DANCE WITH THE DEVIL

by Sherrilyn Keynon

  A chill went down her spine, but then, it always did whenever Acheron came near. There was something about him that was compelling and irresistible.

  It was also terrifying.

  She'd never known anyone like him. He was alluring in a way that defied her best abilities to explain. It was as if his very presence filled everyone with a desire so potent that it was hard to look at him without wanting to rip his clothes off, throw him to the ground, and make love to him for untold centuries.

  But there was more to him than his sexual appeal. There was also something ancient and primal. Something so powerful that even the gods feared him.

  You could even see that fear in Artemis's eyes as she walked beside him.

  No one knew what the relationship was between the two of them. They never touched each other, seldom did they look at each other. And yet Acheron came often to see Artemis in her temple.

  When Astrid had been a child, he used to come and visit with her, too. Play games with her and teach her how to manage her very limited powers. He'd brought her countless books both from the past and from the future.

  In fact, it was Acheron who had given her The Little Prince.

  Those visits had all but ended the day she hit puberty and had realized just how desirable a man Acheron was. He had pulled away from her then, leaving a tangible wall between them.

  "To what do I owe the honor?" Astrid asked as the three of them surrounded her.

  "I have a job for you, dearest," her mother said.

  Astrid made a pain-filled face. "I thought we agreed that I could take some time off."

  "Oh, come on, Astrid," Artemis said. "I need you, little cousin." She cast an evil glare in Acheron's direction. "There's a Dark-Hunter who needs to be put down."

  Acheron's face was impassive as he watched Astrid without comment.

  Astrid sighed. She didn't want to do this. Too many centuries of judging others had left her emotionally bankrupt. She'd begun to suspect that she was no longer capable of feeling anyone's pain.

  Not even her own.

  Lack of compassion had ruined her sisters. Now she was afraid it was going to ruin her, as well.

  "There are other judges."

  Artemis let out a disgusted breath. "I don't trust them. They're bleeding hearts who are just as likely to find him innocent as guilty. I need a hard-nosed, impartial judge who can't be swayed from doing what's right and necessary. I need you."

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Astrid slid her gaze from Artemis to Acheron, who stood with his arms folded over his chest. His gaze unwavering, he watched Astrid with those eerie swirling silver eyes of his.

  This wasn't the first time she'd been asked to judge a rogue Dark-Hunter and yet she sensed something different about Acheron today.

  "You believe him innocent?" she asked.

  Acheron nodded.

  "He's not innocent," Artemis sneered. "He'd kill anyone or anything without blinking. He has no morals or concern for anyone other than himself."

  Acheron gave Artemis an arch look that said those words reminded him of someone else he knew.

  It almost succeeded in bringing a smile to Astrid's lips.

  While her mother stayed back a few feet to give them room, Acheron squatted down by Astrid's chaise and met her gaze levelly. "I know you're tired, Astrid. I know you want to quit, but I don't trust anyone else to judge him."

  Astrid frowned as he spoke of things she hadn't told anyone else. No one knew she wanted to quit.

  Artemis turned a jaundiced gaze to Acheron. "Why are you being so accommodating with my choice of judge? She's never found anyone innocent in all the history of the world."

  "I know," he said in that rich, deep voice that was even more seductive than his incredible good looks. "But I trust her to do the right thing."

  Artemis narrowed her eyes at him. "What trick have you planned?"

  His face was completely impassive as he continued to watch Astrid with an intensity that was unnerving. "Nothing."

  Astrid considered taking on the mission only because of Acheron. He'd never asked anything of her before and she remembered well just how many times he had comforted her when she'd been a child. He'd been like a father and a big brother to her.

  "How long do I have to stay?" she asked them. "If I go in and the Dark-Hunter is beyond redemption, can I pull out immediately?"

  "Yes," Artemis said. "In fact, the sooner you judge him guilty the better for all of us."

  Astrid turned to the man beside her. "Acheron?"

  He nodded in agreement. "I will abide by what you decide."

  Artemis beamed. "We have our pact then, Acheron. I have given you a judge."

  A small smile played at the edges of Acheron's lips. "You have, indeed."

  Artemis looked suddenly nervous. She glanced from Acheron to Astrid, then back again. "What do you know that I don't?" she asked him.

  Those pale, swirling eyes cut through Astrid as Acheron said quietly, "I know that Astrid holds a deep truth inside her."

  Artemis put her hands on her hips. "And that is?"

  " 'It is only with the heart that one can rightly see. What is essential is invisible to the eye.' "

  Another chill went down Astrid's spine as Acheron quoted the exact line from The Little Prince that she had been reading as they approached.

  How did he know what she'd been reading?

  She glanced down to make sure the book was completely hidden from their view.

  It was.

  Oh, yeah, Acheron Parthenopaeus was one frightening man.

  "You have two weeks, daughter," her mother said quietly. "If it takes you less time, so be it. But at the end of a fortnight, one way or another, Zarek's fate will be sealed by your hand."

  Chapter 2

  Zarek cursed as the batteries died on his MP3 player. Just his luck.

  He was still a good hour away from their landing and the last thing he wanted was to listen to Mike in the helicopter's cockpit moan and complain under his breath about having to chauffeur him back to Alaska. Even though a foot of solid black steel separated Zarek's sunless, lightless compartment from Mike, he could hear through the walls as easily as if Mike were sitting next to him.

  Worse, Zarek hated being stuck in the small passenger compartment that seemed to be closing in on him. Every time he moved, he bumped an arm or leg into the wall. But since they had been flying through daylight, it was either the cube or death.

  For some reason he still wasn't quite sure of, Zarek had chosen the cube.

  He removed the headphones and his ears were immediately assaulted by the rhythmic pounding of the chopper's blades, rushing winter winds, and Mike's current conversation over the static-filled radio.

  "So, did you do it?"

  Zarek arched a brow at the anxious, unfamiliar male voice.

  Ah, the beauty of his powers. He had hearing that would make Superman jealous. And he knew the topic of their discussion…

  Him.

  Or rather his demise.

  Mike had been offered a fortune to kill him, and since the moment they had left New Orleans about twelve hours ago, Zarek had been waiting for the middle-aged Squire to either open the sealed windows and expose him to the deadly sunlight or to jettison his compartment and drop him over something that was guaranteed to take the immortality right out of him.

  Instead, Mike was dicking around with him and had yet to pull the switch. Not that Zarek cared. He had a few more tricks to teach the Squire if Mike tried anything.

  "Nah," Mike said as the chopper dipped without warning sharply to the left again and slammed Zarek into the wall of his compartment. He was beginning to suspect the pilot kept doing that just for shits and giggles.

  The helicopter tilted again while Zarek braced himself for it.

  "I thought about it, real hard, but you know I figure frying this bastard is way too good for him. I'd rather leave him to the Blood Rite Squires and let them take him out slow and painfully. Per
sonally, I'd like to hear the psycho-dick scream for mercy, especially after what he did to those poor, innocent cops."

  The muscle in Zarek's jaw started to tic in time to his rapid, angry heartbeat as he listened. Yeah, those cops had been real innocent, all right. If Zarek had been mortal, the beating they gave him would have either killed him or he'd be lying in a coma right now.

  The voice spoke over the radio again. "I heard from the Oracles that Artemis will pay double to the Squire who kills him. You put that on top of what Dionysus was going to pay you for killing him and I personally think you're a fool to pass on it."

  "No doubt, but I have enough money to pacify me. Besides, I'm the one who's had to tolerate the dick's attitude and sneers. He thinks he's such a badass. I want to see them take him down a notch before they cut his head off."

  Zarek rolled his eyes at Mike's words. He didn't give a rat's ass what the man thought of him.

  He'd learned a long time ago that there was no use in trying to reach out to people.

  All it did was get him slapped.

  He tucked his MP3 player back into his black duffel bag and grimaced as his knee connected roughly against the wall. Gods, get him out of this tight, cramped place. It felt like being in a sarcophagus.

  "I'm surprised the Council didn't activate Nick's Blood Rite status for this hunt," the other voice said. "Since he spent the last week with Zarek, I would think he would be a natural for it."

  Mike snorted. "They tried, but Gautier refused."

  "Why?"

  "I have no idea. You know how Gautier is. He doesn't take orders very well. Makes me wonder why they ever initiated him into Squirehood to begin with. I can't imagine any Dark-Hunter other than Acheron or Kyrian who could put up with his mouth."

  "Yeah, he is a smart-ass. And speaking of, my Dark-Hunter is paging me so I better go to work. You be careful with Zarek and stay out of his way."

  "Don't worry. I'm going to dump him out and leave him for the others to track down, then get my butt out of Alaska faster than you can say 'Rumpelstiltskin.' "

  The radio clicked off.

  Zarek sat perfectly still in the darkness and listened to Mike breathing in the cockpit.

  So, the prick had changed his mind about killing him.

  Well, bully that. The Squire had finally grown a ball, and half a brain. At some point during the last few hours Mike must have decided that suicide wasn't the answer.

  For that, Zarek would let him live.

  But he would make him suffer for the privilege.

  And may the gods help the rest who were coming for him. On the frozen ground that made up Alaska's interior, Zarek was invincible. Unlike the other Dark-Hunters and Squires, he'd had nine hundred years of arctic survival training. Nine hundred years of just him and the uncharted wilderness.

  Sure, Acheron had visited every decade or so just to make certain he was still alive, but no one else had ever come calling.

  And people wondered why he was insane.

  Up until about ten years ago, he'd had no contact whatsoever with the outside world during the long summer months that forced him to live inside his remote cabin.

  No phone, no computer, no television.

  Nothing but the quiet solitude of rereading the same stack of books over and over again until he had them memorized. Waiting in eager anticipation for the nights to grow long enough for him to be able to travel from his rural cabin into Fairbanks while the businesses were still open and he could interact with people.

  For that matter, it had only been about a century and a half since the area had been sufficiently populated for him to have any human contact at all.

  Before that, for untold centuries he had lived up here alone without another human being anywhere near him. He'd only occasionally caught sight of natives who were terrified to find a strange, tall Caucasian man with fangs living in a remote forest. They would take one look at his six-foot-six height and musk-ox parka and then run as fast as they could in the other direction, screaming out that the Iglaaq was going to get them. Superstitious to the extreme, they had built up an entire legend based on him.

  That left the rare visits of the winter Daimons, who would venture into his woods so that they could say they'd faced down the lunatic Dark-Hunter. Unfortunately, they had been more interested in fighting than conversation and so his association with them had always been brief. A few minutes of combat to alleviate the monotony and then he was alone again with the snow and bears.

  And they weren't even were-bears.

  The magnetic and electrical charges of the aurora borealis made it almost impossible for any of the Were-Hunters to venture so far north. It also played havoc with his electronics and satellite linkups, blacking out his communications periodically year round so that even in this modern world, he was still painfully alone.

  Maybe he should have let them kill him after all.

  And yet somehow he always found himself carrying on. One more year, one more summer.

  One more communications blackout.

  Basic survival was all Zarek had ever known.

  He swallowed as he remembered New Orleans.

  How he'd loved that city. The vibrancy. The warmth. The mixture of exotic smells, sights, and sounds. He wondered if the people who lived there realized just how good they had it. Just how privileged they were to be blessed with such a great town.

  But that was behind him now. He'd screwed up so badly that there was no chance whatsoever of either Artemis or Acheron allowing him back into a populated area where he could interact with large crowds of people.

  It was him and Alaska for eternity. All he could really hope for was a massive population explosion, but given the severity of the weather, that was about as likely as his getting stationed in Hawaii.

  With that thought in mind, he started pulling his snow gear out of the duffel bag and putting it on. It would be early morning when they arrived and still dark, but the dawn wouldn't be far behind. He'd have to hurry to make it to his cabin before sunup.

  By the time he'd rubbed Vaseline on his skin and had changed into his long johns, black turtleneck sweater, and long musk-ox coat and insulated winter boots, he could feel the helicopter descending toward land.

  On impulse, Zarek sifted through the weapons in his duffel bag. He'd learned a long time ago to carry a wide assortment of tools. Alaska was a harsh place to be on your own and you never knew when you'd meet something deadly.

  Centuries ago, Zarek had made the decision to be the deadliest thing on the tundra.

  As soon as they landed, Mike cut the engine and then waited for the blades to stop spinning before he got out, cursed at the subzero temperature, and opened the door to the back. Mike raked a repugnant sneer over him as he stepped back to give Zarek enough room to vacate the chopper.

  "Welcome home," Mike said with a note of gleeful venom in his voice. The prick was enjoying the thought of the Squires tracking him down and dismembering him.

  Well, so was Zarek.

  Mike blew his breath into his gloved hands. "Hope it's all you remembered it as."

  It was. Nothing here ever changed.

  Zarek flinched at the brightness of the snow even in the darkness of predawn. He pulled his goggles down over his eyes to protect them and climbed out. He grabbed his duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, then waded through the crunching snow toward the climate-controlled shed where he'd left his custom-built Ski-Doo MX Z Rev the week before.

  Oh, yeah, now this was the subfreezing temperature he remembered, the arctic air that bit so fiercely, every piece of his exposed skin burned. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering—something that wasn't pleasant when a man had long, sharp fangs in place of teeth.

  Welcome home…

  Mike was heading back for the cockpit when Zarek turned around to face him.

  "Hey, Mike," he called, his voice ringing out through the cold stillness.

  Mike paused.

  "Rumpelstiltskin," he
said before he tossed a live grenade underneath the helicopter.

  Mike let out a fetid curse as he loped through the snow as fast as he could, trying to reach shelter.

  For the first time in a long while, Zarek smiled at the sight of the irate Squire and the sound of the snow crunching under Mike's harried feet.

  The helicopter exploded the same instant Zarek reached his snowmachine. He slung one long, leather-encased leg over the black seat and looked back as pieces of the twenty-three-million-dollar Sikorsky helicopter rained fiery metal over the snow.

  Ahh, fireworks. How he loved them. The sight was almost as beautiful as the aurora borealis.

  Mike was still cursing and jumping up and down like a small angry child as he watched his custom-built baby go up in flames.

  Zarek started his engine and rode over to Mike, but not before he dropped another grenade to detonate the shed, thus preventing the Squire from using it.

  As the snowmachine vibrated in idle beneath him, he pulled his scarf down enough so that Mike could understand him when he spoke. "Town is four miles that way," he said, pointing toward the south. He tossed Mike a small tube of Vaseline. "Keep your lips covered so they don't bleed."

  "I should have killed you," Mike snarled.

  "Yeah, you should have." Zarek covered his face, and revved his engine. "By the way, if you happen upon wolves in the woods, remember, they really are wolves and not Were-Hunters on the prowl. They also travel in packs so if you hear one, there's more behind him. My best advice for that is to climb a tree and hope they get bored before a bear comes along and decides to climb up after you."

  Zarek spun his machine around and headed toward the northeast where his cabin waited in the middle of three hundred acres of forest.

  He should probably feel guilty over what he'd done to Mike, but he didn't. The Squire had just learned a valuable lesson. Next time Artemis or Dionysus made him an offer, he'd take it.

  Zarek rotated his wrist, giving the snowmachine more power as it bucked over the rough, snowy trail. He still had a long way to go to get home and his time was running out.