The Darkest Prison

by Gena Showalter

  Cronus slammed his fist against the arm of his throne, ever the petulant child. "You can't know that! You aren't my All-Seeing Eye."

  Atlas arched a brow, refusing to be cowed. "Would you risk being imprisoned again to help your fellow Titans? I may not be able to see all the secrets of the heavens and hell, yet I know you would not."

  The king had no response to that, but that didn't stop him from growling. "You disobeyed a direct order, and you will be punished."

  "I understand." He offered the statement without hesitation. It was the truth. He understood that the god king had to make an example out of him. Otherwise, others would see him as weak. They would disobey him as Atlas had.

  "I think you actually do." Some of Cronus's fury abated. "Only this morning I saw a portrait of you. A portrait painted by my Eye. With it, she showed me exactly how to punish you." The king smiled evilly and looked to the ghostlike girl still standing at his side. "You know what to do, sweet Sienna."

  Sienna strode forward, a knife appearing in her hand. She stopped in front of Atlas and dropped to her knees, placing them eye to eye. So this was it, he thought. The end. As an immortal, he'd never thought to reach this point. Still. He found he only regretted that he hadn't had more time with Nike, that he hadn't gotten the chance to apologize for his harsh words the last time they were together and that he would never have the chance to confess his love.

  With absolutely no emotion on her face, the girl dug the tip of the blade into his wrist and cut out his sensor, rather than chop off his head. That's when he realized Cronus meant to lock him away rather than kill him. Good. More time to think about Nike and what could have been.

  But then Sienna moved the blade to his chest and pressed, slicing. It stung, but that was not what made him struggle against her ministrations. No, it was the fact that she began carving Nike's name from his chest. He roared loud and long, fighting for all he was worth. Guards were called over and hard hands settled over him, pressing him down, holding him steady. Still he fought, but in the end, they managed to remove all four letters.

  As they walked away from him, he glanced down at himself through burning, watery eyes. Blood poured down his chest and four open wounds stared up at him, the muscles torn, the skin completely gone. He might have hated that brand at one point in his life, but he'd grown to love it as much as the woman who'd given it to him. More than that, it had been the last remaining evidence of her presence.

  His hands fisted, and his back straightened. Blood and sweat mingled, stinging further. Another roar burst from his lips, and he tossed it to the domed ceiling. He didn't stop until his throat was shredded from the strain.

  "Are you quite finished?" Cronus asked him.

  His gaze fell to the dais, narrowing. "I will destroy you for this," his vowed brokenly. "One day you will die by my hand."

  "Not likely. Take him to Tartarus," the king told his guards, unconcerned. "Where he will rot for all eternity."

  CHAPTER TEN

  It took her two days, but Nike finally located Atlas's home, a sprawling estate in Olympus. The amount of wealth he'd needed to acquire such a place astonished her. But then, she supposed he'd considered every cent worth it. After living in a tiny cell for thousands of years, he'd most likely wanted every bit of space he could get. And every amenity.

  There was a swimming pool, more than thirty bedrooms, two winding, marble staircases and four fireplaces, and all the walls were comprised of solid gold. None of that interested her, however. Only his bedroom did.

  There, she discovered more about the man who had sent her on her way. A man who would not have risked this just to avoid her face, as he'd claimed. A man who would not have risked his life for anything other than love.

  He owned a huge bed and had covered it with black silk sheets. The walls were painted with murals of the sun and sky, and the furniture smelled of rich mahogany. There were multiple bookcases, each filled with leather-bound books. Beaded pillows were strategically placed along the floor. Places for him to lounge and read, she supposed.

  What held her attention, however, was the portrait hanging above the hearth. A portrait of her.

  He must have commissioned it after their time inside that tent, for she was reclined in a porcelain tub, bubbles sliding over her shoulder and chest, her hair soaked. She would have looked as plain and masculine as always, except he'd had the artist add a sensual light to her dark eyes and a come-and-get-me curve to her lips.

  Finally she knew how he saw her. As someone beautiful. Worthy.

  Only a man in love would do such a thing. Only a man in love would keep such a thing in such a prominent place. Only a man in love would want to see a woman's portrait every night before he fell asleep, then wake up looking at it.

  Oh, yes. He loved her.

  There, outside of Tartarus, she'd thought, hoped, that he did so, but she had let his words scrape against her already low self-esteem. How could so beautiful and sensual a man want her? she'd wondered. But he did. He loved her. Proof: he'd risked everything for her.

  She could do no less for him.

  Nike strode through the bedroom, knowing her lover would have a weapons case stashed somewhere--and knowing exactly what to do with it.

  Atlas was not given a cell of his own--not at first. Still bleeding and frantic, fighting, he had been thrust into a cell with Erebos. Of course, that's who had been chosen as his cell mate, he'd thought, rage filling him. A male who had once thought to claim his Nike. A male who had then stolen food from her, pushed her around and called her terrible names.

  Atlas had seen it happen on numerous occasions. He hadn't done anything about it then, telling himself she deserved what she got, but he'd wanted to. And there was no better time than now.

  Even with his strength corralled by the collar and half his blood dried to his chest, even with his still-seeping wounds splitting open with every move he made, Atlas managed to defeat Erebos in record time. He punched, he kicked, he did not play fair, kneeing the god in the balls while he was down. In the end, a broken, bloody Erebos lay crying on the dirty floor, right alongside everyone who had tried to save him.

  That's when Atlas was moved to the empty cell Nike had occupied. He stretched out on the cot, simply breathing in her lingering essence. His sweet, sweet Nike. He would have to spend eternity without her. Without even her brand. Once again, he roared.

  What was she doing now? If she sought solace in the arms of another man, even in the years to come, he would tear this prison apart stone by stone and kill the bastard. As if. You sent her on her way to do just that. You want her happy.

  "What's all the racket? Seriously."

  Gods, he was hearing her voice now. Locked up two days, and he was already headed into insanity.

  His bars rattled, slid open. He rolled to his side, determined to send whoever it was away. When he caught sight of his beloved Nike, he blinked. Oh, yes, he was indeed going insane. She stood before him, draped in a black leather bra top and black leather pants. Her hair was slicked back in a smooth ponytail. Blood splattered her cheeks. Never had she looked more beautiful. Her strength was there for all to see.

  "Well?" she said, clearly impatient. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

  Slowly he sat up. He didn't want this moment to end. Didn't want to lose sight of her. "I missed you. So much."

  "And I wanted an apology. I much prefer this." She grinned, practically beaming. "I missed you, too, but we'll have to catch up later." Her gaze fell to his chest, and she gaped in astonishment. Then she growled. "Did the god king cut my name off you?"

  "Yes."

  She was holding a knife, he saw, and her knuckles bleached of color. "I. Will. Kill. Him."

  "Already promised to do so."

  "We'll do it together, then. After we get out of here." Her attention flicked behind her, urgent, before returning to him. "Come on. We have to go before someone realizes what I've done."

  "Just let me look at you. Just let me enjoy th
is moment. Let me apologize for what I said to you. You said you wanted an apology, yes? I didn't mean it, not a word I said that last day, but I--"

  She closed the distance between them and slapped him. Hard. The blow knocked him back against the cot and caused stars to wink over his vision.

  Once more, he blinked at her. "You hit me."

  "Yeah, and I'll do it again if you don't get your ass in gear."

  "You're real."

  "Yes."

  "But you're real." He sat up, saying the words but not truly absorbing them. This couldn't be happening.

  She dropped to her knees. "Again, yes." Just as he'd once done to her, she placed her fingers over his collar and blew into the center. As the metal softened, he finally understood what his brain had been trying to tell him. Nike was here. She was really here. And she was saving his life.

  With a scowl, he jumped to his feet. "I told you to go to earth, damn it."

  "Okay, not the reaction I expected." She stood and pressed a swift kiss to his lips. "Good thing I never listen to you. Now let's go. I've already taken out the guards below. And no, I didn't kill your friends. Just made them wish they were dead." As she spoke, she latched on to his hand and dragged him out of the cell. "Cronus could realize what's going down at any moment and appear, and then we'll both be in trouble. As long as we're here, we're easy pickings."

  True. Nike was a fugitive now; he wanted her out of this prison, out of this realm, as soon as possible. "You risked your life to save me, you fool."

  "Well, you risked your life to save me."

  Down the stairs they pounded and, sure enough, all three of the guards were flat on their faces, motionless. "But you were free. You had what you wanted."

  "Not everything," she threw over her shoulder.

  Okay, wow. She'd just admitted she wanted him more than freedom. Atlas couldn't help himself. He gave a tug, propelling her backward, into his arms. "I love you," he finally proclaimed, and mashed their lips together. His tongue thrust deep, tasting, demanding.

  She only allowed the kiss for a few seconds, her hands fisting his hair and taking everything he had to give, before she pulled away, panting. "I love you, too. But let's get the hell out of here. I need your pretty head connected to your body."

  Once again, they surged forward. Still, he almost couldn't believe this was happening. It was too much like a dream. "I'm going to spend the rest of eternity making up for what I did to you."

  "Good. I think I'll like seeing you grovel. But just for the record, I love my tattoo and I know why you said those nasty things. Sure, I would have found a better way to get you to safety, but then, I'm smarter than you are, so really, I can't blame you."

  He laughed. Gods, he loved this woman. "Vixen."

  "Your vixen."

  "Mine. Always. You'll mark me again just as soon as my skin heals."

  "Already planned on it."

  Good. He wouldn't feel complete until she did. "So where are we going to live?" he asked. "We can't stay in the heavens."

  "You ordered me to hide on earth. I thought we could do so--together. Though I hate that you have to give up your amazing house."

  "You've been there?" He found he really liked the thought of her there, surrounded by his things, breathing in his essence.

  "I, well, I broke in."

  A laugh boomed from him. There was no woman more perfect for him. He would have done the same thing. "The only thing I'll miss from that house is the portrait of you. But now I have the real thing." He placed a swift kiss on her lips. "Back to our new living arrangements. There are other gods out there, Greeks like you, who are in hiding. Cronus has never been able to find them. That means there are places he can't see."

  "Maybe we'll find them and join them. We are Strength, after all. We can succeed where he has failed."

  "In the meantime, we might even try to find the Lords of the Underworld. Cronus mentioned being distracted by them, whoever they are. If they are his enemies, they might be good friends for us to have."

  Her eyes widened. "I know of whom you speak. They were Zeus's immortal warriors long ago, but now they house the demons once locked inside Pandora's box. Cronus will have his hands tied for a long, long time. They would be very good friends to have."

  They reached the door and burst outside, all without incident. Clouds instantly enveloped them, the sun shining brightly. Nike whirled and threw herself in his arms, placing nips and kisses all over his face.

  "We did it. Now take us somewhere. Anywhere. As long as we can be together."

  "I love you," he said again, then did exactly as his woman had ordered.

  What's next for the Lords of the Underworld? View the next page to find out

  THE DARKEST WHISPER PREVIEW

  Discover more passionate, dangerous paranormal romance by New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter in the next Lords of the Underworld novel THE DARKEST WHISPER, available September 2009 wherever books and eBooks are sold:

  Bound by the demon of Doubt, Sabin unintentionally destroys even the most confident of lovers. So the immortal warrior spends his time on the battlefield instead of the bedroom, victory his only concern...until he meets Gwendolyn the Timid. One taste of the beautiful redhead, and he craves more.

  Gwen, an immortal herself, always thought she'd fall for a kind human who wouldn't rouse her darker side. But when Sabin frees her from prison, battling their enemies for the claim to Pandora's box turns out to be nothing compared to the battle Sabin and Gwen will wage against love....

  Chapter One

  Sabin, Keeper of the demon of Doubt, stood in the catacombs of an ancient pyramid, panting, sweating, his hands soaked in his enemy's blood, his body cut and bruised as he surveyed the carnage around him. Carnage he'd helped create.

  Torches flickered orange and gold, twining with shadows along the stone walls. Walls that were now spattered with vivid red, dripping...pooling. The sandy floor was thick like paste, wet and colored black. Half an hour ago it had been honey brown, grains sparkling and scattering as they'd marched. Now bodies littered every square inch of the small corridor, the scent of fatality already rising from them.

  Nine of his enemy had survived the attack. They'd already been stripped of their weapons, hustled into a corner and bound with rope. Most trembled in fear. A few had their shoulders squared, their noses in the air, hatred in their eyes, refusing to back down even in defeat. Damned admirable.

  Too bad that bravery had to be quashed.

  Brave men didn't spill their secrets, and Sabin wanted their secrets.

  He was a warrior who did what needed to be done, when it needed to be done, no matter what was required of him. Killing, torturing, seducing. He didn't hesitate to ask his men to do the same, either. With Hunters--mortals who'd decided he and his fellow Lords of the Underworld made good whipping boys for the world's evil--victory was the only thing that mattered. For only by winning the war could his friends finally know peace. Peace they deserved. Peace he craved for them.

  Shallow, erratic rasps of breath filled Sabin's ears. His, his friends', his enemies'. They'd fought with every ounce of strength they possessed, each of them. It had been a battle of good versus evil, and evil had won. Or rather, what these Hunters considered evil. He and his brothers-by-circumstance thought otherwise.

  Yeah, long ago they'd opened Pandora's box, unleashing the demons from inside. But they had been punished eternally, each warrior cursed by the gods to host one of those vile fiends inside himself. Yeah, they'd once been slaves to their new, demonic halves, destructive and violent, killers without a conscience. But they had control now, human in all the ways that mattered. For the most part.

  Sometimes the demons did fight...did win...did destroy.

  Still. We deserve to live, he thought. Like everyone else, they suffered if their friends were hurt, read books, watched movies, gave to charity. Fell in love. Hunters, though, would never see it that way. They were convinced the world would be a better pl
ace without the Lords. A utopia, serene and perfect. They believed every sin ever committed could be laid at a demon's feet. Maybe because they were dumb as shit. Maybe because they hated their lives and were simply looking for someone to blame. Either way, killing them had become the most important mission of Sabin's life. His utopia was a life without them.

  Which was why he and the others had relinquished the comforts of their Budapest home to spend the past three weeks searching every godsforsaken pyramid in Egypt for ancient artifacts that would lead to the recovery of Pandora's box--the very thing Hunters planned to use to destroy them. Finally, he and his friends had hit the jackpot.

  "Amun," he said, spotting the soldier in a far, dark corner. As usual, man blended perfectly with shadow. Sabin motioned toward the captives with a grim shake of his head. "You know what to do."

  Amun, keeper of Secrets, nodded forbiddingly before striding forward. Silent, always silent, as if afraid the terrible secrets he'd gleaned over the centuries would spill from him if he dared utter a single word.

  Seeing the hulking warrior who'd ripped through their brethren like a knife through silk, the remaining Hunters took a collective step backward. Even the brave ones. Wise of them.

  Amun was tall, leanly muscled, with a stride that was somehow both purposeful and graceful. Purpose without grace would have made him seem normal, like any other soldier. The combination allowed him to exude the kind of quiet savagery usually found in predators used to bringing their prey home between their jaws.

  He reached the Hunters and stopped. Scanned the thinned crowd. Then shoved forward and grabbed the one in the center by the throat, lifting him so that they were eye to eye. The human's legs flailed, his hands clutching Amun's wrists as his skin blanched.

  "Let him go, you filthy demon," one of the Hunters shouted, jerking on his comrade's waist. "You've killed countless innocents, ruined so many lives already!"

  Amun was unmoved. They all were.

  "He's a good man," another cried. "He doesn't deserve to die. Especially at the hands of such evil!"

  Gideon, the blue-haired, kohl-eyed keeper of Lies, was at Amun's side in the next instant, batting the protestors away. "Touch him again, and I'll kiss the hell out of you." He withdrew a pair of serrated knives, still bloody from his most recent clashes.