Sins of the Night (2 page)

It was odd to have such vivid feelings now after all these centuries of experiencing absolutely nothing.

There's always hope.

Yeah, right. He'd long forgotten the sensation of hope. Life went on. People went on. Death went on. Tragedy. Success. It all cycled through there and here. Nothing ever changed.

And yet he felt different for once. Marco had gone Rogue and aided the Daimons. There was nothing to be done for him. And even worse, there were others who were quickly following his lead. Others who were allowing him and Kyros to turn their minds away from the truth. The Dark-Hunters in Northern Mississippi were coming together to rebel against Acheron and Artemis.

It was something that had to be stopped.

His resolve set, he made his way out of his room in the southernmost point of Acheron's palace and headed down the gilded back hallway that ran from his elaborate chambers to the centrally located throne room. The black-veined marble floor was somewhat cold against his bare feet. Had he still been human, that cold would be absolutely biting. As it was, he could only acknowledge the temperature, he couldn't really feel it. And yet that coldness seemed to seep all the way through him.

Reaching the twelve-foot door that was made of gold, he pushed it open to find Acheron on his throne while Acheron's demon, Simi, was lying on her stomach in the far corner of the room, watching QVC.

The demon, who appeared to be a human woman around the age of twenty, was dressed in red vinyl. Her ever-changing horns matched her clothes perfectly and her long black hair was braided down her back. She had a giant, half-empty bowl of popcorn cradled in her arms while her tail whipped around her head as if swishing in time to the countdown clock.

“Akri?”
the she-demon demanded. “Where's my plastic?”

As he always did while at home in Katoteros, Acheron wore his black formesta—a long robelike garment that was left open in front, baring his chest and black leather pants. It was made of heavy silk that was embroidered on the back with a gold sun pierced by three silver lightning bolts—a mark that had been branded onto Alexion's shoulder.

Acheron's long black hair was left unbound, hanging about his shoulders. He sat on the gilded throne strumming a solid black electric guitar that played perfectly without the benefit of an amplifier. The wall to his left was a series of television monitors all of which showed the cartoon
Johnny Bravo.

“I don't know, Sim,” Acheron said distractedly. “Ask Alexion.”

Before Alexion could reach Acheron's throne, the demon appeared before him, hovering in midair while her large red and black wings flapped to support her weight. Her wings, like her horns and eyes, were ever-changing in their color to fit her mood and momentary taste. Her hair color changed too, but it was linked to Acheron, therefore her hair color was always identical to his.

“Where's my plastic, Lexie?”

He gave her a patient but strict stare. Simi had been nothing more than a very small child nine thousand years ago when Acheron had brought him here to live. One of the duties Acheron had assigned to him was to help watch over her and to keep her out of trouble.

Yeah. That was next to impossible.

Not to mention, he was every bit as guilty of spoiling her as Acheron was. Like his boss, he couldn't seem to help himself. There was something innately compelling, endearing, and ultimately sweet about the demon. Something that made him love her like a daughter. In all the worlds, she and Acheron were the only two things that still made him feel any human emotion. He loved them both and he would die to protect them.

But as her “other” father, he knew he owed it to Simi and to the world to try and teach her some restraint.

“You don't need to buy anything else, Simi.”

Her singsongy response was quick and automatic. “Yes I do.”

“No,” he insisted. “You don't. You already have more than enough baubles to keep you occupied.”

She pouted at him while her eyes flamed red and her tail flicked around. “Gimme my plastic, Lexie. Now!”

“No.”

She wailed, then spun around toward Acheron and flew to his throne. Suddenly QVC appeared on his monitors.

“Simi…” Acheron said. “I was watching something.”

“Oh, pooh, it's a stupid cartoon. The Simi wants her Diamonique,
akri,
and she wants it now!”

Acheron passed an exasperated look toward Alexion. “Give her the credit cards.”

Alexion glared at him. “She's so spoiled, she's rotten. She must learn to control her impulses.”

Acheron cocked a brow at him. “And how long have you been trying to teach her restraint, Alexion?”

That didn't bear commenting on. There were some things in life that were indeed futile. But immortality was boring enough. Trying to control Simi often added a lot of spark to it. “I finally got her to sit in front of the television quietly … Sort of.”

Acheron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, after five thousand years of trying. She's a demon, Lex. Restraint isn't in her makeup.”

Before Alexion could argue, the box where he kept Simi's credit cards appeared in the air before her.

“Ha!” Simi said to him in a delighted tone before she seized the box and rocked with it in her arms. Her happiness died as she realized it was locked. She pinned Alexion with a menacing glare. “Open it.”

Before he could refuse, it popped open.

“Thank you,
akri!
” Simi shouted as she grabbed her cards, then fluttered away and headed for her cell phone.

Alexion made a sound of disgust at Acheron as the box vanished. “I can't believe you just did that.”

The monitors returned to the cartoon. Acheron didn't say anything as he reached down to feed his black guitar pick to the tiny pterygsauras that was perched on the arm of his throne. The small, orange dragonlike creature chirped before it swallowed the plastic whole. Alexion wasn't sure where the pterygsauri came from. For the last nine thousand years, there had always been six of them here in the throne room.

Alexion still wasn't sure if they were the same six or not. All he knew for certain was that Acheron loved and pampered his pets and as the Alexion, he did too.

Acheron patted the creature's scaly head as it preened and sang happily, then looked back down at his guitar.

“I know why you're here, Alexion,” he said, as another pick appeared in his hand. He strummed a melodious chord. “The answer is no.”

Alexion feigned a frown he didn't feel. “Why?”

“Because you can't help them. Kyros made his choices long ago and now he has to—”

“Bullshit!”

Acheron paused his hand in mid-strum, then gave him an angry stare. The swirling silver eyes turned red, warning that the destroyer side of Acheron was coming to the forefront.

Alexion didn't care. He'd served Acheron long enough to know his master wouldn't kill him for insubordination. At least none that was this mild. “I know you know everything, boss. I got that a long time ago. But you've also taught me the value of free will. True, Kyros has made some bad choices, but if I go to him as me, I know I can talk him out of this.”

“Alexion…”

“C'mon,
akri.
In over nine thousand years, I have never once asked you for a favor. Never. But I can't just go in and let him die like the others. I have to try. Don't you understand? We were human together. Brothers in arms and in spirit. Our children played together. He died saving my life. I owe him one last chance.”

Acheron gave a heavy sigh as he began playing “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” “Fine. Go. But know that as you do this, whatever he decides, it's not your fault. I knew this moment was coming from the day he was created. His choices are his own. You can't accept responsibility for his mistakes.”

Alexion understood. “How long do you give me?”

“You know the limits of your existence. You can have no more than ten days before you have to return. At the end of the month, you must render my judgment to them.”

Alexion nodded. “Thank you,
akri.
”

“Don't thank me, Alexion. This is distasteful work I'm sending you to do.”

“I know.”

Acheron looked up to stare at him. There was something in his swirling silver gaze that was different this time. Something …

He didn't know, but it sent a raw chill over him. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Acheron went back to playing the guitar.

Alexion's stomach knotted in apprehension. What did the boss know that he wasn't sharing?

“I really hate it when you don't tell me things.”

Acheron gave a lopsided grin at that. “I know.”

Alexion stepped back, intending to return to his room, but before he could turn around, he felt himself slipping. One minute he was in the throne room at Katoteros and, in the next, he was lying facedown on a cold, dark street.

Pain slammed into him with resounding waves of agony that took his breath as he felt the rough, pungent asphalt against his face and hands.

As a Shade in Katoteros, he didn't really feel or experience anything this real. Food had no taste, his senses were all muted. But now that Acheron had placed him in the human world …

Ow! Everything hurt. His body, his skin. Most of all his skinned-up knees.

Alexion rolled over and waited for his body to fully transition into his control again. There was always a burn when he came to earth, a brief period for him to get used to breathing and “living” again. As his senses awoke, Alexion realized he could hear people fighting around him. Was it a battle?

Acheron had done that to him a few times in the past. It was sometimes easier to drop him unnoticed into the middle of the chaos. But this didn't look like a war zone. It looked like …

A back street.

Alexion pushed himself to his feet and then froze as he realized what was happening. There were six Daimons and a human fighting in the alley. He tried to focus his sight to be sure, but everything around him was still fuzzy.

“Okay, boss,” Alexion said under his breath. “If I need glasses, fix it, 'cause I can hardly see shit right now.”

His sight cleared instantly. “Thanks. But you know, a little warning before you dumped my ass out here would have been nice.” He straightened his long, white cashmere coat with a tug. “By the way, couldn't you, just once, drop me either in a La-Z-Boy or on a bed?”

All he heard was the sound of Acheron's short, evil laugh in his head. Acheron and his sick sense of humor. He could be one serious bastard when he wanted to.
“Thanks a lot.”
Alexion let out a long, irritated breath.

Turning his attention to the fight, he focused on the group. The human was a short man, probably no taller than five five or five six and appeared to be in his mid-twenties. As the man turned toward him and Alexion saw his face, he realized who he was. Keller Mallory, a Dark-Hunter Squire—one of the people who helped to shield and protect a Dark-Hunter's identity from the humans.

Squires weren't supposed to engage Daimons, but since Squires were integral to the Dark-Hunter world, they were prone to be targeted.

Apparently, tonight was Keller's turn to get his butt kicked.

Alexion rushed toward the Daimon who was headed at Keller from his back. He grabbed the Daimon and flung him away from the Squire.

“Run!” Keller said to him.

No doubt the Squire thought he was a human, too. Alexion kicked a discarded dagger up from the street and caught it in his fist. Enjoying the “realness” of the fight, he tossed it straight into the heart of the Daimon, who quickly exploded into a golden powder. The dagger fell to the street with a clatter. Alexion held his hand out for the dagger, which immediately shot up from the ground and returned to his grip.

Keller turned to gape at him.

The distraction cost Alexion as one of the Daimons came running up to him from behind to bury a dagger deep between his shoulder blades. Curling his lip in disgust, Alexion felt his body burst apart. He hated it when that happened. It wasn't painful so much as it was irritating and disorienting.

Two seconds later, his body rematerialized.

His expression terrified, Keller stumbled away from him.

Playtime was over.

The remaining Daimons took off at a dead run but they had only a few seconds before they, too, exploded. Only they weren't about to be put back together again.

Still not appeased over the aggravation they had caused, Alexion straightened his coat with a tug at the lapels.

Daimons … they never learned.

The Squire's face blanched as he backed up and stared in horror. “What the hell are you?”

Alexion sauntered up to Keller and handed him the dagger. “I'm Acheron's Squire.” It was kind of true. Okay, not really. It was a lie, but Alexion had no intention of letting anyone know his real relationship with Acheron.

Not that it mattered. Keller didn't buy it. “Like hell. Everyone knows Acheron doesn't have a Squire.”

Yeah, right. If everyone on earth put together all the correct information they had about Acheron, it wouldn't fill a fairy's thimble. Alexion tried not to laugh at the poor man who thought he understood the world around him while the truth was he didn't know jack about shit.

“Apparently everyone's wrong since here I am, sent to you by the head honcho himself.”

The athletically built young man scanned him from head to toe. “Why are you here?”

“Your Dark-Huntress, Danger, called for Acheron and since he's busy, I was sent to check things out and report back to him on what's happening. So here I am. Joy, oh joy of my life.”

That didn't seem to soothe the man at all, but then sarcasm was seldom soothing. Although, to be honest, Alexion found a great deal of entertainment from it. Which was probably a good thing since sarcasm was Acheron's native tongue.