The Darkest Secret (9 page)

“That's when she thought she could escape with him,” Strider forced himself to say. Because deep down, he
still
didn't like the thought of hurting her. He lost more IQ points every day, he decided. “This time, she'll know there's no way she can free herself. She'll know she's helpless and needs to curry our favor.”

Torin's eyes widened. “You're actually voting to leave her be? A Hunter? What'd she stab you with? A magic wand laced with Prozac?”

“No, I'm not voting to leave her be.” Damn it! He had. “Fine. We'll break her hands.” He wasn't going to argue about her treatment. She deserved what she got, and he would just have to pacify himself with that knowledge.

“One other thing to consider,” Zacharel said. “Amun fought to reach her, and all of my warriors were needed to subdue him. If you hurt her, I think he will object. And if he objects, I think many in this household will be injured. But again, I give the choice to you.”

How magnanimous of him, Strider thought dryly. Zacharel had a gift for ripping your rationale apart with only a few words. But…Torin couldn't force the issue now.

Still. Prick that he was, Strider wasn't exactly ready to back down yet, no matter that he was getting what he'd originally wanted. Zacharel irritated him, and part of him
hoped to irritate the guy right back. At least garner
some
kind of reaction.

“If we decided we wanted it done, would you be the one to do the breaking?”

“Of course,” Zacharel said easily.

Strider blinked at him. Not the answer he'd expected. Feet shuffling, maybe. A little waffling, for sure. “But you're an angel. Aren't you supposed to be defenders of humanity or something?”

“She is not exactly human.”

“Then what is she?” The question whipped from him, his eagerness to know unparalleled.

“I do not have permission to tell you.”

The eagerness deflated like a balloon, and Strider gnawed the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snarling. When Lysander finally crawled his way out of wild Bianka's bed, Strider was going to have a long chat with him. He suspected daggers would be used between every word.

“We won't damage her,” Strider finally said. “And I have a few conditions. I have to be the one to escort her to Amun.” Just as soon as he could walk. He didn't like the thought of anyone else putting their hands on her. She was—not his. “Also, I want a camera in the room.” The words emerged harder, harsher. “We'll monitor what goes on twenty-five, eight.”

Torin nodded, his expression half satisfied, half steeped in guilt. “I'll have them placed and recording within the hour.”

There were cameras strategically hidden throughout the entire fortress just in case Hunters snuck past their gate and traps, but not in any of the bedrooms. They'd all agreed. If the enemy could bypass everything else and enter one of the rooms, the Lords deserved to die. Privacy was
that
important.

If Amun ever regained his senses completely, he'd be pissed as hell about the new cameras. But better his fury than his murder.

Zacharel straightened from the post. “I'll inform my men of what is to transpire.” With that, he turned with the fluid grace of a dancer and strode from the room.

A dancer? Seriously?

Strider's cheeks heated a whole hell of a lot more than before.

When Torin made no comment about his blush, he relaxed against his pillows. As a sigh left him, he realized how tense he'd been in the angel's presence. Now he scanned the bedroom, allowing the familiarity of his surroundings to comfort him further. His weapon collection decorated the walls, everything from ancient swords to modern-day firearms.

Only thing hanging on the wall that wasn't a weapon was the portrait just over the bed. No. Not true, he thought then. The portrait
was
a weapon, too. Of seduction. In it, Strider was utterly naked and whisking through the clouds like an avenging angel. He was holding a teddy bear in one hand and a stream of pink ribbons in the other.

Anya had given him the nearly life-size monstrosity as a joke. But the joke was on her. He loved the damn thing.

“Where are the others?” he finally asked. “The other day you told me they were out and about, but not where exactly. Or why. I've had a little time to think this through, and I realized they don't need to keep the artifacts out of the fortress anymore. The Hunters aren't swarming us like before. Word on the street is they vanished, which is bizarre, but Cronus says not to worry—and yeah, I talked to him, he just popped in the other day for no apparent reason—so I'm not worried. Which means you aren't,
either. Which means the boyz are away for a different reason. Right?”

Torin's sigh was an echo of his. “It's just too dangerous around here, what with the angels being demon assassins and Amun visiting the dark side. Aeron, Olivia, Legion, William and Gilly are the only ones still here. Not because I need help, but because they're too weak to leave. And well, Aeron has taken the blame for Amun's condition and refuses to leave him. Not that you've paid any of them a visit, you slacker.”

Gods, he was, wasn't he? “Thank you for shoving me down the shame spiral. How are they?”

“The guys are still recovering from Hell Week, and the girls are taking care of them. Well, except for Legion. She refuses to get out of bed.”

Aeron must be worried about her, too. Strider really should have checked on him. On all of them.
I'm a self-absorbed prick.

“The rest of the crew is spread out,” Torin said, “and I no longer have their locations. I told them not to tell me anymore, to just check in at least once a day so I'd know they were alive.”

“Why don't you want to know where they are?”

“With the little Hunter here, the less I know about them, the better.”

True. “So, any news? Gossip?”

“You want gossip, you've come to the right place, my man.” Some of the tension drained from Torin's features as well, and he rubbed his hands together. “Ashlyn's pregnant.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know, moron.”

“Yeah, but did she know she's carrying twins?”

“No shit?”

“No shit. A boy and a girl. Fire and ice, Olivia said.” Olivia, the angel. She wasn't like the assassins currently
living here, but a joy-bringer. Aeron's joy-bringer, in fact, and the girl did her job well. The somber bastard had never been so…smiley, for lack of a better word. It was straight up weird. “Can you imagine twin demon hellions running around this place?”

“No.” Strider had never spent any time with kids and wouldn't even know how to hold one. Or what to say to one. Or what to do when one vomited on his favorite sword. But damn if he didn't get a kick out of imagining his friends struggling to cope.

“Oh, and get this. Gideon married Scarlet, the keeper of Nightmares.”

“You're kidding.” Fickle Gideon? Married? Scarlet was gorgeous, yeah, and feisty as hell. Powerful, too. And Gideon had been a tad bit obsessed with her when she'd been locked in their dungeon. But marriage?

Everyone
in the fortress had lost IQ points, it seemed.

“He couldn't have waited until I got back to sign on for double occupancy?” Strider mumbled. “What a great friend.”

“
No one
was invited to the ceremony, if you catch my meaning.”

“Well, the decision to get hitched is gonna give him nightmares.” Strider snickered. “Get it? Nightmares?”

“Har, har. You're a borderline fucktard, you know that?”

“Hey, I'm not going to apologize for being on my A game. Why don't you step up to the plate and join me, Junior League?”

Torin ignored him. “It's weird, don't you think? Two demons hooking up?”

Strider peered at him, blinked. “I can't believe
you
just said that.”

“Why?”

“One word—Cameo. And you. Okay, so three words.”

Torin snapped his teeth at him. “Whatever. We were talking about Scarlet. Which brings me to more gossip. Turns out she's the only daughter of…wait for it… Rhea.”

What?
Rhea?
And he hadn't known? Strider had been
way
more self-involved than he'd realized. Rhea was queen of the gods, the estranged wife of Cronus, and the bitch helping Galen, keeper of the demon of Hope—and an all around asshole—leader of the Hunters. “How'd Gideon take the news?”

“Well, he tried to kill his mother-in-law.”

“Sweet. But such romantic gestures aside, our boys have gotta start picking their significant others with more care. Gwen is Galen's only kid, Scarlet is Rhea's. What's next?” A Hunter? A participant in Baden's killer?

Yes, he was a fucktard.

“I'll tell you what's next,” Torin said. “Lucifer's brother.”

“Come again.”

“Did no one tell you? William is related to Lucifer. And Lucifer is the devil, in case you didn't know.”

“Come
again
.”

The corners of Torin's lips quirked with amusement. “I know. Whacked out as hell, but kind of fitting.”

He wouldn't ask again. He wouldn't. “How?” Damn! The question escaped before he could stop it.

“Don't know. William refused to spill. Needless to say, things have been pretty festive around here. So, anyway. You're back, and you're kind of healthy, so I can ask the question I've been holding in for three days. Where the hell is the Cloak of Invisibility? I looked through your stuff, your room, but couldn't find it.”

Oh, shit. Now it was his turn to drop a news bomb. “About that…”

H
AIDEE PROWLED THE CONFINES
of her cell.

She had no idea how much time had passed since she'd been pushed inside. She was alone. Food and water had been brought to her only once. The fruits and nuts and crisp, clean water had somehow curbed her hunger completely, strengthening her in a way she couldn't explain.

Oh, and the food had been delivered by an angel—a freaking
angel
living in a demon's den. That still had her reeling. But she now knew beyond a doubt she was in the Budapest fortress. As they'd dragged her down here, she'd spotted wear and tear from a recent bombing. A bombing she hadn't been involved in, but one she'd heard all about.

Enough time had passed for Micah—“Amun,” Defeat had called him—to have suffered countless fates. Torture, relocation, even death. The thought of each had sent her into a near hysteric state. She'd clawed the walls until she had no nails left. She'd beaten the bars until her knuckles had cracked and swelled. She'd screamed for answers until her voice had fractured.

Now, in the silence, all she could do was think, one sentence echoing over and over again. Defeat had called him Amun.
Was
he Amun, a Lord? Or was he Micah, a Hunter?

He'd known her, shouted for her help. That had to mean he was Micah. But, on the flip side, he hadn't known any
thing else about her. Not their history, not their purpose. That had to mean he was Amun.

Argh! The back-and-forth, was he or wasn't he, was driving her as crazy as her confinement. Could he be a mix of both? Amun's demon stuffed into Micah's body? Because really, two men couldn't look that much alike. Could they?

No matter the answers, she wasn't leaving without him. Even though, deep down, a part of her suspected the worst. That two men could easily look alike—especially if powers beyond a human's comprehension were involved. That he was Amun, that he'd always been Amun. That Micah was someone else completely, out there somewhere, still searching for her, and she was simply trying to convince herself otherwise so she wouldn't feel guilty.

That kiss…something else she couldn't get out of her mind. Micah had never kissed her like that. Fiery, consuming. Necessary.

Despite the danger they had been in—
were
in—she would have allowed him to strip and penetrate her. She would have met him thrust for wild thrust, taking, giving,
claiming
. She would have clung to him, desperate for more, for everything.

Hell, she would have crawled inside him if she could have. She'd wanted them fused, never able to part. How crazy was that? A kiss had never affected her like that. Never. A
man
had never affected her like that.

Always before, she had remained detached. From everyone. Maybe because she'd known the people around her would die, while she would continue on, eternally brought back from the grave. Maybe because there was darkness inside her. So much darkness. A living entity, as real as the ice that flowed through her veins, a presence in the back of her mind, muted but always there, urging her to despise people, places, life, death. Anything, everything.

For the first time, she hadn't had to fight to feel or garner affection. She had looked at Amun—

That's how you think of him now? Amun?

Yes, she realized. Somehow he was Amun to her now. Micah didn't fit those fuller lips and wider shoulders. So, she had looked at Amun, and sensual awareness had sizzled inside her. Connecting them. She had heard his voice inside her head, and that sensual awareness had deepened.

And if he really was Amun, not Micah, she
should
feel guilty about what had happened between them. She should be horrified that she'd succumbed to her enemy. Should be devastated that she'd let him give her more than an explosive kiss; she'd let him lick between her legs, and she had loved it. Had been begging for more.

Guilt and horror were not what she felt, however. Well, not completely. She felt them, but she was still consumed by desire.

Forgetting the fact that Amun was the enemy, she wasn't a cheater. And yet, had he walked through her cell, she felt pretty certain she would have thrown herself into his arms.

She scrubbed a shaky hand down her face. What was happening to her common sense? Her well-honed self-preservation instincts?

Micah was the first boyfriend she'd allowed herself in centuries, and only because she had dreamed of him first. But she hadn't needed him, hadn't been lost without him. She paused and peered down at her tattooed arm. At his name, branded so deeply into her flesh.
M-i-c-a-h.
She traced the letters with a scabbed fingertip. There was no leap in her pulse, no hum of desire.

She thought the name Amun.

Goose bumps broke out over every inch of her skin. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly flooded with moisture.
See? Reaction. Always. And that wasn't good. Not good at all.

What if…what if she hadn't dreamed of Micah? What if she'd dreamed of Amun? Did that mean Amun was a bad memory trying to surface? Or, like the visions he had showed her of her past, was he something good?

Neither made sense, really. One, in the visions, she knew the man she saw was her key to happiness, to freedom. Two, how could a demon-possessed immortal, responsible for the travesty that was her life—and her parents' and sister's deaths—be something good?

She kicked back into motion, her sure strides eating up the distance from one cell wall to the other. A better question: How could a demon-possessed warrior be the one thing she craved? The one thing she didn't think she could live without?

Live. Without.
The words echoed through her mind, and she stumbled to another halt. Her stomach twisted, sharp little knots forming, cutting. No. No, no, no. She purposely kept her home and belongings sparse, her friendships casual. That way, she could pick up and leave without a moment's notice or regret.

She could live without him. She
could
. He was a mystery right now. A mystery she needed to solve. That was all.

Another complication sprouted. If the warrior she craved was Amun, he wouldn't want her when he discovered the truth about her. The fact that he'd kissed her meant he hadn't realized who she was and what she'd done to his friend, Baden. When he did, he would want to kill her, not pleasure her.

But he knew you were a Hunter. You told him.
Still. Easier to forgive a run-of-the-mill Hunter, she thought, than the Hunter who had helped behead his friend—and planned to do the same to all the others.

Footsteps suddenly resounded. Haidee swung around, facing the cell door. She tensed, waiting, dreading. A few seconds later, the blond, blue-eyed keeper of Defeat rounded the corner and approached her prison. Bile burned a path up her throat. His pretty features were devoid of emotion, but his skin was pale, the tracery of his veins evident.

Though her heartbeat sped up, thumping erratically, she didn't back away, wouldn't act the coward.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, just to taunt him. “Have a tummy ache?”

Both of his sandy brows arched into his hairline, his eyes glittering dangerously. His gaze perused her from top to bottom, purposely lingering at her breasts, between her legs. “I'm feeling like I can do anything I want with you.” Calmly yet brutally uttered, his threat clear.
“Anything.”

That wasn't the answer she'd expected, and she scowled at him. But then, she should have known he wouldn't simply endure her snide remarks. He always had to one-up her. So. Enough pleasantries.

“Where's the warrior?” she demanded. “The one I was with?”

“You mean Amun, keeper of the demon of Secrets?” So calm, so certain. “Or your boyfriend?”

Secrets, he'd said. Just as she'd suspected. The confirmation explained so much. The knots in her stomach twisted into themselves, sharpening further. Still, she wouldn't confirm or deny what she knew. “Maybe that's what you want me to believe. That he's masquerading as a Hunter, while in reality, he's really your friend.” The words croaked from her. “Or maybe you just want me to hate my own boyfriend. Maybe you want me to hurt him and afterward, you'll taunt me, laugh at me.”

“Now why would I want that, huh? If he's my friend, demon-possessed like me, yet I told you he wasn't, that he
was your man, you would do your best to watch over him. And I would want my friend watched over, wouldn't I?” Strider propped his shoulder against the bar, and though his head was turned, his hard gaze remained fixed on her. “But if he isn't, if he
is
your boyfriend, why would I give the pleasure of killing him to you, even for a joke?”

Her chin lifted a notch, her stubborn core refusing to be cowed. Despite his sound reasoning. “Why would you admit he was your friend, then? Thereby placing him in danger?”

“So I've admitted he's Amun, have I?”

No, he hadn't. He'd only questioned
her
thoughts on the matter, probably trying to confuse her. “I don't care who he is.” Either way, he belonged to
her
. That was a fact she couldn't argue, even with herself. “I just want to see him, make sure he's okay.”

“Want, want, want.” He tapped a finger against his chin. “Who said anything about giving you what you want?”

She popped her jaw, still refusing to show him emotion. “Why are you here, Defeat?”

“We'll get to that in a minute. First, I have some questions for you.”

“And I have every intention of answering them,” she said, sugar sweet.

“You will if you want to see your…man again.” The last was gritted, as if the prospect bothered him.

“You just told me I wouldn't get what I wanted.”

“No, I didn't. Think back. I asked you
who said you would.
”

True. Bastard. But would he honor his word? The Lords of the Underworld were not known as givers in her world. “After you just taunted me with never seeing him again, you expect me to believe you'll escort me back to his room if I give you answers you won't believe anyway?” Or bring Amun here, she thought, but didn't say the words aloud.
No reason to put ideas into his head if they weren't already there.

He shrugged. “You're right. I was merely taunting you. Can you blame me, though? You bring out the worst in me, and I struck back.”

She wanted to yell at him to continue but remained silent, waiting.

“So,” he prodded. “We gonna do this? Answers in exchange for a little sightseeing?”

“Yes,” she gritted out. She had no other recourse. He might be lying, but she was willing to risk Hunter secrets on the hope that he'd follow through. And that's what he would demand, she thought. Secrets. “Let's hammer out a few details before I start spewing info.
When
will you take me to him? A few years from now?” She wouldn't put such a trick past him.

A muscle ticked below his eye. “I'll take you immediately following our conversation.”

“As if you'll keep your word,” she said, raising her chin another notch. She might be willing to risk everything, but that didn't mean she would be stupid about it. The terms needed to be laid out flat, ironed and starched. Just in case. To do that, she would have to provoke him. Some things had to be offered without her prompting.

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits, the top and bottom lashes catching and twining. “Challenge me, then. Challenge me to keep it.”

Like that. Had she challenged him on her own, he would have punished her. “Is he even alive?” Even asking, she wanted to cry.
You
can
live without him,
she reminded herself. She just didn't want to.

Oh, God. He already meant
that
much to her? Despite who and what he might be? Despite how he would hate her?

“Yes,” Defeat said. “He is. Though his condition has worsened.”

Her heart thumped against her ribs. “How many questions? There has to be a limit.”

He gave another negligent shrug. “Five. And your answers had better be truthful.”

How will you know if they are or aren't?
she almost asked, just to taunt him as he'd taunted her, but she didn't. The outcome of this was too important. “All right. I—I challenge you to take me to see Micah—Amun—after I answer five questions honestly.” If he punished her for the challenge, anyway, it would be no more than she deserved for allowing him to trick her.

Defeat's pupils gobbled up his irises as he jerked his head once in a stiff nod. “I accept.” His hands fisted. “Satisfied?”

She'd seen that reaction before, recognized it as what he'd claimed. Acceptance. “I'm as satisfied as I can be in a place like this.”

Those pupils continued to grow, as if she'd said something provocative. And maybe she had—a virile man would see her words as an invitation to satisfy her physically, and this man was more virile and invitation-happy than most—but it had been unintentional. She wasn't attracted to Defeat. He was beautiful, yes, but he lacked Amun's intensity. She also wanted to throw up in her mouth a little every time she looked at him.

“What's your first question?” she demanded.

He didn't hesitate. “What the hell are you?”

She didn't pretend to misunderstand. “I'm human.”

Fast as lightning, he struck out, his fist pounding into the bar and rattling the very foundation of the cell. “Already you're lying. You can materialize weapons out of thin air. That's not something humans can do.”

She gave no reaction to his fury. “If I can, why haven't
I produced one since being here? And I promise you, I would have sliced your throat from end to end if I'd had even the slightest opportunity during our trek.”

Now a muscle ticked in his jaw, but at least he didn't strike out again. “An easy boast, almost believable. Maybe you just wanted a ticket into this fortress.”