Darkness Avenged (Guardians of Eternity) Page 0,26
pounce on the first hint of weakness. “I’m merely a servant of the Oracles, not their confidante.”
Santiago growled, but before he could express his smoldering frustration, there was the rustle of leaves above them and the pungent scent of granite.
“Gargoyle,” Santiago instead muttered, stepping back as Levet floated down on his fairy wings to land on the path between them.
The gargoyle stuck his tongue toward the male vampire. “I do have a name.”
“I thought you were hunting,” Nefri intruded into the male sniping.
Levet readily turned in her direction. “I was until I noticed the herd of people heading this way.”
Santiago frowned. “At this hour?”
“It could be another search party,” Nefri suggested.
“More like a lynch mob,” Levet corrected, his tail twitching. “Sacrebleu. They were shouting and waving their guns like they were overdosed on steroids.”
A lynch mob? Nefri deliberately avoided Santiago’s sharp gaze, a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach at the gargoyle’s warning. Not because there was a group of people out there looking for trouble. Humans took a peculiar delight in stirring their passions to a fever pitch. She had a terrible premonition that this was more than just an overabundance of testosterone.
“How far?” she asked.
Levet pointed up the path. “Five miles and headed this way.”
“We’ll cut through the swamp,” Santiago announced, taking instant command. “Once we’re clear of the town we can circle back and pick up my vehicle.”
Nefri didn’t protest. She didn’t have any more desire than Santiago to run across a group of humans looking for blood, even if she was more accustomed to giving orders than taking them.
“Tromp through the bogs? Ewww.” Levet wrinkled his snout . “I am no slimy lizard. I will join you on the other side.”
Nefri reached out to lay a gentle hand on the gargoyle’s shoulder. “Take care, Levet.”
“Merci, ma chérie.” He offered a low bow, a sparkle in his gray eyes. “You have my promise I will take the greatest care. And if you have need of me you only have to call my name.”
She nodded. “I will.”
With a flap of his wings, Levet was headed upward, dodging the overhanging branches with astonishing grace.
“Thank the gods,” Santiago muttered. “That creature would try the patience of a saint.”
“And you’re no saint,” she muttered, pointing out the obvious.
“Not even close.” With a wicked grin he leaned forward and claimed her lips in a short, bone-melting kiss. Then, before she could slug him, he was turning to jog off the pathway, sliding his sword back into its sheath so he could pull out a large dagger and battle through the overgrown vegetation.
Nefri stoically followed in his wake, pretending that his lethal kiss hadn’t inflamed the sensual hunger that was becoming more than a mere inconvenience. That her lips weren’t tingling with an excitement that she felt to the tips of her toes.
Damn it all. Why this aggravating vampire?
And why now?
Shoving aside the questions that had no answers, Nefri focused her concentration on their shadowed surroundings. With every step away from the path, the ground became more treacherous, a scent of rotting vegetation seeping from the thick layer of moss and duckweed. And while they were moving away from the angry humans, there were just as many dangers in the swamps.
Actually, more.
Cougars and alligators lurked among the dense undergrowth as well as a dozen snakes that might not be able to kill a vampire, but could certainly make one ill for a short period of time. There were also a variety of demons who lived in the bayous, far away from the noisy mortals.
But it wasn’t the lurking hazards that slowly wore on Nefri’s nerves. Or the discomfort of wading into the water that came to her knees.
It was, instead, the strange sensations that crawled over her skin, that made a shiver inch down her spine.
“I don’t like this,” she at last said, breaking the thick silence.
“I can’t say I’m overly fond of the swamps myself, but it’s better than dealing with the rabid locals,” Santiago countered, his dagger slicing through a layer of Spanish moss.
“It’s not the swamp,” she said, shivering. “Can’t you feel it?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Feel what?”
Another shiver. “It’s as if there’s a lingering echo of violence.”
“Magic?”
“If it is, it has nothing to do with witches.”
“You’re right, this is far more primal,” he agreed with a grimace, his head tilted back as he tested the fading tang of aggression. “Mierda. It’s no wonder the humans are roaming the countryside with torches and pitchforks.”