The Darkest Night (22 page)

Sabin’s shoulders slumped and he expelled a long, exhausted breath. His eyelids cracked open. “There. We’re alone.”

Amun, who hadn’t spoken a single word during the entire exchange, tilted his head to the side and stared at
Aeron intently, his eyes like a laser beam into his forehead. Amun’s face was unreadable, and that made Aeron uneasy. Possessed as the warrior was by Secrets, could he guess what Aeron guarded deep in his soul?

Amun’s gaze suddenly met his, and there was regret and knowledge in his dark eyes. Aeron stiffened. Oh, yes. He could guess.

Sabin’s chest expanded as he clearly fought for patience. “Why don’t we strike a deal? We’ll take care of the Hunters who have invaded your city if you’ll help us find the box. It’s a fair exchange. We’ve battled them for years and know just how to strike.”

“I found one earlier and interrogated him,” Strider said. “That’s how we knew to come to the club, but so far we’ve seen no trace of the rest.”

Aeron caught a flash of movement in the far shadows and frowned. “Someone stayed behind,” he muttered. Everyone stiffened.

That’s when Aeron saw the outline of four more humans, all male and all well-muscled, even in silhouette. His frown deepened as he drew in a whiff of gunpowder. “Hunters,” he growled. “How’s that for a trace?”

Even though they had killed Baden, Aeron had been prepared to leave them alone. He’d caused them just as much pain centuries ago, after all. But they had come here. They would start a new war if given the chance.

Realizing they’d been spotted, one of the humans stepped forward.

The strobe light was still spinning, spitting those fractured beams of light in every direction. They danced over the mortal’s young, determined face. He was smiling. He rubbed his right wrist with his left thumb, and in the wild
light Aeron could just make out the symbol of infinity he traced.

“Who would’ve thought we’d get all the world’s evil together in the same room at the same time?” The man held up a small black box, two wires hanging from its sides. “Seriously, is it Christmas?”

Several of the warriors growled. Some withdrew guns, some preferred their sharpest daggers. All were ready to battle. Aeron didn’t wait—he found that he couldn’t, didn’t want to, was
eager
to act. Wrath had already judged this man and found him guilty of the crime of killing innocents in his quest to kill Lords.

Aeron tossed his blades, end over end, and both embedded to the hilt in the man’s chest.

His eyes bugged and that white-toothed grin froze on his face. He didn’t die immediately, as he would have if this had been one of Paris’s movies. He fell to his knees, panting, in pain. He’d live for a while yet, but there was nothing anyone could do to save him. “You’ll pray for death when we’re done with you,” he gasped.

“Burn in hell, demon!” one of the other mortals shouted, tossing a dagger of his own.

One of the warriors fired his gun as the blade pierced Aeron’s chest. Aeron frowned. Gazed down at the pearl handle winking in the light. His heart continued to pump, slicing open with every beat. Ouch. They had quick reflexes. He would have to remember that.

Lucien and the others sprang forward.

The Hunter didn’t back down. “I hope you enjoy the fire,” he said, swiping up the black box his fallen friend had dropped.
Boom!

An explosion rocked the entire structure, blasting
through stone and metal. Aeron was lifted off his feet and thrown into the air like a sack of feathers.

Defeated by humans. Unbelievable.

It was the last thought to drift through his mind before his world went black.

M
ADDOX BECAME AWARE
of his surroundings with a jolt. Dead one moment, fully conscious the next. Ashlyn slept in the crook of his arm, her pliant body curled around him.

He glanced down at himself. She must have cleaned him and even managed to change the sheets despite his chains because the blood was gone. His scabs were back and stretched across his stomach and his ribs.

Ashlyn’s soft honey-colored hair ticked his chin; her warm exhalations fanned his skin. Alive and here. With him. He hadn’t imagined it.
Straight from hell into heaven.

Come morning, he usually felt the need to destroy something. To fight. To forget the flames and the pain by giving in to the numbness and darkness of the spirit. Not so right now.

He felt—dare he believe it?—at peace.

Ashlyn looked so relaxed, he was loath to awaken her. No, not relaxed, he realized on closer inspection. Tearstains were evident on her cheeks and teethmarks marred the lushness of her lips, as if she’d bitten down hard and repeatedly.

He longed to caress a fingertip over the curve of her cheek, but couldn’t. Damned chains. “Ashlyn. Beauty. Wake up for me.”

A soft moan parted those lips.

Sunlight caressed her as he craved to do himself,
bathing her luminous skin and paying her absolute tribute. Her lashes were feathered, still damp from her tears, like strands of ribbon covered with dew.

She’d cried at his suffering. When was the last time someone had cried over him?

“Ashlyn.”

She moaned.

He lowered his head and kissed the tip of her nose. As always, spears of electricity slammed into him. She must have experienced it, too, gasping out his name and jolting upright. The cover fell to her waist, revealing the baggy T-shirt she wore.
His
T-shirt. He liked her in his clothing, liked that she was covered by material that had once covered him. Lock after lock of hair fell down her shoulders and back.

When her gaze landed on him, she released a trembling sob and threw herself into his wide-open arms. “You’re alive. You came back from the dead again.”

“Unlock me, beauty.”

“I don’t have the key.”

“It’s under the mattress.” Lucien had stopped carrying the key years ago when Maddox managed to snap it from its chain around his neck. “Why didn’t they take you?”

“Torin hid me. Oh.” She hurriedly dug under the springs, found it and released him. She fell back into his side, the scent of her skin distracting him from wondering why Torin would have done such a thing. “I’m so glad you came back to me.”

He wound his arms around her waist, rubbing his hands up and down her back, soothing, calming. His joints protested, but he didn’t stop. “I came back. I’ll always come back.”

“I don’t understand,” she said on a shaky breath. Her body trembled. “Why do they keep doing this to you?”

“Another curse.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I killed a woman, and now I must die as she died.” He had not wanted Ashlyn to know what he’d done, but it wasn’t fair to keep her in the dark when she’d revealed all her secrets.

Ashlyn gripped him tightly. “Who was she? Why did you kill her?”

“The woman I told you about. The warrior, the one given the task I desired for myself. Pandora.”

Her eyes stretched wide. “
The
Pandora?”

“Yes.”

“
That’s
the box you opened? Dear Lord, I don’t know why I didn’t piece this together before. Why didn’t the gods just put the demons back inside the box?”

“Punishment. But more than that, the box was gone, with no way to be re-created.”

“How did you kill…”

“My demon had overtaken me, and—” Again he could hear the torment in his own voice, and wondered what Ashlyn thought. “I lost control, became Violence completely, and my sword did irreparable damage to her. I have regretted the action ever since, doubt me not.”

“But immortals can’t be killed eternally. Right? I mean, you’re proof of that.”

“Most
can
be killed. Not easily, but it is possible.”

“Well, everyone makes mistakes, and you’ve paid for yours,” she said, her understanding surprising him. Warming him. Felling him. “I sort of wish you’d killed those gods who cursed you, too, because they’re vile, disgusting—”

Wincing, he plastered a hand over her mouth, cutting off her words. “She did not mean it,” he said, eyes traveling ceilingward. “I will willingly take any punishment meant for her as my own.”

Lightning did not strike them. The earth didn’t rumble.
Locusts didn’t swarm, eating at their flesh. Maddox slowly relaxed. “Never curse the gods. They hear all.” Unfortunately.

She reluctantly nodded and he removed his hand.

“I’m not bait,” she said.

“I know you’re not.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully. She angled her head, peering up at him.

“Really.”

Her features softened; she even smiled. “What convinced you?”

“You.” He looked at her in wonder because it was still a surprise to him. “Your sweetness, your ability. Your virginity.”

“So you…wanted me?” she asked, unsure now. “Not because you desired answers from me but because…”

“But because,” he assured her. “You make me burn.”

Happiness sparkled in her eyes, like rays of sunshine stamping out the night. She snuggled still deeper into his side, breasts meshing into his chest. “I’m glad the Institute brought me to Budapest.”

His body had begun to stir, to ready, to desire more. Until the Institute was mentioned. Violence growled. “You are not going back to them.”

“You and your demands.” Not realizing his sudden turmoil, she continued blithely, “You know, I’ve heard a few tidbits about Pandora’s box here and there. Did I tell you that the Institute is always interested in tracking down supernatural relics mentioned throughout history in myth and legend?”

He stiffened. “Will you tell me what you heard about the box?”

“Let’s see…” She tapped her chin. “I heard that the box is hidden. Where, I don’t know. But supposedly it’s
guarded by Argus and even the gods themselves can’t get to it.”

Maddox absorbed this news with shock. Argus was a huge beast with over one hundred eyes, enabling it to see everything that happened at all times. Legend claimed it had been killed by Hermes, but legend was often a lie told by the gods to fool mortals.

“I also heard a conflicting story,” Ashlyn continued, “that the box is actually guarded by Hydra, not Argus. The common denominator in both stories, though, was that the—” She gave another gasp.

“What?”

“If the box ever resurfaced, the demons would be sucked back inside. That’s good, right?”

He shook his head. “For the world, perhaps, but not for me. Without the demon, I will die.”

“How can you know that? I mean—”

“I know it,” he interrupted, thinking on what she had said. Hydra. A poisonous serpent with multiple heads. If that was true, the box was buried deep in the ocean. But which story was he to believe? One or both or neither? If the rest of what she had heard could be believed, that the demons could be sucked back inside if the box were found…

“I could, I don’t know, do a more thorough search for the box. Make it my top priority.”

“No!” That would entail having her leave the fortress, placing her in danger. “I know I told you to tell me everything, but now we must choose a less volatile topic.” Violence was prowling his mind, more agitated with every word. While Maddox now believed the demon did not want to hurt Ashlyn, he wasn’t willing to take a chance. He would talk about flowers and moonbeams—he cringed—if it meant maintaining this delectable inner peace.

“Is there a way to break your death-curse?” Ashlyn asked. So much for flowers and moonbeams.

“No.” He shook his head. “There is no way.”

“But—”

“No.” He would not allow her to try and bargain with the gods, hoping to find a way to save him. He was not saveable. More than that, he was not worth the effort. He was more monster than man, even if he sometimes tried to convince himself otherwise. “That is a subject best dropped, as well.”

She trailed a fingertip down his sternum, deliciously warm breath fanning him. “What subject
can
we talk about, then?”

He splayed his fingers over her bottom and squeezed. “Have you heard any more voices during your time here?”

“Unfortunately.” She arched slightly, the action nearly imperceptible, in an effort to be closer to him. “I heard every word spoken by those four women. Who, by the way, should be released immediately.”

“They stay.”

“Why?”

“That, I cannot tell you.”

She drummed her fingertips. “At least tell me what you plan to do with them. They’re nice. They’re innocent. They’re scared.”

“I know, beauty. I know.”

“So you’re not going to hurt them?” she insisted.

“No.
I’m
not.”

Her palms flattened, just above his heart. “Does that mean someone else is?”

His blood heated erotically, singeing his veins. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure they aren’t. All right?”

Her lips pressed into his neck and her tongue flicked
over his pulse. “All right, but I’m going to do everything in
my
power to make sure they aren’t, either.”

He hated denying her anything, so he clasped her chin, forcing her to face him, and gave her what he could. “I’m sorry you had to listen to their conversations. Never again will I put you in a room where humans have been.”

“It wasn’t so bad this time.” Her fingers curled around his wrists, soft, gentle. “And I don’t hear anything when you’re around, no matter who’s spoken.”

“I wonder why. I am not complaining—I am glad, just curious.”

“Maybe the voices are afraid of you.”

He almost grinned.

“Actually,
I
wonder why I can’t hear any of your friends’ past conversations. I mean, I’ve always been able to hear other supernatural beings.”

“Maybe we operate on a higher tier of existence.”

She did grin.

“Still, we will make sure I am always around you,” he said, and it would be his pleasure. “That way, the voices will never bother you again.”
What about when you’re dead?
The thought caused him to stiffen. There was no one to watch her then. No one to protect her.

Sensing his anger, she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He would not think of the coming death now. He had Ashlyn in his arms and he was going to enjoy her, savoring this small amount of time they had together. “No more talk of the women or curses.”

“Well, now you’ve taken away most of our common ground.” Her gaze lowered, fastening on his lips. She shivered. “I’ve traveled all over the world for the Institute, but I never dreamed I’d meet someone like you.”

“Strong?”

A chuckle escaped her. “Yes.”

“Handsome?”

“Of course.”

“Sharp of wit and skilled with a sword?”

“Absolutely.” Another chuckle. “But I mean a man…friend…guy. Oh, I don’t know what to call you!”

He savored her amusement—and her earnest words. “Just call me yours. That is all I want to be.”

Everything about her softened. “Tell me something about yourself.” She tugged her face from his clasp and once again snuggled into his body. She didn’t remove her hands from his wrists but slid them down his arms and around his neck, as if she feared letting him go, even for a second. He feared it, too. He wanted her desperately. And would have her, he swore, after they showered, all traces of blood and death removed. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

He could tell her that he liked classical music rather than the hard rock his friends preferred, but that information lacked the deeply personal touch she obviously craved. And Maddox found that he wanted her to know him better than anyone else in the world.

His sense of peace—true peace—deepened. All because she was here with him. Because she had cried for him and cared for him. Because she didn’t judge his past sins or revile him. Because she wanted to learn about him, too. Because only he eased her torment.

Because, when she looked at him, she didn’t see Violence. He suspected she saw man.
Her
man. A heady thought. Drugging. Shocking. Enough to earn his eternal devotion.

“There have been a few times over the years that I wished to be human. And have a wife and—” he gulped, confessing “—children.” He’d never told his friends, who would have laughed.
He
should laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

Violence? Near children?

Ashlyn didn’t laugh, didn’t scold him. “That’s a beautiful dream,” she said, and there was a wistful catch in her voice. “You’ll make a wonderful father. Fierce and protective.”

Humbled by her proclamation, though he knew he would never be given the chance to prove her words, he traced circles over each of her vertebra. “Tell me one of your secrets now.”

Shivering, she drew her finger over the ridged peak of his nipple. His cock jumped in response; his blood blistered. No longer simply heating, but already an inferno. Still, he didn’t kiss her, didn’t roll on top of her. However much it pained his body, now was a time for talking.

“I didn’t learn to read until last year,” she admitted shamefully. “Until then, I had to give all of my reports verbally, rather than typing them, and everyone knew why. I just couldn’t concentrate long enough to decipher the words. The voices were always there, disturbing me. When I was a kid, my boss would read stories to me, fairy tales so magical I could almost block out the whispers. That was when I became determined to learn on my own. But it took a long time to actually do so.”

He didn’t care if she could read or not. But she cared, and he sought to comfort her. “That you learned at all is worthy of praise.”

She gifted him with a brilliant smile. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t learn to read until hundreds of years after my possession, and then I only did so because I didn’t like others knowing something I did not. See? You are ahead of me already.”

She chuckled, relaxing further. “Once I learned, I went online and ordered every romance novel I could find. They’re
fairy tales for grown-ups. They were delivered straight to my door and I devoured them as fast as I was able.”