Some of the occupants were striding in and out, holding weapons just as Grayley described. Attached to their backs were strange, round containers with a single tube that stretched from the top. The men who weren't holding weapons were holding spikes crafted by Hephaestus himself. They jammed those spikes into the wall and pried at the jewels. Where had these humans acquired tools of the gods?
Had he been a man who allowed emotions to rule him, Darius would have morphed into dragon form. Prongs of fury simmered to life just beneath his skin. He watched a female vampire glide casually inside the room and lick her lips as her gaze caressed the humans. A trickle of blood fell from her chin, testament of a recent feeding. She stopped to speak with a human.
"Tell your leader we've done all that was required of us," she said in the human language, trailing a finger over his now pale cheek. "We are ready for our reward."
The man shifted nervously, but nodded. "We're almost ready to venture further."
"Do not take too long. We might decide to turn our appetites to you." With one last lick of her lips, which sent the man rearing backward in fear, she left as casually as she'd entered. Her white gown flowed behind her in sensuous waves.
Darius watched in shock. Vampires and humans aiding one another? Inconceivable. Perplexed, he moved his gaze over the rest of the chamber. Sections of the walls and floor were blackened from fire. In a far corner lay the broken, dead body of a dragon. Veran, one of Javar's fiercest soldiers. A white film covered him from head to toe. He bore several injuries, yet there was no blood around him.
What type of weapon could destroy such a strong creature? Vampires were strong, yes. Humans were resourceful, yes. But that wasn't enough to capture an entire dragon palace. His fury increased. Darius found himself reaching for one of the humans, intent on curling his fingers around the bastard's vulnerable neck, but his hands drifted through the man like mist.
Now more than before he knew he could not send his own army here until he learned just how to combat these men and their weapons.
Darius searched the rest of the palace. He did not find a sign of Javar or any more of his men. Had the rest met the same fate as Veran? Or had they merely abandoned this place? Left unsure, he whisked himself back inside his own chamber. Answers. He wanted answers. Answers he suspected lay with Grace. If he hoped to gain what he wanted from her, he needed to be focused, distant. Utterly unfeeling.
Heartless.
He only wished he did not feel so alive each time he thought of her. So vital.
Well, he would remove the sight of her from his mind. All of that glorious hair tumbling down her shoulders. Eyes more vibrant than the sea. He would even remove the sound of her voice from his ears. That sweet voice entreating him to continue their kiss.
Instead of forcing her from his thoughts, he only managed to strengthen her hold.
He easily saw himself carrying her to his bed, laying her down and stripping the clothes from her body. He imagined himself parting her sweet thighs, luxuriating in the softness of her skin, then sliding deeply inside her. He could see her head thrashing from side to side. Could almost hear her moans of rapture.
Desire became a heady essence in his veins, his cock strained to an unbearable thickness. He growled from the pain of it. Jaw clenched, he removed the medallion from his neck and held it in his palm. "Show me Grace Carlyle," he commanded.
The twin dragons glowed incandescent with energy. Power whirled inside them, mighty, burgeoning, and when it became too much for them to bear, blood-red beams shot from their eyes, creating a circle of light. Inside the light, air crackled and thickened.
Grace's image formed in the center.
In that instant, his senses came to life. He didn't understand how a simple glance at her could undo centuries of safeguards. She lay in a small bed, and he studied her. Her eyes were closed; her cheeks were pale, making the freckles scattered across her dirt-smudged nose and forehead appear darker. Her carmine curls were wound atop her head, all but a few loose tendrils framing her temples.
She wore the same dirty shirt, and some sort of small, clear tube protruded from her arm, partially covered by the thin white sheet draping her from the chest down. Two male humans approached her bed.
Darius scowled as his possessiveness resurfaced.
"Looks like the morphine is working," the man with dark hair said, his voice a smooth baritone.
"Not just morphine. I gave her three different sedatives. She'll be out for hours."
"What are we going to do with her?"
"Whatever she wants us to do." He chuckled. "We're to play the gracious host."
"We should just kill her and be done with it."
"We don't need the attention her disappearance would bring-not when her brother is already missing."
"She won't stop searching for Alex. That much is obvious."
"She can search all she wants. She'll never find him."
The dark-headed one reached out and trailed his fingers over Grace's cheek. She didn't awaken, but mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. "She's pretty," he said.
A low, menacing snarl rose in Darius's throat.
"She's too fat," the other said.
"Not fat, just not anorexic. She's soft in all the right places."
"Well, keep your hands to yourself. Women know when their bodies have been used, and we don't need her bitching about it. The boss wouldn't like it." With a disgusted shake of his head, he added, "Come on. We've got work to do."
The two humans walked away-which saved their lives. Grace's image began to fade. With much regret Darius hung the chain back around his neck.
Soon. Soon he would be with her again.
CHAPTER 9
"Home," Grace sighed as she tossed her keys and purse on the small table beside her front door. She padded to her bedroom, the sound of honking cars filling her ears. Sunlight burst directly into her line of vision from the open blinds, too bright, too cheery.
She was not in a good mood.
She'd spent the past week with the Argonauts. While they had been perfectly solicitous of her, they had failed to find any clue as to her brother's whereabouts. Neither had she. Every day she'd called his cell phone. Every day she'd called his apartment. He never answered. She'd had no luck tracking down what flight he'd taken out of Brazil.
She finally caught the red-eye and here she was, though she didn't know what she was going to do. File a missing person's report? Hire a P.I.? Uttering another sigh, she picked up the cordless phone perched on the edge of her desk. Three new voice mails, all of them from her mom. Grace dialed her brother's number. One ring, two. Three, four, five. No answer.
She called his cell. No answer there, either.
She hung up and punched in her mother's number.
"Hello," her mom answered.
"Hey, Mom."
"Grace Elizabeth Carlyle. My caller ID says you're calling from home." Accusation layered her voice.
Grace pictured her sitting at the kitchen counter, one hand on her hip while she glared at the red checkered curtains hanging over the window.
"I flew home last night."
"I didn't realize Brazil had yet to embrace modern technology."
"What are you talking about?"
"Phones, Grace. I didn't realize there were no phones in Brazil."
She rolled her eyes. "The rumor that you heard, the one that says there are pay phones on every tree in the jungle. Well, it's false."