He nodded. "But don't judge him too harshly."
"I'm not," she said honestly. She didn't know what Kyrian had been through, but until she did, there was no way she would hold his decision over his head.
"Tell me, Julian, is there any way for Dark-Hunters to get their souls back?"
"Yes, but almost no one succeeds, and each test is unique to every Dark-Hunter."
"Which means you can't tell me how Kyrian might be freed."
"Which means I have no idea how he might be freed."
Amanda nodded until her thoughts went to another matter. "Do Dark-Hunters have to drink blood, too?"
"No. Since they began as humans, they don't have to. Plus, if they had to worry about finding blood, it would interfere with their ability to track the Daimons."
"Then why do they have fangs?"
"In order to effectively track and kill the Daimons, they were given the same animal characteristics. The fangs are part and parcel of what goes with it."
That made sense to her. "Is that why the sunlight is deadly to Dark-Hunters too?"
"Sort of, but in the case of the Dark-Hunters it's more a matter that they serve Artemis, the goddess of the moon, and are an anathema to Apollo."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"The gods seldom are."
Hours later, Kyrian sat in his car, damning his treacherous thoughts.
He could still see Amanda. Hear the sound of her soft, gentle voice. Feel her body against his and her soft breast in his hand.
It had been so long since he'd wanted a woman like this. He thought he'd banished that part of himself the night he'd become a Dark-Hunter.
As the centuries passed, he'd felt only an occasional stirring for a woman, but he'd learned to control it. Learned to bury it.
Now those long-forgotten needs had been awakened by the touch of a temptress who was lethal to his well-being. Thoughts of her distracted him. Tormented him.
He wanted her in a way that bordered on desperate.
Why? What was it about her that he craved so much? He knew nothing about her except that she had a great sense of humor and held incredible grace under fire.
And yet he yearned for her as he had for no other woman. Not even his wife.
It made no sense.
Turning his car off, he got out and entered his house. He tossed the keys on the kitchen counter and paused. The house was completely silent except for a light, clicking noise coming from upstairs.
Kyrian walked through the dark rooms and up the ornate, mahogany staircase until he was upstairs, outside his office. Light spilled out from the closed door, across the Persian runner.
Silently, he turned the knob and opened the door.
"Nick, what the hell are you doing here?"
Cursing loudly, his Squire jumped out of his swivel desk chair.
Kyrian had to stifle a laugh at the sight of a six-foot-four human ready to kill him. Nick's blue eyes snapped fire as his jaw, which was badly in need of a shave, twitched. Nick brushed his hand through his shoulder-length dark brown hair. "Jeez, Kyrian, would you learn to make some sound when you move? You scared the hell out of me."
Kyrian shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought you were going home early."
Nick righted the chair and returned to sit in it, then scooted it back under the desk. "I was, but I wanted to finish up the research into Desiderius for you."
Kyrian smiled. Nick Gautier might be a hotheaded, smart-mouthed pain in the ass most of the time, but he was always reliable. It was why Kyrian had chosen him to be a Squire and had initiated him into the realm of the Dark-Hunters. "Learn anything new?"
"You might say that. I've learned he's about two hundred and fifty years old."
Amazed, Kyrian arched a brow. To his knowledge, no Daimon had ever lived so long. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know. Dark-Hunters keep going after him and he keeps killing them. It seems your little Daimon friend likes to make you guys suffer." Nick returned to the computer. "There's nothing in Acheron's database about his exact modus operandi and when I talked to Ash earlier, he said he had no idea where Desiderius came from or who all of his targets have been. But we're looking into it."
Kyrian nodded.
"Oh, by the way," Nick said, glancing over his shoulder, "you look like hell."
"Obviously so, since everyone I've seen tonight has said that to me."
Nick smiled until he saw what Kyrian was wearing. "Why aren't you in your bad-ass, Daimon-killing clothes?"
Kyrian didn't feel like going there. "Speaking of, I need you to buy me a new leather coat today."
Suspicion clouded Nick's blue eyes. "Why?"
"The old one has a hole in the shoulder."
"Why?"
"I got attacked. Why else?"
Nick looked less than pleased by the news. "You okay?"
"Don't I look okay?"
"No, you look like hell."
There was no hiding from Nick. "I'm fine. Now, why don't you go on and sleep in one of the guest rooms? It's four o'clock in the morning."
"I will in a little bit. I want to finish this up first. Besides, I'm in the middle of finding out what Sundown did to piss off Ash."
Kyrian heard the "uh-oh" sound that alerted Nick he had a new instant message on the computer. "Tell Jess to lay off taunting Ash before he gets toasted."
Nick frowned. "Jess?"
"Sundown's real name is William Jessup Brady. I thought you knew that."
Nick laughed. "Hell no. But I know a few Squires who would pay me lots of money to learn that." His blue eyes turned speculative. "Rogue isn't Rogue's real name either, is it?"
"No. It's Christopher 'Kit' Baughy."
Nick made a delighted noise. "Now that one is really worth some serious cash."
"No," Kyrian corrected. "It's worth some serious ass-kicking if Rogue finds out you know it."
"Good point. I'll tuck that in my blackmail folder for when I need a Dark-Hunter favor."
Kyrian shook his head. The boy was incorrigible. "I'll see you tonight."
"Yeah, night."
Kyrian shut the door and headed down the long hallway to his bedroom. The large, lush room welcomed him with dark, peaceful colors that didn't hurt his light-sensitive eyes. Nick had lit the three candles in the small wall sconce and the dull glow flickered against the burgundy wallpaper.
This room was Kyrian's haven from the daylight.
He'd had the windows sealed and covered as soon as he bought the old neoclassical antebellum house. No Dark-Hunter ever willingly slept where daylight might accidentally find him.
Kyrian stripped off his clothes and lay down on the large bed he'd had since the fourteenth century, but his troubled thoughts spiraled through his mind.
Desiderius had eluded him and for the next few days, he would be out of Kyrian's reach.
Damn. But there was nothing to be done about it. Nothing, except to wait and be ready when Desiderius emerged. At least he had the comfort of knowing Desiderius would come after him first.
It would give him time to keep Amanda and Tabitha safe.
Amanda.
Her name hovered in his mind, along with a mental picture of her bright blue eyes. His groin tightened instantly against the cool silk sheets. He growled at the deep-seated ache that burned through him.
"She is not mine," he whispered.
And by all the gods on Olympus, she never would be, no matter how much the corner of his heart that remained might wish otherwise.