Night Embrace: A Dark-Hunter Novel (Book 2)

PRESENT DAY, NEW ORLEANS

"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."

Talon grunted at Wulf's words while he sat at a corner table at the Caf ' Du Monde, waiting for his waitress to return with his black chicory coffee and beignets. He had an ancient Saxon coin in his left hand that he rolled between his fingers as he scanned the dark street in front of him and watched the tourists and locals drift by.

Having banished most of his emotions fifteen hundred years ago, there were only three things Talon allowed himself to enjoy anymore: loose women, hot chicory coffee, and phone calls with Wulf.

In that order.

Though to be fair, there were times when Wulf's friendship did mean more to him than a cup of coffee.

Tonight, however, wasn't one of them.

He'd awakened just after dusk to find himself pathetically low on caffeine, and though the theory went that immortals couldn't have addictions, he wouldn't wager on it.

He'd barely taken time to pull on a pair of pants and his leather jacket before he came seeking the goddess Caffeina.

The cold New Orleans night was uncommonly calm. There weren't even many tourists on the street, which was unusual this close to Mardi Gras.

Still, it was prime Daimon season in New Orleans. Soon the vampires would be stalking the tourists and preying on them like an open banquet.

For the moment, though, Talon was glad it was quiet, since it allowed him to deal with Wulf's crisis and feed the one craving that wouldn't wait.

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

"Tell me about it," Wulf agreed. "I miss the good old days when Daimons were warriors and combat trained. The ones I found tonight knew nothing about fighting, and I'm sick of the whole 'my gun will solve all' mentality."