“Who’s there? What do you want with me?” she rasped, the frantic beat of her heart like a siren’s call to Gaius. “Talk to me, you perverted freak.”

Compelled forward by his sharp-edged hunger, Gaius used his powers to light the lone candle set on a stool in a far corner. The flickering flame was barely noticeable in the vast darkness, but it provided just enough of a glow for the female to see Gaius’s approach.

Her lips parted to scream, but cupping her face in his hands, Gaius peered deep into her wide eyes.

“Shhhh. Look at me,” he purred, capturing her gaze and easily ensnaring her mind. He wasn’t as talented as some vampires in enthralling humans, but the female readily succumbed to his power. In a heartbeat her face became slack and her muscles eased until her arms hung limply at her side, the heavy shackles forgotten.

“What is your name?” he asked softly.

“Farah.”

Her voice was too high with a harsh American accent instead of Dara’s husky, singsong voice, but Gaius grimly blocked out the reminders that this female could never fill the empty ache in the center of his heart.

“Pretty, but from this night forward you will be known as Dara.”

“Dara,” the female obediently parroted.

“Yes, and I am Gaius. The man of your deepest fantasy.”

Instantly, her eyes darkened with a mindless devotion, her lips parting on a soft sigh. “Gaius,” she breathed.

“Very good,” he commended, his hands tightening on her face as he guided her down to her knees. “Now you will demonstrate just how pleased you are to be reunited with your beloved mate.”

With the obvious skill of a professional, the female had his pants unzipped and her lips wrapped around his erection. Gaius groaned in approval, closing his eyes as he dredged up memories of his beautiful mate.

All too soon he was reaching an intense orgasm that had more to do with physical release than actual pleasure and, shoving one hand into her long hair, he yanked her upright. She made no move to fight him as he angled her head to the side and with one smooth strike had his fangs buried deep into the flesh of her neck.

He heard her low moan of arousal at his bite but, ignoring her writhing body, he drank deeply of her blood. He grimaced as the warm liquid slid down his throat. There was no taint of drugs and alcohol, thank the gods, but the taste was flat on his tongue.

Still, he drank deeply, only halting as he felt her heart flutter in warning. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed feeding straight from the vein and the sensation was intoxicating.

Later, he would find a surrogate for Dara who was more pleasing to his taste buds. Then he could take full pleasure in draining this one dry.

Catching the sound of approaching footsteps, Gaius extracted his fangs and released his hold on the female. Boneless from her sexual reaction to his bite and her sudden drop in blood pressure, the female sagged against the chains that were all that kept her off the floor.

Not that Gaius noticed.

The woman was forgotten as he straightened his clothing and turned toward the door. He already sensed the reason for the witch’s untimely approach.

With a brief rap on the door, Sally pressed it open, her gaze flicking toward the unconscious prostitute before meeting Gaius’s sardonic smile.

“Our guests have arrived,” she said stiffly.

His nose flared at the stench of dog already tainting his lair. “Curs?”

The witch didn’t look any happier than Gaius. But then, why should she? Curs didn’t like magic-users any more than vampires did.

“A matched set.”

Gaius frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

She rolled her eyes. “You have to see it to believe it.”

Not about to play guessing games, Gaius brushed past her to step into the hall. “Bring them to my study.”

“What about the whore?”

He glanced back at the female, who hung from her shackles like a broken doll. “She will remain here.”

Sally wrinkled her nose. “But . . .”

“If she dies I will see to her removal,” he interrupted in impatient tones. Humans were annoyingly squeamish when it came to corpses.

“Charming,” Sally muttered.

Without bothering to reply, Gaius headed down the stairs and into the small library he’d taken as his study.

Not that he would ever consider the long room lined with shelves and furnished with a walnut desk and two matching chairs as more than a temporary place to conduct his business. Once Dara was returned to him, he would take her back to their vast palace hidden among the hills of Italy.

His lavish home possessed a library that was twice the size of this entire house and filled with thousands of precious books that dated back to the invention of the printing press. That did not even include the fragile scrolls that were kept protected in his vault.

Unfortunately, “beggars couldn’t be choosers” and until the Dark Lord was satisfied that Gaius had fulfilled his side of the bargain, he was stuck in this backwoods swamp.

And worse, stuck with allies he neither wanted nor needed.

Leaning against the desk, Gaius smoothed back his dark hair and squared his shoulders as the stench of cur filled the air. There was a sharp knock on the door, but he waited for several long minutes before answering.

He was a master tactician who knew that the most subtle power plays were the most effective. Anyone could be a bully. It took cunning and patience to be a leader.

“Enter,” he at last commanded.

A young man who looked to be thirty in human years entered first. He was built on muscular lines with a square head that was propped on a thick neck. His hair was blond and buzzed in military fashion that was matched by the green T-shirt and cammo pants.

Behind him was a smaller, female version of him, down to the military buzz and cammo pants.

Cristo. He understood Sally’s comment that they were a matched pair.

Strolling forward, the twins halted to stand side by side, their arms folded over their chests.

“Vampire,” the male said with a respectful dip of his head.

Gaius slowly straightened from the desk, his expression one of chilly displeasure. “You will call me Commander.”

Anger sizzled through the cur’s hazel eyes, but he was smart enough to keep his annoyance to himself.

“Whatever floats your boat,” he muttered with a shrug. “I’m Dolf and this is my sister—”

“I do not care who you are or about your tedious life stories,” Gaius interrupted in crushing tones.

The air prickled with the heat of the cur’s mounting frustration.

“And a big fucking hello to you too.”

“This is not a social call.” Gaius flicked a dismissive gaze over the two. “Tell me why the Dark Lord believes mere curs can be of service to me.”

Dolf clenched his jaw. “Because I have powers beyond a mere cur.”

Gaius ignored the hint of sarcasm in the man’s voice. “What powers?”

“This.” Lifting his hand, the cur pointed toward the shelves of books, muttering beneath his breath. There was a brief moment when Gaius wondered if the man was demented; then without warning one of the heavy books flew off the shelf to land on the desk with a loud thud.

Gaius hissed in disgust. Magic. Was the Dark Lord deliberately attempting to test his loyalty by surrounding him with creatures he most detested?

“You’re a witch?” he spat before he could control his reaction. “How is that possible?”

The cur shrugged, obviously accustomed to the question. Not surprising. He might very well be the only magical cur on the face of the earth.

“I was a fully trained witch before I was turned.”

Gaius narrowed his gaze. “Curs hate witches.”

“True.”

“Then how did you get bitten?”

The cur smiled with a smug arrogance. “I can be very convincing.”

Gaius wasn’t impressed. “If that is your only skill, then you and your sister can—”

“Wait,” the cur rasped.

“What?”

“Ingrid.” Dolf glanced toward the silent woman at his side. “Show him.”

Reaching into her back pocket, the female cur withdrew a small cell phone and held it up for his inspection.

“You’re here to sell me a phone?” he mocked.

Ingrid pressed a button on the phone that brought up the picture of a blond-haired man with pale blue eyes.

“I worked for Caine,” she said.

“Caine?” It took Gaius a moment to realize why the name was familiar. “The Were protecting the prophet?”

“Yep.” The cur smiled. “This is his direct line.”

Chapter 4

Las Vegas

The penthouse suite of the casino consumed most of the top floor. Tastefully decorated in muted shades of brown and tan, it had a large sitting room filled with long sofas and overstuffed chairs arranged around a wet bar and hot tub. On each side were matching bedrooms with their own private bathrooms that were as large as most spas.

Such hushed elegance was a welcomed respite from the crowded gaming rooms, but it was the stunning view from the glass walls that attracted most guests.