Lords of the Underworld Bundle (18 page)

“I can and I did,” was the reply. Not exactly calm, but close, only edged with steel.

“What's going on?” Maddox stepped between them and pushed them apart. For once, he was not the one throwing accusations and fists. “I'm ready to listen. You mentioned the gods. I know Aeron was summoned. I was too distracted to ask for details before. What did they want from him?”

“Later,” Torin said to Maddox, but he didn't take his eyes off Lucien. “What'd you do, Death?”

“Spill,” Reyes commanded.

Lucien's attention never wavered from Aeron. “After their reaction to Ashlyn, we need to make sure they don't accidentally stumble upon
our
secret. What do you think will happen if they do?”

For a long while, Aeron did not reply. Tension filled the air, grave, sinister. Finally, Aeron nodded. “Fine. Show them. But get ready to war, my friend, because they aren't going to be happy.”

“Someone had better explain,” Reyes demanded, looking between them.

“An explanation will not be good enough. I need to show you.” Lucien started down the hall. “This way.”

Prophetic words, Maddox thought. He cast a questioning glance at Torin, who had uttered something similar only last night.
Know what's going on?
he mouthed.

No,
was the silent reply.

Nothing good, that much he could guess. Lucien had never acted this mysterious. Confused, intrigued,
concerned,
Maddox glanced at Ashlyn's door before following his friends.

A
SHLYN FELL BACK
onto the bed, struggling to control her breathing. Oh God. He'd come back. He hadn't been a dream, hallucination or mirage. Maddox was alive. She'd really been locked inside a dungeon; he'd really risen from the dead. And he'd really stopped the voices.

When he'd left her in this oddly bare bedroom, she'd searched for a phone, found nothing, then searched for a way out. Again, nothing. Fatigue had quickly settled on her shoulders, nearly crushing her. She'd been unable to fight it, the silence inexorably relaxing, like a beloved drug she'd finally been able to indulge in. So she'd lain down, not caring about the consequences. She'd entertained the notion that maybe, just maybe, all of this was a delusion and when she opened her eyes, she'd find herself in her own home, her own bed.

Not so. Oh, not so.

A moment ago, a shock of thrumming power had slammed through her, dragging her kicking and screaming from the most peaceful sleep of her entire life, a sleep wrapped in that blissful silence. And then Maddox had been standing over her, looking down at her with those fathomless purple eyes.

His face had been,
was,
a mass of bruises and cuts. Black and blue and bloodied, his left eye swollen, his lip split from top to bottom. At the memory, nausea churned in her stomach. Had those monsters tried to kill him again?

Again. Ha! She laughed humorlessly. They
had
killed him. And two of his killers had stood at his side. He'd seemed on affable terms with them, conversing with them as if he had no reason to hate them. How could they still be friends?

She lumbered from the bed. Her body creaked and ached with every movement, as if she were a doddering ninety rather than a spry twenty-four. She frowned. Too much stress, with no real end in sight.

The men must have wandered off, because she no longer heard them beyond the threshold. Good. She didn't want to deal with them right now. Or ever.
Take care of business, then find a way out of here.

She trekked to the bathroom, awed by its surprising beauty, considering the sparseness of the bedroom and the starkness of the dungeon. Here she found white-tiled walls and a matching marble floor, a built-in chrome and black vanity overflowing with towels, a porcelain sink, a gleaming claw-foot tub with a raised nozzle—in case a giant decided to shower? she wondered, wide-eyed—and a nearly transparent curtain.

For some reason, everything was bolted down.

A tiered light hung from the ceiling, its brass arms stretching in different directions. There were no other decorations, though. No pictures or amenities. Had Maddox removed them, afraid she'd try to steal them?

Ashlyn snorted. The Institute paid her very well to listen for and learn about all things paranormal; money was not a problem. Besides, whatever she wanted, McIntosh willingly gave her. And if she didn't want to ask him, she ordered from the Internet and had it delivered to her doorstep.

She blushed, thinking of some of the things she'd recently ordered. Romance novels, which had invariably led to the purchase of a harem girl costume, a black leather bra and panty set, and after reading one particular book about an undercover agent and former female thief, silk scarves and duct tape. Not that she'd ever used any of them.

With a sigh, she dipped a towel into the now-cold bathwater. Leaving her clothes on, she washed herself as best she could. No way would she strip. Any of the men could return at any moment.

Yeah, but you'd like it if Maddox returned.

No,
she assured herself, flustered by the thought. She wouldn't. He scared her.

He brings precious silence.

Not anymore.
He wasn't here, yet the voices hadn't returned. Her head was clear, her own thoughts all she heard.
I'm cured.

No, you're not. You heard voices last night, in the dungeon.

“Now I'm talking to myself,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “What's next?”

She studied her reflection in the mirror. Droplets of water dripped from her forehead to her nose, from nose to chin. Her cheeks were bright with rosy color and her dark eyes gleamed. Odd. She'd never been more aware of her own mortality, but she'd also never looked more alive.

When her stomach rumbled, she recalled the tray of food Maddox had left on the floor. Her feet carried her to it without being ordered, kicking past the clothing she'd scattered when she'd searched the closet for a hidden phone. Black T-shirts, black pants, black briefs.

Her nipples hardened with the thought of muscled Maddox in nothing but a pair of those briefs. He'd lie on the bed, hard and straining, erection peeking through the top, wickedness in his eyes as he beckoned her over with a crook of his finger.

And she'd willingly go to him.

Ashlyn nibbled on her bottom lip. Maddox…on a bed…wanting her…Her knees weakened, and her belly quivered.
Stupid girl.
Apparently, when given a little silence, all she could think about was sex.

She gathered the tray of food and tottered to the window, where she balanced the edge on the wall and popped a grape into her mouth. The sweet juice ran down her throat, and she nearly moaned before ordering herself to focus on the matter at hand—escape. She'd told McIntosh, and thereby the Institute, about the men and this fortress. McIntosh had even known she wanted to visit. Most likely he'd have guessed by now where she'd gone.

Would he come for her? Or would he feed her to the wolves for daring to disobey? While he'd always been kind to her, he had never tolerated mistakes from his other employees, much less willful disobedience.

He'll come,
she assured herself.
He needs you.

But as she stared out the window, only trees and snow greeted her. Still, she didn't let that disappoint her. He could be anywhere. Standing there, allowing anyone outside to see her, she popped another grape in her mouth and tapped on the glass.
I'm here. Do you see me?

She needed out as soon as possible. With every second that passed, the warriors' madness seemed to take deeper hold of
her.
She had imagined her jailer in his underwear, for God's sake.

Hopefully, McIntosh would see her, blow a hole in the front door and snatch her out. Boom. Done. Over. No, wait. Rewind. She didn't want McIntosh inside the walls. He would be no match for Maddox and the others. She was going to have to distract Maddox, maybe knock him out somehow, and run. Out of the fortress and down the hill. The cold and the voices were better than the threat of death she'd found here.

So…just how was she going to distract the man? Mulling it over, she devoured the rest of the grapes. And when those were gone, she concentrated on the meat and cheese, sipping wine between bites. In a matter of minutes, only crumbs and half a bottle remained. Never had anything tasted so delicious. The ham had been glazed with brown sugar, a succulent feast to her taste buds. The cheese had been smooth, not too sharp, the grapes a perfect contrast. The wine, excellent.

Okay, so this place
did
have a few things in its favor.

Food wasn't a good enough reason to stay, though.
What about sex?
Of course not, she thought, her stomach giving another of those strange flutters. That was—

Everything inside her went on sudden alert—the quiet before a debilitating storm. She didn't exactly hurt, but she became aware that something wasn't quite right in her body. One heartbeat passed. Two. She gulped, waiting.

Then the storm arrived.

Her blood chilled to ice, yet beads of sweat that were as sharp as broken glass appeared on her skin. Crawling over every inch of her like spiders. She yelped, whimpered, tried to scratch at them. But they wouldn't go away, and now she could actually see them. They were on her.
On her,
their tiny legs scampering. A scream bubbled in her throat at the exact moment a wave of dizziness slammed into her, so the sound was nothing more than a groan. She had to grip the window to remain standing. The tray fell, clanging.

All too soon, the dizzying fog became an ache and the ache a piercing knife, slicing its way from her belly to her heart. She swayed, gasping and moaning at the same time. Bright lights flashed in front of her eyes, an array of blinding colors.

What was wrong with her? Poison? Oh God, were the spiders still on her?

Another pain shot through her and she doubled over. “Maddox,” she called, the word weak.

Nothing. No footsteps.

“Maddox!” she shouted, projecting his name with all her dwindling strength. She tried to walk to the door, but couldn't force herself to move.

Again nothing.

“Maddox!”
Why do you want him?
He
might have done this to you.
“Maddox.” She couldn't stop his name from leaving her lips. “Maddox.”

Black cobwebs snaked around her vision, constricting it, blanketing the too-bright rainbow. “Maddox.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper now, a trembling entreaty.

Her stomach cramped; her throat was swelling, closing off. And then, suddenly, she couldn't breathe. Every cell in her body screamed and screamed and screamed.
Need air. Need to breathe.
She fell to the floor, unable to support her own weight any longer.
Need to get the spiders off.
No strength, no energy.

The bottle of wine toppled as if in sympathy, the remaining red liquid spilling around her. She lost focus completely, the world crumbling, then disappearing altogether, leaving only darkness.

 

M
ADDOX COULD NOT BELIEVE
what he was seeing. “This is…this is…not possible.” He scrubbed a callused hand over his eyes, but the sight did not change.

“Obviously, it wasn't Ashlyn I smelled.” Reyes slammed a fist into the wall. Dust puffed into the air, bits of rough stone tumbling to the floor.

Torin merely laughed.

Paris sucked in a reverent breath. “Come to daddy.”

There, in the far corner of Lucien's bedroom, were four women. Holding hands, they huddled together for strength and support. Each trembled in fear, gazing at the men through wide, panicked eyes.

No, Maddox realized. Not all of them trembled. A pretty blonde with freckles regarded them with fury in her green eyes. Her jaw was clenched, as if she were biting her tongue to keep from shouting obscenities.

“What are they doing here?” he demanded.

“Do not take that tone,” Aeron snapped. “You started it with your pretty piece of Bait.”

Growling low, Maddox closed the distance between them. One of the women whimpered. “I thought we had covered this,” he said. “You watch what you say about her or you suffer.”

Aeron did not back down. “You've known her, what? A few hours? You've barely spoken to her. She should be begging for mercy right now, and we should know all her secrets and what the Hunters, if there are more out there, are planning.”

“She tried to save me when I was stabbed. She tried to save me from you only a few minutes ago.”

“An act.”

Probably. He'd told himself that very thing, but he couldn't seem to make it matter. Not then, not now. Frustrated with himself rather than Aeron,
he
backed down this time. He faced Lucien. “Why are they here?” he asked, composed but no less disbelieving.

Or rather, as composed as he was capable of being at the moment.

Lucien glanced at Aeron, who motioned to the hall with a tilt of his chin. Understanding, the warriors filed out. Each hummed with expectation. Lucien was the last to exit and was quick to close and lock the door.

Maddox peered at his friends, most projecting the same disbelief he felt. Nothing like this had ever happened before. None of them had ever brought a woman here, even Paris (that he knew of), and now there were almost as many females on the premises as warriors. It was surreal.

“Well?” he prompted.

Aeron explained how the Greeks had been overthrown by the Titans, those leaders from thousands of years ago, and that these new sovereigns wanted—no, commanded—him to execute those four innocent women. Were he to resist, he would be driven mad with bloodlust. Were he to ask to be released from the deed, he would be cursed as Maddox was cursed.

Maddox listened, stunned. Shock and dread washed through him, all but swimming laps in his bloodstream.

“But why would the new king of gods tell Aeron to—” The answer slid into place and he pressed his lips together.
I did this,
he realized.
I'm responsible. I dared the gods yesterday evening, insulted them, even.
This had to be their way of retaliating.

He flicked Torin a dismayed glance. The warrior was staring at him with a hard glint in his green eyes. Then he turned away and flattened his gloved hands on the mirror hanging just above his head. His reflection was bleak. Only yesterday, the two of them had claimed they didn't care if the gods punished them. They'd thought nothing could be worse than their current situation.