Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Azrael watched as Jayla’s emotions leached from her face as if she were withdrawing deep into herself.
“You’re mistaken,” she said in cold tones.
Confused by her reaction, Azrael lifted a hand to touch the center of his chest. “I have a scar to prove I’m not mistaken.”
“You think I had to cheat to defeat you?”
He swept his gaze over her stoic expression. Why was she trying to deny her amazing ability? Did she fear that he intended for her to use it for some nefarious purpose? He got that. It was the reason he kept his secrets.
“It wasn’t cheating,” he assured her, wishing he had the right to reach out and touch her. The desire was like a physical ache gnawing at him. “It was a smart tactical decision to win the battle. Why wouldn’t you use such a formidable weapon?”
She stubbornly jutted her jaw. “It’s not a power I use.” Azrael arched his brow, and she made a sound of impatience. “Fine, it’s not a power I use anymore.”
“Why not?”
“None of your business.”
Azrael flinched, not surprised by the stark desire to assure her that everything about her was his business. This was another reason why he’d never allowed himself to get close to her. He’d known exactly what would happen. The scar over his heart burned with regret.
“Since I have need of that particular talent, it is very much my business,” he added in smooth tones. “At least, temporarily.”
She narrowed her eyes, turning the conversation away from herself. “It is my turn to ask why.”
Azrael had known the question was coming, but it was still an effort to force the words past his lips. “My sword has been stolen.”
She blinked as if wondering if she’d misheard him. “The sword that contains your soul?”
“That’s the one.”
“How could you allow it to be stolen?”
Azrael was thousands of years old. He’d traveled the world as a mercenary, killing for profit and acquiring a ruthless reputation along with a massive amount of wealth. He’d indulged in temptation and witnessed unspeakable horror. But for the first time in his very long life, Azrael felt a surge of embarrassment.
“It wasn’t really a matter of allowing it to be stolen,” he muttered.
“Didn’t you take precautions to make sure it was safe?”
He clenched his hands in annoyance. Not with Jayla, with himself. Although, there was no need for her to rub salt in the wound.
When he’d awakened to discover the sword missing, he’d been stunned. His first thought had been that he’d misplaced the stupid thing. It wasn’t like he constantly carried it around with him. And if he were being honest, after so many eons, he’d grown…careless. There was no other word.
It wasn’t until he’d found the note that he realized the true danger.
“No one should have been able to touch it,” he told her.
She studied him with open curiosity. “No one?”
“That was my belief,” he admitted. “From the moment I woke as a vampire, there has never been anyone who could force themselves to lay a hand on the weapon. I even offered huge sums of money to the demon who could take it from me. It’s as if the sword itself repels any hand but mine. That’s why I didn’t bother to keep it locked away.”
“If no one can touch it, then how was it stolen?”
“It would appear that one creature can touch the sword,” he admitted in harsh tones. “The one who cursed me.”
Understanding slowly spread over her face. “The fey.”
“Yes.”
She considered the implications of his explanation. “Why would they steal it?” she asked the obvious question. “And why now?”
Azrael reached into the pocket of his slacks, pulling up a folded piece of parchment. “The thief left this.”
Jayla took the note and lifted it to her nose, her brows arching. “Sage,” she murmured in surprise. “A Sylvermyst.” She continued sorting through the scents clinging to the parchment. “A male Sylvermyst,” she added, sending Azrael a baffled frown. “I thought they fled this world with the dark lord several millennia ago.”
The Sylvermyst were fey creatures who’d worshiped the dark lord. They’d not only committed unspeakable evil for their twisted master, but they’d also attempted to enslave other fey.
“A few returned after the dark lord was destroyed,” Azrael told her, referring to the epic battle that had occurred a few years ago.
Jayla opened the note, reading the words written in blood. “Revenge delayed, but never forgotten.” She lifted her head, her expression still confused. “The creature waited centuries to steal the sword, and that’s what he left? It seems…clichéd.”
Azrael shrugged. “Sylvermyst were never considered the brightest bulbs in the pack.”
She rolled her eyes as he added another cliché. “Are you saying they’re a few threads short of a sweater? Fell out of the stupid tree?”
Heat sparked through him at her teasing. Dear goddess, she was a magnificent female. “Exactly.”
“Hmm.” She tilted her head to the side, her raven hair spilling over her shoulder. “That doesn’t explain why you kidnapped me.”
“ Rescued you,” he corrected. Jayla eyed him, stubbornly waiting for him to answer her question. “I was convinced no one could steal the sword, but there was always the possibility of it becoming lost. A few centuries ago, I paid a witch to place a locating spell on it.”
“So, you did take some precautions,” she said in dry tones. “Do you know where it is?”
“A remote cave in the Ural Mountains.”
She paused as if waiting for him to continue. “So why didn’t you get the sword back?” she finally demanded.
“Because the cave is currently being used by a female dragon who is hatching her egg.”
Jayla widened her eyes in shock. “A dragon? In this world?”
Azrael grimaced. She wasn’t any more astonished than he’d been when he, at last, tracked down the sword, only to realize that it was in the one place in the entire world he didn’t dare enter. As powerful as he might be, he was no match for a female dragon protecting her young.
Especially not when his strength was rapidly draining.
“Like the Sylvermyst, they have returned in small numbers,” he told his companion. “And usually only for brief visits.”
She slowly nodded, clearly still trying to absorb the knowledge that both Sylvermyst and dragons were back in this world.
“Does that mean the dragon will leave once her egg has hatched?” she asked.
“Possibly.”
She lifted her hands. “Then wait until then.”
“It could be centuries before the baby dragon hatches out of its shell.”
“And?”
“And I will be dead.”
She jerked as if his words had caused her physical distress. “Dead-dead?”
He studied her pale face. She seemed genuinely concerned. Did the thought of losing him again trouble her? Or was it a figment of his imagination? He desperately wanted her to…what? Care. Yes. He wanted her to care.
“Dead-dead.”
She turned away, her shoulders set at rigid angles. “How long do you have?”
It was a question that plagued him. “Each night, that I’m separated from my sword I’m a little weaker,” he told her. “I would guess I have less than a week. Time is ticking. I either face the dragon or wait to die.” He felt a fierce stab of fury. “What better revenge for the Sylvermyst who cursed me?”
“Or ask me to stop time so I can retrieve the sword,” she added in a soft voice.
“Exactly.” He hesitated. The next few seconds were the most important of his very long life. “Will you help?”
She turned. Slowly, so slowly. Then, meeting his gaze, she nodded.
“Yes. I’ll help.”
* * *
Levet bent toward the ground, following the luscious scent of lotus from Chiron’s hotel down the narrow street.
“Do this, Levet,” he muttered. “Do that, Levet. Save the world.” He clicked his tongue, his demon essence easily allowing him to maneuver through the throng of humans. It wasn’t that he was invisible. It was that the mortal mind was encouraged not to notice him. “And do I ever get any thanks?” he continued his complaints.
“Do you?” a female asked, her voice light and faintly accented. French?
Coming to an abrupt halt in the shadows of a towering skyrise, Levet turned to regard his unwelcomed companion. She was taller than him but still smaller than most creatures, with a delicate body. She wore a sparkling white cocktail dress and high heels. Her hair was a shade of pale gold and fell in wild spirals to her shoulders. Her eyes were a misty gray, and her skin as pale as frosted snow. She appeared human, but when Levet caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, he saw the faintest outline of ephemeral wings.
Odd.
“Were you eavesdropping?” he demanded. “It is very rude.”
She blinked. “I thought you were talking to me.”
“Why would I talk to you?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
Hmm. Good point. He stepped closer, studying her delicate features. He didn’t recognize them, but there was something about that voice.
“You seem familiar,” he muttered. “Who are you?”
She tilted her head as if confused by the question. “You don’t know?”
Levet sniffed the air. Gingersnaps. “Should I?”
“Well, we are family.” The female pursed her lips. “But I suppose I can’t blame you for not wanting to acknowledge the connection. We are a rather motley crew, even for gargoyles.”
“Motley Crüe?” Levet was more confused than usual. Which was saying something. “The band?”
Now the female looked confused. “What band?”
“Wait. Family?” Levet abruptly realized why her voice was familiar. “Aunt Bertha?”
“Who else would I be?”
Levet allowed his gaze to travel over the sparkly cocktail dress and the delicate heels. The last time he’d seen Bertha, she’d been a seven-foot-tall gargoyle covered in gray skin with leather wings, short horns, and gnarly features covered in moss.
“Why are you in that shape?”
Bertha glanced down, holding out her slim arms as if as confused as Levet by the human body. “I have no idea. I went to sleep on a mountain in Nepal.” She shrugged. “I think there was an earthquake. I woke up a century later buried beneath that rubble and in this human shape.”
It had been a while since Levet had seen his relative, but that wasn’t unusual. He had a firm policy of keeping family reunions to a bare minimum. Preferably zero. Or whatever was less than zero.
“Why do you not change back?”
Bertha dropped her arms, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know how.”
Levet studied her in confusion. “Is this a joke?”
“I don’t think so. I suppose someone could be playing a trick by sticking me in a human form, but I’m not sure what is amusing about it.”
Levet dismissed his aunt’s odd appearance. Instead, he concentrated on the fact that she had appeared on this street at the same time as he had. Was it a mere coincidence? Perhaps not. Bertha had occasionally stumbled into his life over the years. Sometimes when he needed her the most, as if fate was taking a hand in directing them to cross paths. Other times, she’d arrived and caused utter chaos. You never knew which you were going to get.
“Why are you in Hong Kong?”
“I’m not really sure.” She glanced around in confusion. “I was enjoying a leisurely hike up Mount Everest when I was struck by a sudden compulsion to come here.” Her attention returned to Levet. “Did you call for me?”
Did he? Levet scratched his stunted horn. “I do not think so.”
“Oh.” She flashed a dimpled smile. “Well, I’m here now. What are you doing?”
Levet puffed out his chest. “I’m on a very important mission.”
“Are you? How exciting.”
Levet parted his lips to lie, only to heave a deep sigh. What was the point? “Not especially.”
“But it is important?” Bertha pressed.
“It is important to Chiron,” he conceded. “Which means, I must complete my mission before I can return home.”
“It sounds as if you will need my help.”
“Umm…” Levet cleared his throat, attempting to find the proper way to send his relative on her way. Granted, Bertha was the only family member he liked, but she was notoriously accident-prone. It had been Bertha who’d caused the great fire of London, and while Levet couldn’t prove anything, he suspected she might have brought an end to the dinosaurs. “Actually, I’m more of a lone wolf.”
She frowned. “Is that what your mother told you?” She tsked. “Dreadful female.” She leaned down, speaking slowly. “You’re not a wolf. Just a very small gargoyle.”
Levet waved his hands in a gesture of impatience. “I mean that I work alone.”
“So do I. We should make perfect partners.” Bertha pressed her hands together. “What is the mission?”
Levet heaved a sigh. Arguing with Bertha was like trying to teach a vampire manners. Futile.
“I am searching for the manager of the Dreamscape Resort.”
“Ah. Is there a reward?”
Levet made a sound of disgust. For the past few years, he’d been an official Knight in Shining Armor, or a KISA as he preferred to be called. Which meant he was constantly being asked to put himself in danger and then tossed aside when his skills were no longer useful.
“There is never a reward.”
“Then why are we doing this?”
“I’m not entirely certain,” Levet muttered, turning back to the street that was beginning to clear of tourists. It was a reminder that the night was swiftly passing.
It wouldn’t be long until dawn arrived, and he would be forced to seek shelter.
“Good enough for me,” Bertha fell into step beside him, her barely-there wings fluttering in anticipation. “What does she smell like?”
“Lotus.”
Bertha sucked in a deep breath, her eyes widening in surprise. “A vampire.” She sniffed again. “A female vampire.”
“ Oui .”
They traced the scent in silence. Levet didn’t want to explain how he’d somehow become the minion of a bunch of leeches. Not that he was an actual minion, he silently reassured himself. But…
“Hey, baby.” Without warning, three curs appeared in front of them. Curs didn’t possess the strength of pureblooded Weres, but they could be dangerous in packs. The largest of the males stepped forward, clearly the alpha. He was over six feet with bulging muscles beneath his too-tight t-shirt and jeans. His head was shaved, and he had a wide leather strap around his neck like a dog collar. He took another step, towering over Bertha. “I’m talking to you.”
Bertha glanced around before returning her gaze to the cur. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.” The cur shoved his hips forward, pointing toward his crotch. “You want some of this?”
“Okay.”
Without warning, Bertha reached out to grab his dangly bits, squeezing hard enough to make the male’s eyes cross, and a whimper escape his lips. Then, as if unaware of the damage she inflicted, Bertha twisted the flesh clutched in her hand, sending the male to his knees.
“Hey!”
The two curs standing behind the alpha leaped forward. With a muttered curse, Levet waddled to stand next to his aunt. He couldn’t watch her be mauled and not try to help. Could he?
Perhaps sensing his movement, she turned to face him, the translucent wings whacking the charging curs with enough force to send them sprawling flat on their backs.
“Oops.” She turned back. “Sorry.” She scurried to bend over the closest cur. At the same time, he tried to sit up. Their foreheads smacked together, the sound of the impact echoing like the strike of a gong. The cur groaned, flopping back onto the sidewalk, blood dripping from his busted head. “Sorry,” she said again, then turned toward the other cur, holding out her hand. The male whimpered and crab-walked down the sidewalk to escape her assistance.
She glanced back at Levet. “Well, that was rude.”
“Perhaps we should go.”
Scurrying past the male still on his knees, clutching his crotch in pain, Levet returned to his hunt.
“People claim I am a walking disaster,” he muttered with a shake of his head.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Bertha protested. “He asked if I wanted some of it.”
“I do not think he meant for you to yank it off his body.”
She shrugged. “He should have been more specific.”
“I…” Levet came to a halt, staring at a spot on the sidewalk. “The trail ends here.”
Spinning in a slow circle, Levet studied his surroundings. A soaring office building with lots of glass and steel. Next to it, a manicured garden lit by strings of lanterns. Behind him, the main road leading out of the city. It seemed most likely that Jayla had been picked up by a car and driven away.
So how was he supposed to find her now? He was busy debating the question when Bertha reached out to tug his horn.
“Is that vampire a friend of yours?”
Levet jerked away from her grasp. Why were demons forever grabbing his horns? “What vampire?” he asked in grumpy tones.
“The one who is spying on us from behind that tree.” Bertha pointed toward the nearby garden. At the same time, there was a blur of darkness as the vampire abruptly took off, heading toward the back of the office building. “There he goes.”
“Come on.”
Levet flapped his wings, dashing after the fleeing creature. He didn’t know if the vampire had anything to do with the missing Jayla, but there had to be a reason he was running away. Besides, he’d just reached a dead end.
He could return to Dreamscape and admit defeat or hope the vampire could give him information.
Levet was a KISA. He never admitted defeat.