The knowledge was intolerable.
He stalked away from Cameo. Back and forth he paced. Should he ignore Lucien’s command and attack now? Let him work. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll come for you if she’s placed in any sort of danger.
Even knowing that, time passed with agonizing slowness, every tick of the clock a torturous beat. Only when the sun began to wane, dulling from bright gold to hazy pink, from hazy pink to deep purple and finally blessed gray, did he relax.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Paris remarked. “Fidgety, distracted.”
“Hopefully you won’t see me like this again.”
“I’m sending a prayer heavenward that I never look that way,” Sabin muttered. “Not that it’ll do any good. Still.”
Strider grinned. “But you’re so pretty when you’re in love.”
Sabin flipped him off.
Love? Was Reyes capable of such an emotion? “Night has fallen. Let’s go.” He pounded toward the front door.
Anya latched on to his arm, her fingernails digging into his bare flesh. “Hold it right there, sweetness. You don’t know the way.”
He barely managed to plant his feet into the concrete. “And you do?”
“Of course.” Her nails sank deeper, cutting skin, and he nearly moaned at the heady sting. “Lucien tells me everything.”
“Guide us, then, but do it now. I won’t spend another second inside this building, and I will break into every shop, home and structure that I encounter if necessary.”
“So impatient.” She tsked under her tongue and released him. “I admire that in a man. Just…keep up with me. If you can.”
With that, she claimed the lead. Everyone else filed out behind her. Overwarm, stuffy air became cool and fragrant, a mix of good and bad aromas: fresh flowers, car exhaust, baked breads and cloying perfume. Multihued lights pulsed from signs—Nude Dancers Here—and horns blared in a hurried symphony. Footsteps clomped in every direction, though nothing overshadowed the frantic dance of Reyes’s heart.
At one time, he had dreamed of traveling, of seeing this new world he’d hidden from for hundreds of years, but he had been bound to Budapest by Maddox’s curse. Now, he didn’t care about the world around him. He just wanted to reach Danika.
Though he and the others remained in the shade as much as possible, humans did notice them. Some jumped out of their way, some stared. Most grinned, seemingly fascinated. Not the typical mortal reaction; even the Buda townspeople were more respectful than friendly. Hollywood, Sabin had said. Reyes realized these humans thought the men were part of a movie.
A few times, Paris stopped to steal a kiss from a willing female. He was as helpless against his demon as Reyes was, so when Promiscuity wanted to play, Paris took time to play. Otherwise, he weakened unbearably. But for the first time in all their years together, Paris did not look as if he enjoyed the kissing.
Reyes didn’t slow, didn’t wait for his friend or ask him what was wrong. Urgency pounded through him, harder and more intense with every slap of his boots against concrete. Anya turned a corner, her long pale hair a beacon in the night. Down a dirty alley she escorted them, the scent of urine suddenly saturating the air.
When she turned the next corner, she tossed an anticipatory smile over her shoulder. “We’re almost there.”
Reyes palmed his gun and a knife. They were so familiar to him, so much a part of him, they were almost a natural extension of his hands. Not much longer now and you’ll see her. Soon, very soon, the battle would begin.
He would not leave a single survivor.
Around him, he could feel the adrenaline surges of his friends. War was a part of them, infused in their every cell. They’d been made for it, after all.
The Greeks, their creators, had known the ease with which a heavenly being could be toppled, for they themselves had fought and imprisoned the Titans. In an effort to protect themselves from the same fate, the Greeks used the blood of the god of war to breed immortal warriors, and thereby an army of defenders.
After the dimOuniak tragedy, with Pandora slain, the box missing and the demons locked inside the warriors responsible, the gods had banished them to earth. New warriors had been recruited to take their place. Not that they’d done the Greeks any good in the end, Reyes thought with a satisfied smile.
“Just a bit more…” Anya breathed, excited. There was no better replacement for Maddox. Anya adored violence.
A large trash can burned ahead, the golden flames flickering, smoke billowing. Four men stood around it, one holding out a spoon, melting a small, solid mass into bubbling liquid. With his free hand, he used a syringe to suck that liquid up. The others awaited their turn.
Drugs. How Reyes wished they worked on him. But he’d tried all of them, from smoking to pills, drowning in liquids, injecting his veins with needles. Nothing had dulled his need for pain.
Anya stopped abruptly at the end of the alley. Lucien was there, stepping from the shadows. He and Anya shared a kiss, Lucien’s arm automatically winding around her waist as it did every time they were together.
Reyes glanced away from them, the sight of their love too much to witness at the moment. Who are you trying to fool? It’s too much at every moment.
The alley forked into three sections: left, straight and right. Five buildings glared at him in a half moon. He didn’t need to ask which held Danika. Suddenly he could smell her thunderstorm scent. He could feel her fear all the way to the marrow of his bones, as if it pulsed from the redbrick shop in front of him.
A weapons store. How appropriate. And ironic. With all their talk of peace, the Hunters should have picked a church.
“There are private rooms above the public one. She is up there,” Lucien said, his tone grim. “The men have been strangely silent, almost as if they knew I was there, waiting.”
Bile rose in Reyes’s throat. “Is she…still alive?” The words would barely form.
“Yes.”
He gulped. Something about Lucien’s inflection did not settle well inside him. “But?”
“She is still sleeping.”
His fingers clenched around his weapons. “How many Hunters are in the building now?”
“Twelve. Several have already left.”
“Their leader?”
“One of the absent.”
Bastard. Reyes would find him, though. Soon. Once Danika was safe, there would be no stopping his wrath.
“There is a man who appears to be guarding her,” Lucien said. “He has barely left her side. He’s there now, watching her sleep.”
“Has he…did he…touch her?”
“Not in anger.”
Then in what? Lust? “Was she raped?” Reyes’s teeth gnashed together with a dark need to strike.
“I do not know.”
“He is mine.” Despite the false calm in his voice, he left no doubt of his intention. “No one else even approaches him.”
Lucien nodded. “Very well. The time for battle has arrived.”
Ready, Reyes pushed past his friends and stalked to the building. When he entered, a bell tinkled merrily, announcing his presence. The human behind the counter was in the process of smiling—until he spotted Reyes’s harsh countenance. The smile froze midway and hate filled the Hunter’s eyes.
To Reyes’s knowledge, they had never met, but they instantly recognized each other for what they were: enemies.
“Where is she?”
“You killed my son, demon.”
“I’ve never met your son, Hunter.”
“You’re a cancer upon this earth, all of you, and you’re responsible for every death. Not for much longer, though. Long live the Hunters!” As though he’d been expecting Reyes all along, the man lifted a semiautomatic with a silencer.
Reyes lifted his own gun. They fired at the same time. Reyes, to savage. The Hunter, to injure. Killing him would have freed his demon, and the Hunters would do anything to prevent that. The knowledge was as good as a weapon
.
A bullet slammed into Reyes’s shoulder, and he laughed at the wonderful sting. The Hunter’s brains splattered onto the wall behind him; the man didn’t laugh. Reyes felt a moment of sorrow, but reminded himself there could be no peace as long as Hunters lived to spread their hate.
One down. Eleven to go.
“Jeez. Try to save some for the rest of us,” Sabin muttered, moving around Reyes, past the counter of guns to a door. He kicked it open, revealing a narrow staircase.
“Good job, Painie.” Anya slapped him upside the head. “Now the others know we’re here.”
With that, she flew up the stairs, right behind Sabin.
Blood dripped from Reyes’s wound as he climbed.
“May I join my dear wife and watch your destruction from above,” a human shouted, but he was silenced as another muted gunshot sounded. There was a scream. A gurgle. A thump as a body hit the floor.
Footsteps. “See you in hell, demons,” another human yelled, but he, too, was soon silenced.
“She’s in the third room on the right,” Lucien said, suddenly beside Reyes.
They reached the top and raced in different directions. Reyes encountered only one other Hunter before he reached Danika’s room. That Hunter shot at him, too, nailing him in the stomach.
Reyes never paused, his adrenaline too high, his demon too happy.
Smiling, he reached the human and sliced his throat. Then he was in front of the bedroom door. He kicked it open, not bothering with the lock. Too time-consuming.
A pop and whiz crackled in his ears as another bullet hit him, this one in the thigh. His limbs trembled as weakness tried to set in, but he managed to remain upright. Blood poured, the demon sang and Reyes scanned the room, taking stock. Danika lay in bed, bound, motionless. A human stood at her side, trembling and pale as he aimed a gun at Reyes.
“I’ve waited for this moment a long time,” that human said hoarsely. “Dreamed of it. Craved it. Now here you are.”
Reyes zeroed in on the man’s tattoo: the mark of infinity, symmetrical, black. “Here I am. Did you touch her?”
“As if you care what’s been done to a human.”
Another shot. Reyes leapt to the side. He would enjoy the pain, but didn’t want to lose any more blood. The next five minutes were too important.
This blast sailed past him, and he raised his own gun. Aimed.
“Whatever you do to me, staying here, watching the woman, was worth it,” the man said as Reyes squeezed the trigger. Another head shot. The Hunter collapsed onto the carpeted floor and didn’t rise.
Reyes was at Danika’s side in the next instant, snapping the bands apart and liberating her wrists and ankles. He gathered her sleeping form in his arms, his blood dripping onto her stained white shirt and too-pale face. Her dark hair was matted to her scalp and temples, her cheeks hollow—how much weight had she lost?—and her eyelashes cast ghostly shadows that blended with the bruises under her eyes before branching into menacing spikes. There was another bruise on her jaw.
“Danika.” Her name was both a prayer and a curse.
She didn’t stir.
Her arms hung limply at her sides, her head lolled. Awake, she would have shoved him away. He would rather that happen than this…inactivity. This nothingness.
Behind him, the sounds of battle ceased, replaced by the wail of sirens. He could hear his friends filling the doorway, shuffling inside the room. He didn’t care. He tightened his hold on Danika—too long, it had been too long since he’d last seen and held her—resting her cheek against his neck.
Her skin was cold, so cold. Like ice. Her heartbeat was slow against his chest.
“Lucien?” The name croaked from his throat. Hot tears blurred his vision.
“I am here, my friend.” A hand settled on his shoulder. “Somehow they knew we were coming and were prepared, but they have now been dispatched.”
“Never mind that. Take us home.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DANIKA HAD BEEN COLD for so long that the blazing-hot blanket draped over her shocked her out of the death-sleep. Her eyelids popped open, and a gasp shoved past her lips. Remnants of her nightmare refused to fade, however, preventing her from seeing what surrounded her. She saw only a darkness slashed with crimson, the night bleeding from lethal wounds. She heard swords clanking, demons laughing evilly and the whoosh of heads as they rolled.
Death, death, her every breath proclaimed.
Calm down, just calm down. This isn’t real. You know better.
Her grandmother had once suffered from dreams like these. Dreams where demons ruled and evil reigned. Dreams that had driven the frail woman to try and kill herself at the age of sixty-five.
The dreams were not premonitions of the future, for they never came true. Until Reyes and his friends had entered her life, that is. But the dreams were real enough to terrify, so Danika understood her grandmother’s pain.
Most of them were turbulent, screams and fatality infusing every macabre scene. All her life, that’s how it had been. Bloody death. Used to be, she would awaken from those painful nights and paint what she’d seen in an attempt to draw the madness from her subconscious—and keep it out.
Once, before she’d known any better, she had shown her parents one of the paintings. They’d been so frightened and upset, looking at her as if she were one of the monsters she’d painted, that she had never let another person see them. Besides, she didn’t even like to look at them.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, though, her dreams were sometimes utter serenity. Angels, their wings spread in white-feathered glory, would float through the bright azure skies. Their beauty always amazed her, and she would awaken smiling and full of verve rather than sweating and trembling as she was now.
“I’m here, angel, I’m here.”
That deep, rich voice belonged in her nightmares and those angelic glimpses, both heaven and hell rolled into one mesmerizing seduction. As she lay there, the bad dream quieted and the darkness faded, light pushing its way into her mind.
A bedroom came into view, but it wasn’t the one she remembered falling asleep in. Weapons adorned the walls, from throwing stars to swords to daggers. Even axes. There was a polished vanity, but no chair. The owner didn’t sit there? Didn’t study his reflection or brush his hair?
His? How do you know this room belongs to a man?
In and out she breathed, the familiar scent of sandalwood and pine filling her nose. Oh, she knew. A man, definitely, and one in particular. The knowledge rocked her to the core. Maybe you’re wrong. Please be wrong.
The bed was swathed in black cotton; turning her head, Danika saw that she was draped by a half-clothed man. He possessed skin of chocolate and honey, taut muscle and ripped sinew. No hair marred his chest, but there was a menacing butterfly tattoo that stretched from one shoulder to the other and up his neck. Menacing butterfly—two words that could be used together to describe only one man.
Reyes.
“Oh, God.” She bolted upright, dislodging him. Panting, she scrambled to the edge of the mattress, never turning her back to him. A snippet of her conversation with Stefano played through her mind.
“What if they try and kill me?” she’d demanded.
“They won’t,” he’d answered confidently.
“How do you know? You can’t be sure.”
“They are men. You are a woman. Think about it. Besides, they could have hurt you before, but didn’t.”
“They warned me to stay away from them.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out. Find out everything you can. Their weapons, their weaknesses, their plans, their likes and dislikes. You’ll take a cell phone. It’s small, easy to hide. I’ll give you a day to settle in. After that, we’ll talk every night if possible.”
“What about you?” she’d asked, not wanting to consider the dangers of spying just yet. “You’re not a woman. By your rationale, they’ll kill
you if they find you here.”
“By the time they arrive, I’ll be gone, watching from another location if I can. Others will be here to guard you, to make sure the Lords don’t intend to harm you, so don’t fret. These men are willing to give their lives to ensure the downfall of those demons. Don’t let their sacrifice be for naught.”
“What? Oh, hell no. I don’t want anyone sacrificing anything.”
“Would you feel better if I told you they’ll run as soon as the Lords arrive?”
“Yes.”
“Then they’ll run.”
Had they, though?
Slowly Reyes sat up, and their eyes met in a heated clash, his as dark as his skin. Turbulent. Hers, a little watery. His lips pulled in a tight frown. Her gaze dropped and she studied the rest of him. His nipples were hard enough to cut glass; three wounds were healing, one scabbing on his shoulder, one on his sternum and one marring his stomach.
“Where am I?” she asked, the words a mere whisper.
“My home.”
“In Buda?”
“Yes.”
Her eyelids narrowed, her mind a black hole that couldn’t provide a single memory of being moved from one location to another. “How did I get here? How did you find me?”
He looked away, hiding his gaze under his lashes. “You know I am not human. Don’t you?”
Knowledge she wished she didn’t possess and a conversation it was best not to start. Why, yes, Reyes, I do know you’re a demon. Your greatest enemy gave me the scoop and now I’m here to help him destroy you. “You came for me,” she said, changing the subject. Part of her had hoped for just such a thing; part of her had feared it.
“Yes,” he repeated.
“Why?” Without the heat of his gaze holding her captive, she was able to scan her own body. She was still clothed, thank God. Her sweater had been removed, but her white T-shirt was still stained with grease and now blood—hers, the man she’d hurt—her jeans ripped from her struggle with her assailant. She…smelled. How long had she been wearing these clothes?
Lords of the Underworld Bundle Page 75
