Helena's face was filled with anguish. "Andrus?" she prodded.
He didn't respond, his jaw grinding again.
"Who were they?" she pushed.
He continued on, "They threw me into a cenote, an ancient Mayan ceremonial pool, their portal. They dragged me to the other side to make me like them. Well, half anyway."
Helena was thoroughly confused. Why wouldn't he tell her? "Who were ‘they?'"
"The gods. They put their light inside me," he said, almost sounding ashamed.
Gods? What the … ? No way! "Sorry? Did you say ‘gods?'"
"Yes. Obscuros were out of control because that bitch of a queen is useless. The gods were finally fed up, about to kill her. So she offered up an alternative to save her skin: to help them create a powerful race that could kill Obscuros and whom they could command-the Demilords. She bartered our lives for hers."
Wow! First vampires. Then gods. Now … vampire-gods? What's next? Werewolves? Smurfs? Were-Smurfs?
"Do you have any powers?" she asked.
"I possess certain talents."
Her eyes popped open. "Can you sift?"
"I track and kill. I have the skills necessary to be good at both. That's it."
"Oh." Helena sank into the seat, digesting for several moments. Even for her, a relatively open-minded woman who'd studied science, this was a bit much. But regardless of how she felt, Andrus had done the honorable thing. He loved-albeit in an obsessive, stalker-like fashion, but he loved-then he was betrayed. Afterward, he'd tried to make the best of it and not eat children. Where was the shame in that?
She twisted in her seat to fully face him. "Andrus, I realize we don't really know each other, but you should believe me when I say it's not your fault. You loved her. She screwed you over. You tried to do the right thing. End of story."
Andrus quickly slammed on the breaks. With the snow blanketing the concrete, the Hummer skidded. Several cars honked and flashed their lights as they passed by.
"No! That's the fucking point! It's not the end of the story. If the gods ever feel like it, they can remove their light. They can turn me back into a vampire, and I'd binge until I've made up for every day I haven't fed. I'd become a depraved, bloodthirsty monster. So there is no fucking end! Not unless I make one."
He turned his head left toward a driver who had slowed to dish a healthy portion of glare. "What the hell are you looking at? Huh?" Andrus screamed. The offended driver, who thought twice about provoking Andrus, sped off.
He turned his attention back to Helena who'd plastered herself against the passenger door. She held out her hands defensively. "I'm sorry, Andrus. I'm sorry this happened to you."
Andrus regained control. "No," he mumbled, his head hung low. "I shouldn't yell at you like that."
She nodded cautiously, now understanding why he was so volatile. He was broken, just like her. But he had no intention of hurting her. He was good. Dark and neurotic, but good. "What will you do?"
"For starters, I'm going to kill Reyna." There was no shame in his voice that time.
Definitely dark. So, this was as much about revenge as it was justice. But she couldn't bring herself to condemn Andrus, although she didn't believe that killing the woman he once loved, who sold his soul to the gods-there are really gods?-was going to heal him. Like Helena, he needed his life back.
But where did Helena fit into all this? Was Andrus really just trying to help her? Doubt swirled in the back of her mind.
Something was … not right.
But what choice did she have? She had to continue on with Andrus and hope the Demilord archives held the secret to her own freedom. No turning back. Not now.
"Andrus, I really think you should-"
This time, it was his phone that beeped.
He held the device up and then growled at Helena. What could possibly be wrong now? She leaned in to catch a glimpse of the message.
"It's not my fault!" Helena barked. She could practically see the steam rising from Andrus' nostrils despite the darkness inside the vehicle.
He glared down at his Smartphone then at her.
"What? Stop looking at me like that!"
"Then, whose fault is it?" he growled, showing her the ten-day weather report on the tiny screen displaying little clouds with snowflakes and rain.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Not mine; snow happens. Where the heck did you say you're from, again?" Wasn't it Russia? They had lots of snow there, didn't they?
"Fine," she conceded, throwing up her hands. "The snow is all my fault. The canceled flight is all my fault. I'm so sorry-my gracious Demilord-please forgive the poor, stupid human for the weather related travel delay."
He let out a breath and his body softened. "That was uncalled for. I'm sorry."
She turned her head toward the window and then waived her hand, sighing. "Forgiven. Just stop making a habit of yelling at me-that's twice in one night."
"I am not used to being around others," he said quietly.
Her anger softened too. How could she possibly respond to that?
"All right. What next?"
"We drive," he replied.
***
In the back of the limo, Niccolo slumped against the black leather seat, staring at the tablet screen as the dot slowly flickered across the map. Helena, or at least her cell phone, was moving south, away from Chicago and the storm.
His fingers curled into a tight fist. In less than an hour the sun would be rising, and he and his men would have to find shelter. Unpleasant, angry thoughts moved through his mind. How to kill a Demilord was one of them-never been done, but he'd find a way. More pressing, however, was how to get her back.
There were only five days left. And-perfect-he was unable to sift her away! Likely, thanks to the Demilord. What had she called him? Andrus.
He imagined that pretty-boy head of Andrus' sitting high in the sky on a five-meter spike. Sì, just like the good old days, when they knew how to do things right. At this very moment, the gods only knew what lies that cretin was telling his sweet, trusting bride.
Where is he taking her? Niccolo resisted the urge to sift to Helena while she was on the move. Too dangerous.
But Niccolo felt overcome with the primal urge to protect her. The pull was almost as bad as the night when he'd saved Helena from those men on the beach. Her fear had created an agony so intense that his body felt like it might be ripped in half. When he arrived and found the vile males, auras completely black, attacking the women, he'd turned into a blood-crazed demon. Luckily, his men weren't far behind and able to help with the cleanup. Niccolo had never told Helena, but they'd been in the area for several days killing Obscuros. He visited her every morning before the sun rose and watched her sleep. She was so beautiful. He wanted her near him-had purchased a home for her, even-but he wondered if he'd be able to keep his hands off her if they shared the same roof.
But everything changed after that night. What if the bikers had been Obscuros? He would never be so careless again. He'd take her to their new home, have her guarded twenty-four seven, and ensure she'd never be in danger again. After all, she was his mate, for better or worse. Human or not, it was his job to protect her.
Well, he'd failed miserably at that task, hadn't he? Now she was with one of the most dangerous creatures in the world, and they only had five days until their three-month anniversary.
But do you really care about fulfilling the prophecy anymore?
He sat quietly pondering the question. The answer was a shocking surprise …
No. He didn't care. He merely wanted her safe.
His chest tightened. You idiot! Admit it. You care for her. Don't you? There was no denying that he did. Seeing her pretend to want another had pushed him over the edge. He felt wounded. Truly and painfully wounded.
So what did it really mean?
For starters, he was a damned fool to continue ignoring the powerful bond between them. Out of billions of living creatures, her soul was bound to his. It was a connection more powerful than hunger or the need to survive.
Niccolo didn't know why. Or how. But there it was: Helena now meant more to him than anything.
Do you love her? He still didn't know, but perhaps, that was because love was so foreign to his cold heart.
Niccolo looked up toward the front of the car. "How much time until sunrise, Viktor?"
"Forty minutes," Viktor replied without looking at his watch. "With the polarized glass, we can follow her for another two hours before I'll tire.
"Do it. We'll go as far as we can then find a hotel to bunker down."
Viktor nodded. "Then what?"
"I don't know. Pray they stop soon-somewhere I can safely sift to and get a chance to steal her back."
"What about the Demilord?" Viktor asked.
Niccolo growled. Why the hell did the Demilord want Helena anyway? At first, he'd surmised that Andrus wanted to lure him to his death. Niccolo wasn't an Obscuro, but that didn't mean the gods couldn't find offense with something he'd done; however, if that were the case, Andrus would have killed Niccolo on the spot in the hotel. According to what Niccolo had been told, once a Demilord located their target, they'd stop at nothing to finish the job. Collateral damage, loss of innocent human life, wasn't a concern. They claimed their actions were justified because they served the greater good. Just like those idiot gods they obeyed, the Demilords lacked any sense of compassion. That's why Niccolo had fled the hotel; he didn't want Helena to get caught in the middle.