17 - A Hard Days Night Searcher.doc Read Online Free PDF Page B

heat that flooded his body. Everything about her appealed to him on a primal level.
    Honestly, he was losing his mind being this close to something that tempted him while unable to touch it. No wonder the Council preferred to assign only Squires who were the opposite sex of what a Dark-Hunter lusted for.
    I can't take it. He needed some distance from her.
    "I'm going to kill Daimons now."
    "But it's early."
    "I know. But I have a feeling they're out already and I need to patrol." Or stay here with the hard-on from hell until he lost what little sanity he had left. As Oscar Wilde once said, he could resist anything except temptation.
    Before Rafael could make it to the door, his phone rang. Without looking at the ID, he answered it.
    "Rafe?" It was Jeff whispering in a panicked tone.
    "Yeah?"
    "There's a group of Daimons here at the marina."
    "It's too early for them to be out."
    "Tell them that!"
    "Calm down and tell me what's going on."
    "It's spooky as hell. There's some kind of party going on at the houseboat next door that started at sundown and I just saw six of them heading for it."
    "All right. Lie low and I'll be there in a few minutes."
    Celena frowned at the concern in Rafael's voice. "Is there a problem?"
    "Major Daimon alert."
    Before she could ask anything else, he was gone, but his words rang in her ears. Major Daimon alert. . .
    This could be bad.
    You're a Squire. Her place was at home, especially after dark. And then she saw Eamon's face in her mind. His smiling face as he teased her about not eating peas.
    "Did ya do yer homework, lass?"
    God, how she'd loved that man. He was like an older brother, a best friend, and a father all rolled into one. And in one heartbeat, the Daimons had killed him.
    Let's face it, with the exception of Ephani, you've had a bad run with Dark-Hunters. The more she cared for them, the more horrible their deaths.
    And she loved Rafael. She'd loved him since the first moment she'd met him after she moved to West Point, Mississippi. He was intelligent, smart, and he had a wicked sense of humor.
    Now he was going to fight the Daimons. Alone.
    A thousand scenarios went through her head, with all of them coming to one single conclusion.
    Rafael dead. Panic set her heart to beating furiously as she looked about his home. She couldn't pack up another Dark-Hunter's home. She couldn't hold another vigil service to pay respect to someone she loved.
    She couldn't.
    And before she could stop herself, she grabbed the tracer off the table and her keys.
     
    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