Blood for blood.
Nick had killed Stryker's beloved sister and Acheron had to die because it wasn't in Stryker's nature to let that bastard win after all these centuries. Apollymi had destroyed him. It was only fair he return the favor to her. She had taken Stryker's son. Stryker would take hers.
Another flash of light denoted a new arrival. Stryker waited to see the mettle of this Daimon recruit. As typical, the Daimon landed flat on his back with a loud, "Oof!" Then the man actually whimpered like a child as he writhed on the floor, whining over his pain. "I think I broke my arm."
Stryker let out a long, agitated breath. He missed the old days when the Daimons and Apollites were warriors. When they would appear in his hall on their feet, ready to battle. These new generations were almost as pathetically weak as the humans they fed on.
It was a supermarket world with a supermarket mentality. Since mankind no longer trained for war and huddled together in cities where loose morals made them easy pickings, today's Daimons didn't have to fight for food. All they had to do was stroll into any bar or nightclub, find a drunk woman or man, and take them outside to rip their stupidly willing soul out of their body to feed themselves. There was no fighting. No coaxing.
Fast food even for them.
The only challenge they had left was avoiding the Dark-Hunters and Acheron in particular.
It was why Stryker had treasured his sister so much. Aggravating to the extreme, Satara had always been plotting something. Always trying to betray someone or screw them over. Even him. It had kept him on his toes and sharpened his skills. Now he would grow as worthless as all the others.
Weary of their weakness, he turned to find Kessar approaching his throne. A Sumerian gallu demon, Kessar looked more like a human fashion model than the lethal killer he was. Even his brown hair was swept back from his red eyes in a manner so perfect he could run for political office. His features were finely boned and as razor sharp as the demon's cruelty. Like Stryker, the demon used his good looks to his advantage whenever he stalked human prey.
Human women were weak. Susceptible. They would do anything for the attention of a handsome man. Gods, how he loved the weak-minded. They all deserved the painful deaths they got.
He looked over at Kessar. "If you want to make that one your lunch, I won't stop you."
A slow smile spread over Kessar's face before he flashed across the room, grabbed the Daimon up from the floor, and ripped out his throat. Survival of the fittest. Stryker's people had been very Spartan in their beliefs. If you weren't fit to fight, you weren't fit to live. Simple and perfect. Just like Stryker's new plan.
Kessar cursed as the Daimon he'd tried to feed on evaporated into dust. "I hate that gritty taste between my fangs—like feeding in a sandstorm. Not enough blood in the world to clear the palate after that."
Stryker shrugged. "It's what you get for being greedy. You know what happens when you kill one of us. You should have just drunk his blood and left him breathing."
Kessar spat on the floor. "You're in a foul mood. Someone piss in your blood?"
Before he could answer, the light flashed again. Stryker ground his teeth in expectation of the next round of Weak and Pathetic Losers.
At least that was what he thought until the blur of black landed on the floor in a deadly crouch. He could barely make out the fact that she was female before she attacked him with a ferocity and vigor that would have made a rabid tiger proud. Her first kick knocked him out of his seat. He barely had time to grab her wrist before she decapitated him with the oversized dagger in her hand.
She head-butted him hard, knocking him back. Stryker shook his head to clear it. She shoved him into the wall. He caught her arms and rolled with her, throwing her away from him. Exposing his fangs, he was just about to rip her throat out when his swirling silver gaze locked with her black one.
Zephyra.
In that one instant, he was taken back eleven thousand years ago to the day they first met. The sea air had been blowing her blond curls around her delicate face. Slender and small, she'd been as beautiful as a goddess.
And when he'd reached for her, she'd turned on him with a curse more foul than any man's as she'd kneed him in the groin for daring to touch her without an invitation. Which she again tried to do. But this time he was expecting it. He barely moved out of the way of her knee as emotions tore through him. Happiness. Anger. Joy. Confusion.
All these centuries he'd assumed her dead. He could barely get his bearings over the reality of her being alive and well. She'd survived Apollo's curse and managed to live out eternity . . . just like him.
"What are you doing here?"