Her chin tilted. She might be his captive, but she wasn't his property.
"It's my right."
Chapter Five
Styx awoke the next evening decidedly grumpy and completely alone in his room deep below the house.
Although all the bedrooms possessed tinted windows and shutters heavy enough to protect a vampire from the sun, Styx felt more comfortable among the dark tunnels that ran beneath the vast estate.
And, of course, it was the only certain means of guaranteeing that he didn't give in to temptation and return to the bed of his aggravating guest.
How was a mere vampire supposed to understand such a strange creature, he brooded as he soaked in Viper's large tub, and then spent nearly a half hour braiding his wet hair.
They had shared the most intimate of embraces. She had screamed in fulfillment as he had taken her very essence into his body. They had been as one. Bound as only a vampire and his lover could be.
It had been glorious.
Astonishingly glorious.
Even as a vampire he had realized just how rare their union had been. As a human she should have been utterly enthralled.
Instead, she had muttered about wanting to leave him and refused to even accept a portion of his considerable wealth.
He was still sulking as he climbed the stairs and entered the large kitchen. Unfortunately, his mood was not at all improved by the tiny gargoyle who was sitting at the table as he polished off the last of his dinner.
A dinner that Styx suspected had been captured in the nearby woods and eaten raw.
Not that he particularly cared. Given the opportunity, he would be upstairs hunting his own sweet meal. But he had a feeling that Darcy wouldn't be pleased to walk in and discover Levet consuming a dead carcass in the kitchen.
The gargoyle hopped from his chair and flashed a grin.
"Dead man walking."
Styx frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
"Never mind," Levet sighed. "So few truly understand my humor."
Supremely indifferent to the gargoyle's odd humor, Styx turned his attention to far more important matters.
"Has Darcy risen yet?"
Levet shrugged. "I haven't seen her, but then that might be because you have her room guarded as if she were a rabid animal instead of a sweet young woman."
Styx stiffened in anger. Why did everyone presume the worst in him?
"The guards are there for her protection," he said in an icy tone. "Or would you prefer that she be carried off by a pack of werewolves?"
The little demon had the audacity to smile. "I'm just saying..."
"Saying what?"
"That you have a great deal to learn about winning friends and influencing people."
Styx swallowed his anger. He wasn't about to explain himself to a mere gargoyle. Moving across the kitchen, he picked up the small purse he had taken from the bar on the night he captured Darcy.
"I have a task I need you to perform."
"Me?" Level's eyes widened as he watched Styx do a thorough search of the strange contents stuffed into the leather bag. "Hey, is that Darcy's purse? You can't just. .."