Kiss of the Night (Dark-Hunter #5)(3)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

His gaze actually goaded them.

"Bad form to take a hostage," he said in a deep, smoothly accented voice that rumbled like thunder. "Especially when you know I’m going to kill you anyway."

In that instant, Cassandra knew who and what the newcomer was.

He was a Dark-Hunter-an immortal warrior who spent eternity hunting down and executing the Daimons who fed off human souls. They were the defenders of mankind and the personification of Satan for her people.

She’d heard of them all her life, but much like the bogeyman, she’d attributed them to urban legends.

But the man before her wasn’t a figment of her imagination. He was real, and he looked every bit as deadly as the stories she’d heard.

"Out of my way, Dark-Hunter," the Daimon holding her said, "or I’ll kill her."

Appearing amused by the threat, the Dark-Hunter shook his head like a parent scolding an angry child. "You know, you should have stayed in your bolt-hole one more day. Tonight’s Buffy night, and it’s a whole new episode, too."

The Dark-Hunter paused to sigh irritably. "Have you any idea how angry it makes me that I have to come out here in the freezing cold to slay you when I could be at home all toasty warm, watching Sarah Michelle Gellar kick ass in a halter top?"

The Daimon’s arms shook as he tightened his grip on Cassandra. "Get him!"

The Daimons attacked at once. The Dark-Hunter caught the first one by the throat. In one fluid motion, he picked the Daimon up and slammed him against the wall where he held him in a tight fist.

The Daimon whimpered.

"What are you, a baby?" the Dark-Hunter asked. "Jeez, if you’re going to kill humans, the least you could do is learn to die with some dignity."

A second Daimon dove for his back. As the Dark-Hunter twisted his lower body, a long, evil-looking knife shot out of the toe of his boot. He buried the blade in the center of the Daimon’s chest.

Instantly, the Daimon exploded into powder.

The Daimon in the Dark-Hunter’s grip flashed his long canine teeth as he tried to bite and kick him. The Dark-Hunter tossed him into the arms of the third Daimon.

They stumbled back and landed in a heap on the floor.

The Dark-Hunter shook his head at the two Daimons as they stumbled over each other, trying to regain their feet.

More attacked and he cut through them with an ease that was as scary as it was morbidly beautiful.

"Come on, where did you learn to fight?" he asked as he killed two more. "Miss Manners’ School for Girls?" He sneered contemptuously at the Daimons. "My baby sister could hit harder than you when she was three years old. Damn, if you’re going to turn Daimon, the least you could do is take a few fighting lessons so you can make my boring job more interesting." He sighed wearily and looked up at the ceiling. "Where are the Spathi Daimons when you need them?"

While the Dark-Hunter was distracted, the Daimon holding her moved the gun from her temple and fired four shots into him.

The Dark-Hunter turned very slowly toward them.

Fury descending over his face, he glared at the Daimon who had shot him. "Have you no honor? No decency? No damn brains? You don’t kill me with bullets. You just piss me off."

He looked down at the bleeding wounds in his side, then pulled his coat out so that light shone through the holes in the leather. He cursed again. "And you just ruined my friggin’ favorite coat."

The Dark-Hunter growled at the Daimon. "For that, you die."

Before Cassandra could move, the Dark-Hunter whipped his hand toward them. A thin black cord shot out and wrapped itself around the Daimon’s wrist.

Faster than she could blink, the Dark-Hunter closed the distance between them, jerked the Daimon’s wrist, and wrung his forearm.

She stumbled away from the Daimon and pressed herself against the broken jukebox, out of their way.

With one hand still on the Daimon’s arm, the Dark-Hunter grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet. In a graceful arc, he slung the Daimon onto a table. Glasses shattered under the weight of the Daimon’s back. The gun hit the wooden floor with a cold, metallic thud.

"Didn’t your mother ever tell you the only way to kill us is to cut us into pieces?" the Dark-Hunter asked. "You should have brought a wood chipper instead of a gun."

He glared at the Daimon, who fought desperately against his hold. "Now, let’s see about freeing the human souls you’ve stolen." The Dark-Hunter pulled a butterfly knife from his boot, twirled it open, and plunged it into the Daimon’s chest.

The Daimon decayed instantly, leaving nothing behind.

The last two ran for the door.

They didn’t get far before the Dark-Hunter pulled a set of throwing knives out from under his coat and sent them flying with deadly precision into the backs of the fleeing killers. The Daimons exploded, and his knives hit the floor ominously.

With an unbelievably deliberate calmness, the Dark-Hunter headed for the exit. He paused only long enough to retrieve his knives from the floor.

Then he left as quickly and silently as he’d come.

Cassandra struggled to breathe as the people in the bar came out of hiding and went berserk. Thankfully, even Kat pushed herself up and stumbled toward her.

Her friends came running up to her.

"Are you okay?"

"Did you see what he did?"

"I thought you were dead!"

"Thank God, you’re still alive!"

"What did they want with you?"

"Who were those guys?"

"What happened to them?"

She barely heard the voices that hit her ears so fast and blended that she couldn’t tell who asked what question. Cassandra’s mind was still on the Dark-Hunter who’d come to her rescue. Why had he bothered to save her?

She had to know more about him…

Before she could think better of it, Cassandra ran after him, looking for a man who shouldn’t be real.

Outside, blaring sirens filled the air and were getting progressively louder. Someone in the bar must have called the police.

The Dark-Hunter was halfway down the block before she caught up to him and pulled him to a stop.

His face impassive, he looked down at her with those deep, dark eyes. Eyes so black that she couldn’t detect the pupils. The wind whipped his hair around his chiseled features and the cloud from his breath mingled with hers.

It was freezing out, but his presence warmed her so much that she didn’t even feel it.

"What are you going to do about the police?" she asked. "They’ll be looking for you."

A bitter smile tugged at the edges of his lips. "In five minutes no human in that bar will ever remember they saw me."

His words surprised her. Was that true of all Dark-Hunters? "Will I forget too?"

He nodded.

"In that case, thank you for saving my life."

Wulf paused. It was the first time anyone had ever thanked him for being a Dark-Hunter.

He stared at the wealth of tight, strawberry-blond curls that cascaded without order around her oval face. She wore her long hair plaited down her back. And her hazel-green eyes were filled with a brilliant vitality and warmth.

Though she wasn’t a great beauty, her features had a quiet charm that was inviting, tempting.

Against his will, he reached his hand up to touch her jaw, just below her ear. Softer than velvet, her delicate skin warmed his cold fingers.

It had been so long since he last touched a woman.

So long since he had last tasted one.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and captured those parted lips with his own.

Wulf growled at the taste of her as his body roared to life. He’d never sampled anything sweeter than the honey of her mouth. Never smelled anything more intoxicating than her clean, rose-scented flesh.

Her tongue danced with his as her hands clutched at his shoulders, pressing him closer to her. He became hard and stiff with the thought of how soft her body would be in other places.

And in that moment, he wanted her with an urgency that stunned him. It was a desperate need he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Cassandra’s senses swirled at the unexpected contact of his lips on hers. She’d never known anything like the power and hunger of his kiss.

The faint smell of sandalwood clung to his flesh and he tasted of beer and wild, untamed masculinity.

Barbarian.

It was the only word to describe him.

His arms flexed around her as he plundered her mouth masterfully.

He wasn’t just deadly to Daimons. He was deadly to a woman’s senses. Her heart hammered as her entire body burned, wanting a mad taste of his strength inside her.

She kissed him desperately.

He cupped her face in his hands while he nibbled her lips with his teeth. His fangs. Suddenly, he deepened his kiss as he ran his hands over her back, pressing her closer to those lean, masculine h*ps so that she could feel just how hard and ready he was for her.

She felt him all the way down her entire being. Every hormone in her body sizzled.

She wanted him with a ferocity that terrified her. Not once in her life had she known such hot, wrenching desire, especially not for a stranger.

She should be pushing him away.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around his broad, rock-hard shoulders and held him tight. It was all she could do not to reach down, unzip those pants, and guide him straight into the part of her that throbbed with demanding need.

Part of her didn’t even care that they were on the street. It wanted him right here. Right now. No matter who or what saw them. It was an alien part of herself that scared her.

Wulf fought the urgency inside him that demanded he pin her to the brick wall beside them and have her wrap those long, shapely legs of hers around his waist. To push her sinfully short skirt up over her h*ps and bury himself deep inside her body until she screamed out his name in sweet release.

Dear gods, how he ached to possess her.

If only he could…

Reluctantly, he pulled back from her embrace. He ran his thumb over her swollen lips and wondered what she would feel like writhing beneath him.

Worse, he knew he could have her. He had tasted her desire fully. But once he was finished with her, she would have no memory of him.

No memory of his touch. His kiss.

His name…

Her body would only soothe his for a few minutes.

It would do nothing to ease the loneliness in his heart that yearned for someone to remember him.

"Good-bye, my sweet," he whispered, touching her lightly on the cheek before he turned around.

He would remember their kiss forever.

She wouldn’t recall him at all…

Cassandra couldn’t move as the Dark-Hunter walked away from her.

By the time he had vanished into the night, she had completely forgotten he’d ever existed.

"How did I get out here?" she asked as she wrapped her arms around her to banish the biting cold.

Her teeth chattering, she ran back into the bar.

Chapter 2

Wulf was still thinking of the unknown woman when he pulled his dark green Expedition into his five-car garage. He frowned at the sight of the red Hummer parked against the far wall, and turned his car off.

What the hell was Chris doing home? He was supposed to be spending the night at his girlfriend’s house.

Wulf went inside to find out.

He found Chris in the living room, putting together a huge… something. It had metallic arms and things that reminded him of a poorly designed robot.

Chris’s wavy black hair was sticking out in front as if he’d been tugging at it in frustration. There were parts and papers strewn all over the room, along with various tools.

Wulf watched in wry amusement as Chris battled the long, metallic post he was trying to fit into the base.

As Chris worked, one of the arms fell and smacked him on the head.

Cursing, he dropped the post.

Wulf laughed. "Been watching QVC again?"

Chris rubbed the back of his head as he kicked at the base. "Don’t start with me, Wulf."

"Boy," Wulf said sternly, "you better check that tone."

"Yeah, yeah, ya scare me," Chris said irritably. "I’m even wetting my pants while in your terrifying, gut-wrenching presence. See me shiver and quiver? Ooo, ahhh, ooo."

Wulf shook his head at his Squire. The boy had no sense whatsoever to taunt him. "I knew I should have taken you out in the woods as an infant and left you there to die."

Chris snorted. "Ooo, nasty Viking humor. I’m actually surprised my father didn’t have to present me to you for inspection at birth. Good thing you couldn’t afford the barnautbur∂dr, huh?"

Wulf glared at him-not that he thought for one second it would do any good. It was only force of habit. "Just because you’re the last of my bloodline doesn’t mean I have to put up with you."

"Yeah, I love you, too, Big Guy." Chris went back to his project.

Wulf shrugged his coat off, then draped it over the back of his couch. "I swear, I’m going to cancel our cable subscription if you keep this up. Last week it was the weight bench and rowing machine. Yesterday that facial thing, and now this. Have you seen the crap in the attic? It looks like a rummage sale."

"This is different."

Wulf rolled his eyes. He’d heard that one before. "What the hell is it, anyway?"

Chris didn’t pause as he set the arm back up. "It’s a sun lamp. I thought you might be tired of your pasty-pale complexion."