The Darkest Night (7 page)

Before Aeron could leap across the room—not that he could do anything to Torin—Lucien said, “Stop. We cannot be divided. We don’t know the magnitude of what we’re facing. Now, more than ever, we must stand together. It’s been an eventful night and it’s not over yet. Paris, Reyes, head into town and make sure there are no more Hunters lurking about. Torin—I don’t know. Watch the hill or make us some money.”

“What are you going to do?” Paris asked.

“Consider our options,” he replied gravely.

Paris’s brows arched. “What of Maddox’s woman? I will be better able to fight any Hunters if I spend a little time between her—”

“No.” Lucien stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Not her. Remember, I promised Maddox she’d return to him untouched.”

“Yeah, I remember. Remind me again why you’d promise such a dumb-ass thing.”

“Just…leave her alone. She didn’t seem to want you, anyway.”

“Which is even more shocking than the news about the Titans,” Paris muttered. Then he sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself, but someone needs to feed her. We told her we would.”

“Perhaps we should starve her,” Reyes suggested. “She’ll be more likely to talk in the morning if she’s weakened from hunger.”

Lucien nodded. “I agree. She might be more willing to give Maddox the truth if she thinks it will buy her a meal.”

“I don’t like it, but I won’t protest. And I guess this means I’m going into town without my vitamin D injection,” Paris said on another sigh. “Let’s do this, Pain.”

Reyes was on his feet a moment later and the two strode out of the room, side by side. Torin followed suit, though he gave them a generous head start. Aeron couldn’t imagine the pressure of making sure no part of himself ever touched another. Had to be hell.

He snorted. Life for all the warriors here was hell.

Lucien closed the distance between them and eased into the leather chair opposite him. The fragrance of roses drifted from him. Aeron had never understood why the Grim Reaper smelled like a spring bouquet—surely a curse even worse than Maddox’s.

“Thoughts?” he asked, studying his friend. For the first time in many, many years, Lucien radiated something other than calm. His forehead was furrowed and there were stress-creases further marring his scarred face.

Those scars slashed from each of his dark brows all the way to his jawline, thick and puckered. Lucien never talked about how he’d acquired them and Aeron had never asked. While they’d lived in Greece, the warrior had simply returned home one day, pain in his eyes and marks on his cheeks.

“This is bad,” Lucien said. “Really bad. Hunters, Maddox’s woman—however she fits into this—and the Titans, all in one day. That cannot be an accident.”

“I know.” Aeron dragged a hand down his face, his fingertip catching and tugging on his eyebrow piercing. “Do the Titans want us dead, do you think? Could they have sent the Hunters here?”

“Perhaps. But what would they do with our demons once our bodies were destroyed and the spirits released? And why order you to act for them, if they only meant to have you slain?”

Good questions. “I have no answers for you. I don’t even know how I’m going to do this deed that’s been demanded of me. The women are innocents. Two are young, in their twenties, the third is in her late forties and the fourth is a grandmother. She probably bakes cookies for the homeless in her spare time.”

Curious about them, he had hunted and found them in a hotel in Buda after he’d left Olympus. Seeing them in the flesh had only intensified his horror.

“We can’t wait. We must act as soon as possible,” Lucien said. “We can’t allow these Titans to dictate our actions in this or they will attempt to do so over and over again. Surely we can come up with a solution.”

Aeron thought they would have better luck figuring out a way to patch the charred, tattered remains of his soul when he killed those women. And even that seemed hopeless.

As it was, they sat in silence for a long while, minds churning with options. Or rather, lack of them. Finally Aeron gave a shake of his head and felt as if he had just welcomed a new demon inside him. Doom.

S
OMETIME DURING THE
endless night, Ashlyn stood and felt her way around the cramped cell. Her ankle throbbed with every step, a reminder of the hours she’d spent climbing the snowcapped mountains outside and the sense of hope she’d lost with six swings of a sword.

Her search for a way out had proved fruitless. There was no window like the one in Rapunzel’s tower, no wicked witch’s magic mirror to walk through. Nor had she found any bars to squeeze through or tunnels to burrow into like Alice. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her cell phone. Not that she could get reception in the dungeon of a castle.

As time ticked by, the darkness seemed to close tighter and tighter around her.

The mice had stopped squeaking, at least.

She just wanted to go home, she thought, once again huddling on the floor. She wanted to forget this entire experience. She could live with the voices now. She
would
live with them. Trying to silence them had cost her too much. Her job, perhaps. Her lifelong friendship with McIntosh, maybe. A piece of her sanity, definitely.

She would never be the same.

Maddox’s lifeless face would haunt her, waking and asleep, for the rest of her life. Oh God. Tears streamed
down her cheeks, chilling with the cold. How many would she shed before the ducts dried completely? Before the ache in her chest faded?

Please, just let me go,
a voice babbled.
Please. I swear. I’ll never return.

Me, too,
she thought miserably.

“Have you been here all night, woman?”

A moment passed, the question unanswered as Ashlyn oriented herself. That voice…she would swear it came from the present, not the past. The rough, booming sound of it echoed in her ears.

“Answer me, Ashlyn.”

Another moment passed before she realized it was the voice that had come to haunt her above all others. A voice that was somehow imprinted in her mind, even though she’d only heard it a few times before. She gasped, eyes straining through the darkness, searching…searching…but finding nothing.

“Ashlyn. Answer me.”

“M-Maddox?” No, surely not. It had to be a trick.

“Answer the question.”

Suddenly a door was opened and rays of light flooded the cell. Ashlyn blinked against the orange-gold spots clouding her vision. A man stood in the doorway, a tall, black shadow of menace and muscle.

Sweet silence—silence she’d only encountered once before—enveloped her.

She flattened her palms against the wall behind her and inched to a stand. Shock pounded through her and her knees wobbled. He wasn’t…He couldn’t be…This wasn’t possible. Wasn’t even fathomable. Only in fairy tales did something like this happen.

“Answer me,” the man said yet again. There was
violence in his tone now, as if he spoke with two voices. Both dark, thick and thunderous.

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound emerged. That double voice was guttural, turbulent and yet sensual beyond her wildest dreams.
Maddox.
She hadn’t been mistaken. Shivering, she wiped at her tearstained cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I don’t understand,” she breathed.
Am I dreaming?

Maddox—no,
the man,
for he couldn’t possibly be Maddox, no matter how similar the voices—stepped into the cell. His attention jerked to the side, away from her, as if he needed a moment to compose himself.

Golden rays of sunlight danced over him, reverently caressing his beautiful face. Same dark eyebrows, same thickly lashed violet eyes. Same blade of a nose and lush lips.

How could this be? How had her captors produced the exact likeness of the man she’d met last night, down to that same feral edge? A man who stopped the voices of the past with his mere presence?

A twin?

Her eyes widened. A twin. Of course. Finally, something made sense. “They killed your brother,” she blurted out. Maybe he already knew. Maybe he was glad. But maybe, just maybe, he’d take her into town and she could report the horrendous crime she’d witnessed. Justice could be served.

“I do not have a brother,” he said. “Not by blood.”

“But…but…”
Maddox will be fine,
the gorgeous man had said. She shook her head. Impossible. She’d watched him die.
But an angel could have been resurrected, right?
A hard lump formed in her throat. The men of this household were most definitely not angels, no matter what the townspeople claimed.

His gaze swept back to her, down her body in a possessive appraisal and up again. He scowled. “Did they leave you here all night?” Countenance darker by the second, he scanned the rest of the cell. “Tell me they gave you blankets and water and only removed them this morning.”

Shaking still, she smoothed a hand over her face and through her hair, wincing at the tangles she encountered. Dirt probably caked her from head to toe.
Like that matters.
“Who are you?
What
are you?”

For a long while, he didn’t speak. Just studied her as though she were a bug under a microscope. She knew that look well. It was a favorite of everyone at the Institute. “You know who I am.”

“But you can’t be him,” she insisted, not wanting to accept the other alternative. He was not like the others, the demons who had slain him. “My Maddox is dead.”

“
Your
Maddox?” Something fiery flickered in his eyes. “Yours?”

She lifted her chin, refusing to answer.

Lips inching into what might have been a smile, he held out one arm and beckoned her over. “Come. We will clean you up, warm you and feed you. Then I will…explain.”

That hesitation made it clear he wouldn’t be explaining anything. He had something else in mind and his tone suggested that something would be intense. She remained in place, scared to the core. “Let me see your stomach,” she said, stalling for time.

His fingers gave a swift jerk. “Come.”

A part of her wanted to go to him, to follow wherever he would lead. Because he did look like Maddox, and whatever else Maddox was, he’d still been the best thing to ever happen to her. But once again she held her ground. “No.”

“Come.”

She shook her head. “I’m staying here until you show me your stomach.”

“I won’t hurt you, Ashlyn.” The words
not yet
echoed from the walls—unsaid, but there all the same. Even more unnerving, the sound of her name on his tongue was decadent, as if he couldn’t help but savor it. And desire another taste. “Ashlyn,” he repeated.

Another shiver raked her and she frowned. He shouldn’t desire her, and she damn sure shouldn’t desire him. “You can’t be my Maddox. You just can’t.”

That intense, fiery
something
flashed over his face again. “That’s twice now you’ve claimed me as yours.”

“I-I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. Maddox had saved her from the voices, for a little while at least. She had watched him die. They were connected. He
was
hers.

“Don’t be sorry.” He sounded almost tender just then. “I
am
Maddox,” he insisted. “Now come.”

“No.”

Tired of her refusal, the man closed the rest of the distance between them. He smelled of wanton heat and primitive rituals performed in the moonlight. “I’ll carry you over my shoulder if I must, just as I did last night. If I’m forced to do it, however, I cannot guarantee you’ll make it out of this cell with your clothes on. Understand?”

Oddly, his words were heady when they should have been frightening. Comforting when they should have been intimidating. Only Maddox knew the way she’d been carted. He’d switched her to his arms before entering the chateau and yelling at his murderers.

“Please,” she found herself saying. “Just show me your stomach.” The more she demanded to see it, the more she wanted to. Would she find stitched wounds? Smooth skin?
Would there be any indication that this man had been stabbed over and over again?

At first he gave no reaction to her request. Then, finally, he sighed. “It appears
I
am the one who will not make it out of here with my clothes on.” He reached for the hem of his black tee and slowly…slowly…raised it.

Despite her insistence, Ashlyn couldn’t yet work up the courage to tear her attention from his intense violet gaze. She told herself it was because his eyes were so beautiful, so mesmerizing that she was lost in them, drowning. But she knew that was only half the truth. If he
was
stitched,
was
scabbed…if this
was
Maddox…

“You wanted to look. So look,” the man commanded, both impatient and resigned.

Do it. Look.
Inch by inch, her gaze lowered. She saw a corded neck and a wildly ticking pulse. A collarbone mostly covered by black cloth. She saw one of his thick hands fisting that cloth right above his heart. His nipples were tiny, brown and hard. His skin was that otherworldly bronze she’d admired in the forest, and he was stacked with rope after rope of muscle.

And then she saw them. Six scabbed-over wounds. Not stitched, but red and angry. Painful.

She sucked in a shocked breath. Almost in a trance, she reached out. Her fingertip brushed the scab that slashed through his navel. The healing sore was rough and warm and abraded her palm. Electric tingles rushed up her arm.

“Maddox,” she gasped out.

“Finally,” he muttered, backing away as if she were a bomb, detonation imminent. He dropped the shirt, blocking the injuries from her view. “Are you satisfied now? I’m here, and I’m very real.”

He—no, not “he.” Maddox. Not his twin, not a dream. Not a trick. He’d been stabbed; the evidence was there, those six hellish wounds. He’d had no heartbeat, no breath. And now he stood before her.

“How?” she asked, needing to hear him say it. “You’re not an angel. Does that mean you’re a demon? That’s what some people have said about you and your friends.”

“The more you speak, the more you hang yourself. Will you follow me now?”

Would she?
Should
she? After that “hang yourself” remark…“Maddox, I—” What?

“I showed you my stomach. In return, you said you would come with me.”

Did she really have any other choice? “Fine. I’ll follow you.”

“Do not try to run. You will not like what happens.” Motions fluid, he wheeled around and marched out of the cell.

Ashlyn paused only a moment before limping after him, doing her best to stay close on his heels. Her hands itched to touch him again, to feel the life pulsing beneath his skin. “You never answered my question,” she said. The farther they walked from the cell, the more the cold air gave way to warmth. “If you
are
a demon, I can take it. Really. I won’t be grossed out or anything.” She hoped. “I just have to know so I can prepare myself.”

No response.

Those flaxen rays of sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting rainbow flecks on the stone walls. Fatigue and lack of nourishment must have weakened her, because she fell a few steps behind. “Maddox,” she said, a low entreaty.

“No conversation,” he replied, his gait never slowing as they climbed a flight of stairs. “Perhaps later.”

Later. Not what she’d hoped for, but better than never. “I’ll hold you to that.” She stumbled and winced, sharp pains shooting through her ankle.

Maddox stopped abruptly. Before she realized what he’d done, she’d slammed into his back with a pained cry. Immediately that tingling warmth returned, sparking, catching fire and spreading.

As she struggled to find her balance, he hissed a breath through his teeth and spun around, pinning her with a vicious stare. His eyes were black, the violet gone as if it had never been. “Are you hurt?”

A tremor swam through her.
Yes.
“No.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I twisted my ankle last night,” she admitted quietly.

His features softened as his gaze slowly perused her, lingering on her breasts, her thighs. Goose bumps broke out over her skin. It was as though he were stripping away her clothing piece by piece, leaving her in nothing but flushed skin. And she liked it. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest; moisture pooled between her legs.

Suddenly she didn’t care about answers, the pain in her ankle or the lethargy in her muscles. Her nipples hardened and strained. Her stomach clenched and unclenched with need. Her skin felt too hot and tight for her bones. She wanted his arms around her, comforting her, holding her close.

A moment later, she realized she was reaching out.

“No touching.” He jumped onto the step behind him, widening the distance between them. All hint of softness left him. “Not yet.”

Her arms fell to her sides as disappointment crashed through her.
No answers, no touching,
she silently mocked, fighting off the decadent rush of pleasure that came with
finally being close to the man who’d consumed her thoughts all night. His warmth, the silence…a combination lethal to her common sense.

One stroke, that’s all she’d needed—all she’d wanted, surely—but he was determined to deny her. “What about breathing?” she asked dryly. “Can I do that?”

His lips twitched, smoothing the edges of his fierceness. “If you do it quietly.”

Her eyelids narrowed to tiny slits. “Well, aren’t you a sweetie. Thanks a lot.”

That twitch became a full-fledged smile, the blinding force of it knocking the air from her lungs. He was beautiful. Absolutely mesmerizing. Ashlyn found herself caught in his snare yet again—how did he do that to her?—and again reached up without thought. Craving that spark of contact, yes, yes. Needing…needing…

He gave a sharp shake of his head, humor suddenly gone. She stilled, annoyed with him, herself.

“There is something I need to do before the touching can commence,” he said, the words so husky and low she felt them as deeply as a caress.

“What is it?” she asked, biting her bottom lip as violet began to reclaim his eyes, trickling from his pupils to overshadow the black. Amazing.

“Doesn’t matter.” Frowning, he reached out as if he meant to stroke her cheek. He caught himself and dropped his arm to his side, a mirror of her own actions a few moments before. “What does matter is that
you
never answered
me.
Were you in that cell all night?”