The Dark-Hunters (205 page)

In Fang’s case that was true.

In Vane’s it wasn’t.

Even so, the collar did dampen his ability to wield magic and manipulate the laws of nature. And that was seriously pissing him off.

Like Fang, Vane was dressed only in a pair of bloodied jeans. His shirt had been ripped off for his beating and his boots taken just for spite. Of course, no one expected them to live. The collars couldn’t be removed except by magic—which neither of them could use so long as they wore them—and even if by some miracle they did get down from the tree, there was already a large group of gators who could smell their blood. Gators who were just waiting for them to fall into the swamp and provide the gators with one tasty wolf meal.

“Man,” Fang said irritably. “Fury was right. You should never trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn’t die. I should have listened to you. You told me Petra was a three-wolf humping bitch, but did I listen? No. And now look at us. I swear, if I get out of this, I’m going to kill her.”

“Fang!” Vane snapped as his brother continued to rail while Vane tried to manage a few powers even through the painful electrical shocks of the collar. “Could you lay off the Blame Fest and let me concentrate here, otherwise we’re going to be hanging from this damned tree for the rest of eternity.”

“Well, not for eternity. I figure we only have about half an hour more before the cords cut through our wrists. Speaking of, my wrists really hurt. How about yours?” Fang paused while Vane took a deep breath and felt a tiny movement of the cord coming loose.

He also heard the limb crack.

His heart hammering, Vane looked down to see one massively large gator eyeballing him from the murky depths. Vane would have given anything to have three seconds of his powers to fry that greedy bugger.

Fang didn’t seem to notice either threat. “I swear I’m never going to tell you to bite my ass again. Next time you tell me something, I’m going to listen, especially if it concerns a female.”

Vane growled. “Then could you start by listening to me when I tell you to shut up?”

“I’m being quiet. I just hate being human. This sucks. How do you stand it?”

“Fang!”

“What?”

Vane rolled his eyes. It was useless. Any time his brother was in human form, the only part of his body that got any exercise was his mouth. Why couldn’t their pack have gagged Fang before they strung him up?

“You know, if we were in wolf form, we could just gnaw our paws off. Of course if we were in wolf form, the cords wouldn’t hold us, so—”

“Shut up,” Vane snapped again.

“Does the feeling ever come back into your hands after they get all numb like this? This doesn’t happen when we’re wolves. Does it happen a lot to humans?”

Vane closed his eyes in disgust. So this was how his life would end. Not in some glorious battle against an enemy or his father. Not quietly in his sleep.

No, the last sound he would hear would be Fang bitching.

It figured.

He leaned his head back so that he could see his brother through the darkness. “You know, Fang, let’s cast blame for a minute. I am sick and tired of hanging here because of your damned big mouth that decided to tell your latest chew toy about how I guarded a Dark-Hunter’s mate. Thanks so much for not knowing when to shut the hell up.”

“Yeah, well, how was I to know Petra would run to Father and tell him you were with Sunshine and that that was why the Daimons attacked us? Two-faced bitch. Petra said she wanted to mate with me.”

“They all want to mate with you, dickhead, it’s the nature of our species.”

“Fuck you!”

Vane let out a relieved breath as Fang finally quieted down. His brother’s anger should give him about a three-minute reprieve while Fang simmered as he searched for a more creative and articulate comeback.

Lacing his fingers together, Vane lifted his legs up. More pain sliced through his arms as it cut deeper into his human flesh. He only prayed his bones held a little longer without severing.

More blood ran down his forearms as he lifted his legs up toward the branch over his head.

If he could just get them wrapped … around …

He tapped the wood with his bare foot. The bark was cold and brittle as it scraped against the soft topside of his foot. He cupped his ankle around the wood.

Just a little … bit …

More.

Fang snarled at him. “You are such an asshole…”

Well, so much for creativity.

Vane focused his attention on his own rapid heartbeat and refused to hear Fang’s insults.

Upside down, he wrapped one leg around the limb and expelled his breath. Vane growled in relief as the weight was mostly removed from his throbbing, bloodied wrists. He panted from the exertion while Fang continued his unheard tirade.

The limb creaked dangerously.

Vane held his breath again, terrified of moving lest he cause the branch to snap in two and send him plummeting into the putrid, green swamp water below.

Suddenly, the gators thrashed about in the water, then sped away.

“Oh shit,” Vane hissed.

That was not a good sign.

There were only two things he knew of that could make the gators leave. One was if the Dark-Hunter named Talon, who lived in the swamp, returned home and reined them in. But since Talon was off in the French Quarter saving the world and not in the swamp tonight that seemed highly unlikely.

The other, far less appealing option was Daimons—those who were the walking dead, damned to kill in order to sustain their artificially prolonged lives. The only thing they prided themselves on killing more than humans were Were-Hunters. Since the Were-Hunters’ lives spanned centuries and they possessed magical abilities, their souls could sustain a Daimon ten times longer than the average human.

Even more impressive, once a Were-Hunter’s soul was claimed, his or her magical abilities were absorbed into the Daimons’ bodies where they could use those powers against others.

It was a special gift to be a “nubby” treat for the undead.

There was only one reason for the Daimons to be here. Only one way for them to be able to find him and Fang in this isolated swamp where Daimons didn’t tread without cause. Someone had offered the two of them up as a sacrifice so that the Daimons would leave their Katagaria pack alone.

And there was no doubt in his mind who had made that call.

“Damn you!” Vane snarled out into the darkness, knowing his father couldn’t hear him. But he needed to vent anyway.

“What did I do to you?” Fang asked indignantly. “Besides getting you killed, anyway.”

“Not you,” Vane said as he struggled to get his other leg up enough so that he could free his hands.

Something leaped up from the swamp into the tree above him.

Vane twisted his body to see the tall, thin Daimon standing just above, looking down at him with an amused gleam in his hungry eyes.

Dressed all in black, the blond Daimon clucked his tongue at him. “You should be happy to see us, wolf. After all, we only want to free you.”

“Go to hell!” Vane snarled.

The Daimon laughed.

Fang howled.

Vane looked to see a group of ten Daimons pulling Fang down from the tree. Dammit! His brother was a wolf. He didn’t know how to fight them in human form without his magical powers, which he couldn’t use so long as Fang wore his collar.

Infuriated, Vane kicked his legs up. The limb broke instantly, sending him straight into the stagnant water below.

Vane held his breath as the putrid, slimy taste of it invaded his head. He tried to kick himself to the surface, but couldn’t.

Not that it mattered. Someone grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to the surface.

As soon as his head was above the water, a Daimon sank his fangs into Vane’s bare shoulder. Growling in rage, Vane elbowed the Daimon in the ribs and used his own teeth to return the bite.

The Daimon shrieked and released him.

“This one has fight,” a female said as she made her way toward him. “He’ll be worth more sustenance than the other.”

Vane kicked her legs out from under her before she could grab him. He used her bobbing body as a springboard to get out of the water. Like any good wolf, his legs were strong enough to propel him from the water to one of the cypress knees nearby.

His dark wet hair hung in his face while his body throbbed from the fight and from the beating his pack had given him. Moonlight glinted off his wet, muscled body as he crouched with one hand on the old wooden knee that was silhouetted against the backdrop of the swamp. Dark Spanish moss hung from the trees as the full moon, draped in clouds, reflected eerily in the black velvet waves of the water.

Like the animal he was, Vane watched his enemies closing in around him. He wasn’t about to surrender himself or Fang to these bastards. He might not be dead, but he was every bit as damned as they were and even more pissed off at Fate.

Lifting his hands to his mouth, Vane used his teeth to bite through the cord around his wrists and free his hands.

“You’ll pay for that,” a male Daimon said as he moved toward him.

His hands free, Vane backflipped from the stump, into the water. He dove deep into the murky depths until he could break a piece of wood from a fallen tree that was buried there. He kicked his way back toward the area where Fang was being held down.

He came out of the water just beside his brother to find ten different Daimons feeding from Fang’s blood.

He kicked one back, seized another by the neck and plunged his makeshift stake into the Daimon’s heart. The creature disintegrated immediately.

The others turned on him.

“Take a number,” Vane snarled at them. “There’s plenty of this to go around.”

The Daimon nearest him laughed. “Your powers are bound.”

“Tell it to the undertaker,” Vane said as he lunged for him. The Daimon jumped back, but not far enough. Used to fighting humans, the Daimon didn’t take into account that Vane was physically able to leap ten times as far.

Vane didn’t need his psychic powers. His animal strength was enough to finish this. He stabbed the Daimon and turned to face the others as the Daimon evaporated.

They rushed him at once, but it didn’t work. Half of a Daimon’s power was the ability to strike without warning and to cause their victim to panic.

That would have worked except that Vane, as a cousin to the Daimons, had been taught that strategy from the cradle. There was nothing about them that made him panic.

All their tactic did was make him dispassionate and determined.

And in the end, that would make him victorious.

Vane ripped through two more with his stake while Fang remained unmoving in the water. He began to panic but forced it down.

Calmness was the only way to win a fight.

One of the Daimons caught him with a blast that sent him spiraling through the water. Vane collided with a stump and groaned at the pain that exploded down his back.

Out of habit, he lashed back with his own powers only to feel the collar tighten and shock him. He cursed at the new pain, then ignored it.

Getting up, he charged at the two males who were heading for his brother.

“Give up already,” one of the Daimons snarled.

“Why don’t you?”

The Daimon lunged. Vane ducked under the water and pulled the Daimon’s feet out from under him. They fought in the water until Vane caught him in the chest with his stake.

The rest ran off.

Vane stood in the darkness, listening to them splashing away from him. His heart pounded in his ears as he allowed his rage to consume him. Throwing his head back, he let out his wolf’s howl, which echoed eerily through the misty bayou.

Inhuman and baleful, it was the kind of sound that would send even the voodoo mavens scurrying for cover.

Now certain the Daimons were gone, Vane raked his wet hair from his eyes as he made his way to Fang, who still hadn’t moved.

Vane choked on his grief as he stumbled blindly through the water with only one thought in his mind …
Don’t be dead.

Over and over in his mind, he saw his sister’s lifeless body. Felt her coldness against his skin. He couldn’t lose them both. He couldn’t.

It would kill him.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to hear one of Fang’s stupid-ass comments.

Anything.

Images flashed through his mind as he remembered his sister’s death just the day before at the hands of the Daimons. Unimaginable pain tore through him. Fang had to be alive. He had to.

“Please, God,” he breathed as he closed the distance between them. He couldn’t lose his brother.

Not like this …

Fang’s eyes were open, staring unseeingly up at the full moon, which would have allowed them to time-jump out of this swamp had they not both been wearing the collars.

There were open bite wounds all over him.

A deep, profound grief tore through Vane, splintering his heart into pieces.

“C’mon, Fang, don’t be dead,” he said, his voice breaking as he forced himself not to cry. Instead, he snarled out, “Don’t you dare die on me, you asshole.”

He pulled his brother to him and discovered that Fang wasn’t dead. He was still breathing and shaking uncontrollably. Shallow and raspy, the hollow sound of Fang’s breaths was a symphony to Vane’s ears.

His tears broke as relief pierced him. He cradled Fang gently in his arms.

“C’mon, Fang,” he said in the stillness. “Say something stupid for me.”

But Fang didn’t speak. He just lay there in complete shock as he shook in Vane’s arms.

At least he was alive.

For the moment.

Vane ground his teeth as anger consumed him. He had to get his brother out of here. Had to find someplace safe for both of them.

If there was such a place.

With his rage unleashed, he did the impossible, he tore Fang’s collar from his throat with his bare hands. Fang turned instantly into a wolf.

Still, Fang didn’t come around. He didn’t blink or whine.

Vane swallowed the painful lump in his throat and fought the tears that stung his eyes.

“It’s okay, little brother,” he whispered to Fang as he picked him up from the foul water. The weight of the brown wolf was excruciating, but Vane didn’t care. He paid no attention to his body, which protested carrying Fang.