They made more noise than a herd of nervous cattle as they left their four-wheel-drives and gathered round him.
There were twelve of the Squires altogether, but Jess only knew a couple of them.
Otto Carvalletti was the tallest of the group. Standing a cool six feet five inches, he had jet-black hair that was a bit long, but well styled, as if the man spent a lot of time on it.
He glared penetratingly at all times, and Jess figured if the man ever did manage to smile, it would crack his face.
One half of Otto's family was Italian Mafia while the other half was one of the oldest Squire families known. A real blue blood, Otto's grandfather had once headed up the Squires' Council.
Tyler Winstead came to them from Milwaukee. Barely five feet seven, the blond man was wholesome looking until you caught sight of his eyes. There was nothing wholesome in his gaze. Only intensity.
That left Allen Kirby. Another multi-generational Squire, Allen had been called out from Toronto for this hunt. Since Otto never spoke two words, Allen was the smart-ass of the herd.
But, something told Jess, Otto could easily outdo Allen's biting comments if he chose to do so.
"I knew he'd be here," Allen said as he eyed the snow-machine with pert malice.
Jess passed a bored stare at him. "It's not Zarek. Believe me, red isn't his color."
But he suspected the snowmachine did belong to a Dark-Hunter. He could feel the drain on his powers already.
"How do you know it's not him?" Tyler asked.
Jess rested the shotgun on his shoulder. "I just do."
He ordered the Squires to stay put and ambled up the driveway toward the snowmachine. Using his teeth, he pulled the glove off his left hand and placed it on the engine.
It was cold but that meant nothing in this subzero temp, he realized all of a sudden, and he felt like a jackass for even bothering. The snowmachine could have been here five minutes or five hours. In this kind of cold, even a raging fire would be chilled within minutes of going out.
So who did it belong to?
He looked left and right and saw no sign of anyone.
Until he heard a soft thud to his left. He barely had time to pull his gun off his shoulder before four Daimons broke through the foliage.
They paused at the sight of him, then put their heads down and ran headlong toward him.
Jess caught one with a shotgun blast to the chest, then flipped a second one up and over using the stock of his gun.
A crossbow bolt shot past his face, narrowly missing him and striking one Daimon as Jess killed the one at his feet. The last one attacked, but didn't get more than a step before another bolt landed square in his chest and he burst into powdered dust.
"Nasty bloodsucking rats."
He arched a brow at the soft, feminine voice that preceded the appearance of a tall, well-built woman.
Her long, black hair was braided down her back and she wore a tight black leather pantsuit that reminded him a bit of Emma Peel from The Avengers. Only it was much more devastating on the woman approaching him.
A second Dark-Hunter came out of the woods behind her. He was a good four inches taller than Jess with white-blond hair and a predator's lope that said "mess with me and get hurt." He was dressed in a long fur coat and he seemed extremely comfortable in the arctic chill.
The woman paused by Jess's side and offered him her hand. "Syra of Antikabe."
Jess inclined his head and took her hand. "Jess Brady, ma'am, pleased to meet you."
"Sundown," the other Dark-Hunter said as he joined them. He kept his hands in his pockets. "I've heard a lot about you. You're a long way from home."
Jess eyed him suspiciously. "And you are?"
"Bjorn Thorssen."