Immortals After Dark 10 - Demon From the Dark

she could commune with a mirror and have Carrow's location in seconds, Mari would likely entrance herself into a mystical coma, possibly forever.
    Nix quirked a brow. "And what would you tell your overprotective Lykae husband? If he found out your intentions, he'd spank you."
    Bowen would, in fact, go ballistic if he got a single werewolf whiff of this. He'd never allow it--even though the Lykae had begun to fear that one of their own had been snared by the people who'd taken Carrow.
    "Because we are friends, I am offering my services as a surrogate spankee." Nix said this playfully, but she rubbed her forehead as if it ached.
    Mari studied her expression, realizing that Nix looked tired . "I won't go to the mirror if you give me something I can use."
    Suddenly Nix tensed. When her amber eyes began to glow, the other Valkyrie eased forward, awaiting whatever foresight--or insight--Nix was about to divulge.
    "They're on an island, undetectable by our kind," she said. "It can't be seen by boat or plane, nor located on any map. To find it, you have to look for something else. To reach it, you have to uncover the key."
    Riddles now? "The key? What is it?" Mari demanded.
    "Who."
    "What?"
    "Where? Why? When?"
    "Nix!"
    "The key is a who . Not a what ."
    "Then who is it?" Mari said. Oh, gods, please tell me.
    "Don't remember." Over Mari's sputtering, she said, "I recall he's an immortal male. Filled with evil. Obsessed with something as intangible as smoke. Find him, reach the island." She rose. "I have much to do, young Mariketa. And I can't tell you anything more, because I know nothing else." Gazing at the ceiling, she tapped her chin with a claw-tipped finger. "Ooh, oooh, except for the fact that Carrow is soon to die!"

Chapter 7

    Malkom sprang forward, snatching the female's ankle just as she dropped from the ledge. She screamed, was still screaming as he flung her up to safety.
    She landed on her belly, clawing at the sand to get away from him, but he clutched her slim leg tight in his fist. Though she thrashed, she gained no ground.
    Why was she resisting him? Confusion roiled. Why can she not recognize me as I have her?
    Her scent was so feminine, so maddening to him. Lust assailed him as he raked his eyes over her back, her narrow waist, her flaring hips. Her body begged to be mated. At the thought of impregnating the female before him, his horns straightened even more, and his shaft pulsed in his trews.
    But she surprised him with a mule kick that connected with his mouth, splitting his lip.
    No, do not taste the blood. ...
    Against his will, his tongue flicked his lip. One hot drop made him even more crazed. All his vampire instincts rushed to the fore. His newly beating heart thundered, his chest heaving with breaths.
    The instinctive drive to plant his seed--the seed she'd brought forth--was overwhelming him. He'd produced it for her, but he couldn't lose it until he was inside her. The throbbing pressure turned to pain.
    Cannot fight this !
    When she kicked out again, he planted himself betwixt her thighs, capturing her wrists behind her back with one of his hands. As she flailed, the remains of her skirt rode up her hips, baring ... a sight such as he'd never seen before.
    Her undergarments were gone. In their place, she had a thin band of shining silk that encircled her hips, then dipped between the curves of her shapely backside.
    Astonished, he beheld this vision with his body shuddering and his cock about to explode.
    She still resisted beneath him. And some part of him wanted to release her, to not do this thing he seemed driven to do.
    To not use her as he had been used.
    But her thrashing goaded the vampire within, made him want to pin her down, made him desperate to drink her. His demonic instinct clamored for him to come inside her body, to mark her neck and claim her as his own.
    Both natures commanded him to take her neck.
    When she reared back in her struggles, her mane of hair tangled in the brush, baring her neck to him. Beneath the strange collar she wore, the skin was pale and smooth, ready to glove his throbbing fangs.
    Never had he bitten another. Reminded of this, rage scorched him inside. A remembered rage. How hard the Viceroy had tried to make him drink.
    Now Malkom knew that the long-dead vampire would win. Because there was no way to stop this.
    The pain, the frenzy. In Demonish, he rasped, "Forgive me." Then he dropped his body over hers, his head descending to low on her neck. Into