Beyond the Darkness. Alexandra Ivy
“Once a Were reaches puberty and begins to shift, his power is more or less set. It’s possible to learn fighting skills or to become more cunning, but the level of power doesn’t change.”
She considered for a moment, then she gave an abrupt nod. “Okay, that makes sense.”
“After it became obvious that I would outrank Briggs, he disappeared from Rome for several years, and when he returned I began to sense he had gained strength that he shouldn’t have possessed.” Salvatore shuddered. “And, of course, there were his eyes.”
“His eyes?”
“They stayed crimson even in his human form.”
“What does that mean?”
“That he’s more wolf than human. He maintains his intelligence and cunning, but any human morals and ethics have been replaced by sheer animal instinct.” Salvatore’s smile was sour. “Not that he had many morals to begin with.”
“And he has black magic.”
“Si.” Salvatore’s jaw tightened. “He will kill without mercy or remorse.”
There was a sharp flare of alarm in her eyes. For all her bravery, Harley had the sense to be frightened when she should be.
Thank God. He had enough soldiers willing to throw their lives away.
“Did you ever confront him about his power boost?”
“It was not my place so long as the previous king still sat on the throne.”
She snorted. “I find it hard to believe there was ever a time you didn’t assume you were the boss.”
Salvatore ground his teeth, recalling those long, dark centuries as the previous king retreated from his duties, leaving his subjects in disarray and vulnerable to attack. It was then that the Weres had begun to falter, and even with all his power, Salvatore had yet to halt the slow decline.
A knowledge that gnawed at him with remorseless need to alter the grinding wheels of fate.
And one he rarely shared with anyone.
He shrugged. “I can be diplomatic when the occasion demands.”
“Right,” she drawled in blatant disbelief. “So what happened?”
He sucked in a deep breath, crushing his ancient fury before it could cloud his concentration.
He would dwell on Briggs and his past mistakes later.
There were enough problems just a tad more urgent at the moment.
“I tried to keep an eye on Briggs, but then the king died and before I could voice my suspicions, Briggs attacked.”
“Obviously, you won.”
“I did, but it was much more difficult than it should have been.” His tone was flat, his words not revealing the grisly battle that had taken him nearly a month to recover from. “One mistake and I would have been the one in the grave.”
Something flashed through the hazel eyes.
Horror? Dismay?
Disappointment that Briggs had screwed up the chance to chop off his head?
“Now he’s back,” she said.
“So it would seem.”
“And with a grudge.”
“No, with a plan,” he softly corrected.
The grudge was a given. Briggs had wanted him dead since the day he was born. The very fact that he hadn’t ambushed Salvatore before he realized the bastard was lurking around hinted that he had some plot beyond murder.
“What kind of plan?” she demanded.
“That, cara, I don’t yet know.”
She stabbed him with a frustrated glare. “Well, thanks a butt-load for dragging me into the middle of your feud.”
Salvatore moved to capture her face between his hands. There was no way he was going to be the villain of the piece.
“Ah, no, I won’t take the entire blame. Caine was the one to drag you and your sisters away from the safety of my lair.”
Her chin tilted to that stubborn angle he was beginning to recognize.
“Oh, yeah? If you hadn’t been messing with our DNA, then he never would have taken us.”
Salvatore studied her breathtaking beauty with a brooding gaze. “I wonder.”
“I’m not sure I want to know.”
“If Briggs is responsible for Caine’s mystical visions, then he’s no doubt the one who convinced the gullible cur to steal you from my nursery,” he said slowly, speaking his vague suspicions out loud.
“Why?”
“Just another question with no answer.”
“Great.”
Salvatore stilled as a familiar scent of granite whispered through the air.
“Damn.”
Her eyes widened. “What is it?”
“The cavalry,” he muttered with a grimace. “Unfortunately.”
“Why unfortunately?”
Salvatore turned his head to watch the drain cover in the middle of the cement floor shoot upward, followed by a small gray form pushing out of the hole.
“Because the only thing worse than being stuck in this cell is being rescued by that.”
Once clear of the drain, Levet gave himself a shake like a wet dog to regain his usual lumpy shape, a smirk curling his lips as he met Salvatore’s resigned frown.
“Oh, Wilma, I’m home.”
Chapter Six
Obviously less conflicted about their rescue, no doubt because she had yet to spend any quality time with the annoying pest, Harley hurried toward the edge of the cell, kneeling beside the silver bars.
“Levet,” she breathed, her voice softening in a way that made Salvatore grit his teeth. How the hell had he become the bad guy, while the stunted gargoyle was treated like a long lost friend? “What are you doing here?”
Levet waddled forward, careful to keep a distance from the bars. Even gargoyles were allergic to silver.
“Ma belle, you did not believe I would abandon you to a pack of mangy dogs?”
“How did you follow us?”
“Fah.” He waved a clawed hand. “As if I could be outwitted by a mere witch.”
“Stop preening and get us the hell out of here,” Salvatore growled.
“I see that you are in your usual charming mood,” Levet sniffed, carefully reaching through the bars to pat Harley’s hand. “I do not envy you, poor Harley, for being trapped with this foul beast.”
She shot Salvatore a taunting glance. “You have no idea.”
“Levet, do you remember that conversation we had about your wings and whether or not they remain attached to your body?” Salvatore said, his soft tone making the gargoyle take a hasty step backwards.
“Bully.” His tail twitched. “If it were not for your lovely companion, I would leave you here to rot.”
“Just hurry, gargoyle.”
Moving to the door of the cell, Levet studied the lock, his heavy brow lowering.
“Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“The lock has been spelled.”