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She shook her head. “My queen’s rules are absolute. They will hunt Declan when they find out.”
“If that’s true, how will this demon be able to help you?”
“Seth wants something they have. He says if I get it for him, he’ll use an outstanding favor and guarantee Declan’s safety.”
“And you believe him.”
“Like I said, there was no choice.” Her eyes were beseeching. “It’s late and I need to do this.”
“And Declan’s okay with this.”
Her cheeks darkened and Ransome took a step forward. “What have you done to him?”
“He doesn’t know. I left him in a weakened state, but he’ll be fine when he awakens.” Her lips tightened. “He can’t know. If he goes anywhere near them, they’ll kill him without question. These are ancients. Their powers are fierce and their loyalty to the queen unbreakable.”
Ransome grabbed his leather jacket from the hanger near his door. “Let’s go.”
Ana shook her head. “No.”
Ransome ignored her and opened the door. He glanced over to Asher and growled, “When I return I want your ass gone from New Orleans, or better yet, get the fuck out of Louisiana. Because I will kill you. That, my friend, is a bona fide LaPierre promise.”
Ana stared at the wolf in disbelief. “Why would you do this for me? This could be a suicide mission. You understand that, don’t you?”
Ransome shrugged. “It’s not my nature to stand by while a woman heads into danger. Can’t do it, besides”—he arched a brow—“O’Hara will use his mojo crap to fuck me over huge if I let something happen to you. Christ, the last time someone pissed him off he spelled the worst kind of shit imaginable on the poor son of a bitch.” He shivered and grabbed his crotch. “Every time he had sex his dick nearly fell off. That would not be good for me.”
“This is serious.”
He spoke quietly. “I know.”
How could Ana argue with that?
“So what exactly are we stealing?”
She couldn’t be sure, but was that a hint of glee in his voice?
“The elixir of immortality,” she said quietly.
“Fuck me.”
Definite glee.
Declan awoke with one hell of a headache.
He rolled over and stumbled from the bed, his gut clenched tight, temples throbbing. Damn, but he hurt all over.
His eyes peeled open and though he tried to get his bearings he was having difficulty. The hunger was overwhelming and the scent of blood was everywhere. Declan focused and swallowed. Painfully. His throat felt like dried cotton.
The blood, where was it?
The rickety table by the bed held the treasure he sought and he leapt toward it, groaning as he slid across the mattress. His hands eagerly entwined around the large glass decanter. It was full, filled to the brim with crimson gold.
His body was covered in sweat and he felt like a junkie jonesing for a fix. Never had he felt so on edge, so fucked up. He drained the decanter, wiping any remnants he saw with his tongue.
As his body relaxed, his senses sharpened and he looked around. Images assaulted his mind, Heaven and Hell all wrapped into one insane collage, with one constant thread: Ana. Unease slid over him.
He walked toward the scattered canvases along the wall. His mouth fell open as he studied them. They were of him. All of them, amazing portraits that looked alive, painted with a brush that felt love.
He frowned. The last one was of a stranger. A handsome man, with blue eyes and dark auburn hair. Jean-Charles no doubt.
