The Darkest Torment

by Gena Showalter

  “Who dares to threaten you?”

  He answered as if he heard her, even understood her, despite his current state. “Everyone.”

  “Why?” She brushed her fingers over his furrowed brow, and he actually leaned into the caress. When she remembered the command he’d once bellowed at her—Do not touch me. Ever—she drew back.

  He frowned and kicked at the covers. “I won’t be imprisoned again. Never again.”

  How long had he been locked away?

  This man had lived, in some capacity, for a very long time. Considering the violence of his world, he must have grappled with his fair share of ordeals. “Shhh,” she repeated. “No one’s going to imprison you. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “Can only trust myself.”

  Because he’d responded well to her singing in the past, she hummed. Gradually, the tension drained from him. He relaxed against the pillows.

  So beautiful, she thought. And like this he was almost...innocent. Like one of the abused dogs she’d rescued. Once forced to fight to survive, desperate for a safe home, hungry for affection...finally safe and able to hope for better.

  In a fairy tale, he would be cast as the prince and the dragon. Right now, she would be cast as the princess, once again the damsel in distress. Well, things were about to change. Today they would switch roles. She would be the dragon prince, and he would be the princess. In the morning, she might even kiss him awake.

  Kiss him? Whoa! Too far!

  But his perfect lips snagged her attention, delicious warmth uncoiling in her belly.

  Ignore it! Determined to use her energy to protect him—this man who’d fed her and comforted her—she remained awake the rest of the night, just in case. But no one attempted to sneak into the room; no one even knocked on the door.

  When he sat up with a jolt, fully awake and aware, she yawned and muttered, “We’re alone. Everything’s okay.”

  “Of course it is.” He climbed to his feet. “Why would you think otherwise?”

  Was he kidding? “Because of what you said last night.”

  He went still, his back to her. “What did I say last night?”

  He couldn’t remember? “You said I’m the reason you breathe—or used to breathe—and you’d be lost without me.”

  The muscles between his shoulders knotted, pulling at the shirt he wore. “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m teasing. There’s a difference.”

  “Teasing?” He spun. “You’re healing.”

  She was, wasn’t she? An-n-nd with the realization, grief and guilt enveloped her. But even still, the waves weren’t as big and didn’t quite tug her under the tide.

  “You’re going to shower,” he said with a nod. “Today.”

  She sputtered. “I would have showered if you’d asked nicely. Now you can take your order and shove—”

  He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom, his delectable scent tantalizing her, his protective arms keeping the worst of her emotions at bay.

  “You can’t manhandle me to get your way,” she said on a sigh.

  “I believe I just proved otherwise.”

  “You’re strong, blah blah blah. Do you really think this will end well for you?”

  “I’m willing to risk your ire.” His amused smile galled her.

  When the water heated and steamed, he placed her inside the shower stall. He even followed her in, clothing and all. And, oh! This had to be heaven.

  Her mind betrayed her, failing to supply a reason to protest as he stripped her of everything but her bra and panties. Instead she entertained a crazy thought: Let’s see where this goes.

  He kept his own clothes in place and even wore the gloves. He sat down, taking her with him, and anchored her between his legs. She trembled with...anticipation?

  “You have a rat’s nest of tangles,” he said. “We have two options. Shave your head or use the conditioner I stole from William, who will protest. With knives.”

  “Shave it.” Hair was hair. It would grow back.

  “Singular creature. Most women—and that includes William—would fight to the death to protect their locks.”

  “Would you?”

  “No. I fight for enough already. Although I realize now I’ll gladly fight for your locks.” He slathered her hair with a sweet-smelling cream and, while it soaked into her scalp, soaped up the rest of her, avoiding her intimate areas. In fact, his touch remained impersonal.

  And why would it be anything else? She was fragile, weak. The worst attributes ever, according to Baden. And her mother, who’d hoped to prepare her for the day the cancer would win.

  He handed her a toothbrush and toothpaste, and she scrubbed her mouth clean.

  He rinsed out the hair cream and finally shut off the water. He placed her on the toilet lid, dried her with a soft towel and gently untangled the locks of hair that had dared defy the deep conditioning treatment.

  “Are you still unwilling to torture Aleksander?” he asked, his tone cautious.

  “I’ll always be unwilling.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Has he given you the coin?”

  Anger colored his cheeks. “He resists me at every turn.”

  “I’m sorry.” In the bright light, she noticed the cuts and bruises that littered his face. He’d recently been in a fight. Probably multiple fights. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  But others had.

  Baden says many of his points mark the death of a human...

  He’d had to fight to survive. “I’d like to doctor your injuries,” she said.

  He frowned at her. “I’m fine.”

  “But—”

  “No. No touching,” he reminded her.

  Seriously? “We just took a shower together. Our bodies were pressed together.”

  “That was different.”

  “How?” she demanded.

  He scrubbed a hand over his strained features. “You’re no longer my captive, Katarina. I’ll take you anywhere you wish to go.”

  Subject changed. Fine. What else had changed? Her! She didn’t want to leave him, her junkyard dog, even though she should return home and rebuild her kennel. And her bank account.

  This man needed help. The game he played with Pandora was a tether. A chain. Through it, he suffered mental and physical abuse. His friends thought she could soothe him and she, well, she really wanted to prove them right. How foolish!

  “No need to take me anywhere,” she said. “I’m where I want to be.”

  “Why?” He was suspicious...hopeful?

  “Why else? I like living on someone else’s dime.”

  He stared at her, as if trying to see inside her head. “Very well.” He nodded. “You may stay.”

  No protests about her gold-digger status? Bastard.

  “Dress.”

  Another command. Would he ever just ask?

  Maybe he needed a proper example. “Would you please turn around?”

  He hesitated, his features tight, before doing as requested. She hopped up, removed her soaking wet undergarments and tugged on the T-shirt and shorts that were folded at the edge of the sink. Once again, the clothes he’d picked for her were meant for a much smaller person; the hem of the shirt ended well above her navel, and the shorts barely covered the curve of her ass.

  “All done,” she said.

  As she strode past him, he sucked in a mouthful of air. “Your legs...”

  She paused to look over each limb, but everything appeared normal. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  Was that...reverence in his tone? Did she want it to be?

  Her insides heating, she toyed with a lock of hair. He strode to the closet and
changed into dry clothing, unabashedly giving her a peek at his naked form, and oh, wow, he was a magnificent specimen. More muscled than she’d realized, a carnal buffet of strength and sinew.

  “Your tattoo,” she said, certain she was drooling. “The butterfly on your chest.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s...” Delectable—edible. “Beautiful.”

  “We were marked with a butterfly when the demons first entered our bodies. I lost mine when I died and thought getting another would help me become the man I used to be.”

  How very sweet, and very sad. “Why would you want to become the man you used to be? From everything I’ve heard, he sucked ass.”

  He looked at her as if she were a strange creature. “The others loved him.”

  “But they sucked ass, too, yes? Not really a high recommendation for his character.”

  His lips twitched. “Perhaps I got the mark because I secretly wanted to be more like the honorable men my friends had become. To be bonded to them.”

  “Silly warrior. You didn’t need a tattoo for that. You guys are bonded by your love for each other. But maybe the mark can have a new meaning now. You were Distrust, then you were dead, but you emerged from the abyss able to fly.”

  A strange and wonderful creature.

  She preened. “Did you and Pandora hook up when you were trapped together? She’s tough. Totally your type.”

  “Yes, she’s very tough. But no, we didn’t.” He stepped toward her, his pupils expanding over his copper irises. His hands fisted...to control a need to reach for her? “You’ve proven to be even more fragile than I realized. You’re also married.”

  The disgust had returned, and yet...no matter his feelings about fragility, no matter his prejudice about her sham of a marriage, he obviously found her attractive. As he studied her, the telltale signs of excitement only grew more pronounced.

  The most feminine parts of her began to throb. “I’m married, yes, but not for long. This girl will be getting a speedy annulment.”

  Another step. “No need. I’ll make you a widow.”

  How easily he spoke of murder. As easily as he committed it, she was sure.

  And he was staring at her lips now, she realized. Wondering how they tasted?

  She shivered with longing.

  A harried knock stopped him while making her jolt guiltily. Would he have kissed her? Would she have let him?

  “Baden?” Ashlyn called. “Is Katarina in there?”

  He’d stiffened. “She is. Why?”

  “Are you both dressed?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” he grated, not sounding pleased by that fact.

  She rushed inside the room, her hands wringing together. “Another stray dog showed up, and I’m begging you to take care of them both, Katarina.”

  No way, no how. She wasn’t taking another animal under her wing. She absolutely one hundred percent was not falling in love and losing another piece of her heart. Why bother? Death was inevitable.

  “Like I told you last time. Take him and his buddy to a local shelter.”

  “They bark at me every time I approach them. If I take them to a shelter, they’ll be labeled aggressive and euthanized. And I can’t ask anyone else to help. Everyone is too busy worrying about Gilly and planning William’s murder.” Ashlyn pressed her hands together, forming a steeple. “It has to be you.”

  She spoke of murder just as easily as Baden.

  “I know Gilly is sick,” Baden said with a frown, “but why turn on William?”

  “He flashed her somewhere else. We don’t know where. He’s ignoring all calls and texts.” Ashlyn looked to Katarina, beseeching with her gaze. “I’ve never had a pet, but I know suffering when I see it. Please.”

  “I...” Can’t say no, but must protect my heart.

  “Katarina,” Baden prompted. “Help her.”

  That wasn’t the first time he’d used her name, but it was the first time his tongue had caressed all four syllables and made her shiver.

  “Another order,” she told him with an arched brow.

  “As I told you before, the strays won’t replace the ones you lost, but the loss of one doesn’t stop the need for another.”

  Wise words. And really, deep down—underneath her fear of loss—she was tempted to work with the dogs and offer all the love she’d once had to give. Love they clearly needed. Love they’d probably never received.

  Likelihood of Getting Bitten? A solid one hundred percent. One of the dogs had already tried to bite a person, his instinct to attack first and trust later—if ever. He needed guidance as much as food. New surroundings, with new people and smells, could be frightening, and frightened dogs acted out. Not all humans reacted with understanding, patience or even compassion.

  “Fine,” she said on a sigh. “I’ll do it.”

  Relief softened Baden’s expression. “We’ll have to muzzle—”

  “No.” She shook her head, adamant. “No muzzles unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Yes,” he insisted. “There’s no reason to risk a bite.”

  “I’ll decide what I risk.”

  “That isn’t how our relationship works,” he reminded her, as if speaking to a child. “I’m the general, and you’re the lowly soldier. I order, you comply.”

  “For my safety, blah, blah, blah. Well, this lowly soldier is doing things her way. You can deal.”

  “Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you!” A clapping Ashlyn jumped up and down. “The dogs are locked in one of the downstairs bedrooms. My children have named them Biscuit and Gravy.”

  Children...she’d heard about the twins in her many wanderings, but she’d never actually seen them. “How old are your kids?”

  Ashlyn beamed with pride. “Urban and Ever are eight mon—years,” she corrected as her happiness faded.

  An odd reaction.

  Whatever. Katarina had aided her dad as soon as she could walk. “They’re welcome to watch me work, but they have to do everything I say, when I say it.”

  “How kind of you. I’ll let them know. Oh! And they’ve already been instructed not to hurt you, so you don’t need to worry.”

  Eight-year-olds were a danger to her? Please.

  Unless they were immortal?

  Right. New world, new rules. She had to adjust.

  She met Baden’s probing stare. “Are you coming with us?”

  “No.” He rubbed the band hidden under his shirtsleeve. “I have a job of my own to do.”

  What job? she almost asked. With him, it was probably best if she didn’t know. “Be careful.” The words slipped out, and though she wanted to take them back—too concerned, almost clingy—she didn’t.

  He blinked in surprise. “I will. You, too.” A tension-laden pause stretched between them, and she couldn’t quite pinpoint its source.

  Perhaps he couldn’t, either. He frowned and stalked from the room.

  Ashlyn skipped over and linked their arms. “According to the other warriors, Baden used to be the nicest male on the planet, but death changed him. So have the wreaths he wears. He’s harder, colder. But I know for a fact he’ll never hurt you.”

  Her heart suddenly felt like the drum at a rock concert. “What makes me an exception?”

  “Oh, honey. The way Baden just looked at you...well, I’m sure you’ll learn the answer firsthand. And soon!”

  9

  “Looks like it’s fuck-this-shit-up o’clock.”

  —Kaia the Wing Shredder,

  Harpy from Clan Skyhawk

  GILLIAN BRADSHAW—GILLY to her friends, though she despised the nickname more and more, wanting to prove herself an adult rather than a child—tossed and turned atop a soft mattress as a terrible fever ravaged her from the insi
de out. So much of the past few days had become a blur, but she thought she remembered Keeley giving her something cool to drink.

  Happy eighteenth birthday, little one. This is going to make all your dreams come true...dreams you don’t even know you have. You’re so welcome.

  Then, as Gillian screamed in pain, Keeley had said, I’m one hundred percent certain that I’m ninety-three percent certain that I gave you the correct dose. Hmmm. Your symptoms are...well, this doesn’t bode well. Maybe we’ll have to go with Plan B?

  Gillian also thought she remembered William gathering her close later that day and carrying her...somewhere else. He must have. None of her friends had visited her to command she get well soon.

  Warriors. Can’t live with them, don’t want to live without them.

  “There, there, poppet.” William gently wiped her brow with a damp rag. “You’ll heal. That’s an order.”

  She opened boulder-heavy eyelids. He sat beside her, his image blurry, as if a gossamer mist surrounded him. Her mind supplied the details she needed: he was the most beautiful man ever born, with hair blacker than any night and eyes bluer than any ocean.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Her voice was weak and raspy, the words nearly impossible to understand.

  Thankfully, he wasn’t human, his hearing better than most. “Something supernatural. But I’ve got the best immortal doctors in the world running tests.”

  Yes. She remembered poking and prodding, William snapping, “Be gentler or lose your hand.”

  “I want to go home,” she said. She wasn’t just weak and pained; she was weirded out. Her every cell felt as if it had sprouted legs and now crawled through her veins. A familiar setting would help.

  She didn’t have the strength to get up and walk to the bathroom. She had to have help—William’s help—or she had to use a bedpan.

  A freaking bedpan. Oh, the humiliation!

  She wanted the girls.

  Cool fingers sifted through her hair. “Baden returned to the fortress, and his temper is...unstable. I know better than most what he’s capable of doing. I experienced the same—” He quieted, then smiled a smile devoid of humor. “You’re safer here. This realm is hidden. No one comes or goes without my knowledge. Sleep now, poppet.”