“It’s not your fault, my love.”

Styx instinctively reached for his tiny Were mate, pulling her into his arms and allowing her presence to ease his need for destruction. “I’m the Anasso,” he said, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. “It’s my duty to protect my people.”

Darcy wrapped her arms around his waist. “Now is not the time to dwell on failure. We must concentrate on what comes next.”

Styx’s growl rumbled through the room. “Chaos comes next,” he told her. “The Dark Lord has both of the children. The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

She gave a click of her tongue, tilting back her head to regard him with a chiding frown. “We don’t fully know what the words of the prophecy mean,” she said. “But I do know that the easiest way for the Dark Lord to defeat us is for us to simply give up.”

Ever the optimist, he wryly acknowledged. Which worked out just fine, considering he gave the definition of pessimist a whole new meaning. His gaze skimmed over her delicate face. This female was the light to his dark. Tenderness to his brutality.

The heart to his brawn.

Which made her a treasure beyond price. And specifically why he’d refused her request to join him.

“I thought I told you to stay at home.”

She snorted at his reproach. “And you know how well I obey orders.”

He brushed her lips with a rueful kiss. “Troublemaker.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“No,” he instantly agreed, pressing her head back to his chest and returning his cheek to the top of her head. “I’m afraid, my angel.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hands running up and down his back in a soothing caress. “We all are.”

“If we can’t stop—”

“Shh,” she interrupted his dark words. “We’ll find a way.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“We’re the good guys.”

His short laugh bounced off the cement walls. No one had ever called him one of the “good guys.”

“I doubt you could find many who would agree with that rather prejudiced claim.” Styx abruptly stiffened, lifting his head to glare at the miniature gargoyle who waddled through the door. “Get out.”

Levet stuck out his tongue, as always impervious to the fact that Styx could crush him with one hand. “Is that any way to speak to a demon who is attempting to save your sausage?” the aggravating demon mocked.

Styx scowled. “What the—”

“Bacon,” Darcy explained, pulling away to send a brilliant smile toward the walking, talking chunk of granite. “Save your bacon.”

Styx rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I picked up his scent.”

“Kostas?”

“Oui. He used a tunnel hidden behind a spell of illusion.” The gossamer wings fluttered. “A very good spell. I nearly missed it.”

“I never thought I’d say this.” Grudgingly, Styx pulled his sword and pointed toward the door. “Lead on.”

Using his medallion to travel to the Dark Lord’s prison, Gaius placed the child in the swirling mists and lowered himself to his knees. Bending his head, he waited for his presence to be noticed.

He sensed time passing, although it was impossible to judge the exact length in the strange fog, and in truth, he didn’t really care. Since his last tête-à-tête with the Dark Lord he’d become . . . what? Not indifferent. Not even numb.

It was more a sensation of being resigned. As if the last thread of hope he’d clung to since the death of Dara had snapped, leaving him to float in a sea of defeat.

He would do as he was commanded, quite simply because he had no choice. But his fierce belief that he would soon be reunited with his mate was fading with every passing hour, leaving behind an empty void.

Eventually, he felt the crushing power that warned of the Dark Lord’s steady approach. He shuddered at the sensation of his skin being flayed from his flesh, but he wisely kept his head lowered.

“Ah, Gaius.” A girlish giggle sliced through the fog. “So you have learned discretion.”

“Yes . . .” He struggled for a suitable title. “Mistress.”

“Mistress, hmmm. I suppose that will do.”

Gaius kept his head down. “I have brought you the child.”

“So you have.” He felt a stir of air, the punishing pain easing. “Bring him to me.”

Reluctantly glancing up, Gaius discovered the Dark Lord had created a throne out of the swirling mist and was perched on it, wearing a white sundress. Cristo. She looked like a Homecoming Queen, not the ultimate of all evil. Then the crimson fires of hell flared in the guileless blue eyes, ruining the image of purity.

“Gaius?” she snapped with impatience. “I’m waiting.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Rising to his feet, Gaius scooped the child into his arms, refusing to glance down. The baby had always been destined to be sacrificed. There was nothing he could do to alter fate, was there? Shoving the warm bundle into the female’s outstretched arms, he backed away and stoically waited for her next commands.

The Dark Lord gave a lift of her brow. “Don’t you intend to demand your payment?”

Gaius shrugged. “Would it do any good?”

“There’s no need to pout, vampire,” the lethal female chided. “You shall soon be given your just rewards.”

Just rewards.

Gaius shuddered, recalling Dolf being consumed by black mist. At this moment the only reward he dared hope for was escaping the encounter without some hideous torture.

“Shall I return to my lair and await your next command?” he asked.

“Surely you want to witness my glorious resurrection as the Gemini?” The evil creature sounded truly shocked that Gaius wasn’t begging for the opportunity to bask in her transformation.

“I’m only your humble servant,” Gaius reminded her. “There are others much more worthy for such a blessing.”

“Why, Gaius.” The blue eyes shimmered with crimson fire, the pain returning to slam him to his knees. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were anxious to leave me.”

Careful, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. This female was a god. Which meant her vanity was as inflated as her powers. Just the implication that he might prefer to be somewhere else would be enough to earn him punishment.

“Not anxious, but I do need to feed.”

“That can wait.”

It was a command, not a suggestion. Gaius nodded in defeat. “Very well.”

Confident that Gaius was playing the dutiful audience, the female turned her attention to the child squirming in her arms. Her expression was one of clinical curiosity, as if making sure there weren’t any defects in her creation.

“A charming baby, don’t you think?”

Gaius frowned. Was this a trick question? It was well known that children were an Achilles’ heel to vampires. They instinctively refused to harm a baby of any species. Or even a pregnant female.

“Yes. Charming.”

“I’ve never understood the fuss made over offspring. Slaves are easier to control and less inclined to be a disappointment.” The Dark Lord wrinkled her nose, sniffing the baby’s diaper. “They also smell better.”

“Most creatures feel the urge to procreate.”

The Dark Lord lifted her head, the blue eyes flickering with crimson. “Did you?”

Gaius flinched. He didn’t believe in coincidences. So why was he being forced to think of Santiago yet again?

A warning?

“Yes. I have—” He halted, grimacing as he corrected his words. “I had a son.”

“He’s dead?”

Gaius shook his head. “No, but he’s lost to me.”

“Lost?” The Dark Lord frowned. “You make no sense.”

“It no longer matters.” Anxious to turn the conversation away from Santiago, Gaius pointed toward the baby. “What will you do with the child?”

There was a long, tense moment as the female no doubt considered the pleasure of tormenting Gaius with the loss of his son. Then, abruptly losing interest, the female instead returned her attention to the babe.

“He will become a part of me as it was always destined to be. But first . . .”

The words trailed away and Gaius stiffened. Now what? He’d captured the prophet and her protector, as well as the baby. Two impossible tasks. He’d gone beyond the call of duty, hadn’t he?

It would seem not, he silently accepted as the Dark Lord sent him a frown, clearly waiting for him to react.

“Yes?”

Her dimples flashed. “A sacrifice must be made.”

He hissed in sharp surprise. “Me?”

Her smile widened at his sharp flare of fear. “Are you offering?”

He grimly fought back his panic. “I doubt I would be suitable.”

“Are you certain?”

“Mistress, please . . .”