
She could almost . . . see . . . how he was loosening the weaves to tug them in the direction he wanted.
In time she was fairly certain she could learn to do the same thing.
Now, however, she was more interested in why her father was altering the portal.
“What are you doing?”
“Searching for the prisoners. Raith said they were hidden. You will never locate them without my assistance.” Sariel sent a chiding glance toward Roke. “Clearly you are not a suitable mate or she would have learned to obey your orders.”
Sally’s brief fascination was replaced by a surge of outrage as she glanced toward her mate.
“Obey?”
Roke arched his brows. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to rescue him, not me.”
She heaved a sigh. “Don’t remind me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Roke stood at the window of Styx’s library, watching as Sally helped Troy load the last of the terrified fey into the black SUV with tinted windows.
They’d returned to the elegant lair on the outskirts of Chicago just before dawn and tumbled into the nearest bed in exhaustion.
When he’d awoken hours later he’d intended to keep Sally secluded in their rooms to discuss their future.
Well, first he had intended to peel off her clothes and taste her from her strawberry-tinted lips to the tips of her tiny toes before spreading her legs and driving deep inside her welcoming heat.
Then, he had intended to turn her over and repeat the process.
But after that, he’d had every intention of convincing her that it was time they return to his clan in Nevada.
Moving to stand beside him, Styx shoved a brandy snifter in Roke’s hand, sipping his drink as the line of SUVs pulled down the long, sweeping drive.
“You did a good thing,” he murmured as they watched the fey departing.
Roke shook his head.
It’d taken Sariel less than an hour to track down the prison and smash through the walls to expose the two dozen fey who were huddled in terror.
Fairies, imps, sylphs, sprites, nymphs, and the rare Sylvermyst had been reluctantly coaxed out of the portal and then to Styx’s lair where Troy had been waiting for them.
Eventually they would be reunited with their families who no doubt had been convinced their loved ones were dead.
“It was Sally,” he corrected with a wry smile. “She’s a better person than I am. If you want the truth, I’d have left them there.”
“She’s your mate,” Styx said as if that explained everything. “It’s your instinct to put her safety first. Just as it’s her instinct to soften your rough edges.”
Taking a sip of the aged brandy, Roke slid his gaze toward the towering Aztec at his side.
“Is that what Darcy does?”
“Absolutely.”
Roke snorted, amazed Roke could say that with a straight face.
“Your edges are still lethally rough,” he pointed out.
Styx gave a shift of his shoulder, emphasizing the large sword that was strapped to his back and the gun holstered beneath his left arm. The Anasso had declared that as long as his lair was filled with strangers, he wasn’t going to take any chances.
Roke fully agreed with his caution.
“Maybe, but she makes me consider other people’s feelings,” Styx said.
Roke grimaced. “Good God.”
“I know.” Styx polished off his brandy and set aside the snifter.
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
A smile that would have shocked most of the demon world suddenly softened Styx’s dark features as he thought of his mate.
“On the contrary, she has made me a stronger leader than I would ever have been without her.”
The simple confession made Roke wince. He understood. Too late. But he understood.
“That I believe.”
Way too perceptive, Styx sent him a questioning glance. “What about you?”
Roke frowned, watching as Sally joined her father to stroll across the wide gardens.
She looked unbearably young in her faded jeans and loose sweatshirt, her hair pulled into a ponytail. Next to her, the golden-haired Chatri wearing his spotless white robe carried with him an aura of timeless age.
It was an effort not to rush after them as they moved out of sight.
“What about me?” he asked in distracted tones.
“Do you still believe Sally will weaken your position as chief?”
Roke set aside his glass and shoved his fingers through his hair, turning to meet his friend’s curious gaze.
“Christ, I’m such an ass.”
“No argument from me.”
Roke dropped his hand, his lips twisting at the memory of his smug certainty that he could plot out his life as if it were a battle plan.
“I actually thought I could control who would be my mate.”
“A damn good thing we can’t,” Styx growled.
“You’re right.” Roke shuddered at being stuck with the woman of his dreams. “I would’ve ended up with a spineless fool who was too timid to speak her mind, or worse, a power-hungry bitch like Zoe who would have made me miserable within the first year of our mating.”
Styx’s dark gaze searched his disgusted expression. “So you’re satisfied with Sally as your mate?”