Ashlyn glared up at him, accusation in those amber eyes. "I said I feel better, but that doesn't mean I feel great. My stomach is still sensitive."
His mouth edged into a frown. Caring for a human was difficult, that was for sure. He did not apologize for forcing her to drink, however. What she needed, she would get. Whether she wanted it or not.
He gripped the mug of coffee, and his frown deepened when he realized it was cold. Oh, well. It would have to do. "Drink," he ordered. For whatever reason—he still wasn't ready to ponder it—she was important to him. She mattered.
She was not escaping him. Not through death or any other means.
Ashlyn gave no indication that she'd heard him and certainly no hint of her intentions. In the blink of an eye, she shot out her arm and knocked the mug out of his hand. The movement was weak, but the ceramic hit the floor and shattered, leaving a black, caffeinated river.
Twin spots of color dotted her cheeks. "No," she said, drawing out the single syllable with relish.
"That was uncalled for," he chastised, brushing moist strands of hair from her temples, savoring the feel of her silky skin.
"I don't care."
"Fine. No coffee." He stared down at her, this woman who had shaken his entire world. "Do you still wish me to let you go?" The question left his lips before he could stop it. He hadn't meant to put the request before her, since he intended to keep her by whatever means necessary, but there was a need inside him—a foolish need—to give her whatever she desired.
She looked away from him, over his shoulder, past the wall, a peculiar intensity claiming her expression. Several minutes ticked by in silence. Torturous minutes.
He fisted the pillow. "It is a yes or no question, Ashlyn."
"I don't know, okay?" she said softly. "I love the silence, and I'm beginning to like you. I'm grateful to you for taking care of me." She paused. "But…"
But she was still scared. "I told you that I'm immortal," he said. "And I told you that I am possessed. The only other thing you need to know is that I will protect you while you're here." Even from himself.
What a change the last hours had wrought in him. Yesterday—this morning, even—he had thought to take her body, question her, then kill her. Yet he had since done everything in his power to keep her alive. And he was no longer certain what questions he wanted to ask.
"Will you protect the other woman?" she asked. "The one who helped me?"
Unless someone figured out a way to defy the Titans, he doubted anyone could protect the healer. Not even Reyes. But he gave Ashlyn a gentle squeeze and said, "Do not give her another thought. Aeron will take care of her." That was not a lie.
Ashlyn nodded gratefully, and he experienced a twinge of guilt.
A few minutes passed in silence. He watched her, happy to note that her color was returning steadily now and the glaze of pain was fading. She watched him, too, her expression unreadable.
"How are demons able to do good deeds?" she eventually asked. "I mean, besides what you've done for me, you've done great things for the town with your donations and philanthropy. The people believe angels live here. They've believed it for hundreds of years."
"How can you know that they've believed such a thing for so long?"
A tremor swept through her and she looked away. "I—I just do."
No, she had a secret, something she didn't want him to know. He cradled her jaw and forced her eyes back to him. "I already suspect you are Bait, Ashlyn. You can tell me the truth."
Her brow puckered, those dark, golden slashes drawing together. "You keep calling me that like it's something foul and disgusting, but I have no idea what bait is."
There was genuine confusion in her voice. Innocent or actress? "I'm not going to kill you, but I expect total honesty from you from this moment forward. Understand? You will not lie to me."
Frowning, she said, "I'm not lying."
Slowly his blood began to heat, the spirit once again making its presence known. He hurried to change the subject. Hearing more lies might cause him to snap, to hurt.
Bait or not, he refused to let it come to that. "Let us talk of something else."
She nodded, appearing eager to comply. "Let's talk about you. Those men stabbed you last night, and you died. I realize you came back to life because you're an immortal demon warrior… thing. What I don't know is why they did it."
"You have your secrets, and I have mine." He planned on keeping her here and keeping her alive, and because of that, he wouldn't discuss his death-curse. She already feared him. If she knew the truth, she would despise him, too. Bad enough he knew what he had done to deserve such punishment.
More than that, if word spread of what happened to him every night, people might forget his reputation as an angel. Someone could snatch his body, cart him away, set him on fire or cut off his head and there was nothing he could do about it. He might desire this woman more than he'd ever desired another, but he didn't trust her. Some of his brain, at least, was still in his head and not in his cock.
"Did you ask them to kill you so you could go back to hell to visit your friends down there or something?"
"I have no friends in hell," he said, insulted.
"So—"
"So nothing." She opened her mouth to speak, but he squeezed her side. "It is my turn to ask the questions. You are not Hungarian. Where, then, are you from?"
She settled into his side with a sigh, curling her body around his, back to stomach. That she was comfortable enough to willingly lie with him like this delighted him. "I'm from the States. North Carolina, to be exact, though I spend most of my time traveling with the World Institute of Parapsychology."
He flattened his hand on her belly and gently rubbed as he searched his mind for any reference to such an Institute. "And they are…"
"Interested in the supernatural. The unexplainable. Creatures of every kind," she answered on a contented exhale. "They study, observe and try to keep peace between the different races."
He paused. Had she just admitted to working for Hunters? Their hate-filled actions had always been carried out in the name of promoting peace for mankind. His brow furrowed in confusion. An odd thing to do, and certainly a first. "What do you do for them?"
She hesitated. "I listen in order to help find the creatures and any other objects of interest." She wriggled uncomfortably against the mattress, no longer quite so content.
"What happens when you find these things?"
"I told you. They're studied."
When she did not elaborate, he stared up at the ceiling. His confusion intensified. Studied, as in killed? Was this a secret warning, her way of letting him know she did indeed work for Hunters? Did she work for them and not know it? Or was this Institute harmless and truly aiming for peace between the species? "Do the people you work with have tattoos on their wrists? A symbol of infinity?"
She shook her head. "No, not that I know of."
Truth? A lie? He didn't know her well enough to gauge. Every fanatical Hunter that had attacked the Lords in Greece—and even those in the forest surrounding the fortress yesterday—had been branded with a tattoo. "You said that you listen. What exactly do you listen to?"
Another hesitant pause. "Conversations," she whispered. "Look, I thought I could talk about this, thought I wanted to talk about it, but I'm not ready. Okay?"
Violence sniped at that, and Maddox struggled to contain the demon. What was she hiding? "It doesn't matter if you are ready to talk about it or not. You will tell me what I want to know. Now."
"No, I won't," she said, stubborn again.
"Ashlyn."
"No!"
He was very close to rolling on top of her, pinning her to the bed and forcing the answers from her. Only the knowledge that she was still sick, still weak, held him in place. But he would get the answer one way or another. "Beauty, I ask only because I want to know you better. Tell me something about your job. Please."
Slowly she relaxed. "People who
work for the Institute learn to keep quiet about their jobs. Not many civilians would believe what we do. Most would just consider us crazy."
"I will not think you crazy. How can I?"
She sighed. "All right. I'll tell you about one of my assignments. Which one, which one," she muttered, then clicked her tongue. "I know! You might appreciate this. A few years ago, I—uh, the Institute discovered an angel. He'd broken his wings in several places. While we doctored him, he taught us about different dimensions and gateways. That's the best part about my job—with every new discovery we learn that the world is a bigger place than any of us ever realized."
Interesting. "And what does the Institute do with demons?"
"Study them, like I mentioned. Step in and prevent them from hurting humans if needed."
Part of what she described meshed with the goals of the Hunters he had dealt with all those years ago, not to mention those he'd dealt with yesterday. The rest, well, didn't. "Your people do not believe in destroying that which they do not understand?"
She laughed. "No."
Hunters did. Or had. At least, he thought so. So many years had passed since he had fought in that war that he sometimes had trouble remembering certain details. At one time, he knew he had understood why the Hunters wanted him and the others dead: they had done evil things, their abilities giving them the strength and longevity to do so forever if not stopped. But then the Hunters had killed Baden and his understanding had evaporated, for the demise of Distrust had divided the warriors. Half had craved peace, absolution and refuge, quietly relocating to Budapest. The others had sought revenge and remained in Greece to continue the fight.
He'd often wondered if the blood feud still raged and if the Lords who had stayed in Greece had survived these many centuries.
Maddox brushed a strand of hair from Ashlyn's temple. "What else can you tell me of this Institute?"
Frowning, she turned her head and stared up at him. "I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I think they plan to study you next."
Now that did not surprise him. Whatever this Institute was, objective or war-hungry, they would be interested in the demons. But with Torin's sensors and cameras, they would never make it up the hill—and those that dared try would, in fact, be treated as Hunters, whether they were or not.
"They can try to study us, but they will not find it easy to do so," he told Ashlyn. With her so near to him, her scent in his nose, he was catapulted deeper and deeper into sexual awareness. With every second that passed, he hardened a little more. She was soft and sweet. She was alive, feeling better with every second that passed. And she was his.
Suddenly he found himself eager to forget the Institute, not learn more about it. "I want you," he admitted. "Very badly."
Her lovely eyes widened. "You do?" she squeaked.
"You are beautiful. All men must want you." He said the words and immediately scowled. If another man tried to touch her, that other man would die. Painfully, slowly.
Violence purred in agreement.
Ashlyn's cheeks colored again, reminding him of the roses he sometimes spied growing beside the fortress. She shook her head. "I'm too weird."
The flat assurance in her tone caused him to frown. "How so?"
She looked away, saying, "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
"I can't." He traced his thumb along her jaw.
A shiver traveled the length of her body, followed quickly by goose bumps. She squirmed against him. Arousal suddenly scented the air, and his nostrils flared as he drank it in. "You want me, too," he said on a low, gravelly rumble of satisfaction, forgetting his question and her refusal to answer.
"I—I—"
"Cannot deny it," he finished for her. "So now I will ask again. Do you still wish me to take you home?"
She gulped. "I thought I did. Only a few hours ago, I thought I was desperate to escape. But… I can't even explain it to myself, but I want to stay here. I want to stay with you. For now, at least."
His satisfaction increased, swimming through him, potent, intense. Whether she answered as Bait or simply as woman, at the moment he did not care. I'll have her yet. We'll have her, Violence corrected, frightening Maddox with the fervor of its tone. We will have her.
CHAPTER TEN
When Aeron and Danika returned to the fortress, flying through the window and landing on the floor of Maddox's bedroom with a gentle tap, Ashlyn experienced a kick of amazement. So. She hadn't imagined it. The man really did have shiny black wings.
You wanted to meet others like you, Darrow. Well, guess what. You got your wish.
Immortal, Maddox had told her. Possessed. She'd suspected demons, so it didn't really surprise her that that's what they were. But wings? While trekking the hill, she'd heard about a man who could fly. She hadn't given the words much thought; she'd been too busy trying to block out the voices. Should have known better. Did that also mean one of the men could sift into the spirit world? One could mesmerize with a look?
She sighed. Maddox had mesmerized her with only a look. She'd been ensnared by him since the first, her constant lust as uncharacteristic as her rash decision to stay here.
"Here's the Tylenol," Danika said, her voice shaky. "Well, the generic version." Her skin was tinted green, and she swayed on her feet. She dug into an emerald bag and withdrew a red-and-white bottle.
Beside her, Aeron straightened his shoulders. His wings snapped closed, rolling behind his back, then disappearing altogether. He bent down, grabbed his shirt from the floor and tugged it over his head, covering the menacing tattoos that decorated his torso. He strode to the window and shut it before turning to Danika, arms crossed over his massive chest. He stood there, silent, observing.
"Thank you," Ashlyn said. "I'm just sorry you had to go to such trouble to get them."
Silent, Danika handed her two pills, which she gratefully accepted. Little aches and twinges still bothered her, and her stomach still fought a determined battle with nausea, though nothing like before.
Maddox swiped the pills from her hand before she could toss them into her mouth. He studied them and frowned. "Are they magic?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
"No," she said.
"How, then, will two small pebbles help take away pain?"
Ashlyn and Danika shared a confused look. The men would have had to interact with humans over the years. How could they know nothing of contemporary medicine?
The only explanation Ashlyn could think of was that they'd never paid attention to a sick human before. Besides, only one of the men, Paris, had been seen in the city with any sort of frequency. She remembered that much from the voices.
Did Maddox keep himself locked away in this castle, then? Ashlyn suddenly suspected he did, and that made her wonder…did he ever feel forgotten? Untouched, unloved? Except for the kindness she'd known from McIntosh, she constantly felt that way herself at the Institute, where she was only as good as her ability. What do you hear, Ashlyn? Was nothing else said, Ashlyn? Did they elaborate, Ashlyn?
Ashlyn realized she wanted to understand Maddox. She wanted to learn about him, comfort him as he'd comforted her. Maddox couldn't know it, and she wouldn't tell him, but every time he rubbed her stomach and uttered those sweet words of reassurance in her ear, she fell a little in love with him. Foolish and wrong, but unstoppable.
She should tell him about her own ability, but she'd decided against it the moment he'd shown such angry interest. She'd wondered: If Maddox was already angry without knowing the extent of her abilities, would he freak if he knew the truth?
Most of the people at the Institute had been uncomfortable around her, knowing she could divine their most private discussions simply by stepping into a room. Since she'd decided to stay here, weird place though it was, she didn't want to deal with that discomfort. For once, she wanted to be thought of as the normal one. Just for a little while.
Around demons, that shouldn't be too difficult.
She'd spill the truth soon
enough. In a few days, perhaps. And maybe then she could learn to keep the voices at bay, even when Maddox wasn't around. Meanwhile, she'd have to find a way to call McIntosh. He deserved to know what had happened to her and that she was okay. She didn't want him to worry.
Hopefully, he was studying the fortress as she suspected and would see that she was happy. Hopefully, her happiness came before her job in his eyes.
"Take them," Maddox said, pushing into her thoughts. He placed the pills in her open palm. "If they make her worse," he added, looking sternly at Danika, "I cannot be held responsible for my actions."
"Don't threaten her," Ashlyn said with a shake of her head. "I've taken this type of drug before. I'll be fine."
"She—"
"Hasn't done anything wrong." Ashlyn wasn't sure where she acquired the bravery. She only knew it was there, unwilling to let Maddox bluster and intimidate.
He wouldn't hurt her, she knew that now—a fact she still had trouble grasping. Beyond the miracle of making the voices stop, this harsh man had tenderly seen to her needs. He hadn't bolted when she'd vomited, as most would have done. He'd stayed with her, caring for her, holding her close, as if she were precious.
As wonderfully as he might have treated her, however, Ashlyn didn't know what he was capable of doing to someone else. She knew what he looked capable of doing: any dark deed, every evil deed. But there was no way she'd let him hurt Danika, who had also helped her.
"Ashlyn," he said on a sigh.
"Maddox."
His fingers stilled, splayed on her stomach. Thankfully, he didn't move away. She could have rested in his arms forever. Truly, no one, not even McIntosh, had ever made her feel so special.
She only vaguely remembered her parents. They hadn't coddled her like this, either. Actually, they'd been more than happy to get rid of their crying, screaming little girl. A little girl who'd constantly begged for the voices to stop, never allowing the people around her to sleep or work or relax.
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