Soft is the kitty; lethal is the leopard. Add Daimons
who've joined forces with an unlikely ally and we have one
growling Dark-Hunter who's going to remove the problem or
die trying.
Susan Michaels, a disgraced investigative reporter, won't
misplace her trust a second time. She hates the bizarre
news items she's forced to write, so when she gets a tip on
a lead story about someone in Seattle killing people, Susan
rushes to get the scoop. Susan's best friend asks her to
come to the animal shelter where the vet's husband tells
Susan she must flee Seattle as everyone is in danger. To
keep up appearances and despite Susan's allergy to cats,
her friend convinces her to take a strange looking cat home
with her.
Once Susan gets the cat home, she's amazed to discover that
during an electric storm in her living room, a beautiful
naked man has replaced the cat. Susan is convinced her boss
and best friends have played an elaborate hoax on her.
Then circumstances turn dire. Within a few short hours,
Susan witnesses the catman fight to the death with Daimons,
discovers the police want her for the death of her best
friends and the hoax she thought her boss played on her is
really a nightmare she can't escape. Ravyn, the man who
replaced the cat, is a shapeshifter as well as a Dark-
Hunter. His family hates him, yet the only refuge for Ravyn
and Susan is under their roof, since his family hosts a
sanctuary for all non-humans.
Susan is inexplicably drawn to Ravyn. But as a Dark-Hunter,
he can't remain with Susan. Events quickly turn ugly. Susan
joins forces with Ravyn and the Seattle Squires, those who
are pledged to serve Dark-Hunter's needs, to fight the
Daimons, who definitely have the advantage -- humans on
their side.
DARK SIDE OF THE MOON (the first Dark-Hunter novel to be
released in hardcover) depicts the tender side of this Dark-
Hunter, a man who's only known betrayal and rejection. Yet,
he's willing to go against the rules to keep Susan in his
life. This story is fraught with emotional turmoil, a new
and dangerous game, along with enticing mysteries. As an
exciting bonus, more clues are revealed to the identity of
Acheron, otherwise known as Ash to his Dark-Hunter group.
We are also reintroduced to a character from a previous
Dark-Hunter story with a major chip on his shoulder. You'll
enjoy this great story by Ms. Kenyon and excitedly await
her next book.
Susan Michaels was once the hottest reporter on the
Beltway Beat until a major scandal ruined her life and
left her writing stories about alien babies and Elvis
sightings. Life as she once knew it is over, or so she
thinks until she gets a lead on the biggest story in
town:
The Seattle Slayer. She heads to the local animal
shelter,
expecting a tip on the latest rash of killings. Instead,
she gets a story about the mayor feeding citizens to a
ring of vampires... yeah. Just another day in her life.
Then she gets talked into adopting a cat she's allergic
to. Her first thought is to neuter the cat. But when he
turns out to be a gorgeous shapeshifting man who claims
to
be an immortal vampire slayer she thinks: not so fast.
Next thought: seek professional help.
Susan doesn't know what to believe, but as she's drawn
into a paranormal world, she comes to realize that the
story that could bring her credibility is too
unbelievable
to expose. Now it's no longer a question of bringing the
truth to her readers, it's a matter of saving lives and
souls, and her only ally is a man she's allergic to.
In the world of the Dark-Hunters, it's always dangerous.
But never more so than when one very human woman can
shatter their entire world with just one story. The only
question is... will she?
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Seattle, 2006
“Boy Eaten by Killer Moths.”
Susan Michaels groaned as she read the headline for her
latest story. She knew better than to read the rest of
the
article, but something inside her just wanted to feel
kicked this afternoon. God forbid that she ever took
pride
in her work again...
Bred in a lab in South America, these top secret moths
are
the next generation of military assassins. They are
genetically engineered to think their way into an enemy’s
lair where they bite the neck of the target and infect
them with a concentrated poison that will render the
victim dead within an hour.
Now they have escaped the lab and were last seen heading
north, straight for the central U.S. Be on guard. They
could be in your neighborhood within the month...
Dear Lord, it was worse than she’d imagined.
Her hands shaking in anger, she got up from her desk and
headed straight into Leo Kirby’s office. As usual, he was
online, reading some poor slob’s blog and making copious
notes.
Leo was a short, lean man with long black hair that he
always wore in a ponytail. He also had a goatee, cold,
gray eyes that never laughed and a strange spider web
tattoo on his left hand. He was dressed in a baggy black
t-
shirt and jeans with a giant Starbucks travel mug at his
elbow while he worked. In his mid-thirties, he’d be cute
if he wasn’t so damned annoying.
“Killer moths?” she asked.
He looked up from his notepad and shrugged. “You said we
were going to have a moth invasion, I just had Joanie
rewrite the story to make it more marketable.”
She gaped in total astonishment. “Joanie? You had Joanie
rewrite the story? The woman who wears tinfoil in her bra
so that the people with x-ray vision can’t see her
breasts. That Joanie?”
He didn’t flinch or miss a beat. “Yeah, she’s my best
writer.”
Talk about insult to injury... “I thought I was your best
writer, Leo.”
Sighing heavily, he swiveled his chair to face her. “You
would be if you had any imagination whatsoever.” He held
his hands up dramatically as if to illustrate his
point. “C’mon, Sue, embrace your inner child. Embrace the
absurd that lives amongst us. Think Ibsen.” He put his
hands down and gave another weary sigh. “But no, you
never
do, do you? I send you out to investigate the bat boy who
lives in the old church belfry and you come back with a
story about moths infesting the rafters. What the hell is
that?”
She gave him a droll stare as she crossed her arms over
her chest. “It’s called reality, Leo. Reality. You should
stop ‘shrooming long enough to try it.”
He snorted at that before he flipped to a blank sheet of
paper on his notepad. He set it beside his coffee. “Screw
reality. It don’t feed my dog. It don’t make my Porsche
payments. It don’t get me laid. Bullshit does that... and
I like it that way.”
She rolled her eyes at his beaming face. “You are such a
toad.”
He paused as if an idea had struck him. He reached for
his
pad where he quickly scribbled something. “Employee
Kisses
Toady Boss to Discover an Ancient Immortal Prince...
better yet, a god. Yeah, an ancient god–“ he gestured at
her with his pen, “a Greek god who’s been cursed to live
as a sex slave to women... I like it. Can you imagine?
Women all over the country will be kissing their bosses
to
test the theory.” Then he looked back at her with a
wicked
grin. “Shall we try the experiment and see if it works?”
She screwed her face up at him in disgust. “Hell, no. And
that wasn’t a come-on, Leo. Trust me, even with a
thousand
kisses you’d still be a toad.”
He was totally undaunted, mostly because the two of them
had been teasing each other this way since they attended
college together. “I still think we should give it a
try.”
He wagged his eyebrows at her.
Susan let out a long, exasperated breath. “You know, I
would bring you up on sexual harassment charges, but that
would imply that you have actually had sex in your
lifetime and I intend to maintain that you are a prime
example of what happens to people when they’re too
sexually frustrated.”
That brought another glassy look to his eyes before he
scribbled again. “Sexually Frustrated Boss Turns Into
Screaming Lunatic. Disembowels Woman Who Excites Him.”
Susan groaned deep in her throat. If she didn’t know
better, she’d think he was threatening her, but that
would
involve actual action on his part and Leo was nothing if
not a complete delegator. His maxim had always been why
do
it yourself when you can hire or bully someone else to do
it for you– which meant he’d probably delegate her to
kill
herself.
“Leo! Stop turning everything into a cheesy headline.”
And
before he could respond, she quickly added. “I know, I
know. Cheesy headlines pay for your Porsche.”
“Exactly!”
Disgusted, she rubbed at the sudden pain she felt behind
her right eye.
“Look, Sue,” he said as if he felt an uncharacteristic
wave of sympathy for her. “I know how hard these last
couple of years have been for you, okay? But you’re not
an
investigative reporter anymore.”
Her chest tightened at his words. Words she didn’t really
need to hear since they haunted her every minute of every
day. Two and a half years ago, she’d been one of the
foremost investigative reporters in the country. Her
former boss had nicknamed her Hound Dog Sue because she
could sniff a story from a mile away and then run it to
ground and bring it home.
And in one moment of gross stupidity, her whole world had
come crumbling down around her. She’d been so hungry that
she’d run headlong into a setup that had completely
destroyed her reputation.
It’d almost cost her her life.
She rubbed at the scar on her wrist as she forced herself
not to remember that awful night in November– the only
time in her life when she’d actually been weak. She’d
come
to senses, and then vowed to never let anyone make her
feel that powerless again. No matter what, this was her
life and she was going to live it on her own terms.
But for Leo whom she’d met in college when they’d worked
on the campus paper staff together, she’d have never
worked in journalism again. Not that working for the
Daily
Inquisitor could ever be construed as true journalism,
but
at least it allowed her to pay off some of her gargantuan
debt and court costs. And though she hated her job, it
kept her fed and off the street. For that she owed the
little toad.
Leo tore a sheet of paper off and slid it toward her.
“What’s this?” she asked as she took it from his desk.
“It’s a web address. There’s some college kid who goes by
the name Dark Angel who claims she’s working for the
undead.”
She stared at him. Oh yeah... her life was definitely a
lemon and she wanted her money back– with interest. “A
vampire?”
“Not exactly. She says he’s an immortal shapeshifting
warrior who annoys the hell out of her. She’s local so I
want you to check it out and see what else she has to
say.
Then report everything back to me.”
Oh, this couldn’t be happening to her and yet that old
internal voice in her head was already laughing at
her. “Shapeshifter, huh? Is this before or after she
drops
acid?”
Leo made an irritated noise. “Why don’t you at least try
to get into the spirit of the job? You know it’s really
not bad at all. In fact, it’s actually highly
entertaining. Live a little, Sue. Let go of the venom.
Enjoy it.”
Enjoy it... enjoy being a laughingstock after she’d been
working for the Washington Post... yeah. It was hard to
Carpe Crap when what she really wanted to do was get her
reputation back.
But those days were over. She’d never be a real reporter
again.
This was it. Her life. Joy, oh joy– the bad luck fairy
had
really screwed her over.
No, she thought as her chest tightened again, that wasn’t
true. She’d screwed herself over and she knew it.
Heartsick, she turned around and headed back to her desk
as she looked at the blog address in her hand.
It’s stupid. Don’t do it. Don’t even go to the site...
But before long, she did and there it was... a black page
with some hand drawn gothic artwork on a website called
deadjournal.com. But her absolute favorite part had to be
the header which read, “Musings from the Dark and Twisted
Mind of a Damned College Student.”
The girl, Dark Angel was certainly that. Her entries
showed the typical angst of an average student... who was
seriously delusional and in need of years of therapy from
between the walls of a padded room.
June 3, 2006, 06:45 am
Someone please shoot me. Please. I really can’t stress
the “please” part enough. So here I was trying to study
for my test tomorrow. Note the word “trying.” So here I
am
engrossed in the complexities of Babylonian Math, which
isn’t really engrossing to say the least, when all of a
sudden my cell phone rings and scares the total shit out
of me because the house is even more silent than a tomb–
and trust me, I’ve been in enough tombs and crypts to
know
this for a fact.
At first I stupidly thought it was my brother harassing
me, until I looked closer at the number and no. Not him.
Those who’ve been reading my journal know that it’s my
boss, cause who else would call me at this ungodly hour
and think that I have no life whatsoever except to serve
his every whim and need? Really, take my advice and never
work for an immortal. They have no respect whatsoever for
those of us with finite lives.
5:30 in the morning, there he is. Calling to tell me that
he’s just killed off a bunch of undead people (okay,
vampires, but I really hate to use that word cause it
draws out all sorts of lunatic weirdos who want to know
how they too can become vampires and where to find the
ones I know which wouldn’t do anything but get you
killed,
but back to my original thought) and that I need to pick
him up since it’s about to be dawn and he can’t make it
home before the sun turns him into grilled toast– you
know
this isn’t the way to motivate me since a grilled toast
boss = one happy Dark Angel.
Now here’s where I tirade against the fact that if he
were
just a regular shape-shifter, I wouldn’t have to go get
him. He’d be able to get home without help. He could just
teleport himself into the house, but back when he made
the
bargain to become immortal, that ability was taken from
him, along with the one that allows him to travel through
time. And why was this taken from him? One reason. To
make
my life a living hell of servitude, that’s why.
Oh and I have to bring him clothes since he’ll most
likely
be in cat form at Pike’s Market which is the only way he
can be in daylight and not be a crispy critter (really).
So when he switches back into human form he’ll be naked
and will need clothing– yes for those with gutter-bent
minds, he’s a buff god in theory, but since I’ve known
him
all my life it’s like seeing your brother naked– can we
say “ew?!”
All right, it pisses me off, but I go since he pays me
and
if I don’t he’ll tell on me again and get me into all
kinds of trouble, none of which I want to hear right now.
So after I hoof my butt over there to get his sorry ass,
what do I find?
Yes, you guessed it. Nothing but a couple of homeless
people who think I’ve lost my mind as I search for
my “cat” while holding male clothing which I slowly
remember won’t do any good since he can’t shift back into
a human until after I get him home. That rank bastard and
his pranks. A curse of poxes on his head. Better yet, I
hope he gets fleas (I would wish ticks, but then I’d
probably get lyme disease from him). So fleas. Lots and
lots of fleas!
I’m sure Catman Moron found some bimbo to shack up with
and shag for the day, but damn it all. Couldn’t he have
called and told me that? No. So here I am, chugging
extra-
caffeinated espresso and hoping I stay awake for my test
this afternoon. Thanks, boss. Appreciate it. You are the
best. Where’s animal control when you really need them?
Better yet, get me an ax so I can cut off his head and I
don’t mean the one on his shoulders.
Mood: Pissed
Song: Everything About You: Ugly Kid Joe
Susan let out a tired breath as she rubbed her brow. Oh
yeah. The girl needed some serious professional help. But
what the hell? It wasn’t like she had anything else to do
other than go and investigate the Immortal Catman of
Pike’s Market.
Susan cringed at the thought. “Now I’m doing it too...
Cheesy headlines are us.” Groaning, she rubbed her
eyes. “You know, if my life was a horse, I’d shoot it.”
###
No matter the location or day, every animal shelter in
the
United States seemed to always hold the same pungent odor
of cleaning antiseptic mixed with wet fur. And even
though
the shelters were warmed, there was always an odd chill
to
the air. One that penetrated straight to the bones.
Today was no different. The cat cages were lined along
two
walls where some of the felines slept while others
played,
ate or groomed.
All except one.
That one crouched as if ready to kill and it watched
everything around it with the sharp intellect of a
vicious
predator that belied it’s smaller size. It wasn’t like
the
others. Only a fool would make that assumption.
At first glance, it appeared to be a regular Bengal house
cat, but if one looked closer, it was obvious that it
didn’t hold quite the same facial characteristics that
marked the Bengal breed. In fact, it looked just like an
Arabian leopard– only it weighed a scant fifteen pounds
instead of sixty.
More than that, its eyes were an eerie shade of black...
an unnatural color for such a beast. And if one were
really paying attention, he would definitely notice that
while the other cats wore plain white collars, this one
wore one of silver. It was a very special collar that
caught in light and flashed with a preternatural gleam.
And what made it so special? Certainly not the thinness
of
its strap or the fact that it had no buckle on it. No. It
was the unseen circuitry that ran along the underside of
the silver fabric. Circuitry that had been designed to
send out inhibitors that couldn’t be felt by man or
beast–
unless the creature was both man and beast.
A devilish invention by those who wanted some control
over
the magick of others, this collar kept this particular
cat
in its current feline form.
And that seriously pissed the cat off.
Ravyn hissed as a man ventured near his cage. If he could
get out of this, he’d tear the bastard’s arms off and
beat
him with them. But unfortunately, he couldn’t– that would
require him to actually have arms of his own, which in
his
current form he didn’t possess.
And it was all his fault. Damn him and his libido anyway.
If he’d simply trotted past the sex-goddess in the
extremely short skirt at dawn, he’d be happily home by
now–
well maybe not happily since he’d have to listen to
Erika
bitch, but certainly he’d be home in his own bed and not
locked in damned this cage.
What could one little stroking possibly hurt?
He looked at the bars on the cage and hissed at the
apparent answer. Yeah. Ash would have a field day with
him
on this one.
Provided he got out of it. As it stood, he wasn’t so sure
he was going to make it this time. So long as he wore the
collar, his powers as both a Dark-Hunter and Were-Hunter
were seriously restricted. As an Arcadian Were-Hunter,
his
natural form was human. To be trapped as a cat during the
light of day was both painful and extremely
disconcerting.
Even with the metriazo collar on that inhibited him from
using his paranormal powers, there was only so long he
could hold this form before his own magick turned on him
and killed him.
It was one frightfully sobering thought.
“How’s he doing?”
Ravyn narrowed his eyes on the tall, blond male
veterinarian who was an Apollite. As a rule, most
Apollites stayed out of the war that raged between the
Daimons and the Dark-Hunters. It wasn’t until an Apollite
started stealing human souls to elongate their short
lives
and thereby becoming a Daimon that Dark-Hunters bothered
with them. After all, that was the whole reason Dark-
Hunters had been created. They were the ones who killed
the Daimons so that the stolen human souls could be
released before the Daimon possession destroyed them.
Obviously this Apollite wanted a head jump on being
hunted.
The human assistant, who was a short man around the age
of
thirty with black hair and a shaggy beard, answered.
“He’s
pissed and glaring. What else?” He cocked his head as he
studied Ravyn from a safe distance. “You think he’s
Arcadian or Katagaria?”
The vet shrugged before he bent down to look into the
cage. “I don’t know, but I’m hoping for Arcadian.”
“Why?”
Ravyn bared his teeth at the prick who smiled in
response. “Cause if he is, the magick that’s holding him
in cat form will eventually cause his head to explode.
It’ll be painful as hell before he dies.”
The assistant laughed. “And no nine lives to bring him
back. Damn shame. But I like it.” He turned to look at
the
doctor. “What say you neuter him while he’s like this
too?”
“You know, you have a great idea...”
Ravyn snarled as the vet reached for the clipboard that
hung outside his cage and made a note. Ravyn hissed at
him
before he sent out a mental note to the Apollite vet.
“You
neuter me, you bastard, and I’ll dance in your entrails.”
That bit of spite came back on him tenfold as it caused
the collar to constrict and shock him.
The vet smirked before he hung the clipboard back on the
peg. “I don’t really see how you’re going to do that in
your current position. Do you, furball?”
The human assistant high-fived the vet. Then laughing,
the
two of them left him alone with the rest of the animals.
Ravyn charged the bars of his cage, but all he succeeded
in doing was hurting himself. Damn them all. How had they
managed to get him trapped like this? How had they known
where to find him?
One minute he’d been hiding in the shadows of Pike’s
Market, waiting for his Squire, Erika to come get him,
and
the next thing he’d known that puta in the red skirt had
grabbed him and snapped the collar around his neck before
he could fight or sense her intentions. Once the collar
was in place, he’d been powerless without his magick.
Keeping a tight grip on him, the woman had wrapped him in
her shawl, picked him up and handed him off to a group of
waiting humans who’d paid her fifty dollars for her
services. Afterward, the humans had tossed him into the
local animal shelter.
And here he would stay until either his head exploded
from
the inhibitors in the collar or he figured out someway to
escape this cage without having either his magick or
opposable thumbs.
Yeah. Great odds there... not. His only hope was that
Erika would get concerned when he didn’t show up after
nightfall...
Wait, he was talking about Erika Thomas here. Erika. The
girl who liked to pretend she didn’t have to work for
him.
The girl who went out of her way to avoid him and her
duties. She wouldn’t notice for days that he wasn’t home.
No, the little mutant would throw a party the instant she
found out that while she’d ignored his absence, some mad
Apollite had gelded his ass and left him impotent. Then,
she’d call all her friends and laugh about it.
I am so screwed...
###
Susan sighed as she toyed with the small gold medallion
that she kept in her purse. Only a hair larger than a
silver dollar, it didn’t look like much, but on the night
she’d won it, it’d held even more value than a hundred
million dollar lottery ticket.
She paused to look at it as old memories assailed her.
She’d won the Sterling Award for Investigative Reporting
for Politics in 2000. She’d been on top of the world that
night...
Clenching the award in her hand, she cursed under her
breath. “Just sell the damned thing on eBay.”
But she couldn’t and she hated herself for that. It was
hard to let go of a glorious past even when all it did
was
bring her pain. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so cocky
back then. Maybe this was her comeuppance.
Bullshit. She didn’t believe in that kind of divine
retribution. She was where she was because she’d allowed
herself to be deceived. There was no one to blame but
herself. She’d been stupid and trusting, and she would
pay
for that one moment of fallacy for the rest of her life.
Her phone rang.
Grateful for the interruption to her morbid ruminations,
she picked it up and answered. “Susan Michaels.”
“Hey, Sue, it’s Angie. How you doing?” Her buddy sounded
a
little less than upbeat, but it was still good to hear a
friendly voice.
“Fine,” she said as she tucked her award away into her
purse. If anyone could make her feel better, it was
Angie.
A smart-mouthed vegan veterinarian, Angie had a way of
cutting through the thick of any matter and pointing out
the ludicrous– it was a truly a gift Sue
appreciated. “What are you up to?”
“Five by five as always.”
Susan rolled her eyes. The statement wasn’t just a
reference to the Buffy the Vampire Slayer show Angie
loved, it was also the way Angie described herself since
she was round and cuddly.
“I’ll only give you five by three... maybe.”
“Yeah, right. Trust me, I am as wide as I am tall, but
that’s not the point of this. You got a minute away from
your lunatic boss?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Cause I’ve got some news that I think you’re going to
want to hear.”
In spite of Angie’s dire tone, Susan smiled. “Hugh
Jackman
has divorced his wife and happened upon my picture in
some
old article and decided that I’m the woman for him?”
Angie laughed. “Damn, you have been working for that
paper
for a long time. You’re now starting to believe the
rubbish you publish.”
“Har, har. Is there a real point to this conversation?”
“Yes, there is. You know those strange missing person
reports that’ve been going on for awhile? The ones you
told me you thought might be related?”
“Yeah?”
“They are.”
Susan froze as her old reporter self leapt to the
forefront. “How do you mean?”
“I can’t say anything more on the phone, okay? In fact,
I’m on a payphone and you don’t want to know how hard one
of these things is to find nowadays. But I can’t take any
chances. Can you come by work in about an hour to look
for
a pet?”
Screwing her face up, Susan let out a disgusted
breath. “Ew! I’m deathly allergic to those things.”
”Trust me, it’ll be worth your wheezing and then some.
Just be there.” The phone went dead.
Susan hung up as a thousand scenarios went through her
head. She’d heard real panic in Angie’s voice. Real panic
and that wasn’t like her friend. This was a serious
situation and Angie was scared.
She tapped the phone with her fingernail as her thoughts
scattered into a million different directions. But they
all came back to one single thing– this odd call just
might be her own road back toward salvation and
respectability.
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