met the Roman general one other time when Valerius had first arrived to assume Kyrian's Dark-Hunter duties.
Valerius had taken one look at Talon's jacket and tore, and sneered the word
Celt
, thus letting Talon know friendship with this Dark-Hunter was about as likely as finding a parking space for a tank on
Bourbon Street
during Mardi Gras.
And just think, he was doomed to spend eternity in
New Orleans with this prick. As Nick would say, yee-freakin'-haw.
The Roman's black hair was pulled back into an impeccable queue. He wore black pleated pants, loafers, turtle-neck, and a long cashmere coat. If one didn't know better, he would appear to be an affluent attorney, not a Daimon executioner.
And it was all Talon could do not to laugh at how out of place Valerius looked standing next to him, and most especially Acheron, who was a poster boy for the goth movement. Right down to the silver stud in Acheron's nose and the silver buckles that decorated the side of his pointy-toed boots.
"How very punctual you are," Acheron said to Valerius as he looked at the cracked pocket watch he'd pulled out of his jacket pocket. The watch had suffered a mishap about a hundred years ago during a major Daimon uprising. The watch had survived, the Daimons hadn't.
Valerius's black eyes smoldered with resentment as he looked up at Acheron. "I might not like the fact that you are my commander, Greek, but as a soldier I will obey you regardless of my personal distaste for your company."
Talon smirked. "Gee, T-Rex, doesn't it make you all warm and fuzzy just to be near him?"
"Show respect to your betters, Celt," Valerius snarled, curling his upper lip. "Or I'll show you how we Romans dealt with your barbaric kind."
The words didn't elicit any emotion other than bored amusement, but Talon had never been the kind of man to let an insult pass without comment.
He was certainly too old now to change his ways.
"Ah, respect this," he said, flipping Valerius off.
Acheron barely caught Valerius as he lunged for Talon. He placed himself physically between them; not that Talon needed it, but judging by the fury in Valerius's eyes, the Roman certainly did.
"Children, don't make me separate you again." Acheron glared at Valerius and forced the Roman to take a step back. "Believe me, Val, I don't need you to fight my battles and I take no offense to Talon."
"My name is Valerius." Valerius straightened his coat with a regal, arrogant jerk. "And I do take offense to him."
Yeah, well, what was new? The man seemed to take offense at everything.
As usual, whenever two or more Dark-Hunters came together, Talon felt his powers weakening. It was a safeguard Artemis used to ensure her Dark-Hunters couldn't combine strengths and go after the gods or prey on mankind. The only exception to that was Acheron. As the designated trainer and the eldest of their breed, his presence didn't drain their powers, but everyone else's did.
They wouldn't be able to stay together much longer or they would be depleted for the night.
Talon glanced past Valerius's shoulder to see Nick and Zarek walking past the bakery on the corner and heading toward them. "Look unalive, men," he said to Acheron and Valerius, "here comes our reinforcement."
Valerius turned around and let out a vulgar curse that seemed at odds with his regal Roman air of refinement and good breeding.
"Back at you," Zarek snarled as he paused beside Acheron.
Disgust was evident on Valerius's face. "Not another friggin' Greek."
"What's the matter, Roman?" Talon asked. "Greeks bother you?"
His nostrils flared, Valerius raked a sneer over Zarek. "Trust me, had I been at
Troy when they left the horse behind, there would have been roasted Greek on the beach that day."
Talon hissed in mock sympathy. "Damn, T-Rex, he really hates your ancestors."
Acheron gave him a droll stare. "No offense, Talon, I was around before they were."
"Oh yeah, sorry." Talon exchanged glances with Nick, who was much quieter than
Valerius had taken one look at Talon's jacket and tore, and sneered the word
Celt
, thus letting Talon know friendship with this Dark-Hunter was about as likely as finding a parking space for a tank on
Bourbon Street
during Mardi Gras.
And just think, he was doomed to spend eternity in
New Orleans with this prick. As Nick would say, yee-freakin'-haw.
The Roman's black hair was pulled back into an impeccable queue. He wore black pleated pants, loafers, turtle-neck, and a long cashmere coat. If one didn't know better, he would appear to be an affluent attorney, not a Daimon executioner.
And it was all Talon could do not to laugh at how out of place Valerius looked standing next to him, and most especially Acheron, who was a poster boy for the goth movement. Right down to the silver stud in Acheron's nose and the silver buckles that decorated the side of his pointy-toed boots.
"How very punctual you are," Acheron said to Valerius as he looked at the cracked pocket watch he'd pulled out of his jacket pocket. The watch had suffered a mishap about a hundred years ago during a major Daimon uprising. The watch had survived, the Daimons hadn't.
Valerius's black eyes smoldered with resentment as he looked up at Acheron. "I might not like the fact that you are my commander, Greek, but as a soldier I will obey you regardless of my personal distaste for your company."
Talon smirked. "Gee, T-Rex, doesn't it make you all warm and fuzzy just to be near him?"
"Show respect to your betters, Celt," Valerius snarled, curling his upper lip. "Or I'll show you how we Romans dealt with your barbaric kind."
The words didn't elicit any emotion other than bored amusement, but Talon had never been the kind of man to let an insult pass without comment.
He was certainly too old now to change his ways.
"Ah, respect this," he said, flipping Valerius off.
Acheron barely caught Valerius as he lunged for Talon. He placed himself physically between them; not that Talon needed it, but judging by the fury in Valerius's eyes, the Roman certainly did.
"Children, don't make me separate you again." Acheron glared at Valerius and forced the Roman to take a step back. "Believe me, Val, I don't need you to fight my battles and I take no offense to Talon."
"My name is Valerius." Valerius straightened his coat with a regal, arrogant jerk. "And I do take offense to him."
Yeah, well, what was new? The man seemed to take offense at everything.
As usual, whenever two or more Dark-Hunters came together, Talon felt his powers weakening. It was a safeguard Artemis used to ensure her Dark-Hunters couldn't combine strengths and go after the gods or prey on mankind. The only exception to that was Acheron. As the designated trainer and the eldest of their breed, his presence didn't drain their powers, but everyone else's did.
They wouldn't be able to stay together much longer or they would be depleted for the night.
Talon glanced past Valerius's shoulder to see Nick and Zarek walking past the bakery on the corner and heading toward them. "Look unalive, men," he said to Acheron and Valerius, "here comes our reinforcement."
Valerius turned around and let out a vulgar curse that seemed at odds with his regal Roman air of refinement and good breeding.
"Back at you," Zarek snarled as he paused beside Acheron.
Disgust was evident on Valerius's face. "Not another friggin' Greek."
"What's the matter, Roman?" Talon asked. "Greeks bother you?"
His nostrils flared, Valerius raked a sneer over Zarek. "Trust me, had I been at
Troy when they left the horse behind, there would have been roasted Greek on the beach that day."
Talon hissed in mock sympathy. "Damn, T-Rex, he really hates your ancestors."
Acheron gave him a droll stare. "No offense, Talon, I was around before they were."
"Oh yeah, sorry." Talon exchanged glances with Nick, who was much quieter than
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