"I crossed paths with Salvatore tonight, angel. He is a dangerous pureblood and he is desperate to have you in his power. If I released you, I do not doubt he would make you his prisoner."

He was touching her face. Nothing more, but it sent a sizzling wave of excitement racing through her.

Holy cow. She had to physically stop herself from reaching up to tug that glorious hair from his braid.

Stop this, Darcy Smith, she told herself sternly.

Her very life might be in danger and all she could think about was this testosterone-blessed vampire.

"I'm not completely helpless," she muttered.

"Perhaps not, but you are no match for a werewolf of his strength."

"Would being his prisoner be so much different from being yours?"

This time there was no mistaking his sharp hiss. If she hadn't wounded him, she had at least managed to offend him.

"I have offered you no harm," he said in a stiff tone. "Indeed, I have done everything in my power to provide you with comfort."

Despite the absurd pang of guilt, Darcy refused to be contrite. She was the victim here, wasn't she?

"Yes, and while I'm here in this comfort I'm losing my jobs, my rent is overdue, and my plants are dying," she charged, tugging her chin from his grasp. "I may not have much of a life, but it's mine and you're ruining it."

He didn't bother to be contrite either.

"You don't need to worry about money. I have ..."

Her hand shot out to cover his mouth before she could halt the instinctive gesture. "Don't even say it. I'm not a charity case."

His frown deepened. "It is just money. I have no need for it and you do."

"No. I earn my own way."

"You are being absurdly stubborn."

Her chin tilted. She might be his captive, but she wasn't his property.

"It's my right."

Chapter Five

Styx awoke the next evening decidedly grumpy and completely alone in his room deep below the house.

Although all the bedrooms possessed tinted windows and shutters heavy enough to protect a vampire from the sun, Styx felt more comfortable among the dark tunnels that ran beneath the vast estate.

And, of course, it was the only certain means of guaranteeing that he didn't give in to temptation and return to the bed of his aggravating guest.

How was a mere vampire supposed to understand such a strange creature, he brooded as he soaked in Viper's large tub, and then spent nearly a half hour braiding his wet hair.

They had shared the most intimate of embraces. She had screamed in fulfillment as he had taken her very essence into his body. They had been as one. Bound as only a vampire and his lover could be.

It had been glorious.

Astonishingly glorious.

Even as a vampire he had realized just how rare their union had been. As a human she should have been utterly enthralled.

Instead, she had muttered about wanting to leave him and refused to even accept a portion of his considerable wealth.

He was still sulking as he climbed the stairs and entered the large kitchen. Unfortunately, his mood was not at all improved by the tiny gargoyle who was sitting at the table as he polished off the last of his dinner.

A dinner that Styx suspected had been captured in the nearby woods and eaten raw.

Not that he particularly cared. Given the opportunity, he would be upstairs hunting his own sweet meal. But he had a feeling that Darcy wouldn't be pleased to walk in and discover Levet consuming a dead carcass in the kitchen.

The gargoyle hopped from his chair and flashed a grin.

"Dead man walking."

Styx frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind," Levet sighed. "So few truly understand my humor."

Supremely indifferent to the gargoyle's odd humor, Styx turned his attention to far more important matters.

"Has Darcy risen yet?"

Levet shrugged. "I haven't seen her, but then that might be because you have her room guarded as if she were a rabid animal instead of a sweet young woman."

Styx stiffened in anger. Why did everyone presume the worst in him?

"The guards are there for her protection," he said in an icy tone. "Or would you prefer that she be carried off by a pack of werewolves?"

The little demon had the audacity to smile. "I'm just saying..."

"Saying what?"

"That you have a great deal to learn about winning friends and influencing people."

Styx swallowed his anger. He wasn't about to explain himself to a mere gargoyle. Moving across the kitchen, he picked up the small purse he had taken from the bar on the night he captured Darcy.

"I have a task I need you to perform."

"Me?" Level's eyes widened as he watched Styx do a thorough search of the strange contents stuffed into the leather bag. "Hey, is that Darcy's purse? You can't just. .."

"I lush," Styx commanded as he pulled out the item he had been searching for and handed it to the demon.

Studying the small, laminated square, Levet gave a soft whistle. "Wow. She's a beauty, even in a driver's license picture. I wonder how she feels about interspecies dating? You know I'm a fine catch—"

"I want you to memorize the address," Styx interrupted. It was that or choking the annoying pest. If he so much as casted a lingering glance at Darcy, he would discover just what it meant to anger a master vampire.

"Why?"

"Darcy is concerned about her plants. I want you to go to her apartment and collect them."

There was a silent beat as Levet regarded him as if he had grown a second head.

"Her plants?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to bring them here?"

Styx gave an impatient hiss. It really wasn't that difficult a task.

"Of course bring them here."

"Okaaaay."

"Is something the matter?"

"No." An annoying smile crossed the creature's grotesque features. "I think it's lovely that you are concerned about her plants."

"I am not." Styx pointed toward the door. "Just go."

Levet gave a ridiculous bat of his lashes. "Anything else while I'm there? A stuffed toy? Or her favorite blanket?"

"You can bring her clothes," Styx abruptly decided. "Humans seem to have a preference for familiar items."

"Very thoughtful of you."

Styx slowly narrowed his gaze. "Do you have any other observations you wish to make?"

Entirely missing the lethal edge in Styx's soft voice, the gargoyle allowed his smile to widen as he regarded his host's black leather pants, high boots, sheer silk shirt, and delicate turquoise amulets threaded through his braid.

The smile became positively huge as Styx shifted in discomfort.

"Well, I was going to compliment you on your appearance. Such elegance for a vampire who was happy to grub about in caves. Such savoir faire—" The words broke off as Styx took a threatening step forward. "I... urn ... not at the moment. I'll just be on my way."

"You are smarter than you look, demon," Styx growled.

Waiting until the gargoyle had scuttled from the kitchen, Styx turned on his heel and headed through the distant door.

By the gods, he would not be mocked by a miniature gargoyle.

He was a grown man, and if he desired to take care with his appearance, it was no one's concern but his own.

It had nothing to do with his beautiful captive.

He gave a small grimace.

All right. Maybe it did have something to do with Darcy. Maybe it had everything to do with Darcy. But it was still not the concern of a busybody gargoyle.

Making his way through the dark house, he paused at one of the unused bedrooms to gather a thick brocade robe left behind by Viper before returning to the hall and opening the door to Darcy's room.

He stepped within only to come to an abrupt halt on the threshold.

A sharp stab of unease clenched his chest as his gaze moved over the rumpled, empty bed and the equally empty room.

Had she slipped away while he had slept? Had Salvatore managed to sneak through the security and take her?

On the point of calling for every vampire in the state to begin an all-out search, Styx paused as he caught the unmistakable scent of fresh flowers.

"Angel?" he said softly.

The door to the connecting bathroom opened and Darcy entered the room covered in nothing more than a fluffy white towel.

Styx clenched his hands at his sides as his fangs instinctively lengthened.

There wasn't much of her, even for a human. Still, he couldn't deny a fierce fascination with the pale, delicate limbs and faint curves annoyingly hidden beneath the towel. And that face . . .

His body hardened as he studied the wide, innocent eyes and the full lips. Lips that made a man dream of having them exploring all sorts of intimate places.

"Cripes." Not seeming to share his immediate flare of desire, she clutched the towel tighter and glared at him in annoyance. "Have you ever heard of knocking? Even a prisoner should be allowed some privacy."