As if aware of Styx's looming form, Salvatore gave a choked cough and forced open his eyes.
"End it, vampire," he muttered.
Offering a faint bow, Styx began to raise his sword.
"Styx . . . no!" Darcy cried, relieved when Levet grudgingly released his imprisoning hold so she could move forward. With stumbling steps, she reached Styx's side and grasped his arm. "Please, don't kill him."
For a heartbeat Darcy thought that Styx intended to ignore her plea. Standing so close to him, she couldn't foil to sense the taut fury that radiated from his stiff body.
After a tension-fraught moment, the dark head slowly turned and pinned her with a smoldering gaze.
"He will remain a threat to you as long as he lives," he growled.
A wise woman would have immediately fled from the sight of Styx's fully extended fangs and blood-splattered face. There was a savagery in the cast of his features that would terrify the stoutest heart.
She didn't so much as flinch, however, as she pressed her fingers into the granite hardness of his arm.
She would never fear this man.
Not even when he was in full vampire mode.
"He can't hurt me as long as I have you to protect me," she pointed out softly. "Please."
He glared down at her pleading expression before he gave a low hiss of annoyance.
"Bloody hell." Lowering his sword, he shifted his glare to the wounded Salvatore. "Remember this, wolf, if you so much as cross paths with Darcy I will not hesitate. You will be dead before you can take a breath."
With a low groan the Were managed to push himself to a half-seated position. Since he was completely nude it was easy to see that his wound was beginning to knit together, although he was far from healed.
His head hung down, his black hair covering his narrow face.
"Save your threats. I have failed. Soon enough the Weres will be extinct and the vampires can rejoice in our passing."
Styx narrowed his gaze, his jaw tightening at the bitter charge. "I have no desire to see the end of the Weres."
Salvatore gave a short laugh that ended in a painful cough. Darcy winced in sympathy. "Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe. You have imprisoned us to the point that we are incapable of producing children."
"You blame us for your lack of offspring?" Styx demanded.
"The doctors have confirmed my theory." Salvatore slowly lifted his head, his face pale but his golden eyes flashing with anger. "The wolves were meant to roam free. By keeping us caged you have slowly stolen our traditional powers. The most important of which is our females' ability to control their shifts during pregnancy."
Styx fell silent as he considered the ominous words. Then his expression hardened as he realized what Salvatore's words revealed.
"That's why you desired Darcy?"
Salvatore shrugged, clearly past caring who knew his plans. "Yes. She was . . . altered so that her werewolf traits were suppressed."
Levet made a disgusted sound. "That's why I couldn't tell what she was."
Styx's gaze never left the Were crouched on the floor.
Instinctively Darcy grasped his arm tighter, sensing his desire to finish what he had begun.
"She will never be yours," he rasped.
"Styx," she said in a pleading tone.
His head jerked to the side, his eyes hard and glittering in the dim light.
"No, Darcy. Please do not ask this of me."
Darcy blinked before she realized that he thought she was pleading for the opportunity to have a litter of children for the Weres.
She instinctively shuddered.
She had never been a woman who was overwhelmed by the need to produce babies. And certainly she wasn't going to sleep with a string of strangers for the sole purpose of having children.
That was . . . just wrong.
"Never," she assured him, with a small smile. "I only wanted to suggest that the vampires and Weres try to discover some means to compromise. There has to be a way that the Weres can regain their strength."
Both men regarded her with a faint hint of surprise. As if the idea of actually sitting down and discussing their quarrel was some sort of foreign concept.
And maybe it was.
"We could put it before the Commission," Styx at last grudgingly conceded. "They have already gathered here in Chicago."
Darcy turned her attention to the wounded Were. "Salvatore, are you willing to negotiate?"
He gave a low snarl as he glared at the vampire looming over him. "What is the point? We are mere dogs who have no say in the world of demons."
"That is not true," Styx denied coldly. "The Commission is above all races. They will give you a fair hearing."
"You want me to go on my knees and beg?"
"God save me from men and their pride," Darcy muttered. "What if it does take a bit of begging? Surely that's a small price to pay for the salvation of your— our—people?"
His dark eyes flashed with annoyance. "We have no certainty it will change our fate."
Darcy gritted her teeth. Salvatore sounded far more like a sulky child than a fierce leader of werewolves.
Obviously he needed a prodding to recall his position.
"Fine, then I will go and speak to this Commission," Darcy declared. "Someone must show some sense."
As expected, Salvatore instantly bristled with wounded pride. "No one speaks for the Weres but me. I am king."
Darcy met his glare squarely. "Then act like one."
He stiffened, but surprisingly he gave a faint bow of his head. "You are right. I will do my duty."
"Maybe there is hope for you yet," Darcy murmured.
Salvatore narrowed his gaze, a speculative expression rippling over his face. He was at least smart enough to know when he had been manipulated.
His gaze slowly slid toward Styx. "You have bested me, vampire, but I do not entirely envy you your prize."
Annoyingly a small smile touched Styx's lips.
"She tends to grow on one."
Salvatore gave a disbelieving snort. "If you say so."
Darcy gave a shake of her head. Minutes ago the two demons had been determined to kill one another. Now they were sharing one of those man-to-man moments that were always at the expense of women.
"Enough. I'm tired, hungry, and in dire need of a hot shower. I want to go home."
Styx oddly stilled before he slowly turned his head to regard her with an unreadable expression.
"Home?" he demanded softly.
Abruptly realizing she had indeed used the "H" word, Darcy sucked in a deep breath.
Good grief, when had it happened?
When had she accepted that being near Styx was all she needed to feel as if she was home?
Slowly breathing out, she decided that it didn't really matter. The when, the why, the how was in the past.
The future was all that mattered.
Her future with Styx.
"Yes." She allowed a smile to curve her lips. "Home."
Styx reached out to pull her tightly against his body, his lips brushing the top of her head.
"My angel."
About to snuggle even closer, Darcy was halted by the sound of Levet's harsh sigh.
"Sacre bleu. Here we go again."
With a chuckle Darcy pulled back, although Styx refused to loosen her hand. Which was just fine with her.
"Okay, Levet, you've made your point. We're going."
The gargoyle gave a happy flap of his wings. "And I'm driving."
"No," Styx and Darcy growled in unison.
Styx took the lead as they left the rapidly healing Salvatore and moved down the final flight of stairs. He wanted to be away from the nasty lair. And not just because there was still danger lurking in the dark corridors.
Unable to resist, his gaze shifted to the woman walking at his side.
As always his body stirred with the usual heat and a fierce tenderness that was oddly mixed with sheer male possession. Those were as inevitable as the sun rising. But mixed with those sensations was an unmistakable sense of triumph.
Darcy had chosen him over her own pack.
Granted, her pack had hardly proven to be the loving family she had always hoped for, he ruefully acknowledged. More the Munsters than the Cleavers.
But, on the other hand, she wasn't a woman who had to cling to anyone, was she? Even if her family was a disappointment it would never force her to turn to him.
The gods knew that she had enough independence and belief in her own ability to take care of herself. She would never remain with him unless it was what she absolutely wanted.
Struggling to hide the goofy grin that threatened to spread across his face, Styx was recalled to his surroundings when Levet reached up to rudely tug on his shirt.
"Where are we going?"
"Back to the garage."
Levet scowled at his perfectly reasonable answer. "You can't mean to take Darcy through those sewers?"
"Oh, they were good enough for me, but not for Darcy?" Styx demanded.
"Of course."
Styx had to laugh. The gargoyle was at least consistent. "Do not fear. I have every confidence that Viper managed to have a form of transportation awaiting us."