The Darkest Secret lotu-8

by Джена Шоуолтер

  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 hope. «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.

  She was supposed to bandage him first, right? Then touch him for a different reason. «I–I forgot the supplies.» They were around here somewhere, and—

  Forget the supplies again. You’re going to kiss me now, Haidee.

  His heat was like a thick vine around her. She found herself almost in a trance as she straightened and said, «Yes.» Finally. Another kiss. Exactly what she’d craved. Forever, it seemed.

  A kiss between you and me and no other.

  «Yes.» A plea from deep inside.

  Do it, then. His voice snapped like a whip, daring her even as it warned her.

  It was then she realized that, on some level, he was still fighting his desire, exactly as he had in the shower, just before he’d walked away from her, and that even when their tongues were rolling together, he still meant to resist her, to maintain distance.

  She wasn’t going to let him.

  If she gave her all to their kiss, he had to give his all, too. That was only fair.

  «I–I won’t kiss you,» she said, shivering as his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. «I mean, I won’t do it because I’m grateful to you, and I won’t do it to distract or soften you. I’ll do it just because I want you. So get ready. Because I expect the same from you. If you can’t do the same, walk away now.»

  Chapter Sixteen

  I’ll do it just because I want you. As Haidee’s soft, shattering words echoed in Amun’s mind, he stopped waiting for her to take the lead, stopped waiting for her to physically prove her desire for him, thereby atoning for her rejection of him in favor of Micah in the shower.

  I can give you what you want, he told her, voice raw.

  Her lips parted on a relieved gasp.

  He didn’t want her relieved; he wanted her mindless. With a moan, he crushed his mouth to hers, one hand at her nape, one on her ass, and jerked her into the uncompromising line of his body. Immediately she opened for him, welcoming the hard thrust of his tongue into those wet, satiny depths. He tasted mint and apple, both frosted like ice cream. Both fueling his need.

  During their talk, he’d meant to ask her about the unnatural chill of her skin, but as she’d spoken of death and pain, he had focused only on that. On finding a way to save her. There had to be a way. And there had to be a reason she kept coming back.

  How many times had she died? he’d wondered. In how many ways? Not knowing tortured him, but he had a feeling that knowing would utterly destroy him. No matter what she’d done in the past, she hadn’t deserved to suffer as she clearly had. Especially more than once. The fear in her eyes as she’d spoken of being reborn into the same body…he never wanted to see it again.

  And could he really blame her for her hatred of him and his friends? A demon-possessed immortal had slain her family, her husband. Amun would have reacted the same way, lashing out at everyone responsible, even the slightest bit. At the time of Baden’s death, Haidee had known only that the Lords were violent, crazed, capable of any dark deed. Of course she’d sought to destroy them.

  He’d done the same to her. To her colleagues.

  Now, as Amun looked back without any taint of guilt, fury or despair, he knew three things to be true. Haidee had lost her family. He had lost a friend. He wasn’t going to hate her for that loss anymore. Since she’d fought her way into his bedroom, so sweetly caring for his wounds, the sentiment hadn’t sat right with him, anyway. He’d had to force the issue.

  Now, he wanted all of her. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, settle for less, his need to touch no longer about tiring of her or freeing himself of this obsession, but about gratifying her.

  «Amun,» she rasped, and the sound of his name on those pleasure-giving lips nearly undid him. «You…you stopped
. Why did you stop?»

  Amun. She’d called him Amun. He lifted his head and peered down at her. Her mouth was red, swollen and glistening with moisture. Her tongue flicked out to capture the lingering flavor of him. His shaft throbbed in response, desperate to feel the clench of her inner walls.

  Her hands rested on his shoulders, her nails already cutting. He was panting, sweating despite the cool breeze wafting from her.

  «What’s wrong?»

  You always called me «baby» when you thought I was… Micah. Just then, he had trouble even thinking the loathsome name. The scope of his understanding extended to Haidee and only Haidee. Besides being a Hunter, the bastard had held her, tasted her, and while Amun knew he was being irrational, he despised every man who’d ever had this pleasure. His pleasure. Yet you call me by my name, he finished darkly.

  Her expression softened, illuminating the delicacy of her features. «The only person I’ve ever called baby is you.»

  Well, okay, then. That was acceptable. He reclaimed her mouth in a rush. Their tongues rolled together, taking, giving, their teeth scraping. Hands began roaming, every new touch increasing their fervency. He cupped her breasts, her nipples beading under his palm, and he moaned.

  «I wish they were bigger,» she said between licks.

  Her breasts? Why?

  «Men like bigger.»

  Someone had made her self-conscious, he realized, and he wanted to kill that someone. This man likes these. He squeezed. They were small, as she’d implied, but firm and wonderfully tipped. And they truly were the sweetest little morsels, as he had implied. They’re perfect.

  In fact…he whipped her shirt over her head and ripped the front clasp of her bra. The backpack would provide her with another one. As the material sagged apart, he caught a glimpse of nipples the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen.