Instead there were orange barrels and construction sites all around. The sound of jackhammers had replaced that of morning jazz and beeping horns.
Pain infiltrated every particle of his body…
Until he crossed over to Acme Oyster House on Iberville. God, how many times had he eaten here? How many laughs and beers had he shared with his mother and friends?
It looked the same, only fresher from reconstruction. He stood beside the window, watching the waiters take orders and people chat… until his gaze fell to the table in a corner, near the back.
His heart stopped beating. It was Kyrian Hunter and his wife with their daughter Marissa and a baby boy Nick had never seen before. They were laughing and chatting with other people Nick had once called friends – Vane and Bride, Julian and Grace. But what absolutely floored him was the fact that they were sharing a table with Valerius and Tabitha. Since Tabitha was the twin sister of Amanda, that wasn’t the shocker.
Valerius was what stunned him.
A mortal enemy of Julian and Kyrian, Valerius’s family had tricked and killed Kyrian – then destroyed the people and country the two of them had fought and died to protect. For centuries, they had nursed bitter hatred toward each other.
And now Kyrian was handing his son over to a man he’d once sworn to decapitate…
How had this happened?
When had this happened?
How could Kyrian ever sit down at a table with a man whose family had taken Kyrian’s wife, destroyed Kyrian’s country and caused Kyrian’s father to kill himself? Never mind laugh with the bastard.
How could anyone forgive that?
“Nick?”
He jerked at the quiet whisper from behind him. It was Stryker’s half sister, Satara. Tall and dazzling, she was the epitome of feminine beauty and grace.
He stepped back so that the others couldn’t see him on the street. “What are you doing here?”
“I felt a strange sensation coming from you and I wanted to see what caused it.”
He hated that sharing blood with her allowed her to feel his emotions. It was irritating to have someone, other than Menyara, read him so easily. “Nothing. Go home, Satara.”
She tilted her head as if looking to see Kyrian and the others inside. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? Why Acheron brought them back to life after they’d died, but refused to do the same for your beloved mother. I wonder why he chose them over her?”
He ground his teeth. “I don’t need you to poke that scab.”
“True. I’m sure it’s still raw and bleeding.”
She had no idea.
“But,” she said, stepping close enough to whisper in his ear. “Why should they be here, living happily, while your mother is dead?”
He knew she was intentionally kicking at his groin. Making him bleed internally. “Don’t start with me, Satara. That man and his family are all I have left.”
She cocked her head. “Are they? What do you think they’ll say when they find out you’re a Daimon Dark-Hunter? That through you, Stryker can see and hear all they do?”
He started away from her, but she pulled him to a stop. Her long nails bit into his forearm.
“The old Voodoo bitch told you that Acheron helped here in New Orleans after the hurricane, but did she tell you who his mother is?”
Nick froze at her words. “Ash has a mother? Alive?”
She smiled. “Ooo, another secret he kept from you, huh? So much for being best friends. Makes you wonder what other things you don’t know, doesn’t it?”
Yes, it did. He snatched his arm from her grasp. “Who is his mother?”
“The Atlantean goddess Apollymi. But she’s better known to the immortal world as the Great Destroyer.”
He gaped at her disclosure. “Destroyer?”
“Yes. For no other reason than she was having a bad hair day, she has unleashed unrelenting storms against civilizations for centuries, and she was highly upset that night when Desiderius played havoc here in New Orleans.”
Nick couldn’t breathe as he recalled that night. Desiderius had been Stryker’s agent and he had been the one who had killed Nick’s mother.
Satara leaned in to him to whisper again. “She’s also the mother of my brother Stryker. You know him. Leader of the Spathi Daimons. Who do you think pulls my brother’s leash? Who do you think controls Stryker’s army and what they do? Apollymi commands them all to action.”
Including the one who murdered my mother…
Nick felt rage swell up inside him at all the truths Ash had kept from him and the others. “Ash’s mother is the leader of the Daimons?”
“Yes, she is. Now you know why Ash keeps so many secrets from everyone. How would it look to all of you to know his beloved mother is the one who controls your enemies? The enemies who come out every night to prey on you and humanity. That’s why Ash hasn’t told any of you about the Spathi Daimons, such as Desiderius. Why Ash will always stay out of such conflicts. He’s not the big bad. His mother is.” She smirked at him. “Face it, Nick. Ash has been lying to all of you from the very beginning. Artemis doesn’t control him. He controls her. She lives in complete fear of him.”
And as Artemis’s niece and handmaiden, Satara would know.
Nick remembered the night he’d killed himself in front of Artemis. Satara was right. The goddess had been terrified of Acheron and his reaction to Nick’s death. That alone had caused her to bring Nick back to life.
Still, he couldn’t get Menyara’s words out of his mind. She was the one person he did trust. Without question or fail. “Menyara has never been wrong about anyone.”
“Menyara has never met a god who can alter someone’s thoughts and perceptions. Think about it, Nick. How many times have the Were-Hunters tampered with someone’s mind to make them forget they saw something preternatural?”
More times than he could count. “But Ash has always profraned doing that.”
“That’s what he says. Yet how often do people preach one thing then do another?”
Again, she was right.
She leaned against him and rubbed his biceps. “You are blessed with the truth, Nick. Nothing in the Dark-Hunter world is what it seems. Acheron has duped everyone… but you. The question is, are you going to let him continue to get away with hurting people for his mother or are you going to stop him? How many more people must die because Acheron is a cruel, sadistic bastard? It’s him or us, Nick. Whose side are you on?”
His own. To hell with the rest of them. But he didn’t want her to know that. Not yet, anyway.
She toyed with his hair. “Stryker has given you the means for vengeance. The only question is, are you man enough to take it?”
He curled his lip at her. “I’m not a man, Satara. I’m an immortal with god powers.”
She inclined her head to him. “And as long as you don’t forget that, Acheron is yours.”
Nick glanced back at the restaurant and the truth pierced him hard. He would have gladly sacrificed Kyrian and his family to have his mother back. Friendship was one thing. Family was another. Though Kyrian had been like a brother to him, he wasn’t blood. Nick had been willing to sell his soul for vengeance and he still was.
“Be true to us, Nick, and we can give you what you want most.”
Nick sneered at her. “You don’t know what I want.”
“Yes, I do. You want revenge and you want your mother back.”
“I can get my own revenge.”
“True, and we can give you your mom.”
He scowled at her. What the hell was she talking about now? The bitch was crazy. “Don’t be stupid. My mother’s dead. There’s no way back from that.”
She arched her brow at him. “Isn’t there? You’re here and yet you were once dead. As was Desiderius.” She snapped her fingers. An instant later, a tall, dark-haired man appeared beside them. At six foot four, Nick wasn’t used to many men who made him crane his neck, but this one did. And by the luminescent blue
eyes, Nick knew exactly who and what this man was.
A Dream-Hunter.
Gods of sleep, they were sent from Olympus to help and protect dreamers. And through a pact with Acheron, many of them were sent to aid Dark-Hunters. To help them heal, especially when they were asleep, so that they could continue to protect mankind from the evil that preyed on them.
This wasn’t the first Dream-Hunter to approach him. Nick had sent M’Adoc away as soon as the god had offered to help Nick forget the pain of his mother’s death.
He never wanted to forget his mother or what had happened to her.
Nick jerked his chin toward the newcomer. “I don’t need his help.”
“Of course you don’t, Nicky. But Kratos can do the one thing even Acheron can’t do.”
“And that is?”
“Bring a soul out of its eternal rest and return it to the land of the living.”
Nick wasn’t stupid enough to buy what she was selling. “At what price?”
“An act of loyalty to us. You bring Kyrian’s child Marissa down to Kalosis and we will return your mother to this world.”
Still, he was skeptical. “You can’t do that.”
Satara gave him a smug smile. “Kratos. A demonstration, please.”
Before Nick could move, the Dream-Hunter touched him. His grip seared Nick’s skin, making it burn and crawl as images tore through him. He saw his mother in a garden, surrounded by roses. Her shoulder-length blond hair was glistening in the light while she laughed at a group of children who were playing around her.
A tear slid down his cheek as he saw her kind face again. “Mom,” he whispered.
His mother cocked her head as if she could hear him. “My Nicky,” she breathed. “I miss you.”
“I can take you into the Underworld,” the Dream-Hunter said. “But it won’t be easy.” He released Nick and the image of his mother instantly vanished.
Nick struggled to breathe. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Kratos shrugged. “I have no emotions. I only do as I’m told. Betrayal is for those who have something to gain.”
It was true. The Dream-Hunters had been cursed by Zeus to feel nothing.
Satara smiled at him. “It’s too soon, Nick. I know. You go home now and rest. When you’re ready to have your mother back, bring Marissa to us.”
He nodded before he turned back and did what she said.
Satara narrowed her eyes as Nick vanished from sight. He was being rather willful, but they could still control him. He needed their blood to live, and so long as they had him tied down, there was nothing he could do to escape.
At least nothing that didn’t involve him begging Acheron for help, and that was the last thing Nick would do, thanks to her and her half-truths about Acheron and his powers.
“You know I can’t bring his mother back.” Kratos said.
She scoffed at him. “Of course not. We get Marissa, and both he and his mother can roast in their hell for all I care. But you are another matter. I want you in his dreams, every night, working on him. He has enough anger to feed you well, my Skotos. Play on that anger. Build it higher until he’s willing to do anything to free his mother and kill Acheron.”
She saw the hesitation in Kratos’s eyes.
She curled her lip. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to be a wuss, too. I’m sick to death of weak men around me.”
He grabbed her and shoved her against the wall. “I’m not weak, Satara. You’d do well to remember that.”
She tsked at him. “For a god with no emotions, you seem rather testy.”
He released her. “I’m siphoning off you and your hatred. Even in this realm, it’s pungent.”
“Leave my hatred alone. I don’t want it diminished. Remember, Dream-Hunter, I’m a god, too. Fuck with me and I’ll bring down the wrath of Zeus on you.”
He scoffed at her. “You’re only a demigod, and a servant at that.”
“But dear old Grandpa Zeus will take an audience with me and then he’ll take your head. Are you willing to chance that?”
He took a step back and gave her a look that let her know she should be on guard while sleeping in the future.
“Just do your part, Kratos, and I’ll do mine. The Oneroi don’t monitor the dreams of Daimons. You help me keep Nick turned against Acheron and I will give you a playground unimagined by your brethren.”
Kratos swallowed at her promise. Three weeks ago, he’d been one of the Oneroi. A servant of the gods who protected humans and immortals while they slept. Then Satara had summoned him in her dreams and had turned him Skoti. She’d seduced him with her body and made him crave emotions like a drug. Now he couldn’t stand the emptiness of his existence. He only wanted to feel, and he was willing to do anything to keep his newfound emotions.
She was right. His kind didn’t prey on Daimons, and if they were half as enticing as her then he would have a banquet at his fingertips.
And all he had to do was feed the Dark-Hunter’s anger and grief. Simple.
“It’s a deal, Satara. You give me what I need and I’ll give you what you want.”
She smiled. What she wanted was simple. Nick Gautier’s loyalty and the baby Marissa. With those two things, she could bring down both the Greek and the Atlantean pantheons.
Then she would be a god and she would make Apollymi look weak.
And Nick, Acheron, and Kratos would be her eternal slaves, as would all of mankind.
WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD
1
From humble beginnings come great things.
Zeke Jacobson rolled his eyes as he read the strip of paper he’d just fished out of his broken fortune cookie. “Well, you can’t get more humble than me,” he muttered as the phone rang.
His stomach clenching in dread of the latest complaint, he picked up the receiver and glanced around his pale gray cube walls. This drab soul-sucking hellhole was where he spent an average of fifty hours a week in absolute effing misery. There were times when he swore he could hear his life ticking away with every swipe of the second hand on the Transformers clock his sister had given him years ago.
Optimus Prime stared at him from his perch next to Zeke’s gloomy gray monitor, mocking him with a childhood memory of how he’d thought his life would be once he was a grown-up.
This was definitely not his dream.
He sighed and reached for his vat of Tums. “Good afternoon. Taylor Transportation. Claims Division. Zeke speaking. How may I help you?” The worst part of the job? He sometimes heard those words even in his sleep.
The irate woman on the other end laid into him over the fact he’d rejected her dubious claim that their delivery truck had mowed down her mailbox and kept going. If she’d spoken to the driver the way she was speaking to him, she was lucky the driver hadn’t mowed her down first.
Her voice held that high-pitched nasal quality that went down a man’s spine like a shredder. “You’re a pathetic idiot if you don’t believe your driver did that.”
Zeke didn’t speak as she continued shrieking at him.
And for the glorious honor of being bitched at constantly, and the esteemed title of Claims Investigator, he’d given up five years of his life as he went to college, worked three shitty jobs, created a debt his great-grandkids would curse him over, and got the holy honor of MBA. More Bullshit Allowed. Unlike his more intelligent counterparts, he’d actually studied and had graduated with honors, thinking he’d have a bright future…
Yeah, this was his life and he hated every minute of it.
Well, not every, single minute. But enough that he dreaded what more wondrous developments the future would hold.
Where oh where is that Pink Power Ranger babe who was supposed to kidnap me and make me part of her merry band?
When he’d dreamed of his future, never once had he seen himself sitting in a cube ten hours a day having people yell at him, while he glibly took it for fear of losing his gargantuan thirty-thou-a-year salary.
Damn, the woman’s right. I am a pathetic idiot.
“Are you even listening to me?” she droned.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand what you’re saying. But there’s no evidence that our driver did that. I have a sworn statement from him that he didn’t hit the mailbox.”
“Fuck you, you stupid bastard!”
“Yes, ma’am. You have a good day, too.”
She slammed the phone down hard enough for it to ring in his ear.
Hanging it up, Zeke groaned before he put his head to his laminated desk and beat it against the cold, granite-looking finish. Maybe I’ll get a concussion…
The phone rang again.
He lifted his head to glare at Optimus Prime. It was only eleven in the morning. Was it too much to ask for one little brain aneurysm?
Just one.
His stomach churning, he picked the phone up and repeated his work litany.
“Am I speaking to Ezekiel Malachi Jacobson?”
Zeke cringed at the name his grandfather, a devout Baptist preacher, had cursed him, the only grandson, with at birth. God, how he hated hearing all that said at once. It was a name that had gotten his ass kicked on many an occasion at school. It had even caused one college roommate to move out of his dorm room before Zeke arrived.
Really, I’m not an escapee from Children of the Corn. I’ve only thought about mutilating me. Not others.
“That would be me.” God, don’t let this be someone I owe money to.
I did pay all my bills this month?
Right?
“My name is Robert West. I’m the attorney for your granduncle Michael Jacobson.”
Zeke scowled at the unfamiliar name. “Who?”
“He was your grandfather’s youngest brother.”
That was weird. He’d thought all of those relatives were long gone.
“I’m sad to say that your granduncle passed away a few weeks ago and named me as the executor of his will. Since he wasn’t married and didn’t have children, he’s left everything to you.”
Am I being punk’d? Like one of those Nigerian lottery e-mails?
Dark Bites (Dark-Hunter World) Page 47