Page 36 of Bad Moon Rising (Dark-Hunter 17)
No, the last sound he would hear would be Fang bitching.
It figured.
He leaned his head back so that he could see his brother through the darkness. "You know, Fang, let's cast blame for a minute. I am sick and tired of hanging here because of your damned big mouth that decided to tell your latest chew toy about how I guarded a Dark-Hunter's mate. Thanks so much for not knowing when to shut the hell up."
"Yeah, well, how was I to know Petra would run to Markus and tell him you were with Sunshine and that he would think that was why the Daimons attacked us? Two-faced bitch. Petra said she wanted to mate with me."
"They all want to mate with you, dickhead, it's the nature of our species."
"Fuck you!"
Vane let out a relieved breath as Fang finally quieted down. His brother's anger should give him about a three-minute reprieve while Fang simmered for a more creative and articulate comeback.
Lacing his fingers together, Vane lifted his legs up. More pain sliced through his arms as the cord cut deeper into his human flesh. He only prayed his bones held a little longer without severing.
More blood ran down his forearms as he lifted his legs up toward the branch over his head.
If he could just get them wrapped . . . around . . .
He tapped the wood with his bare foot. The bark was cold and brittle as it scraped against the soft topside of his foot. He cupped his ankle around the wood.
Just a little . . . bit . . .
More.
Fang snarled at him, "You are such an asshole."
Well, so much for creativity.
Vane focused his attention on his own rapid heartbeat and refused to hear Fang's insults.
Upside down, he wrapped one leg around the limb and expelled his breath. Vane growled in relief as the weight was mostly removed from his throbbing, bloodied wrists. He panted from it while Fang continued his unheard tirade.
The limb creaked dangerously.
Vane held his breath again, terrified of moving lest he cause the branch to snap in two and send him plummeting into the putrid, green swamp water below.
Suddenly, the gators thrashed about in the water, then sped away.
"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 for either Talon or Acheron to rein them in. But since Talon was off in the French Quarter saving the world and not in the swamp tonight that seemed highly unlikely. As for Acheron, he had no idea where he'd gotten off to.
The other far less appealing option was Daimons-those who were the walking dead, damned to kill in order to sustain their artificially elongated lives. The only thing they prided themselves on killing more than humans were Katagaria 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's.
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 find 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 leapt 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 as a Daimon sank fangs into his shoulder. He tried to head-butt him away. It was worthless. They swarmed over him like ants while he had no way to stop them. He tried to kick and bite . . . anything to attack them.
Nothing worked.
He was powerless to protect himself.
He was powerless to protect Vane. That knowledge washed over him like ice. He'd never known this feeling of utter helplessness. He was a fighter. A soldier.
How could he not be able to protect the very things he loved most? Anya was gone and now Vane . . .
"Get the fuck off me!" he snarled at the Daimons, trying his best to get free.
They sank their fangs in deep, tearing at his flesh. The pain of it was unbearable. He felt like he was being eaten alive.
Vane looked to see a group of ten Daimons pulling Fang down from the tree. Damn it! His brother was a wolf. He didn't know how to fight them in human form. At least not 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. He 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.
