The Darkest Lie (6 page)

          Scarlet had left, heartbroken all over again. As she did her best to learn about modern human society by watching TV, all the while secretly hoping Gideon would find her worthy when she did so--her, a woman who had been raised among criminals, who had never been wanted by her mother, had never known her father, and who had a wretched demon trapped inside her--she'd kept her ear to the ground, always curious about Gideon and what he was doing.

          Maybe she'd purposely allowed the Lords to capture her. Without consciously admitting that she craved a moment like this. A moment to see what a shit Gideon truly was. A moment to finally, blessedly cut him from her thoughts. Which, even now, was completely against her nature and something she'd sworn never to do. Captivity was something she despised. Yet she'd stayed in that fucking dungeon and hadn't tried to escape. For this man who didn't remember her. A man who had no problem using her. Hurting her. Tearing her down.

          He. Needed. To. Suffer.

          Scarlet jumped to her feet, plate in hand. A plate she tossed at Gideon without warning. It crashed into his face and shattered just as her wineglass had done. And just as her hand had beaded with blood, so did his face. Not enough.

          Scowling, he jumped up, as well. "That was nice. Thanks!"

          She'd already launched another plate, and this one slammed into his chest. It, too, broke apart, slicing past his T-shirt.

          "What don't you think you're doing?"

          "I'm not kicking your ass. I'm not hating your guts. I'm not thinking you are the biggest ass the gods ever created. How's that? Did I speak a language you can understand?" Kill him. She wanted to kill him.

          "I may remember you, Scarlet," he bellowed, backing up when she grabbed her fork and held it out like a dagger. She'd murdered men with less. Even immortals. "But you haven't haunted me." Motions stiff, he raised his shirt. Amid the cuts, above his heart, was a tattoo of eyes. Dark eyes. Like hers. "Don't you see? You...haven't...haunted...me."

          It was a lie, like him. It had to be.

          "That proves nothing! Thousands of people have dark eyes."

          He slanted his head and brushed the hair from the back of his neck. There, she found a tattoo of bloodred lips in the shape of a heart. Like hers. Then he turned and raised his shirt again. On his lower back were flowers, all kinds of flowers, and the words TO PART IS TO DIE.

          It was an exact replica of her own tattoo. He'd shown it to her once before, the first time he'd entered the dungeon, but seeing it again was still like being punched in the chest.

          "I just want to make no sense of this," he added softly. He pivoted, facing her once again. "Don't help me. Please."

          Seeing those tattoos didn't lessen her fury. No, seeing them increased it. He'd imagined her, but he'd still slept with all those other women. He'd still continued on with his life, not seeking out the source of those images.

          "You think that makes everything better, you uncaring bastard? While you were down here whoring around, loving life, I was in Tartarus, a slave to the Greeks." One step, two, she eased around the table and approached him. Warrior that he was, he remained in place. "What they wanted me to do, I had to do. Whether I wanted to or not." Parading around naked for their enjoyment. Fighting with other prisoners while they bet on the winner. Scrubbing other people's filth on her hands and knees. "Yet you left me there. You never came for me. You promised you'd come for me!"

          Seething, panting, she stabbed the fork into his chest and twisted with all her strength.

          Surprisingly, he didn't try to stop her. Didn't try to defend himself. Rather, he stood there, his eyes narrowing. In his own fury? And if it was in fury, who was he pissed at? Her? Or the Greek gods who had forced her to do those vile things?

          Didn't matter. This was just the beginning of his punishment.

          "And do you know what else?" Her fingers clutched the fork so tightly, her knuckles screamed in protest. "After I came here and saw you with another woman, I gave myself to another man. Willingly this time. And then another." Lies, all lies. She'd tried. She'd wanted to hurt him that way, but she hadn't been able to follow through.

          And oh, how she hated herself for that failure. More than wanting to hurt him, though, she'd needed someone to make her feel as he once had. Protected, loved, cherished. Like a treasure. That, too, had failed miserably. She'd walked away from both encounters feeling hollow and sad.

          Gideon's shoulders slumped, and all that dark emotion seemed to drain from him. "I'm not sorry. I love that you felt the need to do such a thing. I don't want to kill the men you were with. Even though I remember everything about our time together. You still somehow do not affect me."

          He was sorry, he loathed that she'd done such a thing and wanted to destroy the men. Pretty words. For him. But she was having none of it. He was far too late. With a snarl, she jerked the fork out of his chest, the prongs dripping crimson, then stabbed him anew and twisted. He grunted.

          "Again," she snarled, "do you think that makes everything better? You think the fact that you've forgotten me makes your actions any less painful?" Shut up, shut up, shut up. She didn't want him to know how much he'd damaged her.

          "I don't--" He frowned. Then he reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew his phone. His gaze quickly scanned the screen, and when their eyes next met, there was smoldering rage in those electric depths. "We don't have visitors."

          "Friends of yours?" She didn't ask how he knew. She could guess, loving modern technology as she did.

          "Yeah. I adore Hunters."

          She could have struck him again, quickly jabbing both of his eyes, leaving him to deal with the uninvited guests injured and blinded. But he was hers to hurt, not theirs.

          "How many?" she demanded, removing the utensil and switching the focus of her rage. Wake up, Nightmares. Your skills might be needed.

          The demon stretched and yawned inside her head.

          "I know," Gideon said.

          So he was as clueless as she on that score. "Which door did they enter?" she asked.

          "Not the front."

          She performed a quick inspection. There was a doorway that led out of the bedroom-slash-kitchenette into a vestibule. That vestibule branched into three hallways. No matter which direction the intruders came from, they'd have to enter it. Perfect.

          You ready, baby? Because Mama was wrong. No maybe about it. You're needed.

          A purr of anticipation rumbled through her. Gonna be fun.

          I'll handle the final blow. Okay?

          Greedy.

          Yes. But then, she needed some outlet for the growing darkness inside her. And leave Gideon alone. I don't want him to see the things you show his enemies.

          That earned her a growl. I would never hurt him.

          It was a declaration she'd never thought to hear, even with the creature's reluctance to scare the warrior in his dreams. Had the circumstances been different, she would have demanded to know why. Not that it would have done her any good. Nightmares was as generous with answers as she was.

          "Get on the bed," she commanded Gideon. "I've got this."

          "Hell, yes," he said, unsheathing a sharp, gleaming knife and a small revolver from the waist of his pants. He'd been armed this entire time, yet he hadn't defended himself against her. "I relish the thought of you battling such sweethearts alone."

          Macho men. They considered women a liability in situations like this. But this one would soon learn. She wasn't the same girl he'd known in prison. Or rather, the same girl he couldn't recall.

          "They're here. I know they're here," someone whispered. A whisper, yes, but her ears registered every word as if the person were right beside her. A skill she'd developed in prison. A skill that had saved her life on countless occasions.

          "If we take him the girl, they'll have to let us in," another said.

          "And the guy?" Yet another.

          "Dies."

          As Nightmares laughed, more than ready to begin, Scarlet shoved Gideon back into his chair. He landed with a huff as she lowered her internal guard and unleashed her demon. Darkness exploded from her, thousands of terrified screams threading through the impenetrable thickness. Even Gideon, powerful immortal that he was, wouldn't be able to see through it. She, however, would have no trouble drinking in every sparkling detail.

          "I'd cover your ears, if I were you," she suggested.

          "Scar," he began, as close to her name as his demon would apparently let him get, a hint of anger in the undertone. And oh, was his expression stony. He hated this. But whatever he meant to say was cut off as Scarlet pressed a finger against his lips, a silent command for no talkie-talkie. The enemy would hear.

          A moment passed. The stiffness never left him, but Gideon nodded. He was graciously bowing out of the fight and letting her handle things. His surrender was completely unexpected. Why hadn't he jumped to his feet and foolishly demanded to help her?

          Ponder it later. Frowning, she turned to face the intruders. There were four of them, all male, and all holding weapons.

          Only four? They must think themselves stronger than they actually were. Or consider her and Gideon weaker than they really were. Or perhaps this was just the beginning. Most likely others were posted throughout the hotel, watching, waiting for the right time to strike.

          As the men entered the bedroom, they encountered the darkness and the screams and stumbled to a halt, trying to orient themselves and figure out what was going on. But it was too late for that. Nightmares wove around them, a swirling, dark dancer, as graceful as he was lethal, holding them in place, even floating to their ears and whispering their deepest fears.

          Pain.

          Blood.

          Death.

          Soon they were clutching their heads, moaning, images of the Lords of the Underworld strapping them down, torturing them as the Hunters had often tortured others, becoming all that they could see.

          One of Nightmares's talents was sensing hidden fears and exploiting them. That's how they'd known about Gideon's fear of spiders. Only problem was, they had no way of knowing what had caused those fears. And she was beyond curious about Gideon. He hadn't seemed to care about the bug while with her in Tartarus. He'd even flicked the creatures off her when they'd invaded her cell.

          "Make it stop, please make it stop," someone pleaded.

          "Enough!" someone else shouted.

          No. Not nearly enough. Cold, uncaring. That's how she had to be. And really, she enjoyed this as much as her demon did. Enjoyed hurting those who thrived on suffering. For too long, she'd been a victim herself. But no longer. Never again.

          Smiling, she strolled toward the men, fork still in hand. She reached the nearest, his terrified moans like candy to her ears, and brushed his hair from his face. The soothing touch startled him, yet he leaned into it, as if seeking comfort anywhere he could find it. As if he assumed she was a friend.

          Without any more warning, she jammed the fork into his jugular. He screamed, but that scream blended with all the others floating from her. A chilling but welcome music. Warm blood spurted from him, coating her hand as he collapsed. She eased to the next man, gifted him with that same gentle touch, the calm before the storm, then stabbed him, as well.

          More blood sprayed, a river of the deepest scarlet, the very essence of her name.

          She finished off the other two just as quickly and efficiently. Just as ruthlessly. Perhaps she should have played with them a bit. Oh, well. Next time.

          Once the moans and movement ceased, she closed her eyes and tugged the shadows and screams back inside her. There they whirled like a tornado until she blocked them from her awareness, something she'd learned to do over the years. Otherwise, she would have tumbled into insanity a long time ago.

          Perhaps it was a blessing that she and Gideon would never be intimate again, she thought then. When she lost control of her body's sensations, she lost her hold on her demon, allowing the beast to have free rein even though she was awake. What she'd done to those boys--Hunters?--would be done automatically to her lovers. Not the cutting, but the absolute dissolution of light, the cries of the damned ringing in their ears.

          For a man, it was hard to stay, well, hard during something like that. Watching fear and disgust contort Gideon's features while his cock was buried deep inside her might just end her. Her pride, surely. Her will to live, maybe. Already, she existed on only an instinctual level. Breathe, eat, kill. That was it.

          Mind on the task at hand. Gideon was sitting exactly as she'd left him. Only, his expression was blank, a guarded mask as his gaze raked her, taking in the blood coating her hands. He traced his tongue over his teeth before looking at the men.

          "Harmed?" he asked, still without any hint of emotion.

          "Dead," she replied. "You're welcome." Would a thank-you have been too much to ask? She'd saved him from suffering a single injury. Well, besides the ones she'd given him.

          Blue eyes snapped back up, pinning her in place. "Yeah, I was talking about them. Not you."

          Oh. He wanted to know about her? Shocker. No softening. "I'm fine. Not a scratch on me. But we should probably go." Our separate ways, she silently added, ignoring the pang in her chest. "I'm sure more Hunters are on their way."

          He offered no reply.

          Do it. Leave, she commanded herself. She didn't. She remained in place like the idiot she was. Closure must not have been achieved yet. Not really.