The Dark-Hunters (168 page)

Cassandra opened her fan as another Daimon came for her with a hunting knife. She caught the blade between the slats and twisted it from his hands, then used the knife to stab the Daimon in the chest.

He disintegrated instantly.

“You’ll pay for that, bitch,” one of the Daimons growled as he charged her.

Several men in the bar moved to help her, but the Daimons made quick work of them while other patrons headed for the exits.

Four Daimons surrounded Kat.

Cassandra tried to get to her to help fight them off, but couldn’t. One of the Daimons caught her bodyguard with a vicious blow that sent Kat flying into a nearby wall.

Kat hit it with a thud, then landed on the floor in a heap. Cassandra wanted to help her, but the best way to do that would be to get the Daimons out of the bar and away from her friend.

She turned to run, only to find two more Daimons standing directly behind her.

The collision of their bodies distracted her enough so that one of the Daimons could wrench the fan and knife from her hand.

He put his arms around her to keep her from falling.

Tall, blond, and handsome, the Daimon held a rare sexual aura that pulled anything female toward him. It was that essence that enabled them to prey effectively on humans.

“Going some place, princess?” he asked, taking her wrists in his hands and blocking her ability to fight for her weapon.

Cassandra tried to speak, but his deep, dark eyes held her completely captive. She felt his powers reaching into her mind, numbing her ability to flee.

The others joined him.

Still, the one before her kept his hands on her wrists, his mesmerizing gaze on hers.

“Well, well,” the tallest said as he dragged a cold finger down her cheek. “When I came out to feed tonight, the last thing I expected to find was our missing heiress.”

She snapped her head away from his touch. “Killing me won’t free you,” she said. “It’s only a myth.”

The one holding her turned her around to face his leader.

The Daimon leader laughed. “Aren’t we all? Ask any human in this bar if vampires exist and what will they say?” He ran his tongue over his long canine teeth as he eyed her evilly. “Now, come outside and die alone, or we’ll feast off your friends.”

He slid his predator’s gaze over to Michelle, who was far enough away and so captivated by Tom that she wasn’t even aware of the fight that had gone on over on Cassandra’s side of the large, crowded bar. “The brunette is strong. Her soul alone should sustain us for at least six months. As for the blonde…”

His gaze drifted over to where Kat lay surrounded by humans who didn’t appear aware of how she’d gotten hurt. No doubt the Daimons were using their powers to fog the minds of the humans around them to keep them from interfering.

“Well,” he continued ominously, “a little snack never hurt anyone.”

He grabbed her arm at the same time the Daimon holding her let go.

Unwilling to go quietly to her slaughter, Cassandra reverted to her strict and intensive training. She stepped back into the arms of the Daimon behind her and brought her heel down on his instep.

He cursed.

She buried her fist into the stomach of the Daimon before her, then darted between the other two and headed for the door.

With his inhuman speed, the tallest Daimon cut her off halfway there. A cruel smile curved his lips as he pulled her viciously to a stop.

She kicked out, but he prevented her from hurting him.

“Don’t.” His deep voice was mesmerizing and filled with the promise of lethal harm should she disobey him.

Several people in the bar turned to look at them, but one vicious glare from the Daimon and they headed off.

No one would help her.

None dared.

But it wasn’t over yet … She would never surrender to them.

Before she could attack again, the front door of the club swung open with an arctic blast.

As if he sensed something even more evil than himself, the Daimon turned his head toward the door.

His eyes widened in panic.

Cassandra turned to see what held him transfixed and then she, too, couldn’t tear her gaze away.

The wind and snow swirled into the entranceway around a man who stood at least six feet six.

Unlike most people who walked around in ten-degree weather, the newcomer wore only a long, thin black leather coat that rippled with the wind. He had on a solid black sweater, biker boots, and a pair of tight black leather pants that hugged a lean, hard body that beckoned with wild, sexual promise.

He had the confident, deadly swagger of a man who knew he had no equal. Of a man who dared the world to try and take him on.

It was the gait of a predator.

And it made her blood run cold.

Had his hair been blond, she would have presumed him another Daimon. But this man was something else entirely.

His shoulder-length jet-black hair was blown back from a perfectly sculpted face that caused her heart to pound. His black eyes were cold. Steely. His face was set and impassive.

Neither pretty, nor feminine, the man was such a Powdered Donut, he wouldn’t even have to share it in her bed!

Drawn like a homing beacon, and oblivious to the crowd in the bar, the newcomer swept his dark, deadly gaze from one Daimon to the next, until it settled on the one by her side.

A slow, evil smile spread over his handsome face, displaying the tiniest hint of fangs.

He headed straight for them.

The Daimon cursed, then pulled her in front of him.

Cassandra fought his hold, until he took a gun out of his pocket and held it to her temple.

Screams and shouts erupted in the bar as people ran for cover.

The other Daimons moved to stand by his side into what appeared to be a battle formation.

The newcomer gave a low, sinister laugh as he sized them up. The light in his jet eyes told her how much he looked forward to the fight.

His gaze actually goaded them.

“Bad form to take a hostage,” he said in a deep, smoothly accented voice that rumbled like thunder. “Especially when you know I’m going to kill you anyway.”

In that instant, Cassandra knew who and what the newcomer was.

He was a Dark-Hunter—an immortal warrior who spent eternity hunting down and executing the Daimons who fed off human souls. They were the defenders of mankind and the personification of Satan for her people.

She’d heard of them all her life, but much like the bogeyman, she’d attributed them to urban legends.

But the man before her wasn’t a figment of her imagination. He was real, and he looked every bit as deadly as the stories she’d heard.

“Out of my way, Dark-Hunter,” the Daimon holding her said, “or I’ll kill her.”

Appearing amused by the threat, the Dark-Hunter shook his head like a parent scolding an angry child. “You know, you should have stayed in your bolt-hole one more day. Tonight’s Buffy night, and it’s a whole new episode, too.”

The Dark-Hunter paused to sigh irritably. “Have you
any
idea how angry it makes me that I have to come out here in the freezing cold to slay you when I could be at home all toasty warm, watching Sarah Michelle Gellar kick ass in a halter top?”

The Daimon’s arms shook as he tightened his grip on Cassandra. “Get him!”

The Daimons attacked at once. The Dark-Hunter caught the first one by the throat. In one fluid motion, he picked the Daimon up and slammed him against the wall where he held him in a tight fist.

The Daimon whimpered.

“What are you, a baby?” the Dark-Hunter asked. “Jeez, if you’re going to kill humans, the least you could do is learn to die with some dignity.”

A second Daimon dove for his back. As the Dark-Hunter twisted his lower body, a long, evil-looking knife shot out of the toe of his boot. He buried the blade in the center of the Daimon’s chest.

Instantly, the Daimon exploded into powder.

The Daimon in the Dark-Hunter’s grip flashed his long canine teeth as he tried to bite and kick him. The Dark-Hunter tossed him into the arms of the third Daimon.

They stumbled back and landed in a heap on the floor.

The Dark-Hunter shook his head at the two Daimons as they stumbled over each other, trying to regain their feet.

More attacked and he cut through them with an ease that was as scary as it was morbidly beautiful.

“Come on, where did you learn to fight?” he asked as he killed two more. “Miss Manners’ School for Girls?” He sneered contemptuously at the Daimons. “My baby sister could hit harder than you when she was three years old. Damn, if you’re going to turn Daimon, the least you could do is take a few fighting lessons so you can make my boring job more interesting.” He sighed wearily and looked up at the ceiling. “Where are the Spathi Daimons when you need them?”

While the Dark-Hunter was distracted, the Daimon holding her moved the gun from her temple and fired four shots into him.

The Dark-Hunter turned very slowly toward them.

Fury descending over his face, he glared at the Daimon who had shot him. “Have you no honor? No decency? No damn brains? You don’t kill me with bullets. You just piss me off.”

He looked down at the bleeding wounds in his side, then pulled his coat out so that light shone through the holes in the leather. He cursed again. “And you just ruined my friggin’ favorite coat.”

The Dark-Hunter growled at the Daimon. “For that, you die.”

Before Cassandra could move, the Dark-Hunter whipped his hand toward them. A thin black cord shot out and wrapped itself around the Daimon’s wrist.

Faster than she could blink, the Dark-Hunter closed the distance between them, jerked the Daimon’s wrist, and wrung his forearm.

She stumbled away from the Daimon and pressed herself against the broken jukebox, out of their way.

With one hand still on the Daimon’s arm, the Dark-Hunter grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet. In a graceful arc, he slung the Daimon onto a table. Glasses shattered under the weight of the Daimon’s back. The gun hit the wooden floor with a cold, metallic thud.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you the only way to kill us is to cut us into pieces?” the Dark-Hunter asked. “You should have brought a wood chipper instead of a gun.”

He glared at the Daimon, who fought desperately against his hold. “Now, let’s see about freeing the human souls you’ve stolen.” The Dark-Hunter pulled a butterfly knife from his boot, twirled it open, and plunged it into the Daimon’s chest.

The Daimon decayed instantly, leaving nothing behind.

The last two ran for the door.

They didn’t get far before the Dark-Hunter pulled a set of throwing knives out from under his coat and sent them flying with deadly precision into the backs of the fleeing killers. The Daimons exploded, and his knives hit the floor ominously.

With an unbelievably deliberate calmness, the Dark-Hunter headed for the exit. He paused only long enough to retrieve his knives from the floor.

Then he left as quickly and silently as he’d come.

Cassandra struggled to breathe as the people in the bar came out of hiding and went berserk. Thankfully, even Kat pushed herself up and stumbled toward her.

Her friends came running up to her.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you see what he did?”

“I thought you were dead!”

“Thank God, you’re still alive!”

“What did they want with you?”

“Who were those guys?”

“What happened to them?”

She barely heard the voices that hit her ears so fast and blended that she couldn’t tell who asked what question. Cassandra’s mind was still on the Dark-Hunter who’d come to her rescue. Why had he bothered to save her?

She had to know more about him …

Before she could think better of it, Cassandra ran after him, looking for a man who shouldn’t be real.

Outside, blaring sirens filled the air and were getting progressively louder. Someone in the bar must have called the police.

The Dark-Hunter was halfway down the block before she caught up to him and pulled him to a stop.

His face impassive, he looked down at her with those deep, dark eyes. Eyes so black that she couldn’t detect the pupils. The wind whipped his hair around his chiseled features and the cloud from his breath mingled with hers.

It was freezing out, but his presence warmed her so much that she didn’t even feel it.

“What are you going to do about the police?” she asked. “They’ll be looking for you.”

A bitter smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “In five minutes no human in that bar will ever remember they saw me.”

His words surprised her. Was that true of all Dark-Hunters? “Will I forget too?”

He nodded.

“In that case, thank you for saving my life.”

Wulf paused. It was the first time anyone had ever thanked him for being a Dark-Hunter.

He stared at the wealth of tight, strawberry-blond curls that cascaded without order around her oval face. She wore her long hair plaited down her back. And her hazel-green eyes were filled with a brilliant vitality and warmth.

Though she wasn’t a great beauty, her features had a quiet charm that was inviting, tempting.

Against his will, he reached his hand up to touch her jaw, just below her ear. Softer than velvet, her delicate skin warmed his cold fingers.

It had been so long since he last touched a woman.

So long since he had last tasted one.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and captured those parted lips with his own.

Wulf growled at the taste of her as his body roared to life. He’d never sampled anything sweeter than the honey of her mouth. Never smelled anything more intoxicating than her clean, rose-scented flesh.

Her tongue danced with his as her hands clutched at his shoulders, pressing him closer to her. He became hard and stiff with the thought of how soft her body would be in other places.

And in that moment, he wanted her with an urgency that stunned him. It was a desperate need he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Cassandra’s senses swirled at the unexpected contact of his lips on hers. She’d never known anything like the power and hunger of his kiss.