She hoped that was rhetorical. "I don't know. But he has Kyros sold completely on the idea. For a time, he had me too."
Alexion let out a disgusted breath. "You didn't know better, but Kyros should." A muscle worked in his jaw while he kept his gaze focused on the road. "Well, whatever Stryker's up to, it's not good. And if he's the one unleashing and commanding that Charonte back there, we're in real trouble."
"You think?"
He shook his head. "Sarcasm aside, you have no idea how much power Stryker wields. You think I'm here to kill you? At least I take no joy in it. Stryker likes to torture people. Last time he was out of his hole, he had a Spathi Daimon possess a DarkHunter and they wreaked havoc all over New Orleans."
"What's a Spathi?" she asked. That was one term she'd never heard before.
"They're the ancient warrior class of Daimons who have been around for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. And in that time, they've learned to be seriously pissed off. Unlike the younger Daimons you're used to fighting, these guys don't run away. They run toward you."
"Oh, goodie. It just gets better and better. A ticked-off demigod, a demon, and now warrior Daimons out to possess and kill us. Anything else you need to warn me about?"
"Yeah. Can the sarcasm before I decide I don't need a guide after all."
Stryker glared at the Charonte who stood before him. He and Trates had been in the great hall of Kalosis, drinking Apollite blood from their goblets as they celebrated the demise of the Alexion.
At least until the demon had returned with news Stryker didn't want to hear. Trates had stepped back in expectation of Stryker's wrath, which was already simmering to a boil as he came to his feet to confront the demon.
"What do you mean, you let him go?"
Caradoc's pupils spiraled as they narrowed on Stryker. "Watch your tone with me, Daimon," he said in that strange singsongy accent that his kind held. "You are not fit for me to blow my nose on your weak tissue. I only agreed to this because you said you could liberate me from the goddess. You did not tell me that you were sending me after another of her kind."
Stryker went cold with those words. "What do you mean, another of her kind?"
"That was no man you sent me to, but rather something else. He spoke my language and he speaks Atlantean. He knew the command the Atlantean gods gave to mine to control us. No human knows those words. Only the gods do."
He scoffed at the demon. "The Alexion is not a god. Like you, he's only a servant."
"He did not speak as a servant," Caradoc argued. "Nor did he shatter as a human should have. I dealt him death blows and still he fought."
Stryker snarled at him, then stepped back as the demon moved toward him. Like it or not, he knew that if it came down to a fight, the Charonte would win.
"You didn't have to obey him. I promise you. He is not a god and is incapable of harming you."
Caradoc tilted his head as if digesting that. Finally, he shook his head. "I will not go for him again. The risk far outweighs the possible benefit. The goddess would kill me if I harmed one of her family. Even from here, she would hunt me down and assassinate my entire existence. Find another fool for your errand."
The demon tucked his wings around his body and walked arrogantly from the room.
Stryker cursed. He truly hated those things. They disgusted him even more than the humans did.
One day, he would destroy both races.
"What do we do now?" Trates asked.
"Fetch Xirena."
Trates laughed nervously at the command. "Xirena? Why? She's the fiercest of the Charontes. She barely takes direction from Apollymi, never mind one of us. I don't think anyone can control her."
Stryker smiled slowly. "I know. That's why I want her. She won't be afraid of a mere servant. She'll come back with his heart for me and she won't care what Apollymi thinks."
Chapter 11
Well, the trip to Kyros's house was a complete wash. He wasn't home and his Squire didn't want to let them in until Kyros returned. Danger sighed as they stood on the wraparound porch of Kyros's blue and white antebellum mansion.
Aberdeen was quiet tonight, with a little breeze whispering around them through the large oaks that flanked the white wooden steps. The old Mississippi town had a very special charm to it that was indicative of a town lost in a time warp. Even the downtown area, where the sidewalks were covered with a metal awning, harkened back several decades.
Danger was particularly fond of the small Catholic church, which had a distinctly old world feel to it. She really loved this town. It was a hidden historical jewel that most people didn't even know existed.
Alexion looked strangely out of place with his urban-chic of a black turtle neck—which was no longer torn from the dagger toss—his black wool slacks, and white cashmere coat. He honestly looked as if he'd just stepped off a runway in Milan. He was so incredibly masculine… so much so that he was downright edible.