The Darkest Surrender lotu-9

by Gena Showalter

  No denying that. “How’d she do it, then? You’re a pretty tough guy. For a pussy. How’d she enslave you?”

  Swollen lips twitched. With amusement? “As are you. All I can tell you is to beware of first prize.”

  The Rod? The Rod had enslaved Lazarus? “So it’s the real deal?” There went his theory that Juliette had been faking. A theory he’d wished to the gods had proven to be true. No hands were better than the wrong hands.

  “I can’t say.”

  “Won’t, you mean.”

  Those onyx eyes glittered with a thousand secrets. “No. Can’t. I’m skirting the edge of obedience even saying that much.”

  “And what happens when you disobey?”

  “Pain. Death. The usual suspects. And now, I’m sorry to say, I must continue distracting you.”

  Strider cocked a brow. “You’re sorry to say?”

  A confident nod. “You’re not really a bad sort and I actually like the redhead. She’s feisty.”

  “She’s mine.”

  A grin as slow and thick as dripping honey. “You have to survive first.” That was the only warning Strider had. Lazarus sprinted forward, a blur the naked eye couldn’t see.

  Fists once again hammered into him, the impact throwing him in a tailspin of pain. He rotated when he hit, uncaring that he could no longer breathe as long as he could protect his face.

  Win!

  At least the demon wasn’t screaming anymore. Strider scanned the snow and bodies for weapons, darting left and right as he did so, moving around the Harpies, hoping the warrior wouldn’t punch them just to reach him. Dude reminded Strider of Sabin, who thought men and women were equals in battle and didn’t discriminate when it came to killing. But Juliette was his mistress and she’d probably forbidden him from hurting her sisters.

  Finally. He spotted broadswords. Not his own, but a Harpy’s. He slid them from their sheathes at her back.

  “Hey,” she squawked when she realized what he’d done.

  He darted away before she could claw him for the theft. His boots slipped on the ice. Finding his balance proved difficult, but he kept moving, listening for any telltale sounds that might give away Lazarus’s location.

  Feminine huffs—directly behind him. That meant Harpies were being shoved aside, rather than danced around. Such an obvious mistake, he thought. Lazarus was too good a fighter for that. Did he want to lose?

  Damn it, Strider didn’t want to like him.

  Spinning when he reached an unoccupied stretch, Strider went low. He stretched out his arms, the blades extended. Contact. Lazarus jumped, but he was too late. The metal sliced into his ankles, hobbling him. He fell and fell hard, the ice offering no cushion from impact.

  With Defeat cheering inside Strider’s head—won, won, won—he pinned the warrior exactly as he had been pinned, knees to shoulders. Lazarus didn’t resist.

  “That hurt.”

  “Sorry.” Strider slammed the sword tips beside the man’s temples. “And thank you,” he said, fighting the wave of pleasure victory had brought. It would distract him.

  Eyes bright with surprise peered up at him.

  “What, you didn’t think I’d realize you’d thrown the fight? Give me some credit, at least.” Once again, he used the ancient language of the gods.

  Then that wave of winning-induced pleasure blasted free of his restraints. He couldn’t hold it back a second longer. He shivered and moaned right along with Defeat.

  Sparks of ecstasy ignited in his veins, heating him up. Not to the same degree that making love with Kaia had, but enough to cause him to spring instant, embarrassing, wood.

  Before Lazarus could reply, the man’s surprise gave way to amusement and the warrior winged a brow in question.

  “Not for you,” Strider said, flushing.

  “Thank the gods for that.”

  “So.” Let’s get the rest of this over with. “You heal quickly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry for this, but I need five minutes alone and I can’t have you coming after me.” He reclaimed the swords, jerked them from the ice, then slammed them into Lazarus’s shoulders. “Do me a solid and stay down.”

  A grunt, a stiffening of that big body. Boos all around him.

  Strider pushed to his feet and moved out of striking distance, already scanning the vista. Harpies gaped at him, even backed away. A few of the braver ones offered him pinkie waves and seductive grins, open invitations to bed them.

  He caught Sabin’s gaze. Lysander was beside him, golden wings arching over his shoulders. Despite the cold, the two were sweating. They must have heard the commotion and rushed here.

  He motioned to the mountain at his left with a tilt of his chin and they nodded. While Lazarus had been pounding his face in, he’d kept an eye on Kaia. She’d climbed that mountain and disappeared inside a cavern.

  He stalked forward, determined. Within a few steps, the consorts were flanking his sides. Along the way, he thought he smelled smoke. And burning flesh. Panic suddenly infused him and he looked up. The panic mixed with dread. Dark smoke wafted from the cavern.

  Shit! No time to climb. “Get me up there,” he demanded. “Now.”

  Lysander caught his urgency. He gripped Strider under the arms, wings extending, legs bending to push. They shot into the air and the angel dropped him onto the ledge before heading down to repeat the process with Sabin.

  “Kaia!” Strider rushed inside, coughing as the smoke thickened and burned his throat. He waved his hand in front of his stinging eyes, trying to see. Then he was in the center of the destruction, and there was no reason to wave away the darkness. He could see just fine.

  At least twenty-five bodies were on fire, flames still crackling from them, illuminating the area. They were so charred, he couldn’t tell if they were male or female. His heart nearly burst from his chest, his blood heating with more of that panic. She couldn’t be one of the dead. She just couldn’t.

  He would have failed her. He couldn’t have failed her. He needed her. Loved her. “Kaia,” he said past the lump growing in his throat. “Kaia, baby doll. Where are you, love?”

  “What the hell?” Sabin demanded behind him.

  “Great Deity,” Lysander breathed.

  Strider ignored them, bending to study the bodies closest to him. He was shaking as he reached out and removed the dagger clutched in that blackened hand. The hilt was so hot his skin immediately blistered, but he didn’t release it. He didn’t recognize it, either. Okay. Okay, then. This one wasn’t her.

  A whimper echoed a few feet ahead of him. Female. Pain-filled. Familiar. No sweeter sound. He was on his feet in an instant, racing toward it. Then he saw her, and ground to an abrupt halt. His stomach twisted into a hundred sharp knots, each one cutting at him.

  They’d staked her to the wall.

  As relieved as he was that she lived, he wanted to die. Swords were anchored into her shoulders, pinning her to the rocky wall. Blood dripped down her naked body, covering her with crimson streaks of pain. If they had raped her…

  With only the thought, Strider felt ready to open himself up to his demon completely, to let his wicked half reign, to beat every citizen in the world to pulp.

  Rage later. See to her now. One stomping step, two.

  Flames crackled on his shirt, burning the material, singeing his skin. He stopped and patted himself down. When that didn’t help, he ripped the fabric over his head and tossed it aside. Only then did the fire die.

  “What happened—”

  “Get out,” Strider growled, and Sabin shut his mouth. “Both of you. Now.” She would not want anyone to see her like this.

  Silence. Reluctant footsteps. Strider studied his woman all the while. Her eyes were black, the whites completely gone, but interspersed throughout that midnight canvas were the same flames that had singed him. They crackled angrily.

  “Kaia,” he said gently.

  She struggled against the swords, gave another whimper.


  “Be still, baby doll. Okay?” He dared another step closer. A mistake. His jeans caught fire next. Again he stopped. This time he didn’t bother patting himself down, he just cut the offending material from his body, leaving him in underwear and boots.

  “Baby doll, listen to me. Okay?” he said, trying again. He dropped the blade, lest she think he meant to hurt her. “Please listen to me. I want to help you. I’m going to help you, whether you want me to or not. Please don’t kill me until I get you out of here.”

  He expected Defeat to kick up a few protests about that litany of “pleases.” Maybe consider it a challenge. The demon remained silent, however. Still afraid of Kaia? Or mourning what had been done to her after the pleasure they’d experienced in her arms?

  “Here I come.” Strider inhaled the thickened air…held…held…and strode forward. His skin continued to heat, but he didn’t catch fire again, and finally he reached her. Gently, so gently, he cupped her cheeks, his thumbs tracing the fine bones beneath her silken skin. He was surprised to see his own claws had emerged. The demon’s claws. Yet he didn’t cut her, was oh, so careful.

  “Oh, baby,” he groaned, his chest aching. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tears leaked from the corners of those midnight eyes, and he knew he was reaching the woman inside. He hadn’t protected her from this and he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t in pain as a result of his failure. Because she would heal? Please let her heal. Because someone other than Harpies had done the damage? If that was the case, who had done it? Hunters again?

  Desperately he wanted to slice open his jugular and give her all the healing blood she needed. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He couldn’t risk her bones and flesh healing around the metal that caged her in place.

  “I’m going to remove the swords, okay?” He couldn’t allow this to happen to her again. Ever. He couldn’t bear it. That is a challenge, he told Defeat. A challenge you will accept. She is ours to protect and if we fail her again, we will suffer, even if she will later heal. Understand?

  A pause. Then, a faint, Win.

  Though Strider didn’t want to release her, he did, and gripped the swords. They were hotter than the dagger he’d used to cut his pants and his already blistered hands throbbed in pain. He didn’t care. His pain mattered little. What did matter? Her pain. That small movement tormented her, he knew, because her tears fell more quickly.

  Unwilling to prolong the agony, he jerked with all of his strength. For several seconds, the metal caught on bone. He had to jerk harder. She didn’t make a sound. Finally, though, she was free and sagged forward. He dropped the swords and caught her, easing her to the ground. There were also wounds on her ankles, but they weren’t bound, so he ignored them.

  Again he wanted to hold her. Again he didn’t allow himself the luxury. He used his claw to slice deep into his neck, leaned down and placed the wound just above her mouth.

  “Drink, baby doll. You’ll feel better, I swear. And then you’ll tell me what happened and I’ll punish everyone involved. That I swear, as well.”

  At first, she gave no response. Then her tongue licked, a flick of fire, as hot as the sword hilts. He had to pant through it, but he didn’t pull away. Then her mouth latched on, branding him now and forever, and she sucked and sucked and sucked, and oh, yeah, did he like that.

  “That’s the way,” he praised. “Good, good girl. Take all you need. Take everything.”

  She took him at his word and drank her fill. When she finished, dizziness swam through his head, but he didn’t care. He was only glad Defeat hadn’t viewed that as a challenge, either. He straightened and peered down at her.

  Her eyes were closed, her breathing harsh, shallow. Her temperature had cooled a little and her face wasn’t quite so pallid. That meant she was healing. Right?

  He needed to get her out of this smoke-infested cave. His holey shirt rested a few inches away. He grabbed it up and wrapped what was left of the material around Kaia’s body. As tenderly as he was able, he lifted her in his arms. He wobbled on his feet, but didn’t let that deter him.

  At the mouth of the cave, he called for Lysander. The angel appeared a second later, hovering just in front of him, wings gliding gracefully through the air.

  “Take us to our tent,” he croaked. He couldn’t lose this woman.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “COME ON, BABY DOLL. I’ve let you sleep long enough. Now you’re just being lazy.”

  Strider, Kaia thought dazedly, her entire body sparking to life. He was here, next to her. He had to be. His voice, so close, so sweet. Soft fingertips smoothed the hair from her brow. She knew that touch. Loved that touch and she leaned into it.

  “Come on. That’s the way.”

  His husky baritone proved to be a lifeline and she clung desperately. Inch by inch, she pulled herself from the thick, cloying darkness surrounding her. Even though every movement hurt. Strider, she had to reach Strider. That had been her last thought, she recalled. Her last thought before—

  She’d heard so many screams. Of terror, of pain. Hers, so many others. The scent of melting skin had hit her nose and she’d gagged. Gagged now, remembering. Released the lifeline. Down, down she fell, back into the darkness.

  “Kaia! I’m not going to tell you again. Wake the hell up. Now!”

  Strider. She grabbed the lifeline once again. Again she tugged her way up…up… A bright light waited at the surface. She had only to reach out…grab it…almost there…another tug…

  Her eyelids popped open as a gasp of shock and lingering outrage lodged in her throat. She was panting and sweating, muscles locked onto bone. She tried to sit up, but hard hands held her down.

  “No. You’re still healing, so I don’t want you moving.”

  Suddenly Strider’s beautiful face loomed over her. His deep blue eyes were glassy, feverish. Concern etched deep lines around his mouth and his normally tanned skin was nearly as colorless as his hair. No, not true. There were spots of color, but they were bright red welts and blisters.

  He was naked. Seeing him, something sizzled inside her. Knowledge, power, connection. Yes, a connection more prevailing even than what she felt with Bianka. More than binding them, that connection wove them together, until she couldn’t tell who was who. They were simply one.

  “Are you all right?” Gods, even speaking hurt. Her throat was raw, agonized, as if someone had scraped the insides with jagged glass and then, just for funsies, painted the bleeding flesh with acid.

  “I’m fine, so don’t worry about me. Worry about you. You’ve been out for three days.”

  Three days? Her eyes widened. “The third game—”

  “Starts two days from now. Bianka has kept me informed.”

  Thank the gods. Still. Three days. “I must look terrible,” she muttered. She would have finger-combed her hair, but decided lifting her arm would require too much effort.

  “You look alive, and that’s goddamn beautiful to me.”

  Darling man. Her heart skipped a beat as she soaked up his praise.

  “Besides,” he said, “we’re both clean. Lysander gave me robes. Angel robes. A stack of them. Every time I put a new one on, it was like taking a bath. You, too. Everything from your hair to the bottom of your feet was—is—washed. And let me tell you, that was weird.”

  Why tell her that? Unless…oh. Oh. He wanted her. Okay, she would put the effort into that. Arousal warmed her up and her nipples tightened.

  Her gaze swept over her body to catalog the damage she’d have to work around.

  She was naked, her shoulders discolored and scabbed. Stomach, fine. Legs, fine. Ankles, bruised. Not bad.

  She was lying on a faux fur rug her twin must have delivered, inside a nearly barren white tent, the air around her heated even though the air by the flapping entrance was almost crystallized from cold.

  Leaning his weight into one arm, Strider was careful not to brush the long, thick length of his erection—and oh, yes, he had one—against her.
Warm heat instantly pooled between her legs. She craved his touch, his mouth. Wanted to explore this new, deeper connection thing. She licked her lips.

  “You move fast,” she said with a grin.

  “Damn it, Kaia. Get your mind out of the gutter and talk to me. I’ve been waiting patiently for days.”

  His pet name for her brought her gaze back to his face. The concern was back full force and she recalled why she was here, in the condition she was in—and the danger she had become to this man. She didn’t have to push her sexual need aside. It vanished on its own.

  “Okay. Yes. What do you want me to talk about?”

  His eyes glinted down at her. “First, if you ever had any doubts that I’m your consort, you can put them to rest. You slept next to me.”

  Not the terrible topic she’d expected and she relaxed against the fur. “Sorry, darling, but that’s not how the consort sleeping thing works.”

  He gave her a fierce frown. “How does it work, then?”

  “Naps don’t count if the Harpy falls asleep while injured. I have to sleep next to you when I’m healed and that hasn’t happened yet.”

  “It will.” Determination radiated from him and she knew he saw this as a challenge. A challenge he clearly accepted.

  She didn’t let it bother her, though. She wanted to sleep next to him, cuddled into his side, something she’d never done with another man. How or why that occurred didn’t matter.

  “Now tell me what the hell happened,” he continued, each word gruffer than the last. “Did those men…are you…?” Okay. Blisters weren’t the only thing coloring his face now. Fury did. So much fury.

  Fury over her mistreatment? “Did they what? Pin me to the wall? Yes. Did they catch fire and burn to death? Yep, that, too.” Once more the screams and the flames flashed through her mind. Rather than torment her as they had in the dark, dark void, she experienced a surge of satisfaction.

  Victory belonged to her.

  “No, baby doll.” His expression softened, became tender and seeking. He traced a gentle fingertip along the slope of her nose. “Did they…rape you?”

  “No.” She shivered from the succulent contact. “I would have killed them deader if they had.”