The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld Book 8)

by Gena Showalter

  Unless, of course, Lysander wanted her to overpower him. Aha. Now Strider understood what Zacharel had meant. The two were engaged in a sexual marathon, and Lysander had given control to Bianka. They may not see him for several years. One thing Strider had learned about the Harpy when she’d visited the fortress was that she enjoyed power and didn’t relinquish it easily.

  Lucky Lysander.

  Strider could have tasted a Harpy of his own, he supposed, since Bianka had two single sisters. Taliyah and Kaia. Taliyah was the ice princess, as seemingly emotionless as Zacharel, but Strider had never been interested in her. Now, Kaia on the other hand, well, she was the wildfire. He’d been interested. Really interested—until she’d slept with Paris, keeper of Promiscuity. Strider had decided then not to bother with her. Who could compete with a freaking god of sex?

  To be honest, Strider was sick of competing in the bedroom all the damn time. Sick of having to be the best lover his partner had ever had. It had gotten old. There was nothing wrong with a guy wanting to lie back and let the woman do all the work for once.

  If Defeat had been awake, the demon would have said, “Win.” Strider almost wished the little shit would speak up. Woulda been nice to trample on his feelings by shouting, “Shut the hell up!” The bastard had gotten Strider into this mess, after all.

  “And…he’s off again,” Torin muttered wryly.

  “Am not.” Strider flipped him off. “Tell me this at least,” he said to the angel. “Can the girl, being infected as she is with something you stupidly won’t tell me about, contaminate Amun? Make him worse?”

  A moment passed in silence as the angel considered the question. And wouldn’t you know it? He gave no reaction to the word stupidly. “No.”

  All right, then. Strider would forget about Ex’s “infection.” For now.

  “So what are we going to do about Amun and the girl?” Torin asked, getting them back on track. Again. He leaned back in his chair, resting his ankle against his knee, hands twined over his middle. A casual pose, if not for the lines of tension branching from his mouth.

  Zacharel eyed the keeper of Disease as if he’d lost his brain when he’d gained his demon. “We will test our theory, of course. We will put her back inside Amun’s room.”

  “Hell, no!” Strider snarled. And not because those sparks of jealousy had instantly lit back up and now poured through his veins like streams of acid. “He’s defenseless, and she’ll hurt him.”

  “She didn’t before.”

  “That doesn’t mean she’ll be a tame house cat next time!”

  “If things continue as they are, I will kill him.” The words were so simply stated, Strider had no doubt Zacharel meant what he said. “Your choice. I will be satisfied one way or the other.”

  Not really a choice at all, the bastard. He had to know that. “I’ll have to clear out Amun’s room and remove…” Shit. “Everything except the bed.” Anything could be used as a weapon. As he’d already learned. “The window will need iron bars.” Hunters were notoriously adept and wily. Look what Ex had done with a simple piece of glass.

  His stomach ached in remembrance, the scab pulling tight.

  “Maybe we should break her hands, too,” Torin suggested, shocking the sweet loving hell out of Strider. He was usually the voice of semi-reason. “I don’t want her able to snap his neck or pluck his eyes while he’s defenseless.”

  Zacharel shrugged, drawing attention to the breadth of his shoulders—and making Strider grit his teeth in annoyance that he’d noticed. What was wrong with him? Men were not his personal preference. “She didn’t before,” the angel remarked.

  “That doesn’t mean she’ll be a tame house cat next time,” Torin repeated, mimicking Strider’s earlier you’re-a-moron tone.

  “That’s when she thought she could escape with him,” Strider forced himself to say. Because deep down, he still didn’t like the thought of hurting her. He lost more IQ points every day, he decided. “This time, she’ll know there’s no way she can free herself. She’ll know she’s helpless and needs to curry our favor.”

  Torin’s eyes widened. “You’re actually voting to leave her be? A Hunter? What’d she stab you with? A magic wand laced with Prozac?”

  “No, I’m not voting to leave her be.” Damn it! He had. “Fine. We’ll break her hands.” He wasn’t going to argue about her treatment. She deserved what she got, and he would just have to pacify himself with that knowledge.

  “One other thing to consider,” Zacharel said. “Amun fought to reach her, and all of my warriors were needed to subdue him. If you hurt her, I think he will object. And if he objects, I think many in this household will be injured. But again, I give the choice to you.”

  How magnanimous of him, Strider thought dryly. Zacharel had a gift for ripping your rationale apart with only a few words. But…Torin couldn’t force the issue now.

  Still. Prick that he was, Strider wasn’t exactly ready to back down yet, no matter that he was getting what he’d originally wanted. Zacharel irritated him, and part of him hoped to irritate the guy right back. At least garner some kind of reaction.

  “If we decided we wanted it done, would you be the one to do the breaking?”

  “Of course,” Zacharel said easily.

  Strider blinked at him. Not the answer he’d expected. Feet shuffling, maybe. A little waffling, for sure. “But you’re an angel. Aren’t you supposed to be defenders of humanity or something?”

  “She is not exactly human.”

  “Then what is she?” The question whipped from him, his eagerness to know unparalleled.

  “I do not have permission to tell you.”

  The eagerness deflated like a balloon, and Strider gnawed the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snarling. When Lysander finally crawled his way out of wild Bianka’s bed, Strider was going to have a long chat with him. He suspected daggers would be used between every word.

  “We won’t damage her,” Strider finally said. “And I have a few conditions. I have to be the one to escort her to Amun.” Just as soon as he could walk. He didn’t like the thought of anyone else putting their hands on her. She was—not his. “Also, I want a camera in the room.” The words emerged harder, harsher. “We’ll monitor what goes on twenty-five, eight.”

  Torin nodded, his expression half satisfied, half steeped in guilt. “I’ll have them placed and recording within the hour.”

  There were cameras strategically hidden throughout the entire fortress just in case Hunters snuck past their gate and traps, but not in any of the bedrooms. They’d all agreed. If the enemy could bypass everything else and enter one of the rooms, the Lords deserved to die. Privacy was that important.

  If Amun ever regained his senses completely, he’d be pissed as hell about the new cameras. But better his fury than his murder.

  Zacharel straightened from the post. “I’ll inform my men of what is to transpire.” With that, he turned with the fluid grace of a dancer and strode from the room.

  A dancer? Seriously?

  Strider’s cheeks heated a whole hell of a lot more than before.

  When Torin made no comment about his blush, he relaxed against his pillows. As a sigh left him, he realized how tense he’d been in the angel’s presence. Now he scanned the bedroom, allowing the familiarity of his surroundings to comfort him further. His weapon collection decorated the walls, everything from ancient swords to modern-day firearms.

  Only thing hanging on the wall that wasn’t a weapon was the portrait just over the bed. No. Not true, he thought then. The portrait was a weapon, too. Of seduction. In it, Strider was utterly naked and whisking through the clouds like an avenging angel. He was holding a teddy bear in one hand and a stream of pink ribbons in the other.

  Anya had given him the nearly life-size monstrosity as a joke. But the joke was on her. He loved the damn thing.

  “Where are the others?” he finally asked. “The other day you told me they were out and about, but not wher
e exactly. Or why. I’ve had a little time to think this through, and I realized they don’t need to keep the artifacts out of the fortress anymore. The Hunters aren’t swarming us like before. Word on the street is they vanished, which is bizarre, but Cronus says not to worry—and yeah, I talked to him, he just popped in the other day for no apparent reason—so I’m not worried. Which means you aren’t, either. Which means the boyz are away for a different reason. Right?”

  Torin’s sigh was an echo of his. “It’s just too dangerous around here, what with the angels being demon assassins and Amun visiting the dark side. Aeron, Olivia, Legion, William and Gilly are the only ones still here. Not because I need help, but because they’re too weak to leave. And well, Aeron has taken the blame for Amun’s condition and refuses to leave him. Not that you’ve paid any of them a visit, you slacker.”

  Gods, he was, wasn’t he? “Thank you for shoving me down the shame spiral. How are they?”

  “The guys are still recovering from Hell Week, and the girls are taking care of them. Well, except for Legion. She refuses to get out of bed.”

  Aeron must be worried about her, too. Strider really should have checked on him. On all of them. I’m a self-absorbed prick.

  “The rest of the crew is spread out,” Torin said, “and I no longer have their locations. I told them not to tell me anymore, to just check in at least once a day so I’d know they were alive.”

  “Why don’t you want to know where they are?”

  “With the little Hunter here, the less I know about them, the better.”

  True. “So, any news? Gossip?”

  “You want gossip, you’ve come to the right place, my man.” Some of the tension drained from Torin’s features as well, and he rubbed his hands together. “Ashlyn’s pregnant.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I know, moron.”

  “Yeah, but did she know she’s carrying twins?”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. A boy and a girl. Fire and ice, Olivia said.” Olivia, the angel. She wasn’t like the assassins currently living here, but a joy-bringer. Aeron’s joy-bringer, in fact, and the girl did her job well. The somber bastard had never been so…smiley, for lack of a better word. It was straight up weird. “Can you imagine twin demon hellions running around this place?”

  “No.” Strider had never spent any time with kids and wouldn’t even know how to hold one. Or what to say to one. Or what to do when one vomited on his favorite sword. But damn if he didn’t get a kick out of imagining his friends struggling to cope.

  “Oh, and get this. Gideon married Scarlet, the keeper of Nightmares.”

  “You’re kidding.” Fickle Gideon? Married? Scarlet was gorgeous, yeah, and feisty as hell. Powerful, too. And Gideon had been a tad bit obsessed with her when she’d been locked in their dungeon. But marriage?

  Everyone in the fortress had lost IQ points, it seemed.

  “He couldn’t have waited until I got back to sign on for double occupancy?” Strider mumbled. “What a great friend.”

  “No one was invited to the ceremony, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Well, the decision to get hitched is gonna give him nightmares.” Strider snickered. “Get it? Nightmares?”

  “Har, har. You’re a borderline fucktard, you know that?”

  “Hey, I’m not going to apologize for being on my A game. Why don’t you step up to the plate and join me, Junior League?”

  Torin ignored him. “It’s weird, don’t you think? Two demons hooking up?”

  Strider peered at him, blinked. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Why?”

  “One word—Cameo. And you. Okay, so three words.”

  Torin snapped his teeth at him. “Whatever. We were talking about Scarlet. Which brings me to more gossip. Turns out she’s the only daughter of…wait for it… Rhea.”

  What? Rhea? And he hadn’t known? Strider had been way more self-involved than he’d realized. Rhea was queen of the gods, the estranged wife of Cronus, and the bitch helping Galen, keeper of the demon of Hope—and an all around asshole—leader of the Hunters. “How’d Gideon take the news?”

  “Well, he tried to kill his mother-in-law.”

  “Sweet. But such romantic gestures aside, our boys have gotta start picking their significant others with more care. Gwen is Galen’s only kid, Scarlet is Rhea’s. What’s next?” A Hunter? A participant in Baden’s killer?

  Yes, he was a fucktard.

  “I’ll tell you what’s next,” Torin said. “Lucifer’s brother.”

  “Come again.”

  “Did no one tell you? William is related to Lucifer. And Lucifer is the devil, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Come again.”

  The corners of Torin’s lips quirked with amusement. “I know. Whacked out as hell, but kind of fitting.”

  He wouldn’t ask again. He wouldn’t. “How?” Damn! The question escaped before he could stop it.

  “Don’t know. William refused to spill. Needless to say, things have been pretty festive around here. So, anyway. You’re back, and you’re kind of healthy, so I can ask the question I’ve been holding in for three days. Where the hell is the Cloak of Invisibility? I looked through your stuff, your room, but couldn’t find it.”

  Oh, shit. Now it was his turn to drop a news bomb. “About that…”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HAIDEE PROWLED THE CONFINES of her cell.

  She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d been pushed inside. She was alone. Food and water had been brought to her only once. The fruits and nuts and crisp, clean water had somehow curbed her hunger completely, strengthening her in a way she couldn’t explain.

  Oh, and the food had been delivered by an angel—a freaking angel living in a demon’s den. That still had her reeling. But she now knew beyond a doubt she was in the Budapest fortress. As they’d dragged her down here, she’d spotted wear and tear from a recent bombing. A bombing she hadn’t been involved in, but one she’d heard all about.

  Enough time had passed for Micah—“Amun,” Defeat had called him—to have suffered countless fates. Torture, relocation, even death. The thought of each had sent her into a near hysteric state. She’d clawed the walls until she had no nails left. She’d beaten the bars until her knuckles had cracked and swelled. She’d screamed for answers until her voice had fractured.

  Now, in the silence, all she could do was think, one sentence echoing over and over again. Defeat had called him Amun. Was he Amun, a Lord? Or was he Micah, a Hunter?

  He’d known her, shouted for her help. That had to mean he was Micah. But, on the flip side, he hadn’t known anything else about her. Not their history, not their purpose. That had to mean he was Amun.

  Argh! The back-and-forth, was he or wasn’t he, was driving her as crazy as her confinement. Could he be a mix of both? Amun’s demon stuffed into Micah’s body? Because really, two men couldn’t look that much alike. Could they?

  No matter the answers, she wasn’t leaving without him. Even though, deep down, a part of her suspected the worst. That two men could easily look alike—especially if powers beyond a human’s comprehension were involved. That he was Amun, that he’d always been Amun. That Micah was someone else completely, out there somewhere, still searching for her, and she was simply trying to convince herself otherwise so she wouldn’t feel guilty.

  That kiss…something else she couldn’t get out of her mind. Micah had never kissed her like that. Fiery, consuming. Necessary.

  Despite the danger they had been in—were in—she would have allowed him to strip and penetrate her. She would have met him thrust for wild thrust, taking, giving, claiming. She would have clung to him, desperate for more, for everything.

  Hell, she would have crawled inside him if she could have. She’d wanted them fused, never able to part. How crazy was that? A kiss had never affected her like that. Never. A man had never affected her like that.

  Always before, she had remained d
etached. From everyone. Maybe because she’d known the people around her would die, while she would continue on, eternally brought back from the grave. Maybe because there was darkness inside her. So much darkness. A living entity, as real as the ice that flowed through her veins, a presence in the back of her mind, muted but always there, urging her to despise people, places, life, death. Anything, everything.

  For the first time, she hadn’t had to fight to feel or garner affection. She had looked at Amun—

  That’s how you think of him now? Amun?

  Yes, she realized. Somehow he was Amun to her now. Micah didn’t fit those fuller lips and wider shoulders. So, she had looked at Amun, and sensual awareness had sizzled inside her. Connecting them. She had heard his voice inside her head, and that sensual awareness had deepened.

  And if he really was Amun, not Micah, she should feel guilty about what had happened between them. She should be horrified that she’d succumbed to her enemy. Should be devastated that she’d let him give her more than an explosive kiss; she’d let him lick between her legs, and she had loved it. Had been begging for more.

  Guilt and horror were not what she felt, however. Well, not completely. She felt them, but she was still consumed by desire.

  Forgetting the fact that Amun was the enemy, she wasn’t a cheater. And yet, had he walked through her cell, she felt pretty certain she would have thrown herself into his arms.

  She scrubbed a shaky hand down her face. What was happening to her common sense? Her well-honed self-preservation instincts?

  Micah was the first boyfriend she’d allowed herself in centuries, and only because she had dreamed of him first. But she hadn’t needed him, hadn’t been lost without him. She paused and peered down at her tattooed arm. At his name, branded so deeply into her flesh. M-i-c-a-h. She traced the letters with a scabbed fingertip. There was no leap in her pulse, no hum of desire.

  She thought the name Amun.

  Goose bumps broke out over every inch of her skin. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly flooded with moisture. See? Reaction. Always. And that wasn’t good. Not good at all.