Lords of the Underworld Bundle

by Gena Showalter

  Reyes and Lucien leapt on him, dragging him to the ground and shoving Ashlyn from his head. He bellowed, a howl so loud he expected glass to shatter. Fists flew—his, theirs, he didn’t know. Someone kneed him in the stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs, but he didn’t stop.

  Kill. Kill.

  If he’d had fangs he would have bitten, so badly did he crave the taste of blood. He would have drained someone dry. As it was, he brought up a booted foot and kicked somebody in the cheek. Grunted in satisfaction when he heard a howl.

  “Pin his fucking legs.”

  “Can’t. Got his arms.”

  “Knock him out, Paris.”

  “Sure. Want me to spew diamonds from my ass while I’m at it?”

  A fist collided with his jaw. His teeth rattled and he tasted the blood he’d craved.

  “That’s for ruining my game.” Paris. “Bunny was about to spread oil on Electra.”

  “I’ll kill you. I’ll—” Ashlyn’s pleasure-drenched image flashed once again. Her eyes alight with passion. Her head thrown back as she enjoyed his mouth on her, licking every drop of her femininity.

  He stilled, realization slamming into him. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? He didn’t want blood and death on his hands. He didn’t. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t Violence.

  Suddenly he was ashamed of his actions. He should have had more restraint. He knew better.

  Panting, he tried to sit up. The men tightened their grips. He relaxed, not forcing the issue. No more, he vowed. No more attacking my friends.

  We have to protect Ashlyn, Violence growled.

  A desire to protect? From the demon?

  We will, just not this way. Not like this. The more he gave in to the spirit, the more he became Violence. When had he stopped fighting against it so fervently?

  Sometimes, when he was alone, he liked to think that if he’d been born a human, destruction would have been the furthest thing from his mind. He would have married, had a loving wife and laughing children who played at his side while he carved. Carving furniture—chests, dressers, beds—had once been a pleasure for him.

  Since he had destroyed everything he’d ever created, he’d given up the hobby.

  “He’s stopped moving,” Reyes said with surprise.

  “I can’t see the spirit anymore.” Aeron. Confused.

  “Hey. We didn’t even have to chain him.” Paris.

  “This is a first.” Torin. Still laughing.

  They released him and stepped away in unison. Maddox shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and piece together what had just happened. He had been consumed by Violence, yet he hadn’t murdered everyone in his path. Nor had his friends been forced to bind him to impede him.

  Gingerly, he sat up and glanced around the room. Total destruction greeted him. Wood splinters, ripped foam cushions, black TV shards. Yes, he’d been consumed.

  His brows puckered in confusion. Usually he had to be knocked out and chained. Or beaten so badly he could only wait in bed until Pain and Death came for him. Yet thoughts of Ashlyn had soothed him completely.

  How?

  “Good now?” Reyes asked him.

  “Yes.” The word was raw, hoarse. Someone must have choked him.

  He pushed to his feet and stumbled to the couch. No cushions, not anymore, but he didn’t care. He fell onto the hard springs. They squeaked under his weight.

  “Good thing Torin knows how to invest,” Paris said, glancing around as he sat beside Maddox. “Looks like it’s time to splurge on new furniture.”

  “Where were we?” Lucien asked, getting them back to the business at hand. There was a cut on his forehead, one that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.

  A wave of guilt swept through Maddox. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Lucien blinked at him in surprise, but nodded.

  “The women,” Reyes grumbled, settling at Maddox’s other side. “I say we give it more time. Unlike some of us—” he sent a pointed look in Maddox’s direction “—Aeron has his spirit under control right now, whether it’s stirring or not.”

  “I agree.” Lucien walked to the overturned pool table, the scent of roses drifting from him.

  A nice smell, but not as good as Ashlyn’s, all honey-warm and spiced with secrets and moonlight. Ashlyn…Thinking about her again caused his body to harden, to ready. Should have taken her when he’d had the chance, he thought again. Should have penetrated that tight, wet sheath.

  “Uh, I’m happy to sit close to you and everything, but I had no idea you would like it so much,” Paris muttered.

  For the first time in hundreds of years, Maddox felt a blush creep into his cheeks. “It’s not for you.”

  “Thank the gods,” was his friend’s reply.

  “Speaking of gods, Maddox, now might be a good time to tell the others about the voice you heard,” Lucien prompted him.

  Maddox didn’t want to burden them but knew there was no other choice. “Very well. Someone came to me, in my head, commanding me to send every one of you to a cemetery tonight at midnight, unarmed.”

  Lucien motioned to Aeron. “You know these new gods better than any of us. What do you make of this? Does it sound like something the Titans would do?”

  “I’m not an expert on them, but I do not think so, no. There would be no reason to concern themselves with our weapons. Useful as they are in battling Hunters, they’d be futile in a war with the gods.”

  Paris woohoo-ed, and everyone shot him a surprised glance. He shrugged sheepishly. “Got my game back on with the mini-TV I’d stashed in case something like this happened.”

  Maddox rolled his eyes.

  “Let’s assume for the moment that the voice belongs to a Hunter,” Lucien said, bringing them back to the main topic. Again. “That means we’re now dealing with a Hunter who has a formidable ability. And since it’s doubtful he’s working alone, we have to wonder if his friends have similar powers.”

  Aeron said, “We’re stronger than mere mortals, special powers or not. We can take them.”

  “Yes, if we can outwit them. Remember Greece? The Hunters were not as strong as we were but they managed to hurt us time and time again. Now a trap has most likely been set in the cemetery.” Maddox eyed each of them in turn. “I can’t go—I’ll be dead—but everyone else can. You can turn their trap against them and kill them.”

  Lucien shook his head. “At midnight, Reyes and I will be here, with you. That leaves Paris and Aeron, since Torin can’t leave, either. We can’t send the two of them to fight a battle when we don’t know the odds.”

  “Let’s leave now, then,” Maddox said. He hated leaving the fortress, but he would do it. To protect Ashlyn, he would do anything. If this new breed of Hunter meant her harm…“There are seven hours until midnight. That’s plenty of time for me to fight and return.”

  Everyone blinked at him in silent surprise. He’d never offered to go into the city before.

  “Someone has to stay here and protect the women,” Reyes finally said.

  “I agree.” He couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave Ashlyn alone, defenseless. What if she became sick again? What if Hunters were able to breach the fortress and hurt her?

  “Well, I don’t agree.” Lucien gave them both an apologetic smile. “Killing the Hunters is more important than guarding the women.”

  Since they’ll be dead soon, anyway. He didn’t have to say it when they were all thinking it.

  Reyes’s hands fisted. Maddox ground his teeth together.

  “Someone stays behind to guard,” he said, “or you fight without me.” Aeron might be Wrath and Lucien might be Death, but no one fought like Violence. Taking him into battle all but guaranteed their victory.

  “We’ll go without you,” Lucien said, finality in his tone.

  So be it. He wasn’t leaving Ashlyn unprotected. The fortress was well-fortified, yes, but it couldn’t stab an opponent, rendering him ineffective. It couldn’t sweep her away from dange
r and into safety’s arms. “Tell me what you intend to do, then, to ensure victory.”

  A pause. Lucien and Aeron exchanged a tense look. Before he could comment, Lucien bent down and picked up a long, rolled-up paper that had fallen to the floor during Maddox’s tirade. He strode to the couch and unrolled it, anchoring it on the edge. “Would’ve been nice to do this on the coffee table,” he muttered. “Even the pool table. As thorough as you are, though, you overturned and cracked both.”

  “I have already apologized,” Maddox said, guilt increasing. “And tomorrow I will repair them.”

  “Good.” Lucien pointed to the paper. “As you can see, this is a printed map of the city. Earlier, when we were planning and you were otherwise occupied, we decided to set a trap in this abandoned area.” His finger circled a bumpy-looking stretch of land to the south. “There are hills and no houses, which makes it the perfect place to strike. We’ll wait there and let the Hunters come to us.”

  “That’s it? That is your plan?”

  “Well, that and kill them.” The fragrance of roses became stronger as Lucien’s eyes glittered menacingly. “It’s a good plan.”

  “They may not come. They may be at the cemetery.”

  “They’ll come,” Lucien insisted.

  “How do you know?”

  He paused, glanced at Aeron once more. “I have a gut feeling.”

  Maddox snorted. “Your gut could be wrong. We should at least secure the hill before you go so that no one sneaks up while you’re gone and I’m dead.”

  “Fine,” Lucien said with a sigh. “Let’s get to work.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hotel Taverna, Budapest

  SABIN, KEEPER OF DOUBT, lay on his bed, staring up the suite’s virginal white ceiling. He’d traveled from New York to Budapest with one goal: finding Pandora’s box and destroying it. All right, two goals. So far, no luck. But he had found the warriors who had walked away from him thousands of years ago. Men he’d once fought beside. Men he’d once loved.

  Men who now hated him.

  He sighed. Since his arrival three days ago, he’d caught a glimpse of Paris here and there, but hadn’t made his presence known, unsure of the reception he’d receive. Would he be attacked on sight or embraced as the prodigal son?

  Damn, but he almost feared finding out. He’d nearly decapitated Aeron when the warrior tried to stop him from burning Athens to the ground in an effort to draw out the Hunters responsible for their friend Baden’s death.

  A few times since coming here, Sabin had tried to stealthily infiltrate their midst, to learn everything he could about these warriors he’d once considered brothers yet who were now strangers to him. They had revealed nothing. So he had turned his attentions to the humans surrounding them. Only one had heard him. A woman. She hadn’t given him any new information, either.

  All he knew was that six warriors were alive and kicking in that massive fortress on the hill, and they were armed out the ass.

  That, he’d already learned from a Hunter he’d interrogated a month ago. The very Hunter who had told him, with great reluctance, about the search for Pandora’s box. How finding the box would mean the end of the Lords of the Underworld, for the demons would be sucked back inside its walls and the warriors unable to survive without them.

  Apparently, Hunters had been planning for weeks to storm the fortress and capture the warriors inside, but hadn’t found a way in yet. The fact that they wanted to capture rather than destroy plagued Sabin with questions. Did the warriors here know where the box was? Did they care? How did they feel about Hunters these days? They’d walked away from the fight once. Would they do so again?

  He uttered another sigh. There’d be time for thinking on that later. Right now, he had another mystery to solve. The changing of the guard, so to speak. From the hands-off Greeks to the control-freak Titans—a worry he hadn’t expected.

  He didn’t know these new gods, but he didn’t think he liked them. There’d been murmurs of war and domination all through the heavens when they’d summoned him, forcing him to stand in a circle of unfamiliar faces and answer their questions.

  What is your ultimate goal?

  What are you willing to do to reach it?

  Are you afraid of dying?

  Why they’d summoned him and not the others, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything, really. Not anymore. He wasn’t even sure Maddox would tell the others to visit the cemetery.

  He hoped they came. The time had come to make his presence known; he simply wanted to have the advantage when he did so.

  If only I could lie… It would have made things a whole lot easier.

  But Sabin couldn’t lie—if he tried, the demon went crazy and Sabin passed out cold. Strange reaction to wickedness, but he could not stop it. What he could do was project his thoughts into another’s mind, filling them with mistrust and worry as he wove a web of doubt through questions and observations.

  Neither questions nor observations were lies, now were they?

  Plugged in as his demon was to doubt, Sabin had heard Maddox praying for the human girl and had swooped in, creating even more doubt about whether she could survive without the aid of a god. That she had survived worked in Sabin’s favor, allowing him to demand payment.

  On the off chance the warriors arrived—they’d be armed despite his command, he was sure—Sabin and his men were going to be there, waiting. Hoping. How would they react to this unexpected reunion?

  With hatred, most likely.

  “Shut the hell up,” he told the spirit. He didn’t mind using it against others, but he hated when the stupid thing tried to weaken him.

  The door to his suite swung open.

  He gripped the blade strapped to the back of his neck, preparing to strike. When he spotted his guests, he relaxed.

  “What kind of welcome is that?” Kane asked.

  Cameo, Amun and Gideon flanked him. They’d been together since Baden’s death, when they’d given themselves over to their demons. Anything to help punish those who had taken one of their own.

  The destruction they had caused, the people who had been hurt…Sabin shuddered, remembering. It had taken a long time to find themselves again, but by then it had been too late. They could never fully immerse themselves into society, could never be anything other than warriors.

  Hunters wouldn’t let them.

  More than destroying Baden, they had slaughtered any human the warriors favored and destroyed any home they’d ever made. For that, Sabin would fight them for the rest of his days. Aka eternity. Until the last one fell, defeated, he would fight.

  Sabin sat up and anchored his weight on his elbows, leaning back against the headboard. “Anything?”

  “Plenty,” Gideon said.

  “Nothing,” Kane countered with a roll of his eyes.

  Gideon was possessed by the spirit of Lies. Unlike Sabin, the man couldn’t utter a single truth. Everyone in the room knew to believe the opposite of whatever he said.

  Sabin pinned Gideon with a next-time-just-keep-your-mouth-shut look and the man shrugged, as if to say he’d do what he wanted, when he wanted. No “as if” about it, actually. Gideon did do whatever he wanted. Always had. Rebellion swam in his blood.

  He was tall, a warrior like Sabin, but that was where the similarities ended. While Sabin had brown hair, brown eyes and a roughly hewn face, Gideon was pure punk, embracing the modern Goth look, throwing in a little grunge and mixing it all together with movie-star flair.

  He’d colored his pale hair bright, metallic blue. Said he’d done it because it really made his eyes pop. Of course, that was a lie. He’d probably crafted the look as a warning to humans. Approach at your own peril.

  He was pierced and tattooed all over his body. He only wore black, and he never left home without a full arsenal strapped to his body.

  Well, none of them did, really.

  “Where’s Strider?” Sabin asked.

  Gideon opened his mouth to answe
r—with a lie—but Kane, possessor of Disaster, interrupted, “He couldn’t accept defeat. He’s still looking.”

  Of course. Sabin should have known. Because Strider held Defeat inside of him, he had to win, no matter what he was doing—war, cards, ping-pong—or he suffered physically, unable to move from bed for days.

  Sabin had told his team to talk to the locals with the goal of learning something new about the Lords or the box, so Strider would not return until he did so.

  Cameo, the only woman in their cursed group, plopped into the plush lounge across from him. Once, she, too, had been an immortal warrior to the gods. Like the other warriors, she’d been offended when Pandora was chosen to guard dimOuniak. But unlike them, she hadn’t resented the fact that a female guard had been chosen—only that the female selected hadn’t been herself. He still remembered her enormous smile the day they’d decided to topple Pandora. It was the last smile Sabin had ever seen on her face.

  “The locals are unwilling to give us any information,” she said. “For some reason they consider the warriors—get this—angels and don’t want to betray them.”

  Sabin had a hard time listening to her. She was the saddest excuse for flesh he’d ever seen.

  Oh, she wasn’t ugly. Far from it. She was small and delicate, with black hair and amazingly bright silver eyes. But she now held the spirit of Misery inside her, so laughter, giddiness and joy were not a part of her life.

  Sabin had tried for hundreds of years to cheer her up. No matter what he did, what he said, she always looked on the verge of suicide. Truly, all the sadness in the world was swimming in those silver eyes and layered in her voice. He’d always wondered how she persevered without going mad.

  He rubbed his jaw as his gaze sought Amun. “Did you learn anything?”

  Amun leaned against the far wall, a dark slash in contrast to the stark white of the room. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark everything, Amun could divine secrets—deep, deep secrets—when in close proximity with someone.

  Had to be a burden, knowing the ugliest secrets of those around him.

  Maybe that was why Amun rarely spoke. Afraid he’d spill unthinkable truths. Afraid he’d cause widespread panic.