The Darkest Night (15 page)

For the second time in two days, Aeron was sitting on the couch in the entertainment room, warriors surrounding him. He rarely came here, preferring instead to seek his own entertainment outside. From the outskirts of the city and the safety of the shadows, he’d secretly watch the
mortals interact and wonder why they weren’t more concerned about their weaknesses.

Now, he couldn’t seem to get away from this chamber.

Paris had returned and was watching another movie. Reyes was pounding away at the punching bag, Torin was leaning against the corner at the far end of the room and Lucien was shooting pool, having barricaded his bedroom door with timber and nails to liberate himself from guard duty. Only Maddox was absent, but Aeron was glad for that.

The man was too unpredictable today, not to mention too wrapped up in his human. Aeron snorted. Not him. Never him. While he liked to study that foolish species, he had never joined them. Even the pretty blonde had not tempted him. Humans were too weak, and his demon constantly urged him to destroy them in ways that mirrored their own sins.

A rapist would lose his cock. A wife-beater would lose his hands. More and more, Aeron
liked
what he did, liked meting out his own form of vengeance. Which was why he was so close to the edge.

The girl, though…

When they had returned from the city, he had deposited her in Lucien’s bedroom, her curves imprinted in his mind but his body completely unaffected. She did nothing for him. None of those puny humans did. They were too easily broken, too easily scared. Too easily taken from those who loved them. But he still did not want to hurt her.

“How do you know they are Hunters?” Lucien asked him. His features were strained, his wall of calm showing signs of crumbling as he nailed the eight ball into the corner pocket.

“They had guns and knives strapped to their bodies, and
I saw the mark of infinity on one of their wrists.” Branding themselves was foolish, if you asked him. Like putting a neon sign around their necks that read
Shoot here.

“How many?”

“Six.”

“Well, this sucks.” Paris dropped his head in his hands. He wore a pair of unfastened jeans and nothing else. Aeron had spotted him in the city, pounding into a woman in a shadowy corner of a building, and had told him to finish quickly and hurry home. Promiscuity must have taken the request to heart. “Where there’s six, there’s six more and where there’s six more and so on and so on.”

“Damned Hunters,” Reyes snarled, hitting the bag with more force.

Pain was in a dark mood. Darker than usual, Aeron qualified. “I do not wish to pack up and leave this time. This is our home. We have done nothing wrong.” Yet. “If they’ve come to fight, I say we fight them.”

“They haven’t challenged us.” Lucien scrubbed two fingers over his jaw, a habit of his. “Why?”

“They came up the hill. That is challenge enough. And what about Maddox’s girl? The Hunters could be waiting for her signal.”

“She’s more a complication now than ever,” Torin muttered. “I still wonder what role the gods are playing in this.”

Aeron plucked at the silver loop in his eyebrow. “We’ll have to tell Maddox.”

Torin shook his head. “It won’t matter to him. You’ve seen the way he is with her.”

“Yes.” And he was still disgusted by it. What kind of warrior turned on his friends for a woman who would ultimately betray him?

Lucien laid down his cue and tossed a ball into the air. Catch. Toss. Catch. “We’ll be watching and we’ll let the Hunters up the hill this time. I don’t want innocents killed during the battle.”

Reyes gave the punching bag a mean right. “I don’t want Hunters here. Not in our home. Let’s parade Maddox’s human around town, using
their
Bait as
our
Bait. They’ll follow us, meaning to save her and attack. We’ll draw them into a trap, away from the townspeople, and obliterate them.”

Everyone regarded him sharply. “If we’re seen,” Aeron said, “the city will turn on us. It will be Greece all over again.”

“They won’t see,” Reyes insisted. “Torin can monitor the area with his cameras and radio us to let us know the moment someone approaches.”

Aeron thought about it, then nodded in approval. The Hunters would be distracted while trying to save Ashlyn, leaving the warriors to pick them off one by one. More important, Aeron wouldn’t have to clean their blood from the walls.

He glanced at Lucien, who looked resigned. “Very well. We will use the girl.”

Paris rubbed the back of his neck and Aeron thought he meant to protest. Surprisingly, he didn’t. “I guess all we have to do now is figure out how to keep Maddox from handing us our asses when he finds out.”

D
ANIKA PEERED AT HER
mother, her sister and her grandmother. Their familiar faces regarded her with hope and curiosity, dread and fear. She was the youngest, but she’d somehow become their leader.

“What happened?” Her mother wrung her hands together. “What did they do to you?”

What should she tell them? Danika doubted they’d believe the truth: that she’d performed CPR, helped save a woman from dying and then found herself being flown—flown!—into the city by a winged man, where she gathered her purse, listened to Aeron as he commanded another warrior to go home—a warrior who had had a fortyish woman pinned against a wall, screwing her brains out—and then come back here. All in about thirty minutes. And to top it all off, there was the voice that had mysteriously popped into her head earlier this morning, but she didn’t even want to
think
about that.

She’d lived through all of it, and yet it was unbelievable even to her. Besides, the truth would scare them. And they were scared enough. “I think they’ll let us go soon,” she lied.

Grandma Mallory started crying, great sobs of relief. Ginger, Danika’s older sister, collapsed on the bed with a soft “Thank God.” Only her mother remained unmoving.

“Did they hurt you, baby?” Tears filled her eyes. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I can take it.”

“No, they didn’t,” she answered honestly.

“You still have to tell us what happened.” Her mom gripped her hands and squeezed. “Okay? All right? I’ve been going crazy, imagining all kinds of things.”

Realizing they would actually worry more if she left them in the dark, she finally told them what had happened. The warriors had terrified her, yes. And the dark-eyed one had even managed to—God, she hated to admit this—awaken something inside her with that intense stare of his, causing her to plead for his help.

A plea he’d ignored, the bastard.

But she had to concede that the men had surprised her as much as they’d frightened her. After all, the black-haired man with the strange purple eyes had treated the sick
woman, Ashlyn, like a treasure. He’d held her gently. He hadn’t seemed bothered by the vomit in the bowl and the smell in the room. His concern had only been for Ashlyn.

Oh, to have a man treat
her
like that.

She couldn’t imagine the hard-looking Reyes softening so much. Or caressing so gently, even while making love. Instantly an image of him, naked and straining, slithered into her mind. With a shiver, she forced a blanket of black over the image. She’d reached for him, begged help from him, and he’d denied her. She would not forget that Reyes wasn’t a man to rely on.

“What if these…
things
don’t let us go?” her mom asked on a choked sob. “What if they decide to kill us like they’ve been talking about?”

Stay strong. Don’t let them see those same fears reflected in you.
“They promised to let us live if I helped cure that woman, and I did.”

“Men lie all the time,” her sister said, sitting up. Ginger was twenty-nine years old and an aerobics instructor. Usually calm and reserved. None of them had ever been in a situation like this, and none of them really knew how to handle it.

They’d led normal lives until now, getting up every morning and going to work, carefree and unconcerned, deceived into believing that nothing bad would happen to them. Before this, the worst thing Danika had ever dealt with was the death of her grandpa two months ago. He’d been a loving man with a zest for life, and she’d felt his loss to the marrow of her bones. They all had.
Did.

They’d thought, hoped, vacationing here would help dull the grief and make them feel closer to a man they’d never see again. Granddad had loved it here, had constantly talked about the magical two weeks he’d spent here before marrying Grandma.

He had never mentioned a group of homicidal warriors with wings.

“We’ve searched the room over and over again,” her grandma said. Her weathered face was more lined than usual. “The only way out is the front door or the window, and we can’t open either one.”

“Why do they want to hurt us?” Ginger cried. Her blue gaze was watery, her pale hair damp from her many bouts of tears. Red splotches stained her skin from forehead to chin.

None of them were pretty criers.

“They didn’t say.” Danika sighed. God, what a nightmare. Right before they’d been taken, she and her family had toured the castle district. She’d never seen anything so lovely as the multihued lights shining from hundreds of years of majestic architecture. She’d yearned for her paints, her canvas, wanting to capture the sights.

And that’s exactly what she’d planned to do at the hotel. Paint.

But the moment she’d stepped inside her room, a man—a large, scarred man with dark hair and oddly colored eyes—had accosted her. He’d smelled of flowers, she remembered, the scent somehow comforting her even in the midst of the greatest panic attack of her life. The winged man had been there, too, only his wings had been hidden underneath a T-shirt.

How easily they’d subdued her. Shame still filled her at the thought. Four women against two men, and still the women had lost, had hardly put up a fight. They’d been knocked out and carted here, awakening in this very room.

“Maybe we should try to seduce a key from one of them,” Ginger whispered to her.

The dark-skinned, black-eyed warrior immediately
pushed his way into Danika’s thoughts. Every time she’d seen him, he’d been bleeding. Clumsy? He hadn’t seemed so, but…Perhaps she should have offered to “doctor” his wounds. Maybe he would have been nicer to her. Maybe he would have helped her when she’d asked.

Maybe he would have kissed her.

The thought alone excited her, damn it. “No woman should have to barter her body to escape a prison,” she said, angry at herself. The image of Reyes swam before her eyes again, and she found herself adding, “But I’ll think about it.”

M
ADDOX HELD
A
SHLYN
for several hours as she napped, hopefully reviving body and soul. Time was his enemy, midnight fast sneaking up on him, but he didn’t wake her. Not even when he stripped her of her shoes and sweater, revealing delicate feet and a T-shirt that clung to her round breasts, his blood burning with arousal.

Lunch had long since come and gone. He was hungry, but he wanted Ashlyn more than he wanted food. Holding her…hearing her melodious, sleep-rumbling sighs…heaven.

Her breasts, smashed against his side, were unbelievably soft. One of her arms was draped over his stomach, cleaving to him in a tight embrace, as if she feared, even in sleep, that he might slip away.

More at peace than he had been in centuries, he was not surprised when his eyelids began to grow heavy and his mind began to drift.

Awaken, warrior. I have returned,
a voice said in his mind. An all-too-familiar voice. Now
this
surprised him.

Maddox stiffened, eyelids springing open as fury speared him, completely chasing away the sleep-fog. Gaze sharp, he quickly searched the room. He saw no one lurking about, no suspicious shadow.

He would rather deal with an intruder, a Hunter, than
this Titan who had promised to help Ashlyn and then had abandoned her. Would the being now attempt to rip her from his arms?

Where is my thanks, warrior?

He felt a slight hum of power, the air thickening, twisting. Ashlyn released a breathy sigh and he forced himself to relax. He wanted her to wake up, but not until the god was gone. If she were to anger the being, even unintentionally, she could be hurt.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

I shouldn’t have to tell you,
was the annoyed reply.

Maddox popped his jaw, doing his best to remain at peace. No violence, no raging. How cruel the Titan was to make him guess. “What do you want from me…great one?”

You promised me anything. Everything.

“I promised you anything you wanted if you saved the girl. You did not save her,” he said, even as his mind screamed,
Do not provoke the god!
“We did.”

And yet she is alive.

“But you did nothing.” He pressed his lips together. Antagonizing a god was not wise. But he feared what he would be asked to do if he agreed with the being, knowing it would be payment for aid that had not been given.

Are you sure?
The voice was silky now, daring him to contradict.

Was he sure? Danika had helped with her strange pounding on Ashlyn’s chest, then by breathing life into her lungs. Reyes and Aeron, too, had done their part. Maddox had held her, cleaned her and comforted her.

What could this being have done?
Does it matter?
he thought then. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, resigned.

There was a satisfied purr.
Tell your friends to visit Kerepesi Cemetery at midnight. They are to take no weapons. They are to tell no one what they are doing. They are to come alone, and I will visit them. I will show them exactly who I am.

“At midnight, we will be otherwise occupied.”

Your death-curse. Yes, I know. Lucien and Reyes have my permission to arrive late.

“But—”

No buts. Midnight. Unarmed.

Maddox blinked. That did not make sense. Why demand the men arrive unarmed? A god could crush them no matter how many weapons were strapped to their bodies.

Will you tell them?

His eyes narrowed. Either this was not a god or the being meant to lead them into an ambush. He already thought the Titans cruel, so he would not doubt that they were capable of such an act. But either way, he was damned. If this
was
a god, Maddox would be punished, for he could not bring himself to ask his friends to approach a potentially dangerous situation weaponless. And if this
wasn’t
a god, that meant someone else—some
thing
else—had the power to infiltrate his thoughts.

At his side, Ashlyn smacked her lips and rolled to her back. One hand was draped over her brow and the other was curled on her stomach. Close to waking up, he realized, but fighting it.

Will you tell them?
the voice demanded again, too eager now, too uncertain.

In that moment, Maddox knew. This wasn’t a god. Couldn’t be. An all-powerful being could simply whisk the Lords to the cemetery. An all-powerful being wouldn’t
betray a single shred of doubt. He ground his teeth together.

Do not make me ask again.

“Of course I will tell them,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. He would tell them—just not what the being wanted him to tell.

Until tonight, then,
the voice said, practically humming with satisfaction.

Until we learn the truth.
Of course, Maddox did not voice the thought aloud. When there was no response, no reaction, he grinned slowly. The being could push its words into his mind, but could not hear his thoughts. Good. Very, very good.

The current of power suddenly vanished from the air.

Probabilities spun in Maddox’s mind. Perhaps the being could hear dialogue from a distance. Perhaps, like Maddox and the others, the speaker was an immortal with special abilities.

An immortal Hunter?

Careful not to disturb Ashlyn, Maddox crept from the bed and made his way through the stronghold until he found Lucien. The warrior sat on the couch in the entertainment room, alone, silent, a glass of scotch in his hand.

Maddox told his friend what had happened and Lucien paled, even his scars blanching. “Hunters. Titans. Women. Now unnamed beings with unidentified powers? When does it end?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Every minute that ticks by, it seems something new arises.” And to think, only yesterday Maddox had complained about the monotony of life.

“We have several hours, at least, to decide what to do about this. I need to think before we tell the others. Too much is happening at once, too many changes.”

Maddox nodded. “You know where to find me when
you need me.” He returned to his room, glad for the reprieve. He wasn’t ready to leave Ashlyn.

She lay exactly as he’d left her, a vision in his barren chamber. He climbed in beside her, accidentally jostling the mattress.

“Maddox,” she murmured.

The single word was sleep-rich, a rumbling moan that fired his blood as surely as a caress from her delicate fingers would. With his renewed desire, Violence once again made itself known, its mood dark and hungry. Needing…something. Blood? Pain? Screams? He did not know, couldn’t tell.
I will control myself. I will not harm this woman.

Ashlyn rubbed her cheek against his side and purred like a contented kitten. “Maddox?”

Violence purred in response.

He gripped the sheets, the cool material shredding under his ministrations. What was Violence trying to force him to do? Its desires were hazy. Sweat beaded over Maddox’s skin. His jaw clenched so tightly he felt the tendons in his neck strain.

“Maddox?” Ashlyn repeated. This time, she sounded concerned. She eased up, those glorious honey tresses cascading down her shoulders. Rays of sunlight streamed in from the window and bathed her in a bright amber halo. Her eyes swept over him. “What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak past the knot in his throat.

Concern visibly intensifying, she leaned over and reached under his shirt, running her palms over his bare chest. The touch was exhilarating, consuming. Always there was that energy between them. He’d never felt anything like it.

But the spirit liked it too, he realized. It roared; not
with fury but with arousal.
More…
The hazy needs of before built again, finally making themselves known. Pleasure and passion. Ecstasy and exquisite longing.

“How are you feeling?” Maddox asked, the lump receding. Amazing, to crave something, someone, without feeling a deeper urge to hurt.

“Better.”

“I am glad.” He remained in place for a long while, letting Ashlyn pet his chest and reveling in the sensations. Soft, sweet, an erotic dream he never wanted to end. He vibrated, or maybe the spirit did.
Dangerous.
He’d strip her and take her in a matter of minutes if he didn’t stop her.

“Your face looks better,” she said. “Not as battered.”

“I heal quickly. Come.” He rolled from the bed and held out one hand.

Her tawny gaze traveled from his face to his hand, then back to his face, searching for some sort of answer. “You change moods faster than anyone I’ve ever met,” she grumbled, but she tentatively reached out, as if she couldn’t stop herself. Their fingers intertwined.

Another sizzle.

She obviously felt it, as well, gasping at first contact.

Shaking with the need to claim her, he tugged her to her feet. She swayed and tightened her grip on him. “Where are we going?”

To Paradise, if he had his way. “Shower.” He didn’t wait for her response, but shepherded her toward the bathroom.

Surprisingly, she didn’t protest. “I must look terrible.” She smoothed a hand down her hair and grimaced. “Ugh. Bedhead.”

“You could never look terrible.”

Her cheeks flushed to a rosy pink. “Yes, I could. Just…I don’t know. Avert your eyes until I’m clean or something.”

“I’ve tried to keep my gaze from you. Believe me.” But his eyes always sought her of their own accord, pulled by a force far greater than himself.

They reached the bathroom and he released her. An acute sense of loss filled him.
Almost time. Just a little longer.

His back to her, he twisted the knobs in the tub. Water burst from the nozzle, cold at first, but gradually heating. Soon steam drifted through the bathroom, curling toward the ceiling, condensing, then falling like tiny drops of rain.

Steeling himself, he faced Ashlyn.

“I’m sorry about your room. I’ll, uh, clean it later,” she said, gazing down at her bare feet. The nails weren’t polished, but the toes were charming, square-tipped.

“I’ll clean it,” he told her gruffly.

Her gaze snapped to his. “No. I’d rather you didn’t. I’m embarrassed enough. I mean, I threw up in front of you. Several times. Maybe even on you. Anything that—oh God, this is mortifying. Anything that landed on the floor is my responsibility.”

“My fault. My room. I will clean.” He didn’t like the image of her doing manual labor. He wanted her in bed, resting. And naked. Yes, naked. Perhaps not resting, then, but licking and biting him.

His cock jumped in response.

“Take off your clothes.” His voice was huskier than he’d intended.

She blinked up at him, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. “Wh-what?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“Right now?” she squeaked.

His brow furrowed. “Do you normally shower with them on?”

“No, but I normally shower alone.”

“Not today.” He felt as if he’d waited forever for this moment. Ashlyn. Naked. His to do with as he pleased, her curves begging to be explored.

“Why not today?” she asked, the words cracked and pleading.

“Because.” Stubborn, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Maddox—”

“Ashlyn. Take off your clothes. They are dirty.”

Behind him, the water continued to beat against the white tile. In front of him, Ashlyn continued to stare, as though flummoxed. “No,” she said. She backed away toward the exit. One step, two.

He leaned forward, his nose inching toward hers. He didn’t kiss her, though. Didn’t touch her. He simply reached behind her and flicked the door shut, blocking her escape.

The soft
clink
echoed off the walls, and she gulped. Paled.

He sighed. He didn’t want her scared, he wanted her aroused. “Do not be frightened.”

“I-I’m not.”

He didn’t believe her, didn’t know what thoughts spun inside her mind. Didn’t know why she resisted something she’d seemed to want only minutes ago. So he said, “How do you feel? Were you lying when you told me you were better?”

To lie or not to lie, Ashlyn thought. If she told him she was still sick, she knew he’d leave and allow her to shower alone. If she told him she really was healed, he’d insist on watching her strip. Something she’d never done for any man, much less a stranger. An immortal one, at that.

He’s not really a stranger anymore. He’s held you and slept beside you, cared for you and cleaned you.
All of that
was true, but she didn’t know the little things about him. His likes and dislikes or his relationship history, which must be pretty extensive, old as he was. She didn’t know if he simply wanted today with her, or something more.

So many times, in dozens of languages, she’d heard men tell a woman what she wanted to hear, then abandon her later. She’d heard them cheat, unconcerned about the partner waiting for them at home. She’d heard pretty lies and even blatant force.

How would Maddox, a self-professed demon, treat her body? How would he treat her once the loving was done?

As scary as the prospect of being with him was, however, she had to admit it was also exciting. Thrilling. There was intent desire in Maddox’s eyes, a violet fire as fierce as it was hot.

No one had ever looked at her like that.

She was the weird girl, the freak. The crazy girl who couldn’t have a normal conversation because she was too busy listening to other people talk.
Take a chance, Darrow. Dare to live for once. You know you want to.

She gazed up at Maddox. Steam swirled around him, giving him a dreamlike, ghostly aura. His face was ruthless but sexy, his hair cut in choppy black ribbons that fell to his chin. She’d always wanted to have a man, a relationship. She’d always been curious about the passion she’d heard so much about. But she’d also always wanted a man who would love her, who wouldn’t leave her when the passion-fire burned out.

“How do you feel, Ashlyn?” he repeated.

Every nerve ending in her body reached for him, pleading for attention. “Fine,” she finally admitted. “I feel fine. I didn’t lie.”