[Dark Hunter-Were Hunter 2] - Night Play

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  He also heard the limb crack.

  His heart hammering, Vane looked down to see one massively large gator eyeballing him from the murky depths. Vane would have given anything to have three seconds of his powers to fry that greedy bugger.

  Fang didn't seem to notice either threat. "I swear I'm never going to tell you to bite my ass again. Next time you tell me something, I'm going to listen, especially if it concerns a female."

  Vane growled. "Then could you start by listening to me when I tell you to shut up?"

  "I'm being quiet. I just hate being human. This sucks. How do you stand it?"

  "Fang!"

  "What?"

  Vane rolled his eyes. It was useless. Any time his brother was in human form, the only part of his body that got any exercise was his mouth. Why couldn't their pack have gagged Fang before they strung him up?

  "You know, if we were in wolf form, we could just gnaw our paws off. Of course if we were in wolf form, the cords wouldn't hold us, so—"

  "Shut up," Vane snapped again.

  "Does the feeling ever come back into your hands after they get all numb like this? This doesn't happen when we're wolves. Does it happen a lot to humans?"

  Vane closed his eyes in disgust. So this was how his life would end. Not in some glorious battle against an enemy or his father. Not quietly in his sleep.

  No, the last sound he would hear would be Fang bitching.

  It figured.

  He leaned his head back so that he could see his brother through the darkness. "You know, Fang, let's cast blame for a minute. I am sick and tired of hanging here because of your damned big mouth that decided to tell your latest chew toy about how I guarded a Dark-Hunter's mate. Thanks so much for not knowing when to shut the hell up."

  "Yeah, well, how was I to know Petra would run to Father and tell him you were with Sunshine and that that was why the Daimons attacked us? Two-faced bitch. Petra said she wanted to mate with me."

  "They all want to mate with you, dickhead, it's the nature of our species."

  "Fuck you!"

  Vane let out a relieved breath as Fang finally quieted down. His brother's anger should give him about a three-minute reprieve while Fang simmered as he searched for a more creative and articulate comeback.

  Lacing his fingers together, Vane lifted his legs up. More pain sliced through his arms as it cut deeper into his human flesh. He only prayed his bones held a little longer without severing.

  More blood ran down his forearms as he lifted his legs up toward the branch over his head.

  If he could just get them wrapped… around…

  He tapped the wood with his bare foot. The bark was cold and brittle as it scraped against the soft topside of his foot. He cupped his ankle around the wood.

  Just a little… bit…

  More.

  Fang snarled at him. "You are such an asshole…"

  Well, so much for creativity.

  Vane focused his attention on his own rapid heartbeat and refused to hear Fang's insults.

  Upside down, he wrapped one leg around the limb and expelled his breath. Vane growled in relief as the weight was mostly removed from his throbbing, bloodied wrists. He panted from the exertion while Fang continued his unheard tirade.

  The limb creaked dangerously.

  Vane held his breath again, terrified of moving lest he cause the branch to snap in two and send him plummeting into the putrid, green swamp water below.

  Suddenly, the gators thrashed about in the water, then sped away.

  "Oh shit," Vane hissed.

  That was not a good sign.

  There were only two things he knew of that could make the gators leave. One was if the Dark-Hunter named Talon, who lived in the swamp, returned home and reined them in. But since Talon was off in the French Quarter saving the world and not in the swamp tonight that seemed highly unlikely.

  The other, far less appealing option was Daimons—those who were the walking dead, damned to kill in order to sustain their artificially prolonged lives. The only thing they prided themselves on killing more than humans were Were-Hunters. Since the Were-Hunters' lives spanned centuries and they possessed magical abilities, their souls could sustain a Daimon ten times longer than the average human.

  Even more impressive, once a Were-Hunter's soul was claimed, his or her magical abilities were absorbed into the Daimons' bodies where they could use those powers against others.

  It was a special gift to be a "nubby" treat for the undead.

  There was only one reason for the Daimons to be here. Only one way for them to be able to rind him and Fang in this isolated swamp where Daimons didn't tread without cause. Someone had offered the two of them up as a sacrifice so that the Daimons would leave their Katagaria pack alone.

  And there was no doubt in his mind who had made that call.

  "Damn you!" Vane snarled out into the darkness, knowing his father couldn't hear him. But he needed to vent anyway.

  "What did I do to you?" Fang asked indignantly. "Besides getting you killed, anyway."

  "Not you," Vane said as he struggled to get his other leg up enough so that he could free his hands.

  Something leaped up from the swamp into the tree above him.

  Vane twisted his body to see the tall, thin Daimon standing just above, looking down at him with an amused gleam in his hungry eyes.

  Dressed all in black, the blond Daimon clucked his tongue at him. "You should be happy to see us, wolf. After all, we only want to free you."

  "Go to hell!" Vane snarled.

  The Daimon laughed.

  Fang howled.

  Vane looked to see a group of ten Daimons pulling Fang down from the tree. Dammit! His brother was a wolf. He didn't know how to fight them in human form without his magical powers, which he couldn't use so long as Fang wore his collar.

  Infuriated, Vane kicked his legs up. The limb broke instantly, sending him straight into the stagnant water below.

  Vane held his breath as the putrid, slimy taste of it invaded his head. He tried to kick himself to the surface, but couldn't.

  Not that it mattered. Someone grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to the surface.

  As soon as his head was above the water, a Daimon sank his fangs into Vane's bare shoulder. Growling in rage, Vane elbowed the Daimon in the ribs and used his own teeth to return the bite.

  The Daimon shrieked and released him.

  "This one has fight," a female said as she made her way toward him. "He'll be worth more sustenance than the other."

  Vane kicked her legs out from under her before she could grab him. He used her bobbing body as a springboard to get out of the water. Like any good wolf, his legs were strong enough to propel him from the water to one of the cypress knees nearby.

  His dark wet hair hung in his face while his body throbbed from the fight and from the beating his pack had given him. Moonlight glinted off his wet, muscled body as he crouched with one hand on the old wooden knee that was silhouetted against the backdrop of the swamp. Dark Spanish moss hung from the trees as the full moon, draped in clouds, reflected eerily in the black velvet waves of the water.

  Like the animal he was, Vane watched his enemies closing in around him. He wasn't about to surrender himself or Fang to these bastards. He might not be dead, but he was every bit as damned as they were and even more pissed off at Fate.

  Lifting his hands to his mouth, Vane used his teeth to bite through the cord around his wrists and free his hands.

  "You'll pay for that," a male Daimon said as he moved toward him.

  His hands free, Vane backflipped from the stump, into the water. He dove deep into the murky depths until he could break a piece of wood from a fallen tree that was buried there. He kicked his way back toward the area where Fang was being held down.

  He came out of the water just beside his brother to find ten different Daimons feeding from Fang's blood.

  He kicked one back, seized another by the neck and plunged his
makeshift stake into the Daimon's heart. The creature disintegrated immediately.

  The others turned on him.

  "Take a number," Vane snarled at them. "There's plenty of this to go around."

  The Daimon nearest him laughed. "Your powers are bound."

  "Tell it to the undertaker," Vane said as he lunged for him. The Daimon jumped back, but not far enough. Used to fighting humans, the Daimon didn't take into account that Vane was physically able to leap ten times as far.

  Vane didn't need his psychic powers. His animal strength was enough to finish this. He stabbed the Daimon and turned to face the others as the Daimon evaporated.

  They rushed him at once, but it didn't work. Half of a Daimon's power was the ability to strike without warning and to cause their victim to panic.

  That would have worked except that Vane, as a cousin to the Daimons, had been taught that strategy from the cradle. There was nothing about them that made him panic.

  All their tactic did was make him dispassionate and determined.

  And in the end, that would make him victorious.

  Vane ripped through two more with his stake while Fang remained unmoving in the water. He began to panic but forced it down.

  Calmness was the only way to win a fight.

  One of the Daimons caught him with a blast that sent him spiraling through the water. Vane collided with a stump and groaned at the pain that exploded down his back.

  Out of habit, he lashed back with his own powers only to feel the collar tighten and shock him. He cursed at the new pain, then ignored it.

  Getting up, he charged at the two males who were heading for his brother.

  "Give up already," one of the Daimons snarled.

  "Why don't you?"

  The Daimon lunged. Vane ducked under the water and pulled the Daimon's feet out from under him. They fought in the water until Vane caught him in the chest with his stake.

  The rest ran off.

  Vane stood in the darkness, listening to them splashing away from him. His heart pounded in his ears as he allowed his rage to consume him. Throwing his head back, he let out his wolf's howl, which echoed eerily through the misty bayou.

  Inhuman and baleful, it was the kind of sound that would send even the voodoo mavens scurrying for cover.

  Now certain the Daimons were gone, Vane raked his wet hair from his eyes as he made his way to Fang, who still hadn't moved.

  Vane choked on his grief as he stumbled blindly through the water with only one thought in his mind… Don't be dead.

  Over and over in his mind, he saw his sister's lifeless body. Felt her coldness against his skin. He couldn't lose them both. He couldn't.

  It would kill him.

  For the first time in his life, he wanted to hear one of Fang's stupid-ass comments.

  Anything.

  Images flashed through his mind as he remembered his sister's death just the day before at the hands of the Daimons. Unimaginable pain tore through him. Fang had to be alive. He had to.

  "Please, God," he breathed as he closed the distance between them. He couldn't lose his brother.

  Not like this…

  Fang's eyes were open, staring unseeingly up at the full moon, which would have allowed them to time-jump out of this swamp had they not both been wearing the collars.

  There were open bite wounds all over him.

  A deep, profound grief tore through Vane, splintering his heart into pieces.

  "C'mon, Fang, don't be dead," he said, his voice breaking as he forced himself not to cry. Instead, he snarled out, "Don't you dare die on me, you asshole."

  He pulled his brother to him and discovered that Fang wasn't dead. He was still breathing and shaking uncontrollably. Shallow and raspy, the hollow sound of Fang's breaths was a symphony to Vane's ears.

  His tears broke as relief pierced him. He cradled Fang gently in his arms.

  "C'mon, Fang," he said in the stillness. "Say something stupid for me."

  But Fang didn't speak. He just lay there in complete shock as he shook in Vane's arms.

  At least he was alive.

  For the moment.

  Vane ground his teeth as anger consumed him. He had to get his brother out of here. Had to find someplace safe for both of them.

  If there was such a place.

  With his rage unleashed, he did the impossible, he tore Fang's collar from his throat with his bare hands. Fang turned instantly into a wolf.

  Still, Fang didn't come around. He didn't blink or whine.

  Vane swallowed the painful lump in his throat and fought the tears that stung his eyes.

  "It's okay, little brother," he whispered to Fang as he picked him up from the foul water. The weight of the brown wolf was excruciating, but Vane didn't care. He paid no attention to his body, which protested carrying Fang.

  So long as he had breath in his body, no one would ever hurt anyone Vane cared for again.

  And he would bring death to anyone who ever tried.

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  « ^ »

  Lilac and Lace Boutique on Iberville

  The French Quarter

  Eight months later

  Stunned, Bride McTierney stared at the letter in her hand and blinked. She blinked again.

  It couldn't really say what she thought it said.

  Could it?

  Was it a joke?

  But as she read it again for the fourth time, she knew it wasn't. The rotten, cowardly SOB had actually broken up with her via her own FedEx account.

  Sorry, Bride,

  But I need a woman more in keeping with my celebrity image. I'm going places and I need the kind of woman at my side who will help me, not hinder me. I'll have your things delivered to your building. Here's some money for a hotel room tonight in case you don't have any vacant rooms.

  Best,

  Taylor

  "You sorry, sycophantic, scum-sucking dog," she snarled as she read it again and pain engulfed her so profoundly that it was all she could do not to burst into tears. Her boyfriend of five years was breaking up with her… through a letter that he'd charged to her business account?

  "Damn you to hell, you filthy snake!" she snarled.

  Normally Bride would sooner cut her own head off than cuss, but this… this warranted serious language.

  And an ax to her ex-boyfriend's head.

  She fought the urge to scream. And the need she felt to get into her SUV, go over to his television station, and pound him into itty-bitty bloody pieces.

  Damn him!

  A tear rolled down her cheek. Bride wiped it away and sniffed. She wouldn't cry over this. He so wasn't worth it.

  Really, he wasn't, and deep inside she wasn't surprised. For the last six months, she'd known this was coming. Had felt it every time Taylor put her on another diet or signed her up for another exercise program.

  Not to mention the important dinner party two weeks ago at the Aquarium where he had told her that he didn't want her to join him. "There's no need in you getting all dressed up for something so boring. Really. It's best that I go alone."

  She'd known the minute he'd finished speaking that he wouldn't be around much longer.

  Still it hurt. Still she ached. How could he do such a thing?

  Like this! she thought angrily as she waved the letter around like a lunatic in the middle of her store.

  But then she knew. Taylor had never really been happy with her. The only reason he had gone out with her was because her cousin was a manager at a local television station. Taylor had wanted a job there and, like a fool, she had helped him to get it.

  Now that he was safely ensconced in his position and his ratings were at the top, he pulled this stunt.

  Fine. She didn't need him anyway.

  She was better off without him.

  But all the arguments in the world didn't ease the bitter, awful pain in her chest that made her want to curl up into a ball and cry until she was spent.

 
"I won't do it," she said, wiping away another tear. "I won't give him the satisfaction of crying."

  Throwing the letter away, she seized her vacuum cleaner with a vengeance. Her little boutique needed cleaning.

  You just vacuumed.

  She could just vacuum again until the damned carpet was threadbare.

  Vane Kattalakis felt like shit. He'd just left Grace Alexander's office where the good—and he used the word with full rancor—psychologist had told him there was nothing in the world that could heal his brother until his brother was willing to heal.

  It wasn't what he needed to hear. Psychobabble was for humans, it wasn't for wolves who needed to get their stupid asses out of Dodge before they lost them.

  Ever since Vane had crawled out of the swamp with his brother on Mardi Gras night, they had been lying tow at Sanctuary, a bar owned by a clan of Katagaria bears who welcomed in all strays, no matter where they came from: human, Daimon, Apollite, Dark-Hunter, Dream-Hunter, or Were-Hunter. So long as you Kept the peace and threatened no one, the bears allowed you to stay. And live.

  But no matter what the Peltier bears told him, he knew the truth. Both he and Fang were living under a death sentence and there was no place safe for them. They had to get mobile before their father realized they were still alive.

  The minute he did, a team of assassins would be sent for them. Vane could take them on, but not if he had to drag a hundred-and-twenty-pound comatose wolf behind him.

  He needed Fang awake and alert. Most of all, he needed his brother willing to fight again.

  But nothing seemed to reach Fang, who had yet to move out of his bed. Nothing.

  "I miss you, Fang," he whispered under his breath as his throat tightened with grief. It was so hard to make it alone in the world. To have no one to talk to. No one to trust.

  He wanted his brother and sister back so badly that he would gladly sell his soul for it.

  But they were both gone now. There was no one left for him. No one.

  Sighing, he tucked his hands in his pockets and turned onto Iberville as he walked through the French Quarter.