The Darkest Lie (20 page)

          "Steel wasn't real. To the two of us, in our hearts, he wasn't real."

          The tears spilled down her cheeks.

          "We won't make them pay for this, devil. I just need you to...not trust me." Trust me, please.

          "They manipulated me," she said, the melted metal he'd seen in her face bleeding into her voice. "Laughed at me all these years. Why? What did I ever do to them?"

          "They aren't monsters." They were. Far greater than any demon he had encountered. "It had everything to do with you." Nothing to do with his darling Scarlet. With his free hand, he threaded his fingers through her hair, once again offering what comfort he could. He didn't dare release her at any point or she'd bolt. "They didn't get one thing right, though. As far as I'm concerned, we aren't really married."

          Her brow furrowed, but the rest of her sagged. "You're saying you consider us married?"

          Rather than try and explain in Gideon Speak, he nodded.

          "Hell, no," she said vehemently. She pounded a fist into his chest. "No."

          Not the reaction he'd expected. Or wanted. The words had flowed of their own accord. Natural, meant to be. He'd considered it before, but now he knew. He would have her, in every way. Whatever it took.

          "The two of us?" she continued. "We're done. We're over. Not that we ever got started."

          Hardly. "You're right."

          Her eyes narrowed, wet lashes nearly fusing together. "Now you listen to me. We're lucky we escaped an eternal pairing. We're terrible for each other. All wrong." She laughed and the sound reminded him of a harbinger's bell. A sound some immortals heard just before they died. "No wonder you didn't notice me the night I first sought you out."

          He arched a brow. What night?

          "You were at a club," she answered, though he hadn't spoken the question aloud. "And you nailed a human female in a shadowed corner, where anyone could have seen you. Where I saw you."

          Once, public sex had been a usual occurrence in his life. So, he shouldn't have been able to isolate a single night in his memory and know, know Scarlet had been there. But suddenly he could.

          An evening like any other, ambrosia-laced alcohol and sex his focus. Yet there'd been a thick cloud of darkness next to his table, one his eyes hadn't been able to pierce. He'd thought his excess had addled his mind. Especially when the scent of orchids had wafted to his nose. When Lies had tried to jump out of his skull. When his cock had throbbed unbearably.

          "I didn't sense you," he said. "Didn't take someone else, thinking she was responsible for the lust I was feeling when in truth, she was--" not "--and you weren't." Were.

          "I--I-- Still." Color bloomed in her cheeks, twin pink circles of embarrassment. "We're still wrong for each other."

          "Right again." And suddenly, all he could think about was her earlier words about how he couldn't possibly want her because he'd never tried to penetrate her.

          That's what he got for being considerate. For giving her time.

          Well, bye-bye consideration. He was taking what he wanted. All of what he wanted. He was going to have this woman, and she was going to accept him. She was going to admit that they belonged together. That they were perfect for each other. Everything else could be figured out later.

          Was there anything to figure out, though? She amused him, delighted him, set his blood on fire. She never backed down, didn't fear any part of him. Even his demon. She met him challenge for challenge. Was probably stronger than he was.

          More than that, they both needed comforting right now, and there was only one way to achieve it. In bed.

          Without a word, Gideon anchored both of his hands on Scarlet's waist and tossed her atop the bed in question. She bounced on the mattress, but when she finally stilled, she didn't scramble off; she just peered over at him, confused.

          "What are you doing?" she asked in a husky voice.

          "Finishing this," he said, advancing on her. Finally, he was beginning it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

          WIN, WIN, WIN. Have to win.

          "I know." Sweat poured down Strider's face and chest as he rounded a corner, slowed his sprint to a frantic walk and pressed into the shadows cast by a looming column. Thankfully, he'd realized he had tails--four of them, to be exact--before reaching the Temple of the Unspoken Ones. So he'd changed directions and now found himself in the historic district of Rome, miles from the island, a gawking crowd around him, eyeing the towering white remains of the Temple of Vesta and taking pictures so they'd always remember the moment. Blending in was kind of a problem. He was taller than everyone around him and thicker with muscle.

          But he would have liked to gawk, as well. He had helped build that temple, after all. After he'd helped destroy the one that had been erected before it. Not that he'd ever be given credit. Not that he wanted credit.

          Good deeds could ruin a man's rep. 'Cause really, a sensitive warrior would not elicit fear inside the hearts of Hunters.

          Fear was sometimes the only thing that kept those Hunters at bay.

          Strider had been warring with them for thousands of years. In the old days, they'd followed him from one city to another, blood and screams and death in their wake. Buildings had been razed, history tainted. He and his friends had retaliated so savagely, so brutally, he'd thought his enemy exterminated.

          Several years of peace had followed. Years his demon had basked in, high from victory. But of course, the hiding survivors one day forgot their fear and rose again. Attacked again. The war resumed as if it had never ceased.

          Win, win, win, the demon of Defeat chanted inside his head. Must win. "I fucking know." But the Cloak of Invisibility was currently in his possession. He couldn't chance being injured and immobilized in a fight. Which meant he had to run.

          Gods, he hated running.

          If he could just find a moment alone, he could drape himself with the stupid Cloak and disappear, then forget this had ever happened. That he'd ever been spotted, shot at, and now, cornered.

          Only thing that stopped him from withdrawing the thing that very second was the possibility that the Hunters following him didn't know he had it. No reason to show it to them and add fuel to their determination.

          He tried to be gentle with humans as he pushed his way through them. Some muttered about his rudeness, others turned to yell at him only to zip their mouths when they got a glimpse of him. Dark as his expression was, he probably looked capable of murder.

          Fitting. He was.

          Had the Hunters found Lucien and Anya, wherever the couple had gone? Had they found Reyes and Danika? Soon as he was safe, he was going to call them, warn them that the enemy could be near.

          The soles of his boots thumped against the paved streets of the Forum. Birds squawked and flew away. Sunlight speared the ground and bounced up, and he had to blink rapidly to wet his stinging corneas. If he could make it another few blocks, he would reach the Aedes Divi Iuli. He could lose himself in the ruins, something the Hunters chasing him couldn't do.

          At least, he didn't think so. He knew this land because he had once lived on it. They hadn't.

          Pop. Whiz.

          Silencers. "Shit!" The curse flew from his mouth as a sharp sting lanced the back of his shoulder. Accompanying the sting was a warm rush of liquid. Finally, they'd nailed him. As many times as he'd been peppered with bullets in the past, he knew the feeling. Shit. Shit!

          Win. Win!

          "I will." Perhaps he should have gone to the States. Bigger crowds, larger land mass. Easier to lose oneself. But he'd wanted to chat with the Unspoken Ones. See if he could convince them to change the terms of their bargain. Like, rather than bring them Cronus's head, freeing them and most likely endangering the entire world, maybe they would be happy ruling over their own realm or something. If he could get them to agree, he could go to Cronus and present the option.

          Thankfully, he'd noticed his tail before he'd reached the temple and headed for the Roman Forum. The damage he could have caused had he unintentionally allowed his enemy to hear his plan was too vast to consider just then.

          WIN!

          "Give me a minute." What to do, what to do. He was wearing that fucking butterfly necklace, so Cronus wouldn't know where he was or what was going down. Which meant Cronus wouldn't be popping in and saving the day. And Strider couldn't take the necklace off because Rhea could then pop in and ruin the day.

          Pop. Whiz.

          Another sharp sting, this one in his calf. He stumbled, but kept moving.

          Win.

          "I told you. I'm on it." Looked like he'd have to use the Cloak of Invisibility, moment alone or not.

          Strider reached into his pants pocket--damn it, his hand was shaking--and withdrew the small square of gray cloth. Surprised him every time he saw the thing. How could so powerful an artifact come in so small a package?

          Someone stepped into his path, and Strider simply barreled through him. Another pop and whiz rang out. Humans might not recognize the muffled sounds, but they recognized danger and raced for cover.

          Strider spun to the right just as a bullet soared past him. Plumes of dust and debris rained around him as the bullet lodged in rock.

          Defeat laughed like a kid who'd just opened his Christmas present early and found out he'd gotten exactly what he'd asked Santa for. Winning!

          Quickening his steps, he tossed a glance over his shoulder. There were four Hunters, three males and one female, racing after him, spreading out to engulf him from all sides, darting through the crowd as if they had done so a million times before.

          A plan began to form in Strider's mind, and he grinned. He wouldn't need the Aedes Divi Iuli, after all. He took the next corner as if his feet were on rails and shook open the Cloak. The more he shook, the more the Cloak unraveled. The more it unraveled, the bigger it got. Soon, it was large enough to cover his entire body.

          "Did you see that? He's got the Cloak!" one of the males shouted. "Kill him!"

          "No mercy!"

          Win, win, win.

          More pops. More whizzes. So many he couldn't keep track. A few weeks ago, Hunters would've done everything in their power to keep him alive. Capture him, yes, but also ensure he lived. They'd feared freeing his demon and unleashing its evil upon an unsuspecting world. Except, Galen had found a way to pair the freed demons with new hosts. His plan? To pair them with people of his choosing. Humans who would follow his every command.

          Pop. Whiz.

          A bullet lodged in Strider's lower back, another in his thigh. He stumbled, slowed. Shit. At this rate, he'd bleed out before he got the cape around his shoulders.

          Win, win, win. A whimper now, pained and unsure. A pain that radiated through Strider.

          "Don't give up yet," he muttered. "I've got this. I promise you." Both arms shaking now, he managed to drape the Cloak over himself and jerk the hood in place. In the next instant, his body disappeared from view and even he couldn't see it. An odd sensation.

          He leaped from the path he'd been taking, stopped abruptly and turned. The Hunters slowed, each frantically searching the thinning crowd for any sign of him. They'd put distance between themselves, but now edged closer to each other.

          "Where'd he go?" one rasped.

          "He used the Cloak. Damn it! We'll never find him now."

          "Think he's still running or do you think he's waiting nearby, planning to follow us?"

          Winning! Defeat said again, happy once more though not completely satisfied. No one had died.

          "He's a demon coward. He's running."

          "We can't know that for sure. Which means we can't return to base."

          "And we shouldn't talk, either. Damn it!"

          None of the Hunters had looked to their feet yet. Had they, they would've seen the blood that left the protection of the cape and materialized on the stones. Strider eased to the dirt, careful to avoid bumping into anyone and giving away his location.

          "So what do you want us to do?" the female asked, speaking up for the first time. Husky voice, a hint of smoke.

          "Split up," the tallest of the group said. He was clearly the leader. He had dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin. And he looked so much like Amun, Strider was momentarily struck senseless. Surely he was merely seeing things. "Just roam the city until I call you and tell you otherwise. But move as fast as you can. He's injured, and won't last long out there."

          Each of them nodded, broke apart and kicked into gear. Well, except for the leader and the girl. They shared a loaded glance. Silent. A muscle was ticking in the guy's jaw.

          He leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to the girl's mouth, muttered, "Stay safe," and moved away from her.

          Interesting. And profitable. Clearly, the two were lovers. The leader would probably do a lot to get his female back.

          Rather than find shelter and patch himself up, Strider followed her. New challenge, he told his demon.

          Win.

          I will. She was petite with shoulder-length blond hair. Mixed into the blond were streaks of bright pink. She wore a white Hello Kitty tank top and ripped jeans. Weapons were probably hidden all over her curvy little body. There was a silver stud in her eyebrow that matched the gray of her eyes, and one of her arms was sleeved with tattoos.

          There was something familiar about her. Something that caused a wave of...hatred to hit him. Yes, hatred, he realized with shock. There was no mistaking the dark emotion for something else. How odd. He didn't remember meeting her. Not in any of the battles he'd had with Hunters. That didn't mean he hadn't met her, though. Only that she'd been insignificant at the time.

          Why the hatred, then?

          Win. Win!

          Worry about who she is later, asshole, he told himself. Short as she was, she was able to move faster than he would have expected. He wouldn't be able to keep up, as weak as he was becoming.

          Win.

          I told you. I will. She's as good as mine.

          When the girl wound around a corner and headed toward a crowded building, Strider grabbed her by the hair and jerked. A low blow, but necessary. As she fell, she yelped in surprise. A second later, though, she was on her feet, two daggers palmed.

          "Bastard," she snarled. "I knew you'd come after me, the perceived weak link. Well, that was your first mistake."

          Several humans turned to stare at her, obviously wondering who she was talking to.

          Strider didn't reply. Just darted behind her and smashed his hands against her carotid, cutting off the blood supply to her brain. And shit! She was cold. Like a block of ice. He almost pulled away. Almost.

          "So what was my second?" he asked smugly.

          At first, she struggled, tried to spin. "What the--" But then her knees buckled, and her eyes rolled back into her head.

          Just like that, she was out.

          We won. We won!

          Too easy. Still. As the pleasure began to wash through him, Strider grinned. The grin only widened as he picked up the girl, shivered--because damn--then hid her within the confines of the Cloak and carried her away.

          SIENNA DRAGGED herself from her bed, the chains around her neck, wrists and ankles rattling, cutting. When she stood to shaky legs, those chains pulled taut, cut deeper, preventing her from moving away.

          There was a red film over her eyes, coloring her vision, painting everything she studied in crimson. Fitting, since she wanted everything in the room to be bathed with blood. Hers, Cronus's. She craved it. Dreamed of it. The velvet curtains, the flowers blooming from the walls, the polished wood and the alabaster statues of too-tall men with too many muscles...

          ...all dripping...

          Enough! Must reach Paris, she thought. Or maybe the thought belonged to the demon. Wrath. The enemy inside her. The enemy she should despise but couldn't; just then, Wrath was her only link to vengeance. And salvation.

          Paris will help. This time, she knew exactly who the words belonged to: the demon. Paris can guard you until you're strong enough to attack Cronus.

          Maybe Paris would guard her. Maybe not. Moments before she'd died, she'd told him how much she hated him. And she had. Hated him. She was pretty sure she still did. Or didn't. God, she was so confused. The more the demon spoke about Paris, the more her dislike faded.

          Paris will help.

          "I heard you the first time," she snapped.

          Part of her--the human part--thought she might try to kill the warrior when she reached him. Part of her--the female part--thought she might kiss his beautiful face. Only thing she knew for sure was that she was going to find him, and she was going to use him, as Wrath had suggested. He, too, was possessed by a demon, and while he guarded her--if he would--he could teach her how to control this new, darker side of herself.

          And once that happened...bye-bye Cronus.

          Determined, urgent, she stepped forward again. Or tried to. Those damn chains yanked but held steady. Her body burned with rage, with hate, and the wings still growing between her shoulder blades flapped wildly.

          Each emotion gave her strength. She jerked again. And again. Skin sliced open and vessels burst. The pain, the pain, the pain... Paris, her mind shouted, giving her strength...and finally, one of the chains cracked...