What male, especially a male werewolf, would willingly leave the warm, welcoming arms of his mate?

Unfortunately, he was also a king, which meant he couldn’t avoid his responsibilities. No matter what the temptation.

Reminding himself that the sooner he was done with his business the sooner he could return to Harley, Salvatore forced his reluctant feet to carry him down to the kitchen to briefly speak with Darcy, and then to the back of the mansion where he found Styx.

Entering the long narrow room, he lifted his brows in amused appreciation.

Like the rest of the house, the room was drenched with a profusion of ivory and gilt, with massive chandeliers that hung from a cavernous ceiling. But instead of delicate furnishings and expensive carpeting, the walls were lined with glass cases that held rows of weapons. Guns, swords, crossbows, maces, daggers…the only thing missing was a rocket launcher, and Salvatore wouldn’t have been surprised if there was one or two tucked inside the wooden cabinets at the back of the room.

The floor was an expensive parquet affair, patterned in a sunburst, but there were also a half dozen workout mats tossed across the glossy wood, with casual indifference to the beauty of the craftsmanship.

Salvatore had his own armory and Olympic-sized gym in his Roman lair. What demon didn’t? But the contrast between the frilly French décor and the brutal arsenal was absurd enough to bring a smile to his lips.

He took another step forward, his gaze catching sight of Styx in a far corner.

The ancient vampire was wearing nothing more than a loose pair of yoga pants, with his long hair pulled back in a braid as he whirled a massive sword through the air. His movements were fluid and perfectly measured, the mark of a true swordsman.

A predator.

Salvatore’s wolf stirred in instinctive response.

Weeks ago, he and Styx had pitted their strengths against each other.

Styx had won that battle, arrogant bloodsucker, but Salvatore knew that things would be different now. With the demon lord dead and the power of his mating with Harley pulsing through his blood, he would prove a far greater match for the ancient vampire.

As if sensing Salvatore’s thoughts, Styx turned to regard his guest with a piercing gaze, the sword held loosely in his hand. Then, with a faint smile, he reached to pluck a matching sword from the glass case on the wall and casually tossed it in Salvatore’s direction.

Snatching the ornately carved hilt, Salvatore strolled forward, a growl of anticipation rumbling in his chest.

“Preparing for an invasion, Styx?” he drawled, gesturing toward the vast array of weapons.

“A good king is always prepared.” A taunting smile curled his lips. “Besides, I never know when I might be challenged by an arrogant Were who doesn’t know his place.”

“My place?” Salvatore paused to strip off the elegant Gucci jacket and white silk shirt. Then, kicking off the shoes, he lifted the sword in a silent invitation. “Do I have to teach you my place?”

“You are welcomed to try.”

Sweeping his sword upward, Styx attacked.

Salvatore was prepared, and with a swift motion he met the brutal flurry of strikes. His true strength was in his wolf, but he possessed enough power and skill with the sword to hold his own, even managing to get in a few blows.

Easily sensing Salvatore’s increased ability since their last confrontation, Styx flashed his fangs in a lethal smile, slicing his sword through the air with a ferocious speed. Salvatore grunted as his muscles absorbed the merciless impact of the attack, flowing in a seamless dance from one side to another.

They sparred in silence, retreating and advancing to the sharp crash of colliding steel and a shower of sparks.

Astonishingly, Salvatore found himself enjoying the mock skirmish. As King of Weres, it was difficult to find a partner who could match his strength, let alone his expertise. It was stimulating to fight a worthy adversary.

Even if that adversary was a leech.

Shoving aside his fear at Harley’s refusal to acknowledge their mating bond and the nagging certainty that Briggs was still out there somewhere, Salvatore lost himself in the pure pleasure of pitting himself against the immense vampire.

A mixture of sweat and blood from shallow wounds coated their skin before both of them stepped apart in mutual agreement.

With a feral smile, Styx set aside his sword and moved through an open door at the back of the room. He disappeared for only a moment before he returned with two damp towels, tossing one in Salvatore’s direction.

Salvatore put the sword on a nearby stand to be cleaned and oiled. Then he gratefully scrubbed away the sweat and blood. Whatever Hollywood director had decided that werewolves were savage, uncivilized beasts had never actually met a pureblood. No creature with such an acute sense of smell could be anything but fastidious.

Of course, not all Weres were blessed with his exquisite taste in fashion.

Styx leaned casually against a glass case, the wounds marring his broad chest rapidly healing.

“The mating with Harley has increased your strength.”

“It has.” Salvatore smiled wryly, realizing that the vampire hadn’t just been casually sparring. He was the Anasso and he would make it his priority to know the precise amount of power the King of Weres could call on. No one, after all, could call him stupid. “Along with the death of the demon lord.”

Styx narrowed his eyes, his expression hard with frustration.

“How the bloody hell could he have remained hidden from us all these years?”

Salvatore understood the vampire’s anger. The demon lord had managed to deceive them all.

“Because he truly wasn’t in this world.” Salvatore shrugged. “Without Mackenzie and then Briggs, the bastard would never have been able to injure the Weres.”

Styx grimaced. “They willingly allowed themselves to be anchors?”

“Si. Worthless cowards.”

“Unfortunately, there are always those willing to sell their souls for power. You are certain the demon lord is dead?”

Salvatore took a moment to consider his answer.

During the confusion of the battle with the demon lord, followed by his hasty flight with Harley from the collapsing caves, he’d been too distracted to consider precisely what had happened to Balam.

All he knew was that the ravaging pain was gone, and that the bastard had at least been severely wounded. They never would have managed to escape if he hadn’t been.

It wasn’t until he’d awaken a few hours ago that he’d realized just how dramatically the world had altered.

“I’m not sure anything can kill a demon lord, but I know his connection to this world has been severed.” His lips curled in a smile of satisfaction. “Already I can feel the strength of my packs beginning to increase.”

“I can sense it as well.” Styx regarded him with a steady gaze. “Soon the formidable powers of the Weres will no longer be just an ancient memory.”

Salvatore didn’t miss the hint of warning, and his chin tilted in defiance.

The Weres had spent too long in the shadow of the vamps. He intended to make sure they were given the respect they so richly deserved.

“We will rule as we were intended to,” he said without apology.

Their gazes clashed in a silent battle of wills, then a slow smile curved Styx’s lips.

Like all demons, he respected power.

“It should be interesting.”

“Si.”

“Do you intend to remain in America?”

“Once I’ve concluded my business, I will need to return to my neglected duties as king. It’s been too long since I’ve visited my packs.” Salvatore grimaced, considering the number of months it would take to complete his task before he could return to his lair in Rome. Not that he had a choice. His connection to his packs was something that had to be cherished and nurtured. And the only means to do that was by spending time among them. “I hope Harley enjoys traveling.”

“She is prepared to take her position as queen?”

“She’s…” Salvatore reached for his shirt, yanking it on, although he left it hanging open. There were still a few slashes on his chest healing, and he wasn’t about to risk staining the fine silk of his shirt. “Adjusting.”

Styx’s laugh echoed through the room, and moving to the back cabinet, he poured them both a healthy shot of whiskey, returning to press one glass into Salvatore’s willing hand.

“Have patience, amigo. Female purebloods might be stubborn beyond reason, but they are well worth the trouble.”

“You don’t have to convince me of my mate’s worth.”

“Actually, it was more an offer of sympathy. Your life will never be the same.”

Salvatore snorted. As if he needed a reminder. Already his gut was tied in knots as he struggled between the instinct to return upstairs and force Harley to accept her place as his queen, and his duty to hunt down and destroy the remaining danger to his Weres.

He’d been mated…what? A handful of days?

Cristo.

“For once we’re in perfect agreement.” Raising his glass in a mocking toast, Salvatore downed the whiskey in one swallow. “Salute.”