“My knowledge is fragmented and far too much relies on stories I’ve heard secondhand,” the dragon admitted. “I never encountered the actual spirit in person. Thank my own very mysterious gods.”

Santiago instinctively tightened his hand on his sword. Knowing that the all-powerful dragon was afraid of the spirit wasn’t particularly heartening. “Why?”

“It’s claimed that the spirit is capable of feeding off any demon, no matter how strong they might be.”

“It feeds off demons?” Santiago rasped.

“Demons or humans.” Baine shrugged. “It doesn’t seem to be particular.”

Well, this just got better and better.

Grimacing, Santiago tried to shove aside the growing list of reasons why he should return to Styx and tell him to appoint another vampire to hunt down Gaius.

The spirit was an enemy. He needed to approach it as he would any other enemy. Which meant gaining as much intel as he could.

“You said that its spawn had their own means of feeding,” he said. “Which I assume means it doesn’t drink blood or suck souls.”

Baine smiled, the amber eyes smoldering with fire. “No.”

“Then what the . . .” Santiago stilled, cursing himself for being so dense. It all made perfect, horrible sense now. “Mierda.”

Nefri sent him a puzzled glance. “What is it?”

“Emotion,” he rasped. “It feeds off emotion.”

Her eyes widened, easily able to make the same connection that he had. “Of course.”

“So, not all brawn,” Baine drawled.

Santiago narrowed his gaze. “I have my moments.”

“If this creature feeds off emotion, it makes sense that it would inspire fear and lust and violence among humans,” Nefri murmured, speaking her thoughts out loud.

“And demons,” Baine reminded her.

“Yes, and demons.” Her brow furrowed. “But why use Gaius to spread the emotions? Does it need a conduit?”

Baine tapped a finger on the arm of his throne. “Are you certain it’s Gaius that’s creating the emotions?”

Nefri gave a hesitant nod. “As certain as we can be at this point.”

“This spirit,” Santiago abruptly interrupted, “is it able to take corporeal form?”

Baine shook his head. “Like vampires it’s symbiant.”

Santiago scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It must take possession of a body that belongs to another.”

Santiago glanced toward Nefri. They’d been chasing what they thought were two demons. Was it possible that it was just one and he was being possessed by the spirit?

“Gaius?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “You said that the witch claimed he was protecting someone.”

“She never did see the ‘someone,’” he pointed out.

“True,” she agreed, although her expression remained troubled.

Santiago didn’t blame her. Right now they could do no more than make wild suppositions that didn’t do them a damned bit of good.

He turned back to the dragon. “The most important question is how do we kill it?”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” The amber flames in Baine’s eyes became oddly hypnotizing. “It is, after all, your ultimate sire.”

Santiago shook off the dragon’s intrusion into his mind. The bastard was no doubt hoping to enjoy a full-blown spiritual crisis. Unfortunately for him, Santiago was a warrior, not a monk.

“What will happen if it’s left free?”

A mocking smile touched Baine’s mouth. “Strong emotions have inevitable conclusions. It begins with murder and rape and the always favorite pillaging. Eventually it will disintegrate into war, genocide, and famine.”

He felt Nefri grow rigid at the stark warning and he instinctively rubbed a comforting hand down her back.

Not that he had much comfort to offer.

Dammit, hadn’t they just prevented the end of the world? Now they had to face war and genocide and famine?

Where was the justice in that?

“You didn’t answer the question,” he reminded the dragon, in no mood to be diplomatic. He snorted. Who was he kidding? He was never in the mood to be diplomatic. But after the past few weeks he was even more impatient than usual. “How do we kill it?”

Baine’s tattoos swirled in warning, although his voice remained soft. “I don’t know.”

So the mighty dragon knew everything but the information they most needed.

Predictable.

“Great.”

Baine leaned forward. “But I do find it intriguing that the Commission chose to imprison the spirit rather than destroying it, don’t you?”

Santiago paused. He’d rather have his tongue cut out than admit it, but the oversized lizard had a point.

Why hadn’t the Oracles killed the creature? Because they were demon conservationists who didn’t believe in killing off the potential last of a species? Yeah, right. More likely it was because they didn’t know how to get rid of the thing.

So instead they sent Nefri to do their dirty work, not giving a shit that she might die in the process.

Fury raced through him at the same time Baine rose from his throne, his surge of power making the earth shake beneath their feet.

Instinctively, Santiago shoved Nefri behind him, his sword raised. “Do we have a problem, dragon?” he growled.

“Your companion is searching for you,” Baine growled, his tattoos darkening. “And he’s not alone.”

Santiago frowned. “What companion?”

Nefri elbowed him in the side. “Levet.”

He rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t call the miniature pest a companion. More like an unwelcome boil on his ass.

“Our”—his lips twisted as he forced out the word—“companion can wait. I still have questions.”

Baine shook his head. “I have paid my debt.” He shifted his attention to the silent Nefri, the amber flames consuming his eyes. “My last word of warning, beautiful Nefri, is not to hesitate. With every passing day the spirit grows more powerful.”

“Wait . . .” Santiago stepped forward, but even as he moved, the throne room was dissolving around him.

Dammit.

He held on to Nefri as Baine offered a last mocking wave and the throne room faded to be replaced by the rolling meadow and large tree that was no longer split in two.

Barely managing to keep his balance at the abrupt change from a polished wood floor to muddy, uneven ground, Santiago’s seething frustration became pure male outrage at the stench of granite and . . . was that brimstone?

“There you are,” a French-accented voice proclaimed. “Mon dieu. I thought you’d been stolen by leprechauns.”

“Leprechauns,” a female voice taunted. “Everyone knows there are no leprechauns.”

Spinning on his heel, Santiago discovered the stunted gargoyle standing a few feet away, accompanied by a tiny female demon with black, oblong-shaped eyes and razor sharp teeth.

Gods almighty, the gargoyle had a friend?

Okay, maybe not a friend, he hastily revised his opinion as the two glared at one another.

“It was a metaphor,” Levet informed his companion, his wings quivering with anger.

The female gave a toss of her long braid, her hands smoothing down the long, white robe that covered her diminutive body. “It was idiotic,” she muttered.

“Dios.” Santiago turned to discover Nefri regarding the tiny couple with a faint smile. “Shoot me now.”

Chapter 19

Styx’s lair in Chicago

Sally didn’t know why she was caught off guard when Roke carried her directly to Styx’s dungeon.

Did she think making him her temporary love-slave would soften his hatred for her? Or hey, maybe he would be grateful she’d made him betray his people and help her escape?

Yeah, he should be thrilled-to-freaking-death with her.

Still, as he entered the house by the hidden tunnel and headed directly to the dungeon, she was overwhelmed by a sudden avalanche of panic.

What did he intend to do to her? He’d been furious in the warehouse. How did she know he didn’t intend to kill her and leave her body for the scavengers?

And once she was back in the hexed cell, she would be utterly helpless.

Pounding his back with her fists, she futilely attempted to kick him in the one place vampires were as vulnerable as any other man.

“No,” she shrieked. “I won’t be locked up again.”

His steps never faltered as he bypassed the curious guards. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Let me go.” He ignored her, shoving open the door to the dungeon and heading down the narrow corridor that ran between the line of cells. “Roke, did you hear me?”

“I’m sure your screechings are audible to half of Chicago.”

Sally bit her lip. Her hands ached from hitting the unyielding muscles of his back and with every step the cell grew nearer. Soon she would be locked away. Or worse.