The Darkest Lie (5 page)

          Mini Me, his most beloved appendage, started weeping, and the twins begging, uncaring about potential loss.

          Not gonna happen, men. Not yet, at least. She'd resisted him more intensely than he'd expected. Not that he'd tried very hard. Hard. Ha. But maybe that was a good thing. As Strider had reminded him, Hunters were in Budapest and out for blood. Now that they could kill the Lords and pair the demons with people of their choosing, now that the Lords were close to victory, the Hunters were more determined and vicious than ever. If Gideon seduced Scarlet, he would forget about guarding her.

          He could have taken her to another city, he supposed, and seduced her there. That would have been safer. But, no. He couldn't leave his friends like that. They needed him more than ever. Maddox was consumed with easing his pregnant wife; Lucien's girlfriend was planning their wedding; Sabin's wife was visiting her sister in the heavens, so the warlord was pretty much operating on a hair-trigger of emotion; and Reyes's woman had enough shit to deal with. As the All-Seeing Eye, she could peer into heaven and hell, and the things she saw were often far worse than anything Scarlet could manufacture in her dream-world.

          Not to mention, Aeron, until recently the keeper of Wrath, was still recovering from his interlude with death. For the first time in centuries, his mind was his own, his demon no longer a part of him. As expected, he hadn't yet acclimated to the change.

          Gideon wasn't envious as some of the warriors were. He actually liked his other, darker half. Together, they were more powerful. Together, they were stronger, smarter, and no one but Scarlet could lie to him. Okay, fine. A few others could, but only when he let his emotions get the better of him. Which wasn't often.

          But speaking of being unable to tell truth from lies...I've been lying to you all along. We were never married, Scarlet had said.

          Damn her and her seductive wiles. Were they or weren't they? He had those flashes of her, yes, as if he had taken her to bed before. As if he had savored every inch of her and had already done all the things he now wanted to do. But those could very well be urges he'd had, mere fantasies, rather than reality.

          Gideon sighed and strode to the bed where Scarlet had lain. He lifted the sheets and pressed the still-warm cotton to his cheek, the scent of midnight orchids wafting to his nose. Had he experienced this warmth skin-to-skin? Did he know that scent?

          Scowling, he dropped the sheet as his cock wept a little more. Get out of here before you forget your good intentions and storm into that bathroom.

          His demon liked the thought of storming. Don't enter the bathroom. Don't enter the bathroom right now!

          Seriously. Shut it. Even though Gideon had told Scarlet in his roundabout, deceitful way that he wouldn't be fetching her any food, which he'd meant at the time, he left and locked the room, rode the elevator downstairs, wrote out what food he wanted, then handed the receptionist the note.

          Lies prowled angrily through his head the entire time, hating the distance from Scarlet. Completely surreal.

          The receptionist smiled and began typing. "Give us an hour, Mr. Lord." He almost corrected her and said Pattinson. Anything to connect him to Scarlet. Instead he nodded and returned to the room. Scarlet was hungry. Therefore he would feed her. Wife or not. Because bottom line, he still had questions for her and she still had answers.

          How he proceeded after this, as caveman or seducer, would be up to her.

CHAPTER THREE

          HAD SHE EVER felt this fantastically clean? Scarlet marveled as she brushed her hair.

          Gods, this was nice. Not a speck of dirt marred her. She now smelled of the same apples-and-vanilla fragrance that coated the air, along with the usual floral scent that coated her skin. Courtesy of her father? She'd always wondered.

          Her sore muscles felt revived, her spirits restored. Well, kind of. Why was she still here? Why wasn't she running, as she'd promised Gideon she would?

          Nightmares didn't reply, the water having lulled the demon into a peaceful sleep.

          Didn't matter. She already knew the answer. Gideon still intrigued her.

          How many times do you need to be told? You can't let yourself develop feelings for him again.

          Easy to think. Hard to actually prevent. Gideon had seen to everything. He'd placed a toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush on the sink. Oh, yeah. And a freaking blue bow for her hair. Clean clothes had rested on the toilet lid, though they weren't what she would have chosen for herself. He'd picked a flowing, barely there blue dress rather than pants and a T-shirt. High heels rather than boots. He hadn't given her a bra. Just blue panties.

          Clearly, he had a fascination with blue. Why?

          She should know, and hated that she didn't. Was this a recent development?

          Wasn't like it mattered, she told herself next. His thoughts and reasoning weren't her concern.

          "I'm so happy waiting for you," he called through the door.

          The sound of that rumbling voice caused goose bumps to break out over her entire body. She imagined him pacing back and forth in front of the door, and she wanted to grin. Patience had never been his thing. She'd always liked that, mostly because he'd been so eager to be with her.

          He used to rush to her cell after every mission, kiss her face, hands roving, desperate to relearn her curves.

          "I missed you so much," he'd said. Every damn time.

          "Don't leave me again." Always her reply.

          "I'd stay in this cell with you if I could." A fleeting, sad smile, offered the very last time they'd had this exchange. "Maybe one day I will."

          "No." She hadn't wanted that for him, no matter how much she craved being with him. "Just...make me forget you were ever gone."

          And he had. Oh, had he.

          If he could have removed the collar that had been permanently anchored around her neck, he'd always said, he would have done so and run away with her. But he hadn't possessed the ability. Only a few of Zeus's chosen had. So the golden collar had remained, seemingly glued to her skin and keeping her weakened, her demon's powers muted.

          Besides, only a select group of immortals were able to flash--to travel from one location to another with only a thought--in and out of Tartarus, and Gideon hadn't been one of them. He would have had to sneak her through the entire realm, past the guards and to the gate. One, on its own, would have been difficult; together, they were impossible, even without the collar. But he'd still wanted to try.

          With the thought, she felt herself softening. Damn it! Fight it. You can't survive another heartbreak, and that's all he has to offer. Heartbreak.

          She dropped the brush on the sink and as it clattered ominously, tugged the dress over her head. The soft material stroked her skin, and she moaned. She'd never dressed herself this way, but maybe she should have. So decadent... The panties were equally soft, which elicited another moan. The heels, she left alone, donning her old boots instead. Better to beat a heartless man into submission with.

          Finished, she turned, shoulders squaring, determination rising. One last encounter with Gideon, and then she was ditching him. But that was it, the end. She'd finally have closure. For surely that's what she needed, what she lacked. Once she had it, she would return to the life she'd begun building for herself. A life as a human mercenary. Or rather, a jack of all wicked trades.

          Do it. Get it over with.

          "Are you kidding me with this?" she said as she stomped from the bathroom and held out the bow. A cloud of sweetly scented steam followed her.

          Immediately his electric gaze raked her, lingering on his once-favorite places. Something dark entered his eyes, and he gulped. "What?" The word was a croak. "I thought it was ugly." Meaning he thought it was pretty.

          And he wanted her to have pretty things. How...sweet.

          Damn him!

          He stood in front of a wheeled square table that hadn't been there before, arms once again crossed over his chest. To keep from throttling her?

          "So you like women who dress like schoolgirls." She ignored the thundering of her heart and the heat spreading through her veins. "I didn't realize you had such innocent fantasies," she said, then wanted to curse. She'd sounded breathless. Maybe because her statement had raised a very naughty question. What did he fantasize about nowadays?

          How did he like his sex? As gentle and consuming as he once had?

          How did he like his women? As sweet as she'd once been? Most likely.

          He'd shown only a few signs of attraction to her since discovering her inside his dungeon, and she was as hard as stone.

          She had to be. Her life didn't allow for dresses like this one. She had to be prepared to fight, always. She was a child of Rhea, the god queen, and she would make an excellent hostage to ransom. Not that her mother would pay it. More than that, she had many enemies, for killing her would remove her half-mortal self from the line of succession.

          The scent of fresh baked bread, chicken and rice suddenly hit her nose and her mouth watered. Forget the bow. Forget closure. Her hand fell to her side. "You brought me food," she said, dazed.

          Another sweet gesture, the jerk.

          "Nope. It's all for me." He eased into the chair behind him. Steaming plate after steaming plate littered the surface of the table, that steam wafting around him and creating a dream haze. "That color looks terrible on you, by the way."

          She licked her lips. Over the food, she told herself. Not because he liked the way she looked. Which was good. "Payback is a bitch, you know. And you can count on the fact that I'll put you in this dress sometime soon."

          He shrugged, drawing attention to the wide girth of his shoulders, then held out one of the plates. The one with chicken, rice and veggies. She was walking to him, hands outstretched, before she realized what she was doing. After she claimed the plate, she plopped into the seat across from him and dug in.

          So. Good.

          "So...why don't you sleep during the day?" he asked. "When the people here aren't awake."

          That, she didn't mind sharing. Even though she could guess his plan. Start her off with something light. Get her talking while she was distracted with food. "Somewhere in the world, people are asleep when I am, and the demon finds them. Besides that, every day I fall asleep a single second later. And every night I awaken a single second later. The time always varies ever so slightly, ensuring we're able to target everyone at some point." In other words, fear us.

          "Not good to know." A pause, then, "I don't want to know why you got the tattoos. I don't want to know who gave you those tattoos. And I most definitely don't want to know how things ended between us."

          Yep. She'd been right. "I told you we weren't really married." She chased a deliciously flavored bite of buttered carrots with a glass of red wine. Even. Better.

          "And I believed you."

          She shrugged, mimicking his nonchalance. "I've answered enough of your questions tonight. And I know that's why you brought me here. To relax me, lower my guard and find out everything you're dying to know so you can lock me back up." And worse.

          "You're wrong," he said, reaching out and cupping her hand with his own. He brought it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss into her suddenly burning flesh. "I just wanted to spend time with you, to get to know you, the world around us forgotten."

          Softening...again... They were words she'd longed to hear so badly she'd often ached physically. Hearing them now...

          And realizing they were a lie...

          The softening instantly ceased. Suddenly she wanted to remove the invisible knife he'd left in her back and stab him with it. Since he wasn't crumpling into a heap of pain, as she'd heard he did when he spoke the truth, she knew he'd just told a whopper.

          He was playing her, and she'd almost let him. Harden up. You're a bitch. Act like it.

          "That's easy for you, isn't it? Forgetting the world around you, I mean." Bitterness crept through her tone, and there was nothing she could do to defuse it. "Your poor, sad memory."

          He frowned, and his hand fell away.

          She wanted to shout. With frustration. With a demand that he touch her again. With fury that she wanted him to touch her again. Instead, she remained quiet and finished her meal, consuming every last crumb, every drop of wine, and leaving nothing for the man across from her.

          "Why are you so...not stubborn about this?" he asked with what seemed to be genuine curiosity. "About keeping me in the light?"

          Because she'd spent thousands of years wondering where he was, what he was doing and who he was doing it with. Wondering if he ever thought of her, wondering why he never returned for her. Wondering if he was even alive. Each day had been worse than the last, a constant churning in her mind, her emotions rolled out, flayed and left raw.

          But she'd known with gut-wrenching intensity that he loved her, so she'd finally had to accept that he hadn't returned because he'd been killed. Death was the only thing that could have kept him away. So she'd mourned him, crying so forcefully, so intensely, she'd actually shed tears of blood.

          And when she'd finally discovered that he lived...Oh, the pain. Pain that still haunted her, a constant shadow in her heart.

          In contrast, he'd been wondering about her for a few weeks. He didn't cry himself to sleep about it. He didn't throw up because the worry and the heartache were too much to bear.

          Her hands clenched so tightly, the glass she held shattered. Beads of crimson sprang up all over her palm, but she didn't flinch at the ensuing sting. This was nothing compared to what she'd once endured. Nothing. She no longer cried about anything.

          Gideon sighed and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, inspecting the damage. "Love to see you injured. Don't want to make it all better." Truth.

          When he had strode into his fortress's dungeon and she'd seen his beautiful face, the only thing she'd truly felt at the time was awe. He was alive. He was with her again. But then the anger had sparked. Followed by the resentment and the consuming urge to hurt. None of those compared to what she felt just then, however.

          Rage. So much rage.

          How dare he. How fucking dare he care about such paltry wounds! He was sitting there, calm as could be, poking at her emotions like a child with a stick because he could. Because she was a big, fat question to him. That was all. He wanted answers. Not her. Not her forgiveness. He couldn't care less about easing her real injuries and making her "all better."

          Had she been nothing to him, even all those centuries ago? Yes, he'd wed her, but he'd left her soon after. Left her, she now knew, to steal and open Pandora's box. She also knew he'd been paired with his demon and shoved out of the heavens soon after that. But she'd been possessed that same day, still locked inside her cell.

          After those centuries spent in darkness--what oddly seemed like a mere blink of time for her whenever she looked back--had passed and she'd once again had control of her mind, she'd remembered Gideon. Realized he'd been given a demon, too, and figured he had gained control of himself, as well. So she'd waited for him to return for her. And waited. And waited, for so damn long. Then all those questions began swirling in her head. And then the worry had set in, followed by the grief that he hadn't survived.

          And in that grief, she'd done things that had shocked even her demon. Terrible things. None of the gods and goddesses sharing her cell--the one she'd been moved to, away from the tender hand of her mother--had survived her rampage.

          The Greeks had nearly executed her for those actions, but in the end, Zeus had preferred to parade her in front of Cronus, his own father and greatest foe, enjoying the fact that she was proof Rhea had cuckolded him. Anything that tormented the deposed Titan king was worth keeping alive, the Greek sovereign had said, no matter how dangerous that thing was.

          And then the Titans finally won their freedom. Cronus and Rhea would have liked to leave her behind, she knew, but they'd needed her skills to help defeat the Greeks.

          Once the screams had faded and the blood had stopped flowing, she'd scoured ancient scrolls for information about the Lords of the Underworld, hoping to find them and ask how Gideon had perished. Where his bones rested. She'd intended to give him a proper burial, pray over him, say goodbye.

          Instead, she'd discovered her husband was still alive.

          Her relief had known no bounds. But then, neither had her upset, for that's when other questions had begun plaguing her. Why hadn't he come back for her? Why hadn't he sent word that he'd survived?

          She'd sought him out to ask him. And yes, to throw herself back into his arms. To feel him surrounding her, sliding in and out of her, once again. Finally. The way she'd been dreaming about for so many years.

          She'd found him in that bar in Buda. She'd walked past him. Except, he hadn't noticed her. Glanced at her, yes. Moved his gaze away as if she were of no consequence, yes, that, too. He'd been too busy crooking his finger at a human female, and then having sex with that female right there in the club.