Cursed by a dark fate and tormented by his demons, a brooding warrior prefers his empty existence…but he didn’t count on her.

“I want you more than anything else in this godforsaken life of mine…”
~ Dagan

This has been a long and arduous journey for my loner hero.
I’m so glad to finally get his story out 🙂

COVER: Montana Jade

BLURB:

From the scorching pits of Tartarus, a warrior emerges with a deadly need for more than vengeance…

A loner, Dagan, lives with an inexorable thirst he’s kept hidden for eons, even from his fellow Guardians. Until he meets a beautiful, maddening human who awakens in him a hunger that shakes him to his very core, and threatens to shatter his tightly erected shields, exposing his dangerous secret. And wanting her is a path leading to destruction.

Driven to find her missing mother in a shadowy world, Shae Ion refuses to be sidetracked. When she becomes the target for a sinister force, a sinfully sexy and utterly impossible immortal abducts her, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep her safe.
Stuck in an isolated place with the reclusive Guardian who allows no one close, Shae struggles to control her new burgeoning powers, and is unprepared for the tangled emotions he stirs in her. But passion has a way of obliterating barriers.

However, the road to happiness is strewn with treachery. Nothing is sacred or safe. When a ruthless old enemy resurfaces, and comes after Shae, they are drawn into a terrifying, supernatural battle. And not even Dagan, a lethal, immortal warrior who’d lay down his life for her, can save her now…

~~~

Editorial Review:
“Compelling from start to finish, Ms. Hunter gives us another engaging tale of passion and courage, and reminds us that strength and understanding can sometimes be found in the most unlikely places.” ~Chelle Olsen-Literally Addicted to Detail

Amazon Reviews:
“Her guardians are breathtakingly gorgeous and formidable beyond measure. Dagan meets these requirements and then some. In this installment, the author brings us Shae. An equally powerful woman to match Dagan. I was especially enthralled with the fast-paced action sequences, and a supernatural battle that had me on the edge of my seat.  Let’s just say the love scenes are hot, steamy, and sizzling, which Ms. Hunter writes to perfection.” ~ Catharina-Reviewer

“Deliciously detail, danger at every turn and a scintillating relationship result in a thrilling read!! I highly recommend this book and this series!!” ~ KSon-Reviewer

AVAILABLE: Amazon | Nook | Kobo | iTunes | Smash

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CHAPTER 1

The rhythmic thudding of hundreds of heartbeats crowded Dagan’s head.

Thump, thump, thump. Hypnotic. Enticing. The draw dangerous, inevitable…if he’d let it.

It was always this way when he first appeared on patrol. Primitive urges locked down, it should be a night like thousands of others in his long life. But this one, the worst.

All Hallows Eve was a pain in the ass.

Hunkered on the rooftop of a warehouse in the Bowery, he coolly eyed the noisy line of humans snaking the sidewalk of Club Nocte, waiting to gain entrance.

Why would Blaéz ask him to check out this area first?

Besides the foolish mortals disguised as what they imagined went bump in the night—and they sure made it easy for the real scourges lurking within the depths of the decrepit backstreet to lure them in and snuff out their feeble little lives—he didn’t sense any sign of supernatural disturbance.

Dagan scanned the alley again, his focus narrowing on a couple. The male dressed in a long, black cape, his arm thrown over the shoulders of a nun in a short habit, hurried the female along. Moonlight underscoring his face pale and a mouth with pointy canines. Count Dracul. Of course.

The twosome headed deeper into the disreputable area with no idea of the dangers that prowled the night. With demoniis out in droves hunting prey, it was always a mess leading up to this night.

Despite the distance, he could clearly see and hear the wannabe vampire. The idiot pushed the nun against a wall, hands fumbling under her tunic. “Let me sink my fangs into you, pretty one…” His voice deepened, probably his idea of vamp talk. Dagan’s lips twisted in cynicism.

“Yes, my dark prince.” The nun laughed, arching into him, her black veil falling back and exposing her smooth, tan neck. “Bite me—make me immortal.”

The man snickered, sucking on her neck instead. Lost in their world of make-believe, she had no idea of the true danger lurking nearby. How absurdly effortless it would be to walk up to her. He wouldn’t even have to say a word, and she’d be his for the taking.

Go. It’s what you want, the dark thoughts unfurled in the pits of his mind, coiling tighter around him. Satisfy the hunger that plagues you.

His powerful mental shields shuddered. His fangs lengthened.

No! He was a Guardian, sworn to protect humans, not kill. With shaky hands, he pulled out a half-smoked cigar from his pocket, put the thing between his lips, and struck a match on the wall. Palms cupped around the flame, he lit it. Inhaling deeply, he let the scented, sedative smoke saturate his lungs and cloak his thirst.

For now.

As he blew out a thin stream of smoke, the acrid sensation of insidious evil coasted over his skin. The mystical Gaian sword tattooed on his biceps stirred in warning. His gaze sharpened, rapidly sweeping past Dracul and his nun, honing in on the two figures lumbering toward them. They slowed near the recessed doorway where the couple tugged at each other’s clothes.

“By Hades,” the tall demonii rasped in delight. “I do enjoy this time of year more than any other. I want her.”

“What the—?” The man pivoted. “Get lost, assholes!”

Guttural laughter ripped the air. “We cannot oblige. See, we want not just her but you, too.” The shorter, heftier demonii punched the human in the face. The tall one snatched the woman around her waist and licked her face.

Dagan killed his smoke. Before her screams tore through the night, he immobilized the four with his mind. Pocketing the cigar, he flashed down, freeing the humans from his hold.

He summoned his pulsing weapon. In an eddy of gray smoke, the obsidian sword took shape, the mystical inscriptions glowing briefly as he swung the deadly blade, decapitating both demoniis in one lethal stroke. They fell to their knees, bodies disintegrating within seconds.

“Whoa!” the man gasped. “That’s so cool.”

Dagan pivoted. The couple gawked at him in a drunken stupor, like he was a savior or something for rescuing their foolish asses. Grim Reaper would be more fitting.

“Leave,” he snapped, letting his eyes glow.

Without a word, they stumbled off. In their inebriated state, they’d undoubtedly thought it was all part of the Halloween scene. As he dismissed his sword, an eerie, icy sensation slid over his psyche. Not demoniis…something else.

Motionless, he waited, letting the cerebral wave surround him, then a crackle, like ice shattering, fury slid over him. And he knew.

There you are, asshole…

It had been a long damn wait for the psychic killer to show up again.

Slipping through the shadows, he followed the strains of violence abrading his mind. None could hide their psychic signature from him for long, yet this mortal he’d been hunting for several months had done just that. This time, he’d get the slippery bastard.

He passed a rundown motorcycle club with flashing neon lights. The stares that came his way from the bikers hanging outside didn’t bother him. His extreme six-foot-eight height, and his waist-length hair he usually wore in several warrior braids always drew notice.

Moments later, he slowed, the trail dead-ending outside a warehouse. The scent of fresh blood beckoned him like a beautiful siren and his jaw clenched. The alley remained quiet, but not for long. Two homeless humans began bickering deeper in the alley.

Before they arrived and mucked up the psychic vibration of his prey, Dagan studied the three dead bodies. Two were reduced to nothing but fleshy meat-sacks, bones and muscles pulverized. Blood and gore dripped out of their ears, nose, and mouth. The other had been stabbed in his side. If it were just the knifed man, Dagan would have walked. Humans killing each other were not his problem.

The pile of rags with the knife wound shuddered. A low moan left the vagrant as he stumbled to his feet and tripped over the bodies. He cursed drunkenly. “B-bastard, tryin’ to take my food.”

“Hold it.” Dagan grabbed his arm. The ripe fumes coming off him had Dagan keeping his breathing shallow. “What happened?”

The homeless clutched his bleeding side. “He t-took my cart, stabbed me—”

“Who else was here?”

“Want my cart back. Satan. He kill ‘em bodies. Three bodies. Pooffff—one gone.” He swung his arms wildly, spittle flying everywhere. Dagan hastily evaded the saliva rain. “Gonna use his weapon…kill—kill!” He made stabbing motions. “Want my cart back—want my cart.” He zigzagged off.

It had to be a demon. Only they were pulled back into the Dark Realm at the time of true death.

One of the dead snagged his attention, though. Frowning, Dagan lowered to his heels near the pulverized body and slipped his hand beneath the man’s shirt. Sure enough, he found the telltale ridges that ran down his shoulder blades where wings should have been. A Fallen.

Shit. This killer would be dangerous to not only the human populace but the Guardians, as well. In a flash, the last moments of the man’s life passed through Dagan’s mind…

A surge of fear as he rose into the air. He couldn’t breathe. His skull compressed. Unrelenting pain spread. “Don’t—don’t do it…” a plea, then resonating silence… Death.

Nothing to point Dagan to what the killer looked like or who it was. However, the same bitter iciness he’d been tracking these last months prevailed in this place.

He mind-linked with Aethan, needing the Empyrean’s abilities to clear out this psychic killing before the human authorities came across the bodies and led them down a path that would cause Michael to go bat-shit crazy. Downtown. Have a mess here.

The killer struck again? the warrior asked.

Yes. Two bodies.

On my way.

As Dagan rose to his feet, another scent teased his nose, fruity with a hint of spice…and something more. He drew it inside him, studying the new clue.

Rage, so much rage…yet, beneath it all, like a mile of grit, despair and anguish abraded him.

A familiar shift in the air and Aethan took form beside him. The cold moon highlighted the warrior’s multihued blue hair he’d pulled into a ponytail and glinted off the small silver hoops in his earlobes.

Hands on his hips, Aethan surveyed the death scene, expression grim. “With this kind of power, we’ll all be at risk.”

Didn’t he know it? With a nod, Dagan dematerialized, tracking the fading vibration.

Read Prologue and full chapter 1 HERE

Excerpt (R)

Shae eyed the adjoining door warily—dammit, she couldn’t not help if he was hurt.

Despising her weakness, she got off the bed and made her way across the room, her socks-clad feet silent on the granite floor, and opened the door. A dense gloom cloaked the room, but a short, fat candle burned on the nightstand, casting a pool of light over the man on the four-poster bed. She took another step inside and stumbled to a halt.

Dear sweet Jesus! Shirtless, Dagan rested against the headboard, eyes shut. His bronze pecs and biceps gleamed in the soft light. His one knee was raised, his leathers unzipped, and his big palm was wrapped around his cock as he stroked himself. It was the sexiest, most erotic thing she’d ever seen. He was so beautiful.

Held in the throes of the sensual spell, she swallowed hard.

His head turned, his movements slowed. Through half-mast eyelids, those molten yellow eyes fastened on her like a sleek predator’s. He didn’t speak.

Shae rushed into speech, her face on fire. “I heard a noise, and thought… never mind. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t go.”

His low words stopped her retreat.

“The moment you left me tonight, I couldn’t get you out of my mind.” His palm slowly worked his erection in mesmerizing strokes. Up. Down. Up. Down. “The way your body felt against me, your mouth on mine. I thought this would take away the impossible craving I have for you, but it’s just a poor fucking substitute and doesn’t even work…”

“Why? The woman in the club—”

He shook his head. “I don’t want any of them.” He didn’t? “I tried to do the right thing and leave you alone, but I cannot. Come here, Shae.”

Her heart stopped then started again, her fingers clenching her nightshirt. However, it was his stare—heavy with desire and edged with yearning—that trapped her. As if under hypnosis, her feet took the steps across the room toward him.

“Give me your underwear.”

“W-what?”

“Now.”

The softly uttered word held an undercurrent of steel. And because she’d lost her ever-loving mind, and he was all she’d thought of since they’d stepped through the portal, she slipped her hands beneath her nightshirt and drew her panties off.

He took them from her shaky fingers and dropped them on the pillow beside him. “On the bed, opposite me.”

Swallowing hard, she climbed up and pulled her nightshirt down, her knees pressed together.

A dark brow rose at her actions, but he didn’t say anything. As his hand moved again, her focus lowered to his groin, and at the sight of him stroking his long, thick sex, heat licked through her veins.

His fingers slowed their pumping motion. Her gaze rushed to his. Those sun-bright eyes burned with carnal heat. He crawled over to her, spread his knees, and caged her—his leathers still undone. With slow, deliberate movements, he unclenched her ice-cold hand from the hem of her nightshirt, put her two fingers into his warm mouth, and leisurely sucked them.

Her heart tripped. As if it were a direct line to her core, arousal flared as he lapped her fingers. Anxiety fled. Grasping her ankles, he put them over his thighs and pushed her nightdress up, opening her to his gaze. He brought her fingers down between her legs…