The man saw everything.
Valerius looked as panicked as Zarek felt. As always when addressing his father, the youth stuttered. "I—I—I w-was…"
"What is that slave doing here?"
Zarek took a step back as Valerius's eyes widened and he gulped. It was obvious Valerius was searching for a lie.
"W-w-we were going to the m-m-market," Valerius said quickly.
"You and the slave?" the commander asked incredulously. "For what? Were you hoping to buy a new whip to beat him with?"
Zarek prayed for Valerius not to lie. It was always worse on him when Valerius lied to protect him.
If only he dared to speak the truth, but he had learned long ago that slaves never spoke to their betters.
And he, more than the others, was never allowed to address his father.
"W-w-well… I…"
His father growled a curse and kicked Valerius in the face. The force of the blow knocked Valerius down where he lay beside Zarek with his nose pouring blood.
"I am sick of the way you coddle him." His father dismounted his horse and stormed toward Zarek, who fell to his knees and covered his head, waiting for the beating that was to come.
His father kicked him in his still-sore ribs. "Get up, dog."
Zarek couldn't breathe from the pain in his side and the terror that consumed him.
His father kicked him again. "Up, damn you."
Zarek forced himself to stand even though all he wanted to do was run. But he'd learned long ago not to. Running only made the punishment worse.
So he stood there, braced for the blows.
His father grabbed him by the neck, then turned to Valerius, who was now on his feet as well. He grabbed Valerius by his clothes and snarled at him. "You disgust me. Your mother was such a whore that it makes me wonder what coward fathered you. I know you didn't come from me."
Zarek saw pain flash in Valerius's eyes, but he quickly masked it. It was a common lie their father uttered whenever he was angry at Valerius. One had only to look at the two of them to know Valerius was as much his son as Zarek was.
His father slung Valerius away from him and hauled Zarek by his hair toward a stall.
Zarek wanted to place his own hand over his father's to keep his hold from hurting so badly, but didn't dare.
His father couldn't stand for him to touch him.
"You're a slaver?" his father asked.
An older man stood before them. "Yes, my lord. Can I interest you in a slave today?"
"No. I want to sell you one."
Zarek gaped as he understood what was happening. The thought of leaving his home terrified him. As bad as things were, he had heard enough stories from other slaves to know that life could get significantly worse for him.
The old slaver looked at Valerius gleefully.
Valerius stepped back, his face pale.
"He's a handsome boy, my lord. I can get a pretty fee for him."
"Not him," the commander snarled. "This one."
He shoved Zarek toward the slaver who curled his lip in disgust. The man covered his nose. "Is this a jest?"
"No."
"Father—"
"Hold your tongue, Valerius, or I'll take him up on his offer for you."
Valerius passed a sympathetic look to Zarek, but wisely stayed silent.
The slaver shook his head. "This one is worthless. What did you use him for?"
"A whipping boy."
"He's too old for that now. My clients want younger, attractive children. This wretch is fit for nothing except begging."
"Take him and I'll give you two denarii."
Zarek gaped at his father's words. He was paying a slaver to take him? Such a thing was unheard of.
"I'll take him for four."
"Three."
The slaver nodded. "For three, then."
Zarek couldn't breathe as their words resonated inside him. He was so worthless that his father had been forced to pay to be rid of him? Even the cheapest of slaves was still worth two thousand denarii.
But not him.
He was every bit as worthless as everyone claimed.
No wonder they all hated him.
He watched as his father paid the man. Without another look at him, his father grabbed Valerius by the arm and hauled him away.
A younger version of the slaver came into his blurry sight and expelled a repulsed breath. "What are we to do with him, Father?"
The slaver tested the coins with his teeth. "Send him in to clean out the cesspit for the other slaves. If he dies of disease, who cares? Better he clean it than someone we could actually sell for profit."
The younger man smiled at that.
Using a stick, he prodded Zarek toward the stalls. "Come on, rat. Let me show you to your new duties."
Astrid came awake from the dream with her heart pounding. She lay in her bed, surrounded by the darkness she was used to, as Zarek's pain washed over her.
She'd never felt such despair. Such need.
Such loathing.
Zarek hated everyone, but most of all, he hated himself.
No wonder the man was insane. How could he have lived with such misery?
"M'Adoc?" she whispered.
"Here." He sat beside her.
"Leave some more of the serum for me and Lotus serum, as well."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Chapter 7
Zarek woke up just after noon. He very seldom slept through the day. It was more like napping. In the summertime it was too hot in his cabin for him to sleep comfortably and in winter it was too cold.
But mostly it was because his dreams never allowed him to sleep for long. The past haunted him too much to give him peace, and while unconscious, he couldn't keep those memories away.
But as he opened his eyes and heard the wind rushing outside, he remembered where he was.
Astrid's cabin.
He'd sealed the curtains tight last night so he couldn't tell if it was still snowing outside or not. Not that it mattered. During daylight, he was trapped here.
Trapped with her.
He got out of bed and walked down the hallway, toward the kitchen. How he wished he were at home. He really needed a substantial drink. Not that the vodka could really chase away the dreams that lingered in his mind. But the burn of it was a bit distracting.
"Zarek?"
He turned at the soft voice that went down him like a silken caress. His body reacted instantly to it.
All he had to do was think her name and it made him rock-hard and needful.
"What?" He didn't know why he answered her when he normally wouldn't have.
"Are you all right?"
He snorted at that. He'd never once in his life been all right. "Do you have anything to drink in this place?"
"I have juice and tea."
"Liquor, princess. Do you have anything in this place with a bite to it?"
"Only Sasha and of course, you."
Zarek glanced down at the vicious cuts on his arm where her pet had attacked him. If he were any other Dark-Hunter those wounds would be gone now. But lucky him, they would be here for a few days more.
Just like the hole in his back.
Sighing, he reached inside the fridge and pulled out her orange juice. He opened the top and almost had the container to his lips before he remembered that it wasn't his and this wasn't his place.
The vicious side of him told him to go for it and drink it, she'd never know, but he didn't listen to that voice.
He went to the cabinet and pulled out a glass, then poured it full.
Astrid could only hear faint tell-tale signs that Zarek was still in the kitchen. He was so quiet that she had to strain just to make sure.
Walking forward, she headed for the sink. "Are you hungry?"
Out of habit, she reached out—and brushed her hand against a hot, naked hip.
It was smooth, inviting.
Scintillating.
St
unned by the unexpected sensation of her hand on his bare flesh, she lowered her hand down his leg before she realized Zarek didn't have any clothes on.
The man was fully naked in her kitchen.
Her heart hammered.
He moved away from her. "Don't touch me."
She shivered at the anger in his voice. "Where are your clothes?"
"I don't sleep in jeans."
Her hand burned with the memory of his skin under her fingers. "Well, you should have put them on before you came out here."
"Why? You're blind. It's not like you could see me."
True, but if Sasha were awake, he'd been having a fit over this.
"I don't need you to remind me of my shortcomings, Prince Charming. Believe me, I'm well aware of the fact that I can't see you."
"Yeah, well, count your blessings."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not worth looking at."
Her jaw went slack at the sincerity she heard in his voice. The man she had seen through Sasha's eyes had been more than worth looking at. He'd been gorgeous.
As handsome as any man she'd ever seen.
Then she remembered his dream. The way other people had once looked at him.
In his mind, he was still the wounded wretch that other people had beaten and cursed.
And that made her want to cry for him.
"I somehow doubt it," she whispered past the tight lump in her throat.
"Don't."
She heard him walk angrily past her, down the hallway. He slammed his door shut.
Astrid stood in her kitchen, debating what to do.
He was so lost.
She understood that now.
No, she corrected herself. She didn't really understand him at all. How could she?
No one had ever dared treat her the way he'd been treated. Her mother and sisters would have killed anyone who dared look down their noses at her. They'd always protected her from the world, even while she struggled to get away from them.
Zarek had never known a loving touch.
Never known the warmth of a family.
He'd always been alone in a way she couldn't even begin to fathom.
Overwhelmed by her newfound emotions, she wasn't sure what she should do. But she wanted to help him.
She went down the hallway only to discover he'd locked his door. "Zarek?"
He refused to answer her again.
Sighing, she pressed her head against the door and wondered if there was any way she could ever reach him.
Any way to save a man who didn't want to be saved.
Thanatos was furious at the order from Artemis.
"Stand down, my ass." He had no intention of standing down. For nine hundred years he had been waiting for this directive.
Waiting for a chance to level the score against Zarek of Moesia.
No one and most especially not Artemis would stand in his way now.
He would have Zarek or he would die trying.
Thanatos smiled at that. Artemis didn't have as much power as she thought. In the end, it would be his will that won the day.
Not hers.
She was nothing to him. Nothing but a means to an end he was determined to claim.
Vengeance would finally be his.
Thanatos pounded on the door of the remote cabin. On the other side of the door, he could hear low, panicked voices—Apollites rushing to hide their women and children.
Apollites who lived in fear of anyone who came seeking them.
"I am the light of the lyre," Thanatos said, speaking words only an Apollite or Daimon would know. Words that were used whenever a Daimon or Apollite sought another of his or her kind for shelter. The phrase was a reference to their kinship to Apollo, the god of the sun, who had cursed and abandoned them.
"How is it you walk in the daylight?" It was a woman's voice. One filled with fear.
"I'm the Dayslayer. Open the door."
"How do we know that?" This time it was a man who spoke.
Thanatos growled low in his throat.
Why did he want to help these people?
They were worthless.
But then he knew. Once, long ago, he'd been one of them. He too would have been hiding, afraid of the Squires and Dark-Hunters. Afraid of the pitiful humans who came for them in the light of day…
How he hated them all.
"I am going to open this door," Thanatos warned them. "The only reason I knocked was so that you could unlock it and then get out of the way of the daylight before I enter. Now either unlock it or I'll kick it down."
He heard the lock click.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he pushed the door open slowly.
As soon as he stepped inside and closed the door, a shovel came at his head.
Thanatos grabbed it and jerked hard, pulling a woman out of the shadows.
"I won't let you hurt my children!"
He took the shovel from her and gave her a peeved glare. "Trust me, if I wanted to hurt them, you couldn't stop me. No one could. But I'm not here for that. I'm here to kill the Dark-Hunter who hunts your kindred."
Relief washed over her beautiful face as she looked up at him as if he were an angel.
"Then you really are the Dayslayer." The voice was masculine.
Thanatos turned his head to see a Daimon male leave the shadows. The Daimon looked no older than his early twenties. Like all of his breed, the Daimon was a paragon of physical perfection. Beautiful in his youthfulness and physical bearing, his long blond hair was braided down his back. His right cheek was marked with three blood-red tears that had been tattooed there.
Thanatos knew his breed instantly.
The Daimon was one of the rare Spathi warriors Thanatos had come seeking.
"Are the tears for your children?"
The Daimon gave a curt nod. "Each was slain by a Dark-Hunter. And I in turn slew the Hunter."
Thanatos ached for the man. The Apollites had no real choice and yet they were punished because they dared to choose life over death. He wondered what the humans and Dark-Hunters would do if they were told they had one of two choices: die painfully in the midst of their youth, or take human souls and live.
As a mere Apollite, Thanatos had been prepared to die.
Just like his wife…
Zarek had taken even that option away from his family.
Insane, the Dark-Hunter had come through his village, laying waste to everyone in it. The men had barely been able to hide the women and children before Zarek had destroyed them all.
No one who had come into Zarek's path had remained alive.
No one.
Zarek had killed Apollite and Daimon indiscriminately. And for that crime his only punishment had been banishment.
Banished!
Rage suffused him. How dare Zarek remain living in comfort all these centuries while the memory of that night festered eternally in Thanatos's heart.
But he forced that hatred aside. This was no time to let his anger rule him. It was the time to be as cold and calculating as his enemy.
"How old are you, Daimon?" Thanatos asked the Spathi.
"Ninety-four."
Thanatos arched a brow. "You've done well."
"Yes, I have. I grew tired of hiding."
He knew the feeling. There was nothing worse than being forced to live in the dark. Living life confined.
"Have no fear. No Dark-Hunter will be after you. I'm here to make sure of it."
The man smiled. "We thought you were a myth."
"All good myths are rooted in reality and truth. Didn't your mother teach you that?"
The Spathi's eyes turned dark, haunted. "I was only three when she turned twenty-seven. She didn't have time to teach me anything at all."
Thanatos placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "We will take this planet back, my brother. Rest assured, our day has come once more. I will summon the others of your kind and we will unite our armies. The humans have no one who can protec
t them now."
"What of the Dark-Hunters?" the woman asked.
Thanatos smiled. "They are bound to the night. I'm not. I can stalk them whenever I choose it." He laughed. "I am immune to their wounds. I am Death to them all and I am now home again with my people. Together, we will rule this earth and all who inhabit it."
Zarek woke up to the smell of heaven. He would have thought he was dreaming, but his dreams were never so pleasant
Lying in bed, he was afraid to move. Afraid the delicious aroma would prove to be a figment of his imagination.
His stomach rumbled.
He heard the wolf bark.
"Hush, Sasha. You'll wake our guest."
Zarek opened his eyes then. Guest. No one but Astrid had ever called him that before.
His thoughts turned to the week he'd spent in New Orleans.
"Am I staying with you and Kyrian or Nick?"
"We thought it best that you have your own place."
Acheron's words had kicked something inside him he didn't even know he had anymore.
No one had ever wanted him near them.
He thought he'd learned to not care.
And yet Astrid's simple words touched the same foreign part of him that Acheron's had.
Getting out of bed, he dressed, then went to find her.
Zarek stood in the doorway, watching her as she made pancakes in the microwave. She was amazingly self-sufficient given her blindness.
The wolf looked at him and growled.
Astrid cocked her head as if listening to see if she could hear him. "Zarek? Are you in the room?"
"Doorway." He didn't know why he told her that. He didn't know why he was still here.
Granted, the storm was still ferocious, but he'd journeyed through many such storms during the centuries when he had lived up here without modern conveniences. There was a time not that long ago when he would have had to scrounge for food in the dead of winter. Melt snow so that he would have something to drink.
"I've made pancakes. I don't know if you like them, but I have blueberry and maple syrup or fresh strawberries if you'd rather."
He went to the counter and reached for a plate.
"Sit, I'll bring it to you."
"No, princess," he said sharply. Having been forced to serve others, he refused to have anyone serve him. "I can fix it myself."
DANCE WITH THE DEVIL Page 11
