The Dark-Hunters, page 62
Kyrian smiled as he recalled the lonely nights he had spent with his Dark-Hunter brothers and sisters on-line. “Tell the Viking not to worry. I’ll sneak up every now and again and challenge him.”
Acheron took a drink of his champagne. “So, what are you going to do with your short life?”
Kyrian watched Amanda grab three-year-old Niklos up and dance with him. She was going to make a wonderful mother someday. “I’m going to live it. Happily.”
Nick had his hands in his pants pockets. “Guess I have to start looking for another Dark-Hunter to serve…” He looked meaningfully at Talon.
“Like hell, Gator bait, don’t cast those eyes at me. I don’t have Kyrian’s patience. Besides, there’s only enough room in my cabin for me and my computer.”
“Don’t worry,” Ash assured Nick. “I’ll find you someone to serve.”
Nick looked horrified. “Please don’t do me any favors. I have visions of you sending me up to Alaska to serve Zarek’s psycho ass.”
Kyrian laughed until Amanda rejoined them with a severe frown on her face.
“What is it, baby?” he asked.
“There’s, um … a, um…”
The men looked at her expectantly.
“Yes?” Kyrian prompted.
“There’s a fleet of UPS trucks in the driveway.”
The men exchanged puzzled looks before they all headed out to the front of the house where seven UPS trucks were lined up.
One of the drivers approached Kyrian. “Hi,” he said in greeting. “I’m looking for a Mr. K. Hunter.”
“That would be me,” Kyrian said.
“Good. Any idea where you want this stuff?”
“What is all this stuff?”
The driver handed him a clipboard with the names of the people who had sent the items. “Wulf Tryggvason, Zoe, Blade Fitzwalter, Diana Porter, Cael, Brax, Samia, Arien, Kyros, Rogue, Kell, Dragon, Simon, Xander St. James, Alexei Nikolov, Badon Fitzgilbert…” On and on the Dark-Hunter names went.
“You know, Kyrian,” Acheron said with a laugh, “you’re going to have to buy a bigger house.”
“Yeah,” Talon said, “but just wait until you have kids. I’ll bet you get twice as much as this.”
They all burst out laughing.
Amanda stepped into Kyrian’s embrace and looked up at him. “I think your Dark-Hunter cohorts are going to miss you. You sure you have no regrets?”
Kyrian kissed her lightly on the cheek. “None whatsoever. You?”
“Never.”
Acheron watched as the two newlyweds headed into the house arm in arm.
“Wanna bet where they’re going?” Talon asked.
Ash laughed. “No bet. I already know.” He turned to the driver and told him to leave the gifts in the living room. “I think my wedding gift will be to hire an unpacking crew in the morning.”
Nick laughed. “Let me go show them where to stack it so Kyrian doesn’t get ticked.”
“I’ll help,” Talon said.
Ash watched Nick run ahead of the drivers with Talon following at a much more conservative pace. He listened to the darkness and to the sounds of the night that he knew so well. He felt a slight stirring behind him.
It was a presence he knew even more intimately than the night.
He drained the last of his champagne. “What are you doing here, Artie? I wasn’t aware you had an invitation.”
A long, gracefully tapered hand touched his shoulder. Even through the tuxedo, he could feel the warmth of her as she caressed him. Unearthly tall and statuesque, she moved like a sleek, sensuous wind. Soft. Elegant.
And capable of total destruction when stirred too vigorously.
“I’m a goddess,” she spoke, her Greek accent smooth and cultured. “I don’t need an invitation.”
Acheron turned his head to see Artemis standing to his left. Her rich light auburn hair glowed in the moonlight and her iridescent green eyes sparkled.
“I hope you’ve come to wish them well,” he said.
She glanced askance at him as she toyed idly with his newly dyed black hair. A sly smile curved her perfect lips. “I do. But the real question is, do you?”
Ash stiffened at the implication. “What kind of question is that? You know I do.”
“Just checking to make sure that little green-eyed monster wasn’t making you have second thoughts.”
He narrowed his gaze at her. “The only green-eyed monster I know is you.”
She sucked her breath in sharply at his words, but her smile never wavered. “Oooo,” she crooned in a sexually charged tone. “Acheron is getting nasty in his old age.” She leaned her chin to rest on his shoulder as she stroked his jaw with a well-manicured fingernail. “It’s a good thing I like you, otherwise you’d be baked bread.”
He sighed. “Yeah, lucky me. By the way, the correct term is ‘toast.’”
Artemis could never keep track of colloquial slang, yet she seemed to enjoy using it. Or misusing it, anyway. There were times he suspected she did it on purpose just to see if he would dare to correct her.
“Mmmm,” she said, playfully wrapping her arms around his waist. “I like it when you get all feisty.”
Acheron stepped away from her. “So who are you transferring to New Orleans to take over Kyrian’s spot?”
She licked her lips impishly and mischief glowed in her eyes. But before she could answer, Julian approached them.
“Little Cousin Artemis,” he said in greeting.
“Julian of Macedon,” she said coldly. “Didn’t know you were here.”
“Same.”
“Well,” Acheron said. “Nice to know no introductions are needed.”
Artemis passed a threatening glare to Julian. “Yes, well, I wish I could stay, but I can’t.”
Before she vanished, she leaned forward and whispered the answer in Acheron’s ear.
He went cold with the news as she twinkled into mist.
There were times when Artemis could be the biggest bitch on the planet.
Julian cocked a brow at him. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.” The last thing Acheron wanted was to drop that bomb on Julian and Kyrian. And he certainly wasn’t going to do it in the middle of a wedding.
He turned to Julian. “So, General, you have your best friend back. I’ll wager the two of you are going to get into some serious trouble.”
Julian laughed. “Not likely.”
Somehow Acheron had a hard time believing that. Just as he had a hard time believing that Artemis would leave well enough alone.
EPILOGUE
Amanda brushed Kyrian’s hair back from his face as she kissed his lips. Her wedding dress and his tuxedo were piled in a heap on the floor while they were tangled in the silk bedsheets.
“We’re being awfully rude, aren’t we?” she asked.
Kyrian smiled. “Yeah, but I like rudeness.”
She laughed. Then he kissed her and she forgot everything else in the world.
“So, tell me,” he asked as he nibbled below her ear with his human teeth. “Do you miss being an accountant?”
“Not at all. You?”
“I never was an accountant.”
She nipped his nose. “You know what I mean. Do you miss being a Dark-Hunter?”
He licked her ear, sending chills over her. “At times, yes. But I’d rather have you.”
“Do you really mean that?”
He pulled back to look into her eyes. “With every piece of my heart and soul.”
“Good,” she whispered, kissing him. “Because now that you’re mortal again, the baby and I need you to be careful.”
Kyrian froze. “What?”
She smiled down at him. “We’re pregnant, Mr. Hunter. About six weeks along.”
Kyrian kissed her deeply and held her close in his arms. “That, Mrs. Hunter, is the best news I’ve ever heard.”
Amanda cupped his face in her hands. “I love you, Kyrian of Thrace. And I never want to lose you.”
“I love you, Amanda Devereaux-Hunter, and I swear to you, you never will.”
Amanda kissed him again, knowing for the first time in her life that there really was such a thing as happily ever after. Even if it did mean marrying a vampire.
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.
NIGHT PLEASURES
Copyright © 2002 by Sherrilyn Kenyon.
Excerpt from Night Embrace copyright © 2003 by Sherrilyn Kenyon.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-97998-3
EAN: 80312-97998-0
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / October 2002
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN 9781429906104
First eBook edition: February 2014
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com
NIGHT EMBRACE
SHERRILYN KENYON
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Copyright
For my fans who support me and who have given me untold smiles at conferences and booksignings and when I read my e-mails and letters.
To the RBL Romantica and DH posters whose presence is always a source of warmth.
For my family and friends who make my life worthwhile. And for my Kim and Nancy who believe in me and who are willing to give me the opportunity to introduce the world to the people who live in my heart and mind.
Thank you all! I hope each of you has all the blessings and riches you deserve. Hugs!
Prologue
A.D. 558, GLIONNAN
The roaring village fires burned high into the night, licking at the dark sky like serpents twining through black velvet. Smoke wafted through the misty darkness, pungent with the scent of death and vengeance.
The sight and smell should bring joy to Talon.
It didn’t.
Nothing would ever bring joy to him again.
Nothing.
The bitter agony that welled inside him was crippling. Debilitating. It was more than even he could bear and that thought was almost enough to make him laugh …
Or curse.
Aye, he cursed from the excruciating weight of his pain.
One by one, he had lost every human being on earth who had ever meant anything to him.
All of them.
At age seven, he’d been orphaned and left the heavy responsibility of caring for his baby sister. With nowhere to go and unable to provide for the infant himself, he had returned to the clan that had once been led by his mother.
A clan that had banished both his parents before his birth.
His uncle had been in his first year as king when Talon had forced his way into his hall. The king had grudgingly accepted him and Ceara, but his clan never had.
Not until Talon had forced them to.
They might not have respected his parentage, but Talon had made them respect his sword arm and temper. Respect his willingness to maim or slay any and all who insulted him.
By the time he’d entered manhood, no one dared to mock his birth or impugn his mother’s memory or honor.
He had risen through the ranks of warriors and learned all he could about weapons, fighting, and leadership.
In the end, he had been unanimously voted his uncle’s successor by the very people who had once mocked him.
As the heir, Talon had stood by his uncle’s right side, protecting him relentlessly until an enemy ambush had caught them off guard.
Wounded and in physical agony, Talon had held his uncle in his arms while Idiag died from his injuries.
“Guard my wife and Ceara, boy,” his uncle had whispered before his death. “Don’t make me regret taking you in.”
Talon had promised. But only a few months after that, he’d found his aunt raped and murdered by their enemies. Her body desecrated and left for the animals to prey upon.
Less than a full year later, he’d cradled his precious wife, Nynia, to his chest as she, too, drew her last breath and left him all alone, forever bereft of her gentle, soothing touch.
She had been his world.
His heart.
His soul.
Without her, he had no longer wished to live.
His spirit as broken as his heart, he had placed their stillborn son into her lifeless arms and buried the two of them together by the loch where he and Nynia had played as children.
Then, he’d done as he had been taught by his mother and uncle.
He had survived to lead his clan.
Laying aside his grief as best he could, he had lived only for the clan’s welfare.
As a chieftain, he had spilled enough blood to fill the raging sea and had taken countless wounds on his own flesh for his people. He had led his clan to glory against all the mainlanders and northern clans who had sought to conquer them. With most of his family dead, he had given his clan everything he had. His loyalty. His love.
He had even offered them his own life to protect them from the gods.
And in one heartbeat, his clansmen had taken the last thing on this earth he had loved.
Ceara.
His cherished little sister whom he had sworn to his mother, father, and uncle he would protect at any cost. Ceara with her golden hair and laughing amber eyes. So young. So kind and giving.
To satisfy one man’s selfish ambition, his clan had slain her before his eyes while he lay tied down, unable to stop them.
She’d died calling out for him to help her.
Her horrified screams still rang in his ears.
After her execution, the clan had turned on him and ended his life as well. But Talon’s death had brought no relief to him. He had felt only guilt. Guilt and a need to right the wrongs done to his family.
That vengeful need had transcended everything, even death itself.
“May the gods damn you all!” Talon roared at the burning village.
“The gods don’t damn us, we damn ourselves by our words and deeds.”
Talon turned sharply at the voice behind him to see a man clothed all in black. Cresting the small rise, this man was unlike any he’d seen before.
The night wind swirled around the figure, billowing out his finely woven cloak as he walked with a large, twisted warrior’s staff held in his left hand. The dark, ancient oak wood was carved with symbols, the top decorated with feathers fastened by a leather cord.
Moonlight danced upon hair that was an unearthly jet-black which the man wore in three long braids.
His silvery, shimmering eyes seemed to swirl like phantom mists.
Those glowing eyes were eerie and haunting.
Standing to the height of a giant, Talon had never before had to look up at anyone and yet this stranger seemed the size of a mountain. It wasn’t until the man drew nearer that Talon realized he was only a few inches taller and not as ancient as he’d first seemed. Indeed, his face was that of a perfect youth who stood on the precious threshold between adolescence and maturity.
Until one looked closer. There in the stranger’s eyes lay the wisdom of the ages. This was no lad, but a warrior who had battled hard and seen much.
“Who are you?” Talon asked.
“I am Acheron Parthenopaeus,” he said in a strange accent that spoke Talon’s native Celtic tongue flawlessly. “I was sent by Artemis to train you for your new life.”
Talon had been told by the Greek goddess to expect this man who had roamed the earth since time immemorial. “And what will you teach me, Sorcerer?”
“I will teach you to slay the Daimons who prey upon hapless humans. I will teach you how to hide during the day so that the rays of the sun don’t kill you. I will show you how to speak without revealing your fangs to the humans, and all else you need to know to survive.”
Talon laughed bitterly as blinding pain swept through him once more. He ached and he hurt so much that he could scarcely breathe. All he wanted was peace.
His family.
And they were gone.
Without them, he no longer wished to survive at all. Nay, he couldn’t live with this weight in his heart.
He looked to Acheron. “Tell me, Sorcerer, is there any spell you have that can take this agony from me?”
Acheron gave him a hard stare. “Aye, Celt. I can show you how to bury that pain so deep inside you that it will prick you no more. But be warned that nothing is ever given freely and nothing lasts forever. One day something will come along to make you feel again, and with it, it will bring the pain of the ages upon you. All you have hidden will come out and it could destroy not only you, but anyone near you.”
Talon ignored that last part. All he wanted for now was one day when his heart wasn’t broken. One moment free of his torment. He was willing to pay any cost for it.
“Are you sure I will feel nothing?”
Acheron nodded. “I can teach it to you only if you listen.”
“Then teach me well, Sorcerer. Teach me well.”
Chapter 1
PRESENT DAY, NEW ORLEANS
“You know, Talon, killing a soul-sucking Daimon without a good fight is like sex without foreplay. A total waste of time and completely un … satisfying.”
Talon grunted at Wulf’s words while he sat at a corner table at the Café Du Monde, waiting for his waitress to return with his black chicory coffee and beignets. He had an ancient Saxon coin in his left hand that he rolled between his fingers as he scanned the dark street in front of him and watched the tourists and locals drift by.
