Now he would grow as worthless as all the others.
Weary of their weakness, he turned to find Kessar approaching his throne. A Sumerian gallu demon, Kessar looked more like a human fashion model than the lethal killer he was. Even his brown hair was swept back from his red eyes in a manner so perfect he could run for po liti cal office. His features were finely boned and as razor sharp as the demon's cruelty. Like Stryker, the demon used his good looks to his advantage whenever he stalked human prey.
Human women were weak. Susceptible. They would do anything for the attention of a handsome man. Gods, how he loved the weak-minded. They all deserved the painful deaths they got.
He looked over at Kessar. "If you want to make that one your lunch, I won't stop you."
A slow smile spread over Kessar's face before he flashed across the room, grabbed the Daimon up from the floor, and ripped out his throat.
Survival of the fittest. Stryker's people had been very Spartan in their beliefs. If you weren't fit to fight, you weren't fit to live. Simple and perfect. Just like Stryker's new plan.
Kessar cursed as the Daimon he'd tried to feed on evaporated into dust. "I hate that gritty taste between my fangs-like feeding in a sandstorm. Not enough blood in the world to clear the palate after that."
Stryker shrugged. "It's what you get for being greedy. You know what happens when you kill one of us. You should have just drunk his blood and left him breathing."
Kessar spat on the floor. "You're in a foul mood. Someone piss in your blood?"
Before he could answer, the light flashed again. Stryker ground his teeth in expectation of the next round of Weak and Pathetic Losers.
At least that was what he thought until the blur of black landed on the floor in a deadly crouch. He could barely make out the fact that she was female before she attacked him with a ferocity and vigor that would have made a rabid tiger proud. Her first kick knocked him out of his seat. He barely had time to grab her wrist before she decapitated him with the oversized dagger in her hand.
She head-butted him hard, knocking him back. Stryker shook his head to clear it. She shoved him into the wall. He caught her arms and rolled with her, throwing her away from him.
Exposing his fangs, he was just about to rip her throat out when his swirling silver gaze locked with her black one.
Zephyra.
In that one instant, he was taken back eleven thousand years ago to the day they first met. The sea air had been blowing her blond curls around her delicate face. Slender and small, she'd been as beautiful as a goddess.
And when he'd reached for her, she'd turned on him with a curse more foul than any man's as she'd kneed him in the groin for daring to touch her without an invitation.
Which she again tried to do. But this time he was expecting it. He barely moved out of the way of her knee as emotions tore through him. Happiness. Anger. Joy. Confusion.
All these centuries he'd assumed her dead.
He could barely get his bearings over the reality of her being alive and well. She'd survived Apollo's curse and managed to live out eternity . . . just like him.
"What are you doing here?"
She answered his question with a stroke of her dagger that narrowly missed his throat. "I thought we'd catch up on old times. Maybe play Parcheesi."
Stryker caught her arm and spun with her, pinning her to the wall again. He tightened his grip until she was forced to drop her dagger. Closing one hand around her neck, he held her in place. "I can think of much better games to play." He was about to say, Strip Poker, when something hit him hard across his back, knocking him away from Zephyra.
He turned with a feral growl on his new attacker, intending to kill whoever was dumb enough to interfere with him, then froze as shock riveted him to the spot. It was an exact duplicate of Zephyra. Same blond curls. Same black eyes. Same height and weight.
He would think her a twin sister, except that he knew for a fact Zephyra was an only child.
"Get your filthy hands off my mother."
"MOTHER," STRYKER REPEATED UNDER HIS breath an instant before Kessar grabbed Zephyra's daughter. The demon opened his lips to taste her throat. Stryker barely had time to call out to the demon before he killed her. "Stop!"
The demon's red eyes flared bright before he curled his lip and released her with a snarl. "Let them tear into you then. Not like I give a shit if you live or die."
Zephyra ran at Stryker, drawing a hilt that she extended to a sword to stab him. Stryker took a step back as he used his powers to manifest a sword of his own. He caught her blade with his. The sound of steel rang out, echoing through the room as she met him stroke for stroke. Every parry, every thrust. She was there as if she knew exactly what he was going to do.
Stryker smiled. It'd been too long since he'd fought someone other than Acheron who could match his skills. Yet here she was, the daughter of a peasant, fighting with the expertise of a trained soldier. He wondered who had taught her so well. "I always knew you were good at handling a man's sword, love, but I had no idea that extended to those made of steel, too."
She growled an instant before she kicked at him, catching him in the side.