Really, why handicap himself? He should have her. Often. As many times as the urge struck him. Until he obtained the answers he craved. Until he worked her from his system. Until he realized that she hadn’t called him baby while he’d held and cleaned her because the endearment was clearly reserved for her precious Micah.
Red suddenly dotted Amun’s vision, just as it had done in the shower when she’d spoken the bastard’s name, and he drew in a deep breath. Hold…hold. Slowly he pushed the oxygen through his nostrils.
Micah could very well be a descendant of his, as Haidee had said. The idea intrigued him. He’d never thought to have a blood-related family. However, the idea of that blood-related family being his enemy, well, that he didn’t like. Wasn’t like he and Micah could sit down and have a heart-to-heart, either. Besides the good versus evil thing, there was Haidee.
They both wanted her.
Amun should have taken her in the shower, despite her fragile protests, and pounded the worst of his emotions straight into her. And those protests of hers had been fragile. So fragile he could have bent his head and blown on the hammering pulse at the base of her neck and her reasons for denying him would have snapped beyond repair.
There were no doubts in his mind that she’d hungered for him, too. Her pupils had been blown, her lips parted as she’d struggled for air. She probably hadn’t realized that her nails had sunk into his pecs the moment she’d flattened her trembling palms on him, fingers curling, some part of her desperate to be connected to him, eradicating all hint of distance.
The action, small though it was, had been a claiming, and he’d reacted violently. Not that he’d shown her. That boiling rage had been his only link to sanity.
Over the years he had pampered the few women he’d been with, and given them what time he could, as well as attention and fidelity. Even when they hadn’t given him the same—and had then tried to hide their actions from him. As if they could. But he liked seeing a female light up because of his special treatment. He liked knowing he was the cause of their happiness.
He knew his friends considered him calm, without a temper. Normally he was. But when he looked at this woman, this supposed enemy, this unexpected savior, something hard and primal seethed inside him, knocking at the door of his restraint. He felt like a godsdamn caveman, wanting to carry off his woman and hide her from the rest of the world. Wanting to put his body between hers and anyone who dared threaten her. Wanting to tie her to his bed, keep her there forever, keep her ready for him.
Wanting to soothe her even as he ravaged her.
The desires were dark and sultry, insidious as they snuck past his defenses and wrapped around his every cell, changing the very fabric of his being. He was Amun no longer, but Haidee’s man.
That title was not something he could tolerate. Not for long, at least.
Still. He was on the right path, he decided. If he had her, he would tire of her. How could he not, when she was who she was? And when he tired of her, when the newness of her touch and taste and scent wore off and he no longer needed her to beat the demons back to maintain his good sense, he could do his duty and slay her. But until then…
He would just have to continue protecting her.
The rustle of clothes died, and he pivoted on his heel, facing her. A smart man would never have given an enemy his back in the first place. But then, a smart Lord would never have allowed a Hunter to live long enough to dress.
Haidee stood by the side of the bed, arms hanging at her sides, her hands empty. His gaze raked her, and he told himself the perusal was necessary, that he needed to check for hidden weapons. The pink T-shirt and jeans she had donned belonged to Gwen, another petite female, but still they bagged on little Haidee. Despite her feminine curves, she was too thin.
Irritation joined his other emotions. Over the past however long Strider had been in charge of her care, the warrior had most likely given her enough food to survive. No more, no less. She’d probably lost pounds she hadn’t been able to spare. That would change now that Amun was in charge. Causing needless suffering wasn’t his style.
She had toweled off her hair as best she could, but still the blond-and-pink locks dripped onto her shirt, wetting the material covering the delicate frame of her shoulders.
“What now?” she asked in her raspy voice.
She hadn’t shifted under his scrutiny, he realized. She had stood still, allowing him to look his fill. Perhaps she’d studied him, too, because tiny flickers of the mating heat had returned to those distracting eyes.
He liked that she liked the look of him. Usually, with Paris and Strider and, hell, Sabin around him, women found the roughness of his features too…well, rough.
Sit down, he told her. Now we talk.
“More talking?” She didn’t sound enthused.
Yes, more talking. He would not allow her to irritate him into forgetting what needed to be said, he vowed. Sit.
With only the barest hint of hesitation, she obeyed. She perched at the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap.
Thank you. Now, it was time to show her the rest of his cards. Her reaction would dictate their next course of action. Amun spread his legs, braced his knees and prepared to defend himself from attack.
“What are we going to talk about?”
Me. You guessed my identity, but I doubt you know exactly what that means. So here it is, flat out. I’m possessed by the demon of Secrets. He waited for a reaction; he didn’t get one. In the shower, he’d merely played with the details, never actually admitting he was possessed.
“And?” she demanded.
No, he would not allow her to irritate him. And you know about immortals, but do you know anything about the heavens and hell?
“I know they exist.”
That was a start. Recently I ventured into hell to rescue a friend.
She gulped. “You rescued another demon?”
In a way. Legion had been demon, but had bargained with Lucifer for a human body. A human body she still possessed. She wasn’t—isn’t—evil. Well, not totally—and she was being tortured.
“She?”
Did he detect a note of jealousy or was that wishful thinking on his part? Yes. During the few days I spent down there, I was…overcome by demon thoughts and urges.
When he offered no more, she nodded.
Those thoughts and urges are a part of me now, driving me…
“Insane?”
Now he was the one to nod, though his was stiff. Only when I’m with you do those things become manageable.
Wariness fell over her lovely features like a curtain, but she didn’t attack. “Why me?”
I have no idea.
“Guess.”
He released a sigh. Perhaps for the same reason I can project my voice into your head.
“That tells me nothing,” she said, pursing her lips.
How adorable she was, just then. A pouty princess. The thought made him frown. Whether we like it or not, there is something between us. Maybe, because of that, the demons know what I know, and they’re afraid of you. Afraid of Hunters.
“Maybe. So…you hate these thoughts and urges?” Her question was soft, almost hopeful.
Why hopeful? Because she wanted to believe the best of him? Yes. Beyond anything.
She peered down at her lap, where her fingers were linked and now twisting together. He hadn’t expected such calm. Not from her, a demon-hater, when he’d just admitted to being poisoned by all kinds of evil.
Was she playing him? Lulling him into a false sense of relaxation? If so, what was her ultimate goal?
He should know; his demon should know. More than ever he hated that he couldn’t read her. Hated that the two times he’d peeked inside her mind, he’d seen her smiling. Heard her laughing.
Hated, because the images were branded inside him, a part of him, haunting him. Hated that even so, he craved another glimpse.
“Why did you tell me this?” she asked.
&
nbsp; Because of my affliction and your affiliation, we can’t stay here. I’m a danger to my friends, he told her, expecting her to argue. If she remained in one location, her associates had a better chance of finding her. And you, well, you’re a danger to them, too. As much a danger as they are to you.
He didn’t want either group to find her. Plus, his twenty-four hours were almost up, and every noise outside the door had him stiffening. Sabin was liable to burst into the room with a flamethrower at any moment.
“Yes, we need to leave,” she replied, thick lashes finally lifting. “So where do you propose we go?”
Such pragmatism was admirable. Combine that with the we and the heat of her gaze, and she presented a powerful aphrodisiac. You wish to stay with me?
“Of course.”
There was no “of course” about it. Why did she want to stay with him? His suspicious soul floundered for an answer, and found only one: she was playing him. Perhaps she even meant to lead him to her fellow Hunters, just as she’d done to Baden.
Amun’s hands curled into fists. Fists so tight and hard his already damaged knuckles cracked from the strain.
“Amun?” she prompted.
His name on her lips…another aphrodisiac. We will go to the only place I can purge the thoughts and urges.
Her eyes widened. “You can purge them?” Once again she sounded hopeful, as if she truly cared.
Though the prospect rocked him to the core, he revealed only mild surprise. While you slept, I spoke with someone in the know. And the conversation had pissed him off royally.
“You must return to hell,” the angel Zacharel had said, unconcerned, when Amun sought him out.
What? Amun had mentally shouted. When he remembered to sign, his motions had been jerky. My little jaunt into hell is the reason I’m like this. So returning isn’t really a solution, is it?
“You took the demons out, now you will take them back in.”
No.
A shrug. “Then you will forever be chained to the woman’s side. Not that forever will be long. Not for you. Without her, the spirits overcome you, and the next time you are overcome, you will die by my hand.”
If getting rid of the demons is as easy as going to hell, why didn’t you take me back already?
“I did not say it would be easy. Nor did I say returning with me would be helpful. You must take the girl.”
No, he repeated.
“Your choice, of course. I have no qualms about removing your head.”
It was impossible to argue with so logical and uncaring a being. How do I get them out of my body once I “take them back in?”
Zacharel had walked away without answering, without offering even the slightest hint. Why? What was Amun supposed to do when he got there? How long was he supposed to stay? Exactly where in the endless pit did he need to go?
He told me the only way to free myself was to return to hell, Amun said to Haidee now.
“Return to…hell? As in the fiery pit of the damned?” The last was uttered in a horrified whisper.
Yes. And you’re going with me. He waited for her to protest, to fight him. She didn’t, not yet, and he relaxed. Somewhat. He couldn’t subdue her, defend her and search for a way to liberate himself. You won’t burn, he assured her. I won’t allow the flames to reach you.
“If we go,” she said with a tremor, “will there be anyone with us?”
If, she’d said, and he relaxed a bit more. No. We’ll go alone. He desperately needed the muscle and support—because gods knew, he’d barely survived last time, and he’d had two trained warriors with him—but he wouldn’t place his friends in danger. Not from the demons, and not from Haidee. Besides, that would defeat the purpose of whisking Haidee out of their midst. Why? Do you wish to take someone with us?
Her lips pressed together in that mutinous line, and he suspected he’d somehow hurt her feelings. No, surely not. She would have to care about him, he reminded himself, and she didn’t.
“Will you—will you allow me to have a weapon?” The word allow choked from her, and he doubted she’d ever spoken it before.
Yes, but if you attempt to use it on me, I will strike back in kind. Perhaps a lie, perhaps not. He valiantly hoped she didn’t try to test the claim.
Silence stretched between them, an oppressive cloud he couldn’t shoo away. He gave her the time she needed, though. He was asking a lot from her and offering very little in exchange. Of course, he would have to force her if she refused him—they truly had no other options—but until she did, he would let her think the decision was hers.
“All right,” she finally said on a sigh. “I’ll do it. I’ll go with you.”
No fight at all.
Once again he was thrown, but this time he couldn’t hide the intensity of his shock or the earth-shattering cascade of relief. Then his suspicions flared. What did she hope to gain, placing herself in danger to help him regain his senses? Or did she plan to go simply to gather intel? Yes, he thought with a nod. That was far more likely. She was a Hunter, after all, and finding ways to destroy demons was her business.
Hunter. The blasphemy echoed through his mind, and he cringed. Stop reminding me.
“Stop reminding you of what?” she sputtered, obviously confused by his sudden bout of disgust.
Nothing, he muttered. He nearly apologized but bit the words back. He would not apologize to this woman. Ever. He had some pride, at least. We’ll waste no more time.
Amun strode to the door and knocked. Behind him, he heard Haidee gasp, her clothes rustling again as if she had pushed to her feet. A few seconds later, the lock clicked from the other side, and the wood squeaked open, revealing the angel Zacharel. Black hair in perfect order, emerald eyes devoid of all emotion. White-and-gold wings arched over his shoulders and swooped down his robed sides.
“Yes,” the warrior said. The greeting should have been inflected with a question, but surfaced as a mere statement.
We are taking you up on your offer of transport, Amun signed.
Zacharel offered no hint of his thoughts. “I’ll gather the necessary supplies. Be ready to leave in five minutes.” With that, the door shut, locked.
Amun rested his forehead on the cool wood, reminded for a moment of Haidee’s skin. Hell. He was returning to hell when he’d sworn never to go back. In a deep, dark corner of his mind, he thought he heard Secrets whimper.
Thousands of years ago, Secrets had fought to escape hell—and won. And yet, Amun kept taking him back. At least the other demons remained calm, neither crying nor cheering in regard to his plans. But then, they were more afraid of Haidee than anything else.
“Why can’t you speak?” she asked, slicing through the tension he hadn’t realized had sprouted anew.
My demon, he replied, offering no more. He straightened and turned to her. Mistake. She had stood, and as always, he was struck by the delicacy of her features, the passion that lurked under her glowing skin. More than that, his mouth watered for a go at those breasts, that stomach, those legs.
He shouldn’t have dressed her in the T-shirt and jeans. He should have dressed her in a shapeless sack.
“Because you carry the demon of Secrets, you can’t speak?”
Yes. Had he ever thought to find himself in this position? Sharing his own inner mysteries with a Hunter?
“I don’t understand. Why does your demon prevent you from speaking?”
She wasn’t curious about him, he knew, but was merely fishing for information to perhaps share with her people. Still. He answered. I open my mouth, and everything the demon has discovered, every dark deed of those around us, every bit of information that could ruin families and friendships, slips out.
“So you can speak?”
What did that matter? Yes.
“But you choose not to?”
Yes, damn it. Why do you want to know?
Amun’s uncustomary outburst didn’t faze her. “It’s just…it’s a good thing you’re doing. Very sweet.”
So unexpected was the praise, he could only blink at her.
“No one else can hear your voice? Inside their head, I mean.”
No. Just you. Bitterness had crept into his tone, and he could do nothing to mask it. Not that he wanted to. Let her hear. Let her know.
Twin pink circles stained her cheeks, and she cleared her throat. She eased back onto the mattress, prim once again. “So how did you guys hook up with angels?”
A change of subject. Wise of her, yes, but foolish of him to offer more truth. A friend of ours married their leader. More like Bianka had claimed Lysander as her property, but Amun wasn’t sure Haidee would understand that kind of sentiment.
“An angel and a demon? Married?”
Pretty much. As stone-cold as Lysander was, the term “angel” seemed just about as appropriate as “fairy godmother.” The term “demon” fit Bianka perfectly, though. Her soul was darker than Amun’s, but in the best possible way. The Harpies were so open, so honest about their mischievous nature, they were a delight to be around. At least for Amun. For a while, he’d even considered pursuing Bianka’s twin sister, Kaia. War had gotten in the way. Speaking of angels, you should know that your precious Galen isn’t one. He—
“Okay, let’s agree right now not to talk about your friends or mine,” Haidee interjected angrily. “It’ll only make us angry with each other. We should focus on the mission.”
So she considered Galen a friend of hers? Of course she did, he thought next, and wanted to punch something. The leader of the Hunters wanted every Lord of the Underworld—excluding himself—dead and buried. Because of Baden, Haidee had to be a prize among prizes for the keeper of Hope. Or was it possible Galen didn’t know who she was?
Amun’s teeth gnashed together—he was doing that a lot lately—grating the top layer into a fine powder, but he nodded. Very well. There will be no talk of our friends.
“I just, I don’t want us to fight,” she said. “And just so you know, Galen isn’t a personal friend.”
“Time is up,” Zacharel’s hard voice proclaimed before Amun could reply.
At the vocal intrusion, he whipped around, at the same time moving in front of Haidee to act as her shield. The door was still closed. He frowned—until the angel simply stepped through the wood, a backpack dangling from his hand.
The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld Book 8) Page 15