Tonight though, Mike Callahan who was an Dorian Squire (meaning he didn't have a particular Dark-Hunter he served) was bringing in Zarek from Alaska.

Nick had heard a lot of rumors through the online Squire bulletin boards about Zarek of Moesia being psychotic. He wasn't sure how accurate that information was, but in a few minutes he'd find out first hand.

"Hey Mike," he said, radioing the pilot. "How bad is he?"

Mike snorted. "Let me put it to you this way. If you have a gun, unload it."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, you're going to shoot this asshole which will only piss him off more. For once, I actually pity the Daimons."

That didn't sound encouraging.

"What? He's worse than Acheron?"

"Nick, take my word for it. You ain't never seen anything like this one. I now know why Artemis and Ash locked him in Alaska. What I can't figure out is why on earth Artemis wanted him moved into a large population. My opinion, it's like tossing a grenade on a gas station."

Oh yeah, his gut was knotted now.

Nick waited while the helicopter came in and landed on the private airstrip Acheron used when he visited. At one end of the field was what appeared to be a dilapidated barn. In actuality, it was a modified, modern hangar that was complete with an alarm system and doors so thick it could double as a bomb shelter. That barn currently housed Acheron's twenty-eight million dollar MH-60K Sikorsky helicopter that Acheron used to transport himself and his custom-built Buell motorcycle.

Ash had arrived in style the day before.

Now Zarek.

Yup, Mardi Gras was starting to look scary.

Nick got out of the car and locked his radio in the trunk, then stood to the side of the field until Mike cut the motor and the blades stopped spinning.

When everything quit moving, the lean, middle-aged Squire got out of the helicopter and removed his helmet. Mike had never been overly friendly, but there was a look to him tonight that said he was thoroughly disgusted and extremely irritable.

"I don't envy you this," Mike said as he tossed his helmet back into his seat.

"C'mon, stop messing with me, Mike. He can't be that bad."

Nick changed his mind as soon as Mike slid open the passenger door and he caught his first look at Zarek of Moesia.

Zarek emerged from the opening like Lucifer from his deepest pit, with a chip on his shoulder so large, Nick was amazed they had managed to get the helicopter off the ground.

Dressed all in black, Zarek wore jeans, Harley biker boots, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He seemed completely oblivious to the cold damp air that made up a New Orleans's winter night. He had a long silver sword earring in his left ear, with a hilt made of a skull and cross bones.

Zarek stepped out with a sneer that was made even more sinister by his black goatee. His straight black hair brushed his shoulders and his jet eyes were filled with contempt and hatred. Nick was used to bad attitude, hell he'd been weaned onto it. But he'd never met a man who had one worse than Zarek.

He reminded Nick of the murderers his father had brought home. Cold. Unfeeling. Lethal. Whenever Zarek looked at you, you got the feeling he was measuring you for your coffin size.

Zarek braced his left hand against the side of the chopper, and leaned back in long enough to grab a large black duffle bag. Nick stared at Zarek's huge hand in awe. Each finger, including his thumb, was covered with a long, articulated silver claw and tipped with a point so sharp that Nick knew it must be Zarek's weapon of choice.
This man liked to get down and dirty with his kills.

Shit, for Zarek, being called psychotic would be a step up.

As he walked away from the chopper, Zarek hissed at Mike, baring his fangs.

For once, Mike didn't comment. That told Nick more than anything else just how vicious Zarek was. He'd never known Mike to take something like that and not make a smart-mouth comment.

"Well if you're through taunting poor Mike are you ready to go?"

Nick regretted those words as soon as Zarek looked at him. The glacial, hostile glare chilled him even more than the frigid winds. "You give me any lip, little boy, and there won't be enough left of you to run through a sieve."

Nick didn't scare easily, but those words were said with such growling sincerity that he actually took a step back and for once kept his big mouth shut.

Without another word, Zarek walked with a predator's deadly grace toward the car with his lips curled into a permanent snarl. He pitched his duffle bag into the floorboard, then got in and slammed the car door shut.

In that moment, Nick seriously regretted buying a car with no backseat.
Then again, given Zarek's vicious, unpredictable nature, Nick would much rather have him beside him than behind him.

Mike let out a relieved breath and clapped him on the back. "May God take a liking to you, kid. I damn sure wouldn't want to be in your shoes tonight."

Nick had never been overly religious. But as he walked to his anthracite Jag, he found his religion all over again.

He got in and started the car, then headed toward the city. They were supposed to meet up with Talon, Valerius and Acheron in about half an hour at Jackson Square. Damn, this was going to be the longest drive of his life.

He pushed the accelerator down even more--warp speed would suit him just fine.

As he drove, Nick couldn't keep his gaze from repeatedly wandering over to Zarek's left hand, covered with the silver claws, that was splayed out over his left knee.

The silence was deafening and stagnant, and was relieved only by Zarek flexing his claws against the black denim. After a time, the metallic scratching sound really started to get on Nick's nerves. He turned on the radio.

"You like rock?" Nick asked.

The radio shut off immediately.

Nick swallowed as he realized one of Zarek's Dark-Hunter powers was telekinesis.

"Little boy, I'm not your friend. I'm not your Dark-Hunter and I'm not your friggin' date. You only speak to me when I ask you a question. Otherwise you keep your mouth shut, your eyes off me, and you might live long enough to get me to the French Quarter."

Nick gripped the wheel. Okay, now that pissed him off, but not to the point it made him suicidal. Only an absolute fool would tangle with a man this lethal.

Zarek flipped open his duffel bag and pulled out a credit card sized MP3 player and a pair of dark sunglasses. He put on his headphones and sunglasses, then leaned his head back against the seat. Nick heard Nazareth's Hair of the Dog playing in a whisper from the headphones. The true antisocial anthem. How incredibly apropos.
When the car radio unexpectedly flipped back on, Nick actually jumped.

Oh yeah, Zarek was one psychotic SOB and the sooner he got him out his car and to Acheron the happier Nick would be.

This is actually from the first draft that Sherri threw out. As you can see, the plot did change quite a bit... "Well?" Camulus asked Dionysus as Dionysus entered the room. Styxx looked up from his magazine at the sound of Camulus's voice. The Celtic god, Camulus, had been sitting on the couch across from him in the hotel suite while they had waited for news. Dressed in black leather jeans and a gray sweater, the ancient deity had been flipping channels incessantly since Dionysus left, making Styxx want to snatch the remote from his hand and slam it down on the iron and glass coffee table. But only a fool took a remote from a god. Styxx might have a death wish, but he had no desire to be ruthlessly tortured before he died. So Styxx had gnashed his teeth and done his best to ignore Camulus and wait for Dionysus' return. Camulus wore his long, black hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was something devilish and evil about him, but then given the fact he was a god of war, it was rather par for the course. Dionysus paused just inside the door. He shrugged out of his long, cashmere coat, then pulled his brown leather gloves from his hands. At six ten, the god of wine and excess would be an intimidating sight to most people. But then Styxx was only two inches shorter and as the son of a king and a man who longed for death, he found very little intimidating. What was Dionysus going to do? Send him back to his hellish isolation? He'd been there, done that and had the Ozzy t-shirt to prove it. Dionysus was dressed in a tweed jacket, navy turtleneck and pleated brown slacks. His short dark brown hair was perfectly streaked by blond and he had an immaculate goatee. He looked like a successful billionaire magnate, and did, in fact, run a major international corporation where the god got his jollies by crippling his competitors and taking over other businesses. Forced against his will into retirement centuries ago, Dionysus had been banned from Olympus and sent to live in the mortal world which he hated almost as much as Styxx did. "Answer my question, Bacchus," Camulus said. "I'm not one of your dickless Greeks to be kept waiting for an answer." Rage flared in Dionysus's eyes. "You better take a more civil tone with me, Cam. I'm not one of your flaccid Celts to shake in terror of your wrath. You want to fight, boy, bring it on." Camulus shot to his feet. "Whoa, hang on a second," Styxx said, trying to calm them down. "Let's save the fighting for when you take over the world, okay?" They both looked at him as if he were insane to come between them. No doubt, he was. But if they killed each other, he'd never die. Cam glared at Dionysus. "Your pet is right," he said. "But when I have my godhood back, you and I are going to talk." The gleam in Dionysus's eyes said he was looking forward to it. Styxx took a deep breath. "So, is the woman with Talon?" he asked Dionysus. Dionysus smiled coldly. "Just like clockwork." He looked at Camulus. "Are you sure this will immobilize him?" "I never said it would immobilize him. I said it would neutralize him." "What's the difference?" Styxx asked. "The difference is he's about to become an even bigger distraction and concern for Acheron. Yet another way to weaken the Atlantean in the end." Styxx liked the sound of that. Now they would just have to ensure that the Dark-Hunter and the woman remained together. At least until Mardi Gras when the threshold between this world and Kolasis would be thin enough to breech so that they could release the Atlantean Destroyer from captivity. It had been six hundred years since the last time this had occurred and it would be well over eight hundred years more before it occurred again. Styxx cringed at the thought of living another eight hundred years. Another eight centuries of lonely, never-ending monotony and pain. Of watching his keepers come and go, grow old and die as they lived out their mortal lives surrounded by family and friends. They didn't know how lucky they were. As a human, he had once feared death. But that was ancient aeons ago. Now the only thing Styxx feared was that he would never escape the horror of his existence. That he would keep on living, century after century, until the universe itself exploded. He wanted out and up until thirty years ago, he hadn't had a hope of it. Now he did. Dionysus and Camulus wanted to reclaim their godhoods and they needed the Destroyer and Acheron's blood to do it. It was a pity he didn't have Atlantean blood in him or he would gladly offer up himself as sacrifice. As it was, Acheron alone held the key to the Destroyer's release. Styxx was the only creature alive who could deliver Acheron to them. Just a few days more and everything would be set right. The old powers would return to dominate the earth and he... He would finally be free. Styxx sighed in sweet expectation. All he had to do was keep the Dark-Hunters at each other's throats and keep them distracted while he kept the gods from killing each other. If either Talon or Acheron ever realized what was happening, they would stop it. They alone had the power to do so. It was him against them and this time, this time, he would finish what he had started eleven thousand years ago. When he was through here, the Dark-Hunters would be without leadership. He would be free and the earth as all knew it would be a whole new place entirely. Styxx smiled. Just a few days more...