Daimon (Guardians of Hades #6) - Felicity Heaton Page 0,71

work out exactly the way he wanted it to.

But he wasn’t a fool.

“Go away,” he grunted.

She huffed and stepped around him, blocking his path, her eyes glittering with silver stars as they narrowed on him. “I’ve seen you fight and you’re stronger than any daemon. None of them should have been able to deal this much damage to you… unless you let them.”

The last four words leaked from her lips as desperation filled her eyes. They danced between his, seeking an answer, one she wasn’t going to like.

Her brow furrowed and she whispered, “Why would you do that?”

The softness, the concern and the hurt gave way to something far darker when he didn’t answer, just stepped around her and kept trudging forwards.

She appeared in his path again, her face a mask of darkness, accusation in her eyes and anger in her tone.

“Why, Daimon?” She cupped his cheeks with both hands, her touch too warm and soft for him to bear.

It destroyed him.

He took one last look at her and stepped.

Cold wind whipped around him, cutting him to the bone, driving ice into his marrow.

He let it buffet and chill him as he stared at the endless, frigid white that surrounded him.

Let it numb him.

He wanted to laugh at that.

He had been numb for centuries.

Now, he wanted to feel, and he was too afraid to do it.

He was too afraid of where it might lead.

He was too afraid that if he dared to love again, he might lose Cass too.

Chapter 20

Darkness surrounded him, black lands as far as the eye could see. A valley rimmed with mountains stretched below him, spotted with clusters of golden lights that shone like dull stars in the night.

Esher grinned, felt the thick mixture of daemon blood and dirt of the Underworld on the left side of his face crack.

It was old now, dried and flaking.

Blood from the wretch he was hunting.

Taken the first time Esher had caught up with him shortly after he had dared to enter the Underworld.

He absently lifted his hand and touched the war paint, pleasure humming in his veins as his fingers traversed the rough spine of it that streaked over his left eye, covering that side of his face from his hair to his jaw.

The odour of foul daemon blood filled his nostrils, rousing the hunger, keeping it as sharp as a blade.

Fresh blood.

The darkness bayed for more.

And he howled with that need too.

He shuddered as he stared down into the valley, cold winds cutting through his torn shirt and jeans, unaware of the world around him, his focus fixed on one thing and one thing alone.

The hunt.

Pleasure rippled through him again, stronger now, a drugging sensation that had his lips curling further to flash his fangs as his eyelids grew heavy. He breathed deep of the daemon blood on his hand, anticipation rolling through him, bringing forth images of the last two times he had clashed with the wretch.

A wraith.

Frustration rolled in on the heels of the satisfaction he took from replaying his battles against the fiend, mounted inside him to pull a growl from his lips.

Twice he had clashed with the daemon.

Twice the male had escaped.

But Esher had his scent now.

He trudged forwards, boots skidding on the loose shale as he descended the mountain, pulled to the valley, a slave to the black need to hunt.

To kill.

He shook that thought away, the small part of him that was clinging to consciousness, refusing to fully succumb to the darkness, unleashing a distant scream in his ears.

Not kill.

He needed the male alive.

To torture. To torment. To plunge into a living nightmare, a hell he wouldn’t be able to escape.

To make him pay.

His grin stretched wider.

Yes. Make him pay.

The male would suffer as his sister had, as his brothers had. Esher would see to it personally, drawing out his punishment so it lasted a lifetime and then another. It was what the bastard deserved.

His left boot hit a snag and he stumbled forwards a few steps, struggling to find his footing on the steep slope. A snarl tore from him as he found it and halted, as his feet throbbed, pain pulsing in a powerful wave up his legs to steal the strength from them.

How long had he been walking?

Always moving forwards.

Never stopping.

Never resting.

He had to keep going.

His stomach cramped near-constantly now, hunger stealing strength from him, thirst blurring his thoughts.

But he couldn’t stop.

He was close now.

He could feel it.

He brought his hand back to his lips and flicked his tongue