The Darkest Secret (7 page)

She had leaned into him, somehow innocent in a way he'd never been, apologized to him as if his pain were somehow her fault, and he'd forgotten his body's wounds. His forgotten everything. He'd been helpless to do anything but accept her lips against his. Then he'd breathed her in and accepting hadn't been an option, either. He'd needed to possess her. Own her. Taking everything.
Giving
everything.

He hadn't understood the desires, still didn't understand them, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The moment their tongues intertwined, his body had become a storm, and this woman had become his only anchor.

Now, all the demons inside him—so many voices, so many thoughts and urges—lurched frantically, unable to remain at the back of his mind. They did not like her, had tried to hide from her, but now they were desperate to stay away from her. He sensed their agitation, their fear, but they were being pulled toward her unbidden, as he had been. They resisted.

He hadn't resisted. He'd simply given in.

Now he struggled to tether the demons, to keep them in place as Haidee writhed in his arms, the decadent chill of her skin teasing his palms. Soon he had trouble even remembering to do that. She was undiluted pleasure in his arms. A demon in her own right, consuming him, driving him.

Just then, he realized he didn't care that she was a Hunter. Didn't care that she meant to harm his friends. That she
had
harmed his best friend. This was…necessary. She tasted like the Water of Life found only in the heavens.
Pure, fresh, crisp. And when she bit at his lips, no longer concerned with being gentle with him, too passion-crazed to care, like him, his thoughts derailed, realigning to his first goal: possessing her. Totally, completely.

He pried his fingers from her ass and slid his hand to the front of her. Panties. Cotton. Damp.
Nice
.

Mine,
he thought next and still didn't care about the consequences. He would care later. Tomorrow, maybe. Here, now, she was his. Desperate to feel her most feminine core, he shoved those panties aside. More than damp. Slick, ready. Gods, the way she wanted him…

A groan rose from low in his throat and rumbled out. He stiffened for a moment, fearing what might follow even so slight a sound, but his mouth remained focused on Haidee and her thrusting tongue, no words forming.

Relaxing, he tunneled through her folds, found her clitoris and pressed with the heel of his hand. She cried out, hips shooting off the bed, nails scoring his back.

This is good. You like this.
They should have been questions; they emerged as statements of fact.

“Yes, please. More.”

Hearing her beg was a climax all its own.
What do you want? What do you need?
What else did she like?

“You. Just you.” Her eyes were closed, her tongue swiping at her lips to find his taste. Oh, yes. She was as lost as he was.

Has it ever been this way before? Between us?
The moment he asked, he stiffened. He didn't want to know. He didn't—

“God, no. We were terrible before.”

He fed her another kiss to show his approval, and that surprised him. Amun wasn't like Strider, possessive to the extreme. He'd never minded sharing
anything
. Had never gone caveman on a woman before. Had never claimed one as his very own. Actually, he hadn't had a lover in hundreds
of years. To always know what they were thinking, what they truly thought of him, truly wanted from him… It had gotten old fast. So he'd concentrated on the war with the Hunters and what he was good at: killing. But Haidee…

He wanted to be her best. Her only. Didn't want her thinking the old “Micah” was better. Didn't want her thinking about any man but Amun.

“You are…this is…amazing.”

Gonna make you so happy you said that.

Amun worked his way down her throat, nipping, licking, sucking. Until he reached her nipple. Tenderness was abandoned. He bit through the fabric of her shirt, tugging the little bud into the fiery heat of his mouth, even as he shoved a finger deep,
deep
into her sex.

Another cry left her, renting the air. Every muscle in his body clenched, savoring the sensation. Holy hell, but she clasped him tight. Seed leaked from the slit in his cock; he was hungry for her, for this, for more, so hungry. He added a second finger, moving in and out, in and out. She writhed, she begged some more.

The demons grunted hysterically as they gripped the tether he'd created, trying desperately to stay inside him as she pulled at his hair—as though she was pulling on them again. And yet, agitated as they were, they still could not overtake his mind.

Haidee's head thrashed left and right. “So close…just a little more…and I'll… I have to… I need… Please!”

He couldn't let the beasts near her. Not that they wanted near her; they were still fighting. He should stop this, stop the madness, but he had to taste her. He
needed
to taste her. Life wouldn't be worth living if he didn't.

She was panting, little beads of ice crystallizing over her skin as he worked his way down. An oddity he barely registered. Sweating ice? Her T-shirt was rucked up to the middle of her bra—cotton, white, pretty—the flat plane of
her stomach and the dip of her navel revealed. Gorgeous. Had a woman ever been so gorgeous?

As he ripped the crotch of her panties, paving the way for his mouth, he licked into her navel. Her belly quivered. Her knees pressed into his sides, squeezing. Had he been human, she would have cracked bone.

He kissed his way to her zipper. Barrier. He couldn't allow a barrier. Another rip, and the pants were gaping open just like the panties. Then he was peering down at her, at a tiny triangle of pale curls, the rest of her pink and glistening. His. Ready.

Liiick.
Holy hell, he thought again.
Nothing
had ever tasted this good.

Another cry left her, this one hoarse and broken. She released him to reach behind her and grip the headboard, her back bowing. Surprisingly the demons calmed, but only slightly, the pull on them somewhat eased, allowing them to go back into hiding.

The door handle rattled.

Amun was dimly aware of the possible intrusion but unconcerned.
Liiick.
Heaven and hell wrapped in temptation, leading him straight to his downfall. Addicting him. Consuming him. Owning
him
.

The door handle rattled again.

This time, there was a flicker of rational thought in his head. Someone meant to enter his bedroom. Friend? Foe? Didn't matter. He had to wait to finish tasting her.

The intruder would pay for that. Painfully.

Haidee must have sensed his growing disquiet, because she opened her eyes and said, “What are you—” Her mouth floundered open and closed as she gasped in horror. “Your eyes. They're completely red. Glowing.”

What she didn't say:
demon
. She'd known he was possessed, no matter what she thought his name was, and had
claimed she would shield him from Hunters. But this must be her first true confirmation.

There was no time to placate her.
Someone comes.
He swiped the glass shard from the nightstand and whipped around. Haidee jolted upright, the spike of glass under the pillow already palmed. She tried to right her ruined clothing as another rattle sounded.

An instant later, the person on the other side decided to take things to the next level. Wood split from the hinges as the door was savagely kicked, the vanity in front of it skidding to the middle of the room.

A scowling Strider strode inside, knives in both hands. All the demons inside of Amun danced into a sudden frenzy, Haidee forgotten, rushing back to the surface. Torment…punish…pain…blood…suffering…must have. Needed.

Something else struck him. Something that had nothing to do with the demons, but everything to do with a long-buried instinct. Safeguard. He would safeguard the girl. Her taste was still in his mouth, and he needed more. Still had to have more. If she were hurt, he couldn't have more.

Wrong, that thought was wrong, but he couldn't banish it. Instinct demanded; he heeded.
Go!
he mentally screamed at the warrior, but Strider didn't hear him. Or didn't care.

When Strider spotted Amun and Haidee on the bed, lower bodies still twined around each other, he blinked. His jaw even dropped. And if Amun wasn't mistaken, there was a flicker of fury over his expression.

Will safeguard,
Amun thought, scowling at his friend. No matter what.

“You bitch,” the warrior growled to Haidee. “What the hell did you do to him?”

H
AIDEE JUMPED TO SHAKY LEGS
, breath sawing in and out of her mouth. As she'd predicted, the glass shard she held had already sliced through skin, blood dripping to the floor. She barely noticed the sting or the loss.

Without her there to cushion him, Micah hit the mattress face-first and grunted, but she paid him no heed. She couldn't. Not if she wanted to get him out of this fortress alive.

And shit! This showdown couldn't have happened at a worse time. Desire still pumped through her veins, thick and heavy, dulling her reactions and making her limbs feel weighted with rocks. Her chest felt hollowed out, and her muscles ached. Perhaps she could have dealt with those things, but her mind was as clouded as if she'd popped a dozen different pills, a mix of sedatives, stimulants and aphrodisiacs.

She could only blame Micah. His kisses had been CPR to her soul. He'd made her come alive. Split apart. Forget everything and every one. Common sense had abandoned her. So had survival instinct. She'd
never
ignored her survival instinct before. All she'd been able to think about was him. His touch, his taste. His tongue lapping between her legs. God, she could fly apart simply thinking about that heady caress. In seconds, he'd reduced her to an animal state, where nothing had mattered but sensation.

Now isn't the time, remember?
The doorway was open, offering a straight shot into the hallway. Either she or
Micah could run, but not both. One of them had to deal with the demon.

Hopefully Micah would understand what she wanted him to do.

“Not smart, coming in here on your own,” she said to taunt the Lord into an emotional response. What she'd learned about him during their time together? He was always quick to anger, and that anger made him easily distractible. “You ready to die?”

For once, he didn't react. His gaze darted from her to Micah, Micah to her. He radiated a mix of rage, concern and disbelief.

Micah didn't move.

Why wasn't Micah moving? Damn it. If he would move, she could attack. Defeat would have to fight her. Micah was simply too weak to see to the battle himself.

She opened her mouth to challenge Defeat but closed it with a snap. She'd challenged him a few times during their trek.
Bet you can't catch me if you let me go.
He'd let her go. And he'd caught her, pissed beyond imagination.
Bet you can't just stand there while I stab you.
He'd let her stab him. And rather than pass out from blood loss, as she'd hoped, he had then returned the favor. He'd stabbed her thigh to keep her from bolting while he healed.

He'd then stitched her up, shocking her. Still. His determination to win every challenge gave him strength, more so than usual, and she couldn't have him stronger than usual right now. Not while she battled the fog. So, as they stood there facing each other, both deliberating how to handle the coming fight—and there
would
be a fight—she was very careful not to issue another challenge. Not even a challenge to
lose
the fight.

She'd made that mistake only once.

Bet you can't lose a fistfight to a girl.

He had allowed her to punch him, and he hadn't fought
back. Therefore in his mind, he had just lost a fistfight with a girl. She'd run off while he'd struggled to breathe—'cause yeah, she'd gone for his trachea—and he'd had to track her down. When he finally caught her, he'd trussed her up like a Thanksgiving turkey, gagged her and started drugging her.

And if she had tried to speak past her gag, he would have removed her voice box. No question.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Defeat repeated, dark, deadly.

“What did
I
do to him?” She assumed attack position: legs apart, knees slightly bent and ready for her leap. The cold, already so much a part of her, seeped out, sheened her skin. With every exhalation, mist created a cloud in front of her face. All the while, she mourned the loss of Micah's heat.

She still didn't know why she froze like this. Still didn't know how. All she knew was that the ability manifested with her emotions, sometimes strengthening her, something weakening her. Today, she felt empowered.

“Me?” she went on. “What the fuck did
you
do to him?”

“If you hurt him…” A muscle ticked below his dark blue eyes, and he finally kicked into motion. If
she
hurt him? What a joke! “This is gonna be fun. I've been
craving
a go at you.” One step, two, she moved toward him, determined to meet him in the middle.

No!

In a sudden blur of motion, Micah sprang from the bed and flew past her, tackling the demon-possessed warrior and sending both men toppling to the floor. Grunts and groans soon echoed. Slashing arms and vicious kicks ensued. They rolled, they struggled, they assaulted each other ferociously.

She'd never seen Micah fight so dirty. He went for the
eyes, the throat and the groin, biting and ripping flesh, fists hammering. Defeat, though, merely deflected each of her man's blows. He never tried to cause harm. Why? Something else she'd never seen—a Lord of the Underworld backing down. And this one, Defeat… Something was wrong. Had to be.

Haidee stood there, numb, watching the bloodbath, sick to her stomach and unsure what to do.
Apparently, he's not too weak after all.
Like him, she didn't run from the room. God help her, she wasn't leaving without him.

What should she do? If she threw herself into the fray, she might cut Micah instead of the Lord. They were moving so quickly…twisting and turning, flying apart, springing back together. And if she accidentally delivered Micah's death-blow…

Damn it. What the hell should she do? she wondered again, no closer to an answer.

“What the fuck is going on?” Defeat demanded between punches. “Stop. Amun, you have to stop.”

Amun?

She'd heard the name before, knew it belonged to one of the Lords, but she couldn't connect the name with a face. And because she had memorized all the names and faces of her enemy, she knew that could only mean one thing.

There was one immortal warrior the Hunters had never been able to photograph or even sketch throughout the years. Not that they hadn't tried. They'd snapped pictures, but those pictures had never turned out, had always been blurry. And when they'd drawn what they'd thought was his face, they'd later realized they'd done nothing but scribble on the page.

Amun was also the Lord most people forgot the moment they walked away from him. He was the immortal the Hunters knew the least about. Maybe because Amun was possessed by the demon of Secrets.

All the Hunters really knew about him? He had dark hair and dark eyes, and he was tall and muscled. That little bit of information had been acquired through
centuries
of observation.

Had this Amun died, his demon given to Micah? Did Micah now carry Secrets inside him? Was that why the Lords had chosen Micah? And he was demon-possessed. She no longer had any doubts about that. Those red eyes…peering down at her…hungry…craving…raging… She shuddered, then scowled.

This was another sin to heap on an already mountainous pile. Another crime to hate the Lords for.

Had they wanted someone with the same physical characteristics as their friend Amun? Probably. How amused they must have been, using a Hunter to house one of their disgusting demons.

Don't think about that, either. Get yourself in the game, woman.

Haidee shook her head, clearing her mind, thankfully thinning the fog. The two men were on their feet now, throwing punches, falling backward into the walls, causing dust and plaster to waft through the air, then reconnecting and tossing each other into furniture. They were a blur of motion, brutal, like wild animals fighting over the only snack in the jungle. Wood chips were scattered across the floor, some even swimming in little pools of blood.

Blood, a river between her mother and her father. Both helpless…dead.

Again she had to shake her head, dislodging the memory.

“Amun,” Defeat snarled. “For gods' sake! I'm your goddamn friend. What the hell are you doing?”

In the next instant, Micah's thoughts hit her.
Must kill. Must safeguard.

The words were sluggish, lower in volume than the
ones that had come before them, and she realized he was weakening. His wounds were opening, seeping, dripping all over the room.

“She's a Hunter,” the demon continued in that outraged tone, “and she's my prisoner.”

Mine!
blasted through her head.
Not yours. Never yours. Mine to safeguard.

Could Defeat hear him? Probably not. Otherwise, he would have been backing out of the bedroom and running for his life. There had been barbwire in Micah's tone, the tips laced with poison.

But then, Micah's thoughts switched direction.
I have to stop this. Why am I doing this? I love this man.
Confusing, wrong, but again, those thoughts switched direction.
Must kill. Must safeguard.

Micah snarled low in his throat, the sound rumbling through her mind as he punted Defeat into the already crushed vanity. More wood chips scattered. Red sparked in Defeat's eyes, a gnarled mask of bone and scales falling over his features.

He was turning, she thought with dread. From immortal to demon.

“Win,” he growled now, and there was another voice fused to his. One that was guttural, raw. Determined.

Shit. She knew that determination. No longer would he pull his punches or deflect Micah's. Now he would fight to win.

He closed the distance and threw his meaty clubs around, a jackhammer of lethal purpose. Not once did he miss. Micah weakened further, wobbling on his feet, his eyes beginning to swell shut as his head whipped left then right, alternating as Defeat switched fists.

The fact that Micah had lasted this long was astonishing, proof of his own determination, but he wouldn't last much longer. He couldn't. Not at the rate Defeat was
delivering blows, and not with the already ravaged condition of his body.

She had to risk hurting Micah, she decided. There was no other way. Which meant she had to put herself in front of him, probably take a few blows before she was able to strike. No problem there.

Better she die than him, even though he was now tainted. He was tainted, yes, but he wasn't evil. That kiss…no, he wasn't evil. And if she was killed this day, she would come back; she would remember him. Not the kiss, that had been too good, and all her favorite things were always wiped, but this fight. She would recall the blood, her fear…her despair. But if Micah died, he would be gone forever.

Haidee stiffened, preparing to jump, waiting for the perfect moment. A thought suddenly hit her and she hesitated. If Micah turned his sights on her or even struck her accidentally… Oh, God. If she died, she wouldn't remember why he'd done so when she awakened, only that he had—and she would come back to kill him just as she planned to come back and kill the others. If he survived this, they would be enemies.

Defeat landed a particularly vicious blow to Micah's side, causing him to wheeze.

Worth the risk, she decided in the next instant. He was teetering…falling…

At last Haidee jumped forward, hooked her arm around Micah's waist and threw him with all her might.
I'm sorry, baby.
As he stumbled to his knees—away from the action—she used her momentum to spin and duck, swinging her right fist at Defeat's groin. Contact. He doubled over, oxygen bursting from his bleeding lips. She used her other hand, the one clutching the fragment of glass, to slice across his stomach.
No mercy.

As she straightened, she landed a hard right to his chin. His head jerked backward, and he grunted, blood and teeth
spewing. She aimed the glass at his throat, but only managed to slash his shoulder as he pivoted.

His narrowed gaze landed on her. He could have hit her just then. He didn't.

Firm hands suddenly gripped her waist from behind and tossed her. Through the air she soared, flailing for an anchor, wondering what the hell had just happened. The makeshift weapon flew from her clasp, then she was bouncing on the bed, realization setting in. Micah was aware enough to know who she was, aware enough to want her out of harm's way. Sweet of him, but that wasn't going to stop her. He'd done his part. Now she would do hers.

Before the bouncing stopped, she was throwing her legs over the side of the bed and straightening, once again intending to knock Micah out of way. Only, she saw that he had somehow tackled Defeat and now straddled the warrior's prone body, punching…punching…

Between whaling fists, Defeat groaned and babbled. “Lost…lost…no, gods, no…lost…”

For several moments, she could only blink, watch. Micah had done it. Despite his injuries, he'd won. Against an immortal.
That's my man.

Seriously? You're going to victory lap
now? Haidee forced herself into motion and rushed to Micah. She latched onto his surging elbow. He could have shrugged her away, batted her off, could have swung at her with his other arm, but he didn't. He faced her. What she could see of his glowing red eyes locked on her, tormented, agonized.

Didn't want to hurt him…couldn't stop…couldn't let him hurt you…. Why couldn't I let him hurt you?

The words echoed in her mind.
Didn't want to hurt him. Why couldn't I let him hurt you?
Courtesy of the demon? Was the demon trying to convince him that he liked the Lords? Didn't matter, she supposed. They'd deal with it. Later. Along with everything else.

“Come on. We don't want to free his demon right now.” She tugged him to his feet, and God, he was heavy. “We have to leave before the others come.” They'd be pissed when they saw what had been done to their friend. She didn't want Micah punished for that. And they would punish him. She had no doubt. Even though he was currently part of their group.