The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld Book 8)

by Gena Showalter

  “Okay. So. We can’t leave yet, which means we have to prepare. Maybe…maybe we can blockade ourselves in here. That might buy us some time.”

  Leave? She meant to leave with him? Without the artifacts she’d mentioned? Without trying to pry information out of him? That made no sense. Unless…

  Prepare for what? His execution?

  “The Lords.” She popped to her feet and slowly spun. “I’ll have to shut the door between the rooms.” As she spoke, she rushed to the wall. She hooked her fingers around the edge of the “door,” and pulled.

  Scraaape.

  Gradually, the hole closed. Haidee then shoved the dresser against the exit he hadn’t known about, preventing anyone from opening it from the other side. Well, anyone of normal strength. She did the same to the front door, using his vanity.

  Amun watched her, no closer to answers now than he’d been before traipsing through her head. Perhaps even further away. She was serious about protecting him. Despite who and what he was.

  “If you continue to heal so rapidly, and they continue to stay away, we might be able to fight them when they finally bust inside. We can escape. And I know, I know. Our motto is ‘die if you must, but take as many Lords as you can with you.’ And I was totally prepared to do that when I thought you couldn’t be moved. But sometimes it’s better to get out and come back later, you know?”

  You hate the Lords? he asked, just to discover what she’d say.

  “Hate is a mild word, don’t you think?” She never ceased her efforts to blockade them.

  She had told the truth. Shocking. Why?

  “I have my reasons, and you have yours.” She attempted to wrench the mirror from the vanity. Hoping to shatter the glass and use the shards as blades? “We don’t talk about them, remember?”

  No. I don’t remember. Now, what would she say to that?

  Finally she paused, her sharp gaze whipping to him. “You don’t remember our past?”

  She thought they had a past. No. Should I? Carefully, he had to tread carefully.

  Her eyelids slitted, evidence of the predator that lurked inside. “I swear to God, baby. I’ll make them pay for every injury they inflicted on you.”

  Baby again. And she meant to seek revenge on his behalf? He still couldn’t, wouldn’t, soften, but something was wrong here. The knowledge changed the direction of his rage. She wasn’t pretending to like him; she actually liked him. And when Amun looked past his own emotions, he realized Secrets sensed no malice in her. Not directed at him, at least. And even as unreliable as the demon had been since Amun had woken up, he found he couldn’t refute that.

  Haidee’s fingers curled over the mirror’s frame so tightly her knuckles leached of color. After a few seconds of deep breathing, she released the wood and straightened.

  What are you doing? he asked.

  “We need weapons.” Her gaze circled the room—she did that a lot, he realized, and thought it was a defensive instinct—before landing on his closet.

  She strode forward, disappeared inside. He had multiple weapons stashed inside, but he knew she wouldn’t find them. No one could hide things quite like Amun. What he wanted to remain unseen, remained unseen. Soon she exited with one of his shirts wrapped around her fist, and that was all. Still, satisfaction radiated from her. Barely a second passed before she reached the mirror and punched, punched again, a hard jab, jab.

  “They have a whole wardrobe in there,” she said. “This room must belong to one of them.” The glass shattered against that second thrust, and she released the material from her grip, letting it float to the floor.

  One of them, she’d said. As he’d suspected, she hefted several shards, tested their weight, turned them in the light. With a nod, she sheathed several in her pockets.

  Haidee.

  She jolted as if startled. “I’m sorry. Yes?”

  Who…am I?

  “You don’t know your name, either?” A frown darkened her expression. “Your name is Micah. We’ve been dating for about seven months.”

  Micah, like the tattoo on her arm. Micah, her “baby.” That’s who she thought he was? And I’m a Hunter?

  “Yes.”

  Like you?

  “Yes.” So easily admitted, without a care. Unless she was a grade A actress capable of fooling a demon, she truly believed what she said, that he was Micah, a Hunter.

  Knots formed in Amun’s stomach, then sharpened into daggers, cutting at him. So there it was. Proof, by her own admission, that she was his enemy. He needed to kill her before she discovered the truth about him. Before she thought to fight him, to hurt him when he couldn’t really defend himself.

  And as she’d just locked them inside this room, effectively trapping herself in his presence, all he had to do was summon her over, wrap his hands around her pretty neck, choke as he’d already wanted, and twist. He might be weak, the action might pain him, but he wouldn’t back down. He couldn’t.

  Haidee, he projected to her, the word a croak, even in his mind.

  “Yes?”

  Don’t do it, part of him cried. She was sweet and lovely and utterly luscious.

  Secrets might even have whimpered, eager to return to her mind and play rather than destroy.

  The other part of Amun recalled her past deeds, her current motto. “Die if you must, but take as many Lords as you can with you.” The moment she realized he wasn’t this Micah—Amun’s hands fisted, how he despised the bastard…for no other reason than he was a Hunter—she would attack. There would be no stopping her if he failed to act. And fast.

  Determined, he lifted his chin. Come here.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PANTING FROM EXERTION, those drugs still playing havoc with her body, Haidee strode to the bed. She placed a sharp glass shard on the nightstand, within Micah’s reach, then stuffed one under his pillow. Never hurt to have two weapons at your disposal, rather than one.

  Then she searched the nightstand, surprised she hadn’t thought to do so before. She found all kinds of goodies inside. Toothpaste, a toothbrush, mouthwash, antibiotic ointment, bandages and wet wipes. None of which made sense. Or had the Lords wished to torment Micah with what he couldn’t have or use?

  Well, she would show them! She made use of the wash and wet wipes and helped Micah do the same, cleaning them from top to bottom, even intimately, which left her blushing—hello, big boy—then applied the ointment to his wrists as gently as she was able.

  He watched her, silent, his dark eyes intent but unreadable. She hated that he didn’t remember her or their relationship. Not that there was a lot to remember, but months ago they’d reached an understanding. They’d get to know each other before they had sex, but they’d get to know each other without discussing their pasts; they’d also vowed that no matter what, they wouldn’t see other people.

  Why had he agreed to that? she wondered now. At the time, she’d thought he respected her, hoped to ease her skittish nature. But had she not had those visions, she wouldn’t have agreed to such an arrangement. Because with the restrictions laid bare like that, she realized they hadn’t had a relationship. They’d had a tolerance.

  That would change, she vowed. He’d come after her, fought to get to her and endured horrendous torture on her behalf. He deserved everything she had to give. So, she would give.

  When she finished, she put everything back inside the drawer. “Now. The shards will cut your hand if you use them,” she said, easing beside him, “and with as much blood as you’ve already lost…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to remind him of his frailty. He was a warrior to his soul and might think to prove his strength if she pressed too forcefully. “What I’m saying is, only use them if absolutely necessary. Okay?”

  He might be healing physically, and at an astonishing rate she couldn’t explain, but her worry for him hadn’t faded. He’d been savaged and mind-fucked in the most terrible way. He would be a different man now. Was already showing signs of change.

  H
e’d always been an intense man, and that intensity had deepened and darkened over the past few months, frightening everyone around him. Moods had blackened around him before he’d ever spoken a word. Even hers. Now, he was just as intense, but the darkness had faded. He actually lightened her mood.

  Before, the thought of sleeping with him had disturbed her. She’d felt as if she would be cheating herself of…something. The sizzle, she supposed.

  And maybe if she’d felt that sizzle she would have felt comfortable discussing her past with him. She’d never told him that she’d lived before, that she’d died before. She’d never told him what happened to her after she died. That she’d lived far longer than her seemingly twenty-odd years. That she’d had hundreds of lives but couldn’t recall any detail that didn’t involve blood, pain and death. That she’d tattooed herself so that she would have some link to the good things that had happened to her.

  To her knowledge, she’d never told anyone.

  One, she didn’t trust people. Ever. Not even Micah, not fully. Two, when your business involved killing anyone with a supernatural ability—because that ability could mean possible demon contamination—you didn’t admit to having a supernatural ability of your own. And three, the less people knew about her, the easier it was to return from the dead as someone else.

  Yet, she thought she might like confessing all her secrets to this man. Even though he was more distant than ever—such clipped responses to her every word. Even though he was harder than she’d ever seen him—he’d endured so much, yet he barely seemed to notice his pain. They were connected in a way they’d never been before, and he’d been so gentle with her. More than that, she felt safe with him. And desired.

  Yes, he’d desired her before. But that desire had been tempered with a bit of hesitation. Now, nothing would stop this man from getting what he wanted. If she rebuffed him, she thought he might help her see the silliness of that. In a good way, of course. His protective instincts were too honed for anything else. Look how tenderly he had caressed her cheeks.

  And there were physical differences, too, she realized. His lips seemed fuller, but of course, that could be from the swelling. His lashes were definitely longer, his eyes now so black you couldn’t distinguish pupil from iris. His shoulders were wider, the ropes of muscle in his stomach more numerous.

  She knew the Lords had branded him with their butterfly, but what if they’d done more than that? What if they’d somehow possessed him with a demon and that’s why he carried the mark? The moisture in her mouth dried as she recognized the possibility for what it was: likely.

  Galen, leader of the Hunters, had found a way to pair a human with a demon. Maybe the Lords had, too.

  Haidee.

  She blinked as that husky voice penetrated her thoughts, then forced her suspicions to the back of her mind. Scaring a man in this condition wouldn’t be wise. Or maybe he already knew, but didn’t know how to tell her. Did he fear she would turn away from him if she learned of his possession?

  Haidee, he repeated.

  “Sorry. My mind wandered. Twice.” She slid closer to him, not stopping until her hip met his.

  He grimaced as he pulled himself into a sitting position. This close, she could feel the heat of his skin. So much heat she’d never encountered its like. Another difference. He’d never been this warm before. Otherwise, she would have finally given in and slept with him, even without the sizzle; she wouldn’t have been able to help herself. Nothing was more delicious than the sweet burn of him.

  Haidee, he snapped again.

  Again she blinked into focus. She had to stop traveling these unwanted mental paths. “Sorry. What do you need, baby?”

  To touch you. He managed to raise his hands on his own this time and cup her temples.

  More of his heat enveloped her, his skin like a live wire against hers. She shivered and leaned into his grip, practically purring. Surprise flashed through his eyes—eyes now flickering with sparks of red. Oh, yes, she thought, hopes plummeting completely. He had been possessed. He knew. And he hadn’t expected her to desire him.

  Poor darling. As if she would ever betray him. He couldn’t help what had happened, and she wouldn’t reject him for it. Besides, her war with the Lords had never been about their demons, but about their actions.

  Micah hadn’t infected her. He hadn’t killed her family.

  Blood, a river between her mother and her father. Both helpless…dead.

  She shook off the memory before it could tug her into a pit of despair.

  “If they did something to you, something…evil, I’ll help you through it,” she told him gently, flattening her hands over his. Touching him was definitely a need. “I won’t turn you in to Galen or Stefano. I won’t betray you. No matter what. And if you start to…do things, bad things—” like lashing out, killing indiscriminately “—well, I’ll take care of you myself.” Mercifully. And only after she’d done everything in her power to purge him of the demon.

  She’d loathe herself, would probably replay the act again and again with every new lifetime she experienced, but she would do whatever was necessary to save innocent families from the blood-fate hers had received. Even destroy herself and the only source of her happiness.

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” she asked gently.

  Again surprise flashed in his eyes, adding tiny pinpricks of amber light to the dark irises. Thankfully, the red was gone. Something evil. Like…?

  Another shiver danced through her. She was coming to love the times his voice drifted through her mind, as warm as his body. “A…demon possession.” He tensed. Tell me everything. How you got here. What your purpose is.

  At least he hadn’t flung her away for guessing the truth. Nor did he seem afraid of her. Good. “Okay.” She lowered his hands to her lap, clutching them tightly. He didn’t protest. “The demon of Defeat, the one hosted by the Lord named Strider—I don’t know if you remember him from the pictures we’ve seen?”

  Micah merely blinked at her.

  She continued. “He was in Rome. He had the Cloak of Invisibility. We spotted him, chased him. He managed to capture me.” Bitterness seeped into her tone. She’d been such an easy mark. “I think he meant to kill me, but for whatever reason, changed his mind. A few times, I even caught him looking at me like…you know, like he wanted me, but that can’t be right. He detests me. Anyway, he brought me here. Put me in the room next door to you. I heard you calling and basically clawed my way through the wall to reach you.”

  He offered no reply, but his expression was tense.

  How long had he been here? she wondered as guilt torched her insides. She should have fought Strider harder. Should have escaped and found Micah before he’d been beaten. He suffered now because of her.

  She’d never be able to make it up to him, but God, did she want to try. “Micah?” Gaze never leaving his beautiful, savaged face, she scooted even closer to him. She placed their twined hands on his waist as she leaned in…closer still…and softly, gently, pressed their lips together. “I’m so sorry you’re here. I’m so sorry for everything that was done to you.”

  At first, he gave no reaction. Not to her words and not to her kiss. He still didn’t reply. Didn’t flinch from pain or encourage her to deepen the contact, either. Then he stiffened, his fingers squeezing at hers. Then he inhaled deeply, as if he couldn’t get enough of her scent. Then he canted his head and opened his mouth. Not just welcoming her, but encouraging her.

  Moaning, she slipped her tongue past his lips, past his teeth, and jerked at the sudden bolt of arousal that speared her. His taste was minty from the wash, but spiced with a dark drug, luring, tempting…demanding a response. A response she couldn’t deny. Her breath grew shallow, her nipples pearled and every cell in her body smoldered with the sweetest kind of fire.

  More, she thought.

  His tongue met hers, rolled and coiled, danced and sparred, the heat spreading, intensifying. And then he was moaning, p
ressing more fully, thrusting his tongue as if their mouths were having sex.

  She’d kissed him a few times before and had been disappointed in each of the experiences. This time, there was no disappointment. There was shattering excitement, sultry danger and heady bliss. Her fingers moved of their own accord, up, up, tangling in his hair. Soft, silky hair, the strands baby fine.

  More, he said this time, the single word a growl inside her head.

  “Oh, yes.” More. She never wanted this to end. She had a mind filled with bad memories, yet as she swallowed his exotic flavor, she was swept away by him, the past forgotten, the present a thrill and the future something to anticipate. So good. “I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t let me hurt you.”

  Stopping’s the only thing that will hurt me. The kiss must have caused an adrenaline reaction in him, something, because the next thing she knew, he had enough strength to heft her up, forcing her to straddle his lap.

  His erection pressed against her needy core, hard and thick, and she gasped. Good? No longer an adequate word. The earth freaking moved. Unable to help herself, she rubbed against him, arching forward and back. Each time she hit him, each time they connected, she released a groan of need. Nerve endings did the sizzling thing, pleasure rushing through her in heated waves.

  More.

  “Please.” Her voice was little more than a needy whimper.

  One of his hands dove past the waist of her pants and cupped her ass. Skin-to-skin, a white-hot brand of possession. His other hand rode up her spine and latched onto the back of her neck. In the next instant, he spun her, basically tossing her on top of the mattress and looming over her, his weight smashing into her.

  The kiss never even paused. Over and over his tongue worked hers, feeding her the ecstasy she needed but also making her ache. Didn’t help when his hips began a slow grind against her clitoris, that hand on her ass forcing her to rise up and meet him, to slide up and down his shaft. The friction burned, burned so damned sweetly. She’d never experienced anything like this.