Moonlight Captivation [Moon Shadows Book 1] (2 page)

A jumbo jet was roaring in her head, her mouth tasted like jet fuel and she couldn't remember what she'd done last night. She forced her eyes open. Surely it hadn't been too bad, if she was home in bed. She pulled off her bed sheet, looking down at her body. Okay, she was naked. Whatever she had done, she prayed to God she hadn't done it in the raw. Unlike an ostrich, she didn't have the head or the ass to hide herself in a hole. She breathed in.
Mmmmm, what smells so yummy?
She sniffed again; it kind of smelled like chocolate. Following her nose, she sniffed at herself. Why did she smell like chocolate? Had she taken a chocolate bath last night? Only in her dreams, dreams of a tall, dark, handsome, sword-wielding man, all over her, in her. She sighed out loud.
Oh cripes, even breathing hurt.
She lay back, closing her eyes. Maybe if she went to sleep, she'd dream of a chocolate bath and remember it. A loud banging forced her eyes open.

"Oh cripes, go away."

The banging continued relentlessly, forcing her to grab her sheet off the bed, wrap herself up and trudge to her front door to peer though the view hole. The figure on the other side was tall, dusty blond, slightly muscular, with hazel eyes, impeccably dressed in a pale lemon polo shirt, tan khaki pants and continental loafers.

"Yoohoo, honey? Are you in there?"

Nessa yanked open the door, clamping her hand over her best friend's mouth, before he uttered another word. “Shhhh, even the walls make noise,” she whispered and winced.

Darren pulled her hand from his mouth, barging past her into the small apartment and through the living room into her kitchen. She followed.

"Well, coffee and aspirin are a sure-fire cure for a hangover, honey. I was worried about you last night—you didn't answer your phone. Is he gone?"

"Who?"

"Oooh, aaaah, oh yeah, baby! Larry."

The full force of last night hit her like a ton of bricks. She sat down on the chair, feeling sicker than the hangover already making her head pound.

"Oh, now I remember—the worst day of my life."

Darren sat down and patted her arm. “I wouldn't say the worst day; remember last year's work picnic?"

"Shut up. You're not helping."

"Hey, do you smell chocolate?"

Darren started sniffing the air, his nose getting increasingly closer to her body.

"Darren, you know I love you, but will you please stop sniffing me?"

"You smell like chocolate."

"I know."

"And you're wearing a sheet."

"I know."

"Why are you wearing a sheet?"

"Because I woke up naked, okay?"

"So, why do you smell like chocolate?"

He looked her up and down.

"I don't know. I can't remember much past drinking in some tavern last night. Maybe I ate a whole candy store."

"Uh, huh. Do you know you have the biggest hickey I've ever seen on your neck?"

"What?” Nessa jumped up and ran into her bathroom to check her neck in the full-length mirror. True to Darren's words, along her neck was a purple bruise. Curious, she pulled down the sheet to study the rest of her body; what could only be teeth marks ran all down her body and breasts. There was a small tattoo on the right side of her hip. Two triangles faced each other, a red circle ran around the edges, encasing the triangles.

"Oh my God, how did I get those?"

"I'm guessing it wasn't fancy-pants Larry,” Darren said behind her. “Got lucky and laid last night, did we? Even drunk, at least you could have come up with a more imaginative tattoo."

Nessa recovered her body. “I don't remember getting a tattoo; it doesn't hurt, though.” Giving the mark a rub though the sheet, she said, “Everything from last night was a fuzzy blur...and a cat."

"A cat?"

"What are you, a bloody parrot?” She gripped her head; it was pounding away. “I don't know what I'm talking about."

Darren gave her a sympathetic hug. “Have a shower. I'll make some coffee—it'll help clear your head. But I must say, I do like the chocolate smell you have going."

"Get out.” She pushed Darren to the bathroom door.

"All right, bossy boots.” He closed the door and started singing the show tune from
Oklahoma
, “I'm just a girl who can't say no..."

Groaning, Nessa turned on the shower, hoping to drown out the sound of her overly happy best friend clattering around in her kitchen. She stepped into the cold spray to help ease some of the aches in her body, pressing her head against the cool tiles.

Getting home from work early the previous day, Nessa opened the door of her apartment, to find her boyfriend of six months, naked, bending the equally naked, skinny, next-door neighbor, aptly named Bunny, over the sofa and rooting her like a rabbit. Nessa supported him to help his acting career take off, and she'd thought she loved him.
Note to self: burn sofa first chance I get.
He calmly kept fucking Bunny while saying, with a stupid grin on his face, “Hey baby, wanna join in? I always wanted a threeway."

Humiliated, Nessa's temper flared. “Get your lazy, non-working, lying, cheating ass out of my place and take your fucking rabbit with you! Or, I'll shove a red-hot poker so far up your ass, you won't be able to sit down for the rest of your natural, scum-ridden life!"

Nessa screamed, spun on her heels and ran back down the stairs. She kept walking, stubbornly swiping at the tears streaming down her face, while trying desperately to contact her best friend on her mobile to tell him what her cheating, now ex-boyfriend had done, but she only got his voicemail. Darren must have worked a double shift.

She walked until she came upon a tavern. Nessa ventured into the bar and drank herself into oblivion, her drink of choice being Strawberry Snaps and Vanilla Dreams—sweet, smooth and highly alcoholic. The night then merged into nothing but a fragmented blur. Nessa swore she'd seen a cat and a hunk-a-luscious man, with the most amazing, golden eyes. Yes, golden eyes—at least she'd remembered something. Nessa looked down at the marks on her body. Maybe her dream hunk wasn't a dream after all. Great! She'd met the man of her dreams and couldn't remember who he was, or what they did. From the evidence, they had done a great deal—just her rotten luck.

Three days later...

Neman paced; he couldn't get her out of his head. He recalled every detail of her body, her pale blue eyes and her strawberry and vanilla scent, which maddened him. He left her in her apartment in the early hours of the morning after finding her purse back in the alley with her identification ID—Vanessa Myles. Just thinking about her made him hard and frustrated. He could find no trace of the demon he'd been tracking for the past month; Vanessa was just the candidate for the demon. She matched the profile of the demon's past victims—the right age, eye and hair color. Women, just like
his
Vanessa. He shook his head. It was dangerous to think of her like that. One consolation of the hunt was he'd stopped the demon from killing her, instead, she'd ended up a victim of his own lust.

He shook his head, throwing another dagger at the target board in his training room. It hit the bull's-eye dead on. Having sex with her should never have happened, yet more than anything, he wanted it to happen again. Three days of continual hunting and hard physical workouts in an attempt to forget the encounter with his Vanessa, but still he was mentally and physically frustrated. “Damn it all to hell."

"Someone's in a good mood; not got your Gorlon Kat demon yet, Neman?"

"What do you want, Slazzamar?” Neman stalked across the room, wrenching each blade from the worn target board, not bothering to look at the half-elf/half-demon creature leaning against his weapons cage. Slazzamar served as messenger and general liaison and spy between the Realms; he was often more trouble than he was worth, as no secret worth keeping could ever be kept by him, but he often brought Neman news or the whereabouts of particular demons he was hunting. Neman once saved the elf's life, finding the elf in a fight with a Shadow demon he'd been sent to gather information on. Ever since, Slazzamar popped in and out at random, thinking he was repaying Neman with tidbits of information he gleaned from the Lower, Outer and Human Realms.

"I have recently come across a luscious piece of information you're just going to love. It seems the Lower and Outer Realms are buzzing about a prophecy which is about to take place."

"I don't care for prophecies and less for rumors, unless you know where the Gorlon Kat demon is."

"If I knew that, then it wouldn't be a rumor, but fact."

"All the better. Now piss off, before I need another target for my board."

Slazzamar glanced at the shredded
Supernatural
poster. Everyone who was anyone knew Neman never missed and to never get in the way of his blades. “Wait a minute, you let it get away? The mighty demon hunter let his quarry get away?"

"I needed to rescue a helpless, human woman.” What the hell was he doing, defending his actions to Slazzamar?

"Was she pretty, this helpless human woman? Did she reward you properly for her rescue?” Slazzamar twitched his pointed ears, before smoothing back his long white hair.

"If you know what's good for you, Slazzamar, you'll keep your trap shut.” But that was just the problem—he never did.

"I love humans, so frail, so fuckable."

Neman swiveled on his booted heel, a movement quicker than any mortal eye could see. He'd embedded the six throwing daggers deeply into the target board. Each dagger landed directly on the faces of the actors on the poster, pinned onto his target board, destroying the fragile paper in the process. His anger flared, as he turned on Slazzamar. “State what you want, then get out."

"Hey, don't kill the messenger. I don't go demanding payment—my services come free of charge.” Slazzamar held up his hands. “I just thought you might want to know the prophecy contained info about the ‘Chosen One'—you know, the being of great power, who is destined to heal the fractures between the Realms and bring peace."

"That's hardly news, Slazzamar.” Neman picked two long sabers from his weapons rack, and tossed one toward Slazzamar, who caught the hilt. He knew the prophecy, vaguely. The story was about a powerful prince who would send the demons back to hell and seal the fracture which allowed them to leak out. The fracture had been there for hundreds of thousands of years. Neman doubted the prophecy's validity. The Outer Realms had been warring with the Lower Realms for as long as anyone could remember. The fracture accounted for most of the demons Neman had to track and kill in the Human Realm, the Realm in which he also dwelt.

"Spar with me, and I may decide not to kill you for bringing me useless information."

"Where are your slaves today?” Slazzamar jumped to his feet. Despite his frail, skinny frame, Slazzamar was deceptively nimble and strong.

"Mark and Mona have the week off, and I've told you before, they are not my slaves.” Neman lunged to attack, feeling the need to beat the crap out of something to help improve his glum mood over not having Vanessa.

"Touchy—you're in a worse mood than I've ever seen you.” Slazzamar jumped out of the way, deflecting Neman's blow. “Since when has my information been useless? Oh, you're going to love this one. It's a real, as the humans, say ‘doozy.’”

"Stop fucking about and tell me,” Neman responded, jumping forward and swinging his blade in quickly. Slazzamar caught it with his own blade, pushing Neman back.

"The whole Lower Realm and all the demon rulers are in a panic; a woman is pregnant with this great ‘prince,’ and now the race is on to find her and kill both her and the child before it's born."

"Who is the woman?” Curiosity got the better of Neman.

"Isn't this the mystery everyone will kill to discover? You'd better roll out the welcome mat, Neman, because they're on their way to you."

Neman frowned, lowering his sword. “What do I have to do with this?"

Slazzamar laughed, making Neman's blood run cold.

"You really should brush up on your prophecies, Neman. For an ex-god and demon hunter, you really are thick."

Neman growled, taking a menacing step towards the half-elf/half-demon.

"I am still a god, Slazzamar, so unless you want to move to the top of my hit list, spill it."

"You're the Daddy, Daddy-O."

Neman snorted. “Ridiculous, there is no way...” He stopped midsentence, suddenly thinking of Vanessa. His idiocy was now complete. He hadn't even thought of such a thing while his naked cock felt so good sliding into her unprotected, wet heat. Damn. The way he'd been unable to resist her...she'd been anointed by the gods, a potent ointment, known to be stronger than even Cupid's arrow tip.

"You know who she is, don't you?” Slazzamar stepped forward, ears twitching at the information.

Neman grabbed the creature by his black, skull-and-crossbones T-shirt, lifting him off his feet. “I want to see the scrolls."

"Bring your reading glasses, old man.” Slazzamar gripped Neman's shoulders, immediately feeling the energy building, before the electric sizzle and
pop
.

Neman looked around at the dimly lit archives of the Ancients. What did it make him? These archives were set up immediately before his time. Every modern scholar on earth would sell their souls to see the wealth of knowledge contained in these scrolls, tomes, tablets and books. Not surprisingly, Neman saw the bright flickering of computers down the far end of one hall.

The long, marbled hall stretched for miles. Neman could feel the powerful spells hovering through the air, protecting the library from anyone, or any creature, who wanted to destroy it. But it was too valuable a source of information for all races for them to want to. It also served as neutral territory for warring races, Realms and any others, who needed to resolve their disputes.

Slazzamar managed to untangle himself from Neman's grip during the teleport.

Neman lowered his sword, knowing it was useless and glared at Slazzamar. “Well?"

"Patience, Neman, patience.” Slazzamar strolled casually down the hall as if he owned the place, and Neman followed.

Neman spent many years in this place, searching for a way to regain his stolen powers when his own relatives refused to help. He wanted vengeance on the demon, who had not only stolen his powers, but his whole life. Already skilled with a blade, Neman was forced to rely on his immortality and strength. He learned quickly, developing into a skilled and deadly warrior. He had thrown what was left of his life into hunting down and killing demons.