The Dark-Hunters (380 page)

He was dying.…

Unable to breathe for the pain, he fell to his knees.

Amaranda screamed out loud at the sight of Cael falling. Agony and grief assailed her and it awoke the fighter inside her. Her rage taking root, she ran at the man who’d stabbed him. Before she could reach him, his Daimon son turned to fight her. He grabbed her and slapped her hard. She spun around to face him again and then acted on pure Apollite instinct.

She launched herself at his throat and sank her fangs into his flesh. His father cursed as he tore her away from his son, but by doing so he caused her to sever the Daimon’s jugular. Instead of dying quickly, he fell to the floor and lay there as his blood ran over him and he shook uncontrollably.

His father let out an anguished cry before he shot Amaranda and her sister.

Her vision dimming in pain, Amaranda fell to the floor and couldn’t move. It was as if she were completely paralyzed.

“So help me,” the man shouted, “I will see all of you dead. Dead!” He stomped her hard on the small of her back before the other Daimon pulled him away from her.

“C’mon, Dad, we’ll mourn Derrick later. We have to get out of here before the Apollites realize we’re here and what we’ve done.”

“I have a search warrant.”

“And you just killed two members of their family. Search warrants are for your people, not mine. They’ll kill us both.”

He stomped her one last time before they left.

Amaranda could barely see for the tears in her eyes. She’d never known physical or mental pain like she felt right now.

“Cael,” she whimpered, needing to touch him. Even though all she wanted was to close her eyes and let death carry her away from the agony of her body, she refused to go without holding his hand.

It was what he’d promised her on the night they’d married.

“I won’t leave you alone to die. I’ll be there with you, hand in hand, until the end.”

She wouldn’t let him die without knowing she was there for him. Hand in hand.

Her limbs shaking, she pulled herself across the slick floor until she reached him. To her shock, he was still alive, but only barely. There were tears in his eyes as he breathed in shallow gasps. No longer the black of a Dark-Hunter, his eyes were a beautiful amber.

“Cael?”

She saw the fire in his eyes as he stared at her. “Sunshine,” he breathed.

She choked on a sob as he called her the nickname he’d given her during their wedding vows … vows he’d written just for her.
“Even though I walk only at night, I will never know darkness as long as you, my sunshine, are by my side.”

He swallowed as he reached out to touch her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

Amaranda licked her lips, retasting the Daimon’s blood. “It’s okay, baby.” She laid her head down on his chest and held him while he played with her hair.

She fully expected to die like that. Closing her eyes, she waited for death to take her.

Or so she thought. But as the seconds ticked by and Cael’s breathing grew more shallow, hers only grew stronger.

And stronger.

The pain of her body receded as something started to burn in the center of her chest. It wasn’t overly painful, but it wasn’t comfortable.

It was …

She felt her vision turning more sensitive, her hearing sharper. Gasping, she lifted herself up as she realized what was happening.

She was turning Daimon.

But how? She hadn’t …

Her gaze went to the Daimon she’d killed. “Oh God,” she breathed as full knowledge assailed her. She’d drunk the blood of a Daimon and in that blood was the human souls he’d taken. Now it was converting her body.

And it was saving
her
life.…

She looked down at her chest to see the small black stain over her heart—the place where the human souls gathered so that they could nourish her Daimon’s blood and keep her Apollite body from decaying. And as she watched, her body expelled the bullets out of her flesh and then healed itself.

Her heart raced. She looked to the Daimon whose blood was still pouring out of him. There were only three ways to kill a Daimon. Sunlight, piercing their Daimon mark over their heart, and tearing out their jugular.

The Daimon wasn’t quite dead. Once his blood was completely expelled from his body, he would crumble into dust.

But she could save Cael.…

He’ll never forgive you.

Maybe, but if he died, he’d become a Shade and spend eternity suffering in perpetual hell. There would be no goddess to offer him clemency. No more bargains with Artemis to get his life back. His body would crumble to dust and he would be trapped without his soul. Forever. No way to rest. No way to regenerate or reincarnate.

Just an eternity of pain.

Most of all, he’d be alone.

“Forgive me, Cael,” she whispered, laying her lips over his to kiss him gently.

Without another thought, she grabbed the Daimon’s arm and pulled him to her. Grabbing a knife from the Daimon’s belt, she sliced open his wrist. She hesitated. Dark-Hunter blood was poisonous to Daimons, was Daimon blood also poisonous to Dark-Hunters? By trying to save Cael would she destroy him? But what choice did she have? If she did nothing, he would certainly die. Deciding she would have to take the risk, she held the Daimon’s wrist over Cael’s lips.

Too weak to turn away, he had no choice but to let the blood flow into his body.

His eyes flew open as he cried out in pain. He writhed on the floor as if in utter agony.

Amaranda pulled back, dropping the Daimon’s arm.

He rolled to his side, cursing and jerking as if something were trying to tear him to pieces.

“No,” she breathed, terrified that she’d only hurt him more. She pulled his head into her lap and held him close as he gripped her shirt so tightly that the bones of his knuckles protruded.

And then she saw it.…

The knife was working its way out of his back. Slowly, painfully, inch by inch, it crept out until it landed on the floor with a sharp clatter.

Amaranda stared at it as she felt Cael’s breathing steady itself. He loosened his grip on her.

She looked down and saw something that according to Dark-Hunter laws was not supposed to happen. Cael’s eyes were now an unnatural shade of amber with black streaks running through them.

“What have you done to me, Amaranda?” he asked in a ragged, demonic tone.

“I saved you, Cael.” But even as those words left her lips, she knew the truth. She hadn’t saved him.

She’d damned them both straight to hell.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ravyn leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed. His head was throbbing from exhaustion and tension. How could someone trap a public official in the police department without getting burned?

Even if they did catch him, could they clear Susan’s name? He wasn’t particularly worried about himself. He could be transferred to a remote part of the world for a few decades and then moved back here. But her …

He smelled her the instant she returned to the room. He kept his eyes closed as he savored the scent. There was nothing more soothing to him. Nothing more gentle. Her feet made only the slightest of sounds as she crossed the room and then knelt by his side.

She brushed the hair back from his forehead, firing his body with her careful touch. And then she pressed her lips against his. Ravyn hissed at the taste of her as he returned her kiss.

But when she reached for his fly, he caught her hand in his and moved it away.

He opened his eyes to find her frowning at him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, love. But we can’t have sex until you’re sure you want to mate with me. That’s how we seal the deal. One tiny penetration, whether intended or not, and you’re mine. Forever.”

She nipped his mouth with her teeth. “Would that be so bad?”

He teased her lips with his tongue. “No. Not at all. But I already told you that I want you to take a few days to really consider this. Once we’re mated there’s no way back.” Not to mention the fact that as a Dark-Hunter he wasn’t supposed to mate at all.

“Okay.” She pulled back. “So what’s our game plan?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to think of. I mean, if we’re right, and I’m sure we are, we have a motive and a name. It explains why the police are so gung ho to hang us and how they’re getting away with all this.”

“And if you’re right and his sons are both Daimons, he doesn’t want them to die like his wife, which explains why he wants to wipe out the Dark-Hunters in Seattle.”

He nodded, then had a bad thought go through him. He pushed himself away from the wall. “We have to get Erika out of here.”

“What?”

“We need Erika gone. First thing. I don’t want them to use her as a hostage.”

“Wouldn’t all Squires be in danger?”

He shook his head. “Think about it, Susan.
I
killed his wife.”

“He wants your blood more than the others.”

“Yeah, and
that
is how we’re going to get him.”

*   *   *

Stryker walked into his study on Kalosis to find the clock that marked human hours on his mantel. It would soon be dawn and Trates hadn’t returned.…

What could be keeping him?

It wasn’t like his second in command to stay gone so long. Feeling stupid for even caring, Stryker picked up the
sfora
from his desk and cradled the small clear crystal orb in his hand. The Atlantean word for “eye,” the
sfora
was a way for those in Kalosis to keep tabs on the humans or anyone else on earth or here.

“Where are you, Trates?” he mumbled under his breath as he searched for him.

He found nothing.

Stryker frowned. “Show me Trates,” he commanded the magical orb.

There was nothing but the red and gold swirling mist.

He gripped the ball tight in his hand as he conjured an image of the Daimon he sought in his mind. “Show me what has happened to him.”

He relaxed his grip enough so that he could see the mist that was clearing into images of Trates and Paul. At first they seemed to be talking … until Paul staked him in the back.

For a full minute, Stryker couldn’t breathe as disbelief soaked him. Finally the numbness that incapacitated him dissolved into rage. Growling deep in his throat, he threw the orb against the wall and it splintered into a thousand shards.

Trates was dead.

Unimagined pain tore through him and he didn’t even know why. Sure Trates had been with him for thousands of years and had served him well, but he was a servant to Stryker. Nothing more.

Yet the grief he felt told him the truth. He had cared for the man. Through it all, Trates had been a good friend to him, and now he was gone.

Slain by a human hand.

If there was anything Stryker hated more than a Dark-Hunter, it was a human being. He could at least respect Dark-Hunters as worthy adversaries.

But humans …

They were cattle to be slain and eaten. And now one of the cows had dared to attack them. Fine, if that was the way Paul wanted to play it, then the rules were changed. The truce was over.

His anger raw, he left his study and headed for the hall, where he summoned his soldiers to him. Within seconds the entire room was filled with Spathis.

He glanced to where his elite Illuminati warriors stood on the left of his throne as he ascended the dais to stand before his regal seat. Because of their skills and ruthlessness, the members of his Illuminati had risen through the ranks of the others to be bodyguards to the Destroyer. Or, more to the point, to be the personal entourage and Valkyries of Stryker.

“Davyn,” he said to the male who stood in their center. Davyn had once been a close friend to his son, Urian, before Urian had betrayed him and sided with Acheron and his bastard Hunters.

Like Urian, the Daimon had long white-blond hair that he kept tied at his neck with a black cord. Stepping forward, Davyn placed his right fist to his left shoulder and bowed slightly. “My lord?”

“You are my new second in command.”

Straightening his spine, Davyn looked about nervously. “My lord?”

“You heard correctly. All of you have heard it. Davyn is to be my new right hand and you will all treat him accordingly.”

Davyn bowed his head with a jerk. “Thank you, my lord. But may I inquire as to what has happened to Trates?”

Stryker clenched his teeth as his virulent emotions threatened to overtake him. But he wouldn’t show weakness to his people. They relied on him to be strong and he would be rock solid for them. “Our brother has fallen to a human hand.”

Curses and whispers of shock filled the room as the news went over everyone like a pall.

“The experiment with humans is off. If we’re going to die, then we’ll die as soldiers fighting Artemis’s army, face-to-face with our worthy enemies. We will
not
die by being stabbed in the back by cattle. As soon as Acheron is gone from Seattle, it’s feeding time for the zoo, and we’re starting with Paul Heilig and his sons.”

“But, my lord,” Arista said from her place with the Illuminati, “his sons are one of us.”

“Not anymore they’re not. I’m calling for vengeance on the human and his spawn. I want his head and the lives of his sons.”

He beat his right hand against his breast before holding it up in salute to Trates, who’d died carrying out his orders.

His army followed suit.

“Sleep well,” he told them. “And be prepared to attack.”

*   *   *

Susan was tired and more than ready for bed as she left their small room to head across the hall to the bathroom. All she wanted was a cold cloth for her face to help her wake up so that they could formulate a plan of attack against Chief Heilig.

So used to it just being the two of them in the basement, she didn’t even think to knock before she pushed open the door.

She froze instantly. Acheron was standing with his back to the mirror as he tried to rub ointment down his spine. But it was the sight of his tawny, muscled back that held her enthralled. Never in her life had she seen anything like it. It was raw and bleeding, with vicious welts covering every inch of it. They disappeared below his belt and even curved around his biceps, except they’d somehow missed hitting his small dragon tattoo.