Acheron gave him a hard stare. "Aye, Celt. I can show you how to bury that pain so deep inside you that it will prick you no more. But be warned that nothing is ever given freely and nothing lasts forever. One day something will come along to make you feel again, and with it, it will bring the pain of the ages upon you. All you have hidden will come out and it could destroy not only you, but anyone near you."
Talon ignored that last part. All he wanted for now was one day when his heart wasn't broken. One moment free of his torment. He was willing to pay any cost for it.
"Are you sure I will feel nothing?"
Acheron nodded. "I can teach it to you only if you listen."
"Then teach me well, Sorcerer. Teach me well."
PRESENT DAY, NEW ORLEANS
"You know, Talon, killing a soul-sucking Daimon without a good fight is like sex without foreplay. A total waste of time and completely un... satisfying."
Talon granted at Wulf's words while he sat at a corner table at the Cafe Du Monde, waiting for his waitress to return with his black chicory coffee and beignets. He had an ancient Saxon coin in his left hand that he rolled between his fingers as he scanned the dark street in front of him and watched the tourists and locals drift by.
Having banished most of his emotions fifteen hundred years ago, there were only three things Talon allowed himself to enjoy anymore: loose women, hot chicory coffee, and phone calls with Wulf.
In that order.
Though to be fair, there were times when Wulf's friendship did mean more to him than a cup of coffee.
Tonight, however, wasn't one of them.
He'd awakened just after dusk to find himself pathetically low on caffeine, and though the theory went that immortals couldn't have addictions, he wouldn't wager on it.
He'd barely taken time to pull on a pair of pants and his leather jacket before he came seeking the goddess Caffeina.
The cold New Orleans night was uncommonly calm.
There weren't even many tourists on the street, which was unusual this close to Mardi Gras.
Still, it was prime Daimon season in New Orleans. Soon the vampires would be stalking the tourists and preying on them like an open banquet.
For the moment, though, Talon was glad it was quiet, since it allowed him to deal with Wulf's crisis and feed the one craving that wouldn't wait.
"Spoken like a true Norseman," Talon said into his cell phone. "What you need, my brother, is a mead hall filled with serving wenches and Vikings ready to battle their way into Valhalla."
"Tell me about it," Wulf agreed. "I miss the good old days when Daimons were warriors and combat trained. The ones I found tonight knew nothing about fighting, and I'm sick of the whole 'my gun will solve all' mentality."
"You get shot again?"
"Four times. I swear... I wish I could get a Daimon up here like Desiderius. I'd love a good down-and-dirty fight for once."
"Careful what you wish for, you just might get it."
"Yeah, I know. But damn. Just once, can't they stop running from us and learn to fight like their ancestors did? I miss the way things used to be."
Talon adjusted his black Ray-Ban Predator sunglasses as he watched a group of women walk past on the street nearby.
Now there was one challenge he could sink his fangs into...
Under his closed lips, he ran his tongue over his long left canine tooth while he watched a beautiful blond woman dressed in blue. She had a slow, seductive walk that could make even a fifteen-hundred-year-old man feel underage.
He so wanted a piece of that.
Damn Mardi Gras.
If not for the season, he'd be hanging up on Wulf and running after her to fulfill his first comfort.