The Darkest Secret (11 page)

Jerkily, he signed,
Can she hear your thoughts?

“No.” Strider blinked, shook his head in confusion. “Can she hear yours?”

Amun nodded stiffly.

“Can she hear everything? Even your demon…s? Even your
demons
.”

No. Thank the gods.
Just what I allow her to hear.

Strider propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, a triumphant gleam suddenly glittering in his blue eyes, intensifying the blaze already banked there. “We can use that to our advantage.”

Of course the warrior immediately went to tricking and defeating the girl. “Sabin will—”

Amun hissed before he could stop himself.
No.

Again Strider blinked in confusion.

No,
he signed a second time.
You will not mention this to Sabin.
He barely stopped himself from adding,
Ever.

“Amun, you know I can't—”

Not yet. You won't mention it
yet. Amun had chosen to follow Sabin while they'd lived in the heavens, soldiers for the god king, even though Lucien had been the one in charge. No one could strategize like Sabin. No one was
fiercer. No one was better suited to getting an unpleasant job done.

After they'd opened Pandora's box and found themselves cursed, as well as stuck in the land of the mortals, half of his friends had continued to follow Lucien. The other half had decided to follow Sabin. Amun hadn't changed his mind. He'd gone with Sabin because no one hated Hunters more.

For the first time in all the centuries since, he regretted that decision.

Amun had often helped his friend torture their prisoners for information, but he hadn't enjoyed the screams or the blood as Sabin had. Still. He'd known that what they were doing was necessary to their survival.

Now he knew, deep in his bones, that no matter what he said, the moment Sabin learned Haidee's true identity, he would stride into this room and calmly but surely strip her of her pride, her peace of mind and even her will to live.

“I'm not going to keep this from him, Amun,” Strider said. There was no emotion in his tone. His voice was dead now, his tenacity clear.

Give me a day with her, then.
A day wasn't going to be enough, he realized in the next instant. Not because he desired her. Which he did. Oh, did he desire. More than he should, more than he'd ever desired another. There was still no denying that fact. Never before had he placed someone else's welfare above that of his friends, and an enemy at that. No, a day wasn't going to be enough because she'd called him “baby” and he wanted so badly for it to be true.

He scrubbed a hand down his sore, swollen face. The endearment had been meant for another man. That should have lessened its appeal. It didn't.

Still. He was going to protect her, he thought. From
Sabin. From all of them. She was the reason Amun's sanity had returned. Therefore, he had to keep her safe. And if he was going to keep her safe, at least for a little while, he needed to set a few rules. Like, no more thinking about how soft she felt in his arms. Like, no more tapping into her sweetest memories. Like, no more kissing her.

The first time had been the last time. No matter how succulent she'd tasted. No matter how passionately she'd come apart for him. No matter how much he yearned to sink inside her, slipping in and out, slowly at first, then increasing his speed, pushing them both to feverish heights.
Shit
. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about her, and he damn well wasn't supposed to be lusting for her.

“Why do you want a day?” Strider demanded. “A day's not going to change anything. Besides, Sabin's not going to kill her, knowing she's responsible for your improved condition.”

Sabin
would
torture her, though.
Because I would rather pamper an enemy
—even the one responsible for Baden's murder, he added for his own benefit—
than endure the darkness and the visions.
Selfish of him, yes, and another reason to hate himself, but that wasn't going to stop him.

Another
reason to hate himself? he mused then. An odd choice of words. Amun didn't hate himself and never had. He didn't like some of the things he'd done over his endless lifetime, but hate? No. Unlike some of the other warriors, he wasn't filled with guilt over his past, either. He'd killed innocents, yes. He'd razed cities to the ground, that, too. But he'd been a puppet, his strings pulled by his demon. So how, then, was he to blame?

Because he should have been stronger? That was what some of his friends thought about themselves. Not him. No one would have been strong enough to stop those demons.

Because he'd helped open Pandora's box, and deserved
the punishment that led to his need for destruction? Nearly all of the Lords thought that, but again, Amun didn't. Everyone made mistakes, and that had been one of his. You paid the price and then you moved on.

And what of Haidee? he wondered. Was her mistake forgivable? Had she paid the price? Should he move on?

His jaw clenched. He ignored that line of questioning, focusing instead on what he'd do once his day with her was over—or if he wasn't even given a day. No matter what, he wasn't going to allow Sabin to have her. When the time came, Amun would simply cart her out of the fortress. And once they left, no one would be able to find them. His demon could do more than steal secrets from those around them. His demon could
keep
secrets. Distorting memories, even before they were created.

If Amun wanted to disappear forever, he could disappear forever.

He could hide Haidee until he learned how to control the new demons himself. Then…then he didn't know what he would do with her. Bring her back, he hoped. Do what needed doing, he prayed. Because if he failed to learn the answers he needed, he would be stuck with Haidee forever, destroying his friends.

Plus,
Amun added,
I plan to talk to her. Learn more about her effect on me.

“Who are you trying to fool? Yourself or me? We both know that's a lie. You're not thinking with you brain right now, my man.” The last was snapped, as if the warrior had reached the end of his patience. “You want to fuck her, end of story.”

Well, Amun had reached the end of his patience, too.
What we both know is that you aren't thinking with your brain, either.

There was a momentary splash of astonishment over Strider's face before the warrior smoothed his features into
a blank expression that matched his earlier tone. “Stay out of my head.”

Control your thoughts,
Amun signed.
I know you desire her. Now I'll hear you admit it.

The tip of Strider's tongue traced over the straight line of his teeth. “Fine. I want her. But I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm not going to let it stop me from winning our war.” At least he didn't try to deny his feelings. “Can you say the same?”

Amun merely raised his chin.
I can't say anything.

“Funny. That's not what I meant and you know it.”

Well, that's all you're going to get from me.

“Fine,” Strider snarled, pushing to his feet. “I'm leaving before you provoke my demon any more. You've got your day, but I'd be careful if I were you. When you least expect it, she's gonna go for your head. Guaranteed. And maybe that doesn't concern you. Maybe you even want to die. Yeah, I saw what you did to yourself. But guess what? Not for a single moment are any of the rest of us ready to deal with your loss. So why don't you think about that before you put your life on the line for our enemy?”

T
WO SECONDS AFTER
S
TRIDER
barricaded himself inside his own bedroom, he had his phone in hand and was texting Lucien. He couldn't deal with this. He'd reached his bullshit limit.

At fortress. Come get me. Now.

It was nice, having a friend who could flash from one location to another with only a thought.

Within five minutes, his friend materialized a few feet away from him. Lucien was winded, barreled chest rising and falling shallowly. A sheen of sweat covered his entire torso. His mane of black hair shagged around his severely scarred face, and his multicolored eyes were bright. He was shirtless, his butterfly tattoo practically crackling with electricity on his left shoulder. His unfastened pants were barely staying on his hips. To top it all off, tension radiated from the man.

“What the hell were you doing?” Strider asked from his closet. He'd already strapped himself with weapons, but a few moments before had decided a couple more blades wouldn't hurt. Well, wouldn't hurt
him
.

One of Lucien's black brows practically knitted into his hairline. “Who the hell do you think I was doing?”

O-kay, then. Lucien had been in bed with Anya. For a moment, Strider almost forgot how pissed he was with Amun and Haidee as he savored the fact that he'd just cock-blocked the keeper of Death. Almost. “Anyone ever tell
you that you shouldn't check your messages while you're rolling around in bed?”

“Yes. Anya. And believe me, I'm going to pay for this.” His deep baritone was amused and excited rather than fearful at the thought of incurring his volatile female's wrath. “Here's a news flash for you. No matter what I'm doing, I check my messages when I'm worried about leaving my friends at home with a contingent of angels, when one of my men is sick, or when a Hunter is in residence. And when all three are happening at once? I check even when I don't have messages. So. What's wrong? Why did you summon me? Amun okay?”

Strider shoved an extra clip for his .22 into his pocket as he abandoned the confines of the walk-in. “Amun's great. Better. The problem's me. I gotta take off for a little while.” For his sanity, yes, but mostly for Amun's safety.

Amun had lifted the fragile Haidee into his battered arms and carried her to his bed. He had tucked her under the covers, so careful not to jostle her, and climbed in beside her. Strider didn't think Amun realized this, but the warrior had caressed the woman during their entire conversation, as if the need to touch her was already ingrained in his soul.

A sense of challenge had begun to rise inside of Strider. For Haidee, a godsdamn Hunter. Worse, a godsdamn killer. He'd wanted to win her from Amun and claim her for his own, and the want had been far more intense than his usual “that's mine and I'm not sharing” mind-set.

If Strider stayed here, he would eventually give in. He wouldn't be able to help himself. His demon would badger him constantly, and in the end, he would fight his friend, hurt his friend—because no way in hell would he pull his punches like he'd done the first time—and hate himself.

Hate. Huh. He'd
never
hated himself. If anything, he'd always liked himself a little too much. Once, a human
female had even accused him of picturing his own face while he climaxed. He hadn't denied it, either, and next time he'd slept with her, he'd made sure to scream, “Strider” at the pivotal moment.

She hadn't appreciated his sense of humor, and that had been the final nail in their relationship coffin. He was too intense, too jaded, too warped and too…everything for most women to take for long. But so what. He was made of awesome. Anyone who couldn't see that wasn't smart enough to be with him, anyway.

Haidee, though… She would be able to take him. With her strength of will, her courage, her unbending and reckless spirit, she would match him. Maybe even surpass him.

That is the key player in Baden's murder you're thinking about.

Hadn't mattered to Amun, he thought darkly. Why should it matter to him?

Fuck! He hated those thoughts.

Hated
. There was that word again.

“—listening to me?” he heard Lucien ask with exasperation.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Say again.”

Sighing, Lucien strode to the bed and sat at the edge of the mattress. Strider's gaze followed his friend, picking up little details about the room along the way. He hadn't cleaned in a few days, had been too busy guarding Amun, so his clothes were scattered throughout. His iPod hung from his nightstand, the earbuds wrapped around a lamp.

How the hell had it gotten there? Oh, yeah. He'd tossed it over his shoulder last night, uncaring where it landed.

“Torin texted me and told me Amun was doing better, but damn,” Lucien said, once again dragging him from his thoughts. “You scared ten years off my life.”

“You're welcome. Eternity's too long, anyway.”

“Not when you're with the right woman.”

He experienced a flash of jealousy that so many of his peeps had found the “right woman” already. And damn it, he was as sick of being jealous as he was of everything else.

“Talk to me,” Lucien said. “Let me help you, whatever's going on.”

“Nothing to talk about.” He needed to forget Haidee, lose himself in another woman, in the heat and wetness of her body. An
appropriate
woman. Someone inexperienced, though not a virgin. Someone he wouldn't have to work his ass off trying to win, then work his ass off again to please. “I need a break, that's all.”

“You summoned me with a ‘now' because you need a break?”

“Yeah. You've been on break for weeks, it seems. Let someone else have a turn.”

Silence, thick and heavy, enveloped them. Lucien studied him, and whatever he saw in Strider's expression caused him to lose his air of irritation. “All right. I'll take you wherever you want to go. For Torin's sake, someone needs to take your place before we leave. He'd never admit it, would even deny it, but he needs some help running this heap.”

Gods, he loved his friends. Lucien wasn't going to question him further. Was just going to give him what he'd asked for.

“I'd do it,” Lucien continued, “but I'm busy. I haven't been vacationing as you seem to think. I've been—and currently
am
—guarding the Cage of Compulsion in a place Rhea can't reach. And I can't tell you where that is. Torin asked me not to say anything since there's a Hunter in residence.”

The cage was one of the four godly relics needed to find
and destroy Pandora's box, and in desperate need of that guarding. Strider knew that wasn't the only reason Lucien refused to move back into the fortress. The god queen was out for blood, and the man didn't want his Anya in any more danger than necessary. Strider could dig. “William's here,” Strider said. “He can—”

Lucien was already shaking his head. “He's useless. He grows bored too easily to be relied upon. He'll forget whatever duty he's promised to perform and head into town for a little some-some.”

Some-some. Someone was picking up his woman's vernacular. “Apparently he's related to Lucifer. That has to count for something.”

“Believe me. I know who he's related to,” Lucien replied dryly. “That doesn't change anything.”

“Yeah, but he's strong. No one will want to mess with—”

Again Lucien shook his head. “Nope. Like I said, he's unreliable. He'll think of himself first and everyone else not at all.”

“I know.” William wasn't demon-possessed. He was a god, according to himself, and had spent centuries locked in Tartarus—a prison for immortals—for sleeping with the wrong woman. Hundreds of them, in fact. He'd even slept with Hera, the former god king's wife, and had been stripped of some of his supernatural abilities as further punishment. Exactly what those abilities were, he wouldn't say.

Strider liked the man, even though, as Lucien had said, he looked out only for himself. Even though he could turn on you in a heartbeat, stabbing you in the back—or rather, the stomach—as Lucien had experienced firsthand.

My kinda guy,
Strider mused. And since William wasn't wanted here, maybe he'd want to leave with Strider. Strider
made a mental note to text him before taking off. Never hurt to vacation with a friend.

So. Who did that leave to guard the fortress and those inside? “Kane and Cameo,” he said with a nod. Disaster and Misery. “Since Amun's better, they can return from wherever they are.”

Lucien pondered for a moment, then nodded in turn. “All right, then. It's settled.”

“One more thing. Tomorrow I need you to contact Sabin.” Strider planned to be too wasted to be coherent. “He needs to return, too, and meet the female Hunter up close and personal. But don't call him until tomorrow, okay?”

While Torin had apparently been texting, Strider had been calling both Lucien and Sabin every day, giving them updates on Amun's health. Only thing he hadn't told them—yet—was Haidee's identity. He didn't know why. He'd certainly meant to share, but every time he'd tried, the words had congealed in his throat.

All he knew was that he still wasn't going to tell them. Like him, they'd find out the truth as soon as they talked to her. And when they did, Strider wouldn't have betrayed Amun's trust, but would still have done all he could to safeguard his friend from the murdering bitch's influence.

Shit. He was getting worked up again, fighting a need to stomp back to Amun's room and do some damage.

Win?
Defeat asked.

Oh, no. We're not going there.

“Consider it done,” Lucien said.

“Good,” he replied, tangling a hand in his hair. “'Cause I really need this break.”

Once again Lucien asked no questions. He merely straightened and gave another nod. “Pack while I hunt down the lucky twosome and bring them home.”

“No need to pack.” He had his weapons. That's all he needed.

For the first time during their conversation, Lucien's lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. “Twice you've said you need a break. We both know nothing will change in a day or two. You'll still be stressed, on edge. So I want you gone for at least two weeks, and that's a nonnegotiable requirement if you expect transport. Pack.”

Death didn't wait for Strider's reply. He simply disappeared.

Strider packed.

 

W
ILLIAM THE
E
VER
R
ANDY
, as the shitheads here had started calling him, lay propped on his bed, a mountain of pillows behind him. His covers were tucked around his waist and legs, cocooning him in a way he despised but refused to complain about because his Gillian Shaw—nicknamed Gilly, also nicknamed Little Gilly Gumdrop, though only
he
was allowed to call the seventeen-year-old human that last one—was responsible. She had a huge crush on him, and she had thought “tucking him in” would soothe him.

Unlike the tucking in, he'd done everything he could to discourage the crush. She'd told him she wanted to date a nonsmoker, so he'd immediately taken up the habit. Was even now sucking a disgusting cloud of ash into his mouth and blowing smoke in her too-appealing, perfectly sun-kissed face.

She gave a delicate cough.

Tragically, the smoke failed to diminish the loveliness of her features. Big, wide eyes of the purest chocolate. Sharp cheekbones that hinted at the passion she would one day be capable of giving. A pixie nose, slightly uptilted at the end. Lush pink lips. And framing all that beauty was a cascade of midnight hair.

With a sigh, he smashed the cigarette butt into the ashtray beside him. Maybe it was time he took up drinking.

“Liam,” she said softly. Her nickname for him. A name he would kill anyone else for using. Maybe because it was hers and hers alone. She sat beside him, her hip pressed against his, warm and soft and completely feminine. “I have a question for you.”

“Ask.” He could deny her nothing—except a romantic relationship. Not only because she was too young, but because he…well, he liked her. Yeah, shocking. William the Perfect—a much more suitable name for him—friends with a female other than Anya. The world should have ended.

But, in many ways, Gilly truly was his best friend. When he'd returned from hell, unable to care for himself, she had done so. She had fetched his food, endured his dark moods as the pain became too much, and washed his sweat-soaked brow when necessary.

If, when she reached maturity, he was foolish enough to touch her, their easy camaraderie would be ruined. She would be forever disillusioned about the kind of man he was. He didn't want to disillusion her.

She deserved a man who would give her the world. All William would give her was pain.

So, become involved? Hell, no. Not now, not later. He wouldn't allow himself to hurt her. Ever. He was many things—a womanizer, a killer. Callous, sometimes cruel, always selfish and dark in a way no one inside this fortress knew. But this tiny little beauty had been through enough in her short life. Physical abuse, and so much worse. She'd run away from home, had lived on the streets, taking care of herself when loved ones should have ensured her safety.

After Danika and Reyes, the keeper of Pain, had hooked up, Danika had brought her here. William had taken an
instant liking to her. She'd needed someone to look out for her, and William had decided to be that someone. For now. That meant destroying those who had destroyed her innocence and later helping her find a man worthy of her love. That meant resisting her.

Lids heavy over those exotic eyes and lashes so thick and curling they seemed to be reaching for her brows, she traced some sort of design on the covers beside him. At last she found the courage to ask her question. “You're cursed by the gods, but I don't know
how
you're cursed. I mean, I tried to read your book. Anya let me borrow it, I hope you don't mind, but the pages were weird.”