Vamps were nothing if not predictable.
Arrogant, dangerous, and sickeningly aware of their superiority.
Could it be that the mighty Tane was actually anxious to find himself in the mists?
Swift to take advantage, Laylah headed toward the unconscious gargoyle.
“The same way we got in,” she said.
“Then do it.”
“No.”
“Laylah.”
She scooped Levet into her arms, swallowing a groan. Gods. What did the creature eat? Lead?
“I’m taking the gargoyle to London and you can’t stop me,” she grunted, headed through the mists.
Swearing, Tane followed in her wake. “Why is it so important that you go to London?”
“I have to find the Jinn.”
“Is it a relative of yours?” he snapped.
“That’s what I intend to discover. I never …” she bit off her revealing words.
Naturally he couldn’t let well enough alone.
“What?”
She flashed him an annoyed frown. “I thought I was the only one. Okay?”
He abruptly stiffened, as if bothered by her stark honesty. Then with a curse, he glanced toward the fog, his expression shuttered.
“Get us out of here and I will see that you get to London.”
Did she have stupid tattooed on her forehead?
“Liar.”
“What did you call me?” he snapped.
“I called you a liar.” She turned her head to meet the smoldering honey gaze. “We both know if I was idiotic enough to return us to the barn there’s no way in hell you would let me go to London.”
Chapter 4
The eighteenth century terrace house near Green Park in London was considered a fine example of Robert Adam’s architecture. It was, in fact, a great pride of the historical society, although the neighbors weren’t nearly so enthused.
Certainly there was a classical beauty in the aging bricks and simple portico. The windows were tall with carved stone swags set above them. And it was rumored the interior was even more stunning. Carved marble staircases and grand rooms with painted ceilings, Chippendale furniture, and priceless works of art.
But the museum-quality perfection couldn’t erase the chill of evil that shrouded the building or make the beautiful Lady Havassy any less unnerving when she made her rare appearance.
It was said that the exquisitely beautiful woman with long dark curls and flashing black eyes that contrasted so sharply with her pale, pale skin was some sort of Hungarian nobility. The locals didn’t care where she came from, only that there had been a rash of disappearances since her arrival some ten years before.
More amused than concerned by the suspicions of the humans, Marika ran a hand through her glossy curls as she absently descended into the cellars deep beneath the city streets. She was wearing a thin, gauzy gown that emphasized her lush curves, but did nothing to battle the damp chill in the air. Not that it mattered. A vampire was as impervious to the weather as she was to nosy neighbors.
As she reached the cement floor, the torches flared to life and a tall man with silver hair that spilled halfway down his back approached from the shadows.