“Because she’s a prophet.” It was a statement, not a question.
Salvatore dipped his head in agreement. “The first true prophet in centuries. Her disappearance at this time can’t be a coincidence.”
“No.” Styx curled his hands at his side. The implication of her absence was already giving him nightmares. “She would be a priceless weapon to whoever has access to her powers.”
“We need your Hunter. She’s the only one with the skill to find Cassandra.”
Styx hissed at the mention of the missing vampire. For all her youth, Jaelyn was the finest Hunter to have been trained in the past century. Unfortunately, she’d been kidnapped three weeks ago by Ariyal, a Sylvermyst prince.
Damn his black heart.
“Jaelyn’s still missing.”
“The Sylvermyst?”
“That’s our guess, but we have no way of knowing for certain.”
They both paused as they silently accepted that Jaelyn could be dead. Just another casualty in the increasingly dangerous war.
Salvatore stepped forward, his face hard with concern.
“Something wicked this way comes, vampire,” he warned, “and we had damned well better be prepared.”
Styx nodded. For the rare moment they were in perfect agreement.
“Yes.”
Morgana le Fey might be dead, but her opulent palace on the isle of Avalon remained intact.
Okay, not fully intact.
More than one room was on the wrong side of tattered. And the grand throne room had been blown to hell, but the vast harems had escaped the majority of the damage during Morgana’s last, great battle.
A damned shame.
Not just because the sprawling rooms designed with mosaic tiles, marble fountains, and domed ceilings looked like something from a cheesy Arabian Nights film set (although that was reason enough to burn the gaudy piece of crap to the ground) but because Ariyal had spent more centuries than he cared to remember in the harem trapped as a slave.
It had been a well-guarded secret that a handful of Sylvermyst had turned their backs on their master, the Dark Lord. They’d bargained with Morgana le Fey to keep them hidden among the mists of Avalon in return for them satisfying her insatiable lust for men and pain.
Not necessarily in that order.
Unfortunately Ariyal had been a favorite of the sadistic bitch.
She’d been fascinated by the metallic sheen of his bronzed eyes and his long chestnut hair. But it’d been the lean, chiseled muscles of his body that she’d devoted hours to exploring. And torturing.
With a low growl he shook off the unpleasant memories.
Instead he concentrated on the female who was currently enjoying the nasty surprises hidden among the velvet divans and exquisite tapestries.
Well, maybe enjoyment wasn’t what she was feeling, he acknowledged in amusement, watching as she slowly came awake to discover she was chained to the wall by silver shackles.
Jaelyn, the vampire pain-in-his-ass, let loose a string of foul curses, not seeming to appreciate that he’d carefully protected her skin with leather to keep the silver from searing her flesh, or that he’d chosen one of the rooms that was specifically built to protect bloodsuckers from the small amount of sunlight that filtered through the surrounding mists.
In fact, it looked like the only thing she was in the mood to appreciate was ripping out his throat with her pearly-white fangs.
A treacherous heat raced through his body.
He told himself it was a predictable reaction.