Unleash the Night (34 page)

And as the four of them rejoined the rest of the dinner party, she felt a warm rush go through her.

“You okay?” Wren asked as he took her hand to lead her to the table.

“I was just thinking that I wish my mother was here.”

“I'm sure that she's looking down on you and smiling.”

Marguerite kissed his cheek. In a weird way, she felt that he was right, and in that moment she realized that this day really was perfect.

And she had one person to thank for it, and it was the one person she intended to spend the rest of her life thanking. She squeezed that person's hand before she took a seat with his help, and he sat down by her side.

As they started their meal, Marguerite smiled at Wren. There might not be another perfect day in their future, but they had this one and as long as she had Wren beside her, she knew that no matter what the future held, they would always face it like this. Together.

*   *   *

Savitar forced a blank expression on his face as he neared the lone figure who was sitting on his beach, watching the surf roll in. Dressed in a tacky Hawaiian shirt and a pair of surfer shorts, the dark-haired man was leaning back on his arms with his attention off somewhere else entirely.

He knew that faraway look. It was one he wore a lot himself. And it was why the beach was the only thing that offered him any kind of comfort.

The ocean, like time, was endless and ever changing. Vast. Empty. Overwhelming.

Folding his arms over his chest, he neared the man on the beach. “I delivered your present to them.”

Nick Gautier looked up at him then. From Nick's face, Savitar could tell it took a few seconds for those words to register.

“Thanks for the favor, Savitar.”

“No problem. They're good kids.”

Nick nodded as a sad smile hovered at the edges of his lips. “I would never have thought Maggie had it in her to fight for her future. Wren either for that matter. It's good to see your friends happy, isn't it?”

Savitar snorted. “How would I know? I have no friends. People basically suck and all friends will screw you over in the end. Take my word for it.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Hell if I know.” But that wasn't the truth. Nick was here because Acheron had asked it of him and Acheron was one of the very few beings Savitar would never deny.

“Tell me something, Sav. Will they—”

“They'll live happily ever after. Don't worry. Raise lots of little tigers and think of you from time to time. Hell, they'll even name their firstborn after you … of course it'll be a girl, but little Nikki won't mind her name. She'll think it's cool.”

Nick nodded, but even so, Savitar could feel his pain. Nick hadn't wanted to die, and his death had screwed him over in more ways than one.

But life and death went on. He knew that better than anyone.

“C'mon, kid,” he said, inclining his head toward the waves. “Surf's up.”

Nick rolled his eyes at him. “Are you ever going to train me as a Dark-Hunter?”

“Yeah, but right now, I've got bigger things on my mind. A twenty-footer is heading to shore and I want a piece of it.”

Nick sighed as he pushed himself up. Savitar was already dressed in his wetsuit as he waded his way into the water. A surfboard appeared alongside him.

He was grateful Savitar had taken him in since right now he couldn't face Acheron without wanting to kill the bastard for what had happened the night Nick died. But honestly, he was getting tired of sitting on his ass, waiting for his training to begin.

His old life was over. He knew that. There was no way to go back to what he'd known. No way back to New Orleans.

Now, like Wren and Maggie, it was time for a new chapter to begin in his life.

And he could feel it coming, just like the wave that was cresting …

 

H
ERE'S A TASTE OF THE NEXT
D
ARK
-H
UNTER BOOK FROM
S
HERRILYN
K
ENYON

DARK SIDE of the
Moon

 

FROM ST. MARTIN'S PRESS

 

 

Seattle, 2006

“BOY EATEN BY KILLER MOTHS”

Susan Michaels groaned as she saw the headline for her latest story. she knew better than to read the rest of the article, but something inside her just wanted to feel kicked this afternoon. God forbid that she ever take pride in her work again …

Bred in a lab in South America, these top-secret moths are the next generation of military assassins. They are genetically engineered to think their way into an enemy's lair where they bite the neck of the target and infect them with a concentrated poison that will render their victim dead within an hour.

Now they have escaped the lab and were last seen heading north, straight for the U.S.…

Dear Lord, it was worse than she had thought.

Her hands shaking in anger, she got up from her desk and headed straight into Leo's office. As usual, he was online, reading someone's blog and making copious notes.

Leo was a short, lean man with long black hair that he always wore in a ponytail. He also had a goatee and cold, gray eyes. He was dressed in a baggy black t-shirt and jeans with a giant Starbucks travel mug at his elbow while he worked. In his late thirties, he'd be cute if he wasn't so damned annoying.

“Killer moths?” she asked.

He looked up from his notepad and shrugged. “You said we were going to have a moth invasion, I just had Joanie rewrite the story to make it more marketable.”

She gaped in total astonishment. “Joanie? You had
Joanie
rewrite the story? The woman who wears tinfoil in her bra so that the people with X-ray vision can't see her breasts?
That
Joanie?”

He didn't flinch or miss a beat. “Yeah, she's my best writer.”

Talk about insult to injury … “I thought
I
was your best writer.”

Sighing heavily, he swiveled his chair to face her. “You would be
if
you had any imagination whatsoever.” He held his hands up dramatically as if to illustrate his point. “C'mon, Sue, embrace your inner child. Embrace the absurd that lives amongst us. Think Ibsen.” He put his hands down and gave another weary sigh. “But no, you never do. I send you out to investigate the bat boy who lives in the old church belfry and you come back with a story about moths infesting the rafters. What the hell is that?”

She gave him a droll stare as she crossed her arms over her chest. “It's called reality, Leo. Reality. You should stop 'shrooming sometime and try it.”

He snorted at that before he flipped to a blank sheet of paper on his notepad. He set it beside his coffee. “Screw reality. It don't feed my dog. It don't make my Porsche payments. It don't get me laid.… Bullshit does that, and I like it.”

She rolled her eyes at his beaming face. “You are such a toad.”

He paused as if an idea had struck him. He reached for his pad where he quickly scribbled something. “Employee Kisses Toady Boss to Discover an Ancient Prince … I like it. Can you imagine? Women all over the country will be kissing their bosses to test the theory.” Then he looked back at her with a wicked grin. “Shall we try the experiment and see if it works?”

“Hell, no. And that wasn't a come-on. Trust me, even with a thousand kisses you'd still be a toad.”

He was totally undaunted. “I still think we should give it a try.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.

Susan let out a long, exasperated breath. “You know, I would bring you up on sexual harassment charges, but that would imply that you actually have had sex and I intend to maintain that you are a prime example of what happens to people when they're sexually frustrated.”

That brought another glassy look to his eyes before he scribbled again. “Sexually Frustrated Boss Turns into Screaming Lunatic. Disembowels Woman Who Excites Him.”

Susan groaned deep in her throat. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was threatening her, but that would involve actual action on his part, and Leo was nothing if not a complete delegater. His maxim had always been, Why do it yourself when you can hire or bully someone else to do it for you?—which meant he'd probably delegate her to kill herself.

“Leo! Stop turning everything into a cheesy headline.” And before he could respond, she quickly added, “I know, I know. Cheesy headlines pay for your Porsche.”

“Exactly!”

Disgusted, she rubbed at the sudden pain she felt behind her right eye.

“Look, Sue,” he said, as if he felt an uncharacteristic wave of sympathy for her. “I know how hard these last two years have been for you, okay? But you're not an investigative reporter anymore.”

Her chest tightened at his words. Words she didn't really need to hear since they haunted her every minute of every day. Two years ago, she'd been one of the foremost investigative reporters in the country. Her former boss had nicknamed her Hound Dog Sue because she could sniff a story from a mile away.

And in one moment, her whole world had come crumbling down. She'd been so hungry that she'd run headlong into a setup that had completely destroyed her reputation.

It had almost cost her her life.

She rubbed at the scar on her wrist as she forced herself not to remember that awful night in November.

But for Leo, she'd never have worked in journalism again. Not that working for the
Daily Inquisitor
could ever be construed as true journalism, but at least it allowed her to pay off some of her gargantuan debt and court costs. And though she hated her job, it kept her fed and off the street. For that she owed the little toad.

Leo tore off a sheet of paper and slid it toward her.

“What's this?” she asked as she took it from his desk.

“It's a Web address. There's this college kid named Dark Angel who claims she's working for the undead.”

She stared at him. “A vampire?”

“Not exactly. She says he's an immortal shapeshifting warrior who annoys the hell out of her. She's local so I want you to check it out and see what else she has to say.”

Oh, this couldn't be happening to her and yet that old internal voice in her head was already laughing at her. “Shapeshifter. Is that before or after she drops acid?”

Leo made an irritated noise. “Why don't you at least try to get into the spirit of the job? Enjoy it, Sue.”

Enjoy it … enjoy being a laughingstock after she'd been working for the
Washington Post
 … yeah. It was hard to Carpe Crap when what she really wanted to do was get her reputation back.

But those days were over. She'd never be a real reporter again. This was it. Her life. Joy, oh joy—the bad luck fairy had really screwed her over.

No, that wasn't true. She'd screwed herself over and she knew it. Heartsick, she turned around and headed back to her desk as she looked at the blog address in her hand.

It's stupid. Don't do it …

But she did and there it was … a black page with some hand-drawn gothic artwork on a Web site called
deadjournal.com.
But her absolute favorite part had to be the header that read “Musings from the Dark and Twisted Mind of a Damned College Student.”

The girl, Dark Angel, was certainly that.

June 3, 2006, 06:45 a.m.

Someone please shoot me. Please. I really can't stress the please enough. So here I was trying to study for my test tomorrow. Note the word trying. So here I am engrossed in the complexities of Babylonian Math when all of a sudden my cell phone rings and scares the total shit out of me. At first I thought it was my brother harassing me, until I look at it and no. Not him. Those who've been reading my journal know that it's my boss. 5:30 in the morning, there he is. Calling to tell me that he's been attacked by more undead people and that I need to pick him up since it's about to be dawn and he can't make it home before the sun turns him into grilled toast.

Oh, and I have to bring him clothes since he'll most likely be in cat form at Pike's Market and when he switches back into human form he'll be naked. All right, it pisses me off, but I go since he pays me and what do I find? Nothing but a couple of homeless people who think I've lost my mind as I search for my “cat” while holding male clothing.

I'm sure he found some bimbo to shack up with for the day, but dang it all. Couldn't he have called and told me that? No. So here I am, chugging coffee and hoping I stay awake for my test. Thanks, boss. Appreciate it.

Mood: Pissed

Song: “Everything About You”: Ugly Kid Joe

Oh yeah. The girl needed some serious psychiatric help. But what the hell? It wasn't like Susan had anything better to do.

Glossary

Abadonna:
Atlantean term of honor. Means “the heart of the destroyer.”

Act of Vengeance:
In exchange for their souls, Artemis allows all new Dark-Hunters to have twenty-four hours to exact revenge on those who wronged them in their human life. After the twenty-four-hour period, they belong to her and are trained by Acheron.

Adelfos:
Greek for “brother.”

Agrotera, Katra (Kat):
She is handmaiden to both Apollymi and Artemis and serves as a bodyguard to Cassandra Peters. She has a mysterious affinity for Acheron, and is known as the Abadonna. In
Seize the Night,
Artemis releases her from her service in order for Apollymi to help Acheron.
    Agrotera is also one of the Greek names for Artemis, meaning “strength” or “wild hunter.”

Akelos Daimons:
A branch of Daimons who have taken an oath to kill only the humans who deserve it—murderers and criminals.