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down her back, but pieces of it had escaped to curl becomingly around her pale face. Her features were angelic and delicate. If not for her carriage and self-assuredness, she would have appeared fragile.
    And yet there was nothing fragile about her. Dangereuse could more than take care of herself and well he knew it. As one of the newer Dark-Hunters, she was only a couple of hundred years old and had died while trying to save the noble half of her family from the guillotine in France during their revolution. It had been a monumental task she had set for herself, and had she not been betrayed, she would have succeeded.
    Not to mention that the woman had the most kissable mouth he'd ever seen. Full and lush, her lips were the kind that a man dreamed of tasting at night. That mouth beckoned him now with temptation and the promise of pure unadulterated heaven.
    She also smelled of sweet magnolias and woman.
    It had been over two hundred years since he'd last had the pleasure of a woman's body. And it was all he could do not to bend his head and bury his face against her soft, tender neck and inhale the scent of her. Feel the softness of her skin against his hungry lips as he tasted the supple flesh there.
    Oh, to have her lithe body pressed up against his, preferably while they were both naked…
    But then—given her first reaction to his presence—he didn't think she'd react much better to being mauled by him.
    Pity.
    Danger swallowed in sudden trepidation as she looked at the man before her. He was just as Stryker had foretold… right down to the white cashmere coat.
    It's all true. All of it.
    He was Acheron's personal destroyer who had come to kill them for questioning Acheron's authority. She felt the sudden need to cross herself, but caught herself just in time. The last thing she needed to do was to let him know she feared him.
    Her extremely superstitious and Catholic mother had always told her as a child that the devil wore the face of an angel. In this case, it was most certainly true. The man before her was without a doubt one of the choicest examples of his gender. His dark blond hair held golden highlights and brushed the top of his collar. He wore it in a casual style that was swept back from a perfectly masculine face. His well-sculpted cheeks were covered with two days' growth of whiskers that added a savage, fierce look to him.
    Like hers, his eyes were the midnight-black of a Dark-Hunter and yet she sensed that he wasn't one of them. For one thing, he didn't drain her Dark-Hunter abilities.
    There was an aura of extreme power and lethal danger emanating from him. It rippled and sizzled in the air around them and made the hair on the back of her neck rise.
    "What are you doing here?" she asked, forcing herself not to betray anything other than nonchalance. Although the earlier dagger throw had most likely tipped him off that she wasn't exactly ambivalent to his presence.
    Yeah, that had been a really smart move. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes at her swiftness in betraying her knowledge of him. She only hoped she didn't live or die to regret it.
    His smile was wicked and disturbing. "You invited me."
    Was that a play on Ash's being a Daimon? No Daimon could enter someone's home without an invitation.
    Or was he just making an idle comment?
    Either way, she wasn't ready to welcome him… not yet. "I invited
Ash
here. Not you. I don't even know who you are."
    He didn't hesitate to answer. "Alexion." His voice was deep and well cultured. There was only the faintest trace of some foreign accent, but she didn't know what nationality it came from.
    "Alexion… ?" she prompted, wondering what his surname was.
    He wasn't forthcoming with it. "Just Alexion."
    Keller rose from his chair and joined them. "Ash sent him here for a couple of weeks to check into what you were saying about a Rogue Dark-Hunter."
    She arched a brow at Keller. "Is that what Alexion told you?"
    He tensed as if he realized he might