A Hard Day's Night-Searcher

When Jeff had said that there was a group of Daimons heading for a party, Rafael had taken that to mean that there were only six Daimons at a human party. You know—a regular party with teenaged or college-aged humans grop­ing each other while drinking heavily. The kind of party that he normally crashed so that he could protect the humans from the Dai­mons who wanted to feast on their souls.

What the rocket scientist had failed to mention to Rafael was the small fact that the Daimons were headed into an Apollite wedding re­ception. Something he, himself, hadn't realized until he'd walked onto the boat that was filled with tall, gorgeous pale blond preternat­ural people.

Oh yeah, the six-foot-six bald black man dressed all in black leather really didn't blend into the overdressed crowd of Nordic vampires. And Rafael had to admit that right now looking at the Apollites and Daimons who were staring angrily at him made him feel like the last steak in the Kennel Club.

It was so silent, the only sound he could hear, even with height­ened hearing, was his own heart beating. Though there was blood in their goblets—he could smell it—there didn't appear to be any hu­mans around who needed saving.

Except for, maybe, him.

One of the Apollites closest to him arched a brow before he spoke. "Bride's side or groom's?"

"I'm with catering," Rafael said in a flat tone.

A Daimon stepped forward to give him a cold, feral once-over. "Yeah, you look like food to me."

The Daimon female beside him smiled, showing off her fangs. "We can't really eat him, since his blood is poisonous to us, but killing him should have some entertainment value. What do you think?"

Yeah, he'd walked right into the lion's den. There were at least twelve Daimons that he could sense. And another twenty Apollites. Normally Apollites didn't fight against Dark-Hunters, since Dark-Hunters were forbidden to touch them until they stopped feasting on fellow Apollites and began feasting on human souls, thereby be­coming Daimons. Then it was open warfare between them.

However, this group didn't seem too concerned with keeping the unspoken truce between Dark-Hunters and Apollites. They truly were bloodthirsty.

And now they were attacking.

Reaching under his coat, Rafael grabbed his steel stake and plunged it into the heart of the first Daimon to reach him. With an anguished cry, the Daimon exploded into dust. Two more came at him. He caught the first one a quick hit that sent him flying back­ward, into the arms of another Daimon, while he flipped the second one over and stabbed him straight in the chest.

Before he could straighten up from the kill, the Daimons overran him like ants over a sugar cube. He hit the ground face-first as they clawed at him. He could feel something biting into his back that felt like a knife wound, but it was hard to tell as he struggled to get them off him.