"Why is this woman so important to you?"
Even at a distance Styx could sense the sudden wariness in Salvatore. It was a question he didn't want to answer.
"Why does any man want a woman?"
"You wish me to believe that you have tracked this woman—a woman you had not even met until last night—for weeks just because you desire her?"
He shrugged. "Most men are fools when it comes to matters of the heart."
Styx narrowed his gaze. "No."
"No?"
"You are a pureblood. You would never waste your energies on a human. You are only allowed to mate with other purebloods."
"I didn't say that I intended to mate her, only bed her."
Bed her?
It took two millennium of self-control to keep Styx from killing the werewolf on the spot. Darcy was his captive. For the moment she belonged to him. He would rip the throat out of anyone who tried to take her away.
"She will never be in your bed, wolf," he warned in a tone of sheer ice. "Now return to your hunting grounds before I have you all caged and neutered."
Darcy couldn't deny a sigh of relief when the small gargoyle had announced his attention to seek out his dinner among the surrounding woods.
It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his efforts to ease her fears and lift her spirits. For all the strangeness of being a gargoyle, there was something quite charming in his sardonic wit and unexpected flashes of kindness.
Still, she needed him to leave so that she could find her clothes and flee this madhouse.
She might be somewhat strange, and she couldn't even say with all certainty that she didn't have some weird demon blood running through her veins. It was as good an explanation as any. But a mixed heritage did not make her ready to join a commune made up of sexy vampires, miniature gargoyles, and lurking werewolves.
Especially when she was quite likely to be handed over to those werewolves like some sacrificial virgin.
Well, maybe not virgin, but close enough.
Unfortunately, her plans of escape were hampered by the fact that her clothes were nowhere to be found. In fact, the only clothing to be found in the room was a white T-shirt that fell nearly to her knees.
And then, of course, there was the very large man whom she assumed was a vampire (judging by his incredibly pale skin and fangs) who was standing just outside her door, and the two others who were below her window.
For a time she paced the large room with a sense of near panic.
She had to get out of here.
But how?
Her pacing lasted for nearly an hour before she heaved a sigh and gave a rueful shake of her head.
Her temperament was not really suited to brooding.
And it was difficult to be truly terrified when she was surrounded by such elegant luxury.
Were all vampires rich as sin? The bedroom and connecting bathroom could house a family of four with room left over to park a minivan. Nothing at all like her own cramped apartment. Gripes, she didn't doubt that the satin sheets that perfectly matched the ivory carpet and drapes cost more than she paid every month in rent.
Goodness only knew what the porcelain vases and delicate charcoal etchings were worth.
As she reached the deep bay window that overlooked a small garden and distant lake, she came to an abrupt halt. A frown marred her brow as she studied the pretty African violets that lined the sill.
It was a disgrace, she told herself as she carefully moved the plants onto the window seat and away from the frosty panes. Only then did she gather a glass of water from the bathroom and set about tending to the drooping plants.
So few people understood the care that was required to keep plants healthy, she acknowledged as she carefully trimmed the yellowed leaves and stirred the rich dirt.
It took more than an occasional splash of water. Just because they couldn't talk didn't mean they didn't have feelings too.
Losing herself in her self-imposed task, she was happily unaware when the door opened behind her and Styx stepped into the room.
"Here you are, Dasher," she murmured, pouring the water evenly over the roots. "No, no, I haven't forgotten you, Dancer. Don't be impatient, Vixen. I will get to you."
"What the devil are you doing?" demanded a deep male voice.
She didn't need to turn. Only one male in all the many, many males she had encountered was capable of making her shiver with awareness by just the sound of his voice.
"Trying to save these poor plants you have neglected." She gave a chiding click of her tongue. "Just look how they're drooping. You should be ashamed. If you take a living creature into your home you have an obligation to care for it properly."
There was a long pause, as if he was trying to decide if she was completely bonkers.
Which was really rather ironic under the circumstances."You talk to plants?" he at last demanded.
"Of course." Darcy turned, her breath catching at the sight of him. It just didn't seem fair that any man should be so flat-out beautiful. Hastily she returned her attention to the plants. It was that or gawking at the sinful beast as if she didn't have a brain. "They get lonely, just like people. Don't you, Rudolf?"
"Rudolf?"
She gave a lift of her shoulder. "Well, I didn't know the names you gave to them so I had to call them something. This time of year it seemed appropriate to name them after Santa's reindeer. You know, 'Twas the Night before Christmas'?"
Darcy gave a jump of surprise as he was suddenly kneeling next to her. She hadn't heard a whisper. Was he that quiet, or could he just pop from one place to another like magic?
Seemingly unaware of the fact mat he had just scared the bejeezus out of her, the vampire regarded her with a curious expression.
"I'm assuming that it is some human tradition? They seem to have an endless supply of them."
"Vampires don't celebrate Christmas?"
"When one is eternal the urge to mark the path of the year with odd rituals seems rather redundant."
Her unease swiftly faded. Strange that when he was near she couldn't seem to recall that he was a dangerous creature holding her captive.
Maybe it was because she kept being overwhelmed by the urge to rip off that clinging sweater and run her lips over his smooth, bronzed skin.
Yeah, that might be it.
"Christmas isn't about marking the path of the year," she protested, her fingers gently stroking the leaves of Rudolf.
"No?"
"It's about the spirit of the season. Peace on earth and goodwill to men." Her lashes lowered to hide the loneliness she kept hidden inside. She didn't want anyone's pity. "It's about love, and kindness, and … family."
Slender, bronzed fingers reached out to curl around her hand. His skin was cool, but it managed to send a sharp flare of heat racing straight to the pit of her stomach.
"If it is such a special celebration, then why does it make you sad?" Styx murmured softly.
She stiffened at his unwelcome perception. "What makes you think that it makes me sad?"
He leaned closer, his dark eyes strangely hypnotic. "I can feel your sadness. It embraces you like an old friend."
Darcy swallowed heavily. She was losing herself in that magnetic gaze. In the soft stroke of his thumb over her inner wrist.
Oy. It had been so very, very long since anyone had touched her with such intimacy.
"What do you mean you can feel it?" she demanded in a husky tone.
"I'm a master vampire."
"And that makes you what? Some sort of super mind reader?"
"No, but I can sense very deep emotions when I'm touching you."
Darcy shifted uneasily. She didn't like the thought of him reading her moods. Not when a part of that mood included a very tangible desire to snuggle against that hard chest and kiss her way over those perfect male features.
"Oh."
His free hand lifted to cup her chin. "Tell me why you're sad, Darcy."
"I suppose everyone who is alone in the world is a little sad at this time of year," she grudgingly confessed. "As I said, it's a time for families. For sharing your life with another."
There was a small silence, his gaze lowering to where their fingers were entangled. "You are not alone now."
She was caught off guard by his strange words. "Being held captive is hardly the same as being home for the holidays."
"Perhaps not." His gaze abruptly lifted to trap hers. "But we are here together, and I would ease your loneliness if you would allow me."
For some odd reason her mouth went dry and her heart lodged somewhere near her throat.
"What do you mean?"
"I feel your sadness, Darcy, but I also feel your passion."
"I don't think ..."
"It stirs a need in me that I'm not sure I'm strong enough to battle." he overrode her soft protest. "A need I don't want to battle."
With a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted her fingers to his mouth.
Feeling oddly bemused, Darcy watched as he nibbled along the length of her thumb.
She gave a choked sound as her entire body shuddered in reaction. Oh, boy. That felt good. Very good.