Lords of the Underworld Bundle (13 page)

Ashlyn's ears twitched, and she pressed deeper into the rocky wall. Hunter, the man had said. Maddox's killers had called
her
a hunter. What did they mean? Bounty hunter? She frowned and rubbed her swollen, aching ankle. Who could ever think that of five-foot-five, average Ashlyn?

“Doesn't matter. You have to find a way out of here, Darrow.” She had to tell the authorities what had happened to Maddox. Would they believe her? Would they even care? Or had the men here somehow bewitched them as they'd done the rest of the townspeople—angels, indeed—allowing them to do anything they wanted, whenever they wanted?

A sob gushed from her lips; a tremor raked her. No one should have to die that slowly, that painfully. Dignity gone. Cries unheeded.

One way or another, Maddox would be avenged.

 

M
ADDOX SCREAMED
.

Flames licked him from head to toe. Blistering, melting away his flesh, reducing him to nothing but bone. No, not even bone, he mused in the next instant. The flames had reduced him to ash. But he was still aware…always aware. He still knew who he was, still knew
what
he was, and that he would have to return to the fire tomorrow.

The agony was nearly more than he could bear. Plumes of smoke thickened the air, scattering soot in every direction. Disgustingly, he knew that soot belonged to him.
Was
him.

Much too soon, it returned to where he had stood, fused together and became a body, a man—a man that once again caught fire. A body that once again melted bit by grueling bit, pouring flesh from muscle, then flickering orange-gold sparks over muscle before disintegrating altogether. There was another blackened breeze, returning everything to its place so the entire process could repeat itself. Again and again and again.

All the while, Violence roared inside his head, desperate to escape, no longer sated as it had been at the moment of his death. Blending with that were the sounds of the other condemned souls, screaming as the flames of hell devoured them. Demons, those disgusting winged creatures with glowing red eyes, skeletal faces and thick yellow horns atop their heads, fluttered from one tormented prisoner to another, laughing, taunting, spitting.

I have one of those monsters inside me. Except mine is worse.

The other demons knew it, too. “Welcome back, brother,” they would jeer before licking him with their fiery, forked tongues.

Always before, Maddox had wished to fade into nothing when the fire overcame him, never to return to hell
or
to earth. He'd wished to end his miserable existence and finally stop the pain. Always before—but not tonight. Not this time.

Tonight, pain was eclipsed by desire.

Ashlyn's image rose inside his mind, taunting him far more than the demons.
You'll find nothing but bliss with me,
her eyes seemed to say, lips parting, softening for a kiss.

She was a puzzle he yearned to solve. His first glimpse of heaven with her warm, amber-rich hair and honey-colored eyes. She was exquisite and lush, and so unequivocally feminine she called to his every masculine instinct.

Surprisingly, she had fought to stay with him. Had even fought to save him from the others, he'd realized only a few minutes ago. He didn't fully understand why, but he liked the notion anyway.

He might not have known what he wanted to do with her earlier, but he knew now. He wanted to taste her. All of her. Bait or not. Hunter or not. He simply wanted. After all his suffering, he deserved a sliver of happiness.

Even in his days as an elite warrior to the gods, he had never desired a specific woman above all the rest. After, he had always taken what he could get, when he could get it. But Ashlyn, he wanted specifically. Ashlyn, he wanted now.

Where had Lucien placed her? In the room adjoining his? Did she lounge on the bed, naked body wrapped in silks and velvets? That's how he would take her, Maddox decided then. Not outside as was his custom. Not on a cold, twig-laden ground. But in a bed, face to face, skin to skin, pumping and sliding slowly.

His body burned with the thought—a burn that had nothing to do with the flames.

She means us harm. We'll harm her first and be the better for it,
the spirit urged.

Do not dare suggest it,
he commanded, trying to eclipse Violence—who, surprisingly, seemed content to discuss Ashlyn calmly now, rather than roar.
I am not a monster.

We are the same, and that woman spells danger.

Yes, she did. Yet he'd never encountered a woman quite as vulnerable as Ashlyn. Alone in the forest, secrets in her pretty eyes. Killers on her trail. Whether they'd meant to ignore her, kill her or use her to kill him and the other Lords, he would find out.

In the morning, when Lucien returned his soul to his healed body, Maddox would find and question her. No, he would touch her first, he decided. Kiss her. Taste her entire body as he so desperately wanted to do right now.

Despite the pain, he found himself grinning with relish. The woman had looked at him with ecstasy in her eyes; she had tried to follow him, to save him. Yes, she had made her own bed. And now she would lie in it. With him.

Only after the loving was done would he question her. And if he discovered that she truly was Bait—there was a pang in his chest—he would deal with her as he'd dealt with the Hunters.

 

“T
HE
T
ITANS HAVE OVERTHROWN
the Greeks,” Aeron announced. The knowledge had been bubbling inside him since his return to the fortress an hour ago, but with all the commotion he hadn't had a chance to share. Until now. Things had finally quieted—but he knew the peace would last only until his meaning sank in.

Frowning, he plopped onto the plush red couch, Maddox's human no longer a concern. If only his words could be dismissed so easily—and what was suddenly making all that noise?

He looked around, scowled and grabbed the TV remote, flicking off the “movie” Paris had just turned on. Titillating moans ceased. The wet slap of man against woman faded from the flat screen. “You have to stop buying that garbage, Paris.”

Paris swiped the remote from him and switched the fleshfest back on. Thankfully, he punched the mute button. “Not pay-per-view, bro,” he said without a hint of remorse. “This one's from my own personal collection.
Oil Wrestlers Gone Wild.
”

“You become more human every day,” Aeron muttered. “It's embarrassing. You know that, right?”

“Aeron, you cannot make an announcement like that and simply change the subject. You mentioned the…Titans?” Lucien said in his ever-calm voice.

Ever-calm. Yes, that described Death perfectly. The immortal maintained an iron lock on his temper—on all of his emotions, really—for when it was unleashed, he was a force even Wrath feared. More than a beast, Lucien became a true demon. Aeron had only witnessed the transformation once, but he'd never forgotten.

“I thought I heard something along those lines, as well.” Reyes shook his head, as if that would help him understand. “What's happening here? First Torin tells us the Hunters have returned, then Maddox comes home with a woman. And now you say the Titans have taken over? Is something like that even possible?”

“Yes, it is.” Unfortunately. Aeron scrubbed a hand over his chopped hair, the short spikes abrading his palm. How he wished he could next deliver happy news. “Apparently the Titans spent their centuries of imprisonment honing their powers. In recent weeks they escaped Tartarus, ambushed the Greeks, enslaved them and seized the throne.
They
control us now.”

There was a heavy silence as everyone absorbed the shocking news. No love was lost between the warriors and the Greeks, the very gods who had cursed them. But…

“You are sure?” Lucien asked him.

“Very.” Until tonight, all Aeron had known about the Titans was that they'd ruled Mount Olympus during the Golden Age, a time of “peace” and “harmony”—two words spouted by the Hunters who'd risen in Greece all those years ago. “They placed me in some sort of tribunal chamber, their thrones circling me. Physically, they are smaller than the Greeks. Their power, however, was unmistakable. I could almost see it, like a living entity. And on their faces, I saw only uncompromising determination and dislike.”

Several tense minutes passed.

“Dislike aside, is there a chance the Titans can release us from the demons without killing us?” Reyes voiced the question they undoubtedly all were thinking.

Aeron himself had wondered. Had hoped. “I do not think so,” he said, hating to disappoint them. “I asked that very question and they refused to discuss it with me.”

Another silence, this one even more strained.

“This is…this is…” Paris trailed off.

“Unbelievable,” Torin finished for him.

Reyes massaged his jaw. “If they will not free us, what do they plan for us, then?”

There would be no reprieve from the bad news. “All I know for sure is that they plan to take an active role in our existence.” The one point in the Greeks' favor was that they had ignored the warriors after cursing them, allowing them to have some sort of life—tormented though it was.

Again, Reyes shook his head. “But…why?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Is that why they summoned you?” Lucien asked. “To inform you of this change?”

“No.” He paused, closed his eyes. “They ordered me to…do something.”

“What?” Paris demanded when he failed to elaborate.

He studied each of his friends, trying to find the right words.

Torin stood in the corner, his profile to everyone. Distanced, always distanced. But then, Torin had to be. Reyes sat across from him. Tanned like the sun god, the warrior didn't look as though he belonged on earth, much less in the room. He was busy slicing grooves into his lower arm as he awaited Aeron's answer. Every few seconds, Reyes winced. That wince became a satisfied smile as blood trickled, forming tiny crimson rivers over his skin. Pain was the only thing that satisfied him, the only thing that made him feel alive.

Aeron had no idea how the man might respond to pleasure.

Paris was sprawled on the couch beside him, hands tucked behind his head as he switched his attention between Aeron and the movie, his demon probably urging him to watch just a little more. A man with his kind of luck should be ugly. At the very least, he should have to struggle to lure a woman into his bed. Instead, he simply looked at a woman with his handsome face and she stripped instantly, willing to be taken anywhere, available bed or not.

Maddox's woman hadn't, though, Aeron recalled. Why?

Lucien leaned against the pool table, his hideously scarred face revealing nothing. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, and those disconcerting eyes of his watched Aeron intently. “Well?” Lucien prompted.

He drew in a breath, released it. “I've been ordered to slay a group of tourists in Buda. Four humans.” He paused, closed his eyes again. Tried not to feel a single shred of emotion. Cold. To get through this, he'd have to be cold. “All female.”

“Come again.” Paris jolted upright, frowning over at him, television forgotten.

Aeron repeated the gods' command.

Paler than usual, Paris shook his head. “I can buy that we're now under new management. I don't like it, I'm confused as hell by it, but hey. I buy it. What I don't get is that the Titans ordered you, the possessor of Wrath, to kill four human
women
in town. Why would they do something like that?” He threw up his arms. “That's craziness.”

He might be the most promiscuous man ever to roam the Earth, bedding his partners and forgetting them in the same day, but women of every race, size and age were Paris's lifeblood. His entire reason for existence. He'd never been able to tolerate seeing a single one of them hurt.

“They did not give me a reason,” Aeron answered, knowing a reason would not have mattered. He didn't want to harm those women in any way. He knew how it felt to kill. Oh, yes. He'd killed many, many times before, but always through the undeniable urgings of his demon—a demon that chose its victims well. People who beat or molested their children. People who took joy from the destruction of others. Wrath always knew when a person was deserving of death, their shameful actions playing through his mind.

When the women had been brought to his attention, the demon had tried them and found them innocent. And yet, he was supposed to murder them.

If that happened, if he was forced to spill the blood of the undeserving, Aeron would never be the same. He knew it, felt it.

“Did they give you a time frame for when the deed must be done?” Lucien asked, still seemingly unaffected. He was Death, the Grim Reaper—Lucifer, he'd even been called, not that the people who had called him by that name were still alive—so Aeron's task was probably nothing to him.