“Where are we?” he demanded. “And why are we hiding?”

  “Cyprus,” her voice was clipped, as if she was on edge. “Near the gateway that Xuria uses to enter her private dimension.”

  Troy glanced around, unable to see any portal. “What’s a Xuria?”

  “An…acquaintance.”

  Troy sent the nymph a suspicious glance. “If Xuria’s an acquaintance, then why are we hiding behind this barrier?”

  “Because she will destroy us if she realizes we’re here.”

  “Why?”

  Cleo sent him a fierce glare. “Do you ever shut up? If I wanted a chatterbox with me I would have brought Levet.”

  “Yeesh, I thought my mom was a bitch,” Troy muttered, although that wasn’t entirely true.

  His mother could be aloof and demanding and cunning. A typical imp. It was the fact that she was a queen that bothered him. She had an endless list of utterly unreasonable demands she expected of him. All of them more tedious than the last.

  He was supposed to wear clothing that matched the royal house colors, a boring black and white. Bleh. He was supposed to attend formal dinners and be close at hand to tend to his mother’s every need. He was supposed to charm diplomats from other tribes. He was supposed to train to become the leader of their army.

  Above all, he was supposed to mate and produce a bevy of tiny Troys.

  He shuddered, shoving aside the depressing thought as he concentrated on the female standing next to him.

  “Why would your acquaintance try to kill us?”

  “I don’t know. She’s been trying to murder me since I was a child.” An unnervingly cruel smile curved her lips. “Thankfully I’m not very easy to kill.”

  Troy believed her. This female had maintained her territory in a city belonging to Victor, the vampire clan chief of London. She was not only ruthless, but a survivor.

  “If she’s so homicidal then why aren’t we safely hidden in your lair?” Troy asked.

  Cleo’s gaze was locked on the beach below them. Troy didn’t know what she was staring at. All he could see was golden sand and the opening to a cave etched into the limestone cliff.

  “She has something I want.”

  “What?”

  The nymph ignored his question as she tilted back her head and closed her eyes. She was obviously sensing something. But what?

  “Llewen, be ready,” she sharply commanded.

  Troy leaned forward, studying the empty beach. At last a familiar tingle warned that a portal was about to open. Expecting the acquaintance to be another nymph, Troy was caught off guard when a moss sprite with a mane of bronze hair stepped onto the golden sand.

  “That’s Xuria?” he asked, his confusion only deepening at the unmistakable tang of human magic.

  “Yes.”

  “I see a moss sprite, but I sense…sorceress.”

  “Xuria has the ability to invade host bodies and control them for a limited amount of time.”

  Troy grimaced. He’d had a few dealings with sorceresses. Once when he’d been captured in a magical net and had been forced to barter his favorite enchanted crystal to be released. And once when a sorceress had moved into the neighborhood where he’d opened a male strip club with Sophia, a pureblooded Were. They’d eventually handed over an obscene fortune to convince her to relocate. What choice did they have? None of their customers were willing to cross the path of a sorceress. That always ended badly. At least for the demon.

  He stared down at the tiny female who had halted to turn back toward the portal.

  “Host? Like inviting someone over for an afternoon tea party?” he asked.

  “No, like crushing their mind and leaving them an empty husk.”

  “Charming.” Troy’s nose flared, his senses suddenly tingling with alarm. “Why do I smell salt?” His question was answered as a half dozen mer-folk appeared out of the portal. They were dressed as humans in jeans and sweaters, with their golden hair pulled into braids as if to disguise the blue tints. Nothing unusual in that. But he’d never seen such a blank expression on their delicate faces. As if they were asleep as they shuffled forward. “Why are the mer-folk with a sorceress?” he muttered his confusion out loud.

  “When Xuria returns to this world she gathers fey creatures and herds them through the gateway.”

  “Why?”

  “She uses them as slaves.”

  Her voice was deliberately vague, as if she wasn’t revealing all she knew about the fate awaiting the poor mer-folk. Although, becoming slaves was bad enough as far as Troy was concerned.

  “Seriously?” Troy hissed in horror. “Are you here to free them?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But—”

  Cleo’s hand grabbed his arm with the speed of a striking snake. “We are here to enter the private dimension so I can get what I need from Xuria,” she warned, her fingers tightening to dig painfully into Troy’s flesh. “Nothing else.”

  He scowled, oddly disappointed. Did he actually expect the female to reveal a compassion hidden beneath her merciless exterior? Stupid of him. Still, he wasn’t going to give in without a fight.

  “You can’t let them be enslaved,” he insisted.

  Her nails dug through the material of his cloak, stabbing into his skin until he could feel blood flowing down his arm.

  “What do I care? They’re not my people.”

  He clenched his teeth as she used the mark on the back of his hand to amp up the pain.

  “Because it’s indecent.”

  Cleo scowled, as if puzzled by his concern. Then, clearly sensing that her punishment wasn’t working, she eased her grip and allowed her sumptuous fig scent to wrap around him.

  “We’re demons.” She leaned forward, pressing the plush softness of her breasts against his arm. Heat swirled through Troy. “We’re supposed to be indecent.”

  The sensual web she was weaving around him was a tangible force. It was as if she’d entered his mind, painting images of her luscious curves stretched on the sandy beach with him poised above her. Troy groaned. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and drown in her sweet temptation. But another image thankfully refused to be dismissed.

  The blank faces of the mer-folk who had no idea they were being led to their doom.

  “We have to do something,” he managed to insist in harsh tones.

  The pain returned, slamming into Troy with enough force to send him to his knees. She grabbed his braid, yanking back his head to meet her malevolent glare.

  “What we’re going to do is remain hidden behind the shield until I give the command to enter the gateway,” she informed him, the words slow and precise as if to ensure there were no misunderstandings. “If you attract attention to our position in any way I will make sure that you regret your decision for a very, very long time. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah. I understand,” Troy conceded defeat.

  What else could he do? There was no doubt this female would destroy him if he didn’t follow her orders.

  Of course, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t find someone else to rescue the mer-folk.

  Closing his eyes as if battling back the pain, Troy reached out to the one creature capable of hearing his silent voice.

  Chapter 6

  Levet was busy polishing the tip of his tail as he leaned against the dais. It didn’t need the buffing. The appendage possessed a magnificent gloss beneath the glow of the chandeliers. But he’d grown bored with Inga and Rimm’s conversation. Who knew that being a queen could be so tedious?

  For the past hour the captain of the royal guards had been droning on about replenishing supplies, mapping the hidden tunnels that had recently been used by traitors in an attempt to steal the Tryshu from Inga, and expanding the layers of protection around the nursery. Or at least that was what he thought they were discussing. After the first couple of minutes it all became blah, blah, blah.

  Why could they not be enjoying a nice meal in Inga’s private chambers? Or better yet, tapping into the power of her mighty Tryshu to create a bubble they could use to float through the water? They did that once and it was glorious. Bounce, bounce, bounce along the bottom of the ocean.

  Lost in his daydreams, Levet was distracted when the merman stepped onto the dais to stand next to Inga’s throne. The male was wearing his usual uniform that was made from magically enhanced scales that molded to his lean body, and his blond hair with tints of blue was pulled into a long braid. On his side, he had a short trident in a holster.

  “I have a list of uniform and weapon inventory as well as the guards’ schedule for the next two weeks,” he said, placing a stack of papers in Inga’s unwilling hands. “Do you wish to review the revised treaties that arrived this morning or—”

  “Fah,” Levet interrupted. Inga was too polite to halt the pushy merman, but Levet could see in her tightly pinched expression that she was weary of the grindingly boring meeting. Or maybe she had a touch of gas. Either way, Levet was done. “No more, I beg of you, ma belle,” he pleaded.

  Rimm sent him a fierce glare. “These are important matters, gargoyle.”

  Levet wrinkled his snout. “They are dull matters.”

  The merman’s eyes flashed with an unmistakable warning. “Dull?”

  “Tiresome, monotonous, snore-festival,” Levet explained.

  Inga frowned before snapping her fingers. “Snore-fest,” she corrected.

  Rimm pinched his lips in a pucker, as if he swallowed something sour. “They might be dull, but they are duties that must be tended to on a regular basis. Unless you prefer to allow the castle to fall into chaos?”

  Levet sniffed. “What I want is a royal feast with roasted pig and joyous entertainment, but seemingly that is…” He squiggled his fingers to indicate air quotes. “‘Bad taste’ at this time. As if those females would recognize good taste if it smacked them in the—”

  “That will be all,” Inga interrupted Levet’s tirade just as he was hitting his stride, her gaze on a scowling Rimm. “We’ll finish this later.”

  The male looked as if he wanted to insist that they continue the meeting, then, glancing toward Levet, he heaved a resigned sigh. Clearly he realized that Levet intended to continue interrupting until he succeeded in distracting Inga from her work.

  “Very well.”

  With a stiff bow the male turned to march from the throne room, closing the door behind him with a restrained bang.

  The merman was clearly in a snit.

  “Are you going to be a grump forever?” Inga asked in weary tones.

  Levet glanced toward her in disbelief. “I am not the grump. Did you not see how your captain shut the door? He was…” Levet’s words trailed away as Inga arched a brow. “Perhaps there is a teeny tiny grumpishness,” he conceded. “I do not comprehend why you allow yourself to be burdened with all the icky parts of being a queen and never get to enjoy the good parts.”

  Inga reached up to grab the crown that hung at a lopsided angle on her head. She tossed it carelessly on the ground.

  “I’m not sure that there are any good parts.”

  Levet clicked his tongue. “Of course there are.”

  “What?”

  “The parties.”

  “I hate parties.” Inga shuddered, glancing toward the balcony across the room. It was attached to the ballroom on the upper floor where the formal events were traditionally hosted. “All those people gawking and staring.”

  Levet could sympathize. He often experienced people pointing and whispering behind his back. He assumed they were admiring his unique beauty. But Inga did not possess his confidence. She would naturally assume they were making fun of her.

  “Your treasure trove,” he instead suggested. “I have never seen so many priceless gems. Well, perhaps in a dragon’s lair,” he grudgingly conceded.

  “I never go anywhere. And even if I did, the treasure belongs to the mer-folk, not to me,” Inga reminded him. “What’s the point of money if you can’t spend it?”

  Levet shrugged. “You can make people bow when you walk past them.”

  “And know that they would put a knife in my back if it wasn’t for the Tryshu.”

  “What do you enjoy?” Levet demanded. He had a gift for pleasing the females, but Inga was not like the others.

  No doubt that was why she fascinated him. But at the same time she made him a tad cray-cray.

  “I like painting,” Inga told him after she’d considered the question for a few seconds. “And bashing people over the head with my trident.”

  Levet’s lips parted to respond, only to snap closed when a voice echoed through his skull.

  “Oh,” he breathed.

  Inga jumped off the dais, standing next to him with her Tryshu clutched tightly in her hand.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you hear that?”

  She frowned. “Hear what?”

  Levet heaved a resigned sigh. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Levet.”

  He held up a silencing hand. “Troy is in my head.” Closing his eyes, Levet concentrated on his connection to the imp. “Get out, you aggravating pest.”

  “Shut up and listen, gargoyle,” Troy growled.

  “Jerky jerk-face,” Levet muttered.

  Troy ignored the insult. “I’m being taken into some weird dimension with Cleo and her merry band of nymphs.”

  “Are you still complaining about that? I told you, the only way to follow the vampire was to—”

  “Shut. Up.” Troy rudely commanded. “I need you to get a message to Inga.”

  Levet grudgingly resisted the urge to slam shut the connection. There was a sharp edge in Troy’s voice that warned Levet that this was serious. Concentrating, he tried to peer into the imp’s brain. He could sense urgency, and danger, and something that might have been disappointment. And there was something else. A scent of salt. As if he was standing close to the ocean. Or maybe the sea.

  “What message?”

  “There’s a sorceress named Xuria who is enslaving mer-folk.”

  Levet sucked in a startled breath. That’s why he could smell salt. “Mer-folk?”

  “Levet.” Inga grabbed the top of his wing. “Is Troy in trouble?”

  Levet kept his eyes closed as he answered. “The imp is babbling about some sorceress enslaving mer-folk.”

  “My people are being enslaved?” Inga lifted Levet off the ground by his wing. “Where?”

  Levet didn’t struggle against her grasp. Obviously she was upset. “Where are you?” he demanded of Troy.

  Troy sounded equally distressed. “Cyprus.”

  “He says he is at Cyprus.” Levet passed along the information.

  “Is he planning to rescue them?” Inga demanded.

  “Are you—”

  “I can’t talk now. We’re about to leave this dimension,” Troy interrupted. “You’ll have to deal with the mer-folk.”

  Levet scowled, but before he could insist that the imp deal with the sorceress, the connection was broken.

  Opening his eyes, he sent Inga a regretful glance. “He is gone.”

  “What about the mer-folk?”

  “He was doing nothing.” Levet heaved a harsh sigh. “Once again, it is my duty to rescue them.”

  Inga lowered him to the marble floor, releasing his wing as she straightened with a determined expression.

  “Our duty.”

  “How many times must we have this discussion?” Levet’s tone was one of regret. Inga hated to be stuck at the castle when the action was happening out in the world. Unfortunately, she was the queen. That meant she had to stay protected behind the layers of magic. “Your place is here with your people.”

  “Not this time.”

  Without warning, the ogress turned to stomp toward the door. Her feet slammed so hard each step threatened to crush the marble floor and her neon purple muumuu with green stars billowed around her.

  Levet scurried to match her long strides. “Inga, please listen.”

  “No.” Stomp, stomp, stomp. “My warriors have no defense against human magic.”

  Levet studied the stubborn line of her profile. “And you do?”

  “My ogre hide gives me some protection,” she said, referring to her thick layer of skin that could deflect a war axe. “Plus I have this.” She waved the massive trident. “Nothing can kill me as long as I hold the Tryshu in my hand.”

  Levet hesitated. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I’ll tell Rimm where we’re going and—”

  “Wait.” Levet flapped his wings to scurry toward a spot directly in front her.

  Inga scowled, but thankfully didn’t squash him with her impressively large foot.

  “What now?” Coming to a halt, she contented herself with a fierce glare.

  “Have you considered the fact that you’re going to be recognized?” Levet asked.

  “Recognized by who?”

  Levet spread his arms. “Everyone.”

  “Why would I be recognized?” Inga appeared genuinely confused. “I spent my childhood as a slave, then five centuries hidden with Lilah in the wetlands of Florida, and the past months down here.”

  Levet deliberately allowed his gaze to roam from the massive trident to Inga’s mighty form covered in the shockingly brilliant gown.

  “You’re a seven-foot ogress holding the Tryshu,” he pointed out in gentle tones. “Who else could you be but the Queen of the Mer-folk?”

  “Oh.” She furrowed her brow. “I suppose I could leave the Tryshu—”

  “Non.” Levet shuddered at the mere thought of Inga roaming around without the powerful weapon. She had accumulated enemies at a remarkable rate since taking the throne. Not to mention the various mer-folk who refused to accept her as their ruler. They would do anything to kill her. Anything. “That weapon is never to leave your hands.”