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Spring in Chicago was a volatile time for Styx, the King of Vampires. The unpredictable weather, combined with the breeding season for many demons, ensured that there was rarely a night without some disaster that needed his immediate attention. Not to mention the fact he’d just endured yet another near-end-of-the-world event.
Tonight, however he was off duty. Off with a capitalO. And he intended to enjoy every second of his rare respite.
Pretending he didn’t feel like an idiot, he’d swapped his usual leather pants and knee-high shitkickers for a white satin shirt and black silk pants. He’d even allowed his black hair to flow down his back. He would never look civilized. He was a six-foot-five vampire with the bronzed skin and proud angular features of an Aztec warrior. And the very air shimmered with the force of his power. But he was doing his best to have a romantic evening with his mate, Darcy.
The slender, almost fragile female walking next to him didn’t look like the mate of the most powerful vampire in the world. And she most certainly didn’t look like a pureblooded Were. Her heart-shaped face was pale and unbearably vulnerable and her blond hair ridiculously spiked like a human teenager’s. She was even wearing casual jeans and a sweatshirt that emphasized her youthful appearance.
At the moment, her eyes were squeezed shut as he led her through the maze of marble corridors lined with fluted columns. His lair on the outskirts of Chicago was a gilded monstrosity that should have belonged to an aging rocker with questionable taste. Not the Anasso, King of Vampires. In fact, as far as Styx was concerned the estate would have been improved with a match and several sticks of dynamite. Unfortunately, Darcy was convinced that the place suited his position. And Styx was willing to endure any amount of torture if it pleased his mate.
“What are you up to?” she complained as he turned into a short hallway that ended in a lavish set of double doors.
“Don’t you trust me?” Styx demanded.
“With my life? Without hesitation. With my heart? Always. With the choice of my evening entertainment?” Her lips pinched. “Hmm.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You took me to watch two trolls mud wrestle for our anniversary.”
Styx clenched his fangs. Viper, the current clan chief of Chicago, was one of his closest advisors and a male he considered a friend, but there was no doubt the vampire could be a pain in the ass.
“Viper told me that the Trolls in Mud were a new musical group.”
Darcy snorted. “And you believed him?”
“It made as much sense as Hoobastank or Smashing Pumpkins,” Styx protested, not adding that he’d been relieved to discover that it was actually trolls in a mud battle. That was a lot more fun than humans screaming into a microphone.
“Fair enough,” Darcy conceded.
“I did good this time. I promise.”
Styx pushed open the library door and led her inside. It was a beautiful room. The long space was framed with heavy wooden shelves that were loaded with rare books and a large window that overlooked the moon-drenched rose garden. In the center of the Persian carpets that covered the floor was a table that was decorated with candles, a dozen roses, and an ice bucket that was chilling a bottle of Dom Pérignon. There was also a silver serving plate that was currently covered with a linen napkin.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded.
Slowly Darcy lifted the heavy sweep of her lashes, her lips parting in appreciation.
“Wow,” she breathed.
“Good?”
“Very good.” She crossed the carpet to pull the linen off the dinner plate. “Eggplant parmesan. My favorite. Yum.” She sucked in a deep breath, her gaze widening as she caught sight of the massive fireplace where logs were burning with a bright light. Styx rarely allowed a fire in his presence. Vampires were highly flammable creatures. Then she pointed toward the empty sheath attached to the wall above the mantel. “Where’s your sword?”
“Gone,” he said, keeping his answer vague.
She turned back with a worried expression. “Levet didn’t sell it on eBay again, did he?”
Styx ground his fangs. The aggravating miniature gargoyle had tried to hock his massive weapon more than once. Idiotic pest.
“No. It’s put away.” Styx moved to wrap his arms around his beautiful mate. “Plus, the doors are locked and I put out word that if I’m interrupted I will rip off heads first and ask questions later.”
Darcy smoothed her hands over his chest, the warmth of her palms searing through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Very dramatic.”
A low growl rumbled in Styx’s throat. The touch from this female was as exciting tonight as it had been fifteen years ago. And would be a hundred years from now. Fate had created him to adore her for all eternity.
“For one night I refuse to be the Anasso,” he murmured, his large hand following the curve of her spine to cup her slender neck. Already his fangs were fully extended in the anticipation of tasting her sweet, addictive blood.
