The Dark-Hunters (275 page)

There was something timeless about him. Something all-powerful and frightening. He seemed to be cut from the same cloth as her pursuers and yet there was something about him that was entirely different. Something more powerful. More ancient.

More frightening.

“Are you one of them?” she choked.

One corner of his mouth twisted up. “No, precious, I’m not one of them.”

She heard the others closing in on her. Turning her head, she watched them slow down as they neared her and caught sight of the man she was standing with.

Fear was etched plainly on their handsome faces as one of them whispered the word “Dark-Hunter.”

They stayed back as if debating what they should do now that the other man was there.

The newcomer held his hand out to her.

Grateful her nightmare was over and that this man had finally stopped them from hunting or hurting her, Melissa took his hand. He sneered at the ones who had been chasing her as he pulled her closer to him.

Every piece of her was trembling in relief that he had come to her rescue. “Thank you.”

He smiled at that. “No, precious, thank you.”

Before she could move, he grabbed her into his arms and sank his fangs into her neck.

*   *   *

The Dark-Hunter tasted the life and emotions of the co-ed as he drank her life’s essence into his body. It was pure and untainted … She was a scholarship student who’d had a bright future ahead of her.

C’est la vie.

Reveling in the taste of her, he waited until he could hear and feel those last few faint heartbeats that would cease when she died. She went completely limp against him. Poor child. But there was nothing sweeter than the taste of innocence.

Nothing.

He picked her body up in his arms and walked slowly toward the Daimons who had been chasing her.

He gave her over to the one who appeared to be their leader. “There’s not much blood left, guys, but her soul is still intact.
Bon appétit.
”

Chapter 1

Katoteros

Death was ever swirling through the halls of this nether realm that existed far beyond the reach of mankind. It didn’t haunt here. It lived here. In fact, it was a natural state of being. As the Alexion for Katoteros, he had long grown accustomed to its constant presence. To the sight, sound, scent and taste of death.

Everything mortal died.

For that matter, Alexion himself had died twice only to be reborn to his current state. But as he stared into the eerie red mists of the sfora—an ancient Atlantean orb that could see into the past, present and future—he felt an unfamiliar twinge of emotion.

That poor woman-child. Her life had been too abbreviated. No one deserved to die by the hands of the Daimons who sucked the souls out of humans so that they could artificially elongate their short lives. And certainly no human deserved to die at the hands of the Dark-Hunters who had been created solely to kill the Daimons before those stolen souls perished from the universe forever.

It was the job of all Dark-Hunters to protect life, not to take it.

As Alexion sat quietly in the dim light of his room he wanted to feel outraged by her death. Indignant.

But he felt nothing. He always felt nothing. Just a cold, horrifying logic that bore no emotions whatsoever. He could only observe life, he couldn’t live it.

Time would march on and nothing would change.

It was the way of things.

But her death was a catalyst for something greater. With Marco’s actions, he had set into motion his own demise, just as the girl had the moment she’d decided to study late.

And just like the girl, Marco wouldn’t see his own death coming until it was too late for him to avert it.

Alexion shook his head at the irony. It was time for him to return to the dimension of the living and do his duty once more. Marco and Kyros were drawing together Dark-Hunters and trying to convert them to their misbegotten cause and they wouldn’t stop until he forced them to.

Their plan was to rebel against Artemis and Acheron. And Alexion’s job was to kill any who refused to see reason.

Standing up, he started away from the orb when he saw the images on the wall around him change. Gone were the Daimons and Marco.

In their place was
her.

Alexion paused as he saw the French Dark-Huntress fighting another group of Daimons not far from her own home in Tupelo. She was intrepid and quick as she danced around the male Daimons who were trying to kill her. Her movements were beautiful and swift, like a frenetic dance.

She laughed defiantly at them, and for an instant he could almost feel her passion. Her conviction. She reveled in her life so greatly that her feelings were able to reach out across the dimensions that separated them and almost warm him.

Closing his eyes, he savored that fleeting twinge of humanity.

Her name was Danger and there was something about her that almost touched him.

And for some reason he didn’t comprehend, he didn’t want to see her die.

But that was foolish. Nothing could ever touch the Alexion.

Even so, he could hear Acheron’s voice in his head.

Some of them might be saved and those were the ones Acheron wanted him to focus on.
Save what you can, my brother. You can’t decide for anyone. Let them choose their own fates. There is nothing to be done for the ones who won’t listen—but for the one who does …

It’s worth it.

Perhaps, but what concerned him most was how little he cared whether or not they lived anymore. Duty. Honor. Existing. Those were the things he knew.

He was becoming unsalvageable. How much longer until he refused to even render a choice? It would be easy, really. Pop in, strike them down, and come home.

Why go through the motions of trying to save anyone when the Dark-Hunters were the ones who damned themselves to begin with?

No, he wasn’t Acheron after all. His patience had run out long ago. He no longer cared what happened to any of them.

But as he watched Danger slay the last of her Daimons, he did feel something. It was quick and fluttering, like a dull spasm.

For the first time in centuries, he wanted to change what was to come—he just didn’t know why. Why should he care?

Holding his hand up, he banished the images from his walls.

Even so, he continued to see the future clearly in his mind. If Danger continued on her course, she, like her friends, would die during the Krisi—the judgment Alexion would soon deliver. Her loyalty to them would be her death.

But she wasn’t the only one who could perish by Alexion’s hand. Alexion closed his eyes and summoned another Dark-Hunter into his mind.

Kyros.

He was setting the course for the downfall of not only himself but for all the others too.

This time, there was no mistaking the pain Alexion felt. It was so unexpected that it actually made him flinch. It was the last remnant of his humanity and he was relieved that he still held even a tiny ounce of it.

No, he couldn’t just stand by and see the man die. Not if he could help it.

“Nothing is ever truly set by fate. In one blink, everything changes. Even though it should be a clear, sunny day, the softest whisper into the wind can became a hurricane that destroys everything it touches.”

How many times had Acheron told him that?

Everything was coming to a head again and Alexion wanted to change what was meant to be.

It was odd to have such vivid feelings now after all these centuries of experiencing absolutely nothing.

There’s always hope.

Yeah, right. He’d long forgotten the sensation of hope. Life went on. People went on. Death went on. Tragedy. Success. It all cycled through there and here. Nothing ever changed.

And yet he felt different for once. Marco had gone Rogue and aided the Daimons. There was nothing to be done for him. And even worse, there were others who were quickly following his lead. Others who were allowing him and Kyros to turn their minds away from the truth. The Dark-Hunters in Northern Mississippi were coming together to rebel against Acheron and Artemis.

It was something that had to be stopped.

His resolve set, he made his way out of his room in the southernmost point of Acheron’s palace and headed down the gilded back hallway that ran from his elaborate chambers to the centrally located throne room. The black-veined marble floor was somewhat cold against his bare feet. Had he still been human, that cold would be absolutely biting. As it was, he could only acknowledge the temperature, he couldn’t really feel it. And yet that coldness seemed to seep all the way through him.

Reaching the twelve-foot door that was made of gold, he pushed it open to find Acheron on his throne while Acheron’s demon, Simi, was lying on her stomach in the far corner of the room, watching QVC.

The demon, who appeared to be a human woman around the age of twenty, was dressed in red vinyl. Her ever-changing horns matched her clothes perfectly and her long black hair was braided down her back. She had a giant, half-empty bowl of popcorn cradled in her arms while her tail whipped around her head as if swishing in time to the countdown clock.

“Akri?”
the she-demon demanded. “Where’s my plastic?”

As he always did while at home in Katoteros, Acheron wore his black formesta—a long robelike garment that was left open in front, baring his chest and black leather pants. It was made of heavy silk that was embroidered on the back with a gold sun pierced by three silver lightning bolts—a mark that had been branded onto Alexion’s shoulder.

Acheron’s long black hair was left unbound, hanging about his shoulders. He sat on the gilded throne strumming a solid black electric guitar that played perfectly without the benefit of an amplifier. The wall to his left was a series of television monitors all of which showed the cartoon
Johnny Bravo.

“I don’t know, Sim,” Acheron said distractedly. “Ask Alexion.”

Before Alexion could reach Acheron’s throne, the demon appeared before him, hovering in midair while her large red and black wings flapped to support her weight. Her wings, like her horns and eyes, were ever-changing in their color to fit her mood and momentary taste. Her hair color changed too, but it was linked to Acheron, therefore her hair color was always identical to his.

“Where’s my plastic, Lexie?”

He gave her a patient but strict stare. Simi had been nothing more than a very small child nine thousand years ago when Acheron had brought him here to live. One of the duties Acheron had assigned to him was to help watch over her and to keep her out of trouble.

Yeah. That was next to impossible.

Not to mention, he was every bit as guilty of spoiling her as Acheron was. Like his boss, he couldn’t seem to help himself. There was something innately compelling, endearing, and ultimately sweet about the demon. Something that made him love her like a daughter. In all the worlds, she and Acheron were the only two things that still made him feel any human emotion. He loved them both and he would die to protect them.

But as her “other” father, he knew he owed it to Simi and to the world to try and teach her some restraint.

“You don’t need to buy anything else, Simi.”

Her singsongy response was quick and automatic. “Yes I do.”

“No,” he insisted. “You don’t. You already have more than enough baubles to keep you occupied.”

She pouted at him while her eyes flamed red and her tail flicked around. “Gimme my plastic, Lexie. Now!”

“No.”

She wailed, then spun around toward Acheron and flew to his throne. Suddenly QVC appeared on his monitors.

“Simi…” Acheron said. “I was watching something.”

“Oh, pooh, it’s a stupid cartoon. The Simi wants her Diamonique,
akri,
and she wants it now!”

Acheron passed an exasperated look toward Alexion. “Give her the credit cards.”

Alexion glared at him. “She’s so spoiled, she’s rotten. She must learn to control her impulses.”

Acheron cocked a brow at him. “And how long have you been trying to teach her restraint, Alexion?”

That didn’t bear commenting on. There were some things in life that were indeed futile. But immortality was boring enough. Trying to control Simi often added a lot of spark to it. “I finally got her to sit in front of the television quietly … Sort of.”

Acheron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, after five thousand years of trying. She’s a demon, Lex. Restraint isn’t in her makeup.”

Before Alexion could argue, the box where he kept Simi’s credit cards appeared in the air before her.

“Ha!” Simi said to him in a delighted tone before she seized the box and rocked with it in her arms. Her happiness died as she realized it was locked. She pinned Alexion with a menacing glare. “Open it.”

Before he could refuse, it popped open.

“Thank you,
akri!
” Simi shouted as she grabbed her cards, then fluttered away and headed for her cell phone.

Alexion made a sound of disgust at Acheron as the box vanished. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

The monitors returned to the cartoon. Acheron didn’t say anything as he reached down to feed his black guitar pick to the tiny pterygsauras that was perched on the arm of his throne. The small, orange dragonlike creature chirped before it swallowed the plastic whole. Alexion wasn’t sure where the pterygsauri came from. For the last nine thousand years, there had always been six of them here in the throne room.

Alexion still wasn’t sure if they were the same six or not. All he knew for certain was that Acheron loved and pampered his pets and as the Alexion, he did too.

Acheron patted the creature’s scaly head as it preened and sang happily, then looked back down at his guitar.

“I know why you’re here, Alexion,” he said, as another pick appeared in his hand. He strummed a melodious chord. “The answer is no.”

Alexion feigned a frown he didn’t feel. “Why?”

“Because you can’t help them. Kyros made his choices long ago and now he has to—”