Danger’s reaction to her “guest” was swift and automatic, and it happened without any premeditation on her part. She pulled out her dagger and threw it straight into the man’s heart. He burst apart into a golden dust just like any good Daimon would.
“Mere de dieu,” she breathed. Kyros had been right. The man was…
Entering the room from the doorway on her right!
Her jaw dropped as he sauntered into the room with an arrogant swagger and a less than amused smirk. He pinned her with a droll stare as he moved to stand in front of her. Her dagger shot from the floor where it had fallen after he exploded into dust, into his hand.
He held it out to her, hilt first. It was painfully obvious he wasn’t the least bit afraid she’d use it on him again. “Could you please refrain from the theatrics. I really hate doing that. It seriously pisses me off and it ruins a perfectly good shirt.”
Danger continued to gape as she stared at the hole in his black turtleneck where the dagger had gone in. There was no blood. No wound. Nothing. Not even a red mark.
“What are you?” she breathed.
“Well, had you listened before you stabbed me, you would have heard the “ËœI’m Acheron’s Squire’ part. Apparently that somehow escaped your hearing and you mistook me for a pin cushion.”
He was certainly a snotty bastard.
“He has some really sweet talents, Danger,” Keller said from the couch. “He made all the Daimons explode without touching them, but he won’t tell me how he did it.”
Danger took her dagger from Alexion’s hand, then, without thought, touched the ragged tear in his shirt. He felt solid underneath. Real. There was cold skin beneath the silk and wool fabric and it was hard and masculine. Yet human beings didn’t shatter like Daimons and no Daimon reappeared after death…
In that moment, she was terrified of him and terror wasn’t something Danger St. Richard felt. Ever.
Alexion ground his teeth at the sensation of her soft fingers on his flesh. His body roared to life as he watched her examine him like a scientist with a lab experiment that had gone tragically wrong. She was very short for a Dark-Hunter which meant Artemis must have taken an unusual liking for the woman. The goddess preferred to create Dark-Hunters who were equal in height to the Daimons they fought.
No more than five two or three, Dangereuse was petite and athletic. He’d seen her many times lately in the sfora as he kept watch on what the Mississippi Dark-Hunters were up to.
There had been something about her that caught his interest. An innocence that still seemed to be inside her. Most Dark-Hunters were jaded by their human betrayals and deaths, and by their duties. But this one… She appeared to have avoided the cynicism that eternal life often brought.
Of course, she was young by Dark-Hunter years.
Her dark, chestnut colored hair was worn in a long braid, down her back, but pieces of it had escaped to curl becomingly around her face. Her features were angelic and delicate. If not for her carriage and self-assuredness, she would have appeared fragile.
And yet there was nothing fragile about her. Dangereuse could more than take care of herself and he knew that well. As one of the newer Dark-Hunters, she was only a couple of hundred years old and had died while trying to save the noble half of her family from the guillotine in France during their revolution. It had been a monumental task she had set for herself and if not for being betrayed, she would have succeeded.
Not to mention the woman had the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen. Full and lush, her lips were the kind that a man dreamed of tasting at night. That mouth beckoned him now with temptation and the promise of pure unadulterated heaven.
She also smelled of sweet magnolias and woman. It had been over two hundred years since he’d last had the pleasure of a woman’s body. And it was all he could do not to bend his head down and bury his face against her soft, tender neck and inhale the scent of her. Feel the softness of her skin against his hungry lips as he tasted the supple flesh there.
Oh, to have her lithe body pressed up against his, preferably naked…
But then given her first reaction to his presence, he didn’t think she’d react much better to being mauled by him.
Danger swallowed in sudden trepidation as she looked at the man before her. He was just as Stryker had foretold… right down to the white cashmere coat.
It’s all true. All of it.
He was Acheron’s personal destroyer who had come to kill them for questioning Acheron’s authority. She felt the sudden need to cross herself, but caught herself just in time. The last thing she needed to do was to let him know she feared him.
Her extremely superstitious and Catholic mother had always told her as a child that the devil wore the face of an angel. In this case, it was most certainly true. The man before her was without a doubt one of the choicest examples of his gender. His dark blond hair held golden highlights and brushed the top of his collar. He wore it in a casual style that swept back from a perfectly masculine face. His well sculpted cheeks were covered with two-day’s growth of whiskers that added a savage, fierce look to him.
Like hers, his eyes were the midnight black of a Dark-Hunter and yet she sensed that he wasn’t one of them. For one thing, he didn’t drain her Dark-Hunter abilities.
There was an aura of extreme power and lethal danger from him. It rippled and sizzled in the air around them and made the hair on the back of her neck rise.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, forcing herself not to betray anything other than nonchalance. Although, the earlier dagger throw had most likely tipped him that she wasn’t exactly ambivalent to his presence.
His smile was wicked and disturbing. “You invited me.”
Was that a play on Ash being a Daimon? No Daimon could enter someone’s home without an invitation. Or was he just making an idle comment?
“I invited Ash here. Not you. I don’t even know who you are.”
He didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Alexion.” His voice was deep and well-cultured. There was only the faintest trace of some foreign accent in it, but she didn’t know what nationality it came from.
“Alexion..?” she prompted wondering what his surname was.
Keller joined them. “Ash sent him here for a couple of weeks to check into what you were saying about a Rogue Dark-Hunter.”
She arched a brow at Keller. “Is that what Alexion told you?”
“Well, yeah, but then I called Ash myself and he corroborated it.”
Good boy that he didn’t accept the man’s word. “Did Ash say anything else?”
“Just to trust Alexion.”
Yeah, right. Like she’d trust a cobra at her feet.
Danger sheathed her dagger before she addressed Alexion again. “Well, it appears I spoke too soon. I was checking into the Rogue thing myself tonight and everything’s fine so you can feel free to return to Ash now.”
Alexion narrowed his dark eyes on her. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not lying.”
He dipped his head down so that he could speak in a low tone for just her hearing. His nearness was disturbing and intense. It actually raised chills over her body as his breath fell against her skin. “For the record, Dangereuse, I can smell a lie from nine miles off.”
She looked up to see the deep curiosity in those… She frowned. No longer black, his eyes had turned to a peculiar hazel green that practically glowed.
Just what the hell was he?