The Darkest Surrender (5 page)

A trail of fragrant steam followed her as she strode down the hall. No Strider in the living room, where she kept her life-size hula dancer lamp and the castle she’d built from empty beer cans. He must be looking around. She wondered what he thought of her place, her things, and tried to see the room through his eyes.

Besides the coffee table, which was carved to resemble a hunched over wooden Sumo wrestler with a sheet of glass perched on top, and the chair with arms that were actually painted to look like humans legs that stretched to the floor, the furniture was beautiful, pieces she and Bianka had stolen throughout the centuries.

History was a scent that clung to almost every polished piece. Okay, maybe not the white rug with two yellow pillows sewn at one end, so that the whole thing looked like eggs in a frying pan. Or the hamburger beanbag chair, complete with lettuce, tomato and mustard layers, but that was it.

And okay, maybe the couch and love seat had been chosen for comfort more than anything else, and were no more than a decade old. She’d crashed a frat party a few years ago and had liked the way the overstuffed cushions had conformed to her body. Plus, they were a pretty tawny color, almost the same as Bianka’s eyes, so she’d made sure
to leave with them. No one had tried to stop her, either. Maybe because she’d carried each one over her head. By herself.

Colorful vases decorated the tabletops, interspersed with personalized bobblehead dolls and the occasional stuffed squirrel in a crazy outfit. Weapons and artwork hung on the walls right beside the homemade plaques congratulating her on a job well done. Her fave: the one for giving Bianka the best birthday present ever—the tongue of the man who’d called her a “mean, ugly hag.”

There were also photos of her and her family. Bianka, as well as their younger sis, Gwen, and their older half sis, Taliyah. Kaia partying hard at clubs, Bianka winning beauty pageants, Gwen trying to hide from the camera, and Taliyah standing proudly over her kills. Mercenary that she was, she had a lot of kills.

In the kitchen—Kaia skidded to a halt, her heart banging frantically against her ribs. Strider. Gorgeous, sexy Strider. He sat at the pool table she’d plucked from his fortress her very first visit there and now used in the breakfast nook. Food was scattered in every direction, from bags of chips to cheese slices to candy bars.

He wasn’t looking at her, hadn’t even glanced at her, but he
had
stiffened when she’d stepped inside. “I figured that, since these things were here, they were acceptable for you to eat. Which means I more than kept up with you. I outwitted and surpassed you.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. How disappointing. The one time she wanted her man to forget he had a brain, he remembered.

She leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest. Her stomach tightened, threatening to growl, but she remained in place, waiting. Only when he’d gotten a good once-over would she move.

“Kaia. Eat.”

“In a minute. I’m enjoying the view. You should give it a try.”

He tensed. “There’s a note from your sister on the fridge. She said she’s in the heavens with Lysander, and she’ll see you in four days for the games.”

“’Kay.”

“What games? Never mind,” he rushed out before she could reply. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. What perfume are you wearing? I don’t like it.”

Asshat. “I’m not wearing any perfume.” And she knew he loved it. He had a weakness for cinnamon, something she’d noticed while stalking, uh, hanging out with him.

Within hours of learning that little tidbit, she’d stocked up on cinnamon-scented soap, shampoo and conditioner.

“Stop…enjoying the view and come eat,” he said through clenched teeth.

He’d closed the blinds over the only window and flipped on the overhead light. Natural sunlight complemented her skin the best, but— Oh, who was she kidding, acting all modest?
Any
light complemented her skin.

“Kaia. Come. Eat. Now.”

Gods, she adored that authoritative tone. She shouldn’t. She should hate it—barbarians weren’t supposed to be attractive to modern women—but still, she shivered. “Make me.”
Please.

Finally his gaze skidded over to her. He was on his feet a second later, his chair sliding behind him. His mouth floundered open and closed, and his pupils dilated. He licked his lips. He reached out to grip the edge of the table, his nostrils flaring as he fought to breathe. “You… Your… Shit!”

Every pulse point hammering, she twirled. She knew what he saw—rainbow shards dancing hypnotically over every inch of visible flesh, the blush of health and vitality…the promise of seduction. “You like?”

As if in a trance, he moved around the table and stepped toward her. Closed the distance…stopped just before he reached her and cursed. He spun, giving her his back, and tangled a hand through his hair.

“I’ve gotta go.” His voice was hoarse, the words pushed through a river of broken glass.

What? No! “You just got here.” And he’d been so close to making a move on her. Just the thought caused her nipples to bead and moisture to pool between her legs.

“I told you, I promised Paris I’d help him. I have to help him. Yeah, that’s what I have to do.”

Would she ever overcome his determination to resist her? ’Cause yeah, she wanted him, wanted to give him another chance. And another. However many he needed to get this right. “Strider, I—”

“No.
No.
I told you before, I’m just getting over a bad relationship, and I never hook up with anyone who’s dated one of my friends.”

Oh, really? “That bad relationship wouldn’t happen to be with Haidee, would it? The woman who didn’t want you? The woman who, what? Is
dating one of your friends.
”

Silence. Such thick, awful silence.

He wasn’t going to defend himself. Wasn’t even going to try to explain his illogical choices and reasons. Well, he’d forgiven Haidee for killing Baden. Why couldn’t he forgive Kaia for sleeping with Paris?

“You’re not innocent, Strider. You’ve nailed more tail than you can count. In fact, last time I saw you, you’d just eaten peach body lotion off a stripper.” Kaia had decided then and there that peaches were the most disgusting fruit
ever,
and the world would be a better place without them.

She’d already written to her congressman, demanding that all orchards be burned to the ground.

“I never said I was innocent. I just said—”

“I know. You can’t date anyone your friends have dated. You’re also a liar. But maybe…I don’t know, maybe you could sleep with one of my friends and we could call it even.” Oh, gods.

First, how desperate did she sound? Unbearably! She’d known this would happen if she made another play for him. And yet, she’d done it anyway. Like Pavlov’s dogs, she drooled every time she spotted Strider, abandoning her pride for any scrap he’d toss her way.

Second, thinking of this man with someone else had her claws elongating and her Harpy screeching. Her wings flapped to the same staccato rhythm as her heart, causing her shirt to lift and fall, lift and fall.

If she wasn’t careful, her Harpy would take over, control her actions. Her vision would go black, and a need for blood would consume her. She would stalk the night, hurting anyone who got in her way.

Only Strider would be able to calm her down, but he didn’t know that. Even if he
did
know it, he clearly didn’t want the responsibility. He was doing everything in his power to push her away.

“I won’t be sleeping with one of your friends,” he said flatly.

The hottest threads of tension drained from her. “Good. That’s good. All of my friends are ugly hags, anyway.” They were gorgeous, every one of them, but if he’d taken her up on the offer, she would have cut them loose in a heartbeat and gotten new ones. Repulsive ones.

“Kaia. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. I like you, I do. You’re beautiful and smart and funny as hell. You’re strong and courageous, too, but nothing’s ever going to happen between us. I’m sorry, I really am. I’m not meaning to be an asshole here, just truthful. We’re just not good for each other. Not a good match. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

They weren’t good for each other? What he really meant was
she
wasn’t good enough for
him.
After she had chased him, lost a fight to protect him, threw herself at him time and time again, she wasn’t a
good match
for him. And he…was…sorry…

Suddenly she wanted to claw
his
face. Drink
his
blood.

Don’t forget the upcoming games.
Hurting him would hurt her, and she needed to be at her best.

She drew in a deep breath, held it, held, her lungs burning, blistering, before she slowly released every molecule, singeing her throat, her nose. She might have thought Strider deserved something, someone, better, but
she
deserved better than this. Right?

He finished lamely, “I hope you understand,” completely unaware of the havoc he’d created. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

He needed to learn the proper etiquette for dealing with his Harpy.

She needed to teach him.

She should close the distance between them and trace her fingertips all over him before he had time to dart away, all the while pressing her curves against him. Anything to arouse him. Anything to force him to see her as more than the beautiful, smart and funny girl who had nailed the keeper of Promiscuity. Then, as he begged for release, she should walk away.

He wouldn’t be harmed, but he would leave with a better understanding of how rotten denunciation felt.

Kaia couldn’t bring herself to take a single step, however. She might just find herself on the receiving end of rejection and failure yet again. He might push her away before she could make her move. And really, a thousand other rejections and failures awaited her in the coming weeks.

So much for giving him countless chances.

“I do understand,” she whispered. “Just…have fun on your trip, okay.” A dismissal. “I plan to have lots of fun on mine.” A lie. Although she did plan to hold her head up high and kick as much ass as she could. So much ass, in fact, that her clan would have to rethink her title.

Kaia the Disappointment no longer. Maybe she’d become Kaia the Stompalicious. Or Kaia the KillYouDeadatron.

“So…you’re going on a trip?” he asked, and he sounded relieved.

Do not react.
“Yep. I sure am.”

Still he didn’t face her. “Where? When?”

Don’t you dare react.
“In four days, I leave for—oops, never mind.” She moved around him and sat at the table. “You don’t want to know, remember?” Doing her best to appear nonchalant, even smug, all while the bastard ripped her heart out of her chest and danced on the pieces, she opened a bag of chips.

“You’re right. Just…be careful, and I’ll see you—just be careful, okay?”

He’d stopped himself from saying
later. I’ll see you later.
Because he had no plans to see her again. Ever.

“I will,” she said, as she fought tears for the second time in her life. She deserved this, she supposed. Punishment for the Unfortunate Incident, for Paris, hell, for all the rejections
she
had dished out over the centuries. “You, too.” Much as she currently despised him, she wanted him healthy, whole.

“I will.” He strode out of the kitchen, out of her home, out of her
life,
the front door banging ominously shut behind him.

T
HE NEXT DAY
, S
TRIDER SPENT
his morning roaming the Budapest fortress, checking on his friends. Anything to distract himself from thoughts of Kaia and how sad she’d sounded just before he’d left her. Not to mention how he’d longed to pull her into his arms, hold her, comfort her. Devour her.

Not going there.

Legion, a spoiled full-on demon minion turned spoiled human with a porn-star body turned tortured prisoner of Lucifer turned subdued, silent bed-bound damsel in distress, rolled to her side, facing away from him when he entered her bedroom.

Physically, she had healed from her hellish captivity. Mentally…she might never heal. She’d spent several weeks being passed from one demon High Lord to another, raped, beaten and gods knew what else. No one knew because she refused to talk about it.

“Hey, there, princess.” Strider eased beside her on the bed and patted her shoulder. She flinched, jerking from the touch. He sighed, removed his hand.

He didn’t like visiting her. Oh, he liked her as a person, for the most part, and ached for the trials she had endured, but he was afraid Defeat would view her emotional distance as a challenge and force him to push her for more. More she wasn’t ready to give.

She needed help, and her closest friend, Aeron, and his
joy-bringing angel, Olivia, were trying, but so far Legion hadn’t responded positively to anyone. She wasn’t eating properly, and was slowly but surely wasting away. Strider knew there was a guardian angel keeping watch over her, even though he’d never gotten a peek at the guy. What he did know: the invisible bastard wasn’t doing his job.

Yeah, Legion had been a selfish pain in the ass before, but she didn’t deserve this. And actually, Strider had liked her better the other way.

“What happened to you has happened to a few of the guys here, did you know that? A few times to Kane, in fact. Since he’s possessed by Disaster, he’s like a magnet for that kind of thing. And I’m not gossiping or sharing private info. When we lived in New York, he ran a support group to help others. Maybe you should, I don’t know, talk to him or something.”

Silence.

Her blond hair was tangled and matted, her skin sickly with a grayish cast. Underneath the thick white fabric of her nightgown, he could tell her shoulders were frail.

“One time Paris and I even—wait. That
is
gossiping. Never mind. You’ll have to ask Paris if you want to know that little tidbit.”

Silence. From her and his demon. Most definitely she presented a challenge, and yet, Defeat was letting the indifference slide.

He tucked the covers higher, just under her chin, and saw a glistening teardrop slither down her cheek.

Okay, then. “I just wanted to check on you, but I know you’re not comfortable with me so I’ll go,” he said gently. She couldn’t relax with him here, and he didn’t want to make things worse for her.

More silence. He released another sigh as he stood. “Call me if you need anything. All right? Anything at all. I’m happy to help.”

Again, no response from either Legion or his demon. He wondered what was up with his—distracted? hiding? uncaring?—companion as he strode to his next stop. Amun’s room.

Despite the fact that he and Amun—and hell, even he and Haidee—were on good enough terms, he’d avoided contact for over a week. Just seeing her caused little sparks of pain to dance through his chest. Not because he still wanted her, but because he’d lost her, could never have her, and his demon couldn’t forget what they’d endured because of her dismissal.

Haidee opened the door, and he studied her out of habit. She was average height, her pale hair streaked with pink. One of her eyebrows was pierced, and one of her arms sleeved in tattoos. Dressed in a Hello Kitty T-shirt and ripped jeans, she would be carded at any bar.

When she saw him, she frowned and moved out of the way, allowing him inside. Despite that frown, she appeared lit up from the inside out, pulse after pulse of…he grimaced. What the hell
was
that?

If he were fed the muzzle of a .40 and told to guess or die, Strider would have said love in its purest form seeped from her pores. Almost hurt to look at her, she was so radiant.

Shit. “Are you pregnant?”

“No.” A secret smile curved her lips. Well, well. Picking up Amun’s all-things-are-a-mystery vibe already. “What’s up?”

Strider rubbed a hand over his heart, expecting more of those flickers of pain, especially with that glow blasting at his corneas, but…nothing. Not even a skip in the organ’s beat. Okay, fine. Whatever. He could roll.

His gaze swept through the room. Haidee had taken over the decorating, so the place was no longer like va
nilla ice cream—plain, unadorned and completely lacking a personality.

Haidee favored contemporary styles with a Japanese flair. He tried not to cringe. Lanternlike lights hung from the ceiling. The walls were now brown and orange, each color staggered to form a boxed pattern. Bonsai trees seemed to grow from every corner, and white shag carpets stretched under three glass nightstands. White carpet. Had she not seen the amount of dirt a warrior’s boots could track in? The comforter on the bed was white, too, with beaded orange pillows.

If she’d tried this shit in his room, they woulda had a serious beef. A man needed to feel comfortable in his surroundings or he couldn’t relax. This wasn’t comfortable.

Only once had Strider “lived” with a woman, and only because she’d challenged him to move in.
I know I can make you happy if you come home to me every night. Can you make me happy, though? I guess we’ll find out.

After a few weeks of cohabitating, he’d willingly accepted defeat. He could not make her happy because he didn’t
want
to make her happy.

He thought back to Kaia’s house and
her
decorating flare. Now there was a woman who knew how to make a place comfy and fun. Seriously, she’d had a toilet painted to resemble an open mouth.
I want.

Haidee cleared her throat. “Strider?”

He turned to face her. “What?” Her expression was expectant, all soft and gooey with whatever pulsed from her, and he recalled that he’d come to her, not the other way around. “Yeah, uh. Where’s Amun?”

“Cronus summoned him to the heavens.”

“Why?”

Another secret smile. “Don’t know yet.”

“How long’s he been gone?”

“Three hours, nine minutes and forty-eight seconds.
Not that I’m watching the clock or anything. Can I help you with something?”

“Nah.” He’d just wanted to see the guy, he supposed. After everything Strider had done to him…trying to keep Amun and Haidee apart… Guilt, man, how it ate at him sometimes. “I’ll just, uh, catch him later.”

Her brow furrowed with confusion. And concern? Yeah. That was concern. “You sure?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but…she’d killed Baden, keeper of Distrust. She’d tried to kill Strider. And she’d had very good reason for both. Long, long ago, they’d helped slaughter her family, destroy her life. Hell, because of a demon, she’d been killed time and time again.

Each time she’d come back, she’d remembered only her hate, knew only about the deaths of those she’d once loved. Sought only vengeance. Made sense, since she’d been possessed by a piece of the demon of Hate. And maybe that was another reason Strider had wanted her. That piece of Hate had caused other people to dislike themselves and even her. Strider had gotten over that quickly, had
defeated
that, which was why he suspected being with her had been a bit of a rush for both him and his own demon.

That she now adored Amun, that she now supported the Lords and their cause, well, it was a miracle Strider needed to stop questioning.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Never before had he initiated contact that didn’t involve knives. “See you around, Haidee.”

Her mouth fell open, and she sputtered. “Yeah. See ya,” she said weakly. He’d never been quite that nice to her, either.

He must be softening in his old age.

Next he found himself standing in the doorway of Sabin’s bedroom, eating handful after handful of Red Hots. He had a stash of his favorite candy hidden in every corner
of the fortress. He watched his friend toss all kinds of shit into a suitcase. His wife, Gwen, bustled around him, making a halfhearted attempt to fold the mountain of clothes Sabin had wadded into balls, stack the weapons he had only partially sheathed and remove the bullhorn from the case for a third time.

Once, the Harpies had called her Gwendolyn the Timid. Strider didn’t know what they called her now, but the moniker certainly didn’t fit anymore. The little firecracker had come into her own and kicked even Kaia’s ass, locking her in the dungeon below to prevent her from peeling Sabin’s skin from his body and wearing it as a victory coat.

Kaia.

His heart skipped a stupid beat, making him feel like a schoolboy with a crush. Something he’d never been. Zeus had created him fully formed, a weapon ready to be unleashed upon anyone who threatened the former god king and those he loved. Even then, before Strider had been given his demon, he had liked to win, railroading anyone who got in his way.

What joy could be found in defeat? None.

His demon grunted in agreement.

Strider refocused on his surroundings before the little shit began pushing him around. As he continued to watch Gwen, he noted how much she resembled her older sister.

Kaia.

Here we go again.
Gwen had a thick mass of blond hair streaked with red—the same shade of red as Kaia’s. If he were being honest, though, Kaia’s was prettier. Wavier, silkier. And while Gwen’s eyes were a startling mix of gray and gold, just like Kaia’s, Kaia’s were still lovelier. On her, the gray veered toward liquid silver and the gold, well, the gold flickered like fireflies.

What are you? A wuss? Stop weaving poetry.

Anyway. When Kaia’s Harpy took over, her eyes went
completely black, death swimming in their depths. But, if he were still being honest, even that was sexy.

Gwen and Kaia shared the same button nose, the same cherub cheeks. Same stubborn chin. Yet somehow Kaia was sin incarnate and Gwen was innocence walking. Made no sense. Even still, the resemblance affected him, heating him up.

He willed his body to remain unaffected. Sabin would fuss if Strider sported a hard-on around his precious. And of course, “fuss” meant Strider would find his intestines wrapped around his neck, breathing a thing of the past.

Bring it,
he thought.

Defeat chuckled, startling him.

On edge, he waited for a challenge to be issued. It never came. Sweet gods above, he’d have to be more careful. No more close calls.

What was he doing here, anyway? He should be in the heavens with Paris. He should be in Nebraska with William, torturing the family who had abused Gilly, a human they’d befriended. He should be out there killing Hunters. He should be in Rome, bargaining with the Unspoken Ones—monsters who were chained inside an ancient temple, desperate for freedom.

He’d given them one of the four godly artifacts needed to find and destroy Pandora’s box. A relic the Hunters were searching for, as well.

The Unspoken Ones had the Paring Rod and the Cloak of Invisibility, and the Lords had the Cage of Compulsion and the All-Seeing Eye. So. Lords 2. Hunters 0. Boo-yah.

Unspoken Ones weren’t interested in the actual artifacts, though. They were interested in what they could
trade
for the artifacts. Whoever presented them with the head of the current god king (minus his body) would earn the Paring Rod in return, leaving only the Cloak to claim.
The Cloak Strider had once owned but had exchanged for Haidee.

At the time, he hadn’t minded making the exchange because he’d been pretty damn confident the Unspoken Ones would keep the thing to bargain with him later. Still was. He’d have to pay through the nose, he was sure, but that was better than allowing Haidee to escape him and reveal his secrets to her Hunter friends.

And he’d meant to go back long before now, but losing her to Amun had knocked Strider on his ass for over a week, his demon a writhing, seething cauldron of pain.

Maybe that was why he’d been unable to let go of the idea of being with Haidee, he mused now. The echoes of that pain. Maybe that was why he still resisted Kaia.

Don’t think about her anymore, you nutcase. You’ll start foaming at the mouth.
He resisted her because she would ultimately trample his pride, his well-being and probably even his will to live.

Did he really need another reminder of that?

He forced his thoughts back to the artifacts. Strider had vowed to recapture the Cloak. And he would. Soon. Because whoever found Pandora’s box first would win the war, and more than he wanted Kaia, not that he was thinking about her, he wanted to win the war against the Hunters.

Talk about the ultimate victory. The pleasure he would feel…gods, he could only imagine. Better than sex, drugs or rocking hos.

Anyway. Instead of all of that, he realized he’d purposely cleared his plate this morning, visiting everyone, making amends just so he could leave and… Shit! Not good. This was not good at all.

Just so he could leave and check on Kaia. He had to make sure she was okay. Even if that meant putting his obligations on hold again.

Dude. You can’t do that.
And he wouldn’t. No damn way. Now that he’d realized his intention, he could put a stop to it.

“Why the hell are you just standing there?” Sabin suddenly lashed out. “State your business and leave, Stridey-Man. You’re turning Gwen into a raving lunatic.”

“
You’re
turning
me
into a raving lunatic!” she growled, removing the bullhorn from the suitcase yet again. “We don’t need all this stuff.”

“How do you know?” Sabin demanded. He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, the gold in his eyes lighter than usual. “You’ve never participated in the Harpy Games before. And goddamn it, you shouldn’t have to participate in them now!”