The Dark-Hunters (49 page)

Weak from his pain, Kyrian noticed that his reflection in the mirror was only barely there. An inability to cast reflections was one of the camouflage benefits bestowed on all Dark-Hunters. The only way for them to have a reflection was to force it from within their own mind. Something that was hard to do when they were wounded or excessively tired.

He stepped back from the white-painted dresser and met Julian’s curious gaze. “Two thousand years of combat tend to take a toll on the body.”

“You always had more balls than brains.”

An eerie chill went up Kyrian’s spine at those familiar words. He couldn’t count the times Julian had said that to him in Classical Greek.

How he had missed his friend and mentor over the centuries. Julian had been the only man he’d ever listened to. One of the few men he’d actually respected.

Kyrian rubbed his arm. “I know, but the funny thing is I can always hear your voice in my head begging me for patience.” He deepened his tone and adopted Julian’s rougher-edged Spartan accent. “‘Damn, Kyrian, can’t you ever think before you react?’”

Julian fell silent.

Kyrian knew what was going through Julian’s mind. The same bittersweet memories that tugged at him at night whenever he paused long enough to dwell on the past.

They were images of a world that had long ago ceased to exist. Of people and family who were nothing more than vague memories and lost feelings.

Their world had been a special one. Its primitive grace a warmth in their hearts. Even now, Kyrian could smell the oil from the lamps that had once lit his home. Feel the cool, fragrant Mediterranean breeze blowing through his villa.

In an odd contrast to Kyrian’s thoughts, Julian dug around the small first-aid kit for a modern ice pack.

Finding it, Julian popped the seal to release the cooling gel, then held it against Kyrian’s shoulder.

Kyrian hissed as the ice touched his throbbing skin.

“I’m sorry about that blast,” Julian said. “Had I known…”

“It’s not your fault. You had no way of knowing I’d traded my soul. It’s not exactly how I start out conversations. Hi, I’m Kyrian. I have no soul. What about you?”

“You’re not funny.”

“Sure I am, you just never appreciated my sense of humor.”

“That’s because you would only let it out when we were one step away from death.”

Kyrian shrugged, then wished he hadn’t as pain sliced down his arm. “What can I say? I live to tease old Apollyon.” Kyrian took the pack out of Julian’s hand and stepped back. “So what happened to you? I was told Scipio had you and your family assassinated.”

Julian scoffed. “You know better. It was Priapus who killed my family. After I found them dead, I had a ‘Kyrian’ moment where I went after him.”

Kyrian arched a brow at that. To his knowledge, Julian had never had an impulsive moment in his entire life. The man was forever calm and collected, no matter the turmoil. It had been one of the things Kyrian liked best about him. “
You
did something rash?”

“Yes, and I paid for it.” He folded his arms over his chest and he met Kyrian’s gaze. “Priapus cursed me into a scroll. I spent two thousand years as a sex slave before my wife freed me.”

Kyrian exhaled in disbelief. He had heard of such curses. The pain of them was excruciating and his proud friend must have had a hard time of it. Julian had never been one to let anyone rule his life. Not even the gods.

“And you called me insane,” Kyrian said. “At least I only antagonized the Romans. You went after the pantheon.”

Julian handed him a tube of burn ointment. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick. “I was wondering, after I left, what happened to…”

Kyrian looked up and saw the agony in Julian’s eyes, and he knew what was too painful for his friend to even mention.

Even now, he could feel his own grief over the death of Julian’s son and daughter. With blond hair and rosy cheeks, they had been beautiful and vivacious beyond description.

They alone had made Kyrian’s heart ache with envy.

Gods, how he’d wanted his own children, his own family. Every time he’d seen Julian at home, he had yearned to have such a life.

It was all he’d ever truly wanted. A peaceful hearth, children to love, and a wife who loved him. Such simple things, really. Yet they had forever eluded his grasp.

Now, as a Dark-Hunter, such wishes were an impossibility.

Kyrian couldn’t imagine the horror Julian must still feel every time he thought of his children. He doubted if any man had ever loved his children more than Julian had. Indeed, he remembered the time five-year-old Atolycus had replaced the horsehair in Julian’s helm with feathers as a gift for his father before they rode out to battle.

Julian had been one of the most feared commanders of the Macedonian army, yet rather than hurt his son’s feelings, he had proudly worn his son’s gift in front of all his men.

No one had dared laugh. Not even Kyrian.

He cleared his throat and averted his gaze from Julian’s. “I buried Callista and Atolycus in the orchard overlooking the sea where they used to play. Penelope’s family took care of her, and I sent Iason’s body back to his father.”

“Thank you.”

Kyrian nodded. “It was the least I could do. You were like a brother to me.”

Julian gave a halfhearted laugh. “I guess that explains why you went out of your way to annoy me all the time.”

“Someone had to. Even at twenty-three, you were too serious and stern.”

“Unlike you.”

Kyrian could only vaguely remember being the man Julian had known all those centuries before. He’d been carefree and battle-ready. Hot-blooded and pigheaded.

It was a wonder Julian hadn’t killed him. The man’s patience knew no limits.

“My glorious days of misspent youth,” Kyrian said wistfully.

Looking at his shoulder, Kyrian spread the soothing salve over the burn. It stung, but he was used to physical pain, and he had suffered worse injuries than this tiny ache.

Julian leveled a probing stare at him. “The Romans took you because of me, didn’t they?”

Kyrian paused at the remorse in Julian’s eyes. Then he returned to spreading the ointment over the burn. “You were always too hard on yourself, Julian. It wasn’t your fault. After you were gone, I went on a bloodthirsty crusade against their forces. I made my own destiny in that regard, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“But had I been there, I could have kept them from taking you.”

Kyrian snorted at that. “You were good at pulling me out of trouble, no doubt about it. But not even you could have saved me from myself. Had you been there, the Romans would have just had another Macedonian commander to crucify. Trust me. You were much better off in that scroll than meeting the fate Scipio and Valerius had in mind for us.”

Still, Kyrian saw his friend’s guilt and he wished he could give Julian absolution.

“What happened?” Julian asked. “Historical accounts say Valerius captured you in battle. But I can’t believe that. Not the way you fought.”

“And history says you were killed by Scipio’s assassins. Victors make their own versions of truth.”

For the first time in centuries, Kyrian allowed his thoughts to turn to that fateful day in the past.

He clenched his teeth as a wave of rage and agony washed over him anew and he remembered all too well why he had banished those memories to the farthest corner of his mind. “You know, the Fates are treacherous bitches. I wasn’t taken by Valerius, I was handed over, gift-wrapped.”

Julian frowned. “How?”

“My little Clytemnestra. While you and I were out fighting the Romans, my wife was at home welcoming them into her bed.”

Julian’s face paled. “I can’t believe Theone would do that to you after all you did for her.”

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

Julian scowled at the bitterness he heard in Kyrian’s voice. This wasn’t the same man he’d known in Macedonia. Kyrian of Thrace had always been fun-loving and lighthearted.

The man before him now was jaded. Guarded. Suspicious and almost cold.

“Is her betrayal why you became a Dark-Hunter?” Julian asked.

“Yes.”

Julian closed his eyes as he felt compassion and anger for his friend. Over and over in his mind, he could see Kyrian the way he’d been all those centuries before. His human eyes had always been laughing, mischievous. Kyrian had loved life in a way very few people ever did.

Generous in spirit, kind in nature, and courageous of heart, Kyrian had even managed to win Julian over and he had truly wanted to hate the spoiled, arrogant brat.

But hating Kyrian had been impossible.

“What did Valerius do to you?” Julian asked.

Kyrian drew a deep breath. “Trust me, you don’t ever want the exact details.”

Julian saw Kyrian flinch as if some memory flashed in his mind. “What?”

“Nothing,” Kyrian said sharply.

Julian’s thoughts turned to Kyrian’s wife. Small and blond, Theone had been more beautiful than Helen of Troy. Julian had seen her only once, and then at a distance. Even so, he had known instantly what attracted Kyrian to her. She had possessed an irresistible aura of grace and sexual expertise.

Barely twenty-two when he met her, Kyrian had fallen in love instantly with the woman who was eight years his senior. No matter what any of them said about her, Kyrian had never listened. He’d loved that woman with every fiber of his body and soul.

“What of Theone?” Julian asked. “Did you ever find out why she did it?”

Kyrian tossed the salve back into the bag. “She said she did it because she was afraid I couldn’t protect her.”

Julian cursed.

“My thoughts were somewhat stronger,” Kyrian said quietly. “You know, I lay there for weeks trying to figure out what it was about me she hated so much that she could hand me over to my worst enemy. I never knew I was
that
big an asshole.”

Kyrian clenched his teeth as he remembered the way his wife had looked when they had started his execution. She had met his gaze levelly, without even the tiniest bit of remorse.

It had been then he’d known that even though he had given her only the very best of himself, the whole of his heart and soul, she had never given him anything of her. Not even her kindness. If only she’d had one flash of regret in her eyes, one tiny bit of sorrow …

But only morbid curiosity had darkened her face.

It had torn his heart asunder. If she couldn’t love him after all he had given, then he must truly be unlovable.

His father had been right all along.

“No woman can ever love a man of your standing and wealth. Face it. All you will ever be, boy, is a hefty purse.”

To this day, his heart wept from the truth of it. Never again would he allow a woman that much hold over him. He refused to let love or anything else blind him from what he needed to do. His duty was all that mattered.

Now more than ever before.

“I am so sorry,” Julian breathed.

Kyrian shrugged. “We’re all sorry for something.” He reached for his torn, bloodied shirt.

“Listen,” Julian said, stopping him, “why don’t you take a shower and let me loan you some clothes?”

“I have a hunt to finish.”

“No offense, Kyrian, but you look like hell. Granted it’s been a long time since I fought, but I know how much easier it is with a full stomach and a hot bath.”

Kyrian hesitated.

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Make it quick.”

*   *   *

Kyrian let the soothing water slide over his battered body. The night was still young, but he was tired already. His shoulder throbbed and ached and his side wasn’t much better.

Yet what held his attention was the woman downstairs.

Why was he so attracted to her? He had saved countless humans over the centuries. He had felt nothing for them other than a passing curiosity.

And yet this woman with open, honest eyes and a beguiling smile tugged at a heart he had banished centuries ago. He didn’t need that. Dark-Hunters were forbidden to take steady lovers. Out of necessity, their sexual encounters were relegated to one-night stands.

They were reborn to walk alone through time. Each of them knew it. They had sworn themselves to it.

Never before had it bothered him.

There had only been one other time in his long life that he had felt this strange giddy feeling in the pit of his stomach when a woman smiled at him.

He cursed at the reminder.

“Oh, come on, Kyrian,” he said as he bathed himself. “Get out of the house, kill Desiderius, and go home. Forget you ever saw her.”

Pain cut through him at the very thought of never seeing her again.

Still, he knew what he had to do. This was his life and he loved the night he was bound by oath to. His duties were his family. His loyal oath his heart.

His job was his love, and it would remain that way for eternity.

*   *   *

“Amanda?”

Forcing her thoughts away from her handsome Dark-Hunter, Amanda looked to where Grace was seated in the armchair.

“Would you mind going up to the babies’ room and getting a diaper for me?” Grace asked. “If I walk up those stairs again, I might not come back down.”

She laughed. “Sure. Be right back.”

Amanda went up the stairs, then headed down the hallway. She passed the bathroom at the same time Hunter came out of it, wrapping a towel about his waist.

They collided. Hunter put his hands on her shoulders to steady her, his eyes widening a degree as he recognized her.

Amanda froze as she realized her silver charm bracelet had gotten tangled in one of the terry-cloth loops.

Worse, the sight of all that lush, tawny skin and the feel of his strong hands on her body made her mouth water for a taste of him.

Her heart hammered at the sight of all the lean power and strength. At the smell of his warm, clean skin. His wet hair was slicked back from a face so well sculpted that she doubted any man could ever be more handsome.

He fixed those dark eyes with sinfully long eyelashes on her. The raw hunger in them made her hot and shivery. He looked as if he could devour her, and in truth, she wanted to be devoured by him. Completely. Utterly.