Night Play (Dark-Hunter #6)(2)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

That would have worked except that Vane, as a cousin to the Daimons, had been taught that strategy from the cradle. There was nothing about them that made him panic.

All their tactic did was make him dispassionate and determined.

And in the end, that would make him victorious.

Vane ripped through two more with his stake while Fang remained unmoving in the water. He began to panic but forced it down.

Calmness was the only way to win a fight.

One of the Daimons caught him with a blast that sent him spiraling through the water. Vane collided with a stump and groaned at the pain that exploded down his back.

Out of habit, he lashed back with his own powers only to feel the collar tighten and shock him. He cursed at the new pain, then ignored it.

Getting up, he charged at the two males who were heading for his brother.

"Give up already," one of the Daimons snarled.

"Why don’t you?"

The Daimon lunged. Vane ducked under the water and pulled the Daimon’s feet out from under him. They fought in the water until Vane caught him in the chest with his stake.

The rest ran off.

Vane stood in the darkness, listening to them splashing away from him. His heart pounded in his ears as he allowed his rage to consume him. Throwing his head back, he let out his wolf’s howl, which echoed eerily through the misty bayou. Inhuman and baleful, it was the kind of sound that would send even the voodoo mavens scurrying for cover.

Now certain the Daimons were gone, Vane raked his wet hair from his eyes as he made his way to Fang, who still hadn’t moved.

Vane choked on his grief as he stumbled blindly through the water with only one thought in his mind Don’t be dead.

Over and over in his mind, he saw his sister’s lifeless body. Felt her coldness against his skin. He couldn’t lose them both. He couldn’t.

It would kill him.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to hear one of Fang’s stupid-ass comments.

Anything.

Images flashed through his mind as he remembered his sister’s death just the day before at the hands of the Daimons. Unimaginable pain tore through him.

Fang had to be alive. He had to.

"Please, God," he breathed as he closed the distance between them. He couldn’t lose his brother.

Not like this Fang’s eyes were open, staring unseeingly up at the full moon, which would have allowed them to time-jump out of this swamp had they not both been wearing the collars.

There were open bite wounds all over him.

A deep, profound grief tore through Vane, splintering his heart into pieces.

"C’mon, Fang, don’t be dead," he said, his voice breaking as he forced himself not to cry. Instead, he snarled out, "Don’t you dare die on me, you ass**le."

He pulled his brother to him and discovered that Fang wasn’t dead. He was still breathing and shaking uncontrollably. Shallow and raspy, the hollow sound of Fang’s breaths was a symphony to Vane’s ears.

His tears broke as relief pierced him. He cradled Fang gently in his arms. "C’mon, Fang," he said in the stillness. "Say something stupid for me."

But Fang didn’t speak. He just lay there in complete shock as he shook in Vane’s arms.

At least he was alive.

For the moment.

Vane ground his teeth as anger consumed him. He had to get his brother out of here. Had to find someplace safe for both of them.

If there was such a place.

With his rage unleashed, he did the impossible, he tore Fang’s collar from his throat with his bare hands. Fang turned instantly into a wolf.

Still, Fang didn’t come around. He didn’t blink or whine.

Vane swallowed the painful lump in his throat and fought the tears that stung his eyes.

"It’s okay, little brother," he whispered to Fang as he picked him up from the foul water. The weight of the brown wolf was excruciating, but Vane didn’t care.

He paid no attention to his body, which protested carrying Fang.

So long as he had breath in his body, no one would ever hurt anyone Vane cared for again.

And he would bring death to anyone who ever tried.

Chapter 1

Lilac and Lace Boutique on Iberville

The French Quarter

Eight months later

Stunned, Bride McTierney stared at the letter in her hand and blinked. She blinked again.

It couldn’t really say what she thought it said.

Could it?

Was it a joke?

But as she read it again for the fourth time, she knew it wasn’t. The rotten, cowardly SOB had actually broken up with her via her own FedEx account.

Sorry, Bride,

But I need a woman more in keeping with my celebrity image. I’m going places and I need the kind of woman at my side who will help me, not hinder me.

I’ll have your things delivered to your building. Here’s some money for a hotel room tonight in case you don’t have any vacant rooms.

Best,

Taylor

"You sorry, sycophantic, scum-sucking dog," she snarled as she read it again and pain engulfed her so profoundly that it was all she could do not to burst into tears. Her boyfriend of five years was breaking up with her through a letter that he’d charged to her business account?

"Damn you to hell, you filthy snake!" she snarled.

Normally Bride would sooner cut her own head off than cuss, but this this warranted serious language.

And an ax to her ex-boyfriend’s head.

She fought the urge to scream. And the need she felt to get into her SUV, go over to his television station, and pound him into itty-bitty bloody pieces.

Damn him!

A tear rolled down her cheek. Bride wiped it away and sniffed. She wouldn’t cry over this. He so wasn’t worth it.

Really, he wasn’t, and deep inside she wasn’t surprised. For the last six months, she’d known this was coming. Had felt it every time Taylor put her on another diet or signed her up for another exercise program.

Not to mention the important dinner party two weeks ago at the Aquarium where he

had told her that he didn’t want her to join him. "There’s no need in you getting all dressed up for something so boring. Really. It’s best that I go alone."

She’d known the minute he’d finished speaking that he wouldn’t be around much longer.

Still it hurt. Still she ached. How could he do such a thing?

Like this! she thought angrily as she waved the letter around like a lunatic in the middle of her store.

But then she knew. Taylor had never really been happy with her. The only reason he had gone out with her was because her cousin was a manager at a local television station. Taylor had wanted a job there and, like a fool, she had helped him to get it.

Now that he was safely ensconced in his position and his ratings were at the top, he pulled this stunt.

Fine. She didn’t need him anyway.

She was better off without him.

But all the arguments in the world didn’t ease the bitter, awful pain in her chest that made her want to curl up into a ball and cry until she was spent.

"I won’t do it," she said, wiping away another tear. "I won’t give him the satisfaction of crying."

Throwing the letter away, she seized her vacuum cleaner with a vengeance.

Her little boutique needed cleaning.

You just vacuumed.

She could just vacuum again until the damned carpet was threadbare.

Vane Kattalakis felt like shit. He’d just left Grace Alexander’s office where the goodand he used the word with full rancorpsychologist had told him there was nothing in the world that could heal his brother until his brother was willing to heal.

It wasn’t what he needed to hear. Psychobabble was for humans, it wasn’t for wolves who needed to get their stupid asses out of Dodge before they lost them.

Ever since Vane had crawled out of the swamp with his brother on Mardi Gras night, they had been lying tow at Sanctuary, a bar owned by a clan of Katagaria bears who welcomed in all strays, no matter where they came from: human, Daimon, Apollite, Dark-Hunter, Dream-Hunter, or Were-Hunter. So long as you Kept the peace and threatened no one, the bears allowed you to stay. And live.

But no matter what the Peltier bears told him, he knew the truth. Both he and Fang were living under a death sentence and there was no place safe for them. They had to get mobile before their father realized they were still alive.

The minute he did, a team of assassins would be sent for them. Vane could take them on, but not if he had to drag a hundred-and-twenty-pound comatose wolf behind him.

He needed Fang awake and alert. Most of all, he needed his brother willing to fight again.

But nothing seemed to reach Fang, who had yet to move out of his bed.

Nothing.

"I miss you, Fang," he whispered under his breath as his throat tightened with grief. It was so hard to make it alone in the world. To have no one to talk to. No one to trust.

He wanted his brother and sister back so badly that he would gladly sell his soul for it. But they were both gone now. There was no one left for him. No one.

Sighing, he tucked his hands in his pockets and turned onto Iberville as he walked through the French Quarter.

He wasn’t even sure why he cared anymore anyway. He might as well let his father have him. What difference did it make?

But Vane had spent the whole of his life fighting. It was all he knew or understood. He couldn’t do as Fang and just lie down and wait for death. There had to be something out there that could reach his brother. Something out there that could make both of them want to live again.

Vane paused as he neared one of those women’s shops that were scattered throughout the French Quarter. It was a large redbrick building trimmed in black and burgundy. The entire front of it was made of glass that showed inside where the store was littered with lacy women’s things and delicate, feminine tchotchkes. But it wasn’t the merchandise that made him pause.

It was her.

The woman he’d thought he would never see again.

Bride.

He’d seen her only once and then only briefly as he guarded Sunshine Runningwolf in Jackson Square while the artist had sold her artwork to tourists. Oblivious to him, Bride had come up to Sunshine and the two of them had talked for a few minutes.

Then Bride had walked out of his life completely. Even though he’d wanted to follow after her, Vane had known better. Humans and wolves didn’t mix.

And definitely not wolves who were as screwed up as he was.

So he’d sat idly by even while every molecule of his body had screamed out for him to go after her.

Bride had been the most beautiful woman Vane had ever seen.

She still was.

Her long auburn hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head that left curls of it to caress her porcelain face. She wore a long, black dress that flowed around her body as she jerked a vacuum cleaner across the carpet.

Every animal instinct in his body roared to life as he saw her again. The feeling was primal. Demanding.

Needful.

And it wouldn’t listen to reason.

Against his will, he found himself headed toward her. It wasn’t until he had opened the burgundy door that he realized she was crying.

Fierce anger tore through him. It was bad enough that his life sucked, the last thing he wanted was to see someone like her cry.

Bride paused her vacuuming and looked up as she heard someone entering her shop. Her breath caught in her throat. Never in her life had she seen a more handsome man.

Never.

At first glance his hair was dark brown, but in reality it was made up of all colors: ash, auburn, black, brown, mahogany, even some blond. She’d never seen hair like that on anyone. Long and wavy, it was pulled back into a sexy ponytail.

Better yet, his white T-shirt was pulled tight over a body that most women only saw in the best magazine ads. It was a body that was meant for sex. Tall and lean, that body begged a woman to caress it just to see if it was as hard and perfect as it appeared.

His handsome features were sharp, chiseled, and he had a day’s growth of beard on his face. It was the face of a rebel who didn’t cater to current fashions one who lived his life solely on his own terms. It was obvious that no one told this man how to do anything.

He was gorgeous.

Bride couldn’t see his eyes for the dark sunglasses he wore, but she sensed his gaze. Felt it like a smoldering touch.

This man was tough. Fierce. And it sent a wave of panic through her.

Why would someone Like this be in a shop that specialized in women’s accessories?

Surely he wasn’t going to rob her?

The vacuum, which she hadn’t moved a single millimeter since he’d entered her store, started to whine and smoke in protest. Drawing her breath in sharply, Bride quickly turned it off and fanned the motor with her hand.

"Can I help you?" she asked as she struggled to put it behind her counter. Heat suffused her cheeks as the motor continued to smoke and spit. It added a not-so-pleasant odor of burning dust to the potpourri-scented candles she used. She smiled lamely at the devastatingly hot god who stood so nonchalantly in her store. "Sorry about that."

Vane closed his eyes as he savored the melodic Southern lilt of her voice. It reached deep inside him, making his whole body burn for her. He was swollen with need and desire.

Swollen with a feral urge to take what he wanted, damn all consequences. But she was scared of him. His animal half sensed it. And that was the last thing his human half wanted. Reaching up, he pulled the sunglasses off and offered her a small smile.

"Hi."

It didn’t help. If anything, the sight of his eyes made her even more nervous.