on the fringes of human societies, emulating or enjoying mortal ways…or a careful facsimile. Almost every clan had carefully laid laws and beliefs about how far its members could go when it came to dealings with human beings.
Time had not cut the Nightwalkers’ links with either moon or sun. Errors and enemies had severely thinned out the ranks of all of the different clans in one way or another, and yet they survived—quiet, unknown to mortals for the most part, and searching for ways to find harmony in a rapidly changing world. But the world had changed before, and would change again, and there would always be the Nightwalkers to dance beneath the moon and sleep behind the sun.
“You have not come to visit in a great while, Gideon,” the Vampire observed in the capricious way of his people, no longer wishing to wait for the Demon to come around on his own time. “I had not expected to see you.”
Gideon lifted his cool, silver eyes from the delicacy of the rare zebra’s milk he had been swirling idly in his glass. The exotic milk, and others like it, was a Demon’s alcohol. It was proof that though Nightwalkers greatly resembled humans, usually very handsome and appreciable ones, there were distinct differences in their chemistries and physiologies. These distinctive differences would set them apart as supernatural beings to the common eye, should they decide to flaunt them.
But the Nightwalkers used great care here. Human beings could become overzealous at even the smallest hint of myth or mystery. It was in their nature to fear that which was more powerful than themselves, a failing that would not change until they matured as a species.
Regardless of the fact that he himself boasted unusually riveting features, the Vampire was struck, as he always was, with the drilling effect of the Demon’s molten mercury eyes. Gideon’s facial appearance, agelessly aristocratic, showed nothing of his having existed for a more than a millennium, but those eyes most certainly did. Since Demons also tended toward a swarthy complexion, looking perpetually tanned, it magnified the startling effect of Gideon’s gaze.
The Ancient Demon also had hair of incredibly pristine silver, long enough to touch his collarbone and tied back with a thin strip of tanned leather. In humans, this coloring would be a sign of age, but the Vampire knew Gideon had been born with his hair color, and, in spite of it, would never look a day over the age of thirty-five. Perhaps a little closer to forty when one took those aged eyes into account.
“If you have felt slighted in any way, Damien, I extend my apologies,” the Demon said with distant manners, his rich voice filling the echoing places of the large room.
Damien dismissed the idea with a click of his tongue and the brushing wave of an elegant, long-fingered hand.
“We are creatures of the ages, Gideon. We have long since learned to not feel slighted when one or the other of us goes into seclusion for whatever reason.” Damien’s indigo eyes narrowed on the Demon seated across from him. “But I admit that I am curious as to the motivation for your visit after all this time.”
“I am afraid it is not as social as I might have wished it to be,” Gideon said. “I am here to serve you warning.”
“Warn me?” Damien cocked a gracefully arched brow at the Demon.
“Yes. As the most Ancient of my race, to the most Ancient of yours.”
Damien acknowledged the reverence of Gideon’s distinction with a graceful inclination of his head.
“Despite the vast differences in our races, Gideon, you and I have always found much in common with one another.”
“And it is a commonality that brings me to your door now. A common enemy.”
This revelation made the Vampire’s spine straighten with sudden tension.
“Necromancers.” It wasn’t a question. They had both been alive too long not to know what was of import to one another. “Damn,” Damien hissed, suddenly standing and pacing the floor of his cavernous parlor. “I should have known. I should have sensed something was amiss!”
“How do you see that?” Gideon asked, one brow lifting inquisitively.
“Gerard has gone missing. I had thought he might have just gone to ground, as my people do from time to time, but Gerard had just roused from a century-long sleep, so I thought it odd he would return so quickly.”
“It is still possible that is all that has happened.”
“Possible,” the Vampire agreed, “but he is not the only one to go missing, and you know as well as I do that it is unlikely to be coincidence. Have you any idea how many we are to contend with this time?” The ancient Vampire stilled his stride, his hands curling into fists and his fierce eyes flaring with his obvious contempt for the odious human magic-users who had plagued the Nightwalker races for centuries. “How foolish I was to hope that, since there had been no necromancers for this last century, we had seen the last of them. It is embarrassing to my intelligence to speak of it even now.”
“You have been no more or less foolish than the rest of us,” Gideon said darkly. “I am the most ridiculous of them all.”
The Demon was silent for a long heartbeat, and Damien’s supernatural senses hummed sharply with subconscious awareness of the Demon’s disturbed thoughts. Out of respect, however, Damien would never think of scanning Gideon in order to obtain those thoughts.
“Along with the return of these necromancers,” Gideon continued, his perfectly pitched voice as even and unaffected by emotions as ever, “we have discovered that Druids are yet in existence.”
“Druids?”
Now that truly surprised Damien. There had been no Druids for the space of an entire millennium. Their reemergence would have been thought a thousand times less likely than this distressing news of necromancers. Damien was well aware that the Demons and the Druids had once, long ago, been engaged in a terrible war, with history recording that the Demons had eradicated the entire Druid race.
“How do you come by this information?” Damien asked curiously.
“I have met them. They are hybrids, partially of Druidic descent, partially human. Apparently Druids hid themselves among humans all those centuries ago, in order to escape their Demon hunters.”
“And bred with them,” Damien added in sudden understanding. “And they are pure enough to have Druidic abilities, even after all this time?”
“Purity…” Gideon’s lips twisted with the sensation of irony that flooded him. “Apparently, purity is less powerful than this particular fusion of races. There are only two active Druids at this time, both of whom are under Demon protection, and they are greatly coveted.” The Demon inclined his head slightly. “For the most part.”
“I have yet to find a culture of perfect uniformity in any matter. It is to be expected. At least they are not met with hostility.”
“The war is long forgotten. The oldest of us who might hold grudges are all perished, save myself, and I have grown well beyond such childish impulses.”
“No doubt,” Damien agreed without wit.
“The first Druid is the mate of our Enforcer, the other the mate of the Enforcer’s youngest brother. The first female…She is powerful in unexpected ways. Ways that I am not at liberty to discuss at this time. Her sibling is awakening to her abilities
