Although, he didn’t see a Hellspawn in the vicinity either.
Maybe he needed to take a closer look. He wouldn’t get too close to the gate. That way, it wouldn’t manifest and be in any danger. He knew it well enough to be able to skirt the edge of it, far away enough that he wouldn’t trigger it but close enough that he could get a good look.
He stepped, landing to the right of the clearing.
The olive tree in front of him wobbled and distorted.
Weird.
He blinked and shook his head. Teleporting shouldn’t affect him. Heat haze?
“Marek?” The female voice came from behind him.
Sent fire and ice shooting down his spine and had him spinning on his heel, shifting to face her in another disbelieving blink of his eyes.
“Airlea?” He stared at the beautiful raven-haired female who stood before him, black diaphanous robes clinging to her curves, caressing the ample swell of her bosom and the tempting flare of her hips, cinched with silver at her waist.
Her dazzling green eyes shone at him, sparkled like emeralds as she smiled, her sweet cherry lips curving gracefully and making his heart skip a beat.
It wasn’t possible.
On the heel of the wave of lust and heat that surged through him came anger and hurt so vicious and deep it sent him to his knees on the dirt. He clutched at the earth, growled and bore his emerging fangs at her as she tilted her head up and looked down her nose at him, as her smile turned wicked and cold, lips parting to flash fangs as sharp as his own.
“You cannot be here,” he snarled and dared to look at her again. The pain beating inside him grew a hundredfold, morphing into an agony so fierce it stole his breath as his past flashed across his eyes, a thousand moments when he had been happy.
In love.
He struggled for air as he looked at her, as her expression softened again, ripping at the fragile remains of a heart that she had left in his chest after rending it apart with her claws.
With her betrayal.
An image of her standing on the elegant patio of a Georgian-style black mansion, illuminated by candlelight that chased over the creamy swell of her breasts and accented the delicate sweeps and lines of her face rose before him. His heart beat harder in response, thundered against his ribs as need, love and happiness poured through him.
And then she laughed.
Laughed in that way he would never forget as the three male vampires beside her spoke of him.
Stabbed him deep in his chest and ripped his heart to shreds as she spoke of him.
He didn’t hear her words as he stared at her, the images flickering between the past and the present, the woman he had loved with every drop of his soul and the creature before him.
“You’re dead.” He focused on the one in front of him, managing to shatter the vision of his past.
He shook his head, clenched his teeth and snarled at her as tears stung his eyes.
“I fucking killed you.”
Or at least he thought he had. The night he had managed to hunt her down was always a blur for him, the faces of the vampires he had slaughtered blending together into one bloody stream as the darkness he always fought to hold back had seized total control of him.
Was it possible she had survived?
Airlea edged closer, her soft green eyes pulling him dangerously under her spell as she held a hand out to him.
Gods, he wanted to take it.
Frigid cold blasted across his back, rocking him forwards as dust swirled past him and the longer lengths of his hair fell down to brush his brow.
Airlea’s robes didn’t move at all.
He frowned.
Voices wobbled around him, watery and distant, and he couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were familiar.
His brothers?
Airlea leaned towards him, stretching her hand out to him. “Take it. Return to me.”
The agony boiling inside him reached a crescendo as he stared at her delicate hand, as his gaze flickered to her face and he saw the hope in her eyes.
The love in them.
His pain wavered, and his resolve went with it.
This was Airlea. His Airlea.
Returned to him.
Esher suddenly went barrelling through her, sending her spinning away from Marek. His older brother stumbled a few steps, his heavy worn black leather boots scuffing the ochre earth and sending dust up the blue jeans he wore tucked into them. He pivoted, the finger-length strands of his wild black hair falling down over his left eye as wind blasted him from behind. His blue eyes leaped around, darkening by degrees as he searched for something.
They settled on Marek and brightened, relief flooding them.
“Whatever it is you are seeing, it’s an illusion.” Esher swiped his hand across his forehead and glared at his surroundings, a shadow crossing his features as he skipped right past Airlea as if she wasn’t there.
Because he couldn’t see her.
Marek cursed. “Daemon.”
The woman who had targeted Esher, desiring to turn him against his brothers and the entire human population of the world, had the power to create illusions so detailed it was almost impossible to tell they weren’t real.
Marek looked at Airlea as she strode towards him, fury turning her eyes crimson as her claws lengthened.
She wasn’t real.
The Airlea he had known would never have asked for him to take her back. She had too much pride.
And now that he knew this was an illusion, he could say with confidence that she had definitely died that night at the vampire stronghold. He hadn’t left anyone alive.
It had been a bloodbath.
Another cold rush of wind battered him, and the sound of voices grew louder.
“Snap out of it.” Esher grabbed his arm and hauled him onto his feet, his muscles flexing beneath the dark grey shirt he wore over a black T-shirt and causing the soft material to tighten across his arms and chest.
Marek shuddered as his blood vibrated in his veins where his brother touched him, feeling as if it was going to explode.
“Keep your head,” Marek warned, his tone soft despite the gravity of his words.
If Marek lost his head, things got ugly.
If Esher lost his head, nothing survived.
Esher frowned at him and Marek was thankful that no trace of red shone in his brother’s stormy blue eyes. Esher was in control, for now at least. Marek couldn’t say how long it would last, not when they were fighting a powerful daemon and one who had managed to escape Esher’s clutches.
It would probably only take her landing a single, wounding blow on one of his brothers to send Esher off the deep end.
“We’re all good here, Esher.” Marek kept his voice even, calm.
Daimon slapped him on the back so hard the air left Marek’s lungs. “That’s my line.”
Marek wheezed in a breath and realised that it wasn’t only the force of his younger brother’s slap that had knocked the air from him. The spot where Daimon had touched was icy cold and his lungs ached as he dragged air into them.
“Sorry.” Daimon grimaced and scrubbed a black-gloved hand over the soft white tufts of his hair, his pale blue eyes backing up that apology. As he lowered his hand to rub at the neck of his long-sleeved navy roll-neck, intricate patterns of ice glittered like diamonds on the black leather of his gloves. “You good?”
Marek nodded.
Looked for Airlea.
She was gone, and rather than an empty clearing, there were ten daemons and two more of his brothers.