"Unless he intended to circle back after he lost us," Hess pointed out.

"A possibility, but doubtful. Styx does not yet fear us. If he were returning to his lair, he would have done so and dared us to retrieve the woman."

Hess gave a snarl to reveal his elongated teeth. The Were hated vampires with a passion.

"Why was he at the bar?"

"That is the question, is it not?" Salvatore replied.

"You think we have a snitch?" Hess's blue eyes began to glow with a dangerous light. As a cur, he was unable to control his change when he lost his temper. "Not for long. I've always liked the taste of traitor tartare."

"Remain under control," Salvatore snapped. "We have no proof there is a spy among us, and I won't have the pack turning on each other over false rumors and suspicion. Not when we are so close. If there is a spy I will deal with the traitor. Is that understood?"

There was a moment when Hess battled against his instincts, and then with a shudder, the glow began to fade.

"You're the boss."

Circling the desk, Salvatore moved toward the map on the wall. He made an impatient motion toward Hess.

"Come and show me precisely where you lost the trail."

Joining his leader, the cur pointed to a small dot north of the city. "It was just beyond here."

"So he was definitely headed out of town. He had his Ravens with him?"

"Yes."

"He must have another lair," Salvatore concluded. "It is too cold to leave a human exposed to such elements for long. Take your best scouts and begin searching for their trail. They can't remain hidden forever."

Hess hesitated. Almost as if a genuine thought had managed to penetrate his thick skull.

"My lord?"

"Yes?"

"You have not yet told us what is so important about this human."

Salvatore gave a lift of his brow. "Nor do I intend to. Not until it suits me to do so. Is that a problem?"

The heavy face paled. "No, of course not. It's just that there are a few of the pack who are not comfortable in the city. They wonder when we will return to our hunting grounds."

"Hunting grounds?" With a growl Salvatore paced toward the center of the room. Even before coming to America he had heard of the Weres's treaty with the vampires, but he hadn't actually believed they had endured being no more than chained beasts. Not until he had seen it with his own eyes. "Is that what you call that pathetic patch of ground the vampires keep us caged in?"

Hess shrugged. He was a cur. He didn't possess the strength to battle the vampires head-on, and he had been forced to be content with whatever they would dole out.

"It's private enough we can change and hunt whenever we want. It's more than we can do here."

"It is a prison that is used to slowly exterminate us," Salvatore rasped, his pacing taking him toward his small armory against the wall. "With every passing year there are fewer and fewer of us. Soon enough our race will be gone from the world and the vampires will celebrate our passing."

"And how's coming to Chicago supposed to help?" Hess complained. "The humans still die when they're bitten. We haven't found one who survived."

Salvatore stiffened. "I told you to keep the curs in check. I don't want attention drawn to us."

He heard Hess shuffle his feet. "You keep them locked in this building night after night. Sometimes instinct just takes over."

Salvatore whirled about, a crossbow in his hand. He pointed the loaded arrow directly at the head of his guest.

"Instinct? If this uncontrollable instinct endangers my plans or brings trouble to the rest of the pack, the cur responsible will die by my hand. And you will go to his grave with him. Is that clear?"

In the blink of an eye the cur was on his knees, his head pressed to the wooden floor. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good." Salvatore tossed the crossbow on the desk. He hadn't needed the weapon to kill the man. It was more of a . . . visual aide that helped him to make his point. "Now gather the men and start tracking the woman. The sooner we find her the sooner we leave here."

"Of course."

Hess remained on his knees as he crawled backward out the door and closed it behind him. Salvatore waited until he heard the sound of running footsteps before he pulled the cell phone from his pocket.

He hit the speed dial and waited until he heard the sound of a familiar female voice.

"It's me," he murmured, his voice smooth and unreadable. "No, she managed to escape, but I have the scouts tracking her. She won't elude me for long. You have my word that soon she will be home, where she belongs."

Chapter Three

Darcy was definitely freaked.

She had awakened freaked to discover herself in a strange bedroom with a tall, drop-dead gorgeous man hovering over her. She had been more freaked when he had begun peppering her with questions like they were speed dating. And superfreaked when he had started slicing himself up and babbling about being a vampire.

But being freaked didn't stop a small, undeniable flare of relief from warming her heart.

How many years had she fretted and brooded over the knowledge that there was something different about her? How often had she pulled away from others out of fear they might discover her hidden secrets and treat her as some sort of monster?

Growing up in foster homes had taught her that people didn't trust anything that strayed from the norm. No matter how good the hearts of those who cared for her, they couldn't accept her oddities. They feared what they didn't understand, and none of them wanted her to remain beneath their roof.

She had been shoved through twenty homes in sixteen years. At last she had decided the streets were preferable. No matter how hard it was to survive, it was better than watching someone she had come to love looking at her with horror.

Now she had at last found someone just as strange as she was.

Granted he thought he was a vampire, and of course, he had rudely abducted her, but there was something weirdly comforting in the knowledge she wasn't as entirely alone as she had thought.

Cold comfort.

The words whispered through the back of her mind and she was forced to stifle a near hysterical laugh.

Cold, dead comfort.

Darcy lifted her head to stare at her captor. He had lifted himself from the bed and was standing so motionless that he might have been a mannequin.

Of course, his stillness wasn't the only unnatural thing about him.

The lean face was far too perfect. The wide brow, the deep-set black eyes surrounded by thick lashes, the sensually curved lips, the chiseled cheekbones and noble thrust of his nose. It reminded her of a polished Aztec mask. Certainly, no human had ever been that beautiful.

And what man who wasn't a rabid weight lifter or addicted to steroids could possibly possess that body?

That wasn't even to mention the blue-black hair that was intricately braided with bronze and turquoise ornaments that fell well past his waist.

He was an exotic fantasy. Just what a woman would expect for a vampire.

Or a raving lunatic.

Whichever.

Darcy tightened her fingers on the blanket and swallowed past the lump in her throat. She didn't have a clue what was going through his mind as he stared at her with that unnerving intensity.

And to be honest, it was . . . yeah, freaking her out.

"You haven't told me why I'm here," she charged. "Or even your name."

He blinked. As if he was waking from a deep sleep.

"Styx."

"Styx? Your name is Styx?"

"Yes."

Darcy grimaced. It wasn't a name to inspire warm, fuzzy feelings. But of course, he wasn't really a man to inspire anything fuzzy.

Now warm . . . hoobah.

He was fierce, terrifying, and wickedly handsome.

Too handsome with his unbuttoned shirt flapping open to reveal the perfection of his smooth, broad chest and the strange tattoo of a dragon that glittered with an odd metallic quality.

Gripes, it was probably best he was no longer on the bed with her.

It was hard to have boyfriends when you were continually worrying about accidentally hurting them. Or at the very least revealing you weren't entirely normal.

Usually it didn't bother her. She kept her life full enough that she didn't need someone else to bring her a sense of meaning. But there were times when she was close to a man, and the scent and touch of him sharply reminded her of what she was missing.

"Why did you kidnap me?' she demanded.

Styx gave a lift of his shoulder. "1 must know what the Weres want with you."

"Why?"

A beat passed and Darcy thought he might refuse to answer her question. A real problem since she didn't imagine for a moment that she could force him. He might claim she had demon blood, but it wasn't demonic enough to take on a vampire.

That much she did know.

At last he heaved a sigh and met her searching gaze. "They have been creating difficulties for me."

Hmmm. That seemed . . . suicidal.

"You are in charge of the Weres?"