The Darkest Passion lotu-6

by Gena Showalter

  “Aeron!” Legion jumped to her feet, scowling over at him as she clutched the sheet around her. “This is about the angel, I take it. Well, she’s gone. Let her stay gone. We’re better off. Why can’t you see that?”

  “We aren’t better off without her,” he shouted, no longer able to temper his ferocity. He faced her, pinning her with the fierceness of his stare. Why couldn’t she see how much he needed Olivia? “She’s better than any of us.”

  Disbelief glimmered in her eyes like tears. “I didn’t believe her, but she was right. You…you love her.”

  Aeron didn’t allow himself the luxury of answering. If he admitted, even to himself, that he loved Olivia, he wouldn’t be able to let her go when the time came. He would keep her, no matter the consequences. “Tell me what happened when she left. Tell me the truth, damn you!”

  She opened her mouth. To lie. He knew it; Wrath sensed it. “Don’t.” With anyone else, the demon would have plagued him with an urge to lie in return. Legion’s sins had never bothered Wrath before, hadn’t even registered, but as pissed as they were with her, things were changing. “The truth, godsdamn it. Only the truth. After everything I’ve done for you, do I deserve anything less?”

  “Y-you’re right. I—I’m sorry. I just thought…I thought it’d be easier for you if you thought she was…willing to leave you.”

  No. Fuck, no. A raw cry from him, from Wrath. “So Galen…”

  “Has her. Yes. I’m sorry, Aeron. So sorry.”

  Having his suspicions confirmed…well, he might as well have cut the heart from his chest and torched it. His beautiful Olivia was indeed with his enemy, probably hurting unbearably, for mercy was not something Galen’s army practiced.

  He tilted back his head and roared.

  “Aeron. Tell me what I can do to—”

  “Quiet!” As he glared over at her, he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “You’ve hurt a woman who gave up her life to save us. Us. Not just me, but you. She’s the reason you’re still here.”

  “I’m sorry,” Legion repeated raggedly, pulling from his gaze and peering down at the floor. “I really am.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” That didn’t bring Olivia back.

  Punish.

  Wrath’s demand, tossed out so determinedly, threw him. Even though the demon had been edging in that direction already.

  She betrayed us.

  Careful. Wouldn’t you rather save Olivia? Aeron asked.

  Anger morphed into sorrow. Heaven.

  He’d take that as a yes. Pushing Legion from his mind, Aeron stalked to the closet and began to prepare for Lucien’s return, strapping on as many knives and guns as his body could hold.

  Just in case, he also grabbed what remained of the River of Life. Half the bottle. Strider hadn’t heeded his instructions all that well, but a little was better than none. Hopefully, Olivia wouldn’t need any. But if Galen had hurt her, there wasn’t a hole the bastard would be able to hide in or a piece of fabric he’d be able to shield himself with. In the end, Aeron would find him.

  Vengeance.

  Yes. Vengeance would be his.

  WHAT HAVE I DONE? Legion thought, horrified, as Aeron stalked out of the chamber he’d decorated to amuse her. He was suffering. And she was the cause. He was right. He’d only ever treated her with kindness, and she’d reduced him to this. His eyes were bleak, his voice ripe with despair.

  Her stomach churned with sickness. She would have done anything, anything, to make this better for him. Maybe…maybe even step aside so that he could be with Olivia again. No. Don’t think like that. Because she’d made that wretched bargain with Lucifer, her course was set—and so was Aeron’s.

  There had to be something else she could do, though. Something that would make him happy again. Something like…

  The answer hit her, and she closed her eyes. No, no, no, she thought. Then, Only way.

  For Aeron.

  With shaky hands, she tugged on her clothes. A pair of pants and a T-shirt she’d borrowed from Danika. She could get the angel back. Not for Aeron to be with, but so that he could finally tell her goodbye. Legion couldn’t follow spirit trails like Lucien, but she could sense her brethren. That’s how she’d found Aeron the day they’d first met. She’d sensed his demon nearby. She could sense Galen, as well.

  I should never have let him leave with the angel. Despite the Cloak hiding him, she’d known the moment he stepped into this room. She’d said nothing, too busy hoping he’d destroy her competition. I’m a bad, bad girl.

  Find him. Yes. Okay. That’s what she’d do. She’d present Aeron with both Olivia and Galen. And then Aeron would love her again.

  “LEAVE ME ALONE, child.”

  “I’m not a child.” Gilly placed her hands on her hips, the picture of feminine pique. Too-young feminine pique. “You need someone to care for your wounds.”

  “My wounds,” William told her with a frown, “are healing just fine.” Since the moment he’d returned to the fortress, riddled with slices, she’d been fussing over him.

  Yeah, he liked it. What man wouldn’t enjoy being cared for? But the fact that he had to keep reminding himself that Gilly was too young for him was freaking him out. He shouldn’t have to remind himself that he preferred older, more sophisticated women.

  He shouldn’t have to remind himself that he even preferred married women. Gods, did he love married women. The brokenhearted, too. They were easy pickings. Actually, anyone with low self-esteem was an aphrodisiac to him. He seriously jonesed, watching them bloom under his flattery. But adorable little Gilly?

  No. No, no, no. Off-limits. Always. No matter her age. With all the women he’d been with—and yes, there’d been thousands—he knew you didn’t play with the toys in your own home. That left too big a mess. You played with other people’s toys in their homes.

  “Why are you being this way?” She tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ears. A delicate ear. An ear made for nuzzling.

  Idiot! “Get out,” he said more harshly than he’d intended.

  She flinched, and then a blanket of hurt fell over her lovely features. “And go where? The other girls are with their boyfriends, and I don’t like hanging out with the single men.”

  Uh, hello. “I’m single.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not like them,” she said, gazing down at her shoes.

  That was true. He was way more handsome and intelligent. Probably a little more deadly, too. “Gilly,” he said on a sigh. “I think it’s time we had a chat. I’ve sensed that you have some…feelings for me. I don’t blame you. Hell, I commend you for your intelligence and keen appreciation of beauty. But we’re friends, you and I, and that’s all we can ever be.”

  “Why?” Those big eyes with their too-long lashes flicked up, pinning him in place, giving him ideas he shouldn’t be having. Like teaching her that pleasure didn’t have to be ugly.

  You’re worse than an idiot. He made sure to moderate his tone. “Because you’re too young to be with a man and understand what that means.”

  She laughed bitterly. “I’ve known for years what that means.”

  There it was again, a verbal confirmation that things had been done to her. Things that should never have been done. “Whoever was with you was wrong,” he said tightly. “Very, very wrong.”

  A blush bloomed in her cheeks, and he wasn’t sure if the color was born of shame, embarrassment or relief that someone recognized the ill-treatment she’d received. She didn’t know that he knew about the stepfather, and he wasn’t going to tell her; she only knew that William blamed the one who had hurt her, not Gilly herself.

  Which was true. Her stepfather should be shot. And gutted. And then hung. And then set on fire. And William would see to it. In fact, that would be his next mission. Her mother wouldn’t fare very well, either.

  “It wouldn’t be wrong with you,” she whispered.

  Gods, she was killing him. “Why do you want to hang around me, anyway?” He w
ouldn’t tell her what he planned. She might try and stop him. “What makes me different from the others?”

  She licked her lips, the pink tip of her tongue hiding away before he’d gotten a good enough look at it. “Well, you don’t smoke.”

  That’s what she found appealing? “Neither do the other men here. But unlike them, I’ve been meaning to take up the habit.” And would do so, immediately. “And I won’t be using a filter!”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and drummed her nails. “It’s more than that. You’re beautiful, as you’ve already told me.”

  “As always, there’s no denying that.”

  “Modest, too,” she added dryly.

  He was what he was. He knew his appeal, and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “Looks aren’t everything, though. Especially since I’m as shallow as a rain puddle. I use women, Gilly. I sleep with them and then I’m done with them, even if they want more from me.” He hated to taint her illusions about him, but it had to be done. One of them had to be smart about this.

  She shifted from one foot to the other, once again looking away from him. “I knew all of that. I’ve heard talk about you.”

  “From who?” Whoever gossiped about him needed to be—

  “Anya.”

  Spanked. Hard. “Whatever she told you, just remember that she’s a liar.”

  “She said you can make a woman forget her troubles. So much so that the woman is happier when you leave her than she was when you found her, no matter the broken heart you leave behind.”

  Oh. “Well, for once she spoke true.” His touch was magical. “But listen. In a few years, the right man is going to come along and make you happier.” Sure, that man would have to meet William’s standards and gain his approval, but they would jump that hurdle when they came to it. “As for me, I’m not that man. I’m not right for anyone long-term.”

  Again, hurt fell over her face. “But—”

  “No. We aren’t going to happen, Gilly. Not now, not ever.”

  She gulped, visibly gathering her composure. “Fine,” she finally said. “I’ll leave you alone. As you prefer.” True to her word, she stalked from his bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Unfortunately, she left the sweet scent of vanilla in her wake, taunting his bastard of a nose.

  William pushed to his feet. His sides hurt, the wounds still in the process of scabbing over, but he had to get out of here before he followed her. The more distance between himself and Gilly the better. Besides, he had cigarettes to buy.

  Maybe he’d help Aeron find his angel—who cared if she was findable or not—and then, when he was at full capacity, he would track and kill Gilly’s family.

  A good plan, if he did say so himself, but why did he suddenly feel so…incomplete?

  A WIFE, GIDEON THOUGHT, dazed. He’d had a wife. A wife he didn’t remember. How was that possible?

  After Scarlet’s announcement, he’d just sort of stumbled from the dungeon. He hadn’t known what to say to her. Hadn’t known whether he could believe her, Lies absolutely no fucking help. All he’d known was that he hadn’t wanted to leave her, but he’d promised to do so, so he had.

  Except, he’d stayed nearby, in the stairwell. Waiting, thinking, floundering, hoping she would call for him. She hadn’t. Now, hours later, she was sleeping and he was headed…somewhere. He gazed up, meaning to keep track of his surroundings, when he bumped into an equally distracted Strider.

  “Watch where you’re going, my man,” his friend said with a grin. “And shouldn’t you be in your room?”

  He had his shoulder propped against the wall for support, was panting and sweating. He hadn’t eaten in forever, and was weakening by the second. “Probably not. No help needed.”

  Concern chased away Strider’s smile. “Let me.”

  A strong arm clasped his waist and Gideon shifted his weight. “No thanks, enemy.”

  “You’re welcome.” Along the way, Strider told him about the bombing of The Asylum, and their victory. That explained the happy glow in the warrior’s eyes. But there was something else in his eyes. Something out of place. Something…dark, upsetting.

  “That’s not great, but what about what’s not troubling you?”

  Strider looked over his shoulder, then scanned the hallway, ensuring they were alone. They were. Even so, he remained silent until he got Gideon inside his room and situated atop his mattress.

  He sat on the chair Ashlyn—and then sweet Olivia—had once occupied, propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, head dropping into his upraised hands. “So get this. We met the Unspoken Ones. They’re bad, dude. Bad. They know where the fourth artifact is, and they’re willing to give it to whoever brings them Cronus’s head. Even the Hunters.”

  “So we won’t—”

  “No, we won’t. You remember the painting Danika made of Galen?”

  Shit. Yeah, he remembered. In it, Galen had taken Cronus’s head.

  “If that comes true,” Strider continued, “the Unspoken Ones, who are extremely powerful, will be freed from Cronus’s rule, and they’ll be able to do whatever they want. Like, I don’t know, eat every human on the planet. I noticed they prefer an organ-rich diet.”

  Shit didn’t cover it. “That’s awesome.”

  “I summoned Cronus, hoping to talk to him about this, to see if there was any way we could destroy the Unspoken Ones before Galen got creative with his blade, but he’s ignoring me. Torin summoned him, too. Nothing. And get this. I just ran into Danika. She’d just finished her newest painting.”

  Dread curled through Gideon. Usually, Strider relished an upcoming challenge. Now he just looked sickened. “I don’t want to know.”

  “You might change your mind when you hear this. It was of Cronus and his wife, Rhea. Oh, yeah. Did anyone tell you Rhea is helping the Hunters? Anyway, they were with Lysander, Cronus fuming and Rhea cheering. You know Lysander, right? He’s the angel shacking up with Bianka.”

  “No.” Yes.

  “No biggie, right?” Strider said. “So what if Cronus is pissed at Lysander and Rhea is pleased with him. The angel doesn’t really concern us. Well, your demon will really dig this. That’s a lie. The angel concerns us big-time.”

  “Please, don’t go on, then. Don’t hurry with the details. I mean, I love that you’re dragging this out.” Which he was probably doing because he didn’t want to drop the bad news at all and was having to work up the courage. Still. Gideon couldn’t take much more.

  Strider looked up, expression grim. “Aeron was there, in the painting. Lysander had just taken his head.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  IT WAS THE PAIN that woke her.

  Olivia slowly cracked open her eyes. Beep, beep. At first, the room was hazy, as if someone had smeared it with oil. But then, bit by bit, clarity descended. Not full clarity—her eyes were swollen—but enough to see that she was still in the warehouse, though in another room. This one had hospital gurneys. She was hooked to an IV, and electrodes covered her chest, monitoring her heartbeat. Her broken arm wasn’t in a cast, she noted, but was cuffed to the bedrail.

  “Lysander?” Even speaking those few syllables caused her throat nothing but agony. Tears flooded her ravaged eyes.

  There was no reply.

  She tried again. “Lysander.”

  Again, nothing.

  He was gone, then. He wouldn’t have ignored her, that wasn’t his style. He would have yelled at her some more and right now, that yelling would have been welcome. She was alone and scared.

  No, not alone, she realized as her gaze scanned the rest of the room. Beside her was a man on a gurney of his own. A man she didn’t recognize. He was young, perhaps early twenties, and there were bruises under his eyes. His cheeks were hollowed out and his skin a little jaundiced.

  He was watching her.

  When he realized he’d been found out, he blushed and said, “Uh, hi. Glad to see you’re awake. My name’s Dominic.”

  “Olivia
,” she replied automatically. Ow. That had hurt even worse.

  “You sound terrible.” Remorse and guilt poured from him. “We’re supposed to be the good guys, you know. Stefano told me you’re Wrath’s girlfriend, but I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been hurt like that. No human should be hurt like that.”

  She didn’t have to ask who “we” was. The Hunters. Her gaze shifted over the boy’s body, checking for injuries. He was shirtless and there were bandages around his shoulder and middle. The one around his middle was dotted with dried blood. He wore a pair of loose scrub pants. “Hurt…you, too?”

  He didn’t seem to hear her, too lost in his own thoughts. “They told me our leader is a demon, too.” As the last word left him, he began coughing. Coughing so forcefully, he spit up blood. When he finally calmed, he added, “I should have believed them. After what was done to you, I have to believe them.”

  Them. The Lords? She couldn’t sense a lie in his tone, but then, she couldn’t sense the truth, either. Either way, she knew deep in her bones that he wasn’t going to live much longer. She hated that he would die like this, in here. As she probably would.

  No. No. She shouldn’t think like that. She was a joy-bringer at heart, yes, but that didn’t mean she was helpless. She’d withstood the fires of hell. She’d endured having her wings ripped from her body. She could escape this. She would escape this.

  Dominic sat up, wavered a bit and rubbed at his temples. When he steadied, he kicked his legs over the side of the gurney and stood.

  “Careful,” she managed to croak.

  Again, he didn’t seem to hear her. “They found me on the streets. I was a thief and a whore, and they told me it wasn’t my fault.” There was shame in his voice, shame far greater than his remorse had been. “They told me it was their fault. The Lords. That the demon of Defeat was feeding off me and my circumstances. I believed them because it was easier than blaming myself.”