Of course, at the time none of them had realized that Sally was half demon. Or that she would panic at being placed in the dungeons beneath Styx’s elegant lair.
He absently rubbed his inner forearm where the mating mark was branded into his skin.
The witch claimed that she was simply trying to enchant him long enough to convince him to help her escape. And after his initial fury at realizing her demon magic had somehow ignited the mating bond, Roke had grudgingly accepted it had been an accident.
What he hadn’t accepted was her running off to search for the truth of her father.
Dammit.
It was her fault they were bound together.
She had no right to slip away like a thief in the night.
“Do you sense anyone?”
The question was spoken in a low voice that was edged with a French accent, jerking Roke out of his dark broodings. Glancing downward, he ruefully met his companion’s curious gaze.
What the hell had happened to his life?
A mate that wasn’t a mate. A three-foot gargoyle sidekick. And a clan that had been without their chief for far too long.
“She’s there,” he murmured, his gaze skimming over the creature’s ugly mug. Levet had all the usual gargoyle features. Gray skin, horns, a small snout, and a tail he kept lovingly polished. It was only his delicate wings and diminutive size that marked him as different. Oh, and his appalling lack of control over his magic. Roke turned back to the cottage where he could catch the distinctive scent of peaches. A primitive heat seared through him, drawing him forward. “I have you, little witch.”
Scampering to keep up with his long, silent strides, Levet tugged at the hem of his jacket.
“Umm . . . Roke?”
“Not now, gargoyle.” Roke never paused as he made his way toward the back of the cottage. “I’ve spent the past three weeks being led around like a damned hound on a leash. I intend to savor the moment.”
“While you’re savoring, I hope that you will recall Sally must have a good reason for—”
“Her reason is to drive me nuts,” Roke interrupted, pausing at the side of the nearest shed. “I promised her that we would go in search of her father. Together.”
“Oui. But when?”
Roke clenched his teeth. “In case you’ve forgotten, she nearly died when the—”
“Vampire-god.”
Roke grimaced. The creature that they’d so recently battled might have claimed to be the first vampire, but that didn’t make him a god. The bastard had nearly killed Sally in an attempt to break the magic that held him captive.
“When the ancient spirit attacked her,” he snapped. “She should be grateful that I was willing to wait for her to regain her strength.”
Levet cleared his throat. “And that is the only reason you tried to keep her imprisoned?”
“She wasn’t imprisoned,” he denied, refusing to recall his panic when Sally had lain unconscious for hours.
Or his fierce reluctance to allow Sally to leave Styx’s lair.
“Non?” Levet clicked his tongue, seemingly oblivious to how close Roke was to yanking that tongue out of his mouth. “I would have sworn she was locked in the dungeons.”
“Not after Gaius was destroyed.”
“You mean after she saved the world from the vampire-god?” the gargoyle taunted. “Generous of you.”
Oh yeah. The tongue was going to have to go.
“Don’t push me, gargoyle,” he muttered, allowing his senses to spread outward.