Night of the Tiger (Hades' Carnival) (22 page)

Roric dropped his hands from her body and she immediately felt the cold. But it was more than just skin deep. This chill went all the way to her soul. He honestly didn’t believe her.

“I think you saw a demon who disguised himself as Mordecai. They’re clever like that.”

She’d thought about that, but she honestly didn’t think it was a demon. The flickers of emotion she’d glimpsed in his eyes weren’t something a demon would show. At least not any demons she’d met so far. Not that she’d met many. There was only Sandra, unless you counted the crew at the carnival. But still, she didn’t think they’d be wasting time on emotions like doubt or regret, both of which she thought she’d glimpsed in his eyes.

She shook her head. “He told me the other two, Phoenix and Stavros, were dead and so were the women who freed them.” Fear threatened to overwhelm her, but she ruthlessly shoved it back down. She would not give in to it. “The woman who freed him is dead too. He killed her himself before he joined Hades. Not exactly a good track record for you guys, is it?”

Aimee knew it was wrong to attack Roric’s fighting skills and his honor, but she wasn’t feeling real generous at the moment. Today had been a bitch so far and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

She automatically checked her watch, surprised to find the morning gone. Well, a lot had happened since she’d awakened to find a man in her bed a few hours ago. Technically, it was past lunchtime, not that she felt like eating anything.

She glanced back at Roric but he hadn’t moved. Watching him was like watching a statue. The slight rise and fall of his chest was the only indication he was actually alive. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t blink. Finally she saw a slight tic beneath his left eye. “I will protect you.”

“Yeah, right.” Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she ambled to the top of the stairs that led to the yard. There was a small grassy area that contained a woodpile and a shed. Beyond that, the forest held sway as towering pines, majestic oaks and colorful maple trees surrounded her home.

It made her sad to think that this might be the last day she’d spend here. She didn’t want to think what would happen to her home after she was gone. There was no family to inherit it. The house and land would be sold and the money donated to various charities once the government took their share. It depressed her to realize her life had had such a small impact on the world.

There would be no one to mourn, no one to care. Sure, the townspeople would talk. This would be just another chapter in the sorry life of poor Aimee Horner. Aimee wasn’t certain there would be a body for them to bury or if she’d just disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. Maybe her story would end up on one of those sensational televisions shows.
Whatever Happened to Aimee Horner?
Or maybe
The Mysterious Disappearance of Aimee Horner
? Something suitably dramatic.

She shook off her morose thoughts and picked up the conversation as though it had never stopped. “You’d throw me to the wolves, or demons in this case, if you thought it would rescue your Lady or your fellow warriors. Don’t deny it.” She turned to face him once again, wanting to see his reaction. Hoping she was wrong.

Roric raked his fingers through his hair, the white stripes gleaming in the morning sun. “What do you want from me?”

Again, his tone was low and restrained. She wanted to break his control, penetrate the barrier that seemed to surround him most of the time. Occasionally he slipped its yoke, usually during moments of intense physical need.

“I want the truth!” she shouted, her anger bubbling over. “I want you to be honest with yourself and with me. If you thought it would free the goddess you serve, you’d hand me over to Hades yourself.”

This entire situation was a mess. If she helped him, she’d mostly likely end up dead or worse. If she didn’t help him—assuming she had a choice—she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. If he kept her alive, he might die himself, or he might have to forfeit his own life or the lives of his friends. If he didn’t keep her alive, she knew he’d feel as though he’d failed her and his honor. They were both damned if they did and damned if they didn’t—literally.

Frustration poured off him in waves. He didn’t fidget, didn’t flinch. His lips were pursed tight together, as if to keep from yelling at her.

“Wouldn’t you?” She got right in his face. There was no backing away from this. She needed to know where she stood going in.

“Yes!” he shouted. “No!” He shook his head like a wild beast, hair flying around his face. “I don’t know.” He met her gaze, and she could see the torture and pain that lived within him. The muscles of his jawbone flexed as he ground his teeth together. His blue eyes darkened as he watched her.

Aimee was coming to know him so well she could almost read his thoughts. Roric wanted to save them all, and that just wasn’t possible.

“I understand.” And the strange part was that she did understand. The man had served the goddess since the beginning of time. She’d met him yesterday. There really was no choice for him.

“I have to do this, Aimee.”

She closed her eyes and savored the sound of her name on his lips. Just the fact that he was torn at all told her that she meant something to him. Besides, his loyalty to his friends meant he was capable of being loyal. How could she not admire that when there was so little loyalty left in the world?

Against all reason, against all common sense, she had deep feelings for Roric. Whether it was love or not, she wasn’t quite certain. Who could be sure at a moment like this? Their time together had been filled with incredible happenings and emotional ups and downs. And it was only the beginning.

But it was also the end.

Roric would escape from Hades’ clutches and live to try to free his fellow warriors and the Lady or he would die trying. For him there truly was no other choice. His honor demanded it.

And there was no choice for her either. She would help him, no matter the cost to herself.

Taking a deep breath, she held out her hand. Roric reached out, slowly closing the gap between them. His large fingers wrapped around her smaller ones, practically swallowing her hand in his. “What did the scroll say?”

“Aimee.” He squeezed her fingers. “It wasn’t Mordecai.”

She knew he wouldn’t believe her. Maybe he couldn’t believe her. If one of his fellow warriors could give in to Hades, what was stopping Roric from doing the same? To believe was to doubt himself and his conviction. And that was no way to begin a fight with the Lord of the Underworld.

Still, she had to be truthful with him. It would also do him no good to bury his head in the sand and possibly get blindsided at a crucial moment. “All I know is he told me his name was Mordecai. He didn’t seem concerned that he’d betrayed the rest of you, tainted his honor. I think in some ways he respects you. Deep down, he knows you’ll die rather than go over to the dark side.”

Roric grunted, but said nothing. She could sense the restlessness in him.

“I think that’s also the reason you couldn’t sense any lingering taint of evil in the bedroom. He spent thousands of years being honorable, and I don’t think he’s quite rotten to the core yet. Although, now that he’s started down that slippery slope, there’s no going back. Hades won’t let him walk away from his agreement. Those contracts don’t come with loopholes.”

“You seem to know a lot about such things.”

She noted that he didn’t comment on Mordecai and let it drop. She’d done all she could. He could believe her or not. The choice was his.

“Hey, I’m a graphic-novel illustrator. I read all kinds of dark fantasy.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

“You like to read dark fantasy, do you?” One corner of his mouth kicked upward.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for wounded warriors and hopeless quests. I guess that’s why I got the job of setting you free. I’ve been prepping for it my entire life.”

Roric shook his head. “That is fiction. This is reality.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware of that.”

The air around them began to shimmer. The sun dimmed as a huge black cloud rolled in front of it. The wind picked up, tugging at her sweatshirt like a hundred unseen hands, ruffling her hair.

Roric turned in a circle, the swords winking into existence in a heartbeat. He held them slightly in front of him, ready to fight. “They’re coming.”

Her heart began to pound. Taking a deep breath, she watched the woods. What was once safe and familiar now appeared dark and foreboding. She needed a weapon, a way to defend herself. No way was she meeting one of these creatures empty-handed again. Somehow she knew the time for negotiating, for cajoling, was done.

The battle had truly begun.

She glanced at Roric, but he wasn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention. He swiveled his head from side to side. His nostrils flared, and she realized he was sniffing the air. The tiger within him would be able to scent danger before it arrived.

The woodpile was just off to the left of the porch. Sticking out of the chopping block was the splitting maul. It was like an axe and sledgehammer combined. The blade end was sharp, and she knew how to swing it. Aimee gave silent thanks to her father for teaching her to take care of her tools.

She could almost see him standing by the woodpile, tall and strong, swinging the maul down in a short arc. Wood split apart, falling to the ground. He’d wait until she picked up the pieces and piled them aside before swinging again. They’d spent many an hour like that.

Daddy’s little helper, he’d called her. After he was gone, she’d cherished the memories of those times spent together. She could almost hear his deep voice instructing her, “A dull blade is more of a hazard than a help, Aimee. You want to keep it sharp. You’re less likely to hurt yourself and it makes the work easier.”

“I hear you, Daddy,” she whispered as she went down the three steps to the yard.

“Where are you going?” Roric’s sharp voice broke the silence. He had been watching her after all.

“To get the maul.” Ignoring his muttered curse, she hurried to the woodpile. The air thickened and the sky turned so dark it seemed more like night. The sunny day of moments before vanished in the blink of an eye.

Rustling sounds came from just beyond the edge of the woods. Aimee grabbed the handle of the maul and yanked it out of the block. There was no sound behind her, yet instinct had her gripping the hickory handle and swinging it in one smooth motion. She whirled around, letting her body weight add to the momentum. The blade flashed and buried itself in the gut of a horrific creature straight from her nightmares. Blood spurted, and she knew she’d hit something vital. The shock of the hit reverberated up her arm. Aimee kept both hands on the handle to keep from losing her weapon and yanked it free.

The creature threw back its head and roared, shaking the very ground beneath her feet. Towering above her and casting a long shadow, the demon was about seven feet tall with gigantic, red-tinged eyes and a large, protruding jaw. Two rows of sharp teeth were exposed as he howled in pain. They were all pointed and looked razor sharp. He stood upright, his long fingers tipped with nails that were more like blades. This guy was a cross between Godzilla and Freddy Kruger.

This was so not good.

She heard Roric’s battle cry and the crash of his swords. He yelled her name, but she ignored him. She was a little busy herself at the moment. Without hesitation, she swung again and buried the axe head in the creature’s gut, jumping aside as he swung one of his great arms in her direction. Aimee ducked and fell to the ground, rolling to the edge of the woodpile, the heavy maul still in her hand. The creature was losing blood steadily, and his entrails were half spilled on the ground. Not that he seemed to notice. He just kept coming.

“This isn’t fair,” she muttered as she swiped her free hand over the leg of her jeans. Her palms were sweaty and covered with a combination of blood and stuff she really didn’t want to identify. It burned slightly, but she ignored it. The beast advanced on her, one plodding step at a time.

“Go for the head,” Roric shouted.

She risked a quick glance his way and was stunned. Roric was shirtless once again, swords moving so fast they were a blur as he chopped and hacked through the three demons attacking him. Like the one trying to make mincemeat out of her, they were like something out of a prehistoric nightmare. Their skin was thick and scaly, like alligator flesh, their jaws filled with those incredibly sharp-looking teeth.

“Look out!” he yelled.

Too late, Aimee realized she’d let her focus stray from her opponent. She jumped back and felt his lethal fingernails graze her stomach. Fabric ripped. She didn’t dare glance down to see how badly she was bleeding. Her stomach was wet, yet she didn’t feel any pain. Adrenaline rush. It would hurt later. If she was still alive.

A sense of calm enveloped her. She could do this. There was no other choice. Either she killed the creature or it would kill her. And she wasn’t ready to die, not if she could prevent it. The woodpile was right next to her and, as she looked at it, her eyes widened as a crazy idea went through her head. It could work. It
would
work.

Not giving herself any time to consider the pitfalls of her half-baked plan, she moved. She took a running step and jumped, gaining the top of the woodpile. Planting her feet, she whirled. The extra three feet in height was all she needed. The creature had predictably followed her and was now in her sights.