Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that you may recognize from King Arthur. Nor do I own any that you may recognize from the Dark Hunter Series by Sherrilyn Kenyon. I am merely playing with them for a time. I promise to return them only a little used and abused. Nothing of monetary value is exchanging hands with the writing of this. So please don't sue me, I have no money. Nada, zippo, zilch.

Present Day 2005

Tristan's almost black eyes were everywhere as he carefully stepped over the brown, muddy puddle crossing a dirty Dean Street. He really had no desire to get his thick black boots water logged this late in the night. Once wet, they took forever to dry. And he'd kept them dry this long.

Not an easy thing to do in London. Right now it was May, in London. And is was raining

Tristan remembered a conversation set years in the past.

'If it's not raining, it's snowing. If it's not snowing, it's foggy.' Gawain had said

'And that's in summer.' Lancelot had replied.

Thinking so much of his past had definitely made the present harder to bear. More and more lately he had been thinking of times when he was human. Of his life with his wife and family. And his extended family that was made up of fellow countrymen that he served with. Men that he had bled for. Men he had given his life for.

Before he had been brought back the first time.

He gave his head a shake, sending water spraying out and away from his head. Those were memories that were best left in the past.

A prickling feeling on the back of his neck started. His right hand twitching. A Daimon was nearby. His body telling him before his mind that his intended foe was nearby.

He was headed down Dean Street, the object of his attention standing underneath the streetlight. The Daimon stood, a cocky as shit smile on his face. Waiting for the Dark Hunter to approach him. The stupid git was just standing there, flexing his hands into fists, turning it's neck twice.

Tristan knew it would be over quickly. That he was sure of. It always was. Seemed as though the soul suckers weren't much of a challenge for him. Though they tended to travel in packs, this one seemed to be alone. Good thing, he was tired and wanted to go to bed.

Silently, he pulled his sword from it's sheath at his back, lights glinting off the highly polished blade. Work like this was getting to be more of a bother lately, not much of a challenge.

Seeing Tristan, the blonde giant lunged, to which the scout stepped easily aside. His sword catching the Daimon in the chest. Smiling with satisfaction, Tristan stood aside, waiting. These creatures were so stupid, they'd charge at anything.

Sure enough, the Daimon charged again, this time blindly in his apparent rage. Screaming, with his fangs bared, he ran toward Tristan.

Tristan waited. When the blonde Daimon was within swords length, he swung the great blade in an arc. When the creature kept going for a few more paces, he stuck his sword through it's back, the tip coming out the front of it's chest, smack in the center of the inkblot spot all the Daimons carried.

Tristan pulled his blade out, the squelching of the sticky blood sounding sweet to his ears.

With a gurgled grunt, the Daimon stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to Tristan, his eyes going wider as a thin red line appeared around his neck. He opened his mouth, fully intending to curse at the Dark Hunter that stood before him, but no words came out.

Tristan, with a fully feral smile, walked calmly to his enemy. Taking his finger, he pushed it into the Daimon's forehead, smiling in satisfaction when the head slid cleanly off the neck. The head making a sickening thud as it hit the ground.

To Tristan, it sounded like a watermelon falling on concrete. And one of the reasons he no longer liked that particular fruit.

0o0o0o

"Please... Please don't hurt me." The woman was begging and from the sounds she was making, she had been doing so for a good bit of time. Tristan could hear not only fear in her voice, but the wet gurgle of someone choking on their own tears.

He had quickened his pace in the direction of his flat, catching the scent of another Daimon and a human. Hearing the woman scream had sent his hand again to tingling.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet sheep. It's not going to hurt one bit." The responding voice nearly purred.

The Daimon didn't get to finish what he obviously intended to do with the human woman because Tristan had his sword out again, running him through the back. Exactly as he had the Daimon only minutes before.

0o0o0o

"Oh, thank you." She ran after Tristan, huffing as she ran to catch up to his longer strides. He shook his head with near amusement as he heard her high heeled shoes catching on a crack in the sidewalk. She scuffed a bit before regaining her balance and setting off behind him again.

"Thank you." She repeated, only to have a grunt as an answer. The woman was undaunted by the silence, running faster and finally catching up to him. Making the mistake of catching hold of his coat.

Tristan didn't like anyone touching him. Anyone.

He spun, nearly pulling her off balance onto her knees. "Don't thank me." He had came up as he instinctively made a grab for his sword. Putting it down again when he realized that this was a human woman, not some Daimon.

The woman stood up, only just a bit shaky in the knees. Tristan was thinking she was either very courageous or very stupid.

He settled on the latter. He watched as the woman moved toward him, her small fingers opening the top two buttons on her see-through blouse. 'Oh great. I save the life a whore.' She was smiling and her eyes had taken on that smokey, hazed look. Tristan merely stood still and watched as she swayed those hips walking to him.

The woman, who had the blackest hair Tristan had ever seen on a woman, only stood to about his chin. Her thin, no make that boney, fingers seeming to find their way to his chest. Waves of revulsion spread through him faster than fire.

As politely as he could, Tristan pulled her hands away from him. "I'm not interested, lady."

Undaunted, the black haired woman put her fingers on his cheek, running the tips of her forefinger over his tattoos. She moved with Tristan as he stepped back. "Are you sure? I wouldn't charge you."

Just a bit peeved, Tristan lowered his head, making sure she could see his black eyes. A smirk of amusement curving his thin lips as she jumped back in alarm. "I am not interested." He turned away, only to be caught again by his sleeve.

"I'd make it worth your while."

Tristan whirled so fast that the woman had no chance of getting away. He caught her by the throat, not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough so she couldn't get away. He sneered, the pointed canines clearly showing, his eyes narrowed. "I said..."

The prostitute's eyes got bigger. Tristan noticing they were a muddy brown. "What the hell are you?"

A rumble came up from his chest and would have been a laugh had Tristan not caught wind of the cut low on her neck. Not far from the tops of her breast. The sound turned into a growl as he pulled her closer, a hand around her upper arm, holding her tight. The hand around her throat held tighter, his long thumb pushing her chin up and away from him. His nostrils flaring as they took in that distinctive metallic smell of blood.

Tristan towered above her, giving her ample view of his eyes and his fangs. "I can be your worst nightmare if I chose to be." For added effect he nearly smacked his lips.

Hell, she had offered and it wasn't like anybody would miss her come morning... He pulled her closer.

"Please... Don't..."

He bent his head down to the woman's neck, his tongue running up from the exposed part of her breast to lick off the blood from the cut just above. He let his sharp teeth graze her skin as he moved his way up to her ear. "I don't take your kind." He whispered and pushed her away. Hard. Not bothering to look at her again as she fell. The splash of the water puddle loud in his ears as he crossed the street.

He even managed to tune out her sobbing as she must have pulled herself up and ran down the street.

0o0o0o

Thinking about the black haired woman, Tristan pulled the collar of his black leather coat further up his neck, trying his damned best to keep the dampness of Britain out of his body.

He knew it wouldn't work. It never did.

Again he was out walking in the cold rain. His hair, body and insides were chilled with the cold. Even the sheath to his sword chafed along his back. What he wouldn't give to be somewhere warm, just this once.

At least he wasn't in Alaska, with Zarek.

Shaking his head, he stuck the small earpiece to his I-Pod in his ear, adjusting it to make it snug. Pushing the pad, Disturbed's 'Down With the Sickness' came blaring out of the machine at top volume.

Music was a way for him to re-focus, get his mind where it needed to be. Or to take him to places and memories he tried to remember.

Looking up into the cloudy sky, he pictured the moon's position. Guessing that it was about an hour till sunrise. An hour to get safely home before the sun rose. No problem, he wasn't that far away.

Tristan had no need to carry a watch, he instinctly knew the time. Had all his life. And nowadays, he knew exactly when the sun rose or set.

He silently made his way down Wardour Street to his third floor walk-up. Nearly deep in the heart of Soho.

Tristan hated Soho with a passion like no other. It was busy and crowded. Tourists came and went nearly all year. There were too many people and too may lights. It was stifling. It was dirty and smelly.

Tristan smiled a sad smile, he almost would rather be in Alaska. He knew how to live in the wilderness, enjoyed the peace and quiet of it all. Without the noise, without the people.

No, Tristan hated it here in Soho.

And that bitch, Artemis, knew it. That's why she had kept him here for the past three hundred years. Made him guard this overly populated area. Made him stay in Britain where she knew he'd rather not be.

But, tomorrow night, he was headed out of London. 'Going to America.' Ash had said.

Oh yeah, he was real thrilled about that.

0o0o0o

Entering his small flat, Tristan dropped his keys and I-Pod on the tall phone table next to the door. Turning around, he made sure he locked all eight of the deadbolt locks before turning towards his tiny kitchen.

His flat wasn't very big, it didn't need to be. Just someplace to sleep and sometimes eat. His kitchen was just large enough to have a small table with two chairs, on which his laptop computer and cell phone sat.

He gave a small grimace, he had forgotten to take the phone with him. It hadn't mattered, no one hardly bothered to call him. A quick check of the caller ID told him that only Spurius had called early in the night, probably right after he had left on patrol. He didn't have a squire at his beck and call and yesterday had been the first time in years since Acheron had bothered to call. No, he hadn't needed the thing.

And most times, it suited him just fine.

After measuring coffee and checking in with the other Dark Hunters, Tristan's step was heavy with sudden tiredness as moved to his bathroom. As he did, he took off his boots and coat, letting them stay where they dropped. His dripping wet clothes soon followed.

'Good thing the floors are wood, wet carpet smells like wet goats.' Tristan thought as he walked the rest of the way to the bathroom naked, letting the heat of the room warm him. Stretching and cracking his neck as he moved.

Tristan turned the tap on high, letting the water get as hot as it would go. He inhaled deeply, he could smell the coffee as it brewed. Coffee was one of the only drinks that he truly wished he had way back when he was human. It would have helped him stay awake on those long night traveling and scouting in the woods. The gawa beans could only do so much back then.

Stepping into the shower, he let out a hiss as the hot water touched his back. It didn't take him long to get used to it though, the hot water easing the tightened muscles in his back. Warming the coldness out of his bones.

Lifting his face, Tristan took a bit of water into his mouth, rinsing. Spitting the water back out, his tongue ran along his sharp canines. Years of practice had taught him not to cut his tongue on the pointed teeth. They were as sharp as Tristan's knife blades.

His stomach let out a growl. The hunger started low in his stomach and rose. He figured he had another night, maybe two before he'd have to feed that particular hunger again.

It wasn't something Tristan particularly wanted to do, it was something he needed to do.

Tristan's hunger wasn't for food, it was for something completely different. He leaned against the shower's tiled wall, willing the sensation to pass.

0o0o0o

Tristan had just lay down on top of the chocolate brown down comforter that covered the massive bed when his cell phone began to ring. Having to pull his body to the edge took effort, he was so sleepy. A quick maneuver of his hand prevented the ringing phone from falling on the hard wood floor.

"What do you want now?" He fairly snarled into the phone as soon as he flipped it open.

"That's so pleasant of you, old man."

"Isn't it? What do you want?" A quick look at the clock told him that it was 0610 here. That meant it was only 0110 am in Spurius' neck of the woods, Richmond, Virginia.

Besides Zarek, Spurius or Rex as he was called in the states, was the only Dark-Hunter that Tristan tolerated. It was one of those love and hate relationships that generally ended in a bashed face on either side whenever the two met. Rex was nearly as old as Tristan was, only about 200 or so years younger. The man was born and raised in Ancient Rome. Only recently being transferred to the states after his rather tragic love affair with a human woman.

Rex's love for this woman ultimately ended in her death by some renegade Daimons. Causing the Roman to go off the deep end for a while. Acheron had lobbied on his behalf along with Tristan. And though Tristan's word didn't hold much weight with any of the governing council, Acheron's did and his life was spared on the condition that Spurius go to America and never set foot in Rome again.

The voice on the other end laughed. "Just thought I'd let you know that I located them."

This caught Tristan's attention and he sat up in the bed, the goose down feeling cool on his naked skin. "Really? Where?"

"Here in the States. New York I believe."

"Any way that I can get them?"

Tristan could almost hear Rex as the Hunter shook his head, forgetting again that action didn't travel and he needed to talk. He smiled as Rex seemed to remember. "Sorry old man. Don't think you can. It's owned by a private collector."

There was silence as Tristan waited for the Roman to continue. When it was obvious that he wasn't going to without prodding, he spoke. "Well? Got a name?"

"Someone by the name of Joachim Du... something."

A familiar sort of nagging pulled in the back of his mind. The name stirring memories. Again he shook his tired head. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks. I certainly was possible.

0o0o0o

It was about two hours after sunrise before Tristan made it to sleep. He had spent about an hour talking to Spurius, getting all the scoop and relevant information on his fellow Dark-Hunters. The sun outside just starting to shine bright and burn off some of the dampness of the previous night. But, looking around, you wouldn't know it was daytime, the heavy drapes and wooden shutters kept any sunlight from entering the small flat. Absolutely no light was let in through the windows.

It was a pity though, Tristan missed sunlight in the worst way.

A/N: I've re-worked the first two chapters of this story. So if any of you out there read this, let me know what you think of the re-do.