“Never more sure,” Santiago answered without hesitation, a smile of utter contentment curving his lips. “And she’s a very special clan chief.”

“You got me there,” Viper admitted. “Still . . .”

“What?”

“You’re leaving me in the lurch here.”

Santiago laughed at his companion’s petulant tone. “Why, Viper, I didn’t know you cared.”

Viper snorted. “You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re one of the best managers I’ve ever had. Who the hell is going to replace you at the club?”

“Tonya.”

Viper hesitated, considering Santiago’s recommendation with a frown. “She has the brains,” he slowly conceded. “But she’s distinctly lacking the brawn.”

Santiago shrugged. He didn’t doubt for a minute that the shrewd imp could easily fill his shoes. And he owed her one. Not only for what had happened with Gaius, but because of the fact he’d failed to realize she’d hoped for more than a mere employer-employee relationship.

“You have plenty of brawn,” Santiago pointed out. “What you need is someone competent, creative, trustworthy, and capable of remaining calm when everything is going to hell.” He folded his arms over his chest. “And it doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful enough to make grown demons beg for a smile.”

“I suppose I can give her a chance,” Viper conceded.

“Good.” He slapped his friend on the back. “Of course, you’ll need to keep an eye on her.”

“Why?”

“Because there are several other club owners who have tried to lure her away over the years,” he said. “And without my charming presence to keep her loyal . . .”

Viper was moving toward the nearest door before Santiago could even finish.

Santiago chuckled, then sensing the approach of his soon-to-be mate, he turned to wrap an arm around her slender waist, tugging her close to his side.

Mine.

She readily leaned against him, a serene smile on her exquisite face.

“Why was Viper scowling?”

“Business.”

She gave an absent nod, clearly something on her mind. “Santiago . . .”

“No, I’m not going to miss the club,” he interrupted her, stealing a swift kiss. Just because he could. “And before you start worrying about my brothers, I intend to return and visit if and when I find myself missing them.” He gazed deep into her eyes, allowing her to see the love that consumed him. “When I’m not busy with my new family.”

A smile brighter than the sun spread across her face, her hand reaching to grab his fingers in a tight grip. “Are you ready?”

“For you?” He held her tight as the world began to melt away. “Always.”

Roke drained his glass of blood as he watched Santiago and Nefri disappear from view.

About fucking time.

Styx had commanded that he attend the stupid party, despite his foul mood.

His duty was now officially done.

Setting aside his glass, Roke was on the point of slipping through a side door when the cool wash of power warned him of his Anasso’s approach.

“Roke,” Styx drawled. “Surely you’re not going to run away so soon?”

Forced to halt, Roke scowled at his king, who was wearing a white silk shirt and black dress pants that didn’t make him any more civilized than usual.

Not that Roke had any room to judge fashion. He was wearing his customary jeans, leather jacket, and knee-high moccasins.

“I told you I didn’t want to come.”

Styx smiled, lifting his glass to sip the expensive cognac.

“You tell me a lot of things.”

“And you never listen.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that as soon as Sally is feeling up to traveling you’re free to go in search of her father.”

Roke’s scowl deepened.

Pleased?

Of course he should be pleased.

He should be dancing with joy.

He’d been straining at the leash to leave this damned lair so he could track down Sally’s father. How else could he break the mating?

But strangely, he’d devoted the past three days to ignoring Sally’s pleas to be released so she could begin the hunt, telling himself she was too weak to risk leaving.

He’d also assured himself that his hesitation had nothing to do with his growing bond with the female and everything to do with the agony of watching her lie as still as death after her battle with the spirit.

Twelve hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty seconds.

That was how long she’d been unconscious. He’d counted every tick of the clock as he stood guard by her bed. He wasn’t going through that again.

Period.

“Why now?” he growled.

Styx shrugged. “I think we can safely assume that you’ve fulfilled your part in Cassie’s vision.”

“No shit,” he muttered before giving a shake of his head. “I can’t leave yet. Sally is still weak.”

“She seemed fine earlier this evening,” Styx said, his expression suspiciously bland. “In fact, she came to me to ask for permission to go.”

Roke’s muscles clenched. Sally had gone to Styx behind his back?

She was his mate.

Any discussion of when they would leave and where they would go would be between the two of them.

“She’s a female who too often thinks on impulse rather than reason,” he said stiffly.

Styx narrowed his eyes. “All the more reason to get on with finding a way to break the mating.”

Roke barely swallowed his growl. “I won’t drag a barely conscious female around the countryside without even a clue to where we should start.”

“Very well,” Styx unexpectedly conceded, his smile worrisome. “Then perhaps you want to return to your clan? Sally is welcome to stay here.”

“Don’t even . . .” Roke forgot how to speak as his connection to Sally was abruptly stretched. Just like that. One minute she’d been upstairs and the next she was halfway across the country. “Shit.”

Shoving his way through the crowd, Roke hit the hallway at a dead run.

“What’s wrong?” Styx demanded, easily keeping pace as Roke headed up the stairs.

“Sally.”

“Is she hurt?”

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Styx’s power rattled the paintings on the wall. “Impossible.”

Roke turned down the hall leading to Sally’s private rooms. “I know when my mate has disappeared.”

“She could never have gotten past the guards,” Styx growled, tossing aside the unfortunate vampire who stepped out of his room to see what was going on.

“She’s a witch,” Roke reminded him, torn between anger and concern. There was nothing in their bond to indicate she was afraid or hurt. Which meant that she’d probably plotted this abrupt departure. Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger. Dammit. He should have locked her in the dungeons. “A very powerful witch.”

“The house has been hexed to prevent magic,” Styx argued, clearly disturbed by the thought that anyone could slip past his defenses.

“She did not use magic,” an aggravatingly familiar voice said as the tiny gargoyle stepped out of Sally’s room.

“Levet, now isn’t the time,” Roke snarled, needing to locate Sally’s trail so he could begin the hunt.

“You will desire to hear what I have to say,” Levet insisted. “I know where Sally is.”

Roke halted, reaching down to grasp the gargoyle by the horn. He lifted him until they were eye to eye. “Where?”

The fairy wings fluttered in protest, but the gargoyle was smart enough not to press Roke’s temper.

“I do not know the precise location.”

The floor rumbled beneath their feet. “Levet, unless you want to become a wall ornament, you’ll tell me exactly what you know.” A hall table tumbled sideways, smashing the priceless vase into a thousand pieces. “Now!”

“She asked Yannah to help her escape,” Levet said, his voice several octaves higher than usual.

“Escape?” Roke’s brows snapped together. “She was a guest, not a prisoner.”

“Maybe she did not recognize the distinction.”

Roke dropped the beast, disliking the guilt that sliced through his heart.

He’d only been trying to protect her.

Hadn’t he?

Thrusting aside the worthless questions, he forced himself to swallow his pride. He could feel Sally, but she was too distant to pinpoint her direction.

“Can you follow them?” he forced himself to ask the gargoyle.

“Sally? Sadly no.” Levet wrinkled his tiny snout. “But Yannah. Oui. I can follow.”

“Good. We’ll take my bike.”

Styx reached out to grab his arm. “Roke.”

“What?” he snapped, not bothering to hide his impatience. Every minute apart was another minute that Sally could be hurt.