Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark) (44 page)

His friend arched a black brow, the color a startling contrast to his silver-white hair. “I believe the answer to my question is no. Are you calm now, at least?”

Was he ever truly calm? “As calm as a creature like me can be.”

“Stop whining. There’s something I need to show you, and don’t try to deny me this time. We can talk about my reason for disturbing you along the way.” Without another word, Torin spun on his booted heel and strode from the room.

Maddox remained in place for several seconds, watching his friend disappear around the corner.
Stop whining,
Torin had said. Yes, that’s exactly what he had been doing. Curiosity and wry amusement pushed past his lethal mood, and Maddox stepped from the gym into the hallway. A cold draft of air swirled around him, thick with moisture and the crisp scents of winter. He spied Torin a few feet away and stalked forward, quickly closing in.

“What’s this about?”

“Finally. Interest,” was the only response.

“If this is one of your tricks…” Like the time Torin had ordered hundreds of blow-up dolls and placed them throughout the fortress, all because Paris had foolishly complained about the lack of female companionship in town. The plastic “ladies” had stared out from every corner, their wide eyes and let-me-suck-you mouths taunting everyone who passed them.

Things like that happened when Torin was bored.

“I wouldn’t waste my time trying to trick you,” Torin said without turning to face him. “You, my friend, have no sense of humor.”

True.

As Maddox kept pace, stone walls stretched at his sides; sconces glowed, pulsing with light and fire, twining shadow with gold. The House of the Damned, as Torin had dubbed the place, had been built hundreds of years ago. Though they had modernized it as best they could, the age showed in the crumbling rock and the scuffed floors.

“Where is everyone?” Maddox asked, only then realizing he hadn’t spotted any of the others.

“You’d think Paris would be shopping for food since our cabinets are nearly bare and that’s his only duty, but no. He’s out searching for a new woman.”

Lucky bastard. Possessed as he was by Promiscuity, Paris could not bed the same woman twice, and so he seduced a new one—or two or three—every day. The only downside? If he couldn’t find a woman, he was reduced to doing things Maddox didn’t even want to contemplate. Things that left the normally good-tempered man hunched over a toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach. Though Maddox’s envy abated at such moments, it always returned when Paris spoke of one of his lovers. The soft brush of a thigh…the meeting of hot skin…the groans of ecstasy…

“Aeron is… Prepare yourself,” Torin began, “because this is the main reason I hunted you down.”

“Did something happen to him?” Maddox demanded as darkness shuttered over his thoughts and anger overtook him.
Destroy, obliterate,
Violence beseeched, clawing at the corners of his mind. “Is he hurt?”

Immortal Aeron might be, but he could still be harmed. Even killed—a feat they had all discovered in the worst possible way.

“Nothing like that,” Torin assured him.

Slowly, he relaxed and gradually Violence receded. “What, then? Cleaning a mess and throwing a fit?” Every warrior here had specific responsibilities. It was their way of maintaining some semblance of order amid the chaos of their own souls. Aeron’s task was maid service, something he complained about on a daily basis. Maddox took care of home repairs. Torin played with stocks and bonds, whatever those were, keeping them well-moneyed. Lucien did all the paperwork and Reyes supplied them with weapons.

“The gods…summoned him.”

Maddox stumbled, shock momentarily blinding him. “What?” Surely he had misheard.

“The gods summoned him,” Torin repeated patiently.

But the Greeks hadn’t spoken to any of them since the day of Pandora’s death. “What did they want? And why am I just now hearing about this?”

“One, no one knows. We were watching a movie when suddenly he straightened in his seat, expression dead, as if there were no one home. Then a few seconds later he tells us he’s been summoned. None of us even had time to react—one minute Aeron was with us, the next he was gone.

“And two,” Torin added with barely a pause, “I tried to tell you. You said you didn’t care, remember?”

A muscle ticked below his eye. “You should have told me anyway.”

“While you had barbells within your reach? Please. I’m Disease, not Stupid.”

This was…this was… Maddox did not want to contemplate what this was, but could not stop the thoughts from forming. Sometimes Aeron, keeper of Wrath, lost total control of his spirit and embarked on a vengeance rampage, punishing mortals for their perceived sins. Was he now to be given a second curse for his actions, as Maddox had been all those centuries ago?

“If he does not return in the same shape he left, I will find a way to storm the heavens and slaughter every godly being I encounter.”

“Your eyes are glowing bright red,” Torin said. “Look, we’re all confused, but Aeron will return soon and tell us what’s going on.”

Fair enough. He forced himself to relax. Again. “Was anyone else summoned?”

“No. Lucien is out collecting souls. Reyes is gods-know-where, probably cutting himself.”

He should have known. Even though Maddox suffered unbearably each night, he pitied Reyes, who could not live a single hour without self-inflicted torture.

“What else did you have to tell me?” Maddox brushed his fingertips over the two towering columns that flanked the staircase before beginning to climb.

“I think it will be better if I show you.”

Would it be worse than the announcement about Aeron? Maddox wondered, striding past the entertainment room. Their sanctuary. The chamber they’d spared no expense creating was filled with plush furniture and all the comforts a warrior could desire. There was a refrigerator crammed with special wines and beers. A pool table. A basketball hoop. A large plasma screen that was even now flashing images of three naked women in the middle of an orgy.

“I see Paris was here,” he said.

Torin did not reply, but he did quicken his steps, never once glancing toward the screen.

“Never mind,” Maddox muttered. Directing Torin’s attention to anything carnal was unnecessarily cruel. The celibate man had to crave sex—
touch—
with every fiber of his being, but he would never have the option of indulging.

Even Maddox enjoyed a woman upon occasion.

His lovers were usually Paris’s leftovers, those females foolish enough to try to follow Paris home, hoping to share his bed again, not knowing just how impossible such a thing was. They were always drunk with sexual arousal, a consequence of welcoming Promiscuity, so they rarely cared who finally slid between their legs. Most times, they were all too happy to accept Maddox as a substitute—even though it was an impersonal joining, as emotionally hollow as it was physically satisfying.

It had to be that way, though. To protect their secrets, the warriors did not allow humans inside the fortress, forcing Maddox to take the women outside in the surrounding forest. He preferred them on their hands and knees, facing away from him, a swift coupling that would not rouse Violence in any way or compel him to do things that would haunt him forever and still another eternity.

Afterward, Maddox would send the females home with a warning: never return or die. It was that simple. To allow a more permanent arrangement would be foolish. He might come to care for them, and he would definitely hurt them, which would only heap even more guilt and shame upon him.

Just once, though, he would have liked to linger over a woman as Paris was able to do. He would have liked to kiss and lick her entire body; he would have liked to
drown
in her, completely losing himself, without fearing his control would snap and cause him to wound her.

Finally reaching Torin’s quarters, he blocked those thoughts from his mind. Time spent wishing was time wasted, as he well knew.

He glanced at his surroundings. He’d been in this room before, but he did not remember the wall-to-wall computer system or the numerous monitors, phones and various other equipment lined throughout. Unlike Torin, Maddox eschewed most technology, for he had never quite gotten used to how quickly things seemed to change—and just how much further each new advancement seemed to pull him from the carefree warrior he’d once been. Though he would be lying if he claimed not to enjoy the convenience such gadgets provided.

Survey complete, he faced his friend. “Taking over the world?”

“Nope. Just watching it. It’s the best way to protect us, and the best way to make a little coin.” Torin plopped into a cushioned swivel chair in front of the largest screen and began typing on the keyboard. One of the blank monitors lit up, the black screen becoming intertwined with grays and whites. “All right. Here’s what I wanted you to see.”

Careful not to touch his friend, Maddox stepped forward. The indistinct blur gradually became thick, opaque lines. Trees, he realized. “Nice, but not something I was in dire need of viewing.”

“Patience.”

“Hurry,” he countered.

Torin flicked him a wry glance. “Since you asked so nicely…I have heat sensors and cameras hidden throughout our land so that I always know when someone trespasses.” A few more seconds of tapping and the screen’s view shifted to the right. Then there was a swift flash of red, there one moment, gone the next.

“Go back,” Maddox said, tensing. He wasn’t a surveillance expert. No, his skill lay in the actual killing. But even he knew what that red slash represented. Body heat.

Tap, tap, tap
and the red slash once again consumed the screen.

“Human?” he asked. The silhouette was small, almost dainty.

“Definitely.”

“Male or female?”

Torin shrugged. “Female, most likely. Too big to be a child, too small to be a grown man.”

Hardly anyone ventured up the bleak hill at this time of night. Or even during the day. Whether it was too spooky, too gloomy or a sign of the locals’ respect, Maddox didn’t know. But he could count on one hand the number of deliverymen, children wanting to explore and women prowling for sex who’d braved the journey in the last year.

“One of Paris’s lovers?” he asked.

“Possibly. Or…”

“Or?” he prompted when his friend hesitated.

“A Hunter,” Torin said grimly. “Bait, more specifically.”

Maddox pressed his lips together in a harsh line. “Now I know you’re teasing me.”

“Think about it. Deliverymen always come with boxes and Paris’s girls always race straight toward the front door. This one looks empty-handed and she’s gone in circles, stopping every few minutes and doing something against the trees. Planting dynamite in an attempt to injure us, maybe. Cameras to watch us.”

“If she’s empty-handed—”

“Dynamite and cameras are small enough to conceal.”

He massaged the back of his neck. “Hunters haven’t stalked or tormented us since Greece.”

“Maybe their children and then their children’s children have been searching for us all this time. Maybe they finally found us.”

Dread suddenly curled in Maddox’s stomach. First Aeron’s shocking summons and now the uninvited visitor. Mere coincidence? His mind flashed back to those dark days in Greece, days of war and savagery, screams and death. Days the warriors had been more demon than man. Days a hunger for destruction had dictated their every action and human bodies had littered the streets.

Hunters had soon risen from the tortured masses, a league of mortal men intent upon destroying those who’d unleashed such evil, and a blood feud had erupted. The battles he then found himself fighting, with swords clanging and fires raging, flesh burning and peace something of lore and legend…