Dark Side of the Moon (3 page)

Her phone rang.

Grateful for the interruption to her morbid ruminations, she picked it up and answered. “Susan Michaels.”

“Hey, Sue, it's Angie. How you doing?” Her buddy sounded a little less than upbeat, but it was still good to hear a friendly voice.

“Fine,” Susan said as she tucked her award away into her purse. If anyone could make her feel better, it was Angie. A smart-mouthed vegan veterinarian, Angie had a way of cutting through the thick of any matter and pointing out the ludicrous—it was truly a gift Sue appreciated. “What are you up to?”

“Five by five as always.”

Susan rolled her eyes. The statement wasn't just a reference to the
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
show Angie loved, it was also the way Angie described herself, since she was round and cuddly.

“I'll only give you five by three … maybe.”

“Yeah, right. Trust me, I am as wide as I am tall, but that's not the point of this. You got a minute away from your lunatic boss?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“'Cause I've got some news that I think you're going to want to hear.”

In spite of Angie's dire tone, Susan smiled. “Hugh Jackman has divorced his wife and happened upon my picture in some old article and decided that I'm the woman for him?”

Angie laughed. “Damn, you have been working for that paper for a long time. You're now starting to believe the rubbish you publish.”

“Har, har. Is there a real point to this conversation?”

“Yes, there is. You know those strange missing-person reports Jimmy's been talking about that've been going on for a while? The ones Jimmy said might be related?”

“Yeah?”

“They are.”

Susan froze as her old reporter self leaped to the forefront. “How do you mean?”

“I can't say anything more on the phone, okay? In fact, I'm on a pay phone, and you don't want to know how hard one of these things is to find nowadays. But I can't take any chances. Can you come by work in about an hour to look for a cat?”

Screwing her face up, Susan let out a disgusted breath. “Ew! I'm deathly allergic to those things.”

“Trust me, it'll be worth your wheezing and then some. Just be there.” The phone went dead.

Susan hung up as a thousand scenarios went through her head. She'd heard real panic in Angie's voice.
Real
panic, and that wasn't like her friend. This was a serious situation and Angie was scared.

Susan tapped the phone with her fingernail as her thoughts scattered into a million different directions. But they all came back to one single thing—this odd call just might be her own road back toward salvation and respectability.

CHAPTER TWO

In many parts of the world and in many religions, the concept of hell has long been one where the dead were punished for the evils they participated in or perpetrated while living.

In the Atlantean hell realm of Kalosis, there were wicked souls aplenty, but none of them were being punished for what
they'd
done while alive. Indeed, most of them had led calm, peaceful lives. As Urian—a Spathi Daimon who'd once called Kalosis home—so often said, “We're not the damned, folks, we're the categorically fucked.”

And it was true. Those here were all being punished not for their transgressions, but rather for something a long-forgotten queen in Atlantis had done centuries ago to strike back at her former lover. In one fit of anger against the Greek god Apollo, she'd sent her soldiers out to murder his child and mistress. By doing so, she'd damned all of her Apollite people not only to a life spent in darkness but to a life span of only twenty-seven years. A life that would end on their birthday as their body slowly,
painfully
deteriorated over a twenty-four-hour period until there was nothing left but a faint dust.

It was a cold, callous fate that each man and woman here in Kalosis would have met had their leader Stryker not found the mythical portal that allowed him to descend from the world of man into this realm where he'd met another god. A god whose indignant fury had made a mockery of Apollo's.

Trapped within the hell realm by her own family who had feared her powers, Apollymi wasn't one to let Apollo get away with his cruelty. She had embraced Apollo's cursed son, Stryker, adopting him as her own before she taught him how to harvest and use human souls to elongate his life. It was a lesson Stryker had gladly shared with others of his race as he brought them here to serve not only his own code of vengeance but Apollymi's as well. Currently he commanded legions of Daimons who used the pathetic humans as cattle.

And even though he owed her so much, Stryker truly hated the goddess who had saved his life and adopted him.

Now, he sat in the banquet hall of her home and watched as his Spathi warriors celebrated their latest victory.

“Death to the humans!” one of his warriors shouted above the din.

“Fuck that,” another replied. “We need them. Death to all Dark-Hunters!”

An echoing cheer rang out through the barren hall. Stryker leaned back in his cushioned throne as he watched the Apollites and Daimons congratulate each other on their most recent success—the capture of Ravyn Kontis. The darkened hall was lit only by candles as they poured Apollite blood—the only thing that could sustain their cursed bodies—from pitchers and spilled it all over themselves.

Like the other Spathis gathered here, Stryker envisioned a better world. A world where his people weren't condemned to die at the tender age of twenty-seven. A world where they could all walk in the daylight that he'd taken for granted as a child.

And all because his father had knocked up a whore and then gotten pissed when the Apollites had killed her off. Apollo had cursed them all … even Stryker, who had been the ancient god's most beloved son.

But that was eleven thousand years ago. Ancient, ancient history.

Stryker was the present and the Daimons before him were the future. If everything went as planned, they would one day soon reclaim the human realm that had been taken from them. Personally, he'd have rather started with another city, but when the human official had come to him with a plan for the humans to help rid Seattle of Dark-Hunters it had been a perfect opportunity to start aligning the race of man with the Apollites and Daimons. Little did the humans know that once the Dark-Hunters were cleared, there would be no one to save their souls. It would be open season on all mankind.

“How many Dark-Hunters are left in Seattle?” he asked his second in command.

Like the other Daimons who were present, Trates was tall and lean, with golden blond hair and dark brown eyes—the epitome of youthful beauty. He drew his brows together as he thought for a second. “Once Kontis is dead, we're down to seven.”

Stryker curled his lips. “Then we're celebrating too soon.”

Silence rang out at his words.

“How so?”

Stryker turned his head to see his younger half-sister approach his carved throne with a bold, determined stride. Unlike the Spathi Daimons who made this place home, she bore no fear of him. Dressed in a black leather catsuit that laced down the front and hugged her lithe, muscular body, she stepped up on the dais to lean against the arm of his chair. Her dark eyes were completely devoid of emotions as she arrogantly cocked a questioning brow.

“He's not dead yet.” He spoke each word slowly, with careful enunciation. “I've learned when dealing with these bastards to take nothing for granted.”

She gave a sarcastic half laugh before she pulled his cell phone off his belt and dialed it.

In theory, the phone shouldn't work in this nether realm. But never ones to let the humans get the better of them, his Spathis had found a preternatural wave that could carry the signal out of Kalosis and up into the human world. It was a dubious trick that served them well.

Satara gave Stryker a bored look as he heard the good Apollite vet in Seattle answer the phone. “Is he dead yet?” she asked, mocking Stryker's earlier tone.

He could only hear the faint muttering of the Apollite on the other end.

Satara gave an evil laugh. “Ooo,” she said, wrinkling her nose in a seductive manner. “You're so nasty, gelding him before he dies. I like that.”

Stryker reached up and grabbed the phone from her. “You've done what?”

Even over the static of the line, he heard the Apollite sweating. “I … um … I'm planning to neuter him, my lord.”

Stryker saw red at that. “Don't you dare.”

“Why not?” Satara asked in an offended tone.

Stryker glared at her as he answered for both her benefit and that of the vet on the other end. “For one thing, I don't want Kontis out of that cage until after he's dead—he's too dangerous for that—and for another, I won't stand by and see a worthy opponent emasculated. He's earned the right to die with some dignity.”

Satara scoffed. “Some dignity. His head's going to explode. Where's the dignity in having your brains splattered all over a cat box because you wanted to look up some human whore's dress? If he'd truly been worthy, we'd have never caught him so easily.”

Stryker tightened his grip on the phone. “Trickery isn't worthy of our species.”

“Oh, get out of the Stone Age, Strykerius. There's no such thing as noble duels anymore. This is a world where the better sneak wins.”

Perhaps, but he remembered a time and place where things didn't work quite that way and after eleven thousand years he was too old to change his ways. “Even so, he is a cousin to us and—”

She sneered at him. “The Were-Hunters turned their backs on the Apollites and Daimons a long time ago. They don't consider you family anymore.”

“Some do.”

“Kontis doesn't,” she shot back. “If he did, he'd have never been able to sell his soul to the Dark-Hunters and join their ranks. For hundreds of years he's hunted and killed your kind. I say geld the bastard and wear his shriveled balls as a trophy.”

Trates cringed at her words, as did several other males in the room, some of whom instinctively cupped themselves.

And Satara wonders why no man will date her.…

“Leave him intact,” Stryker ordered the Apollite over the phone while he glared at his sister. “I'll be there after sundown to check on him myself and he better be as he was when you captured him.”

Before the Apollite could respond, Stryker hung up the phone and returned it to his belt.

Satara rolled her eyes. “I can't believe
you
would show mercy to an enemy. You who cut the throat of your own son to appease Apollymi.”

Acting on pure instinct, Stryker reached up and grabbed her by the neck to silence her. “Enough,” he growled as her eyes bulged. “Unless you want to see the exact nature of my mercy, you'll take a more respectful tone when you address me. I don't care who you serve. Let Artemis find another handmaiden. One more word and I'll silence you eternally.” Shoving her away from him, he stood up.

Utter silence filled the hall as he scanned the gathered Spathis. Physically no older than twenty-seven, each member of their clan was as beautiful as an angel … of death.

And they were his to command.

Ignoring his sister, he addressed them. “We have been given a rare opportunity to work with the humans to bring about the end of the Dark-Hunters in Seattle and give us the foothold we need in their world. But don't think for one minute that this war is over. And as soon as Acheron realizes how many of his Dark-Hunters are missing, he will come here himself to see what's going on.”

Stryker pinned a fierce look on Satara. “Are you ready to battle the Dark-Hunter leader?”

Her eyes flashed with bloodlust as she rubbed her throat. “With every breath I have.”

Stryker scoffed. “Suicidal bravery will get us nowhere. Apollymi protects that bastard of hers. It will never be by a Daimon hand that he dies.…”

“It'll be by a human one,” Trates said from his right.

Stryker nodded. “And it will take a great deal of planning and careful execution if we're to do this. Kill Acheron and the other Dark-Hunters will be easy to manipulate or eliminate.” He looked around the room as his army nodded in agreement.

“So who do we kill next?” Trates asked.

Stryker considered the seven Dark-Hunters who were left. Each one of them had been a fierce warrior in their human lifetime. There wasn't an easy target in the bunch.

But with the humans helping them, for once they had a distinct advantage. Like the Apollites and Daimons, the Dark-Hunters couldn't survive in daylight but their human helpers could. What's more, the Dark-Hunters couldn't sense a human the same way they could an Apollite or Daimon. Humans could easily sneak up on them and deliver an unexpected death blow. Not to mention the small oath that all Dark-Hunters took to preserve human life even at the expense of their own.…

It was an oath that would be their undoing.

“We'll let the humans choose. This is their war. We'll support them for now, but in the end, should they fail it'll be their funerals and not ours.”

*   *   *

Susan knew better than to get her hopes up as she parked in front of the animal shelter. This could very easily be nothing more than a major waste of time.

Or it could be your ticket back—

“Oh, shut up, Pollyanna,” she snapped at herself as she grabbed her purse. She hated that little bit of an optimist who still lived inside her. Why wouldn't it die?

But no, she always had to have hope even when it was pointless. What was wrong with her anyway? Other people got to be jaded … why not her?

I'm just cursed, I guess.

Sighing in disgust, she got out of her car and headed for the entrance. She pushed open the door to walk into a brightly lit reception area.