Page 6 of Dance With the Devil (Dark-Hunter 3)
How he'd loved that city. The vibrancy. The warmth. The mixture of exotic smells, sights, and sounds. He wondered if the people who lived there realized just how good they had it. Just how privileged they were to be blessed with such a great town.
But that was behind him now. He'd screwed up so badly that there was no chance whatsoever of either Artemis or Acheron allowing him back into a populated area where he could interact with large crowds of people.
It was him and Alaska for eternity. All he could really hope for was a massive population explosion, but given the severity of the weather, that was about as likely as his getting stationed in Hawaii.
With that thought in mind, he started pulling his snow gear out of the duffel bag and putting it on. It would be early morning when they arrived and still dark, but the dawn wouldn't be far behind. He'd have to hurry to make it to his cabin before sunup.
By the time he'd rubbed Vaseline on his skin and had changed into his long johns, black turtleneck sweater, and long musk-ox coat and insulated winter boots, he could feel the helicopter descending toward land.
On impulse, Zarek sifted through the weapons in his duffel bag. He'd learned a long time ago to carry a wide assortment of tools. Alaska was a harsh place to be on your own and you never knew when you'd meet something deadly.
Centuries ago, Zarek had made the decision to be the deadliest thing on the tundra.
As soon as they landed, Mike cut the engine and then waited for the blades to stop spinning before he got out, cursed at the subzero temperature, and opened the door to the back. Mike raked a repugnant sneer over him as he stepped back to give Zarek enough room to vacate the chopper.
"Welcome home," Mike said with a note of gleeful venom in his voice. The prick was enjoying the thought of the Squires tracking him down and dismembering him.
Well, so was Zarek.
Mike blew his breath into his gloved hands. "Hope it's all you remembered it as."
It was. Nothing here ever changed.
Zarek flinched at the brightness of the snow even in the darkness of predawn. He pulled his goggles down over his eyes to protect them and climbed out. He grabbed his duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, then waded through the crunching snow toward the climate-controlled shed where he'd left his custom-built Ski-Doo MX Z Rev the week before.
Oh, yeah, now this was the subfreezing temperature he remembered, the arctic air that bit so fiercely, every piece of his exposed skin burned. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering-something that wasn't pleasant when a man had long, sharp fangs in place of teeth.
Welcome home...
Mike was heading back for the cockpit when Zarek turned around to face him.
"Hey, Mike," he called, his voice ringing out through the cold stillness.
Mike paused.
"Rumpelstiltskin," he said before he tossed a live grenade underneath the helicopter.
Mike let out a fetid curse as he loped through the snow as fast as he could, trying to reach shelter.
For the first time in a long while, Zarek smiled at the sight of the irate Squire and the sound of the snow crunching under Mike's harried feet.
The helicopter exploded the same instant Zarek reached his snowmachine. He slung one long, leather-encased leg over the black seat and looked back as pieces of the twenty-three-million-dollar Sikorsky helicopter rained fiery metal over the snow.
Ahh, fireworks. How he loved them. The sight was almost as beautiful as the aurora borealis.
Mike was still cursing and jumping up and down like a small angry child as he watched his custom-built baby go up in flames.
Zarek started his engine and rode over to Mike, but not before he dropped another grenade to detonate the shed, thus preventing the Squire from using it.
As the snowmachine vibrated in idle beneath him, he pulled his scarf down enough so that Mike could understand him when he spoke. "Town is four miles that way," he said, pointing toward the south. He tossed Mike a small tube of Vaseline. "Keep your lips covered so they don't bleed."
"I should have killed you," Mike snarled.
"Yeah, you should have." Zarek covered his face, and revved his engine. "By the way, if you happen upon wolves in the woods, remember, they really are wolves and not Were-Hunters on the prowl. They also travel in packs so if you hear one, there's more behind him. My best advice for that is to climb a tree and hope they get bored before a bear comes along and decides to climb up after you."
Zarek spun his machine around and headed toward the northeast where his cabin waited in the middle of three hundred acres of forest.
He should probably feel guilty over what he'd done to Mike, but he didn't. The Squire had just learned a valuable lesson. Next time Artemis or Dionysus made him an offer, he'd take it.
Zarek rotated his wrist, giving the snowmachine more power as it bucked over the rough, snowy trail. He still had a long way to go to get home and his time was running out.
Daybreak was coming.
Damn. He should have ridden his Mach Z in. It was sleeker and faster than the MX Z Rev that he was on now, but not nearly as much fun.
Zarek was cold, hungry, and tired, and in a weird way all he wanted to do was get back to things that were familiar.
If the other Squires wanted to hunt him down, so be it. At least this way he was forewarned.
And as the helicopter and shed had shown, forearmed.
If they wanted to take him on, then he wished them luck. They were going to need it and a whole lot of reinforcements.
Looking forward to the challenge, he flew his snowmachine over the frozen terrain.
It was just before sunrise when he reached his isolated cabin. More snow had fallen while he was away, blocking his door. He pulled the snowmachine into the small shed that was attached to his cabin and covered it with a tarp. As he started to plug in his warmer for the engine, he realized there was no power in the outlet for either the MX or the Mach that was parked beside it.
He snarled in anger. Damn. No doubt the block for the Mach had been cracked from the subzero temperatures, and if he wasn't careful the MX's engine would crack, too.
Zarek rushed outside to check his generators before the sun rose over the hills, only to find both of them frozen solid and not working.
He snarled again as he struck one with his fist.
Well, so much for comfort. Looked like it was going to be him and the small wood-burning stove today. Not the best source of heat, but it was the best he was going to get.
"Great, just great," he muttered. It wasn't the first time he'd been forced to endure a cold sleep on his cabin floor. No doubt it wouldn't be the last.
It just seemed worse this morning because he'd spent the last week in New Orleans's mild climate. It had been so warm while he was there that he hadn't even needed to use the heat at all.
