Chapter One

Marcus Alexander stood in the depth of the shadowy woods, his supernatural hearing allowing him to pick up the muffled laughter of the two cowboys walking down the front steps of the Brownsville country bar, reluctantly departing at last call. The source of their laugher, a female telling the tale of Matamoros Beasts—demons who ripped the souls from humans and killed them. He wanted to laugh as well, but not at the female, at the men. Because no one knew just how real those beasts were than he did—because three hundred years before he’d been one of those humans, bitten by a beast, his soul ripped from his chest. But neither death nor a demonic existence had not been his destiny. An angel had saved him, recruited him to be a hunter, an immortal Knight of White.

The sound of a distant motorcycle touched his ears and Marcus shifted positions, easing through the woods and then exited into a dark corner of the alley behind the bar. Silent, unnaturally still, he watched as a Harley pulled to a stop several hundred feet away, a small pickup truck following in its wake. A male dismounted the bike—Max—a Knight he had once considered a brother-in-arms and the reason he’d agreed to this meeting. Whoever was in the truck hadn’t been a part of that agreement.

He assessed closely as the doors opened, those exiting a surprise in that they weren’t the hunters Max usually traveled with, but two females. The first—an attractive blond—Marcus quickly sensed to be linked to Max—his new mate Jessica. Dismissing her as a concern, he focused on the second female, the unknown, and felt a swift, intense reaction. Awareness rushed over him, a reaction so fierce it punched him in the gut, demanded notice. And though she was pretty—petite, brunette with a chin length bob, curves in all the right places—his reaction reached beyond her appearance to the essence beneath—to the magic burning a path through her veins. He could almost smell it, damn near tasted it. Not only was she born into magic, but she was human as he had once been, untouched by the immortal world of demons or angels.

The sound of Max’s boots scraped the gravel drew Marcus’s attention and Marcus stepped forward as well. They converged in the rays cast from a singular streetlight, facing one another for the first time in years—Max with two long sabers strapped to his jean clad hips, Marcus with the magic that had long ago become his only weapon. And that difference represented the wall dividing the two immortals, so alike, but so different. Marcus himself respected the death a sword represented for demons and immortals alike, but could kill with nothing more than his magic, his ability to harness the energy of any living creature and turn it into against them, the sole weapon he required. A skill that had labeled him The Destroyer—an enemy too many, a friend to few. Where Max fit into those definitions had yet to be established.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” Max said.

“That makes two of us,” Marcus said, being honest where honest was deserved. Max was direct. And he was a Harley riding badass who’d once saved Marcus’s life from atop that bike, decapitating his attacker without a so much as a wheel wobble. But then, that’s what Knights did—looked out for each other. But that was another lifetime, another world long gone for Marcus. Which brought him to more truth, “If I didn’t want to know how you found me, I probably wouldn’t have.” Marcus wore a powerful magic spell like a second skin, a cloak that made him virtually invisible to those who hunted him yet Max had found him.”

“My mate Sarah,” he explained. “She has special gift. Dead people talk to her.” He shrugged, stuffing his fingers in his pockets, as if letting Marcus know, he’d decided to trust him, rather than draw his weapon. “Apparently, you can’t make yourself invisible to the other side.”

“I didn’t know I needed too,” he said dryly. And he’d make damn sure he did for now. He didn’t question Sarah’s gift. Why would he? Over three hundred years of magic running through his veins had made for a wild, unpredictable ride. His gaze drifted to the women and found not Sarah, but the petite brunette with her, the scent of magic and female, unsettling in a primal, uncontrollable way—like magic hunting magic—lusting for more. He snapped his gaze back to Max, impatient to get this over with. “Since when do the Knights include humans in their inner circle?” he challenged, slowly returning his attention to Max. “Why is she here?”

“She’s part of the paranormal investigation team Sarah operates and has been since before our mating. They’re good together, highly sought after and often called in when something can’t be explained. Besides. Cathy needs protection. She’s recently discovered she has—”

“Magic in her blood,” he said. “I get that. She’s dangerous, Max, and if you were smart you’d remember that. Magic corrupts. The more she uses it, the more power it has over her.”

“Like it has over you?” The question was low, the tone full of challenge.

Marcus balled his fists by his side, anger and magic building like a ball starting a path down a hill picked up speed. Who the Hell was Max to judge him? Max who was one of the few lucky Knights who’d found the one mate who could destroy the stain the demon that had once bitten him had created. After three hundred years of hunting, he had no mate and now it was too late. No human could endure the intensity of his magic, nor could they save his soul. If anything, he’d damn them to hell with him. Magic burned around the taint of his soul, the light above him flickering with the impact.

Both of the women rushed forward and Marcus waved a hand, throwing an invisible barrier between them and the females. Max didn’t move, his hands still in his pockets, his expression unaffected. Marcus ground his teeth, leveling his old friend in a demanding stare. “Why are we playing the reunion game, Max?”

“Talleous,” Max said, naming the deadliest sorcerer walking the face of the earth—at least in human form.

Just hearing that name set his nerves further on edge, his muscles twitching with the readiness of a warrior about to face battle. “What of him?”

“Cathy says her meditation has allowed her to decode a magical trail, patterns of—“

“Weather and events,” Marcus interrupted impatiently. “I know. Move on.”

“Bottom line,” Max said, appearing unaffected by Marcus’s abruptness. “Two names came I don’t like hearing in the same sentence. Talleous and Adrian.”

“Adrian,” he said repeating the Demon Master’s name, the Leader of The Darkland Beasts, instantly on alert, his mind prickling with his own magical decoding—of what he’d seen in his meditations and had been trying to find and destroy—a spell so powerful it would threaten all of mankind—a spell that required two powerful Sorcerers—one human and one demonic.

Marcus lifted his hand and dropped the shield holding the women at a distance and fixed his attention on Cathy. Their eyes locked, an electric current crackling around them as their magic connection. His body reacted to the magic, to the woman—sensual heat rushed through his body in a hot flash of pure, white hot lust like nothing Marcus had ever experienced in three centuries of living. Wild and out of control—something dangerous for a Sorcerer who used control to keep the demon inside him at bay. She was dangerous—to him, to those he might hurt if he ever allowed that demon to find life. He drew a heavy breath and let it out. “Tell me what you saw in your mediations, Cathy,” he ordered, his tone abrupt, meant to intimidate, to keep her at a distance. Because one thing Marcus knew without a doubt, was he had to find out what this woman knew and get the hell away from her before it was too late—too late for what—he didn’t know.