"Oh shit," Vane hissed.
That was not a good sign.
There were only two things he knew of that could make the gators leave.
One was if the Dark-Hunter named Talon, who lived in the swamp, returned home and reined them in. But since Talon was off in the French Quarter saving the world and not in the swamp tonight that seemed highly unlikely.
The other, far less appealing option was Daimonsthose who were the walking
dead, damned to kill in order to sustain their artificially prolonged lives. The only thing they prided themselves on killing more than humans were Were-Hunters.
Since the Were-Hunters' lives spanned centuries and they possessed magical abilities, their souls could sustain a Daimon ten times longer than the average human.
Even more impressive, once a Were-Hunter's soul was claimed, his or her magical abilities were absorbed into the Daimons' bodies where they could use those powers against others.
It was a special gift to be a "nubby" treat for the undead.
There was only one reason for the Daimons to be here. Only one way for them to be able to rind him and Fang in this isolated swamp where Daimons didn't tread without cause. Someone had offered the two of them up as a sacrifice so that the Daimons would leave their Katagaria pack alone.
And there was no doubt in his mind who had made that call.
"Damn you!" Vane snarled out into the darkness, knowing his father couldn't hear him. But he needed to vent anyway.
"What did I do to you?" Fang asked indignantly. "Besides getting you killed, anyway."
"Not you," Vane said as he struggled to get his other leg up enough so that he could free his hands.
Something leaped up from the swamp into the tree above him.
Vane twisted his body to see the tall, thin Daimon standing just above, looking down at him with an amused gleam in his hungry eyes.
Dressed all in black, the blond Daimon clucked his tongue at him. "You should be happy to see us, wolf. After all, we only want to free you."
"Go to hell!" Vane snarled.
The Daimon laughed.
Fang howled.
Vane looked to see a group of ten Daimons pulling Fang down from the tree.
Dammit! His brother was a wolf. He didn't know how to fight them in human form without his magical powers, which he couldn't use so long as Fang wore his collar.
Infuriated, Vane kicked his legs up. The limb broke instantly, sending him straight into the stagnant water below.
Vane held his breath as the putrid, slimy taste of it invaded his head. He tried to kick himself to the surface, but couldn't.
Not that it mattered. Someone grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to the surface.
As soon as his head was above the water, a Daimon sank his fangs into Vane's bare shoulder. Growling in rage, Vane elbowed the Daimon in the ribs and used his own teeth to return the bite.
The Daimon shrieked and released him.
"This one has fight," a female said as she made her way toward him. "He'll be worth more sustenance than the other."
Vane kicked her legs out from under her before she could grab him. He used her bobbing body as a springboard to get out of the water. Like any good wolf, his legs were strong enough to propel him from the water to one of the cypress knees nearby.
His dark wet hair hung in his face while his body throbbed from the fight and from the beating his pack had given him. Moonlight glinted off his wet, muscled body as he crouched with one hand on the old wooden knee that was silhouetted against the backdrop of the swamp. Dark Spanish moss hung from the trees as the full moon, draped in clouds, reflected eerily in the black velvet waves of the water.