Excerpt of Dark Hunger by Rita Herron

Chapter One All Hallow’s Eve - Midnight – Savannah, Georgia

Quinton Valtrez was a killer.

A loner. A man without a conscience. A man who roamed the
world as a ghostly gun for hire.

He needed no one. Wanted no one to need him.

But it was All Hallow’s Eve and dammit, he was going to get
laid.

Still, the Glock inside his jacket rubbed against his chest,
taunting him with the fact that he could never relax. That
evil never died.

That it was his mission to stop it at all costs. Even if he
didn’t survive.

And all Hallow’s eve was the time when the veil between the
world and the underworld was thinnest, when the spirit world
could mingle with the humans and the ghosts of the dead came
to life.

A buxom redhead in a pussycat costume smiled at him through
the crowded Savannah streets, and he put thoughts of the
evildoers on hold as she glided toward him.

Even assassins deserved the night off.

“Hey, sexy,” she purred. “Where’s your costume?”

He cut her a sideways smile, letting his gaze dip to her
ample cleavage. “I am in costume. I’m going as a nice guy.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Want to head over to
the party boat?”

“Sure.” Despite the lust burning through his body, his
heightened senses kicked in as he followed her through the
dark, ghostlike alleys along River Street toward the lit up
ship.

Refuse from the late night partiers, stale beer, cigarette
smoke and cheap perfume permeated the air along with the
pungent odor of fried fish, shrimp and oysters floating from
the pubs.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he
paused and scanned the crowd, searching the source of his
unease. Kids, teenagers and adults swarmed the streets in
both colorful cartoon characters and dark, macabre costumes,
everything from witches, zombies, pirates, werecreatures,
birds of prey, goblins to demons.

Twinkling orange lights, jack o’lanterns carved with scary
faces, skeletons, ghosts, spider webs and cardboard
tombstones decorated the storefronts, while spooky music,
ghostly clanging, hooting owls, and zombies moaning added to
the atmosphere.

Calling upon his chi, he focused on thumbing through the
thoughts of various bystanders, searching for the evil one
amongst them.

It was as natural as breathing, using his gift. He’d honed
it when he’d lived with the Monks. They’d taught him to
access his inner being, drawing on nature and spirituality
to strengthen his power. He’d expanded that power to a sharp
tool in the military, searching and destroying the enemy on
clandestine operations no one would ever admit existed.

His heart picked up its pace in recognition. He could feel
the enemy, sense his presence, but an otherworldly sensation
inundated the darkness of the enemy’s soul. Was this the
demon the monks had warned him about?

Narrowing his eyes, he zeroed in on a stooped, old man in a
ratty green corduroy coat, his wire rimmed glasses held
together with duct tape. A terrible screeching sound
suddenly reverberated from the gray skies.

He glanced up, sweat beading on his brow as he spotted a
vulture soaring above. Not a New World Vulture but an Old
World one, black with strong feet and a craving for carrion,
not only animal’s flesh but like the raven, this creature’s
bloodlust included human meat.

Just as he sometimes did.

A feeling of impending doom engulfed him as he connected
with the vulture. The black bird was hovering above, ready
to swoop down and gather the dead meat of an animal in its
sharp talons and bury its bald head inside the carcass and
feast on the remains.

Part vulture – part raven? Where had this creature come from?

He glanced through the crowd again, a strange acidic odor
emanating from the old homeless man in the green coat.
Quinton pressed a finger to his temple, his head throbbing
as he struggled to tap into his thoughts. The man’s frail
body trembled in the stiff wind, his mind a blank slate as
if it had been wiped clean, all thoughts erased.

His skin held a dull gray/black pallor as if he’d already
met death, his eyes were glassy and vacant, dazed, a shell
of a human.

The redhead tugged at his elbow. “Aren’t you coming, Sugar?”

A different woman’s scent assaulted him. Delicious. Sultry.
Enticing. “Go ahead, honey, I’ll catch up,” he murmured.

She raked her sharp nails down his arm. “All right, but
don’t make me wait long. I promise I’ll destroy that nice
guy image of yours.”

He chuckled. As if he’d ever had one.

She pranced toward the ship, and the enticing scent of the
other woman quickly obliterated her cheap, flowery perfume
of the other.

Then his gaze fell upon the source.

Shiny, straight long blonde hair cascaded over slender
shoulders. Intrigued, he forced his mind to drown out the
sounds of the night. The party whistles and noisemakers
preparing to ring in the celebration of the supernatural
with witchcraft, séances and pagan rituals that transcended
time and worlds.

Instead his body tingled with arousal, the fierce need he
had to hunt stirring primal instincts he couldn’t
extinguish. He could almost smell the scent of her sex.

As if she sensed him watching her, she slowly turned, her
gaze shifting through the crowd toward him.

His stomach clenched as their gazes locked. Shit.

It was her. CNN reporter Annabelle Armstrong. He’d watched her news clips on TV, her do-gooder pieces on the homeless, her stories behind the stories.

A sliver of moonlight played across her face, her hair
shimmering beneath the spilled light. He couldn’t tear
himself away. Her big blue eyes were hypnotic. Her pale
creamy skin, exotic. And her rosy lips made him ache for a
sinful taste.

A taste he could never have.

Because she was a damn reporter. A beautiful one, but
falcons were beautiful too. Still they were vultures, birds
of prey.

A bead of sweat slid down his neck. Had she discovered who
he was?

Had she come to Savannah to expose him?

****

Annabelle Armstrong’s gaze locked with Quinton Valtrez’s.
Damn. She’d come here to find him but hadn’t expected to see
him tonight. Not in the midst of a party in town.

And she certainly hadn’t expected his penetrating gaze to
rattle her. Or make her tingle with desire.

“Annabelle, are you listening?” Her boss Roland from CNN
barked over the phone. “Do you think you can get this story?”

“Yes,” she said into her cell phone. “If Valtrez is this
Ghost assassin working for some secret government unit, I’ll
find out.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, well aware that the man hadn’t
moved since he’d spotted her. That his cold eyes and tightly
set mouth screamed of danger. That every bone in her body
warned her to run.

To forget this story or she might end up dead.

"Annabelle?” her boss shouted.

“Yes, Roland, I’ll do whatever I have to do to find out the
truth.”

She snapped the phone shut, smoothed down her skirt and
desperately struggled for a playful flirty smile.

Quinton Valtrez was devastatingly and darkly handsome.
Bigger than she’d imagined. His features were chiseled in
stone, and his five o’clock shadow painted his bronzed stoic
jaw with a hint of menace.

Her body tingled. Still, he was just a man.

And she was damn well tired of being the low one on the food
chain at the station. Of being assigned human-interest
pieces instead of the big stories.

She’d do whatever necessary to get the scoop this time.

Even if it meant cozying up to a killer.

Suddenly a loud explosion rent the air, and the outer deck
of the party ship exploded. Annabelle stumbled, the earth
trembling below her feet as flames shot into the air. Wood
and fiberglass shattered and spewed across the sidewalk, and
bodies collapsed into the burning rubble.

****

Quinton threw himself over Annabelle Armstrong, his heart
hammering. What in the hell was happening? Were they under a
terrorist attack?

And why in the hell had he tried to save her?

Pure instincts, he thought quickly.

A bloody arm landed beside them, its charred fingers
reaching toward him as if begging for help.

Then a vulture swooped down and snapped up the bone,
crunching it between his jagged teeth. A sinister look lit
the bird’s beady eyes, and in that split second, he could
have sworn that the vulture smiled.

The rumble of the blazing fire continued as heat pelted him,
and Annabelle’s soft body trembled beneath him.

In the midst of the chaos and acrid odors of charred flesh
and burning wood, the horrific scent of evil splintered the air.

He had to do something.

He lifted his head slightly. “Are you okay?” he growled.

She moved slightly as if to push him off. “Yes, I think so.”

Forcing himself onto his hands and knees, he extricated
himself and stood, studying her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice strained, as she looked around at
the mad chaos and dead bodies floating in the river.

The panicked screams jerked him into action. He dashed
toward the burning ship, leaving Annabelle alone.

He needed to sniff out this killer. As he ran, he sent a
text to his contact at Homeland Security to alert them of
the attack.

****

The Death Angel flapped his black wings and bowed his bald
head to Zion, paying umbrage to the new leader of the
underworld. His belly was swollen from his recent meal, yet
he still craved more tasty carrion.

The human bones and meat were especially delicious. Being
sent into the hybrid of the vulture and Raven as his demonic
form for eternity had been punishment at its worst, but over
the past century, he had embraced the predator’s needs and
urges, and now savored the agility of the bird’s keen
eyesight, flight patterns and sharp talons.

Demons, shapeshifters, werecreatures, vampires, fallen
angels and other soldiers of Satan gathered in the
underground cave of black rock lit by the fiery torches.

Zion entered, his black cape billowing around his demonic
form, his orange eyes lighting up the darkness. The mortals
would run in terror if they saw him, complete now with sharp
fang like claws, the devil’s horns, flaming red scales and
cloven feet.

“The death toll?” Zion asked.

“In the hundreds.”

Striking on all Hallow’s Eve, the night of the dead, had
been genius. All he’d had to do was slide past the Twilight
Guards, those with powers who guarded the portal between the
mortals and humans, then he’d crossed into the mortal’s
world. Thousands of other demons had unleashed themselves
tonight, their screeches unrecognizable to the humans but
calling the others to announce their presence. The pagan
holiday had also afforded him the opportunity to possess a
human’s body and walk among the masses unnoticed – the one
he had chosen would serve him well.

And now that same one lay in a sleep-induced stage awaiting
his return. The bastard had been an easy mark, had been too
weak to fight, his soul already black.

Just as the Death Angel’s power allowed him to crawl into
the feeble minds of the weak on Earth, put their minds to
sleep, then bend them to his will.

One touch and they became marionettes dancing on his string.

“I commend you.” Zion’s fiery breath rippled out in
pleasure. “When I said spread evil and create chaos, you
embraced the challenge.”

The Death Angel flapped his wings with pride.

“And my sons?” Zion asked

“The seer found one of the twins, Quinton. He lives in the
place they call Savannah, Georgia. This attack should
capture the demonborn’s attention.”

Zion’s red eyes flared, shooting sparks of crisp yellow
flames across the black rock in jagged lightning-like lines.
“Quinton should be easy. He has succumbed to his destiny
already by choosing to be a killer.”

The Death Angel refrained from comment. That was true,
although technically the Dark Lord only targeted the sinners.

But the fact that Quinton had no remorse, no conscience over
his kills, worked in their favor and would ultimately be his
downfall.

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord’s cause also kept the balance
of good and evil alive within him.

That balance had to be destroyed.

The Dark Lord had a weakness for that reporter. They could
use her to trap him.

She would also bring attention to the Death Angel’s
victories with the mortals, keep a tally of the dead and
create pain and misery with her stories.

He’d use her until she became dispensable, then he’d expose
of her. He might even be able to twist Quinton to the point
that he killed the woman.

That would definitely earn Quinton his place in the kingdom
of evil.