Suspicion and paranoia were a vampire's best friends when it came to staying alive.

But despite his instinctive wariness, he wouldn't believe that Darcy could ever be a threat. She might possess incredible courage and a will of iron, but there was tenderness to her soul that couldn't be faked.

"Darcy is far too gentle to harm anyone," he said with absolute certainty. "Even me."

The evil smile faded as Levet heaved a small, disappointed sigh. There would be no vampire staking today.

"I must admit you have me there. She isn't at all like a demon. Or a human, for that matter."

Styx gave a lift of his brows. "Have you managed to determine what she is?"

"She is demon; there is no doubt about that." A hint of annoyance entered Levet's tone. He didn't like not being able to determine Darcy's ancestry. It was an insult to his gargoyle powers. "But it is as if it is somehow masked by her humanity."

Styx leaned forward to peer directly into the gray eyes. He wasn't above using the gargoyle's own insatiable curiosity against him.

"Salvatore possesses the truth."

"The Were?"

"Yes."

The gargoyle frowned, clearly sensing he was being manipulated. "He has already kicked your ass once. Do you truly wish to embarrass yourself again?"

Styx gave a low hiss. Few would dare remind him of such a humiliating loss.

"Any fool can shoot a crossbow while cowering at a distance. It was nothing more than a lucky shot."

Levet appeared stunningly unconvinced. "If you say."

"Very well, I am clearly incapable of outwitting the Were." Styx controlled his temper with an effort and even managed a cold smile. "You, on the other hand, my friend, possess the extraordinary skills and intelligence necessary to make Salvatore appear a fool."

Levet backed away with his hands in the air. "Non. A thousand times, non. I am allergic to dogs. Not to mention long sharp teeth and nasty claws."

"Surely a mighty gargoyle fears nothing?"

"Are you deranged? I am three feet tall with magic that sucks and little girly wings. I am frightened of everything."

Styx shrugged. "Being small means that you could slip into their lair unnoticed."

"Are you certain that arrow went through your chest and not your brain?" Levet snorted in disgust. "Why would I risk myself for you?"

"Because it is not for me. It is for Darcy," Styx said smoothly. "Until we know why the Weres are so desperate to get their hands on her, she will be at risk."

The gray eyes narrowed. "That's not fair."

It wasn't, of course. But Styx was not above using whatever means necessary.

He had to know what secrets the Weres were hording. Not only for Darcy, but for the fragile peace that held the bloodshed at bay.

"And I suppose if you succeed I could find some means to recompense your efforts," Styx grudgingly conceded.

"Damn straight, you could."

"What is it you desire?"

"To be a six-foot tall rock star with buns of steel and washboard abs," Levet promptly demanded.

Styx gave a lift of his brows. "I'm a vampire, not a wizard."

"Fine, fine." The gargoyle pointed a finger toward Styx's face. "I will do this, but only for Darcy, you understand?"

Styx was wise enough to hide his smile. He hadn't doubted for a moment that the demon's soft heart would get the best of him.

"Of course."

"And if I end up in the gullet of a Were, I will come back, here to haunt you for all eternity."

"A thought that is enough to give any vampire nightmares."

I've muttered a string of French curses beneath his breath. "You know, Styx, you're just one good staking away from a decent personality."

"More powerful demons than you have tried, gargoyle."

Making what Styx assumed was a rude gesture, the tiny demon stalked down the hall toward the kitchen.

Naturally he had to have the last word.

"Talk to the tail, vamp," he growled.

The armory beneath Viper's estate was a thing of beauty.

Not only did it possess a collection of weapons large enough to equip a small army, but it had also been built with all the apparatus necessary for a vampire to keep his skills well honed.

There was a firing range, a line of targets for archery practice and knife throwing. There were padded dummies for hand-to-hand combat, and even armored dummies for swordplay.

There was also a small arena that was perfect for genuine competition.

Stripped down to a pair of leather pants and soft suede boots, Styx slashed his sword toward the waiting DeAngelo. They had been sparring for over an hour, and they both had the bleeding wounds to prove it.

Mock battles between vampires always tended to be more battle than mock.

Despite his wounds, however, Styx found his tension molting beneath the familiar rush of pleasure at pitting himself against a worthy opponent.

DeAngelo was a master swordsman, and quite capable of holding his own, even against Styx.

Silently they performed the flowing, beautiful dance of the swords. It might have continued another hour, or even more, if Styx hadn't sensed Darcy entering the room.

Although she remained silently in the shadows, Styx was not fool enough to spar with DeAngelo with such a distraction nearby. That was a good way to find a sword stuck through his heart.

Not a wound he particularly desired to experience on this night.

"Enough, DeAngelo," he commanded, holding his sword hilt toward his opponent. "We will continue this tomorrow evening."

"Yes, master."

With a deep bow the Raven took both swords and moved toward the inner armory. Styx trusted his servant to clean and oil the weapons before returning them to their sheaths. Styx also trusted that the vampire would have the sense to lock the door behind him so that Styx could be assured of being alone with his bewitching captive.

Crabbing a towel, Styx swiftly moved toward the waiting woman, his predatory nature on full alert. Darcy had managed to elude him for too long.

Now he was anxious to have her in his grasp.

In his arms. In his bed. Moaning beneath him.

Oh, yes. That was precisely what he wanted. So badly his entire body ached with the need.

He halted before her and swallowed a low growl as a sweet, tempting smile curved her lips.

"Very impressive," she murmured softly.

Styx shrugged, his attention still on her lush mouth. His skill as a warrior was renowned throughout the demon world. It was something he accepted without thought.

"I've had several centuries of practice."

Her smile widened as her gaze deliberately lowered to his bare chest. "I wasn't talking about your swordsmanship."

Styx shuddered at the fierce flare of excitement that raced through him. Her mere glance was enough to make him hard and aching.

He stepped close enough to feel her heat wrap about him. "A woman of discerning taste," he said huskily.

Caught off guard, she took a hasty step backward, her nose wrinkling as she studied the various wounds marring his chest.

"Well, I must admit that my taste does run to a bit less bloody."

Styx cursed himself as he hastily wiped the blood away with the towel. He so rarely spent time among humans that he tended to forget their squeamish nature. No doubt being mortal had something to do with it.

"They will heal," he reassured her, tossing the towel aside.

She raised her gaze to regard him with a hint of confusion. "But doesn't it hurt?"

He blinked at the odd question. "Of course."

"Then why do you do it?"

"I must stay in practice." He paused before giving a small shrug and continuing, "And, in truth, I enjoy sparring. It makes me feel... alive."

Her lips twisted. "Rather ironic."

"That a vampire can feel alive?"

"No, that flirting with death would make you feel alive."

Styx stepped close once again, pleased when Darcy did not back away. A rueful smile touched his lips.

It seemed that the true irony was that a vampire who relied upon his ruthless reputation to keep the demons around the world under his control panicked at the mere thought that this tiny woman might fear him.

"What is life without a bit of danger?" he murmured, unable to resist reaching out to outline those tempting lips with the tip of his finger.

"Safe?" she retorted.

Her skin was sheer silk beneath his touch, stirring his muscles to a painful hardness.

"Dull," he managed to mutter.

"Comfortable."

"Tedious."

"Prudent."

"Dreary."

She abruptly nipped at his roaming finger, sending a jolt of pure lust to his toes.

"Maybe we should just agree to disagree," she said, her green eyes smoldering with a dangerous fire. "I prefer my life far more peaceful, with as little danger and violence involved as possible."

Styx cupped her cheek. He couldn't deny that a part of him was strongly attracted to her gentle soul. It was an irresistible solace after centuries of endless brutality. But he was nothing if not a realist.