The Were had started as a loyal partner. A male who would do whatever she asked without complaint. It was only in the past few weeks that she suspected he had ulterior motives for joining her rebellion.
Not that she was any better. Roban was right when he claimed that the revolution wasn’t about honor or duty or anything else she’d tried to make herself believe. She wanted to pretend she was doing this to protect the vampires from being enslaved by the Anasso, but deep in her heart, she knew that she wasn’t that noble.
The scrolls that she’d been given had offered her an excuse to strike out. To purge the bitter hatred that had been stewing inside her for centuries. It was only when she’d realized her efforts to overthrow the Anasso had failed that she understood it had never been her true objective.
Her real goal didn’t need hundreds of demons. Or Roban.
Just herself.
Reaching the banks of the Mississippi River, she continued south, heading toward the orangish glow of light that was reflected in the night sky. Once, she halted, her skin tingling as if she’d just brushed by a hidden vampire. Glancing around, she could see nothing but the usual woodland animals and a dancing swirl of lightning bugs.
She frowned, then shaking off the sensation of being watched, she continued forward.
Nothing was going to distract her from her target. Not this time.
Resuming her swift pace, she reached the suburbs and circled the large lake that was framed by sprawling mansions. She’d never been to this part of St. Louis, but she easily caught the pungent stench of curs.
A dead giveaway to the location of the King of Weres.
Cautiously approaching the house, she searched for any hint of Roban. His brother was supposed to open a hidden tunnel that would allow them to enter the lair without being detected.
It wasn’t until she passed by the grotto that she found his trail. It was nearly disguised by nasty garbage. With a shudder, she forced herself to approach the grotto and drop through the opening in the cement slab.
This had better be the passage into the house. Otherwise, she was going to skin Roban and hang his pelt on her wall.
Traveling down the dark tunnel and through the open door into the basement, Maryam halted long enough to study the dead Were on the floor. This had to be Stewart, Roban’s brother. She dispassionately took in the sight of the silver arrow sticking out of the male’s chest before shrugging and heading across the cement floor. The male had been an idiot to trust Roban. And he’d paid the price.
She halted again as she neared the stairs. This time, she bent down to study the blood that was smeared across the cement. Were. But not the same Were.
Dipping her fingers in the dark liquid, she licked the sticky substance clinging to her skin. Roban. He’d been badly wounded, judging by the amount of blood. But he wasn’t the only one. She touched another puddle of blood before tasting it.
Shock jolted through her.
Brigette.
What was the female doing here? Roban had tried to convince her that the female was determined to betray her. Was he right? Had she somehow discovered their plans and come here to warn Salvatore?
Or…
Were the two working together? Had Roban pretended to hate the female so Maryam would suspect that they’d formed a secret partnership?
Maryam straightened, shaking away the sudden fear that she was walking into a trap. The blood indicated that the two had been in a vicious battle that had left both of them wounded. Whatever was happening between them had nothing to do with her plans.
Dismissing them from her mind, she pulled out the necklace that Roban had convinced his brother to bring to the motel. It was a medallion in the shape of a wolf’s head. An ugly piece of metal tied to a leather strap. Hardly her preferred style of jewelry, but it was created by Salvatore to invite a vampire to enter his home.
It was the only way she could pass over the threshold.
She walked up the stairs, entering the pantry. The small room was lined with cupboards and shelves, with an opening into the brightly lit kitchen. Maryam turned away from the main area of the house, choosing the servant’s staircase on the opposite side instead.
There was a hum of energy that filled the air and the smothering heat of having so many powerful Weres in one house. It made it almost impossible to locate the female she wanted. Thankfully, there was currently only one Were in the mansion who was mated to a vampire. Latching onto the cool scent, she followed it up to the third story and turned to the right.
The furnishings were elegant, with polished wood paneling on the walls and soft peach carpets on the floors. Overhead, an open-beamed ceiling gave an illusion of cozy warmth. There was, however, an echo of emptiness, assuring her that she was in the guest wing of the house.
Reaching the end of long hallway, Maryam paused to press her hand against the closed door. Inside, she could sense a Were, but nothing else. Perfect.
Grabbing the handle, she shoved the door open, not surprised to discover that it wasn’t locked. This was the lair of the King of Weres. Who would be stupid enough to invade it?
Stepping over the threshold, Maryam swept her gaze over the large suite that was decorated in soft shades of peach and cream. There was a sitting area with a small sofa and two matching chairs, and across the room was a small, delicate female just finishing the task of smoothing the comforter over a wide bed. Although Weres could tolerate sunlight, they were nocturnal creatures who preferred to hunt beneath the moonlight. Obviously, Darcy had just gotten up and was preparing for the night.
Turning at the sound of Maryam’s entrance, the female revealed her short, spiky blond hair and large green eyes. Her heart-shaped face and fragile features made her look like a human teenager rather than a vicious, predatory werewolf.
Maryam wasn’t fooled. This female could shift into her animal and rip off her head if she wasn’t careful. Which was why she’d come prepared.
Reaching into the black Dior handbag she’d matched with her cashmere sweater and black slacks, she pulled out a small handgun that was loaded with silver bullets. One shot through the heart and the bitch would be dead.
But first, she wanted to make sure that this female knew exactly why she was there.
“Darcy?”
“Yes?” The female studied her with more curiosity than fear. “Who are you?”
“Maryam.”
The air was filled with a sudden blast of heat as the female belatedly realized precisely who had intruded into her private rooms.
“The traitor,” she muttered, stepping away from the bed. Was she hoping to make a dash toward the door?
Maryam shook her head. No, it was more likely she was hoping to reach her phone, which was on the nearby nightstand.
“Good guess, Darcy,” she mocked, lifting her hand to reveal the handgun.