victim. “It’s been sanitized.”
She at last lifted her head. “Would you make sure—”
“That no one enters?” he finished for her.
“Yes.”
He abruptly frowned. “Where’s your Sentinel?”
A necro never left the compound without a guardian Sentinel. Not only were they capable of opening portals to travel from place to place (a mysterious talent that was never discussed among the mundane mortals) but they were also trained warriors who were covered in intricate tattoos. From what little Duncan had been able to learn the ceremonial markings protected the warriors from magic as well as any attempt at mind-control.
And oh yeah, they were capable of killing with their bare hands.
There were also rumors that there were other Sentinels.
Hunters who weren’t marked and could travel among the humans unnoticed, but info on them was kept top-secret.
“I asked him to wait outside.”
He lifted a brow. “Why?”
“Because you take such pleasure in tormenting him and he’s too well trained to fight back.”
“Are you saying I’m not well trained?”
She ignored the open invitation to point out that he was barely civilized and instead returned her attention to the victim.
“The door, please.”
He slowly straightened, swallowing his groan as his head gave another protesting throb.
Whiskey was the devil’s brew, just as his ma had always claimed.
“No one’s coming in,” he muttered, “but I’ll keep guard at the door if it makes you feel better.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Duncan.” His headache forgotten, he flashed a smile of pure challenge. “One day you’ll say it. Hell, one day you might even scream it.”
No response. With a low growl, Duncan made his way to the door, leaning in the door-jam to make sure no one could enter while keeping his attention on the woman kneeling beside the corpse.
She ignored his unwavering attention, lifting a hand to remove her sunglasses and setting them aside. At the same time the slanting sunlight spilled over her, catching in the sapphire blue of her eyes.
Duncan’s heart forgot how to beat.
He’d seen them before. At a distance. At the time he’d thought they looked like expensive gems, perfectly faceted and shimmering with an inner light. Up close they were even more magnificent.
Christ.
The beauty of those eyes was hypnotizing.
Priceless jewels that revealed this was no ordinary woman.
HUNT THE DARKNESS
PROLOGUE
Styx’s lair
Chicago, IL
Styx was fairly certain that hell had frozen over.
Nothing else could explain the fact that in the past year he’d become the Anasso (King of all Vampires), moved from his dank caves into a behemoth of a mansion that contained acres of marble, crystal and gilt—gilt for Christ’s sake—and mated with a pureblooded Were who also happened to be a vegetarian.
Then, as if fate hadn’t had enough laughs at his expense, he’d been in an epic battle against the Dark Lord which meant he’d been forced to make allies out of former enemies.
Including the King of Weres, Salvatore, who was currently drinking Styx’s finest brandy as he smoothed a hand down his impeccable Gucci suit.
Of course, if it wasn’t for the fact that their mates happened to be sisters, he would never have allowed the bastard over his doorstep, he pacified his battered pride. His own mate, Darcy, was very...insistent that she be allowed to spend time with Harley who was growing heavy with her first pregnancy.
Or was it litter?
Either way, Styx and Salvatore were forced to play nice.
Not an easy task for two uber-alphas who’d been opponents for centuries.
Settling his six foot plus frame in a chair that had a view of the moon-drenched gardens, Styx waited for his companion to finish his drink.
As always, Salvatore looked more like a sophisticated mob boss than the King of Weres. His dark hair was pulled to a tail at his nape and his elegant features cleanly shaved. Only the feral heat
She at last lifted her head. “Would you make sure—”
“That no one enters?” he finished for her.
“Yes.”
He abruptly frowned. “Where’s your Sentinel?”
A necro never left the compound without a guardian Sentinel. Not only were they capable of opening portals to travel from place to place (a mysterious talent that was never discussed among the mundane mortals) but they were also trained warriors who were covered in intricate tattoos. From what little Duncan had been able to learn the ceremonial markings protected the warriors from magic as well as any attempt at mind-control.
And oh yeah, they were capable of killing with their bare hands.
There were also rumors that there were other Sentinels.
Hunters who weren’t marked and could travel among the humans unnoticed, but info on them was kept top-secret.
“I asked him to wait outside.”
He lifted a brow. “Why?”
“Because you take such pleasure in tormenting him and he’s too well trained to fight back.”
“Are you saying I’m not well trained?”
She ignored the open invitation to point out that he was barely civilized and instead returned her attention to the victim.
“The door, please.”
He slowly straightened, swallowing his groan as his head gave another protesting throb.
Whiskey was the devil’s brew, just as his ma had always claimed.
“No one’s coming in,” he muttered, “but I’ll keep guard at the door if it makes you feel better.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Duncan.” His headache forgotten, he flashed a smile of pure challenge. “One day you’ll say it. Hell, one day you might even scream it.”
No response. With a low growl, Duncan made his way to the door, leaning in the door-jam to make sure no one could enter while keeping his attention on the woman kneeling beside the corpse.
She ignored his unwavering attention, lifting a hand to remove her sunglasses and setting them aside. At the same time the slanting sunlight spilled over her, catching in the sapphire blue of her eyes.
Duncan’s heart forgot how to beat.
He’d seen them before. At a distance. At the time he’d thought they looked like expensive gems, perfectly faceted and shimmering with an inner light. Up close they were even more magnificent.
Christ.
The beauty of those eyes was hypnotizing.
Priceless jewels that revealed this was no ordinary woman.
HUNT THE DARKNESS
PROLOGUE
Styx’s lair
Chicago, IL
Styx was fairly certain that hell had frozen over.
Nothing else could explain the fact that in the past year he’d become the Anasso (King of all Vampires), moved from his dank caves into a behemoth of a mansion that contained acres of marble, crystal and gilt—gilt for Christ’s sake—and mated with a pureblooded Were who also happened to be a vegetarian.
Then, as if fate hadn’t had enough laughs at his expense, he’d been in an epic battle against the Dark Lord which meant he’d been forced to make allies out of former enemies.
Including the King of Weres, Salvatore, who was currently drinking Styx’s finest brandy as he smoothed a hand down his impeccable Gucci suit.
Of course, if it wasn’t for the fact that their mates happened to be sisters, he would never have allowed the bastard over his doorstep, he pacified his battered pride. His own mate, Darcy, was very...insistent that she be allowed to spend time with Harley who was growing heavy with her first pregnancy.
Or was it litter?
Either way, Styx and Salvatore were forced to play nice.
Not an easy task for two uber-alphas who’d been opponents for centuries.
Settling his six foot plus frame in a chair that had a view of the moon-drenched gardens, Styx waited for his companion to finish his drink.
As always, Salvatore looked more like a sophisticated mob boss than the King of Weres. His dark hair was pulled to a tail at his nape and his elegant features cleanly shaved. Only the feral heat
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