And all because his father had knocked up a whore and then gotten pissed when the Apollites had killed her off. Apollo had cursed them all… even Stryker, who had been the ancient god’s most beloved son.

But that was eleven thousand years ago. Ancient, ancient history.

Stryker was the present and the Daimons before him were the future. If everything went as planned, they would one day soon reclaim the human realm that had been taken from them. Personally, he’d have rather started with another city, but when the human official had come to him with a plan for the humans to help rid Seattle of Dark-Hunters it had been a perfect opportunity to start aligning the race of man with the Apollites and Daimons. Little did the humans know that once the Dark-Hunters were cleared, there would be no one to save their souls. It would be open season on all mankind.

“How many Dark-Hunters are left in Seattle?” he asked his second in command.

Like the other Daimons who were present, Trates was tall and lean, with golden blond hair and dark brown eyes—the epitome of youthful beauty. He drew his brows together as he thought for a second.

“Once Kontis is dead, we’re down to seven.”

Stryker curled his lips. “Then we’re celebrating too soon.”

Silence rang out at his words.

“How so?”

Stryker turned his head to see his younger half-sister approach his carved throne with a bold, determined stride. Unlike the Spathi Daimons who made this place home, she bore no fear of him. Dressed in a black leather catsuit that laced down the front and hugged her lithe, muscular body, she stepped up on the dais to lean against the arm of his chair. Her dark eyes were completely devoid of emotions as she arrogantly cocked a questioning brow.