The Darkest Secret (19 page)

I'm going to taste you again. Take you to the end this time.
Finally he kissed her between her legs, flicking his tongue against the damp fabric of her panties.

Her hips shot up, and she cried out uninhibitedly. “Yes!”

You're going to give me everything.

“Ye—no.” She undulated, seeking more of his mouth. “I can't.”

I know. But soon.

“Soon. Yes, soon.”

With that promise ringing in his ears, he ripped the material away and feasted on her. At the first true glide of his tongue, she screamed with absolute abandon. He tasted her femininity and those frosted apricots he'd scented the night they met. He'd thought himself on fire before, but this…this burned him alive.

His cock filled to the point of bursting, and he ground himself into the hard floor, pumping as if he were already inside his woman. She tugged at his hair, not to pull him away but to urge him on.

He licked inside her, feeling those tight walls close around his tongue. He sucked and swallowed, laved and flicked at her clitoris. Soon she wasn't just writhing, she was making love to his mouth, moving against him, legs finding their way to his shoulders, heels digging into his back.

Hands over your head,
he commanded, and he was immensely glad he could speak into her mind, that he didn't have to stop what he was doing.

“Wh-why?”

Do it.

Hesitantly she released him and drew her arms high.

Clasp the rock behind you.

This time she obeyed without question.

Don't let go.
He grabbed her thighs, lifted, and twisted her so that she faced the ground. Twisted himself, too, ramming himself beneath her, but still between her legs. Her body fell back on him, her core directly over his face. Her grip on the rock kept her from smashing face-first into the petals, but didn't save her from the increase of pressure his mouth caused as his tongue sank deeper than before.

“Oh, God. Amun!” Tremors rocked her, vibrating into him.

So wet. So perfect.

“Amun. Please, more, need,
want
.”

With one hand, he clasped her hip. With the other, he stroked his cock. And as he worked her, he worked himself, pretending they were making love. She pumped against him, up and down, her essence all over his face, and he matched her with the movement of his hand.

So damned good.
Had he ever experienced something this good? Impossible.

“Hurry! Have to…almost…need…”

Him. She only needed him. He released her hip and reached under her, never ceasing his carnal attentions. On either of them. Feverish, he impaled her with two fingers.

Tight. She was so tight. And as he slammed those fingers deep, so deep, she convulsed around him, pulling him even deeper.

“There!” she shouted, the climax razing her voice as every muscle she possessed clamped down, trying to hold him inside.

Feeling her spasm around him sent him over the edge. He erupted, hot seed jetting onto his stomach. And when the last of the shudders left her, when the last drop of come was squeezed from him, she rose on her knees, panting,
severing that intimate contact. They moaned in unison at the loss.

She scooted down his chest and collapsed atop him. Though his first thought was to clean them both, he couldn't bring himself to move her. His arms wound around her, and he held on, knowing he would never be able to let her go.

His head was (somewhat) clear, so he couldn't blame desire for the possessiveness. She was his. Now…always.

F
OR HOURS,
H
AIDEE AND
A
MUN
alternated between sleeping, eating, kissing and talking, careful not to mention their pasts, their circumstances or their future. They were just a man and a woman, their hands never far from each other. Through it all, Haidee remained in a state of bliss, joyful in a way she knew she couldn't afford.

For her, joy never lasted.

This joyful stretch ended when Amun released her to build a campfire—and didn't return to her side. He fiddled with the backpack, then pulled out two robes, his motions rigid.

Angel robes,
he said (just as rigidly). Without looking back at her, he placed the white one at her side.
The material will clean you. It'll even untangle your hair when you lift the hood.

A simple robe could do all that? Wow. “Thank you.”

Welcome,
he said as he tugged the material over his head. And damn if the dirt smudges on the back of his neck didn't disappear.
Now, we do what needs doing.

“You mean, now we play the quiet game?”

Among other things.

This formality…how she hated it.

He had given her the sweetest, most agonizing orgasm of her life, playing her body in a way that conquered all doubt, all inhibition. Passion had filled her so inexorably, she hadn't been able to hold it all inside. She had erupted, barely managing to temper the ice. Her body was now so
hyperaware of this man that the ache, the need for him, never left her. Constantly her stomach quivered and her skin tingled.

His name might not be tattooed on her arm, but she was nonetheless branded by him.

While they'd touched, there'd been no hesitation on his part. That had astonished her. He hadn't withheld pleasure, hadn't whisked her to the brink and walked away, leaving her empty, hollowed. Even though he'd been angry with her. No, he'd been almost…reverent as he'd caressed her, as if they were lovers in every sense of the word rather than enemies.

She didn't want to be his enemy. Not now, not ever again. But she could think of no way to repair the damage she'd done to him. He hadn't killed her family, another demon had. He wasn't the one who had killed her husband, she was almost positive of that. Another demon must have. Probably one of his friends. Still, it was Amun she had punished, taking someone he loved from him.

She hated herself for that. Wished she could go back. Wished she had never walked into her husband's bedroom that fateful night. The night everything had changed for her. But she couldn't and she had, and she hoped that maybe, just maybe, she could make Amun understand the pain she had experienced. That wouldn't be enough to earn his forgiveness, but perhaps it would offer an absolution she wouldn't find otherwise.

Sighing, Haidee donned the robe. Only a few seconds later, she realized Amun hadn't done the thing justice. A bar of soap hadn't touched her, but as the material settled over her, she'd never felt cleaner. Amazing!

Her gaze returned to him. He was peering into the flames. He should have looked like a monk, but even draped by the shapeless cloth as he was, he looked wicked and sensual and so damn powerful.

He'd mentally distanced himself, but she didn't let that stop her. She settled in front of him, trying not to tremble. He didn't spare her a glance, but reached inside the backpack and withdrew an apricot.

“I'd like you to do something for me,” she said. “Think of it as an extension of the quiet game.”

He had been in the process of biting into the fruit. His hand stilled and at last he faced her, his dark eyes wary.
Can it wait? We've been here too long. We need to leave.

Suddenly he was in a hurry? Hardly. “No. We have to do this now.” If they waited, she might lose her nerve.

He nodded stiffly.
Very well.

Haidee squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You've seen a small piece of my wedding night. Will you…will you now watch the rest?”

His wariness intensified, and it was almost painful to see.
I can't control what secrets the demon shows me, Haidee.

“But you can try.” He had to try.

I don't think you're understanding me. To show you
anything,
I would have to use my demon.

“Yes, I do understand that. I'd still like you to try.”

He studied her.
May I ask why?

So polite, when he still clearly wanted no part of this. Did he fear she planned to show him a time she'd spent in another man's bed? Did he think she planned to punish him for being what he was? “You can ask, but I won't tell you.” She didn't want him refusing, and he would if he knew the truth going in.

Probably not a smart move on her part, though. He would have to trust her. Blind trust, at that. Something a Lord could never give a Hunter.

A sigh wafted through her mind.
All right. I will try.

The acquiescence surprised her, and for some reason, that surprise seemed to irritate him.

Are you ready?
he snapped.

“Yes.” No. Butterflies danced through her stomach. “Yes,” she repeated for her own benefit.

Motions stiff, Amun set the juicy apricot aside and fit his strong, callused hands against her temples. As always, he was as warm and welcome as a summer day. But now that she'd had those big hands on her breasts, between her legs, inside her, having them placed so innocently was the most decadent of tortures.

She wiggled to get closer to him, settling only when their knees were touching, his wild scent surrounding her. If he did indeed tap into her memory, he would see one of the most painful experiences of her too-long life. A recollection that never failed to tear her up and leave her broken heart bleeding. She would need his strength.

Concentrate on your breathing,
he said, and she jumped at the gentle intrusion in her mind.
And close your eyes.

Every friend she had would have called her stupid for trusting a demon like she was about to do, but she didn't care. Amun had given her the necessary blind trust, she could do no less. Her eyelids fluttered closed, hiding the features she'd come to crave, and she drew in a large quantity of oxygen. Slowly she released every molecule.

Good girl.

On her next inhalation, she felt tendrils of something…warm and dark drifting through her, rattling her mind as the wind often rattled the leaves on trees. She had experienced this before, but she'd been drugged, lethargic, and unaware of what that warmth and darkness represented. Now she knew—and tried not to panic.

She had asked for this. She wanted this.

But she didn't stay calm for long.

Demon,
she thought wildly. Her heart crashed into her ribs, threatening to burst from her chest.

Blindly she reached up and wrapped her fingers around the solid warmth of Amun's wrists. In and out she continued to breathe. She held on as tightly as she could, not to push him away, but to remind herself that he was with her. That he wouldn't let his beastly half hurt her.

And, to be honest, the demon had never really tried. Actually, the demon had
helped
her, revealing her sister's beautiful face, showing her the joyous minutes before her husband's death. Why had the creature done that? Why had it shown her
good
things? Weren't evil beings supposed to focus on the bad?

Though she couldn't fathom the answers, she relaxed. And as the rigidity melted from her spine, colorful images began to flash through her mind.

Once again she saw her little sister's cherubic face, smiling back at her as they raced through a lush meadow. Innocent, carefree giggles echoed between them, and for a moment, only a moment, the cold completely washed from Haidee's body, leaving her drenched in radiant heat.

The image shifted—
come back!
she mentally shouted, not yet ready to be separated from her sister again. But then she saw the adult version of herself standing on that long-ago veranda, lavender wedding gown draping her slender frame, her golden curls practically glowing in the moonlight.

This was it. What she wanted to show Amun—what she dreaded showing Amun.

“Are you nervous, my sweet?” her former servant said, pulling her back into the vision.

Haidee watched herself turn, heard herself reply to Leora. A conversation followed, dragging into eternity. When would they quiet? When would they—?

The old woman pivoted on her sandaled heel and led
Haidee inside a torch-lit hallway. Toward the master's bedchamber.

This was it, she thought again. Haidee's grip tightened on Amun, tremors rocking her. Just as before, the arching doorway loomed closer…closer still…only this time, she didn't try to stop herself.

Closer…

As Leora slowed, she smiled over her shoulder. Finally they reached the door, and the servant stepped aside.

Haidee wanted to vomit as she saw herself reach out. Saw her fingers curl around the edge of the curtain and move the material aside. Her shoulders squared as she stepped inside the chamber, the curtain falling back into place behind her.

At first, the Haidee in the vision couldn't make sense of what she was seeing. But the smell, oh, God, the smell…metallic, coppery…mixed with the stench of emptied bowels. She knew that smell very well: death.

Once white walls were splattered with crimson. On the floor, her husband lay in pieces. Hysteria bubbled inside her as she spun. The carnage—there was no escaping it. Solon…a piece here, a piece there, a piece everywhere. The words filled her mind, her encroaching madness making them a song. Her knees knocked together, and dizziness nearly drowned her. Frigid breath sawed in and out of her nose, uncontrollable now.

Then she saw something far worse than the carnage.

In the center of the room, the creature from her nightmares floated above a coagulated puddle of blood. Just as before, the black hood was drawn over his face, shielding his features. But in the midst of the shadows, she could see the glowing red of his eyes.

Slowly he lifted one arm, a single gnarled finger extended in her direction. Rage pulsed from him, so much
rage, enveloping her in malevolence. Hate followed. So much hate.

The eeriness of his presence jolted her out of her quiet horror, and she screamed. Screamed and screamed and screamed. She couldn't stop herself, even though each new wail scraped her throat raw. She pressed her palms over her ears. That didn't help. Still the screaming ravaged her.

The creature floated toward her, and she at last quieted. So close…almost upon her…she scrambled backward until she hit the wall. Just before he reached her, several black-clad men stormed from the terrace and into the room, their weapons raised.

“There!” one of the men cried.

“He was right! The demon's here!”

Demon? He? How had “he” known?

They pounded toward her nightmare, blades raised, ready to hack him into bits, just as he'd done to her husband. Oh, God. Her husband. Maybe the creature hadn't killed him after all, because there were others just like him in the room, and now they exited the shadows, their eyes glowing bright red.

The creature disappeared before either the humans or the others could reach him.

Beside her, the curtain swished open. Haidee's knees gave out as Leora and the guards that Solon had ordered to remain nearby stormed inside. There were so many of them, and in their haste to discover what had happened, they failed to see her. She was kicked forward, Solon's blood soaking her beautiful gown.

The guards attacked the men from the terrace
and
the shadows, clearly blaming them all for their master's murder. Metal whistled through air, swords clanged together, skin
popped
as it ripped and men grunted in pain. Then
another
set of warriors flew into the room. They, too, came from the terrace. They must have scaled the side of
the house. They were far bigger and more muscled than any of the others—and their eyes glowed that same shade of evil-red as every one of Solon's possible killers.

“More demons!” someone shouted.

“These must have followed us!”

“Hunters,” one of the new warriors growled, the word somehow echoing with a thousand other voices. Each of them tormented. “Die. Will die.”

A new battle began, this one a macabre dance of glinting silver and sharpened claws, and body after body fell around her. Even the aged, defenseless Leora was struck down, a dagger protruding from her chest. There were more grunts, many agonized moans and brutalized screams, each blending with the renewal of her own. She couldn't breathe, had to breathe. Had to escape.

More servants and guards rushed into the room, but they, too, quickly became victims of the bloody battle. Breathe, breathe. Haidee tried to scramble away, to hide, but the floor was so slippery, blocked by all the fallen, and she gained no ground. And then someone fisted the back of her robe and dragged her to her feet. Oh, God. This was it, the end.

In reality, Haidee braced herself, knowing what came next. She tried to distance herself from the scene, to pretend she was only watching a movie. That the people dying around her were actors, that their pain was faked.

That's when the scene slowed, and, through Amun and his demon, she was able to see things she'd never noticed before. Suddenly, the players had names, faces she recognized. There was Strider—Defeat—lost to his demon and slashing at a Hunter. There was Lucien—Death—his mismatched eyes colder than the ice storm inside her.

She'd seen pictures of him over the years, and knew he was now scarred. But he wasn't scarred as he fought with lethal menace, and his beauty was breathtaking. Or
would have been, if someone else's blood hadn't dripped from his mouth. He'd just ripped a man's throat out with his teeth.