If he could just get them wrapped… around…

He tapped the wood with his bare foot. The bark was cold and brittle as it scraped against the soft topside of his foot. He cupped his ankle around the wood.

Just a little… bit…

More.

Fang snarled at him, “You are such an asshole.”

Well, so much for creativity.

Vane focused his attention on his own rapid heartbeat and refused to hear Fang’s insults.

Upside down, he wrapped one leg around the limb and expelled his breath. Vane growled in relief as the weight was mostly removed from his throbbing, bloodied wrists. He panted from it while Fang continued his unheard tirade.

The limb creaked dangerously.

Vane held his breath again, terrified of moving lest he cause the branch to snap in two and send him plummeting into the putrid, green swamp water below.

Suddenly, the gators thrashed about in the water, then sped away.

“Oh, shit,” Vane hissed.

That was not a good sign.

There were only two things he knew of that could make the gators leave. One was for either Talon or Acheron to rein them in. But since Talon was off in the French Quarter saving the world and not in the swamp tonight that seemed highly unlikely. As for Acheron, he had no idea where he’d gotten off to.

The other far less appealing option was Daimons-those who were the walking dead, damned to kill in order to sustain their artificially elongated lives. The only thing they prided themselves on killing more than humans were Katagaria Were-Hunters. Since the Were-Hunters’ lives spanned centuries and they possessed magical abilities, their souls could sustain a Daimon ten times longer than the average human’s.

Even more impressive, once a Were-Hunter’s soul was claimed, his or her magical abilities were absorbed into the Daimons’ bodies where they could use those powers against others.

It was a special gift to be a “nubby” treat for the undead.

There was only one reason for the Daimons to be here. Only one way for them to be able to find him and Fang in this isolated swamp where Daimons didn’t tread without cause. Someone had offered the two of them up as a sacrifice so that the Daimons would leave their Katagaria pack alone.

And there was no doubt in his mind who had made that call.

“Damn you!” Vane snarled out into the darkness, knowing his father couldn’t hear him. But he needed to vent anyway.

“What did I do to you?” Fang asked indignantly. “Besides getting you killed anyway.”

“Not you,” Vane said as he struggled to get his other leg up enough so that he could free his hands.

Something leapt up from the swamp into the tree above him.

Vane twisted his body to see the tall, thin Daimon standing just above, looking down at him with an amused gleam in his hungry eyes.

Dressed all in black, the blond Daimon clucked his tongue at him. “You should be happy to see us, wolf. After all, we only want to free you.”

“Go to hell!” Vane snarled.

The Daimon laughed.

Fang howled as a Daimon sank fangs into his shoulder. He tried to head-butt him away. It was worthless. They swarmed over him like ants while he had no way to stop them. He tried to kick and bite… anything to attack them.

Nothing worked.

He was powerless to protect himself.

He was powerless to protect Vane. That knowledge washed over him like ice. He’d never known this feeling of utter helplessness. He was a fighter. A soldier.

How could he not be able to protect the very things he loved most? Anya was gone and now Vane…

“Get the fuck off me!” he snarled at the Daimons, trying his best to get free.

They sank their fangs in deep, tearing at his flesh. The pain of it was unbearable. He felt like he was being eaten alive.

Vane looked to see a group of ten Daimons pulling Fang down from the tree. Damn it! His brother was a wolf. He didn’t know how to fight them in human form. At least not so long as Fang wore his collar.

Infuriated, Vane kicked his legs up. The limb broke instantly, sending him straight into the stagnant water below. He held his breath as the putrid, slimy taste of it invaded his head. He tried to kick himself to the surface, but couldn’t.

Not that it mattered. Someone grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to the surface.

As soon as his head was above the water, a Daimon sank his fangs into Vane’s bare shoulder. Growling in rage, Vane elbowed the Daimon in the ribs and used his own teeth to return the bite.

The Daimon shrieked and released him.

“This one has fight,” a female said as she made her way toward him. “He’ll be worth more sustenance than the other.”

Vane kicked her legs out from under her before she could grab him. He used her bobbing body as a springboard out of the water. Like any good wolf, his legs were strong enough to propel him from the water to one of the cypress knees nearby.

His dark wet hair hung in his face while his body throbbed from the fight and from the beating his pack had given him. Moonlight glinted off his wet, muscled body as he crouched with one hand on the old wooden knee that was silhouetted against the backdrop of swamp. Dark Spanish moss hung from the trees and wood that jutted out as the full moon, draped in clouds, reflected eerily in the black velvet waves of the water.

Like the animal he was, Vane watched his enemies closing rank around him. He wasn’t about to surrender himself or Fang to these bastards. He might not be dead, but he was every bit as damned as they were and even more pissed off at fate.

Lifting his hands to his mouth, Vane used his teeth to bite through the cord around his wrists and free his hands.

“You’ll pay for that,” a male Daimon said as he moved toward him.

His hands free, Vane backflipped from the stump into the water. He dove deep into the murky depths until he could break a piece of wood from a fallen tree that was buried there. He kicked his way back toward the area where Fang was being held down.

He came out of the water just beside his brother to find ten different Daimons feeding from Fang’s blood.

He kicked one back, seized another by the neck, and plunged his makeshift stake into the Daimon’s heart. The creature disintegrated immediately.

The others turned on him.

“Take a number,” Vane snarled at them. “There’s plenty of this to go around.”

The Daimon nearest him laughed. “Your powers are bound.”

“Tell it to the undertaker,” Vane said as he lunged for him. The Daimon jumped back, but not far enough. Used to fighting humans, the Daimon didn’t take into account that Vane was physically able to leap ten times as far.

Vane didn’t need his psychic powers. His animal strength was enough to finish this. He stabbed the Daimon and turned to face the others as the Daimon evaporated.

They rushed him at once, but it didn’t work. Half of a Daimon’s power was the ability to strike without warning and to cause their victim to panic.

That would work if, as a cousin to the Daimons, Vane hadn’t been taught that strategy from the cradle. There was nothing about them that made him panic.

All their tactic did was make him dispassionate and determined.

And in the end, that would make him victorious.

Vane ripped through two more with his stake while Fang remained unmoving in the water. His panic started to swell, but he forced it down.

Staying calm was the only way to win a fight.

One of the Daimons caught him with a blast that sent him spiraling through the water. Vane collided with a stump and groaned at the pain that exploded down his back.

Out of habit, he lashed back with his own powers only to feel the collar tighten and shock him. He cursed at the new pain, then ignored it.

Getting up, he charged at the two males who were heading for his brother.

“Give up already,” one of the Daimons snarled.