Wulf was still thinking of the unknown woman when he pulled his dark green Expedition into his five-car garage. He frowned at the sight of the red Hummer parked against the far wall, and turned his car off.

What the hell was Chris doing home? He was supposed to be spending the night at his girlfriend's house.

Wulf went inside to find out.

He found Chris in the living room, putting together a huge... something. It had metallic arms and things that reminded him of a poorly designed robot.

Chris's wavy black hair was sticking out in front as if he'd been tugging at it in frustration. There were parts and papers strewn all over the room, along with various tools.

Wulf watched in wry amusement as Chris battled the long, metallic post he was trying to fit into the base.

As Chris worked, one of the arms fell and smacked him on the head.

Cursing, he dropped the post.

Wulf laughed. "Been watching QVC again?"

Chris rubbed the back of his head as he kicked at the base. "Don't start with me, Wulf."

"Boy," Wulf said sternly, "you better check that tone."

"Yeah, yeah, ya scare me," Chris said irritably. "I'm even wetting my pants while in your terrifying, gut-wrenching presence. See me shiver and quiver? Ooo, ahhh, ooo."

Wulf shook his head at his Squire. The boy had no sense whatsoever to taunt him. "I knew I should have taken you out in the woods as an infant and left you there to die."

Chris snorted. "Ooo, nasty Viking humor. I'm actually surprised my father didn't have to present me to you for inspection at birth. Good thing you couldn't afford the barnautbur∂dr, huh?"

Wulf glared at him-not that he thought for one second it would do any good. It was only force of habit. "Just because you're the last of my bloodline doesn't mean I have to put up with you."

"Yeah, I love you, too, Big Guy." Chris went back to his project.

Wulf shrugged his coat off, then draped it over the back of his couch. "I swear, I'm going to cancel our cable subscription if you keep this up. Last week it was the weight bench and rowing machine. Yesterday that facial thing, and now this. Have you seen the crap in the attic? It looks like a rummage sale."

"This is different."

Wulf rolled his eyes. He'd heard that one before. "What the hell is it, anyway?"

Chris didn't pause as he set the arm back up. "It's a sun lamp. I thought you might be tired of your pasty-pale complexion."

He looked at him drolly. Thanks to his mother's dark Gaulish genes, Wulf wasn't really pale, especially given the fact that he hadn't been in daylight in over a thousand years. "Christopher, I happen to be a Viking in the middle of winter in Minnesota. Lack of a deep tan goes with the whole Nordic territory. Why do you think we raided Europe anyway?"

"Because it was there?"

"No, we wanted to thaw out."

Chris flipped him off. "Just wait, you'll thank me for this once I get it hooked up."

Wulf stepped over the pieces. "Why are you here, screwing with this? I thought you had a date tonight."

"I did, but twenty minutes after I got to her place, Pam broke up with me."

"Why?"

Chris paused to give him a hateful, sullen stare. "She thinks I'm a drug dealer."

Wulf was completely stunned by that unexpected declaration. Chris was barely six feet tall, with a gangly frame, and an honest, open face.

The most "illegal" thing the boy had ever done was to walk past a Salvation Army Santa Claus, once, without dropping money into the kettle.

"What made her think that?" Wulf asked.

"Well, let's see. I'm twenty-one, and I drive a custom-built, armor-plated Hummer worth about a quarter million dollars, with bulletproof tires and windows. I live on a remote, massive estate outside of Minnetonka all alone as far as anyone knows, except for the two bodyguards who trail me whenever I leave the property. I keep weird hours. You usually page me three or four times while I'm on a date to tell me to get down to business and give you an heir. And she accidentally saw some of your oh-so-wonderful toys I picked up from your weapons dealer in the cargo storage."

"Those weren't sharpened, were they?" Wulf interrupted. Chris was never allowed to handle sharpened weapons. The fool might cut off a vital body part or something.

Chris sighed and ignored the question as he continued his tirade. "I tried to tell her I was independently wealthy, and liked to collect swords and knives, but she didn't go for it." He pinned Wulf with another glacial stare. "You know, there are times when this job really bites. And the pun was intended."

Wulf took his bad temper in stride. Chris was perpetually irritated at him, but since Wulf had raised the boy from the instant he was born and Chris was the last surviving member of his bloodline, Wulf was extremely tolerant of him. "So sell the Hummer, buy a Dodge, and move into a trailer."

"Oh, yeah, right. Remember when I traded the Hummer for an Alpha Romeo last year? You burned the car and bought me a new Hummer and threatened to lock me in my room with a hooker if I ever did it again. And as for the perks... Have you bothered to look around this place? We have a heated indoor pool, a theater with surround sound, two cooks, three maids, and a pool guy I get to boss around, not to mention all kinds of other fun toys. I'm not about to leave Disneyland. It's the only good part in this arrangement. I mean, hell, if my life has to suck there's no way I'm going to live in the Mini-Winni. Which knowing you, you'd make me park out front anyway with armed guards standing watch in case I get a hangnail."

"Then you're fired."

"Bite me."

"You're not my type."

Chris tossed a wrench at his head.

Wulf caught it, and dropped it to the floor. "I'm never going to get you married off, am I?"

"Damn, Wulf. I'm barely legal. I have plenty of time left to have kids who can remember you, okay? Sheez, you're worse than my father was. Duty, duty, duty."

"You know, your father was only-"

"Eighteen when he married my mother. Yes, Wulf, I know. You only tell me that three or four times an hour."

Wulf ignored him as he continued thinking out loud. "I swear, you are the only man I've ever known who missed the whole teenage hormonal surge. Something's not right with you, boy."

"I am not taking another friggin' physical," Chris snapped. "There's nothing wrong with me or my abilities other than the fact that I'm not a horn-dog. I would rather get to know a woman first before I take my clothes off in front of her."

Wulf shook his head. "There is something seriously wrong with you."

Chris cursed him in Old Norse.

Wulf ignored his profanity. "Maybe we should look into hiring a surrogate. Maybe buy a sperm bank."

Chris growled low in his throat, then changed the subject. "What happened tonight? You look even more pissed now than when you left. Did one of the panthers say something nasty to you at their club?"

Wulf grunted as he thought about the Katagaria panther pack who owned the club he'd gone to tonight. They had called him first thing this evening to let him know one of their scouts had spotted a group of unknown Daimons in the city, out on the prowl. It was the same group who had caused some problems for the panthers a few months back.

The Inferno was one of many sanctuaries set up throughout the world where Dark-Hunters, Were-Hunters, and Apollites could gather without fear of an enemy coming at them while they were inside the building. Hell, the were-beasts even tolerated Daimons so long as they didn't feed on the premises or bring unwanted attention to them.

Even though the Were-Hunters were more than capable of killing the Daimons themselves, as a rule they usually abstained from doing so. After all, they were cousins to the Apollites and Daimons, and as such took a very hands-off approach to dealing with them. Likewise, the Weres weren't overly tolerant of the Dark-Hunters who killed their cousins. They worked with them when they had to or when it benefitted them, but otherwise kept their distance.

As soon as Dante had been notified the Daimons were heading for his club, he had paged Wulf with an alert.

But as Chris had insinuated, the panthers had a way of being less than friendly to any Dark-Hunter who stayed too long at their place.

Flipping his weapons out of his clothes, Wulf returned them to the armoire against the far wall. "No," he said, answering Chris's question. "The panthers were fine. I just thought the Daimons would put up more of a fight."

"Sorry," Chris said sympathetically.

"Yeah, me too."

Chris paused, and by his expression, Wulf could tell the boy had laid aside his ribbing and was trying to cheer him up. "You feel up to training?"

Wulf locked up his weapons. "Why bother? I haven't had a decent fight in almost a hundred years." Disgusted with the thought, he rubbed a hand over his eyes, which were sensitive to the bright lights Chris had on. "I think I'll go insult Talon for a while."

"Oh, hey!"

Wulf paused to look back at Chris.

"Before you go, say 'barbecue.'"

Wulf groaned at Chris's usual last resort to attempt to cheer him up. That was a standing joke that Chris had used to irritate him with since Chris was a small child. It stemmed from the fact that Wulf still held on to his ancient Norse accent which made him lilt when he spoke, especially when he said certain words, such as "barbecue."

"You're not funny, rugrat. And I am not a Swede."

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, make the Swedish Chef noises."

Wulf growled. "I should never have allowed you to watch The Muppets." More to the point, he shouldn't have pretended to be the Swedish Chef when Chris was a child. All it did was give the boy one more thing to aggravate him with.

But still, they were family, and at least Chris was attempting to make him feel better. Not that it was working.

Chris let out a rude noise. "Fine, you decrepit old Viking grump. By the way, my mother wants to meet you. Again."

Wulf groaned. "Can you put her off another couple of days?"

"I can try, but you know how she is."

Yes, he did. He'd known Chris's mother for more than thirty years.

Unfortunately, she didn't know him at all. Just like everyone else not born of his blood, she forgot him five minutes after he left her presence.

"All right," Wulf relented. "Bring her over tomorrow evening."

Wulf headed to the stairs that led to his rooms underneath the house. Like most Dark-Hunters, he preferred to sleep where there was no possibility of accidental sun exposure. It was one of the very few things that could destroy their immortal bodies.

He opened the door, but didn't bother with the overhead light since Chris had lit the small candle by his desk. The eyes of a Dark-Hunter were designed to need almost no light. He could see better in the darkness than humans could see in broad daylight.

Taking his sweater off, he gently prodded the four bullet wounds in his side. The bullets had passed cleanly through his flesh and the skin had already started to heal.

The injury stung, but it wouldn't kill him, and in a couple of days, there would be nothing left except four tiny scars.

He used his black T-shirt to wipe the blood from his side, and went to the bathroom to wash and bandage it.

As soon as he was clean and dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt, Wulf switched on his stereo. The preprogrammed songs started off with Slade's My Oh My while he grabbed his cordless phone and brought up his computer screen to log on to the Dark-Hunter.com Web site to update the others on his latest kills.

Callabrax liked to keep up with how many Daimons were slain each month. The Spartan warrior had some weird notion that Daimon crossovers and attacks were related to moon cycles.

Personally, Wulf thought the Spartan had way too much time on his hands. But then, being immortals, they all did.

Sitting in the darkness, Wulf listened to the words of the song as it played.

I believe in woman, my oh my. We all need someone to talk to, my oh my...

Against his will, the lyrics conjured up images of his ancient home, and of a woman with hair as white as the snowfall, and eyes as blue as the sea.

Arnhild.

He didn't know why he still thought of her after all these centuries, but he did.

He took a deep breath as he wondered what would have happened had he stayed on at his father's farm and married her. Everyone had expected it.

Arnhild had expected it.

But Wulf had refused. At seventeen, he'd wanted a different life than that of a simple farmer paying taxes to his jarl. He'd wanted adventure, and battles.

Glory.

Danger.

Maybe if he'd loved Arnhild, it might have been enough to keep him home.

And if he'd done that...

He'd have been bored out of his friggin' mind.

Which was his problem tonight. He needed something exciting. Something to stir his blood.

Something like the hot, tempting strawberry-blonde he'd left behind on the street...

Unlike Chris, getting naked with a strange woman wasn't something he shirked from.

Or at least something he used to not shirk from. Of course his willingness to be naked with unknown women was what had led him to his current fate, so maybe Chris had some sense after all.

Seeking a distraction from that irritating thought, Wulf dialed Talon's number and clicked the remote to change his song over to Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song."

Talon answered his cell phone at the same time Wulf logged on to the Dark-Hunters' private message boards.

"Hey, little girl," Wulf said tauntingly, switching to his headset so that he couid type and talk at the same time. "I got your 'Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap' T-shirt today. You're not funny and I don't work cheap. I expect a lot of money for what I do."

Talon scoffed. "Little girl? You better lay off or I'll come up there and kick your Viking ass."

"That threat might carry some weight if I didn't know how much you hate the cold."

Talon laughed deep in his throat.

"So what are you up to tonight?" Wulf asked.

"About six feet five."

Wulf groaned. "You know, that crappy joke doesn't get funnier every time I hear it."

"Yeah, I know. But I live only to harass you."

"And you succeed so well. You been taking lessons from Chris?"

He heard Talon cover the phone with his hand and order black coffee and beignets.

"So you're already out and about tonight?" he asked Talon after the waitress had walked away.

"You know it. It's Mardi Gras time and Daimons abound."

"Bullshit. I heard you order coffee. You ran out again, didn't you?"

"Shut up, Viking."

Wulf shook his head. "You really need to get yourself a Squire."

"Yeah, right. I'll remind you of that the next time you're bitching about Chris and his mouth."

Wulf leaned back in his chair as he read through the postings of his fellow Dark-Hunters. It was comforting to know he wasn't the only one who was bored out of his mind in between assignments.

Since Dark-Hunters couldn't gather together physically without draining each others' powers, the Internet and phones were the only way they could share information and stay in touch.

Technology was a godsend to them.

"Man," Wulf said, "is it just me or do the nights seem to be getting longer?"

"Some are longer than others." Talon's chair squeaked over the phone. No doubt the Celt was leaning back in it to scope out some woman walking past his table. "So, what has you down?"

"I'm restless."

"Go get laid."

He snorted at Talon's stock answer for everything. Worse, he knew the Celt really believed sex was a cure-all for any ailment.

But then as his thoughts turned back to the woman at the club, Wulf wasn't so sure it wouldn't work.

At least for tonight.

However, in the end, a night with another woman who wouldn't remember him didn't appeal to him.

It hadn't in a long time.

"That's not the problem," Wulf said as he scanned the messages. "I'm aching for a good fight. I mean, damn, when was the last time you really had a Daimon fight back? The ones I took out tonight just laid down on me. One of them even whimpered when I hit him."

"Hey, you should be glad you got them before they got you."

Perhaps...

But then Wulf was a Viking and they didn't look at things the same way the Celts did.

"You know, Talon, killing a soul-sucking Daimon without a good fight is like sex without foreplay. A total waste of time and completely un... satisfying."

"Spoken like a true Norseman. What you need, my brother, is a mead hall filled with serving wenches and Vikings ready to fight their way into Valhalla."

It was true. Wulf missed the Spathi Daimons. Now, they were a warrior class that put the fun in war.

Well, from his way of thinking anyway.

"The ones I found tonight knew nothing about fighting," Wulf said, curling his lip. "And I'm sick of the whole 'my gun will solve all' mentality."

"You get shot again?" Talon asked.

"Four times. I swear... I wish I could get a Daimon up here like Desiderius. I'd love a good down-and-dirty fight for once."

"Careful what you wish for, you just might get it."

"Yeah, I know." In a way Talon couldn't even begin to imagine. "But damn. Just once can't they stop running from us and learn to fight like their ancestors did? I miss the way things used to be."

There was a pause on the other end as Talon let out a slow appreciative breath.

Wulf shook his head. There was definitely a woman nearby.

"I tell you what I miss most are the Talpinas."

Wulf frowned. That was a term he'd never heard before. "What are those?"

"That's right, they were before your time. Back in the better part of the Dark Ages, we used to have a clan of Squires whose sole purpose was to take care of our carnal needs."

It was nice to know his best friend had a one-track mind, and Wulf would pay money to meet the one woman who could derail the Celt from his earthy ways.

"Man, they were great," Talon continued. "They knew what we were and they were more than happy to bed us. Hell, the Squires even trained them on how to pleasure you."

"What happened to them?"

"About a hundred or so years before you were born, a Dark-Hunter made the mistake of falling in love with his Talpina. Unfortunately for the rest of us, she didn't pass Artemis's test. Artemis was so angry over it, she stepped in and banished the Talpinas from us, and implemented the oh-so-wonderful "you're only supposed to sleep with them once" rule. As further backlash over it, Acheron came up with the "never touch your Squire" law. I tell you, you haven't lived until you've tried to find a decent one-night stand in seventh-century Britain."

Wulf snorted. "That's never been my problem."

"Yeah, I know. I envy you that. While the rest of us have to pull ourselves back from our lovers lest we betray our existence, you get to cut loose without fear."

"Believe me, Talon, it's not all it's cracked up to be. You live alone by choice. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to have no one remember you five minutes after you leave them?"

It was the only thing that bothered Wulf about his existence. He had immortality. Wealth.

You name it.

Except that if Christopher died without having children, there would be no human left alive who could remember him.

It was a sobering thought.

Wulf sighed. "Christopher's mother has come over here three times in the last week alone just so she can meet the person he works for. I've known her for what? Thirty years? And let's not forget that time sixteen years ago when I came home and she called the cops on me because she thought I had broken into my own house."

"I'm sorry, little brother," Talon said sincerely. "At least you have us and your Squire who can remember you."

"Yeah, I know. Thank the gods for modern technology. Otherwise I'd go insane." He fell silent for a bit.

"Not to change the subject, but did you see who Artemis relocated to New Orleans to take Kyrian's place?"

"I heard it was Valerius," Wulf said in disbelief. "What was Artemis thinking?"

"I have no idea."

"Does Kyrian know?" Wulf asked.

"For an obvious reason, Acheron and I decided not to tell him that the grandson and spitting image of the man who crucified him and destroyed his family was being moved into the city just down the street from his house. Unfortunately, though, I'm sure he'll find out sooner or later."

Wulf shook his head. He supposed things could be worse for him. At least he didn't have Kyrian's or Valerius's problems.

"Man, human or not, Kyrian will kill him if they ever cross paths-not something you need to cope with this time of year."

"Tell me about it," Talon concurred.

"So, who got Mardi Gras duty this year?" Wulf asked.

"They're importing Zarek."

Wulf cursed at the mention of the Dark-Hunter from Fairbanks, Alaska. Rumors abounded about the ex-slave who had once destroyed the very village and humans he'd been charged with protecting. "I didn't think Acheron would ever let him leave Alaska."

"Yeah, I know, but word came from Artemis herself that she wanted him here. Looks like we're having a psycho reunion this week... Oh wait, it's Mardi Gras. Duh."

Wulf laughed again.

He heard Talon let out a happy sigh.

"Coffee arrived?" Wulf asked.

"Oh yeah."

Wulf smiled, wishing he could find pleasure in something as simple as a cup of coffee.

But no sooner had that thought crossed his mind than he heard Talon snarl, "Ah, man."

"What?"

"Friggin' Fabio alert." Talon spat the words out contemptuously.

Wulf arched a brow as he thought about Talon's own blond hair. "Hey, you're not too far from the mark either, blondie."

"Bite me, Viking. You know if I were a negative person, I would be seriously annoyed right now."

"You sound annoyed to me."

"No, this isn't annoyed. This is mild perturbance. Besides, you should see these guys." Talon dropped his Celtic accent as he invented a conversation for the Daimons. He raised his voice to an unnaturally high level. "Hey, Gorgeous George, I think I smell a Dark-Hunter."

"Oh no, Dick," he said, dropping his voice two octaves, "don't be a dick. There's no Dark-Hunter here."

Talon returned to his falsetto. "I dunno..."

"Wait," Talon said, again in the deep voice, "I smell tourist. Tourist with big... strong soul."

"Would you stop?" Wulf said, laughing.

"Talk about inkblots," Talon said, using the derogatory term Dark-Hunters had for Daimons. It stemmed from the strange black mark that all Daimons developed on their chests when they crossed over from being simple Apollites to human slayers. "Damn, all I wanted was a drink of coffee and one little beignet."

He heard Talon tsk-tsking. Then his friend started debating out loud. "Coffee... Daimons... Coffee... Daimons..."

"I think in this case the Daimons better win."

"Yeah, but it's chicory coffee."

Wulf clicked his tongue. "Talon wanting to be toasted by Acheron for failure to protect humans."

"I know," he said with a disgusted sigh. "Let me go expire them. Talk to you later."

"Later." Wulf hung up the phone and switched off the computer. He looked at the clock. It wasn't even midnight yet.

Damn.

It was just after midnight when Cassandra, Kat, and Brenda returned to their college apartment complex. They let Brenda out in front of her unit, then drove around back to where they shared an apartment. They got out of the car and made their way inside their two-bedroom flat.

Ever since she'd left the Inferno, Cassandra had had a terrible niggling in the back of her mind, like something wasn't right.

She went through the entire evening again in her mind as she got ready for bed. She'd driven down to the club with her friends after Michelle's class, and they had spent the night listening to Twisted Hearts and then the Barleys play.

Nothing unusual had happened other than Michelle meeting Tom.

So, why did she feel so... so... strange.

Uneasy.

It didn't make sense.

Rubbing her brow, she picked up her Medieval Lit book and did her best to struggle through the Old English version of Beowulf.

Dr. Mitchell loved embarrassing graduate students who hadn't prepared for his class, so Cassandra wasn't about to show up tomorrow without having read the assignment.

No matter how boring it might prove.

Grendrel, chomp, chomp,

Grendrel, chomp, chomp,

See the Vikings in their boats,

Someone hand me the Cliff's Notes...

Not even her little singsong ditty could revive her interest.

Yet as she read the Old English words, she kept imagining a tall, dark-haired warrior with black eyes and full, warm lips.

A man of incredible speed and agility.

Closing her eyes, she saw him standing out in the cold, wearing a long black leather coat and a look on his face that said...

Decadence.

She tried to make the image clearer, but it evaporated and left her aching for want of him.

"What in the world is wrong with me?"

She widened her eyes and forced herself to read.

Wulf locked his bedroom door and went to bed early- just after four. Chris had been asleep for hours. There was nothing on TV, and he was bored with playing online computer games against the other Dark-Hunters.

He'd already taken out the "pressing" Daimon menace tonight. He sighed at the thought. During the winter months, they tended to take a hiatus south, since Daimons weren't real big on the whole cold thing. They hated to have to "unwrap" their food and found it extremely cumbersome to attack humans wrapped in layers of coats and sweaters. Things would pick up in the spring, after the thaw, but in the meantime, the nights were long and the battles few and far between.

Maybe if he got a good day's sleep, he might feel better tomorrow evening.

It was worth a try.

But as soon as Wulf fell asleep, his dreams started drifting. He saw the club again and felt the lips of the unknown woman against his.

Felt her hands on him as she clutched him...

What would it be like to be remembered by a lover again?

Just once?

A strange, swirling mist engulfed him and the next thing he knew, he was in an unfamiliar bed.

Wulf grimaced at the size of it-It was only a full-sized bed so he had to bend his legs to keep his feet from dangling over the edge of it.

Frowning, he looked around the dark room. The white walls were stark and covered with art posters. Something about it had an institutional quality to it.

There was a desk built into the wall by the window, a boxlike dresser with a TV and stereo, and a lava lamp burning in the corner, casting strange shadows over the walls.

It was then he realized he wasn't alone in the bed.

Someone was lying next to him.

Wulf studied the woman who was dressed in a prudish pink flannel gown that obscured her body as she lay with her back to him. Leaning over her, he saw the curly, strawberry-blond hair that she wore plaited.

He smiled the moment he recognized the woman from the club. He liked this dream...

But not as much as he liked the look of her serene face.

And unlike the Daimons, he didn't mind "unwrapping" his food.

His body instantly stirring, he rolled her over onto her back and started unbuttoning her gown.

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