The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld Book 8)

by Gena Showalter

  She was shocked by her lack of unhappiness at the prospect. Shocked further that she didn’t wish things were different. She just wished there was a way to let him know. Gently. She desired another man, a demon-possessed man at that, and Micah deserved better than she could ever give him.

  She sighed, the relieved sound an echo of Amun’s. It was nice, having something figured out. If only healing Amun proved to be that simple. She reached out and brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his brow. Those dancing shadows screeched, darting away from her and burrowing under Amun’s skin, even as the warrior leaned toward her, seeking closer contact.

  What did that darkness represent? What did it mean? Definitely something evil, as she’d first suspected. Amun obviously hated it, cringing as the last thread of gloom faded inside him.

  Haidee, my Haidee. Another sigh wafted through her head, this one laced with contentment. Don’t leave me.

  “I won’t leave you.” Her trembling intensified as she climbed in beside him and wrapped him in her arms. “I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

  IN HIS OWN BEDROOM, Torin watched Haidee on one of his computer screens. Haidee. Come back to life. Who would have thought? And why hadn’t Strider told him? The questions lost their importance between one heartbeat and the next. His eyes widened as the shadows scrambled to escape her touch. He’d never seen anything like it and had no idea what it meant.

  He did know one thing. She wasn’t human, as she’d told Strider. No mere human could frighten demons as she’d just done. And they were frightened of her. They’d hidden inside Amun, rather than try and escape him as they’d done from the first.

  “So what the fuck is she?” he muttered.

  SCOWLING, STRIDER BARRELED his way inside Amun’s chamber. How eager Haidee had been to reach the warrior, her sworn enemy. And now Strider saw her sprawled on the bed, curled into Amun’s side, tenderly smoothing his brow. As if she wanted to be there. As if she was glad to be there. Helping a Lord.

  She thinks Amun’s her boyfriend, remember? Of course she was glad. Of course she was helping.

  “Ex?” he growled with more force than he’d intended.

  Her gunmetal gaze shifted and locked on him warily. “What?” There was nothing wary about her voice. That single word snapped at him with more force than even he had used.

  Clearly, she wanted him to get out and leave her the hell alone.

  His molars gnashed together, and he beat down the tide of jealousy that suddenly raged through him. Jealousy. Jealousy over a Hunter. A Hunter he’d always planned to kill. Why couldn’t he simply be happy that Amun now had a chance to pull through?

  Because Haidee was going to make Amun miserable. And if the big guy fell in love with her, he just might abandon his friends to be with her. Which would get his ass killed for good. Ultimately, she would betray him.

  I won’t let that happen. Ever.

  Win, Defeat said, sensing the challenge.

  I will. Strider raised both of his hands. In the left, he held a syringe. In the right, chains. They’d been waiting in the hallway, but she’d been too damn concerned for Amun to notice. “You didn’t honestly think you’d have free rein with him, did you?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  AMUN DRAGGED HIMSELF FROM the tangled web of his mind and forced his eyelids to open. First things he noticed: the taste of frosted apricots filled his mouth, there was a wonderful chill inside him, cooling the fires that had raged, and an earthy perfume wafted into his nose every time he inhaled.

  Second thing: sunlight streamed through the window, the heavy curtains parted and the blinds slatted to welcome every single bright ray. His eyes teared and burned, but at least those tears washed away the hazy shield seeming to cloak the entire room, allowing him a clearer view.

  Third thing: Strider reclined in a cushy chair he’d placed just in front of Amun’s bed, watching him with an intent, almost forbidding expression.

  Strider’s mind was blank, and purposely so. The warrior knew Amun could read every single one of his thoughts. Everyone here knew it. Which was why, when they wanted privacy—because Amun simply couldn’t stop the flow of their innermost secrets, no matter how much he wanted to—they had to wrap themselves in darkness and silence.

  “How do you feel?” Strider asked, his timbre scratchy and rough.

  Even though the new demons were rattling against his skull, Amun had no trouble understanding. He tried to raise his hands to sign his reply. Like shit, for the most part. The apricots, the chill, both overshadowed the worst of his pain. Only, his arms refused to obey the mental command. Why? His head turned to the left, gaze sliding to his wrist. Scabbed skin, dried blood. Fingers swollen, nails ruined.

  Suddenly memories flooded him, Secrets stretching to wakefulness inside his mind, enjoying the unveiling of what his inner defenses would have liked to keep hidden.

  Hell. Those other demons. The dark flashes, the vile urges. Haidee. The knowledge that he should kill her, the inability to do so. A taste of heaven, her body writhing against his, her hands all over him, her sweet cries in his ears. Strider. Battle, blood. Hating himself for hurting his friend and shielding a Hunter. Failing to reach the girl when she needed him. The return of the demons, the dark flashes and vile urges. No Haidee. No heaven.

  Grim expectation mixed with white-hot rage and bone-numbing fear, all filling him as he jerked himself upright. The bedroom spun, a sharp lance of pain tearing through his temples. He didn’t care, remained upright. Where was she? Dead? The thought left him sick to his stomach.

  No. No, he assured himself desperately, and he felt Secrets’s agreement. She couldn’t be. That earthy perfume belonged to her, as raw and basic as his need for her. He had to find her. Had to make sure she was okay, that no one had hurt her.

  Even though you meant to kill her yourself?

  He ignored the simple, rational question and experimented with his range of motion, lifting one leg and rotating his ankle. He grimaced, then repeated the process with the other leg. He grimaced again. Both legs fell back onto the mattress with a hard thump. The bones had woven back together, but they were still fractured.

  “Whoa.” Strider pushed to his feet, the chair skidding behind him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Lie down. You’re still recovering.”

  Amun hardly ever despised his inability to speak. Silence was his choice, his way of righting the wrongs he’d committed all those centuries ago, of helping the innocents so much like the ones he’d once slaughtered. Not to mention his friends. They had enough to worry about. But just then, he wanted to shout—the girl, where the hell is the girl—uncaring that the moment he did, all the secrets inside him would spill out, hurting everyone who heard them. Not physically but mentally, and that was a far worse pain to bear. He knew that very well.

  Not even the warriors he lived with would be able to tolerate knowing when other men desired their women. Nor would they be able to tolerate the disgusting things their enemies had planned for their loved ones. Friendships would be destroyed, jealousy a constant companion, and paranoia would follow their every step.

  Amun could deal because he’d spent thousands of years learning to distance himself from the visions and voices in his head, blocking emotions before they could even form. Not this newest onslaught, of course. He’d never experienced anything like this and had no idea how to cope. Had no idea how he was lucid now, the new demons cowering in the back of his mind. Unless…

  Haidee.

  Her name whispered through his mind, a plea, a prayer, his demon sensing the truth, even as Amun struggled to accept it. Was she responsible? The first time, as well as now?

  The first time he’d tasted frosted apricots, he’d come to his senses. Now he tasted apricots again, and his senses once again returned. Couldn’t be a coincidence. His desperation to find her intensified.

  He threw his legs over the side of the mattress, hinges squeaking. Every muscle he possessed knotted and ached, clamping tight
ly on those fractured bones.

  “Amun, damn it. You’ve been bed-bound for days, recovering from your wounds and our little experiments. Stop before you—”

  Agitation somehow making his motions fluid, he twisted to face his friend, lips pulled over his teeth. Most of what Strider had said confused him, but he left it alone. Finally forcing his hands to work, he jerkily signed, I’m sorry I hurt you. Sorry I challenged you before. But I have to find her. Where is she? If they’d hurt her, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do. Didn’t know how she affected him like this. Didn’t know why he cared what was done to her, whether she was responsible for his recovery or not.

  Secrets whispered, She is fine, and despite the low volume, the High Lord still managed to be the loudest voice in his head. At the same time, Strider sat back down and said, “She’s there.” His tone was hard and unbending as he motioned to the left with a tilt of his chin.

  Amun noticed his friend didn’t have to ask who “she” was. He followed that tilt with his gaze, and hissed in an agonized breath. She was on her knees, her arms chained above her head. That chain was anchored to his ceiling, offering just enough slack to keep her spine erect. Her head lolled forward, her chin pressed into her collarbone.

  The length of her blond-and-pink hair shielded most of her dirt-smudged face, but he could see that her eyes were closed, her long, curling lashes fanning down.

  His lips parted in a silent roar as he at last pushed to a stand. She is not fine! His knees almost gave out, his stomach almost rebelled, but fury and reckless determination gave him strength.

  “I drugged her,” Strider said as if to soothe him from a violent temper. “She’ll recover.”

  That didn’t fucking matter! What mattered was that something had been done to her. How long had she been tethered like that? Unconscious? Helpless? Amun stalked to his friend, stumbling twice, and held out his hand, palm up. Secrets began prowling restlessly. Because they were closer to the girl?

  Strider knew what he wanted and shook his head. “She’s a Hunter, Amun. She’s dangerous.”

  He waved his fingers, insisting. He would challenge Strider if necessary. Would do anything for what he wanted.

  “Damn it! Do you care nothing for your own safety?”

  Again he waved his fingers.

  “Fine. You can deal with the consequences on your own.” Scowling, but perhaps sensing the depths of Amun’s resolve, Strider reached inside his pocket and withdrew a key. He slapped the metal into Amun’s still open palm.

  Immediately Amun spun and stomped to Haidee. He tripped twice more along the way, but not even that slowed him. Secrets, he noted, had ceased prowling, was utterly still and completely silent now.

  Only those years of blunting the fiercest edges of his emotions kept his ire inside as he twisted the key into the lock. The metal unsnapped, freeing her. She sagged forward without a sound, arms falling heavily to her sides. She would have kissed the floor if Amun hadn’t caught her. His arms despised him, sharp pains still shooting through him, but he didn’t care. At the moment of contact, the screams inside his head—muted though they’d been—quieted altogether, the demons determined to hide from her, as if they feared the pulling would start up again.

  Gently, so gently, he fit her against his chest and lifted her into his arms. The chill of her skin delighted him anew, and he couldn’t help but remember the glide of that skin against his, caressing, stroking, the friction unbearably sweet.

  Raw desire, brutal in its intensity, suddenly consumed every inch of him. He fought past that clawing need and carried her to the bed. He eased her down, then fit the covers around her slight frame and peered down at her. How fragile she looked, her cheeks a bit hollowed, her lips chapped, her skin pallid. How vulnerable she was, unable to defend herself from any type of attack.

  She would hate that vulnerability, he thought, not needing his demon’s help to recall the way she’d constantly scanned her surroundings, how she’d vigilantly searched for a weapon. How she had defended him with her very life.

  Because she thought you were her human boyfriend, he recalled next. He despised the reminder. Did she know the truth now? Would she fight him when she woke up? He thought he would prefer that. Better her loathing than her acceptance of him as another man.

  He would be liked for himself or not at all.

  Amun stilled as he realized where his thoughts were headed. Permanency. Keeping her. The moisture in his mouth dried, and he felt like he was swallowing cotton mixed with Haidee’s glass shards. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, keep her.

  When his friends learned what she’d done, that she was the one who had helped kill Baden, they would demand her head. He could try to talk them out of it, but they wouldn’t be denied. He knew that beyond any doubt. And if he chose her, placed her needs over theirs, they would never forgive him. Hell, he would never forgive himself. Baden deserved better. They deserved better.

  Don’t think about that now. Head spinning with the tide of conflicting emotions and urges flooding him, he climbed into bed beside her, fit her against him, and faced Strider with narrowed eyes. The warrior was watching him, blue eyes ablaze.

  She’s more than a Hunter, Strider thought, clearly knowing Amun would hear. She’s responsible for Baden’s killer.

  Amun knew the warrior wanted to keep that particular revelation just between them—strange that he hadn’t spoken aloud, considering no one else was in the room—but he was glad. The fewer people who knew about her, the safer she would be, and this way, no one would overhear. Then Secrets informed him that Torin knew, also. That Strider simply hadn’t realized. Amun was shocked to his soul that neither man had killed her already. Shock that nearly burned him alive, chasing away the sweetest kiss of her chilled skin. Because she lived, Amun had assumed he was the only one who had figured out her past misdeed.

  “Well?” Strider demanded

  In reply to his previous statement, Amun merely nodded.

  The warrior’s nostrils flared with outrage. “You knew?”

  He gave a second nod.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised. You always know everything. But fuck, man! You’re still treating her like a goddamn treasure.” The words were gritted as he tunneled a hand through his hair and paced. “You picked her over me, damn it.”

  There was no response that could exonerate him, even another apology, so he offered none. And in the silence, Amun began to hear more of Strider’s thoughts. Thoughts the warrior couldn’t snuff out quickly enough.

  She’s mine. To kiss, to kill. Whatever I decide. Damn her, how has she tied me in knots like this? I despise her.

  Amun’s hands curled into fists. Mine, he wanted to shout. He didn’t. Such a confession would only dig his hole of guilt and shame deeper, so he kept his lips pressed into a tight line.

  Why haven’t you harmed her? he signed stiffly. Because Strider desired her, too? Such desire was completely unlike the war-hungry man, though. Only Sabin, their leader and keeper of the demon of Doubt, was better able to place the campaign against the Hunters over his personal needs and wants. So Strider’s hesitation to strike had to stem from something else. Or rather, it had better stem from something else.

  Amun had never felt more capable of murder than he did at that moment, thinking of another man putting his hands on Haidee.

  Guilt…shame…he fell into the hole anyway.

  His friend plopped back into the chair, gaze never leaving him. “We don’t know how, but she calms you, clears your mind, even makes the demons cower.”

  So. As he’d suspected, Haidee was responsible for his recovery. The knowledge was as upsetting as it was welcome.

  “She has to be near you, in the same room, for…whatever she does to work,” Strider went on. “We still don’t know how she’s doing it, but we’ve carried her in and out of this room several times to test the limits of her ability. Once she reaches the hallway, your torment begins all over again.”

  “Experiments” sud
denly made sense. Was her ability the reason he felt bound to her? Because she somehow did what he couldn’t, frightening the demons into submission? Was that how she affected him so strongly, his body a slave to desires he didn’t want to feel?

  That question led to another, one far more distressing than any that had come before. Was this how Baden had felt when he’d opened his door one moonlit night and found Haidee outside, begging for help?

  The memory opened up in Amun’s mind, courtesy of Haidee, he was sure.

  I’m frightened, she’d said, tears glistening in her eyes, her lower lip trembling. I think someone’s out there, following me. Please escort me home. Please.

  He beat it back until he saw only black. He didn’t want to go there. Other questions began to pop up, each more damning than the last. Had Baden looked at her lovely face and felt at peace for the first time since his possession? Was that why he’d simply bowed his head when the Hunters had surged from their hiding places and attacked him, welcoming his own death?

  Jerkily, he signed, Can she hear your thoughts?

  “No.” Strider blinked, shook his head in confusion. “Can she hear yours?”

  Amun nodded stiffly.

  “Can she hear everything? Even your demon…s? Even your demons.”

  No. Thank the gods. Just what I allow her to hear.

  Strider propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, a triumphant gleam suddenly glittering in his blue eyes, intensifying the blaze already banked there. “We can use that to our advantage.”

  Of course the warrior immediately went to tricking and defeating the girl. “Sabin will—”

  Amun hissed before he could stop himself. No.

  Again Strider blinked in confusion.

  No, he signed a second time. You will not mention this to Sabin. He barely stopped himself from adding, Ever.

  “Amun, you know I can’t—”