And while Acheron was the newly designated leader of the Dark-Hunters Artemis had created, he knew nothing of leading others.
Thorn, on the other hand, had been born to lead an army. From the minute he’d been old enough to sit on his own, his stepfather had taught him to ride. Back then, he’d assumed he would one day be heir. Little had he known, he had a much larger destiny.
One in which he wouldn’t lead that man’s empire, but rather an army of Hellchasers who fought demons and drove them back to their respective hells.
If anyone had leadership advice on how to wrangle the snarly bastards Acheron was now charged with keeping alive and intact, he couldn’t think of anyone better than Akantheus Leucious Forneus of the Brakadians, or the Death Collector as he was best known.
And he definitely looked the part. Dressed in a mad ensemble of furs and leather that was covered with an assortment of metal plates sewn on to resemble dragon scales over chain mail, he looked as if he were part man, part beast. His long, unbound hair didn’t help. Nor his beard that was neither long nor short. It merely appeared that he couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted to have one or be clean-shaven. But then that was Thorn. He lived by no one’s dictates but his own.
Even his weaponry was that way. While most carried swords, his weapons of choice were a whip, a sling bow, and a long dagger, and one clawed glove that resembled the hand of a falcon.
Acheron gave him a head tilt. “Did you see that blond warrior who was just here?”
Thorn squinted toward the door where he’d exited. “What of him?”
“Was he a Daimon?”
“With blue eyes?”
He had a point, but … “What was he?”
Thorn’s brow shot north at Acheron’s question as he reached to refill his cup. “You don’t know?”
“No.” There was no missing the shocked disbelief in his tone. As an Atlantean god, it wasn’t often Acheron didn’t know everything about everyone the moment he met them. The only time he didn’t was if they impacted his future some way, or if they were a friend or family.
Yet he’d never met that person before.
Thorn snorted, then smirked and took a long drink of the mead. “Love that look on your face, Akipoo.”
He gave him a droll stare. “Don’t make me stab you.”
“You can try.”
And that was why Leucious went by Thorn—as in he was a thorn in everyone’s arse. Especially that of his father, the source of all evil.
“Do you, or do you not, know anything about the man who was just here?”
Thorn scratched at his neck. “I know he wasn’t human. Whatever is setting off the hairs on your ass is making mine stand up too. But what he was … I don’t know.”
“Animal, vegetable, or mineral.”
Thorn laughed. “Demon or Daimon.”
“You said he wasn’t a Daimon.”
Thorn shrugged. “I say a lot of things. Usually no one listens.”
Acheron shook his head.
“So … tell me again about these Dark-Hunters. Their job is to hunt down Daimons and free the human souls inside them before the souls perish completely?”
He nodded. “That’s the theory. According to Artemis, the moment a Daimon coerces a human soul into their body, it begins dying. If we can get to them in time, we can pierce the mark and release the soul back into the universe where it can return to its source.”
Thorn let out a low whistle. “How do they get the souls?”
Acheron shrugged. “Damned if I know.”
“Well, I don’t envy you this task.”
“Why?”
Thorn sat forward. “I just return demons. You’re talking about training warriors to kill them. My experience, things that have psychic powers and are related to a god don’t die easy. And when they do, they try to take you with them.”
September 8, 7382 BC
Urian stared at the human in front of him. His eyes were glazed from the spell Apollymi had taught them to use to drain a human down to a dangerous level where they hovered close to death. “Do you surrender to me?”
He nodded as his head lolled back.
Forcing his head up, Urian slapped him to an alert state. “Focus … I want your soul. Will you give it to me?”
“Aye,” he breathed.
Urian sank his fangs into the man’s throat and ripped out his jugular. He’d feel bad, but for the fact that it was better he should die than Urian. And as he drank, he felt the man’s fear. That was the worst part about feeding on humanity.
Their emotions tangled together. They shared their memories.
It was why a lot of Daimons didn’t like to prey on criminals even though they were a lot more powerful than the others, as a rule. What he did took a lot of control and discipline. Because of their corrupt souls and inhumanity, they could easily poison him, too. He could slide right into their cruelty.
If he were weak.
But while he had to do this to survive, he wasn’t the same breed of animal they were. This was forced on him. It wasn’t a choice.
Big difference.
Urian pulled back as he felt the man’s death rattle. He held him against his chest as he waited for that critical moment. Pinching the man’s nose, he tightened his grip on his chest and began to hum the summoning spell.
It was a tricky thing to lure a soul. Trickier still to absorb one into his body. When he’d first started doing this, he’d had several escape because he hadn’t been able to detect that moment when they left the human body. Now, his sight was well honed.
He could even smell them.
Like now. Urian sucked his breath in as the soul rushed toward him and slammed into his body, merging with his physical being. The shock of it was always exhilarating.
Shaking and light-headed, he let go so that the man’s body could slide to the street.
Where am I? What happened? Hello!
Urian flinched at the shouting in his skull. Rubbing at his forehead, he sighed heavily. That, he hated. It was like a migraine that had a baby run over by an elephant that had been struck by a hurricane in the middle of a volcano erupting.
And he wished he were exaggerating.
All of a sudden, someone brushed their hand through his hair. He tensed and started to strike until the scent of the woman hit his nostrils.
Urian relaxed instantly. “Xyn.” Her name left his lips like a prayer.
“I would ask about the body at your feet, but the blood on your lips gives me a pretty good idea.”
Opening his eyes, he wiped away the blood with his knuckle as he met her beautiful gaze. Until he saw the bruises and scratches on her forehead and cheek. Anger cut through him. “What of you?”
“War.”
His gaze darkened.
She cupped his face in her soft hands and rose up on her tiptoes to place a gentle kiss to his lips. “Calm down, my angry Daimon. I’m fine. In battle you tend to get knocked about.”
“Doesn’t mean I like it.”
“I know.” She nipped at his bottom lip. “How are you?”
At the moment?
“Hungry.” But not for blood. He was starving for something a little more exotic …
Urian pulled her closer to savor her curves against his body, though to be honest, he’d rather they were both naked and not covered in armor.
She curled her arm around his neck and held him tight as he pressed her against the wall. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you. What are you doing here?”
“Came out to feed. You?”
“Someone stole my brother’s egg.”
“Egg?” Urian was aghast that anyone would dare go after a dragon’s child.
“Not what you’re thinking.” She teased. “It’s something we use to heal with.”
“Ah.”
Xyn gasped as she felt Urian’s hand sliding down inside her armor so that his fingers could delve deep into her body. Her heart began to pound. “What are you doing?”
“I think you know.”
She glanced around the deserted alley. “We’re in public!”
“Then you’d best take me somewhere private. I fear I’m a bit soul-drunk and between that and the smell of you, I’m rather feral at the moment.”
Indeed. She’d never seen him like this before. There was an edge to him that wasn’t normally there. While she’d always known he was lethal, this was different. He was …
She didn’t know how to describe it.