The Darkest Secret (4 page)

Her chest contracted at the sight of it, both an agony and a blessing. He was damaged, but he was alive. Would he be grateful for that, though? He might never be able to fight again.

Didn't matter. She had to save him.

Biggest problem: she couldn't carry him. He was too heavy. And he certainly couldn't walk. She didn't have a medical degree, but she'd bet a fortune that half the bones in his body were broken. Still. She couldn't leave him behind, either.

She studied him more intently, praying for a solution. Instead, what she found had her gasping in outrage. Those
bastards!
Of all the cruel things they'd done, this was the worst. They'd branded him. Etched a jagged-winged butterfly—the mark of their demons—into his calf. Just to taunt him.

“I'll make them pay, baby.” Her hands coiled into tight fists, ready to strike. “I swear it.”

At the sound of her voice, he shifted, angling toward her. He even tried to reach out, the muscles in his forearm bunching with the strain. The action proved to be too much for him, and the arm hung uselessly. A second later, the thrashing started up again.

Cooing, Haidee eased beside him and smoothed away the hair sticking to his brow, just as she knew he liked. The first moment of contact, she experienced a jolt of
undiluted heat. The ice that was her constant companion, a part of who and what she was, cracked. Droplets melted, dripping. Instantly Micah calmed, his sweat drying as if he'd absorbed her deepest chill.

Nothing like that had ever happened before, and the sensation disconcerted her. A side effect of what had been done to him, perhaps?

Bastards,
she thought again, her molars gnashing together. In this life or the next—and she was always given a “next”—she
would
punish them.

Spiderwebs suddenly wove in front of her eyes, gossamer threads laced with a shot of fatigue. Determined, she swept them away. She couldn't deteriorate. Not now. Micah needed her.

Haidee?

His voice startled her, but she quickly recovered. “I'm here, baby. I'm here.”

A soft sigh echoed, a whisper of contentment. The breathy sound stroked her—even though his mouth had never moved and his lips had never parted. Impossible. Right?

“Micah? How are you talking to me?”

Sweet, sweet, Haidee.

Again, his mouth hadn't moved, but again, she'd heard him. And she knew she wasn't imagining his voice. She couldn't be. She'd heard him before ever entering the room.

That could only mean… Her eyes widened in astonishment. He was speaking inside her mind. Had been speaking inside her mind the entire time. That was new for them, too, and far more disconcerting than the heat.

How was he doing it? How could the Lords have caused this?

Reason it out later.
“I'm going to look for weapons, okay? Something, anything.” Could she even stand? Her
muscles were vibrating, her veins filling with sludge. “And then I'm going to find a way—”

No! Don't leave.
There was a panicked pause.
Need you. Please.

“I won't leave the room, I swear, not without you, but I have to—”

No! No, no, no!
Babbling now, his body tensing.
You have to stay.

“Okay, baby, okay. I'm here. I'll stay.” Soft, gentle, the promise left her before she could consider the consequences. Not that they would matter. She would rather hand herself over to Defeat, gift wrapped on a silver platter, than cause this man any more grief. “I won't budge from this spot. Promise.”

Need you,
he said again, barely audible this time.

“You've got me. You've always got me.” She stretched out, mindful of his injuries, and curled herself around his fragile frame, offering what comfort she could. She knew what it was like to suffer alone. She didn't want that for him. Ever.

Perhaps this was even a blessing in disguise. Micah probably wouldn't survive his wounds if he left the bed anytime soon. And this way, when the demons returned—and they
would
return, they wouldn't leave her for long—she would be here to fight them, to keep them from hurting him even more.

Yeah, they'd strike back and probably kill her. And yeah, she gagged, thinking of what would happen to her after that death, a fate so much worse than being stabbed, shot, or even burned alive. All of which she'd endured before.

She'd told herself she wouldn't consider what happened after she died, but she didn't stop herself this time. Not even when fear swept through her, consuming her, chilling her.

If she managed to kill any of the Lords, they would be eternally lost, but she would be reformed, returned to the age she was now, minus any good memories she'd built of this lifetime, consumed only with the bad, with the hate. It was an agonizing process that made her scream and beg and pray for an eternal death of her own.

A process that had taught her to avoid death at all costs. But this time…she would die willingly, eagerly, taking as many Lords as she could with her. And then,
then
she could return for the rest of them.

Then she could avenge Micah.

A
MUN BLINKED OPEN HIS EYES
. Or tried to. The action proved difficult, since his lashes felt as if they'd been glued together. And maybe they had been. If one of his friends had punked him, he was going to retaliate. With scissors. He kept tugging and finally managed to separate top from bottom. Immediately his eyeballs burned and watered, every thing around him seemingly smeared with Vaseline.

Worse, the light seeping in from the only window still managed to lance his retinas like blade-tipped lasers. He turned his head away from the reflective glass and studied his surroundings as best he could.

He frowned—and damn, that hurt, tugging and splitting multiple cuts on his lips. He was in his own bedroom, but…there was a hole in the wall. A hole that led into the chamber next door. A hole he hadn't made, and to his knowledge, his friends hadn't, either. He liked to think they would have asked his permission before
redesigning
his room like that.

How was he here, anyway?

Last thing he remembered, he'd been deep inside hell, fire crackling all around him as he fought evil spirits and basically got the shit kicked out of both his body and his mind. Demon thoughts and human memories had bombarded him, like bombs going off inside his head, and they—

Were still there, he realized, frown deepening. The dark
thoughts and memories were still there, but though they were churning, agitated, they remained at a distance, as if afraid to gain his attention. Why?

A feminine moan stroked his ears, shocking him into concentrating.

Amun stiffened, his attention shifting again, this time landing on his mattress. Or what should have been mattress. Beside him was a woman. A very beautiful woman who was curled on her side, facing him, her warm breath caressing him. One of her arms was bent over his stomach, as if she couldn't bear to let him go, with her hand resting over his heart. Monitoring the beat?

That arm was tattooed from wrist to shoulder, completely sleeving her. He saw faces—human—each one glowing with life and love. Numbers, too. And dates, maybe? Though, if so, some of those dates were from
way
back. There were also names: Micah, Viola, Skye. And phrases:
Darkness always loses to light
and
You have loved and been loved.

He knew her. Somehow he knew her. How—

The answer slid into place. Haidee, the one from his visions, or whatever they'd been. The little girl he'd yearned to comfort, and the woman he'd longed to touch. She was here.

How was she here?

He lifted his hand to smooth the pale hair plastered on her cheeks, and his muscle went death match on his bone, both aching in protest. Damn. What the hell was wrong with him?

As carefully as he was able, he moved his arm closer to his face, every inch an unsteady milestone, but not stopping until he had a clear look. Seeing the ruined flesh, the knotted muscle, he wanted to curse.

He'd been chained, maybe tortured. By Hunters?
Had they tortured the girl, and his friends had rescued her, too?

As rage sparked inside him at the thought of her mistreatment, his gaze returned to her. She hadn't moved, was still sleeping so peacefully. Dark circles marred the delicate tissue under her eyes. There were a few smudges of dirt lining her cheeks and a bruise on the underside of her jaw. Signs of wear and tear, but not torture. The rage muted to a low simmer.

She's fine. And you'll defend her.
Or rather, he would defend her until she healed and he had to send her on her way. He wasn't safe to be around anymore. Not for long.

For now, though, she's yours.

Suddenly she jolted upright, her gaze swinging left and right. “Who said that?” Without waiting for a reply, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She raced to the window.

What was she doing?
Haidee,
he mentally tsked,
you shouldn't be running around like that. You need time to mend.

As if she'd heard the thought, she spun around and faced him. Eyes of the sweetest pearl-gray widened as they studied him from top to bottom. “Oh, baby. You're getting better. Thank God!”

Baby. She'd called him baby. The first endearment ever to be directed at him, and his ears soaked it up like nectar from the heavens.

“I didn't mean to fall asleep. I'm so sorry.” She tripped back to his side. “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”

I don't think so.
Both of his femurs were cracked, if not broken entirely. He recognized the heavy ache underneath the muscle. Besides that, he was home. He didn't want to leave.

“Okay, okay. We'll think of another way, then.” Even as
she spoke, she scanned the room a second time. “I thought I'd have to fight them from the bed, but they must not have come back.” She offered him a fleeting smile. Fleeting, but like a ray of sunshine all the same. “Their mistake.”

He blinked. That was the second time she'd—correctly—responded to something he hadn't spoken aloud.
You…hear me?

“Yes. I know, I know. It's weird.” That gaze never stopped scanning. For weapons? An escape route? “I was surprised, too. I don't know how it's happening, but I'm grateful. If I hadn't heard you from next door, I would have left without you.”

No one had ever heard him like that. No one. He'd always been the one to know what others were thinking, and he found he was…uncomfortable with this new development.

How was she doing it? Could she hear
everything?
All the secrets floating through his head? Could she even hear his whimpering demon? What about the others, the new ones who liked to scream? Or could she only hear what he projected at her?

“Can you still not speak?” she asked gently.

Test time. He allowed the answer to form in his mind, but he kept a firm mental hold on it.

“Can you?” she insisted. She reached out and traced a fingertip along the seam of his lips, careful, so careful not to hurt him. The you've-just-reached-the-freezer-section coolness of her skin delighted him.

She hadn't heard, he realized, even as he shivered at her silken touch. Such a surreal moment. She acted as if she knew him…liked him. Baby, he thought, dazed all over again.

No. I still can't talk.
He pushed the words at her, watching for the minutest reaction.

An angry sigh escaped her, and the corner of her lip
curled in disgust. “Those bastards. Did they do something to your voice box?” Bastards?
No.
She'd heard that time. Which meant there
were
limits. Thank the gods. No one, especially such an innocent human, should have to listen to the evil inside his head. No one, especially such a fragile female, could survive its gloom. Even now, Amun wasn't sure
he
could.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked. “How you got here?”

He shook his head, slow, measured, trying not to open up any more wounds. Problem was, he was utterly covered in abrasions. The smallest action tugged too-tight skin and split scabs.

“Okay, then.” Her next sigh was sorrowful. Her hand remained on him, as if she couldn't bear to sever contact. “I'll tell you what I know.”

He nodded to encourage her, winced.

“Be still, baby,” she said, all concerned mother hen and determined commando. “Just listen, okay, and try not to panic.” She drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it. “The Lords of the Underworld have us. We're in a structure on top of a hill. Their fortress in Buda, maybe? I didn't see any landmarks to verify my suspicions. Though why they'd risk bringing us here, I don't know. Last I heard, this was where they were keeping two of the artifacts. You think they'd want us as far away from those as possible.”

The artifacts. There were four, and each was needed to locate, and thereby destroy, Pandora's box, saving him and his friends from certain death. Besides decapitation and other violent demises, that box was the only thing that could separate man from demon, wiping man from existence and unleashing the then-crazed demons on an unsuspecting world. This woman knew two of the artifacts were here—the All-Seeing Eye and the Cage of
Compulsion—yet she expected the Lords to be
upset
that Amun, a Lord himself, was near them.

She didn't know he was a Lord, he realized. She thought he was a…Hunter?

Like…her? All that disgust, all that anger directed at the Lords…the notion seemed likely. But, if she knew him, why didn't she know who—what—he was? And if she
was
a Hunter, why would his friends have placed her inside his room?

His gaze skidded to the hole in the wall. Maybe his friends didn't know she was here. But…

She thought she knew him, and he definitely recognized her. At least somewhat. He knew her name. Haidee. Could picture her face softened by sleep, so lovely. He knew they'd met somewhere, interacted in some way, but not where or when.

For once, his demon wasn't spewing out answers.

This was so damn confusing, and his weakened condition wasn't helping. Maybe she had tricked him into thinking they'd met, so he'd be more inclined to help
her
. But again, how? Why? The artifacts? Would anyone except a Hunter be after them?

His stomach twisted into little knots. There was only one way to find out the truth about this beautiful woman whose presence alone both muddled and cleared his brain. That way was dangerous, the possible consequences severe.

He didn't want to go that route, but he didn't feel he had any other choice. Normally he could read the thoughts of those around him; so far, he'd heard none of hers, despite the fact that she could hear his. Therefore, he needed to deepen the connection between them, push past any mental shields she might possess and peek into her mind, glimpse her memories.

Amun would be careful. He wouldn't let his demon wipe her brain clean—the biggest complication of all. Secrets
liked to play, to steal memories and leave the victims with nothing but static. Amun would pull away the moment the fiend tried to do so. Unless she proved to be a Hunter, of course; then all bets were off.

Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew he'd feel, Amun lifted his arms. Gods, the sharp lance, the burn, worse than he'd expected. When he'd reached high enough, he allowed his hands to fall onto Haidee's shoulders.

“Stop whatever you're doing,” she admonished. “You're hurting yourself.”

Just that small action caused him to moan and groan inside his head.
Need…a moment. Must…

“Must? What do you need, baby? Tell me, and I'll take care of it.”

Baby, again. She'd “take care” of it, of him, as if she cared. Truly cared. He couldn't soften, no matter how much he liked the way she treated him.
Touch your…temples,
he said, guilt suddenly flooding him. He'd just requested her aid for her possible downfall.

Did she have any idea what he could do?

“You getting kinky on me?” she asked with a chuckle. She probably meant to distract him from his pain. She did, just not the way she'd intended. Her jest had his gaze fastening on her lips, imagining the thrust of her tongue inside his mouth.

His body reacted, blood heating, pooling between his legs. Damn it!
Just…need…temples.

“Okay, okay. I'll help you.”

No, she didn't know. Her fingers wrapped around his wrists, so cool, so welcome—so steady—and lifted without any hesitation. No questions about his motives, his intentions. She trusted him absolutely. When his hands reached her temples, she flattened her palms, pushing his closer, providing skin-to-skin contact.

“Like this?”

Yes.
Such faith.
Too
much. He told himself he was disgusted by that, not delighted. It was a trick to distract him, surely.

Her lashes fluttered closed, and she nibbled on her lush bottom lip. Such straight, white teeth. Once again his body reacted. He wanted those teeth on him…lower…moving up and down on his shaft. He wanted her hands reaching out, tugging at his balls. He wanted her tongue flicking over the slit of his erection, tasting.

I need to get laid,
he told himself darkly.

The corner of Haidee's lips quirked. “Do you now? I'm invited, I hope,” she said with husky entreaty.

Shit. She'd heard. And she wanted to join him. Wanted him deep inside her, rocking them both to satisfaction.
Don't think about that now.
He'd forget he needed to learn about her and simply drag her on top of him. Besides, she could be lying, purposely distracting him as he'd suspected.

“I won't if you won't,” she said with a warm chuckle.

What?

“Think about having sex.”

Damn it. He had to stop talking to himself. She heard every unshielded thought.

How did his friends stand him? He constantly read their minds, knew their every private—and mostly pornographic—contemplation. They rarely chastised him, however, and never made him feel like a nuisance. He'd always figured they didn't care. They must have found a way to hide their true feelings from his demon, though. No way they
liked
his ability.

He owed everyone in this house an apology.

Amun forced his mind to quiet and his own lashes to close. He'd done this a thousand times before, the process as ingrained as breathing. He'd done it for Sabin, his leader. For their cause. He blanked his mind and darkness
enveloped him, then he concentrated on his senses. Her skin, cool and soft. Her scent, so earthy. He could hear the rasp of her next exhalation…focused on the chilly breath wafting over him…allowed his demon to reach out…

Colors exploded, chasing away the black. Suddenly images began to take shape. He saw a sky of the brightest azure, a lush green meadow, untouched by time. A scattering of silver stones. Trees missing their leaves, but with sleek, twisted branches. Two little girls running and laughing, playing chase, both wearing lovely pink linen robes, flaxen curls streaming behind them. Sisters. Both possessed hearts practically bursting with love.