He relaxed his grip enough so that he could see the mist that was clearing into images of Trates and Paul. At first they seemed to be talking... until Paul staked him in the back.
For a full minute, Stryker couldn't breathe as disbelief soaked him. Finally the numbness that incapacitated him dissolved into rage. Growling deep in his throat, he threw the orb against the wall and it splintered into a thousand shards.
Trates was dead.
Unimagined pain tore through him and he didn't even know why. Sure Trates had been with him for thousands of years and had served him well, but he was a servant to Stryker. Nothing more.
Yet the grief he felt told him the truth. He had cared for the man. Through it all, Trates had been a good friend to him, and now he was gone.
Slain by a human hand.
If there was anything Stryker hated more than a Dark-Hunter, it was a human being. He could at least respect Dark-Hunters as worthy adversaries.
But humans...
They were cattle to be slain and eaten. And now one of the cows had dared to attack them. Fine, if that was the way Paul wanted to play it, then the rules were changed. The truce was over.
His anger raw, he left his study and headed for the hall, where he summoned his soldiers to him. Within seconds the entire room was filled with Spathis.
He glanced to where his elite Illuminati warriors stood on the left of his throne as he ascended the dais to stand before his regal seat. Because of their skills and ruthlessness, the members of his Illuminati had risen through the ranks of the others to be bodyguards to the Destroyer. Or, more to the point, to be the personal entourage and Valkyries of Stryker.
"Davyn," he said to the male who stood in their center. Davyn had once been a close friend to his son, Urian, before Urian had betrayed him and sided with Acheron and his bastard Hunters.
Like Urian, the Daimon had long white-blond hair that he kept tied at his neck with a black cord. Stepping forward, Davyn placed his right fist to his left shoulder and bowed slightly. "My lord?"
"You are my new second in command."
Straightening his spine, Davyn looked about nervously. "My lord?"
"You heard correctly. All of you have heard it. Davyn is to be my new right hand and you will all treat him accordingly. "
Davyn bowed his head with a jerk. "Thank you, my lord. But may I inquire as to what has happened to Trates?"
Stryker clenched his teeth as his virulent emotions threatened to overtake him. But he wouldn't show weakness to his people. They relied on him to be strong and he would be rock solid for them. "Our brother has fallen to a human hand."
Curses and whispers of shock filled the room as the news went over everyone like a pall.
"The experiment with humans is off. If we're going to die, then we'll die as soldiers fighting Artemis's army, face-to-face with our worthy enemies. We will not die by being stabbed in the back by cattle. As soon as Acheron is gone from Seattle, it's feeding time for the zoo, and we're starting with Paul Heilig and his sons."
"But, my lord," Arista said from her place with the Illuminati, "his sons are one of us."
"Not anymore they're not. I'm calling for vengeance on the human and his spawn. I want his head and the lives of his sons."
He beat his right hand against his breast before holding it up in salute to Trates, who'd died carrying out his orders.
His army followed suit.
"Sleep well," he told them. "And be prepared to attack."
Susan was tired and more than ready for bed as she left their small room to head across the hall to the bathroom. All she wanted was a cold cloth for her face to help her wake up so that they could formulate a plan of attack against Chief Heilig.
So used to it just being the two of them in the basement, she didn't even think to knock before she pushed open the door.
She froze instantly. Acheron was standing with his back to the mirror as he tried to rub ointment down his spine. But it was the sight of his tawny, muscled back that held her enthralled. Never in her life had she seen anything like it. It was raw and bleeding, with vicious welts covering every inch of it. They disappeared below his belt and even curved around his biceps, except they'd somehow missed hitting his small dragon tattoo.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. She knew she should leave him to his privacy and yet she couldn't make her feet obey her. All she could do was stare at his ravaged skin and try to imagine how badly it must hurt him.
Before she could lose her courage, she stepped forward and held her hand out for the tube.