Cassie.
He wouldn’t trade one hour with this female for all the harems and fortunes in the world.
Oh, how the mighty were fallen.
Shaking his head at his foolishness, Caine followed the tunnel that led straight to the cellars beneath Salvatore’s lair. Then, as they reached the heavy wood door imbedded with iron spikes, he sucked in a deep breath, not at all comforted by the strange void filling the air.
There should be some odors.
On full alert, he reluctantly shoved the door open, doing his best to keep Cassie behind him as they entered the room, which had a dirt floor and cement walls lined with towering shelves that held hundreds of dusty bottles. In the center of the room sat a collection of aged-wood barrels and across the vast space were a number of arched doorways that led to storage alcoves and high-tech refrigerators.
Focused on searching the nearby shadows for an ambush, Caine nearly missed the slender, blond-haired Were that was sprawled in a chair next to the wine racks, apparently knocked unconscious.
He did, thankfully, sense the moment Cassie prepared to launch herself across the room. Grabbing her arm, he grimly held on. “Wait.”
“It’s Harley,” she hissed, straining against his grip. “We have to help her.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, speaking directly in her ear. “Cassie, there’s something missing.”
“What?”
“Smell.”
“I don’t smell . . .” She stiffened as she realized there wasn’t any hint of her sister’s scent in the air. “Oh.”
On the point of shoving her back through the doorway, Caine felt the air stir as one of the shelves swung open to reveal a hidden chamber. He had a brief impression of a small cement-lined cell before his attention turned to the two matching curs and dark-haired witch who spilled out of the cramped space.
“Very good, Caine,” the female cur mocked, obviously overhearing their private conversation.
“Ingrid.”
Caine’s lip curled in derision as his attention shifted to the male cur. The twins looked like Tweedledum and Tweedle-dummer on steroids with their matching buzz cuts and muscular bodies bulging beneath the olive wife-beaters and cammo pants. He’d always been creeped out by Ingrid’s overly intimate relationship with her twin, and not just because Dolf was a magic-user.
His opinion of the two hadn’t improved when he discovered the male had managed to get turned into a cur.
In fact, he’d been downright homicidal. And it was only because the cur had gone into hiding he hadn’t given in to his impulse to rid the world of his perverted presence.
“And Dolf,” he sneered. “I should have known there wouldn’t be one without the other.”
The male shrugged, the crystal hung around his neck glinting in the muted overhead light. “Did you think you could keep me in the closet forever?”
“I should have killed you the minute I realized your sister had managed to get you turned.” He covertly shifted to stand between the curs and Cassie. “You’re a freak of nature.”
“I’m a freak of nature?” Dolf mocked, folding his arms over his chest. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, Caine? You’re the one who walked into a cave as a cur and walked out as a Were.”
“Yeah,” Ingrid added. “We’re all agog with curiosity at how you performed that little miracle.”
“Is that why you lured me here?”
Without warning, the faux Harley rose from the chair, shaking back her long mane of blond hair. “No.” The female moved to the side, her gaze seeking Cassie. “You’re here because the Dark Lord has requested the presence of the prophet.”
Caine heard Cassie suck in a sharp breath. “You aren’t my sister,” she accused.
“Obviously not,” Gaius retorted, grimacing with intense relief.
That was his cue.
With a surge of power, he shifted back to his true form, grabbing the long satin robe he’d left on the nearby shelf to cover his naked body. Then, smoothing back his raven hair, he turned to meet the wary gazes of the intruders.
They didn’t look like they should be on the Dark Lord’s most wanted list. The tiny, pale-haired female with her green eyes too big for the heart-shaped face and the surfer boy Were who looked like he should be sunbathing on the nearest beach.
How had they managed to elude the most skilled trackers in the demon world?
Then Caine placed a protective arm around the prophet and Gaius caught a glimpse of feral fury smoldering in the blue eyes. The surfer boy would destroy the world to protect the female at his side.
“Shit. Who are you?” Caine muttered in revulsion. “No, scratch that. What the hell are you?”
Insulted by the lack of appreciation for his considerable skill, Gaius smoothed his hands down the black satin of his robe. “I don’t know why I’m continually shocked by the Weres’ lack of manners,” he drawled. “You are dogs, after all.”
Caine narrowed his gaze, obviously struggling to accept Gaius’s unusual talents. “Leeches can’t shape-shift.”
“I have powers beyond your imagination.”
The Were snorted. “And an ego to match.”
Gaius clenched his teeth, waving his hand at the two curs. He wasn’t going to bicker with a damned dog. Not when he was standing in the wine cellar of the King of Weres. The sooner they were away from St. Louis and back in his lair, the better.
“Get the seer,” he commanded.
Caine growled, his eyes glowing with power as he prepared to shift. “Over my dead body.”
Dolf swiftly shed his clothing, his own eyes flashing the crimson of all curs. “That can be arranged.”
“No, you idiots, the Dark Lord wants them taken alive,” Gaius snarled as the air around Ingrid and Dolf shimmered and with the savage sound of popping muscle and bone they shifted into wolves.
The size of small ponies with pale fur and crimson eyes, they bared their fangs, ignoring Gaius’s sharp reprimand as they kept their attention fixated on Caine.
Muscle-bound morons. If their lust for violence ruined this opportunity for him to please the Dark Lord and reap his long overdue reward, he was going to have them skinned and nailed to his wall.
Not that their lack of control seemed to matter. Even as they crouched for an attack, a choking heat filled the cellar and with an explosion of power Caine was shifting. Gaius muttered a curse, watching in horror as the monstrous beast appeared out of the shimmering magic.
Standing as tall as Gaius even on all four legs, the beast’s head was the size of an anvil and his chest as wide as a small car. Even more unnerving was the ruthless intelligence burning like sapphire fire in his eyes.
Unlike the curs, Caine wasn’t consumed by his bloodlust. Just the opposite.
With a frustrating cunning, the Were used his head to herd the reluctant prophet into the cement cell, then blocked the narrow doorway with his large body. There would be no getting to Cassandra without going through Caine.
Bastardo.
Gaius took a covert step backward as Ingrid and Dolf charged into the literal jaws of death. He had no intention of getting caught in the fray. Not when he was drained from his shape-shifting, not to mention the effort of mist-walking with two curs and a witch to get to this wine cellar in the first place.
Instead, he waved an imperious hand toward the witch, who tried her best to hide behind a stone column. “Sally.”
Her feet visibly dragged as she forced herself to move to his side. “What?”
He scowled at her petulant tone. “Are you just going to stand here gawking?”
She sent a wary glance toward the snarling curs who were trying to use the tag-team offense against the larger Were.
A futile effort.
Even as one managed to dig their fangs into Caine’s thick fur, he was savagely ripping into the flesh of the other. Of course, the brutal battle did mean he was temporarily distracted.
“What do you want me to do?” Sally demanded, her nose wrinkling as the potent scent of blood saturated the air. Or maybe it was the howls of pain that echoed through the cellar as Caine managed to rip a chunk out of Dolf ’s muzzle.
The two curs were managing to wound the Were, but not without taking a dangerous amount of damage.
“You’re a witch, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “It’s too small a space to risk a spell.”
“You were quick enough to use magic when we first arrived.”
“That was a harmless masking spell to disguise our presence in this place,” she reminded him, her gaze deliberately skimming down his tense body. “Not all of us have been . . . neutered.”
Gaius grasped the bitch by her neck, infuriated by the reminder he’d allowed himself to be stripped of his very essence. Digging his claws into her throat, he yanked her off her feet, holding her so they were eye to eye. “Don’t think you can taunt me, witch,” he hissed, his voice thickening with an accent as ancient as the Roman Empire.
She grabbed his wrist, her eyes wide with agony. “The Dark Lord—”
“Will accept my most abject apologies for the death of his conduit and swiftly find another,” he smoothly interrupted.