The Darkest Secret (10 page)

“To do what? Expedite my torture?”

“You were Bait once. Maybe you're meant to be Bait again.”

“Then you were an idiot to bring me here,” she lashed out.

His nostrils flared with the force of his renewed fury, but he said nothing else.

“This is getting us nowhere,” she said, as calmly as she was able. “The weapons didn't simply materialize when we were in the jungle. I hid them from you until I found the opportunity to use them.” And that was the God's honest truth. “That, and you're kind of a dumbass.”

He exhaled, the breath seeming to drain his fury. “Well, that's an improvement over stupid and idiot.”

Gentle, amused teasing. From him. Shocking. Or was he trying to throw her off balance? “I answered.
Honestly
. So, second question.”

The gentleness faded, only a single thread of the amusement remaining. “If you're human, how are you alive? I watched you die. Which is a nice way of saying I fucking murdered you!”

“I've been reanimated.” She didn't mention how or how many times. He hadn't asked. “That's two. Next.”

He shook his head. “Not done with that one yet. If you've been reanimated, and I'm guessing that's just a fancy way of saying you were brought back to life, a god aided you. Only a god has the power to reanimate a body after a beheading. And even then, I'm not sure it's possible.”

Silence enveloped them. He stared at her pointedly. She stared back.

“Well?” he demanded, spreading his arms as if he were the last sane man in the universe.

“Well, what? You didn't ask a question.”

The muscle in his jaw started ticking again. “Who aided you?”

Aided was not the word she would have chosen. Cursed, maybe. “A creature very much like you. I think. I didn't see it, only know I had a reaction to it the first and only time it touched me.” And that's all she would say on the matter. Even if he asked for more. “That's three. Next.” Why hadn't he asked her about the Hunters?

“Rhea, then,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Haidee schooled her features, unwilling to show him the depth of her confusion. Rhea, the supposed queen of the Titans? Haidee had heard of her, of course. A small group of Hunters even worshipped her. But why did Defeat assume the woman was responsible for Haidee's curse? Or “infection,” as the Bad Man had called it? “Two more questions to go. Better make them good.”

“When I saw you with…him, kissing—” he'd almost said a name, she realized, but had managed to stop himself in time “—were you interested in him as a man or as a possible escape route?”

Of everything Defeat could have asked, why that? “Why the hell do you care?”

His traced the tip of his tongue across the seam of his lips. “I don't believe our bargain involved explanations on my part.”

Fine. “The man.”

There was a beat of silence before he gave her a reaction. A flash of that fury, quickly gone.

“He's always been the gentle one, you know,” Defeat said almost absently. “He's rarely ever displayed a temper.
Has
never
hurt one of his friends. And he would be horrified to know what he did to me.” As soon as he realized what he'd said, what he'd admitted, he scowled at her, as if the confession was her fault.

She pretended not to notice. “You have one more question. And did I forget to tell you that if
you
lied to
me
, I would personally reacquaint your spine with a shard of glass?”

He stared at her for a long while, studying, searching for something. Whether he found it or not, she didn't know. Then he spoke, soft, gentle. “Why did you help kill Baden, Haidee?”

She sucked in a breath. Of everything he could have demanded to know…how dare he ask
that?
As if he didn't already know the answer. As if he hadn't rallied to destroy her, all those centuries ago. As if he would enjoy hearing her pain and her heartbreak.

Just like that, all the hate inside her exploded to the surface, and she stomped to the bars, placing herself within striking distance. She didn't attack him but dared him to attack her.

He didn't move, just continued to stare at her.

“Why did I help kill him?” She threw the words at him as if they were weapons, and maybe they were. “Because he took what I loved most. And don't try to lie and say he didn't, that I'm confused, or misremembering. I
saw
him. I was there.”

“He—”

“I'm not done! Why else did I help kill him? Because he represented what I despised most. Because he deserved what I did, and he knew it. He
wanted
me to do it. And not once, not once in all these years, have I ever regretted it.”

Again, silence. Those blue eyes glittered far more dangerously than before as he reached inside his pocket.
Haidee expected a dagger to the stomach but still didn't back down. Physical pain might dull her emotional anguish.

He merely keyed the lock. The cell door swung open, the hinges squeaking. “For some reason, you calmed…our boy before. He's worse now, and we need to know if you can calm him again.”

Him. Amun. So, she thought, furious all over again, Defeat had meant to take her to the warrior all along. She hadn't had to answer a single question. She'd been tricked, just not the way she'd thought. What a fool she was. “And what is it, exactly, that I calm him from? How is he worse? What the hell did you do to him?”

“I'm going to take you to him,” the demon went on, ignoring her. Either he was unaware of her volatile emotions or he just didn't care. “But if you harm him, Haidee, I
will
kill you. And I'll make it hurt in a way you can't even imagine.”

 

T
HE MOMENT
D
EFEAT
led her down the hallway to Amun's bedroom—a hallway still filled with towering angels and their outspread wings—she heard the warrior's voice inside her head and forgot everything else.

Haidee!
That single word was a tormented wail.
Need…you…please…

How long had he been calling for her? Why hadn't she heard him before now?

Haidee!

She'd uncover those details later. Right now, he was in pain, so much pain, and nothing but helping him mattered.

Wrenching away with all her strength, she broke free of Defeat's hold and rushed forward. No one tried to stop her. Not the angels and not the Lord. She expected Amun's doorway to still be splintered from Defeat's vicious kick,
but someone had fixed the metal and wood, both now blocking her entrance.

She twisted the knob—unlocked, thank God—and raced into the bedroom, quickly slamming the door shut behind her. She tried to flip the lock in place and noticed it had been removed. Shit! Something else to worry about later. Tiny beads of ice dotted her skin, and her knees knocked shakily as she pivoted. Then she saw him. He was thrashing atop the bed, just like last time.

Finally, she was with him again. He was alive. But for how long? He was worse, Defeat had said, and Amun had barely survived the last set of wounds.

Haidee…please…

So weak, suffused with all that pain. “I'm here, baby. I'm here.” Acid flowed through her as she stumbled toward him. Some distant part of her brain noticed that every piece of furniture but the bed had been carted out. Then she was standing at the edge of the mattress, peering down at him, and all thoughts fled.

He moaned inside her head.

“I know. I know you hurt.”

Haidee?
Not quite so pained now.

“Yes, baby. Haidee's here.”

He sighed with the barest hint of relief.

The shadows had returned, were even then dancing around his once again savaged body. His eyes were swollen shut, his hands bloody and torn. The wings of his butterfly tattoo were…moving, breaking apart, forming hundreds of other butterflies. Those, too, danced over him, up his thighs, on his stomach, his pectorals, his arms, then disappearing behind his back.

In that moment, she was absolutely certain the man she watched was Amun rather than Micah. Which meant the Lords wouldn't hurt him.
Thank God.
The intensity of her relief was stunning.

What's wrong with you?
she wondered again. Now that her worries over Amun's possible torture and execution were proven unnecessary, she couldn't forget or refute two simple facts. This man had never been a Hunter. This man was her enemy.

She
should kill him. She should add to her tally and be all the closer to evening the score. Like Baden, Amun deserved whatever punishment she dished. The vile things these men had done in ancient Greece… Still. She couldn't force herself to hurt him. He was too battered, too pitiful. Had sought only to protect her.

His attitude will change. You know it will. The moment he's well, his friends will tell him who you are. He'll go for your throat faster than you can say, “But I spared
you.”

She'd worry about his hatred then. For now, for better or worse, she and Amun were connected. Later, she would search for answers, find out how and why. Maybe she could even convince herself she'd never had visions of him. And then…maybe then she could find a way to cut the ties that bound them. If he didn't do it first.

Until then…

She would do everything in her power to save this man, just as before.

Even the thought was a betrayal to the Hunters. A betrayal Micah would take personally. But that didn't alter her plans, and that, she realized, drove home the knowledge that her relationship with him was over.

She was shocked by her lack of unhappiness at the prospect. Shocked further that she didn't wish things were different. She just wished there was a way to let him know. Gently. She desired another man, a demon-possessed man at that, and Micah deserved better than she could ever give him.

She sighed, the relieved sound an echo of Amun's. It was nice, having
something
figured out. If only healing Amun
proved to be that simple. She reached out and brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his brow. Those dancing shadows screeched, darting away from her and burrowing under Amun's skin, even as the warrior leaned toward her, seeking closer contact.

What did that darkness represent? What did it mean? Definitely something evil, as she'd first suspected. Amun obviously hated it, cringing as the last thread of gloom faded inside him.

Haidee, my Haidee.
Another sigh wafted through her head, this one laced with contentment.
Don't leave me.

“I won't leave you.” Her trembling intensified as she climbed in beside him and wrapped him in her arms. “I'll be here as long as you need me.”

 

I
N HIS OWN BEDROOM
, Torin watched Haidee on one of his computer screens. Haidee. Come back to life. Who would have thought? And why hadn't Strider told him? The questions lost their importance between one heartbeat and the next. His eyes widened as the shadows scrambled to escape her touch. He'd never seen anything like it and had no idea what it meant.

He did know one thing. She wasn't human, as she'd told Strider. No mere human could frighten demons as she'd just done. And they
were
frightened of her. They'd hidden inside Amun, rather than try and escape him as they'd done from the first.

“So what the fuck is she?” he muttered.

 

S
COWLING
, S
TRIDER BARRELED
his way inside Amun's chamber. How eager Haidee had been to reach the warrior, her sworn enemy. And now Strider saw her sprawled on the bed, curled into Amun's side, tenderly smoothing his brow. As if she wanted to be there. As if she was glad to be there. Helping a Lord.

She thinks Amun's her boyfriend, remember?
Of course she was glad. Of course she was helping.

“Ex?” he growled with more force than he'd intended.

Her gunmetal gaze shifted and locked on him warily. “What?” There was nothing wary about her voice. That single word snapped at him with more force than even he had used.

Clearly, she wanted him to get out and leave her the hell alone.

His molars gnashed together, and he beat down the tide of jealousy that suddenly raged through him. Jealousy. Jealousy over a Hunter. A Hunter he'd always planned to kill. Why couldn't he simply be happy that Amun now had a chance to pull through?

Because Haidee was going to make Amun miserable. And if the big guy fell in love with her, he just might abandon his friends to be with her. Which would get his ass killed for good. Ultimately, she would betray him.

I won't let that happen. Ever.

Win,
Defeat said, sensing the challenge.

I will.
Strider raised both of his hands. In the left, he held a syringe. In the right, chains. They'd been waiting in the hallway, but she'd been too damn concerned for Amun to notice. “You didn't honestly think you'd have free rein with him, did you?”

A
MUN DRAGGED HIMSELF FROM
the tangled web of his mind and forced his eyelids to open. First things he noticed: the taste of frosted apricots filled his mouth, there was a wonderful chill inside him, cooling the fires that had raged, and an earthy perfume wafted into his nose every time he inhaled.

Second thing: sunlight streamed through the window, the heavy curtains parted and the blinds slatted to welcome every single bright ray. His eyes teared and burned, but at least those tears washed away the hazy shield seeming to cloak the entire room, allowing him a clearer view.

Third thing: Strider reclined in a cushy chair he'd placed just in front of Amun's bed, watching him with an intent, almost forbidding expression.

Strider's mind was blank, and purposely so. The warrior knew Amun could read every single one of his thoughts. Everyone here knew it. Which was why, when they wanted privacy—because Amun simply couldn't stop the flow of their innermost secrets, no matter how much he wanted to—they had to wrap themselves in darkness and silence.

“How do you feel?” Strider asked, his timbre scratchy and rough.

Even though the new demons were rattling against his skull, Amun had no trouble understanding. He tried to raise his hands to sign his reply.
Like shit, for the most part.
The apricots, the chill, both overshadowed the worst
of his pain. Only, his arms refused to obey the mental command. Why? His head turned to the left, gaze sliding to his wrist. Scabbed skin, dried blood. Fingers swollen, nails ruined.

Suddenly memories flooded him, Secrets stretching to wakefulness inside his mind, enjoying the unveiling of what his inner defenses would have liked to keep hidden.

Hell. Those other demons. The dark flashes, the vile urges. Haidee. The knowledge that he should kill her, the inability to do so. A taste of heaven, her body writhing against his, her hands all over him, her sweet cries in his ears. Strider. Battle, blood. Hating himself for hurting his friend and shielding a Hunter. Failing to reach the girl when she needed him. The return of the demons, the dark flashes and vile urges. No Haidee. No heaven.

Grim expectation mixed with white-hot rage and bone-numbing fear, all filling him as he jerked himself upright. The bedroom spun, a sharp lance of pain tearing through his temples. He didn't care, remained upright. Where was she? Dead? The thought left him sick to his stomach.

No. No, he assured himself desperately, and he felt Secrets's agreement. She couldn't be. That earthy perfume belonged to her, as raw and basic as his need for her. He had to find her. Had to make sure she was okay, that no one had hurt her.

Even though you meant to kill her yourself?

He ignored the simple, rational question and experimented with his range of motion, lifting one leg and rotating his ankle. He grimaced, then repeated the process with the other leg. He grimaced again. Both legs fell back onto the mattress with a hard thump. The bones had woven back together, but they were still fractured.

“Whoa.” Strider pushed to his feet, the chair skidding
behind him. “What the hell do you think you're doing? Lie down. You're still recovering.”

Amun hardly ever despised his inability to speak. Silence was his choice, his way of righting the wrongs he'd committed all those centuries ago, of helping the innocents so much like the ones he'd once slaughtered. Not to mention his friends. They had enough to worry about. But just then, he wanted to shout—
the girl, where the hell is the girl
—uncaring that the moment he did, all the secrets inside him would spill out, hurting everyone who heard them. Not physically but mentally, and that was a far worse pain to bear. He knew that very well.

Not even the warriors he lived with would be able to tolerate knowing when other men desired their women. Nor would they be able to tolerate the disgusting things their enemies had planned for their loved ones. Friendships would be destroyed, jealousy a constant companion, and paranoia would follow their every step.

Amun could deal because he'd spent thousands of years learning to distance himself from the visions and voices in his head, blocking emotions before they could even form. Not this newest onslaught, of course. He'd never experienced anything like this and had no idea how to cope. Had no idea how he was lucid now, the new demons cowering in the back of his mind. Unless…

Haidee.

Her name whispered through his mind, a plea, a prayer, his demon sensing the truth, even as Amun struggled to accept it. Was she responsible? The first time, as well as now?

The first time he'd tasted frosted apricots, he'd come to his senses. Now he tasted apricots again, and his senses once again returned. Couldn't be a coincidence. His desperation to find her intensified.

He threw his legs over the side of the mattress, hinges
squeaking. Every muscle he possessed knotted and ached, clamping tightly on those fractured bones.

“Amun, damn it. You've been bed-bound for days, recovering from your wounds and our little experiments. Stop before you—”

Agitation somehow making his motions fluid, he twisted to face his friend, lips pulled over his teeth. Most of what Strider had said confused him, but he left it alone. Finally forcing his hands to work, he jerkily signed,
I'm sorry I hurt you. Sorry I challenged you before. But I have to find her. Where is she?
If they'd hurt her, he didn't know what the hell he'd do. Didn't know how she affected him like this. Didn't know why he cared what was done to her, whether she was responsible for his recovery or not.

Secrets whispered,
She is fine,
and despite the low volume, the High Lord still managed to be the loudest voice in his head. At the same time, Strider sat back down and said, “She's there.” His tone was hard and unbending as he motioned to the left with a tilt of his chin.

Amun noticed his friend didn't have to ask who “she” was. He followed that tilt with his gaze, and hissed in an agonized breath. She was on her knees, her arms chained above her head. That chain was anchored to his ceiling, offering just enough slack to keep her spine erect. Her head lolled forward, her chin pressed into her collarbone.

The length of her blond-and-pink hair shielded most of her dirt-smudged face, but he could see that her eyes were closed, her long, curling lashes fanning down.

His lips parted in a silent roar as he at last pushed to a stand.
She is not fine!
His knees almost gave out, his stomach almost rebelled, but fury and reckless determination gave him strength.

“I drugged her,” Strider said as if to soothe him from a violent temper. “She'll recover.”

That didn't fucking matter! What mattered was that
something had been done to her. How long had she been tethered like that? Unconscious? Helpless? Amun stalked to his friend, stumbling twice, and held out his hand, palm up. Secrets began prowling restlessly. Because they were closer to the girl?

Strider knew what he wanted and shook his head. “She's a Hunter, Amun. She's dangerous.”

He waved his fingers, insisting. He would challenge Strider if necessary. Would do anything for what he wanted.

“Damn it! Do you care nothing for your own safety?”

Again he waved his fingers.

“Fine. You can deal with the consequences on your own.” Scowling, but perhaps sensing the depths of Amun's resolve, Strider reached inside his pocket and withdrew a key. He slapped the metal into Amun's still open palm.

Immediately Amun spun and stomped to Haidee. He tripped twice more along the way, but not even that slowed him. Secrets, he noted, had ceased prowling, was utterly still and completely silent now.

Only those years of blunting the fiercest edges of his emotions kept his ire inside as he twisted the key into the lock. The metal unsnapped, freeing her. She sagged forward without a sound, arms falling heavily to her sides. She would have kissed the floor if Amun hadn't caught her. His arms despised him, sharp pains still shooting through him, but he didn't care. At the moment of contact, the screams inside his head—muted though they'd been—quieted altogether, the demons determined to hide from her, as if they feared the pulling would start up again.

Gently, so gently, he fit her against his chest and lifted her into his arms. The chill of her skin delighted him anew, and he couldn't help but remember the glide of that skin against his, caressing, stroking, the friction unbearably sweet.

Raw desire, brutal in its intensity, suddenly consumed every inch of him. He fought past that clawing need and carried her to the bed. He eased her down, then fit the covers around her slight frame and peered down at her. How fragile she looked, her cheeks a bit hollowed, her lips chapped, her skin pallid. How vulnerable she was, unable to defend herself from any type of attack.

She would hate that vulnerability, he thought, not needing his demon's help to recall the way she'd constantly scanned her surroundings, how she'd vigilantly searched for a weapon. How she had defended him with her very life.

Because she thought you were her human boyfriend,
he recalled next. He despised the reminder. Did she know the truth now? Would she fight him when she woke up? He thought he would prefer that. Better her loathing than her acceptance of him as another man.

He would be liked for himself or not at all.

Amun stilled as he realized where his thoughts were headed. Permanency. Keeping her. The moisture in his mouth dried, and he felt like he was swallowing cotton mixed with Haidee's glass shards. He couldn't, wouldn't, keep her.

When his friends learned what she'd done, that she was the one who had helped kill Baden, they would demand her head. He could try to talk them out of it, but they wouldn't be denied. He knew that beyond any doubt. And if he chose her, placed her needs over theirs, they would never forgive him. Hell, he would never forgive himself. Baden deserved better.
They
deserved better.

Don't think about that now.
Head spinning with the tide of conflicting emotions and urges flooding him, he climbed into bed beside her, fit her against him, and faced Strider with narrowed eyes. The warrior was watching him, blue eyes ablaze.

She's more than a Hunter,
Strider thought, clearly knowing Amun would hear.
She's responsible for Baden's killer.

Amun knew the warrior wanted to keep that particular revelation just between them—strange that he hadn't spoken aloud, considering no one else was in the room—but he was glad. The fewer people who knew about her, the safer she would be, and this way, no one would overhear. Then Secrets informed him that Torin knew, also. That Strider simply hadn't realized. Amun was shocked to his soul that neither man had killed her already. Shock that nearly burned him alive, chasing away the sweetest kiss of her chilled skin. Because she lived, Amun had assumed he was the only one who had figured out her past misdeed.

“Well?” Strider demanded

In reply to his previous statement, Amun merely nodded.

The warrior's nostrils flared with outrage. “You knew?”

He gave a second nod.

“I shouldn't be surprised. You always know everything. But fuck, man! You're still treating her like a goddamn treasure.” The words were gritted as he tunneled a hand through his hair and paced. “You picked her over me, damn it.”

There was no response that could exonerate him, even another apology, so he offered none. And in the silence, Amun began to hear more of Strider's thoughts. Thoughts the warrior couldn't snuff out quickly enough.

She's mine. To kiss, to kill. Whatever I decide. Damn her, how has she tied me in knots like this? I despise her.

Amun's hands curled into fists.
Mine
, he wanted to shout. He didn't. Such a confession would only dig his
hole of guilt and shame deeper, so he kept his lips pressed into a tight line.

Why haven't you harmed her?
he signed stiffly. Because Strider desired her, too? Such desire was completely unlike the war-hungry man, though. Only Sabin, their leader and keeper of the demon of Doubt, was better able to place the campaign against the Hunters over his personal needs and wants. So Strider's hesitation to strike had to stem from something else. Or rather, it had better stem from something else.

Amun had never felt more capable of murder than he did at that moment, thinking of another man putting his hands on Haidee.

Guilt…shame…he fell into the hole anyway.

His friend plopped back into the chair, gaze never leaving him. “We don't know how, but she calms you, clears your mind, even makes the demons cower.”

So. As he'd suspected, Haidee was responsible for his recovery. The knowledge was as upsetting as it was welcome.

“She has to be near you, in the same room, for…whatever she does to work,” Strider went on. “We still don't know how she's doing it, but we've carried her in and out of this room several times to test the limits of her ability. Once she reaches the hallway, your torment begins all over again.”

“Experiments” suddenly made sense. Was her ability the reason he felt bound to her? Because she somehow did what he couldn't, frightening the demons into submission? Was that how she affected him so strongly, his body a slave to desires he didn't want to feel?

That question led to another, one far more distressing than any that had come before. Was this how Baden had felt when he'd opened his door one moonlit night and found Haidee outside, begging for help?

The memory opened up in Amun's mind, courtesy of Haidee, he was sure.

I'm frightened,
she'd said, tears glistening in her eyes, her lower lip trembling.
I think someone's out there, following me. Please escort me home. Please.

He beat it back until he saw only black. He didn't want to go there. Other questions began to pop up, each more damning than the last. Had Baden looked at her lovely face and felt at peace for the first time since his possession? Was that why he'd simply bowed his head when the Hunters had surged from their hiding places and attacked him, welcoming his own death?