His expression was cold, aloof. Giving nothing away.

"They must answer to me."

"Are they your employees?"

"Employees?" The word sounded awkward on his tongue. "No. They owe me their fealty."

"Fealty. You mean like serfs?" Darcy gave a short laugh. "Isn't that a little medieval?"

A hint of impatience touched his beautiful features. "The Weres are beneath the laws of the vampires, and as the leader of the vampires they must obey me."

She blinked. If he was crazy, he at least made sure he was the head lunatic. A madman with ambition.

"So you're what? King of the vampires?"

"I am the master, the Anasso," he retorted with a smooth pride.

Darcy felt her lips quiver. She couldn't help it. There was something about such sheer, unmitigated arrogance that always struck her as funny.

Of course, most things in life struck her as funny.

She had discovered long ago that if she didn't laugh at the world and all its follies, then she would drown in bitterness.

"Wow." She widened her eyes. "Mr. Big Shot."

His expression remained unreadable, but the dark eyes seemed to flash with . . . something.

"Mr. Big Shot? That is a human term for leader?"

Darcy frowned. "You don't get out in the world much, do you?"

Styx shrugged. "More than I wish to."

"Actually, it doesn't really matter." She gave a faint shake of her head. She was glad that she wasn't the hysterical sort, but then again it was probably not the smartest thing to sit here chitchatting with the king of vampires. Or crazed lunatic. Whichever the case may be. "I've told you that I know nothing of this Salvatore. I certainly don't know anything about werewolves. I don't even believe in them. Now if you don't mind, I really need to get home."

"I fear I cannot allow that."

Her breath caught at the stark denial. "What do you mean?"

"Salvatore has gone to a great effort to track you down."

"I've told you, I can't help. I don't have any idea why he would be following me."

"Perhaps not, but your presence will still prove to be a benefit."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His gaze remained steady. "I believe that Salvatore wants you badly enough to negotiate for your release."

Stupidly it took a moment for Darcy to understand what he intended. Perhaps because she hadn't seen it coming. Or, more likely, because she just didn't want to believe he would really be that coldhearted.

She preferred to think the best of people. Even if they did happen to be blood-sucking monsters.

Go figure.

"You . . ." She licked her lips, not missing the way his gaze watched the movement with a dark intensity.

Unfortunately, she wasn't sure if he was thinking of sex or dinner. "You intend to hold me against my will and then negotiate to hand me over to the Weres?"

"Yes."

Painfully blunt.

"Even though you don't know what he wants from me?" she charged, with a frown. "He might want to sacrifice me for some horrible ritual. Or he might have decided I would make a tasty meal."

Styx turned to pace toward the window, then pulled aside the heavy shutters to reveal that night had already fallen. Of course—it was December in Illinois. The sun barely rose before it was headed down again.

Still, how long had she been asleep?

"Salvatore would not need to go to such effort for a mere sacrifice, or even a meal," he at last said in a low tone. "I believe he wants you alive."

"You believe?" Darcy made a rude noise. Karma or not she wasn't going to meekly allow herself to be handed over to a werewolf (if he really was a werewolf) without an argument. "I can't tell you how comforting that is. My tiny life might not be important to you, but I assure you that it's very important to me." She grabbed a pillow and tossed it at his back. With impossible speed he turned and snatched the pillow before it could touch him. Her throat went dry. Oh yeah, he was something other than human. "Please," she whispered, "I want to go home."

His brows drew together, almost as if he was bothered by her soft plea. "Darcy, it would not be safe. If you leave this estate, the Weres will have you captured before you can ever return to your home. It is only my protection that—"

The dark warning was cut off as the sound of a shrill, commanding voice floated through the door. It was a voice that held a thick accent and a healthy dose of French disdain.

"Out of my way you dolt. Can you not see that I am here to bring succor to the prisoner?"

Styx glanced toward the door, his expression one of disbelief.

Cripes, what was coming that could shock the master of all vampires?

"By the gods, what is he doing here?" Styx breathed.

"Who is it?" she demanded.

"Levet." His gaze shifted back to her. "Prepare yourself, angel."

She tugged the blanket up to her nose. As if that could somehow protect her. "Is he dangerous?"

"Only to your sanity."

Sanity?

"Is he human?"

"No, he is a gargoyle."

Her heart gave a sharp squeeze. Vampires, werewolves, and now gargoyles?

"A . . . what?"

"Do not fear. He is not at all the fearsome beast you would expect. He can hardly be called a demon at all."

She didn't know what that was supposed to mean. Well, not until the door swung open and a tiny, gray creature waddled into the room carrying a large tray.

He certainly possessed grotesque features with small horns and a long tail twitching behind him. But he couldn't have been over three feet tall, and the wings on his back were gossamer thin and beautifully patterned with vibrant color.

Moving across the room, he offered the scowling vampire a loud sniff. "At last. I don't mean to criticize your staff, Styx, but I think they might be a few bricks shy of a full load, if you know what I mean. They attempted to halt me. Moi."

Styx rounded the bed to glare down at the tiny demon. "I requested that I not be disturbed. They were only following my directions."

"Disturbed? As if I could be a disturbance." Levet turned his head toward the silent Darcy. A stab of astonishment raced through her. Behind those gray eyes she could detect a gentle soul. She was never wrong. "Ah, she is as beautiful as Viper claimed. And so young." The gargoyle gave a click of his tongue as he neared the bed and placed the tray next to her. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Styx. Here you are, mignon. A fresh salad and fruit."

Her stomach rumbled in gratitude. She was starving and the food looked perfect.

"Thank you." She offered a smile as she reached for a slice of apple.

His own smile revealed several rows of pointed teeth, but there was nothing but elegant grace as he gave her a sweeping bow.

"Allow me to introduce myself, since our host possesses the manners of a toadstool. I am Levet. And you are Darcy Smith?"

"Yes." '

"I have been sent by my dear friend Shay to ensure that you are made comfortable. Obviously she is well enough acquainted with our dour companion to realize you would be in need of comfort." He held up a gnarled hand. "Not that I am some sort of welcome wagon, mind you. I have many very important duties that I have been forced to set aside to come to your assistance."

She blinked, not at all sure what to think of the demon. He didn't seem dangerous, but then she hadn't thought Styx was the sort to throw her to the wolves.

Quite literally.

"That was very kind," she said cautiously.

The gargoyle was futilely attempting to look modest when the vampire moved to stand directly at his side. The motion had been so swift that Darcy hadn't been able to follow it.

Yikes.

"Levet," Styx growled in warning.

"Non, non. Do not thank me. Well, not unless it is in the form of cash." He heaved a deep sigh. "You cannot believe how difficult it is for a gargoyle to earn a decent living in this town."

The bronzed face was aloof. "I have no intention of thanking you. In fact, thanking you is the very last thing upon my mind."

Shockingly, the gargoyle responded with a raspberry. "Don't be such an old grouchy-pants. You have the poor girl terrified."

"She is not terrified."

Darcy tilted her chin. She would be damned if the vampire would speak for her.

"Yes, I am."

"Ha. You see?" Levet smiled smugly at Styx before turning his attention to Darcy. "Now you just eat your dinner in peace. I won't let the bad vampire hurt you."

"Levet." Styx reached down to grasp the gargoyle by the shoulder.

Whether to shake him or toss him through the window, Darcy couldn't guess.

"Ouch." Levet took a sharp step backward. "The wings. Don't touch the wings."

Styx briefly closed his eyes. Perhaps counting to a hundred. "I see I shall have to have a word with Viper," he rasped, spinning on his heel and heading toward the door.