Sherrilyn Kenyon - One Silent Night

She sucked her breath in as she tried to break them. "I'll get you for this."

"And your little dog, too," he added snidely.

Davyn wisely ignored their comments. "Yes, sir. I'm on it."

Medea didn't speak as the handsome man stepped forward. To his credit, he didn't touch her.

"If you'll follow me." He held his hand out toward the door.

As if she had a choice? Bugger bastards!

Furious, she glared at her father before she allowed Davyn to lead her from the room. "You always obey him?" she asked as soon as they were alone.

Davyn glanced back at her over his shoulder. Tall and blond, he had short hair and a small goatee. "If I didn't want to live, I'd stop taking human souls and expire. It would be a lot less painful than crossing Stryker."

"So you fear him?"

Davyn snorted. "Everyone fears him. The man killed his own son."

"So he keeps telling me."

"Yeah, well, I was there when it happened. We were facing our enemies when Stryker walked up to him all calm and collected, hugged him close, then cut his throat and left him to die."

That description actually sent a shiver down her spine. How could any father be so coldblooded? The fact that he was hers was even more chilling.

Davyn turned left and headed down another hallway. "Urian was one of my best friends and he loved his father more than anything. He'd served him for centuries with absolute loyalty. Believe me, he didn't deserve what he got."

What had her half brother done to cause so severe a punishment? "Why did Stryker kill him?"

"He married one of our enemies behind his back."

She stumbled at his low words, unable to believe so slight an offense would be worth taking a life over, never mind that of one's own child. "That was it?"

Davyn paused to open a door. "That was it."

Unable to believe the man's cruelty, Medea hesitated as she sensed something about her escort. "You're Anglekos." They were Daimons who only preyed on evil humans. Daimons who vowed to take only the souls that deserved to die. Pedophiles. Rapists. Murderers. The lowest of the low.

He blanched. "How do you know that?"

"I can sense the souls inside you. You took three kills recently." It was then she realized another fact about him. He wasn't like her father. He still had a heart that hadn't been destroyed.

Yet.

"I know why you pick the ones you do, but let me give you some advice. Those souls will wear you down. They will corrupt you until you become the very thing you feed on."

Davyn watched her warily. "How do you know?"

That was one question she had no intention of answering.

STRYKER SAT IN HIS OFFICE, WATCHING ZEPHYRA pace furiously through his new sfora. That woman moved like liquid silver. Hot. Fluid. Graceful. It made every hormone in his body fire into overdrive as he remembered how she'd felt in his arms. How it felt to make love to such a hellbrand. Her scent and touch were seared into his memories.

He'd always loved it when she was angry. One time not long after they'd married, he'd pissed her off by flirting with another woman. When they'd returned home, she'd grabbed him and shoved him to the floor, then made love to him until he'd all but gone blind from the pleasure of it. He'd had rug burns on his knees for a solid week afterward.

"You ever look at another woman and I'll claw your eyes out."

Instead, she'd clawed most of the skin off his back as they made love the entire night. His heart raced at the memory of her skills and he was instantly hard as he ached for another taste of her.

Walking away from her had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. But had he stayed, his father would have mercilessly killed her. There was no way Apollo would have allowed them as mortals to defy his divine plans. He was even less forgiving than Stryker was.

And so he'd done the noble thing. The right thing. Rather than try to fight a losing battle that would have cost them both their lives, he'd left her alive, thinking that she'd be able to find a man worthy of her.

And in all these centuries since then, Stryker had thought of her every day and missed her. He'd regretted every moment they had been denied.

But he'd never regretted saving her life from his father's wrath.

Unable to stand being away from her for another instant, Stryker flashed himself to her temple in Greece. One of the last remaining temples of Artemis that was still used to worship her, it was as cold and timeless as the goddess herself.

As soon as Zephyra felt his presence, she turned on him with the full weight of her fury. Her black eyes blazing, she snatched the dagger from its sheath in her boot and advanced toward him.

"Don't," he said calmly, even though his body was on fire for a taste of her. "Kill me and my men will destroy Medea."

Zephyra's grip tightened on the dagger as she froze before him. "You would use your own daughter as a bargaining chip?"

He shrugged. "Agamemnon killed his just to sail a ship to attack his enemy. We are ancient Greeks, are we not?"

"You were a half Greek pig. I'm an Atlantean Apollite." She returned her dagger to its sheath, then straightened. Her tough stance let him know that she was more than ready to fight. "So what do you want?"

Before he stopped himself, he jerked her into his arms to kiss her.

Zephyra had thought she'd stab him the moment he touched her, but the instant his lips were on hers she remembered why she'd married him. Insufferably arrogant, dismally loyal, and unbelievably sexy, Stryker had always made her hot. No one kissed like he did. No one felt the way he did. His warrior's body was sculpted by hard, taut muscles that moved like water. Muscles that beckoned to be stroked and licked.

And with his arms around her, she could forgive him anything.

Almost.

She shoved him back. "That won't work with me anymore, asshole. I'm not the little girl you left behind."

His swirling eyes darkened. "No, you're not. She was beautiful, but you . . . you're a goddess."

Retrieving her weapon again, Zephyra held her dagger against his neck, just below his Adam's apple. She wanted to slice his throat and yet some foreign part of her couldn't quite complete the task. What was wrong with her? She never hesitated. "Don't come any closer."

His gorgeous features taunted her. Gods, but no man had ever been born more handsome. Black eyebrows arched over a pair of pale swirling silver eyes. And his lips . . . all too well she remembered how well they'd pleased her and for how long. He'd been an insatiable, skilled, and thoughtful lover. One who'd never left her wanting.

"Would you really cut my throat?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

She stood strong against her volatile emotions. "Release my daughter and you'll find out."

He rubbed his neck against the sharp blade, letting it cut a fine line into his skin. Zephyra stared at the blood, her mouth watering for a taste of it. That was one of the things she hated most about what Apollo had done to them. The lure of Apollite blood was a madness that made them have to feed whenever they smelled it. It was a compulsion no one born of her race could deny.

Unable to stand it, she pulled the dagger back, grabbed Stryker by the hair, and drew him close.

Stryker sucked his breath in sharply as she clamped her fangs into his skin. Chills spread through his body while he welcomed her arms holding him close. The sensation of her breath on his neck heated his entire body.

"Gods, how I've missed you."

She bit harder, drawing the blood into her mouth until it pained him. "I hate you with every beat of my heart."

Those words hurt him more than her feeding. Yet he took pleasure from the pain. He deserved her hatred. "I wish I could go back and change the night I left."