He only tortured those he thought of as weak and vile.
Which raised the question of why he’d chosen to slice open Urian’s throat as opposed to stabbing him in his Daimon’s mark. That would have been a quick and painless death. So fast, Urian wouldn’t have even felt it. He’d have been gone and Acheron wouldn’t have been able to put him back together.
Which meant either his father knew that Acheron would save him, and he would live out eternity, isolated from his friends, family, and home, agonizing over the loss of Phoebe, or his father intended for Urian to bleed out slowly, in agony, knowing his father had killed him.
Either way, his father was a cold, mean son of a whore.
And Urian had yet to find some way to settle the score between them.
November 8, 2008
“Are you sure about this, Urian?”
Urian scoffed at Acheron’s doubt when he’d told him what was going on, as he waited for Spawn and Davyn to join him in the restaurant where he was meeting them. Like he would have wasted Ash’s time on a rumor …
“Absolutely—it pays to have friends on the dark side. Stryker’s sending out scouts even as I speak to find that journal, at any and all costs.”
Come to find out Ash’s little girlfriend was an archaeologist who’d been busy digging up “dirt” Urian’s father wanted in the worst way.
Now his father had a hit on them.
“He wants to take down Artemis and Apollo and absorb their powers. He’s also hoping there’s something in the journal she found to hurt you, which now has your mom going apeshit and sending out her demons to look for it too.” Urian laughed evilly. “Welcome to Armageddon, buddy. Looks like they’re starting without you.”
“Thanks for the warning. Let me know if you hear anything else.”
“Will do.” Urian hung up the phone as Spawn finally showed up for their meeting and slid into the booth seat across from him.
Dressed black on black, in jeans, a turtleneck, and a motorcycle jacket, he reached over for one of Urian’s fries.
Urian popped his hand for the affront. “Did I say you could do that?”
“Really? You’d deprive one of your best men basic sustenance?”
“Yeah, well, we’re not Daimons anymore. Get your own order.”
“Fine, irritable asshole.” Spawn grabbed a menu from the table to look at it. “So why am I here, anyway?”
Because Urian was homesick and he couldn’t admit that out loud.
To anyone.
“Figured you needed an outing and you make more money than I do.”
Spawn rolled his eyes. “Awesome.” He paused as the waitress came over and he ordered a shake and burger … with his own fries.
Urian tried not to stare at his old friend. Like him, he had white-blond hair, only Lucian’s was cropped short, but longer on top and in front. He also bore the same blue eyes that had made Urian an outcast as a boy among their people.
For similar reasons. Spawn’s father had been a Dream-Hunter, which was why he had heightened powers most Apollites didn’t.
Damn, it was good to see his old friend. They really didn’t get to do this much. Spawn was lucky that like Urian, he hadn’t been killed by being staked through the heart. He’d been bled out. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to come back as a Dark-Hunter.
Well, “lucky” wasn’t the right word given that he’d died trying to save his Apollite wife and children from humans who’d cornered them and thought it would be fun to expose them to daylight. Urian was the only one who knew Lucian had actually been a Daimon before his death. Or that he’d served in their elite guard.
As bad as the Dark-Hunters hated him, thinking he was an Apollite, they both knew it would be a lot worse if the Dark-Hunters ever learned the truth.
“So you’re homesick.”
Urian laughed. “Tuck the telepathy and get out of my thoughts.”
“You know I can’t. You’re too close to me.”
He growled, then sighed. “What the hell? Read away.”
Before Spawn could say anything, Davyn walked in and took a seat beside Urian. “Man, whatever you or Acheron did … Stryker is pissed off.” He slid a small packet toward Urian.
“What’s this?”
“My ass.”
Spawn arched a brow at that. “Your ass fits into an envelope that size? I’m impressed. Mine barely fit into my jeans tonight. And after I eat everything I ordered, I doubt it’ll fit into them tomorrow.”
Snorting at his screwed-up sense of humor, Urian opened the envelope. Then gasped. “Is this right?”
Davyn nodded grimly. “Yeah. They’re planning to take down Acheron and stab at his mother.”
*
Urian had been trying to tell Acheron what he’d learned from Davyn, but his boss wasn’t in the mood to listen. Even Simi was staying clear of him. And that said it all.
She hadn’t even asked for Acheron’s black Amex.
Doors had been slamming. Glass had shattered. Danger was in hiding. Not even Alexion would show himself.
If Urian had a lick of sense, he’d run for the hills, too.
But his sense had taken a hike a long time ago and left him sadly wanting. So here he was, grateful he was suicidal as he knocked on the big guy’s door. The thundering AC/DC riff stopped immediately. Well, at least Ash was back to playing his usual ear-splintering repertoire.
“Yeah?”
That was not a friendly sound. More like a bear clearing its throat to make more room for the prey it was about to shred to pieces and shove into its hungry jowls.
Preparing himself for the possibility of death, Urian pushed open the door to find Ash sitting on his black tester bed with his guitar in his lap and his cell phone lying on his thigh. “You’re really not right, are you?”
Ash narrowed his gaze. “I hope you mean that the way I’m going to take it. Otherwise, in the mood I’m in, you might get your ass kicked.”
Urian laughed. “Yeah, I do.” He entered the dark room, which was lit only by flickering red candles, and shut the door. Then he moved to stand by the bed so that he could finally tell Acheron what’d been on his mind. “Look, I heard you when you came in. Not what you said, but what was underneath it. I know it’s in my best interest to stay out of it. However, you saved my life once, even though I didn’t want you to at the time, and I feel like maybe I should return the favor.”
The look on Ash’s face said that Urian was one syllable away from searching the cold marble floor for his teeth. But after a moment, his expression softened. “I shouldn’t have interfered with that, Urian, and I’m sorry for the pain you live with because of it.”
“You know, it’s all right. If I’d died, Phoebe would have followed me to the grave, anyway. She wasn’t capable of taking a human life, even if the human deserved to die. The only way she could have continued living would have been to feed from another Daimon, and that she wouldn’t have done either. So you didn’t really change her fate by saving me. My father was going to kill her regardless.”
The only thing that would have changed was the years he’d missed of helping Davyn and Spawn.
And the biggest gift of all …
“Besides, if I’d died that night, my niece and nephews wouldn’t have someone to threaten their dad when he’s over-protective of them.” Muppet was much worse with his own flesh and blood than he’d ever been with Chris. Poor Erik, Tyr, and little Phoebe. Urian was the only thing that stood between them and sanity. “I’m the only uncle they have. Kids need an uncle, you know?”