The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld Book 8)

by Gena Showalter

  What if…what if she hadn’t dreamed of Micah? What if she’d dreamed of Amun? Did that mean Amun was a bad memory trying to surface? Or, like the visions he had showed her of her past, was he something good?

  Neither made sense, really. One, in the visions, she knew the man she saw was her key to happiness, to freedom. Two, how could a demon-possessed immortal, responsible for the travesty that was her life—and her parents’ and sister’s deaths—be something good?

  She kicked back into motion, her sure strides eating up the distance from one cell wall to the other. A better question: How could a demon-possessed warrior be the one thing she craved? The one thing she didn’t think she could live without?

  Live. Without. The words echoed through her mind, and she stumbled to another halt. Her stomach twisted, sharp little knots forming, cutting. No. No, no, no. She purposely kept her home and belongings sparse, her friendships casual. That way, she could pick up and leave without a moment’s notice or regret.

  She could live without him. She could. He was a mystery right now. A mystery she needed to solve. That was all.

  Another complication sprouted. If the warrior she craved was Amun, he wouldn’t want her when he discovered the truth about her. The fact that he’d kissed her meant he hadn’t realized who she was and what she’d done to his friend, Baden. When he did, he would want to kill her, not pleasure her.

  But he knew you were a Hunter. You told him. Still. Easier to forgive a run-of-the-mill Hunter, she thought, than the Hunter who had helped behead his friend—and planned to do the same to all the others.

  Footsteps suddenly resounded. Haidee swung around, facing the cell door. She tensed, waiting, dreading. A few seconds later, the blond, blue-eyed keeper of Defeat rounded the corner and approached her prison. Bile burned a path up her throat. His pretty features were devoid of emotion, but his skin was pale, the tracery of his veins evident.

  Though her heartbeat sped up, thumping erratically, she didn’t back away, wouldn’t act the coward.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, just to taunt him. “Have a tummy ache?”

  Both of his sandy brows arched into his hairline, his eyes glittering dangerously. His gaze perused her from top to bottom, purposely lingering at her breasts, between her legs. “I’m feeling like I can do anything I want with you.” Calmly yet brutally uttered, his threat clear. “Anything.”

  That wasn’t the answer she’d expected, and she scowled at him. But then, she should have known he wouldn’t simply endure her snide remarks. He always had to one-up her. So. Enough pleasantries.

  “Where’s the warrior?” she demanded. “The one I was with?”

  “You mean Amun, keeper of the demon of Secrets?” So calm, so certain. “Or your boyfriend?”

  Secrets, he’d said. Just as she’d suspected. The confirmation explained so much. The knots in her stomach twisted into themselves, sharpening further. Still, she wouldn’t confirm or deny what she knew. “Maybe that’s what you want me to believe. That he’s masquerading as a Hunter, while in reality, he’s really your friend.” The words croaked from her. “Or maybe you just want me to hate my own boyfriend. Maybe you want me to hurt him and afterward, you’ll taunt me, laugh at me.”

  “Now why would I want that, huh? If he’s my friend, demon-possessed like me, yet I told you he wasn’t, that he was your man, you would do your best to watch over him. And I would want my friend watched over, wouldn’t I?” Strider propped his shoulder against the bar, and though his head was turned, his hard gaze remained fixed on her. “But if he isn’t, if he is your boyfriend, why would I give the pleasure of killing him to you, even for a joke?”

  Her chin lifted a notch, her stubborn core refusing to be cowed. Despite his sound reasoning. “Why would you admit he was your friend, then? Thereby placing him in danger?”

  “So I’ve admitted he’s Amun, have I?”

  No, he hadn’t. He’d only questioned her thoughts on the matter, probably trying to confuse her. “I don’t care who he is.” Either way, he belonged to her. That was a fact she couldn’t argue, even with herself. “I just want to see him, make sure he’s okay.”

  “Want, want, want.” He tapped a finger against his chin. “Who said anything about giving you what you want?”

  She popped her jaw, still refusing to show him emotion. “Why are you here, Defeat?”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute. First, I have some questions for you.”

  “And I have every intention of answering them,” she said, sugar sweet.

  “You will if you want to see your…man again.” The last was gritted, as if the prospect bothered him.

  “You just told me I wouldn’t get what I wanted.”

  “No, I didn’t. Think back. I asked you who said you would.”

  True. Bastard. But would he honor his word? The Lords of the Underworld were not known as givers in her world. “After you just taunted me with never seeing him again, you expect me to believe you’ll escort me back to his room if I give you answers you won’t believe anyway?” Or bring Amun here, she thought, but didn’t say the words aloud. No reason to put ideas into his head if they weren’t already there.

  He shrugged. “You’re right. I was merely taunting you. Can you blame me, though? You bring out the worst in me, and I struck back.”

  She wanted to yell at him to continue but remained silent, waiting.

  “So,” he prodded. “We gonna do this? Answers in exchange for a little sightseeing?”

  “Yes,” she gritted out. She had no other recourse. He might be lying, but she was willing to risk Hunter secrets on the hope that he’d follow through. And that’s what he would demand, she thought. Secrets. “Let’s hammer out a few details before I start spewing info. When will you take me to him? A few years from now?” She wouldn’t put such a trick past him.

  A muscle ticked below his eye. “I’ll take you immediately following our conversation.”

  “As if you’ll keep your word,” she said, raising her chin another notch. She might be willing to risk everything, but that didn’t mean she would be stupid about it. The terms needed to be laid out flat, ironed and starched. Just in case. To do that, she would have to provoke him. Some things had to be offered without her prompting.

  His eyes narrowed to tiny slits, the top and bottom lashes catching and twining. “Challenge me, then. Challenge me to keep it.”

  Like that. Had she challenged him on her own, he would have punished her. “Is he even alive?” Even asking, she wanted to cry. You can live without him, she reminded herself. She just didn’t want to.

  Oh, God. He already meant that much to her? Despite who and what he might be? Despite how he would hate her?

  “Yes,” Defeat said. “He is. Though his condition has worsened.”

  Her heart thumped against her ribs. “How many questions? There has to be a limit.”

  He gave another negligent shrug. “Five. And your answers had better be truthful.”

  How will you know if they are or aren’t? she almost asked, just to taunt him as he’d taunted her, but she didn’t. The outcome of this was too important. “All right. I—I challenge you to take me to see Micah—Amun—after I answer five questions honestly.” If he punished her for the challenge, anyway, it would be no more than she deserved for allowing him to trick her.

  Defeat’s pupils gobbled up his irises as he jerked his head once in a stiff nod. “I accept.” His hands fisted. “Satisfied?”

  She’d seen that reaction before, recognized it as what he’d claimed. Acceptance. “I’m as satisfied as I can be in a place like this.”

  Those pupils continued to grow, as if she’d said something provocative. And maybe she had—a virile man would see her words as an invitation to satisfy her physically, and this man was more virile and invitation-happy than most—but it had been unintentional. She wasn’t attracted to Defeat. He was beautiful, yes, but he lacked Amun’s intensity. She also wanted to throw up in her mouth a
little every time she looked at him.

  “What’s your first question?” she demanded.

  He didn’t hesitate. “What the hell are you?”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’m human.”

  Fast as lightning, he struck out, his fist pounding into the bar and rattling the very foundation of the cell. “Already you’re lying. You can materialize weapons out of thin air. That’s not something humans can do.”

  She gave no reaction to his fury. “If I can, why haven’t I produced one since being here? And I promise you, I would have sliced your throat from end to end if I’d had even the slightest opportunity during our trek.”

  Now a muscle ticked in his jaw, but at least he didn’t strike out again. “An easy boast, almost believable. Maybe you just wanted a ticket into this fortress.”

  “To do what? Expedite my torture?”

  “You were Bait once. Maybe you’re meant to be Bait again.”

  “Then you were an idiot to bring me here,” she lashed out.

  His nostrils flared with the force of his renewed fury, but he said nothing else.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” she said, as calmly as she was able. “The weapons didn’t simply materialize when we were in the jungle. I hid them from you until I found the opportunity to use them.” And that was the God’s honest truth. “That, and you’re kind of a dumbass.”

  He exhaled, the breath seeming to drain his fury. “Well, that’s an improvement over stupid and idiot.”

  Gentle, amused teasing. From him. Shocking. Or was he trying to throw her off balance? “I answered. Honestly. So, second question.”

  The gentleness faded, only a single thread of the amusement remaining. “If you’re human, how are you alive? I watched you die. Which is a nice way of saying I fucking murdered you!”

  “I’ve been reanimated.” She didn’t mention how or how many times. He hadn’t asked. “That’s two. Next.”

  He shook his head. “Not done with that one yet. If you’ve been reanimated, and I’m guessing that’s just a fancy way of saying you were brought back to life, a god aided you. Only a god has the power to reanimate a body after a beheading. And even then, I’m not sure it’s possible.”

  Silence enveloped them. He stared at her pointedly. She stared back.

  “Well?” he demanded, spreading his arms as if he were the last sane man in the universe.

  “Well, what? You didn’t ask a question.”

  The muscle in his jaw started ticking again. “Who aided you?”

  Aided was not the word she would have chosen. Cursed, maybe. “A creature very much like you. I think. I didn’t see it, only know I had a reaction to it the first and only time it touched me.” And that’s all she would say on the matter. Even if he asked for more. “That’s three. Next.” Why hadn’t he asked her about the Hunters?

  “Rhea, then,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  Haidee schooled her features, unwilling to show him the depth of her confusion. Rhea, the supposed queen of the Titans? Haidee had heard of her, of course. A small group of Hunters even worshipped her. But why did Defeat assume the woman was responsible for Haidee’s curse? Or “infection,” as the Bad Man had called it? “Two more questions to go. Better make them good.”

  “When I saw you with…him, kissing—” he’d almost said a name, she realized, but had managed to stop himself in time “—were you interested in him as a man or as a possible escape route?”

  Of everything Defeat could have asked, why that? “Why the hell do you care?”

  His traced the tip of his tongue across the seam of his lips. “I don’t believe our bargain involved explanations on my part.”

  Fine. “The man.”

  There was a beat of silence before he gave her a reaction. A flash of that fury, quickly gone.

  “He’s always been the gentle one, you know,” Defeat said almost absently. “He’s rarely ever displayed a temper. Has never hurt one of his friends. And he would be horrified to know what he did to me.” As soon as he realized what he’d said, what he’d admitted, he scowled at her, as if the confession was her fault.

  She pretended not to notice. “You have one more question. And did I forget to tell you that if you lied to me, I would personally reacquaint your spine with a shard of glass?”

  He stared at her for a long while, studying, searching for something. Whether he found it or not, she didn’t know. Then he spoke, soft, gentle. “Why did you help kill Baden, Haidee?”

  She sucked in a breath. Of everything he could have demanded to know…how dare he ask that? As if he didn’t already know the answer. As if he hadn’t rallied to destroy her, all those centuries ago. As if he would enjoy hearing her pain and her heartbreak.

  Just like that, all the hate inside her exploded to the surface, and she stomped to the bars, placing herself within striking distance. She didn’t attack him but dared him to attack her.

  He didn’t move, just continued to stare at her.

  “Why did I help kill him?” She threw the words at him as if they were weapons, and maybe they were. “Because he took what I loved most. And don’t try to lie and say he didn’t, that I’m confused, or misremembering. I saw him. I was there.”

  “He—”

  “I’m not done! Why else did I help kill him? Because he represented what I despised most. Because he deserved what I did, and he knew it. He wanted me to do it. And not once, not once in all these years, have I ever regretted it.”

  Again, silence. Those blue eyes glittered far more dangerously than before as he reached inside his pocket. Haidee expected a dagger to the stomach but still didn’t back down. Physical pain might dull her emotional anguish.

  He merely keyed the lock. The cell door swung open, the hinges squeaking. “For some reason, you calmed…our boy before. He’s worse now, and we need to know if you can calm him again.”

  Him. Amun. So, she thought, furious all over again, Defeat had meant to take her to the warrior all along. She hadn’t had to answer a single question. She’d been tricked, just not the way she’d thought. What a fool she was. “And what is it, exactly, that I calm him from? How is he worse? What the hell did you do to him?”

  “I’m going to take you to him,” the demon went on, ignoring her. Either he was unaware of her volatile emotions or he just didn’t care. “But if you harm him, Haidee, I will kill you. And I’ll make it hurt in a way you can’t even imagine.”

  THE MOMENT DEFEAT led her down the hallway to Amun’s bedroom—a hallway still filled with towering angels and their outspread wings—she heard the warrior’s voice inside her head and forgot everything else.

  Haidee! That single word was a tormented wail. Need…you…please…

  How long had he been calling for her? Why hadn’t she heard him before now?

  Haidee!

  She’d uncover those details later. Right now, he was in pain, so much pain, and nothing but helping him mattered.

  Wrenching away with all her strength, she broke free of Defeat’s hold and rushed forward. No one tried to stop her. Not the angels and not the Lord. She expected Amun’s doorway to still be splintered from Defeat’s vicious kick, but someone had fixed the metal and wood, both now blocking her entrance.

  She twisted the knob—unlocked, thank God—and raced into the bedroom, quickly slamming the door shut behind her. She tried to flip the lock in place and noticed it had been removed. Shit! Something else to worry about later. Tiny beads of ice dotted her skin, and her knees knocked shakily as she pivoted. Then she saw him. He was thrashing atop the bed, just like last time.

  Finally, she was with him again. He was alive. But for how long? He was worse, Defeat had said, and Amun had barely survived the last set of wounds.

  Haidee…please…

  So weak, suffused with all that pain. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.” Acid flowed through her as she stumbled toward him. Some distant part of her brain noticed that every piece of furniture b
ut the bed had been carted out. Then she was standing at the edge of the mattress, peering down at him, and all thoughts fled.

  He moaned inside her head.

  “I know. I know you hurt.”

  Haidee? Not quite so pained now.

  “Yes, baby. Haidee’s here.”

  He sighed with the barest hint of relief.

  The shadows had returned, were even then dancing around his once again savaged body. His eyes were swollen shut, his hands bloody and torn. The wings of his butterfly tattoo were…moving, breaking apart, forming hundreds of other butterflies. Those, too, danced over him, up his thighs, on his stomach, his pectorals, his arms, then disappearing behind his back.

  In that moment, she was absolutely certain the man she watched was Amun rather than Micah. Which meant the Lords wouldn’t hurt him. Thank God. The intensity of her relief was stunning.

  What’s wrong with you? she wondered again. Now that her worries over Amun’s possible torture and execution were proven unnecessary, she couldn’t forget or refute two simple facts. This man had never been a Hunter. This man was her enemy.

  She should kill him. She should add to her tally and be all the closer to evening the score. Like Baden, Amun deserved whatever punishment she dished. The vile things these men had done in ancient Greece… Still. She couldn’t force herself to hurt him. He was too battered, too pitiful. Had sought only to protect her.

  His attitude will change. You know it will. The moment he’s well, his friends will tell him who you are. He’ll go for your throat faster than you can say, “But I spared you.”

  She’d worry about his hatred then. For now, for better or worse, she and Amun were connected. Later, she would search for answers, find out how and why. Maybe she could even convince herself she’d never had visions of him. And then…maybe then she could find a way to cut the ties that bound them. If he didn’t do it first.

  Until then…

  She would do everything in her power to save this man, just as before.

  Even the thought was a betrayal to the Hunters. A betrayal Micah would take personally. But that didn’t alter her plans, and that, she realized, drove home the knowledge that her relationship with him was over.