On the ground floor two men lounged in a room, talking in low voices. The soldiers. They waited for Tempest. Waited for a helpless woman they could torture, use to draw one of the Carpathians to them. Each of those soldiers carried a syringe on him. Darius was certain of it. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered to him except that these were the men who had attempted to harm his life-mate and his sister. Nothing would stop him.
He stood in the open door to the pool room, his eyes glowing a fiery red, his white teeth gleaming. The men turned as one being, a slow-motion pirouette orchestrated by a relentless conductor, performed with the grace of a ballet. As one they grabbed their heads, clapping their hands tightly over their ears. Darius gave a menacing smile of mocking amusement. He applied pressure, a steady, relentless application of pain. As one they dropped to their knees.
“I believe you gentlemen were looking for me,” he said softly, the harshness in his face implacable, his emotions as cold as ice. He watched them die dispassionately, giving a fleeting thought to the coroner who would have to try to explain how four men died of brain aneurisms all at the exact same time. Instantly the victims were dismissed from his mind.
Julian, Dayan, and Barack could handle those in this portion of the house. Darius moved like a cold, killing wind to the other leg of the L, where he knew he would find the head of the monster. He moved so fast that one of the soldiers coming down the hall brushed against him without realizing what he had run into. The man staggered backward, looked around, scratching his head, and continued down the hall toward the pool room. Darius dismissed him as already dead. Julian had witnessed the first attempt on Desari’s life so many months ago, when men such as these had raked the stage with automatic weapons, nearly killing her. Despite his offbeat sense of humor and his rather sardonic manner, Julian was every bit as lethal as Darius. He simply hid it better. Julian would not allow any of these assassins to escape.
The huge living room boasted high ceilings and a rock fireplace on one wall with a large conversation area grouped around it. Two men were lounging in deep recliners, sipping coffee as they waited for their victim. Darius’s large frame filled the doorway. He simply stood there, waiting.
The older man had to be Wallace. He was of medium build with a shock of graying hair, rather coldly handsome features, and empty eyes. His companion was a good twenty years younger, with dark hair and an obvious eagerness to prove himself. Darius touched their minds. In Wallace he found a sick, perverse nature, a man cruel to animals and women. He enjoyed hurting them, found arousal in watching others suffer. This elder Wallace had obviously passed the legacy on to his son, the man killed in Europe by the Carpathians a few years earlier. His hatred ran deep and strong, and he was anticipating a long, pleasurable session with Tempest. The perverted fantasies in his head roused the demon in Darius to an almost uncontrollable pitch. Darius fought for control and won.
When neither man looked up, a situation he found laughable under the circumstances, Darius cleared his throat softly to direct their attention toward him. “I understand you requested my presence. It was completely unnecessary to issue the kind of invitation you did. Although now that I have seen you and looked into the rot of your minds, I understand why you did so.” His voice was beautiful, a black-magic weapon he wielded easily. “Please do not feel it necessary to get up,” he added to the younger man. “I have business with your boss.”
He lifted a hand and rather carelessly slammed the younger soldier back into his seat with ease holding him in his thrall even from a distance.
William Wallace stared at the tall, elegant man filling the doorway. Midnight-black hair flowed to his broad shoulders. His eyes held a demon’s red glow. Power clung to him, and his white teeth gleamed with menace when he smiled. He was inordinately polite, but Wallace sensed the smoldering threat beneath the surface. Physically he was beautiful, a handsome, intensely masculine specimen of a man with a sensuality around his mouth matched only by its edge of cruelty.
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