the thoughts that had run through his mind while trapped inside that creature, burying those reflections deep. If he and the prince lived through the rest of the night, Cas would sift through and process them.
For now, he forced his attention to the job. “I think that firelight at the top of the pyramid is the sorcerer’s personal chamber. Can you get us inside there?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
“You see the guardhouse up front?” Cas pointed it out. “The scylla tentacles will emerge just beyond it. The outer wall of the fortress marks the mystical barrier. Let’s hope it doesn’t affect your mist.”
“Otherwise we’ll turn corporeal and plummet right into the creature’s tentacles?”
“Bingo. The hard part will be getting in; we’ll likely be able to teleport straight out of the fortress.”
When Mirceo reached for his hand, Cas hesitated. In conservative Abaddon, he’d never seen two males holding hands.
“Are you jesting?” Mirceo demanded. “Hand holding is taboo—after I nursed blood from your dick?”
Cas had to stifle a groan. Don’t remind me. He accepted Mirceo’s hand, frowning at the way they fit. If I was born for him, was Mirceo born for me? “Now what?”
“Now I concentrate,” Mirceo answered, tone curt. He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled, closing his eyes. Heartbeats passed.
Damn it, Cas wasn’t averse to holding another male’s hand, it was just . . . new. He recalled the first time he’d sampled lobster. It’d smelled amazing, the tender meat glistening with butter, but he hesitated to try something unfamiliar.
Cas had become set in his ways, but the vampire expected him to accept all these changes without even an afterthought. The temperature began to increase, distracting him. Was the air getting more humid? Mist arose, surrounding them.
A comforting sense of warmth enveloped Cas, as if this bank of vapor blunted all of his concerns. The rest of the world melted into the background—there, but not there. Even the sound of the wind was subdued. Their bodies faded into faint, glittering outlines. “So this is really happening?” I’m nothing but mist.
“Fate says you are a Dacian now—so you can join me. We can see, hear, and feel each other, but non-Dacians can’t detect us. In theory.”
Only the two of them existed inside this cocoon. Cas felt connected to the vampire, as he’d never been to anyone else. He wished he could be enfolded like this when he had time to savor it. “I have to admit, this is a damn handy skill.” What other jobs could they pull off together?
“Are you ready?”
Cas mimicked Mirceo: “I was born ready, sweetheart.” He grinned when the vampire muttered, “Demonic lout.”
They began to float upward, levitating farther and farther off the ground. Cas had to stifle a laugh. Amazing! As they continued to rise like a cloud, they moved toward that boundary.
Closer . . . closer . . . closer . . .
Here—
Tentacles burst from the ground, shooting toward them. Oh, fuck me! The scaly snakelike arms coiled around them—through them. Through our bodies!
Somehow Cas choked back a yell. He was about to piss himself—how was Mirceo so calm and focused? With steely determination, the prince pressed on.
They outdistanced the scyllas’ reach! Cas murmured, “Nice play, vampire. No one has ever gotten this far.”
Mirceo didn’t react, absorbed by his task.
Still rising, they approached the top of the pyramid. Would he be able to mist them inside? Everything depended on this step—all the work they’d done, all the unwitting prep Cas had completed over the centuries.
They neared . . . then passed through the stone. Cas’s senses blanked, a feeling like being momentarily blinded and muffled in cotton. Then . . . flickering light?
Gods almighty, they’d breached Harea’s stronghold!
So this is the lair of the notorious King of Sand. A fire illuminated the large chamber. Gold gilded the walls, the hearth encrusted with rubies. A scorpion the size of a small car slept before the fire. Yet more security?
A massive bed levitated a couple of feet above the marble floor. In it, a dozen unclothed females slumbered around the sole male.
The sorcerer.
He was naked as well, passed out beside a large opium pipe. The drug’s scent still spiced the air.
The jewel-draped females must be his personal harem. The concubines came in all shapes, sizes, and colors—purple, black, white, blue—like a Miss Lore competition. Was Mirceo’s gaze lingering on any of those beauties?
“We’re clear,” Cas whispered. “I’ll take Harea. You get the scorpion. But pay attention.”
As Mirceo made them solid, gravity weighed them down, their bodies