Because of his steadfast denial to follow any orders (even those of Artemis) and his lack of regard for anyone other than himself, he is kept in isolation in Alaska where his activity is seriously limited and closely monitored. There are many who fear he will one day unleash his powers against the humans as well as the Daimons.

Click here to read an excerpt from his book:
Dance With The Devil

Zarek makes his debut in Night Embrace:

Tonight though, Mike Callahan who was an Dorian Squire (meaning he didn’t have a particular Dark-Hunter he served) was bringing in Zarek from Alaska. 

Nick had heard a lot of rumors through the online Squire bulletin boards about Zarek of Moesia being psychotic. He wasn’t sure how accurate that information was, but in a few minutes he’d find out first hand.

“Hey Mike,” he said, radioing the pilot. “How bad is he?”

Mike snorted. “Let me put it to you this way. If you have a gun, unload it.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, you’re going to shoot this asshole which will only piss him off more. For once, I actually pity the Daimons.”

That didn’t sound encouraging.

“What? He’s worse than Acheron?”

“Nick, take my word for it. You ain’t never seen anything like this one. I now know why Artemis and Ash locked him in Alaska. What I can’t figure out is why on earth Artemis wanted him moved into a large population. My opinion, it’s like tossing a grenade on a gas station.”

Oh yeah, his gut was knotted now.

Nick waited while the helicopter came in and landed on the private airstrip Acheron used when he visited. At one end of the field was what appeared to be a dilapidated barn. In actuality, it was a modified, modern hangar that was complete with an alarm system and doors so thick it could double as a bomb shelter. That barn currently housed Acheron’s twenty-eight million dollar MH-60K Sikorsky helicopter that Acheron used to transport himself and his custom-built Buell motorcycle. 

Ash had arrived in style the day before. 

Now Zarek. 

Yup, Mardi Gras was starting to look scary.

Nick got out of the car and locked his radio in the trunk, then stood to the side of the field until Mike cut the motor and the blades stopped spinning. 

When everything quit moving, the lean, middle-aged Squire got out of the helicopter and removed his helmet. Mike had never been overly friendly, but there was a look to him tonight that said he was thoroughly disgusted and extremely irritable.

“I don’t envy you this,” Mike said as he tossed his helmet back into his seat.

“C’mon, stop messing with me, Mike. He can’t be that bad.”

Nick changed his mind as soon as Mike slid open the passenger door and he caught his first look at Zarek of Moesia.

Zarek emerged from the opening like Lucifer from his deepest pit, with a chip on his shoulder so large, Nick was amazed they had managed to get the helicopter off the ground.

Dressed all in black, Zarek wore jeans, Harley biker boots, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He seemed completely oblivious to the cold damp air that made up a New Orleans’s winter night. He had a long silver sword earring in his left ear, with a hilt made of a skull and cross bones. 

Zarek stepped out with a sneer that was made even more sinister by his black goatee. His straight black hair brushed his shoulders and his jet eyes were filled with contempt and hatred. Nick was used to bad attitude, hell he’d been weaned onto it. But he’d never met a man who had one worse than Zarek.

He reminded Nick of the murderers his father had brought home. Cold. Unfeeling. Lethal. Whenever Zarek looked at you, you got the feeling he was measuring you for your coffin size.

Zarek braced his left hand against the side of the chopper, and leaned back in long enough to grab a large black duffle bag. Nick stared at Zarek’s huge hand in awe. Each finger, including his thumb, was covered with a long, articulated silver claw and tipped with a point so sharp that Nick knew it must be Zarek’s weapon of choice. 
This man liked to get down and dirty with his kills.

Shit, for Zarek, being called psychotic would be a step up.

As he walked away from the chopper, Zarek hissed at Mike, baring his fangs.

For once, Mike didn’t comment. That told Nick more than anything else just how vicious Zarek was. He’d never known Mike to take something like that and not make a smart-mouth comment.

“Well if you’re through taunting poor Mike are you ready to go?”

Nick regretted those words as soon as Zarek looked at him. The glacial, hostile glare chilled him even more than the frigid winds. “You give me any lip, little boy, and there won’t be enough left of you to run through a sieve.”

Nick didn’t scare easily, but those words were said with such growling sincerity that he actually took a step back and for once kept his big mouth shut.

Without another word, Zarek walked with a predator’s deadly grace toward the car with his lips curled into a permanent snarl. He pitched his duffle bag into the floorboard, then got in and slammed the car door shut. 

In that moment, Nick seriously regretted buying a car with no backseat. 
Then again, given Zarek’s vicious, unpredictable nature, Nick would much rather have him beside him than behind him.

Mike let out a relieved breath and clapped him on the back. “May God take a liking to you, kid. I damn sure wouldn’t want to be in your shoes tonight.” 

Nick had never been overly religious. But as he walked to his anthracite Jag, he found his religion all over again.

He got in and started the car, then headed toward the city. They were supposed to meet up with Talon, Valerius and Acheron in about half an hour at Jackson Square. Damn, this was going to be the longest drive of his life. 

He pushed the accelerator down even more--warp speed would suit him just fine. 

As he drove, Nick couldn’t keep his gaze from repeatedly wandering over to Zarek’s left hand, covered with the silver claws, that was splayed out over his left knee. 

The silence was deafening and stagnant, and was relieved only by Zarek flexing his claws against the black denim. After a time, the metallic scratching sound really started to get on Nick’s nerves. He turned on the radio.

“You like rock?” Nick asked.

The radio shut off immediately. 

Nick swallowed as he realized one of Zarek’s Dark-Hunter powers was telekinesis. 

“Little boy, I’m not your friend. I’m not your Dark-Hunter and I’m not your friggin’ date. You only speak to me when I ask you a question. Otherwise you keep your mouth shut, your eyes off me, and you might live long enough to get me to the French Quarter.”

Nick gripped the wheel. Okay, now that pissed him off, but not to the point it made him suicidal. Only an absolute fool would tangle with a man this lethal. 

Zarek flipped open his duffel bag and pulled out a credit card sized MP3 player and a pair of dark sunglasses. He put on his headphones and sunglasses, then leaned his head back against the seat. Nick heard Nazareth’s Hair of the Dog playing in a whisper from the headphones. The true antisocial anthem. How incredibly apropos.
When the car radio unexpectedly flipped back on, Nick actually jumped.

Oh yeah, Zarek was one psychotic SOB and the sooner he got him out his car and to Acheron the happier Nick would be.