The Dark-Hunters (204 page)
Authors: Sherrilyn Kenyon
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #Vampires, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Paranormal & Urban
Artemis crawled into his bed behind him and snuggled up to his back. She nuzzled his shoulder with her face. “Fine then,” she said softly. “You won this round against me and Apollymi. I’ll credit you with that. But tell me, Acheron … how long can you continue to defeat both of us?”
He glanced over his shoulder to see the evil glint in her iridescent green eyes. “As long as it takes, Artemis. As long as it takes.”
Epilogue
Cassandra awoke on her birthday, half afraid all of this was a dream.
Even Wulf never ventured far from her side, as if he were afraid she would evaporate the moment he left her.
He’d come rushing back to her at odd times throughout the whole afternoon. “You still here?”
She’d laugh and nod. “So far nothing’s going south.”
By the time the sun set and she looked the same as she had that morning, Cassandra realized the truth.
It was over.
They both were free.
Her heart sang in relief. Wulf no longer had to hunt her people and she no longer had to live in terror of her birthdays.
Ever
again.
It was perfect.
Three years later
It wasn’t perfect.
Cassandra bit her lip as she stood in the middle of the backyard with her hands on her hips while Wulf, Chris, and Urian argued over the swing set she was trying to have installed for Erik.
The workers had withdrawn to the front of the house while the three men argued it out in the back.
“No, see the slide’s too high,” Wulf was saying. “He could fall and get a concussion.”
“Forget that,” Chris snapped. “He could rack himself on the teeter-totter.”
“Teeter-totter nothing,” Urian said. “The swings are a choking hazard. Whose idea was it for him to have this?”
Cassandra rolled her eyes while Erik held on to her hand and wailed because they were taking away his swing set.
Looking at her distended belly, she sighed. “Take my advice, little one. Stay in there as long as you can. These guys are going to make you crazy.”
Cassandra picked Erik up and carried him to his father. She forced Wulf to take the crying toddler. “You explain it to the baby while I go inside and add more padding to his nursery walls.”
“You know,” Chris said, “she’s right. We do need more padding…”
And the men were off on that subject.
Cassandra laughed. Poor Erik, but at least he knew he was loved.
She opened the sliding glass door and returned to the house.
Two seconds later, Wulf was there, scooping her up in his arms. “Are you completely mental yet?”
“No, but I think you are.”
He laughed at that. “An ounce of prevention—”
“Is worth ten years of therapy, easy.”
Wulf growled low in his throat as he carried her through the house. “Do you really want him to have a swing set?”
“Yes. I want Erik to have the one thing I never had.”
“And that is?”
“A normal childhood.”
“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll let him have one, if it’s that important to you.”
“It is. And don’t worry. If he’s anything like his father, and he is, it’ll take a lot more than that to concuss his thick skull.”
Wulf feigned indignation. “Oh, now you insult me?”
Cassandra wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder. “No, my sweetie. I’m not insulting you. I’m admiring you.”
He smiled. “Good, safe comeback. But if you’re serious about admiring me, I can think of a better way to do that.”
“Oh, yeah and how’s that?”
“Naked and in my bed.”
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
KISS OF THE NIGHT
Copyright © 2004 by Sherrilyn Kenyon.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-99241-6
EAN: 80312-99241-5
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / April 2004
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN 9781429906135
First eBook edition: February 2014
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NIGHT PLAY
SHERRILYN KENYON
Contents
For my husband and sons who are my world. For all my friends who are there through thick and thin: Lo, Janet, Brynna, Tasha, “Nick,” Dara, Ret, Cathy, Donna, Chris, Rebecca, and Kim.
To the DH fans all over the globe who make the world of the website and loops thrive and who give me endless hours of smiles—I wish I had space to list all of you by name, but from the bottom of my heart, thank you. For my RBL sisters who are always there and for my readers who make it all worthwhile. I can never, never thank you enough.
To Kim and Nancy for all the hard work you do and for still allowing me to take the DH to the outer limits of my imagination and beyond. And I haven’t forgotten either of you, Alethea and Nicole!
Words can never truly express just how much I adore all of you and how much you mean to me.
May God bless and keep you all. Hugs!
Gennisi
Come with me, modern traveler, back to a time that has been shrouded by mystery. Back to an ancient legend that has been mostly forgotten. Or at the very least …
Distorted.
We see remnants of it in our advanced world. What present-day mortal doesn’t know to fear strange noises in the light of the full moon? To fear the howl of the wolf? The cry of a hawk? To look with caution into the darkest alleys. Not in fear of human predators, but in fear of something else.
Something dark. Dangerous. Something even deadlier than our human counterparts.
But mankind didn’t always hold this fear. Indeed, there was a time once, long ago, when humans were humans and animals were animals.
Until the day of the
Allagi.
They say the birth of the Were-Hunters, like most great evils, started out with only the best of intentions.
King Lycaon of Arcadia had no idea that when he wed, his precious, beloved queen wasn’t human. His wife held within her a dark secret. She was born to the cursed Apollite race and was destined to die in the heart of her youth … at age twenty-seven.
It wasn’t until her last birthday when Lycaon watched his beloved die horribly of old age that he realized the two sons she had borne him would follow her to an early grave.
Grief-stricken, he had sought out his priests who all told him there was nothing he could do. Fate was fate.
But Lycaon refused to heed their wisdom. He was a sorcerer and he was determined that no one would steal his sons away from him. Not even the Fates themselves.
And so he set about experimenting with his magic to prolong the lives of his wife’s people. Capturing them, he magically spliced their essence with various animals who were known for their strength: bears, panthers, leopards, hawks, lions, tigers, jackals, wolves, and even dragons.
He spent years perfecting his new race, until at last he was sure he’d found the cure for his sons. Blending them with a dragon and a wolf, the strongest of the animals he had experimented with, he imbued them with more strength and magic than any of the others. In truth, he gave of his own power to his sons.
In the end, he received more than he had bargained for. Not only did his sons have longer lives than his wife, they had longer lives than any known species.
With their magical abilities and animal strength, they now lived ten to twelve times longer than any human.
The Fates looked down and saw what the proud king had done. Angry at his interference in their domain, the Fates decreed that he must kill his sons and all like them.
Lycaon refused.
It was then the Fates sought out their own form of punishment for his hubris. His children and all like them were cursed anew.
“There will never be peace among your children,” Clotho, the Fate who spins the threads of life, proclaimed. “They will spend eternity hating and fighting until the day when the last of them breathes no more.”
And so it was. Whenever Lycaon blended an animal with a human, he, in fact, made two beings. One being who held an animal’s heart and one who held a human heart.
Those who walked as men and who held human hearts were termed Arcadians after Lycaon’s people. Those who held animal hearts were termed Katagaria.
The Katagaria were born as animals and lived as animals, yet once they reached puberty, when the magical powers were unlocked by their hormones, they would be able to become human—at least externally. Their animal hearts would always govern their actions.
Likewise, the Arcadians were born as humans and lived as humans until their puberty brought with it their magic and their ability to shift into animal form.
Two sides of a single coin, the two species should have been at peace. Instead, the goddesses sent Discordia to plant mistrust between them. The Arcadians felt themselves superior to their animal cousins. After all, they were humans with human rationality while the Katagaria were only animals who could take human form.
The Katagaria learned quickly that the Arcadians weren’t honest about their intentions and would say one thing, then do another.
All throughout time, the two groups have preyed upon each other while each side took the moral high ground. The animals believe the Arcadians are the real threat while the Arcadians believe the Katagaria must be controlled or put down.
It is an endless war.
And as with all wars, there has never been a true victor. There have only been casualties who still suffer from the prejudice and unfounded hatred.
Prologue
New Orleans, Mardi Gras night, 2003
“I’m so sorry, Vane. I swear I didn’t mean to get us killed like this.”
Vane Kattalakis ground his teeth as he fell back from trying to pull himself up. His arms ached from the strain of lifting two hundred pounds of lean muscle up by nothing more than the bones of his wrists. Every time he got close to raising his body up to the limb over his head, his brother started talking, which broke his concentration and caused him to fall back into his hanging position.
He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the severe pain of his wrists. “Don’t worry, Fang. I’ll get us out of this.”
Somehow.
He hoped.
Fang didn’t hear him. Instead he continued to apologize for causing their deaths.
Vane strained again against the sharpened cord that held his hands tied together above his head, secured to a thin limb, as he hung precariously from an ancient cypress tree over some of the darkest, nastiest-looking swamp water he’d ever seen. He didn’t know what was worse, the thought of losing his hands, his life, or falling into that disgusting gator-infested slime hole.
Honestly, though, he’d rather be dead than touch that stank. Even in the darkness of the Louisiana bayou, he could tell just how putrid and revolting it was.
There was something seriously wrong with anyone who wanted to live out here in this swamp. At last he had confirmation that Talon of the Morrigantes was a first-rank idiot.
His brother, Fang, was tied to an equally thin limb on the opposite side of the tree where they dangled eerily amid swamp gas, snakes, insects, and gators.
With every movement Vane made, the cord cut into the flesh of his wrists. If he didn’t get them freed soon, that cord would cut all the way through his tendons and bones, and sever his hands completely.
This was the
timoria,
the punishment, that they were both receiving for the fact that Vane had protected Talon’s woman. Because Vane had dared to help the Dark-Hunters, the soulless Daimons who were at war with the Dark-Hunters had attacked Vane’s Katagaria wolf pack and slaughtered his beloved sister.
Katagaria were animals who could take human form and they followed one basic law of nature: kill or be killed. If anyone or anything threatened the pack’s safety, it was put down.
So Vane, who had caused the Daimon attack, had been sentenced to being beaten and left for dead in the swamp. Fang was with him only because their father had hated both of them since the hour they had been birthed and had feared them since the day their preternatural powers had been unlocked by their pubescent hormones.
More than that, their father hated them for what their mother had done to him.
This had been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for their father to be rid of them both without the pack turning on him for the death sentence.
Their father had seized it gleefully.
It would be the last mistake his father ever made.
At least it would be if Vane could get their asses out of this damned swamp without being eaten.
Both of them were in human form and trapped by the thin, silver
metriazo
collars they wore around their necks that sent tiny ionic impulses into their bodies. The collars kept them in human form. Something their enemies thought would make them weaker.