The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld Book 8)

by Gena Showalter

  Amun.

  She jolted upright, heartbeat accelerating with gratitude, delight and awareness. So much awareness. He sat only a few inches away, within striking distance. Perhaps he was coming to trust her. A fire blazed in front of him, creating a symphony of music and heat. His bare back was to her. As she’d noticed before, he bore no tattoos, no scars. She saw only the ridges of his spine and a wide span of muscle and scabs. From the snakes, she realized. The snakes he’d saved her from.

  “Where are we?” she asked, surprised by the raw quality of her voice.

  He didn’t move, didn’t even twitch with alarm at the sudden interruption. We’re between realms, I think. We’re safe, though. I scouted ahead, and there’s nothing and no one for miles.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “For everything.”

  He nodded. You have to talk to me, Haidee. Slowly he twisted so that his hip pressed against hers, and they were facing each other. I wasn’t sure how the ambrosia in the air would affect you. I wasn’t sure if I needed to try and purge it from your body or leave you be.

  She knew she needed to reply but couldn’t. Not just yet. She wanted to savor this moment with him, no animosity between them.

  He was just so beautiful, his dark, fathomless eyes probing all the way to her soul. His lips, though taut with tension, could lure a woman to her own downfall. As long as she could have those lips on her body, that tongue licking, sucking and tasting, destruction hardly mattered.

  More than embodying physical perfection, he was courageous, caring, protective. How could anyone consider him evil? Least of all herself?

  Honestly. How could she ever hurt him? Even if he decided he no longer needed her and opted to punish her for her past sins? She wouldn’t be able to blame him. He just wanted to survive, as she always had.

  And what if Baden had been just like him? she suddenly wondered, causing sickness to churn in her stomach. What if she’d helped kill an innocent man? Not that Baden had been innocent back then, but what if he would have matured into a dedicated warrior like the one in front of her?

  What if they were all innocent? The sickness intensified. Strider had spent those seemingly endless days with her, yet he hadn’t raped her, hadn’t tortured her, hadn’t hurt her as he could have. He’d threatened her, yes, but then, she had threatened him. She had even hit him, stabbed him. He’d retaliated, once, but not as fiercely as he should have.

  The Lords of the Underworld are the epitome of evil, Dean Stefano, the modern-day version of the Bad Man, the first Hunter she’d ever encountered, had always said. As right-hand man to Galen, who rarely made an appearance, he was currently in charge of the troops. They must be eradicated before their poison spreads. To you, to your loved ones. How many of your mothers have died of cancer? How many of your teenage daughters have been violated? How many of your spouses have betrayed you?

  When someone had balked about killing another living being, Stefano had added stiffly, Killing a demon isn’t murder. Demons are animals, and those animals would slaughter your entire family without a single pang of remorse. Like a starving lion or bear. They attack and ravage thoughtlessly. Never forget that fact.

  Wasted breath, she’d thought every time she’d heard that speech. Haidee hadn’t needed convincing. A demon had slaughtered her entire family. Not just once, but twice.

  She’d always blamed the entire lot of them because, to her, a demon was a demon and evil was evil. Now, with the proud, compassionate Amun so close to her, she at last saw the flaw in her logic. Evil destroyed. These men hadn’t destroyed her when given the chance, yet destruction had always been her ultimate goal.

  How many times had she tried to eradicate the Lords? Had she even cared about the methods used? No.

  A wail of regret suddenly caught in her throat. What if she was the evil one?

  A firm arm slid under her knees and another wrapped around her waist. A moment later she was being lifted and lowered. After that, she was leaning against Amun’s massive chest, her cheek pressed into the hollow of his neck. Gently he caressed her hair as if she was beloved rather than despised, as if her emotional state mattered.

  What are you, Haidee? he asked again, voice as gentle as his touch.

  She’d never discussed her…infection with another living being. Ever. Not even Micah. But this was Amun. Her Amun. As tears burned her eyes, she relaxed against him, flattening her palm against the heart beating so swiftly in his chest. He’d saved her; he deserved to know the truth.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” she whispered. “Human, I know that much, but something else, too. I can be killed just like anyone else. Bleeding out, disease, starvation. But each time I’m killed, I come back, exactly as I am now.”

  You’ve died before? I mean, I know you died that once, but you’ve actually died several times? His tender stroking never ceased.

  “Yes. More than several, though. I lost count a long time ago. Still, no matter how long I manage to stay alive in one incarnation, I never age past this point. I guess my age just kind of froze after the very first death.”

  So what happens after you die?

  She shuddered. “It’s horrible. You’d think the pain of dying would be the worst, but no. The pain of rebirth, or whatever it is, is devastating. I’ll feel my life slipping away, float in darkness for what seems an eternity, but then, when the light comes…” She shuddered again. “The light swallows me, burns me to my soul, but not with fire, with ice, and my body will begin to rejuvenate. I’m like a mother giving birth—to myself. My bones feel like they’re being injected with acid, every muscle spasms and my skin feels like it’s being poured back on.”

  Those warm fingers curled around her nape, the caress becoming a massage. Again, his touch was tender, and yet, as aware of him as she was, her sensitive flesh prickled, her nipples beaded, and an ache bloomed between her legs. How she wanted this man.

  She had always assumed discussing the past would be difficult. And never had she imagined doing so with one of the demon-possessed warriors she’d fought so diligently to obliterate. The words flowed smoothly, however. “When the pain finally leaves, I always find myself in the same location. Greece, in a cave next to the water. I won’t remember any of the good things that happened to me, yet I’m aware that the memories were taken. Not that that makes any sense. I’ll know who I am, every terrible thing that’s ever been done to me, every terrible thing I’ve done, and the hate… God, Amun, I’m always filled with so much hate. For the first few years of a new life, that hate is the only thing that drives me.”

  He rested his chin on top of her head, his warm breath ruffling strands of her hair, tickling. How long have you been alive this time?

  “About eleven years.”

  Why have you never come after us before?

  She should lie. The truth would destroy the tranquility of this moment. He deserved the truth, though. After everything, he deserved the truth.

  “I have come after you,” she admitted. “A few years ago, some of you were in New York. I helped burn down your home. And then, a few months ago, in Budapest, there was a shootout. I was there.”

  No, I mean, in one of your other lives. I’ve been around a long time, yet this is the first time since ancient Greece that I’ve encountered you.

  He wasn’t going to take issue with her confession. He wasn’t even going to acknowledge it as the travesty it was. The realization was staggering. “I always remain in seclusion until I’ve got the hate under control. And even then, I have to wait until I can pass myself off as someone else before I can rejoin society and the Hunters, which means waiting until the people who might have known me are dead.”

  How do you know who they are, if most of your memories are taken? And how you are Haidee now, if you’ve changed your identity?

  “I’ve come back so many times, and with so many years apart, I’m often able to reuse the same name. As for the rest, I keep records inside my cave, files detailing everything I’ve been
through in one lifetime. I also send newspaper clippings, photos, that sort of thing, to a mailbox nearby.”

  That’s smart. His sincerity warmed her as surely as his touch.

  “Thank you.” She lifted her arm, drawing his attention to her tattoos. She’d never done this before, either. Never explained what the etchings meant. If she and Amun were ever going to make a relationship work, though—you want a full-blown relationship now?—one of them had to take that first, trusting step.

  “See this?” she asked, ignoring her question to herself. With her free hand, she traced a circle around the only address amid the faces, phrases and dates.

  His fingers curled around her wrist, slowly turning her arm, allowing him to study each of the surrounding tattoos. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over Micah’s name, as if he could wipe it away. Just then, she wished he could.

  Yes, he said. I see.

  “That’s where my mailbox is.”

  At first, he didn’t respond. Then his breath emerged raggedly and he stiffened. Don’t tell me anything else about how you survive. Okay?

  “O-okay,” she said, confused. “Why?” Because he’d feel obligated to tell his friends, but didn’t actually want them to know? Yes, she realized a moment later. That was exactly why.

  The thought of possible betrayal should have sent her leaping out of his lap. Instead, she cuddled closer. He was still trying to take care of her.

  Who’s the Bad Man? he asked, changing the subject.

  Hearing a nickname she’d only ever thought jolted her. “How did you know about him?”

  His thumb brushed the side of her jaw, and she shivered. I had a vision of you. Like the one we saw together, of you on the veranda. Except in this one, you were a little girl. Everyone else, I can read their minds, but you…I have only ever seen snatches of your life.

  First, he could read all minds but hers? That was kind of…disappointing. She wished he could see all of her, know all of her. If anyone could help her sift through her confused emotions and conflicting desires, it was this man. “The Bad Man was the first Hunter I ever met. He found me after my parents were killed.”

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

  Oh, no. No way in hell would she allow that hated memory to resurface now. “He saved my life after…someone like you tried to kill me. He thought I’d come in handy.” She laughed bitterly. “He was right, he just didn’t know it. I was nearly a teenager when he sold me in the slave market after failing to train me. But after I died the first time, I remembered his lessons and that’s how I later hooked up with the Hunters.”

  And that’s when you helped kill Baden? Simply asked, with no hint of his emotions.

  Goodbye, sweet, stolen moment. If any topic could ruin their ease with each other, it was that one. Still. She nodded, tears once again burning her eyes.

  Who did we take from you that drove you to hate us so deeply?

  Again, there was no emotion in his voice. Not anger, not condemnation. Far more stunning, his question offered her absolution. A justifiable reason for her actions. He would never know what that meant to her, how profoundly that affected her.

  She couldn’t help herself. She pressed a kiss on the pulse thumping at the base of his neck. “My parents. My sister. My…husband.”

  Husband?

  “Yes.”

  His arms tightened around her. Before, you mentioned only one of us had done the deed. Do you know…do you know which of us it was?

  That hesitancy…he feared he was the culprit, she realized. “I did not see the face of the one who killed my parents and sister, but I do know it wasn’t you or any of your friends. He was a demon-possessed warrior, though. As for my husband…” She sighed. “I’m not sure exactly who was responsible, but I do remember seeing your friends the night of his death.”

  He tipped up her chin and met her gaze, his black eyes deep pools of regret. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. Earlier he had offered her absolution, and with her silence, she now did the same for him.

  He nodded in understanding, in thanks, and released her chin. His hand slid into her hair, his fingers combing through the strands. Do you know the story of how I came to be demon-possessed?

  “I think so. You and the others stole and opened Pandora’s box, unleashing the demons that were trapped inside. The gods decided to punish you, and rightly so,” she couldn’t help but add, “by bonding each of you with a demon of your own.”

  That’s right.

  “Why’d you steal the box, anyway?”

  Zeus asked Pandora to guard it rather than asking us, and we were…upset.

  “Insulted, you mean.” Men and their pride, sometimes the reason nations fell.

  Yes. We wanted to teach the god king a lesson, show him our worth.

  “And did you?”

  Hardly. We showed him exactly how stupid we were.

  She fought a grin. At least he saw and accepted the truth.

  He lifted a lock of her hair to his nose and breathed deeply, a moan of satisfaction drifting through her mind. The reason I brought up the box was to tell you that there were more demons locked inside than there were warriors to punish for unleashing the evil. Those that remained were placed in the prisoners of Tartarus. An immortal prison, he explained.

  Ah. She knew where he was going with this. “So the man who killed my parents and sister might have been released from that prison.”

  Or escaped. Yes.

  “And whoever killed my husband could have escaped, as well?”

  That, I don’t know. I wish otherwise, but… If you saw us that night, I’d say there’s a ninety-nine percent chance we were responsible.

  No excuses, just brutal honestly. With countless lifetimes steeped in mystery, she appreciated such unvarnished probabilities. She kissed his pulse a second time, letting him know the admission hadn’t propelled her into a rage. His sandalwood scent consumed her senses, reminding her of their shower. Which reminded her of their almost-kiss. Which reminded her she was in his arms and had only to stretch up to press their lips together.

  Have you seen the man who—have you seen him since?

  She blinked. Concentrate. While she’d been opening the doors to her body’s desires, Amun had been focused on the being responsible for her family’s demise, still determined to look out for her. “A few times,” she hedged. More like a hundred.

  When? Where?

  “Each time, just before I die,” she admitted. Always a prelude to the end of her current existence, as if he poisoned whatever life she’d managed to build for herself. But as many times as she’d seen him, she’d never fought him. And she’d wanted to fight him, so badly. He would simply reveal himself, that dark robe dancing around his ankles, his feet not quite touching the floor. He would watch her, hate dripping from him. He would curse at her. But he would never touch her or allow her to touch him. Then, he would disappear.

  I need to think on this, Amun said.

  Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  Once again Amun lifted her up, but this time he placed her on that bed of petals. Instantly she mourned the loss of his arms, his heat. I need to find you something to eat. I was afraid the snakes would harm you, even in their deaths, so I brought none of their meat with us.

  Always taking care of her, her Amun. “I wish that stupid angel had packed a few protein bars and bottles of water,” she said, snappier than she’d intended.

  Beside her, the pack in question plumped up with a whoosh. She and Amun shared a confused glance. Frowning, he leaned over, unzipped the panels and reached inside. He withdrew a handful of protein bars.

  His frown deepened as he upended the bag and dumped out the contents: more protein bars, followed by bottles of water. Just like that, his frown softened with hints of relief and wonder.

  Ask for something else, he commanded.

  Haidee lumbered to her knees, not daring to h
ope. “I wish the pack had sandwiches and fruit.”

  The sides of the pack expanded a second time before sandwich after sandwich fell on top of the bars, each encased in a clear plastic wrapper. And when those stopped raining down, apples and oranges began to drop and roll. Haidee’s mouth watered.

  “I want wet wipes and a change of clothes. I want weapons and toothpaste and a toothbrush—” they’d left those behind “—and a first aid kit for Amun’s wounds.” As she spoke, each of the requested items joined the pile.

  Giddy, she sorted through the food, picking out what she wanted to eat. Once she had a ham sandwich and apple in hand, she practically inhaled them. Then another sandwich, then an orange. She drained two bottles of water. Every bite, every drop was heaven. And when she finally finished, too full to shovel in another crumb, she cleaned herself as best she could with the wipes, brushed her teeth—God, that felt good—and finally allowed herself to glance over at Amun. Breath caught in her throat.

  The firelight caressed him lovingly, bestowing a golden tint on his dark skin. A tint she hadn’t noticed before. He was watching her, a strange, bemused expression on his beautiful face, and a half-eaten apple in his hand. Obviously he’d cleaned up, too, since his face was no longer streaked with dirt.

  “Let me bandage your wounds,” she said quietly.

  The bemused expression vanished, his pupils expanding, his nostrils flaring as if he suddenly scented prey. Her eyes widened. What had she said?

  Your concern for me is nice, but to bandage me, you’ll have to put your hands on me. I want your hands on me for a different reason.

  “I—I…okay.”

  Come here. There was such force, such command in his tone, she didn’t even think about refusing.

  She crawled to him, quickly closing the distance between them. He set the apple aside, but he didn’t touch her. He simply peered at her. Waiting. Expectant. She rose to her haunches, breathing him in. The sandalwood was now layered with the peat smoke.