Kyrian listened to them as he lay in bed. He could hear the fear in Amanda's voice. The anxiety. And he knew one way to dispel it.
If Desiderius knew he was still alive, he would wait to go after Amanda's sisters. Kyrian was the prime target to the Daimon; they were merely bonuses.
Slowly, painfully, he rolled out of bed and dressed.
"Kyrian, I hate to disturb you-" Amanda broke off as she opened the bedroom door and found the bed empty.
"Where is he?" Nick asked, moving into the room behind her.
"I don't know, he was here a second ago."
Cursing, Nick pulled his phone out, then stopped. "Dammit, he doesn't have a phone with him."
"Surely he wouldn't leave."
She started to go check the bathroom, but he stopped her with a "duh" stare.
"Surely he would." He went to the window and they watched as Kyrian pulled Nick's Jag out of the driveway.
Kyrian's first stop was the doll shop. His intention was to find one of Desiderius's flunkies and the last thing he needed was to be unarmed when he met him.
It was just after eight when he swung open the door and heard the little bell tinkle above his head. Liza came immediately from the back, her wrinkled face warm and friendly until she caught a look at the healing bruises on his face.
"General," she said, her voice chiding. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Liza, thank you. I just came to pick up my order."
She frowned. "I gave it to Nicky yesterday, didn't he tell you?"
Kyrian cursed silently. It figured. The one time Nick had remembered to pick up something would be the one time Kyrian wanted him to wait.
Then, Kyrian heard a faint rustling sound in the back of the shop, behind the burgundy curtains. Kyrian felt a strange stirring. One he hadn't felt in a long time.
No sooner had the chill gone down his spine than the curtains parted of their own accord. Cast in shadows, the figure emerging dominated the small shop. At six feet eight inches, and dressed all in black, he was a man who made all life-forms either quiver in fear or straighten in respect.
Or in Kyrian's case, it made him glare.
A wide smile broke across Acheron's roguish face. Though his black Ray-Ban Predator sunglasses obscured his eyes, he was still able to make women swoon when they saw him. Arrogant and tough, he took no prisoners and showed little mercy on anyone.
Acheron was a creature of many idiosyncrasies, the most peculiar one being his ever-changing hair color. He changed it so often, many of the Dark-Hunters made bets on what color he was going to dye it for the week. Tonight, he wore his long, dark green hair pulled back in an old-fashioned queue with one thin braid falling loose from the nape of his neck, over his chest.
"Acheron," Kyrian greeted him irritably. "Come to check up on me?"
"Never, little brother. I'm here to sightsee. Can't you tell?"
"Yeah. You look like a tourist. That dark green hair passes every time."
Ash laughed at the sarcasm. "Well, I figured since Talon is protecting what's her name... Tabitha? And you're after Desi-do-wrong, the two of you could use a hand."
"The last time I asked for a hand, Artemis sent me a disembodied one."
Ash grinned. "You know that when dealing with the gods, you have to be specific. Besides, I have information."
"You could have e-mailed it."
Ash shrugged. "My presence here means nothing. You know I won't interfere with you and Desiderius."
Now, why didn't he believe that?