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CHAPTER ONE
Every night Death
came, slowly, painfully, and every morning Maddox awoke
in bed, knowing he’d have to die again later. That was
his greatest curse and his eternal punishment.
He ran his tongue over
his teeth, wishing it were a blade over his enemy’s
throat instead. Most of the day had already passed.
He’d heard the time seep away, a poisonous tick-tock in
his mind, every beat of the clock a mocking reminder of
mortality and pain.
In sixty-six minutes,
thirty-eight seconds, the first sting would pierce his
stomach and nothing he did, nothing he said, would
change that. Death would come for him.
“Damned gods,” he
muttered, increasing the speed of his bench presses.
“Bastards, every one
of them,” a familiar male voice said from behind him.
Maddox’s motions
didn’t slow at Torin’s unwelcome intrusion. Up. Down.
Up. Down. For two hours he had worked out his
frustration and anger on the punching bag, the
treadmill, and now the weights. Sweat ran from his bare
chest and arms, riding the ropes of his muscles in clear
rivulets. He should be as exhausted mentally as he was
physically, but his emotions were only growing darker,
more powerful.
“You shouldn’t be
here.”
Torin sighed. “Look.
I didn’t mean to interrupt, but something’s happened.”
“So take care of it.”
“I can’t.”
“Whatever it is, try.
I’m in no shape to help.” These last few weeks very
little was needed to send him into a killing haze where
no one around him was safe. Even his friends.
Especially his friends. He didn’t want to, never
meant to, but was sometimes helpless against urges to
strike and to maim.
“Maddox – ”
“I’m at the edge,
Torin,” he croaked. “I would do more harm than good.”
Maddox knew his
limitations, had known them for thousands of years.
Ever since that doomed day
the gods had chosen a woman
to perform a task that should have been his.
Pandora had been strong, yes, the
strongest female soldier of their time. But he had been
stronger. More capable. Yet he had been deemed too
weak to guard dimOuniak, a sacred box housing demons so
vile, so destructive, they could not even be trusted in
Hell.
As if Maddox would
have allowed it to be destroyed. Frustration
had bloomed inside him at the affront. Inside all of
them, every warrior now
residing here. They had fought diligently for the king
of gods, killed expertly, and protected thoroughly;
they should have been chosen as guards. That they
hadn’t -- an embarrassment not to be tolerated.
They had only thought
to teach the gods a lesson the night they’d stolen
dimOuniak from Pandora and released that horde of demons
upon the unsuspecting world. How foolish they had
been. Their plan to prove their power had failed, for
the box had gone missing in the fray, leaving the
warriors unable to recapture a single evil spirit.
Destruction and havoc
had soon reigned, plunging the world into utter madness
until the gods finally intervened, cursing each warrior
to house a demon inside himself.
A fitting punishment.
The warriors had unleashed the evil to avenge their
stinging pride; they would contain it.
And so the Lords of
the Underworld were born.
Maddox had been given
Violence, the demon who was now as much a part of him as
his lungs or his heart. Now, man could no longer
live without demon and demon could no longer function
without man. They were woven together, two halves of a
whole.
From the very first,
the creature inside him had beckoned him to do malicious
things, hated things, and he’d been compelled to obey.
Even when led to slay a woman – to slay Pandora. His
fingers clenched the bar so tightly his knuckles nearly
snapped out of place. Over the years he had learned to
control some of the demon’s more vile compulsions, but
it was a constant struggle and he knew he could shatter
at any moment.
What he would give for
a single day of calm. No overpowering desire to hurt
others. No battles within himself. No worries. No
death. Just. . . peace.
“It’s not safe for you
here,” he told his friend, who still stood in the
doorway. “You need to leave.” He set the silver bar
atop its perch and sat up. “Only Lucien and Reyes are
allowed to be close to me during my demise.” And only
because they played a part in it, unwilling though they
were. But they were as helpless against their demons as
Maddox was his.
“About an hour until
that happens, so. . . ” Torin threw a rag at him.
“I’ll take my chances.”
Maddox reached behind
his back, caught the white cloth, and turned. He wiped
his face. “Water.”
An ice-cold bottle was
soaring through the air before the second syllable left
his mouth. He caught the bottle deftly, moisture
splashing his chest. He drained the icy contents and
studied his friend.
As usual, Torin wore
all black and gloves covered his hands. Pale hair fell
in waves to his shoulders, framing a face mortal females
considered a sensual feast. They didn’t know the man
was actually a devil in angel’s skin. They should have,
though. He practically glowed with irreverence, and
there was an unholy gleam in his green eyes that
proclaimed he would laugh in your face while cutting out
your heart. Or laugh in your face while you cut out
his heart.
To survive, he had to
find humor where he could. They all did.
Like every resident of
this Budapest fortress, Torin was damned. He might not
die every night like Maddox, but he could never touch a
living thing, skin to skin, without infecting it with
sickness.
Torin was possessed by
the spirit of Disease.
He hadn’t known a
woman’s touch in over four hundred years. He’d learned
his lesson well when he’d given into lust and caressed a
would-be lover’s face, bringing about a plague that
decimated village after village. Human after human.
“Five minutes of your
time,” Torin said, his determination clear. “That’s all
I’m asking.”
“Think we’ll be
punished for insulting the gods today?” Maddox replied,
ignoring the request. If he didn’t allow himself to be
asked for a favor, he didn’t have to feel guilty for
turning it down.
His friend uttered
another of those sighs. “Our every breath is supposed
to be a punishment.”
True. Maddox’s lips
curled into a slow, razored smile as he peered
ceilingward. Bastards. Punish me further, I
dare you. Maybe then, finally, he would fade to
nothingness. He doubted the gods would concern
themselves, though. After bestowing the death-curse
upon him, they had ignored him, pretending not to hear
his pleas for forgiveness and absolution. Pretending
not to hear his promises and desperate bargaining.
What more could they
do to him, anyway?
Nothing could be worse
than dying over and over again. Or being stripped of
anything good and right. . . or hosting the spirit of
Violence inside his mind and body.
Jack-knifing to his
feet, Maddox tossed the now wet rag and empty water
bottle into the nearest hamper. He strode to the far
end of the room and braced his hands above his head,
leaning into the semicircular alcove of stained-glass
windows, staring into the night through the only clear
partition.
He saw Paradise.
He saw hell.
He saw freedom,
prison, everything and nothing.
He saw. . .home.
Situated atop a
towering hill as the fortress was, he had a direct view
of the city. Lights glowed brightly, pinks, blues, and
purples illuminating the murky black velvet sky,
glinting off the Danube River and framing the snowcapped
trees that dominated the area. Wind blustered, dancing
and twirling snowflakes through the air.
Here, he and the
others had a modicum of privacy from the rest of the
world. Here, they were allowed to come and go without
having to face a barrage of questions. Why don’t you
age? Why do screams echo through the forest every
night? Why do you sometimes look like a monster?
Here, the locals
maintained their distance, awed, respectful. “Angels,”
he’d even heard whispered during a rare encounter with a
mortal.
If they only knew.
Maddox’s nails
elongated slightly, digging into the stone. Budapest
was a place of majestic beauty, old world charm and
modern pleasures, but he’d always felt removed from it.
From the castle district that lined one street to the
nightclubs that lined the next. From the fruits and
vegetables hawked in one alley to the living flesh
hawked in the other.
Maybe that sense of
disconnection would vanish if he ever explored the city,
but unlike the others who roamed at will, he was trapped
inside the fortress and surrounding land as surely as
Violence had been trapped inside Pandora’s Box thousands
of years ago.
His nails lengthened
further, almost claws now. Thinking of the box always
blackened his mood. Punch a wall, Violence
beckoned. Destroy something. Hurt, kill. He
would have liked to obliterate the gods. One by one.
Decapitate them, perhaps. Rip out their blackened,
decayed hearts, definitely.
The demon purred in
approval.
Of course it’s
purring now, Maddox thought with disgust. Anything
bloodthirsty, no matter the victims, met with the
creature’s support. Scowling, he leveled another heated
glance to the heavens. He and the demon had been paired
long ago, but he remembered the day clearly. The
screams of the innocent in his ears, humans bleeding all
around him, hurting, dying, all of the spirits having
devoured their flesh in a rapturous frenzy.
Only when Violence was
shoved inside his body did he lose touch with reality.
There had been no sound, no sights. Just an all
consuming darkness. He hadn’t regained his senses until
Pandora’s blood splattered his chest, her last breath
echoing in his ears.
She had not been his
first kill – or his last -- but she had been the first
and only woman to meet his sword. The horror of seeing
that once vibrant female form broken and knowing he was
responsible for it. . . to this day, he had not assuaged
the guilt, the regret, the shame and the sorrow.
He’d sworn to do
whatever was necessary to control the spirit from then
on, but it had been too late. Enraged all the more,
Zeus bestowed a second curse upon him: every night at
midnight he would suffer exactly as Pandora had suffered
-- a blade through the stomach, six hellish times. There
was one difference in their torments, however. Her
pain had ended within minutes; his lasted for
eternity. She’d lost her head; he got to keep his.
He popped his jaw,
trying to relax against a new onslaught of aggression.
It wasn’t as if he were the only one to suffer, he
reminded himself. The other warriors had their own
demons – literally and figuratively. Torin, of course,
was keeper of Disease. Lucien was keeper of Death.
Reyes, of Pain. Aeron, of Wrath. Paris, of
Promiscuity.
Why couldn’t he
have been given that last one? He would have been able
to enter town any time he wished, take any woman he
desired, savoring every sound, every touch.
As it was, he could
not venture far. Nor could he trust himself around
females for long periods of time. If the demon overtook
him or if he could not return home before midnight and
someone found his dead, bloody body and buried him -- or
worse, burned him. . .
How he wished such a
thing would end his miserable existence. He would have
left long ago and allowed himself to be roasted in a
pit. Or perhaps he would have jumped from the
fortress’s highest window and smashed his brains from
his skull. But no. No matter what he did, he’d merely
awaken once again, charred as well as sore. Broken as
well as sliced.
“You’ve been staring
out that window for a while,” Torin said. “Aren’t you
even curious as to what’s happened?”
Maddox blinked as he
was dragged from his thoughts. “You’re still here?”
His friend arched a
black brow, the color a startling contrast to his
silver-white hair. “I believe the answer to my question
is no. Are you calm now, at least?”
Was he ever truly
calm? “As calm as a creature like me can be.”
“Stop whining.
There’s something I need to show you, and don’t try to
deny me this time. We can talk about my reason for
disturbing you along the way.” Without another word,
Torin spun on his booted heel and strode from the
room.
Maddox remained in
place for several seconds, watching his friend disappear
around the corner. Stop whining, Torin had
said. Yes, that’s exactly what he had been doing.
Curiosity and wry amusement pushed past his lethal mood
as Maddox stepped from the gym into the hallway. A cold
draft of air swirled around him, thick with moisture and
the crisp scents of winter. He spied Torin a few feet
away and stalked forward, quickly closing in.
“What’s this about?”
“Finally. Interest,”
was the only response.
“If this is one of
your tricks. . . ” Like the time Torin had ordered
hundreds of blow-up dolls and placed them throughout the
fortress, all because Paris had foolishly complained
about the lack of female companionship in town. The
plastic “ladies” had stared out from every corner, their
wide eyes and let-me-suck-you mouths taunting everyone
who passed them.
Things like that
happened when Torin was bored.
“I wouldn’t waste my
time trying to trick you,” Torin said without turning to
face him. “You, my friend, have no sense of humor.”
True.
As Maddox kept pace,
stone walls stretched at his sides; sconces glowed,
pulsing with light and fire, twining shadow with gold.
The House of the Damned, as Torin had dubbed the place,
had been built hundreds of years ago. Though they had
modernized it as best they could, its age showed in the
crumbling rock and the scuffed floors.
“Where is everyone?”
Maddox asked, only then realizing he hadn’t spotted any
of the others.
“You’d think Paris
would be shopping for food since our cabinets are nearly
bare and that’s his only duty, but no. He’s out
searching for a new woman.”
Lucky bastard.
Possessed as he was by Promiscuity, Paris could not bed
the same woman twice, and so he seduced a new one – or
two or three – every day. The only downside? If he
couldn’t find a woman, he was reduced to doing things
Maddox didn’t even want to contemplate. Things that
left the normally good-tempered man hunched over a
toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach. Though
Maddox’s envy abated at such moments, it always returned
when Paris spoke of one of his lovers. The soft brush
of a thigh. . .the meeting of hot skin. . . the groans
of ecstasy. . .
“Aeron is. . . prepare
yourself,” Torin began, “because this is the main reason
I hunted you down.”
“Did something happen
to him?” Maddox demanded as darkness shuttered over his
thoughts and anger overtook him. Destroy, obliterate,
Violence beseeched, clawing at the corners of his mind.
“Is he hurt?”
Immortal Aeron might
be, but he could still be harmed. Even killed. A feat
they had all discovered in the worst possible way.
“Nothing like that,”
Torin assured him.
Slowly, he relaxed and
gradually Violence receded. “What, then? Cleaning a
mess and throwing a fit?”
Every warrior here had
specific responsibilities. It was their way of
maintaining some semblance of order amid the chaos of
their own souls. Aeron’s task was maid service,
something he complained about on a daily basis. Maddox
took care of home repairs. Torin played with stocks and
bonds, whatever those were, keeping them well-moneyed.
Lucien did all the paperwork, and Reyes supplied them
with weapons.
“The gods. . .
summoned him.”
Maddox stumbled, shock
momentarily blinding him. “What?” Surely he had
misheard.
“The gods summoned
him,” Torin repeated patiently.
But the Greeks hadn’t
spoken to any of them since the day of Pandora’s death.
“What did they want? And why am I just now hearing
about this?”
“One, no one knows.
We were watching a movie when suddenly he straightened
in his seat, expression dead as if there was no one
home. Anyway, a few seconds later he tells us he’s been
summoned. None of us had time to react. One minute
Aeron was with us, the next he was gone. Oh, and point
two,” he added with barely a pause. “I tried to tell
you. You told me you didn’t care, remember?”
A muscle ticked below
his eye. “You should have told me anyway.”
“While you had
barbells within your reach? Please. I’m Disease, not
Stupid.”
This was. . . this
was. . . he did not want to contemplate what this was,
but could not stop the thoughts from forming. Sometimes
Aeron, keeper of Wrath, lost total control of his spirit
and embarked on a vengeance rampage, punishing mortals
for their perceived sins. Was he now to be given a
second curse for his actions, as Maddox had been all
those centuries ago?
“If he does not return
in the same shape he left, I will find a way to storm
the heavens and slaughter every godly being I
encounter.”
“Uh, your eyes are
glowing bright red,” Torin said. “Look, we’re all
confused but Aeron will return soon and tell us what’s
going on.”
Fair enough. He
forced himself to relax. Again. “Was anyone else
summoned?”
“No. Lucien is out
collecting souls. Reyes is gods know where, probably
cutting himself.”
He should have known.
Even though Maddox suffered unbearably each night, he
pitied Reyes, who could not live a single hour without
self-inflicted torture.
“What else did you
have to tell me?” Maddox brushed his fingertips over
the two towering columns that flanked the staircase
before beginning to climb.
“It will be better if
show you.”
Would it be worse than
the announcement about Aeron? he wondered, striding past
the entertainment room. Their sanctuary. The chamber
they’d spared no expense creating was filled with plush
furniture and all the comforts a warrior could desire.
There was a refrigerator crammed with special wines and
beers. A pool table. A basketball hoop. A large
plasma screen – that was even now flashing images of
three naked women in the middle of an orgy.
“I see Paris was
here,” he said.
Torin did not reply,
but he did quicken his steps, never once glancing toward
the screen.
“Never mind,” Maddox
muttered. Directing Torin’s attention to anything
carnal was unnecessarily cruel. The celibate man had to
crave sex – touch – with every fiber of his
being, but he would never have the option of
indulging.
Even Maddox enjoyed a
woman upon occasion.
His lovers were
usually Paris’s leftovers, those females foolish enough
to try and follow Paris home, hoping to share his bed
again, not knowing just how impossible such a thing
was. They were always drunk with sexual arousal, a
consequence of welcoming Promiscuity, so they rarely
cared who finally slid between their legs. Most times,
they were all too happy to accept Maddox as a
substitute, even though it was an impersonal joining, as
emotionally hollow as it was physically satisfying.
It had to be that way,
though. To protect their secrets, the warriors did not
allow humans inside the fortress, forcing Maddox to take
the women outside in the surrounding forest. He
preferred them on their hands and knees, facing away
from him, a swift coupling that would not rouse Violence
in any way or compel him to do things that would haunt
him forever and still another eternity.
Afterward, Maddox
would send the females home with a warning: never return
or die. It was that simple. To allow a more permanent
arrangement would be foolish. He might come to care for
them, and he would definitely hurt them, which would
only heap even more guilt and shame upon him.
Just once, though, he
would have liked to linger over a woman as Paris was
able to do. He would have liked to kiss and lick her
entire body, to drown in her, completely losing
himself, without fearing his control would snap and
cause him to wound.
Finally reaching
Torin’s quarters, he blocked those thoughts from his
mind. Time spent wishing was time wasted, as he well
knew.
He glanced at his
surroundings. He’d been in this room a few times
before, but he did not remember the wall-to-wall
computer system or the numerous monitors, phones and
various other equipment lined throughout. Unlike Torin,
Maddox eschewed most technology, for he had never quite
gotten used to how quickly things seemed to change – and
just how much further each new advancement seemed to
pull him from the carefree warrior he’d once been.
Though he would be lying if he claimed not to enjoy the
convenience such gadgets provided.
Survey complete, he
faced his friend. “Taking over the world?”
“Nope. Just watching
it. It’s the best way to protect us, and the best way
to make a little coin.” Torin plopped into a cushioned
swivel chair in front of the largest screen and began
typing on the keyboard. One of the blank monitors lit
up, the black screen becoming intertwined with grays and
whites. “All right. Here’s what I wanted you to see.”
Careful not to touch
his friend, Maddox stepped forward. The indistinct blur
gradually became thick, opaque lines. Trees, he
realized. “Nice, but not something I was in dire need
of viewing.”
“Patience.”
“Hurry,” he countered.
Torin flicked him a
wry glance. “Since you asked so nicely. I have heat
sensors and cameras hidden throughout our land so that I
always know when someone trespasses.” A few more
seconds of tapping and the screen’s view shifted to the
right. Then there was a swift flash of red, there one
moment, gone the next.
“Go back,” Maddox
said, tensing. He wasn’t a surveillance expert. No,
his skill lay in the actual killing. But even he knew
what that red slash represented. Body heat.
Tap, tap, tap
and then the red slash once again consumed the screen.
“Human?” he asked.
The silhouette was small, almost dainty.
“Definitely.”
“Male or female?”
Torin shrugged.
“Female, most likely. Too big to be a child, too small
to be a grown man.”
Hardly anyone ventured
up the bleak hill at this time of night. Or even during
the day. Whether it was too spooky, too gloomy, or out
of respect, Maddox didn’t know. He could count on one
hand the number of deliverymen, children wanting to
explore and women prowling for sex who’d braved the
journey in the last year.
“One of Paris’s
lovers?” he asked.
“Possibly. Or…”
“Or?” he prompted when
his friend hesitated.
“A Hunter,” Torin said
grimly. “Bait, more specifically.”
Maddox pressed his
lips together in a harsh line. “Now I know you’re
teasing me.”
“Think about it.
Deliverymen always come with boxes and Paris’s girls
always race straight toward the front door. This one
looks empty-handed and she’s gone in circles, stopping
every few minutes and doing something against the
trees. Planting dynamite in an attempt to injure us,
maybe. Cameras to watch us.”
“If she’s empty-handed
– ”
“Dynamite and cameras
are small enough to conceal.”
He massaged the back
of his neck. “Hunters haven’t stalked or tormented us
since Greece.”
“Maybe their children
and then their children’s children have been searching
for us all this time. Maybe they finally found us.”
Dread suddenly curled
in Maddox’s stomach. First the shocking summons, and
now the uninvited visitor. Mere coincidence? His mind
flashed back to those dark days in Greece, days of war
and savagery, screams and death. Days the warriors had
been more demon than man. Days a hunger for destruction
had dictated their every action and human bodies had
littered the streets.
Hunters had soon risen
from the tortured masses, a league of mortal men intent
upon destroying those who had unleashed such evil, and a
blood feud had erupted. He soon found himself fighting,
swords clanging and fires raging, flesh burning and
peace something of lore and legend. . .
Cunning had been the
Hunters’ greatest weapon, however. They had trained
female Bait to seduce and distract while they swooped in
for the kill. That’s how they managed to murder Baden,
keeper of Distrust. They had not managed to kill the
demon, however, and it had sprung from the decimated
body, crazed, demented, warped from the loss of
its host.
Where the demon
resided now, Maddox didn’t know.
“The gods surely hate
us,” Torin said. “What better way to hurt us than to
send Hunters just when we’ve finally carved out a
somewhat-peaceful life for ourselves?”
His dread
intensified. “They would not wish the demons, crazed as
they would surely be without us, loose upon the world.
Would they?”
“Who knows why they do
any of the things that they do.” A statement, with no
hint of a question. None of them really understood the
gods, even after all these centuries. “We have to do
something, Maddox.”
His gaze flicked to
the wall clock, and he tensed. “Call Paris.”
“Did. He’s not
answering his cell phone.”
“Call – ”
“Do you really think I
would have disturbed you this close to midnight if there
were anyone else?” Torin twisted in the seat, peering
up at him with forbidding determination. “You’re it.”
Maddox shook his
head. “Very soon, I’m going to die. I cannot be
outside these walls.”
“Neither can I.”
Something murky and dangerous shimmered in Torin’s eyes,
something bitter, turning the green to a poisonous
emerald. “You, at least, won’t obliterate the entire
human race by leaving.”
“Torin -- ”
“You’re not going to
win this argument, Maddox, so stop wasting time.”
He tangled a hand
through his chin-length hair, his frustration mounting.
We should leave it out there to die, Violence
proclaimed. It – the human.
“If it is a
Hunter,” Torin said, as if hearing his thoughts, “if it
is Bait? We can’t allow it to live. It must be
destroyed.”
“And if it’s innocent
and my death-curse strikes?” Maddox countered, tamping
the demon down as best he could.
Guilt flashed over
Torin’s expression, as though every life he was
responsible for taking clamored inside his conscience,
begging him to rescue those he could. “That is a chance
we have to take. We are not the monsters the demons
would have us be.”
Maddox ground his
teeth together. He was not a cruel man; he was not a
beast. Not heartless. He hated the waves of immorality
that constantly threatened to pull him under. Hated
what he did, what he was – and what he would become if
he ever stopped fighting those black cravings and evil
musings.
“Where is the human
now?” he asked. He would venture into the night, even
if it cost him terribly.
“At the Danube
border.”
A fifteen-minute run.
He had just enough time to weapon-up, find the human,
usher it to shelter if it was innocent or kill it if
circumstances demanded, and return to the fortress. If
anything slowed him down, he could die out in the open.
Anyone else foolish enough to venture onto the hill
would be placed in danger. Because, when the first pain
hit, he would be reduced to Violence and the black
cravings would consume him.
He would have no other
purpose but destruction.
“If I don’t return by
midnight, have one of the others search for my body, as
well as Lucien’s and Reyes’s.” Both Death and Pain came
to him each night at midnight, no matter where Maddox
was. Pain rendered the blows, and Death escorted his
soul to hell, where it would remain, tortured by fire
and demons almost as loathsome as Violence, until
morning.
Unfortunately, Maddox
could not guarantee his friends’ safety out in the
open.
He might hurt them
before they completed their tasks. And if he hurt them,
the anguish he would feel would be second only to the
agony of the death-curse that visited him every night.
“Promise me,” he said.
Eyes bleak, Torin
nodded. “Be careful, my friend.”
He stalked out of the
room, his movements rushed. Before he made it halfway
down the hall, however, Torin called, “Maddox. You
might want to look at this.”
Backtracking, he
experienced another slap of dread. What now? Could
anything be worse? When he stood in front of the
monitors once more, he arched a brow at Torin, a silent
command to hurry.
Torin motioned to the
screen with a tilt of his chin. “Looks like there are
four more of them. All male…or Amazons. They weren’t
there earlier.”
“Damn this.” Maddox
studied the four new slashes of red, each one bigger
than the last. They were closing in on the little one.
Yes, things could indeed be worse. “I’ll take care of
them,” he said. “All of them.” Once more he leapt into
motion, his pace more clipped.
He reached his bedroom
and headed straight to the closet, bypassing the bed,
the only piece of furniture in the room. He’d destroyed
his dresser, mirror, and chairs in one fit of violence
or another.
At one time, he’d been
foolish enough to fill the space with tranquil indoor
waterfalls, plants, crosses, anything to promote peace
and soothe raw nerves. None of it had worked and all
had been smashed beyond repair in a matter of minutes as
the demon overtook him. Since then he’d opted for what
Paris called a minimalist look.
The only reason he
still had a bed was because it was made of metal and
Reyes needed something to chain him to as
midnight drew near. They kept an abundant supply of
mattresses, sheets, chains and metal headboards in one
of the bedrooms next door. Just in case.
Hurry! Quickly
he jerked a black T-shirt over his head, pulled on a
pair of boots and strapped blades to his wrists, waist
and ankles. No guns. He and Violence were in agreement
about one thing – enemies needed to die up close and
personal.
If any of the humans
in the forest proved to be Hunters or Bait, nothing
could save them now.
CHAPTER TWO
Ashlyn Darrow
shivered against the frigid wind. Strands of light
brown hair whipped in front of her eyes, and she hooked
them behind her throbbing ears with a shaky hand. Not
that she could see much, anyway. The night was black,
thick with fog and snowflakes. Only a few golden
slivers of moonlight were strong enough to peek through
the towering, snow-capped trees.
How could a landscape
so beautiful be so damaging to the human body?
She sighed, mist
forming in front of her face. She should have been
relaxing on a flight back to the States, but yesterday
she’d learned something too wonderful to resist. Hope
had filled her, and so earlier this evening she’d raced
here without thought, without hesitation, seizing her
first chance to find out if it were true.
Somewhere in the
vastness of this forest were men with strange abilities
no one seemed able to explain. Exactly what they could
do, she didn’t know. She only knew that she needed
help. Desperately. And she’d risk anything,
everything, to speak with those powerful men.
She couldn’t live with
the voices anymore.
Ashlyn had only to
stand in one location and she could hear every
conversation that had ever taken place there, no matter
how much time had passed. Present, past, any and all
languages, it didn’t matter. She could hear them in her
mind, translate them even. A gift, some assumed. A
nightmare, she knew.
Another chill wind
beat against her and she leaned against a tree, using it
as a shield. Yesterday, when she’d come to Budapest
with several colleagues from the World Institute of
Parapsychology, she’d stood in the center of town and
begun hearing tidbits of dialogue. Nothing new for
her…until she’d deciphered the meaning of the words.
They can enslave
with a glance.
One of them has
wings and flies when the moon is full.
The scarred one can
disappear at will.
As if those whispers
had opened some sort of doorway in her mind, hundreds of
years of chatter had slammed into her, a blend of old
and new. She’d doubled over from the intensity of it,
trying to sort the mundane from the essential.
They never age.
They must be
angels.
Even their home is
creepy, straight out of a horror movie. Hidden on a
hilltop, shadowy corners, and damn, even the birds won’t
go near it.
Should we kill
them?
They’re magical.
They eased my torment.
So many people,
present and past, evidently believed these men operated
beyond human ability, that they possessed extraordinary
skills. Was it possible these men could help her? Eased
my torment, someone had said.
“Maybe they can ease
mine,” Ashlyn muttered now. Over the years and in all
corners of the world she’d listened to rumors of
vampires, werewolves, goblins and witches, gods and
goddesses, demons and angels, monsters and fairies.
She’d even led the Institute’s researchers to many of
those creatures’ doorsteps, proving they did, in fact,
exist.
The whole purpose of
the Institute, after all, was to locate, observe and
study paranormal beings and determine how the world
could benefit from their existence. And for once,
working as a Para-Audiologist might prove to be her
salvation, as well.
Oddly enough, she
hadn’t led the Institute to Budapest, as was usually the
case with a new assignment. She hadn’t heard a word
about Budapest, in fact, in any of the recent
conversations she’d tapped into. But they had brought
her here anyway, asking her to listen for any
discussions about demons. She knew better than to ask
why. The answer, no matter the question, was always the
same: classified.
When she’d done as
ordered, she had learned that a few of the locals
considered the men living atop this hill to be evil,
wicked. Most, however, considered them angels. Angels
who kept to themselves – all but one, that is, who
reputedly liked bedding anything female and had been
dubbed the Orgasm Instructor by a giggling trio who had
spent a “single, glorious” night with him. Angels who,
through their presence alone, kept the crime levels
low. Angels who poured money into the community and
made sure the homeless were fed.
Ashlyn herself
doubted such do-gooders were possessed. Demons were
invariably malicious, unconcerned with those around
them. But whether the men were angels living on
earth or simply ordinary people capable of doing
extraordinary things, she prayed they could help her as
no one else had been able to. She prayed they could
teach her how to block the voices or even help strip her
of her ability completely.
The thought was
intoxicating, and her lips lifted in a slow smile. That
smile quickly faded, however, as another blast of wind
cut through her jacket and sweater and seeped into her
skin. She’d been out here for an hour, and she was
chilled to the bone. Stopping to rest (again) hadn’t
been the smartest of plans.
Her gaze climbed the
hill. Through a break in the clouds, a sudden ray of
amber light poured down and illuminated the massive
charcoal-colored castle. Mist curled from the bottom,
beckoning her with ghostly fingers. The place looked
exactly as the voice had said, she mused, shadowed and
spiked along the top, a horror movie come to life.
That didn’t deter
her. Quite the opposite. I’m almost
there, she thought happily, once again trudging
uphill. Her thighs already burned from dodging limbs
and jumping over elevated roots, but she didn’t care.
She kept moving.
Until, ten minutes
later, she found herself stopping for the thousandth
time, unable to walk another step as her shaky, tired
thighs morphed into blocks of ice.
“No,” she moaned. Not
now. Rubbing her legs to warm them, she studied the
distance again. Her eyes widened when she realized that
the castle didn’t appear any closer. In fact, it might
have been farther away.
Ashlyn shook her head
in astonished despair. Damn it! What did she have to
do to reach that place? Sprout wings and fly?
Even if I fail, I
don’t regret coming here. The no provisions and no
planning part, yeah, she regretted that, but she’d had
to try. No matter how foolish, she’d simply had to
try. She would have made the journey naked and
barefoot if necessary. Anything for a chance at
normalcy.
She loved that she
helped safeguard the world with her -- gag -- gift, but
the torment she endured was too much. Surely there was
another way for her to help. With a little silence, she
might be able to think of how. Deep breathing
exercises and meditation only did so much for her peace
of mind.
She rubbed her legs
more frantically, the ministrations finally melting some
of the internal ice and spurring her back into motion.
Ők itt. Tudom ők, she heard as she stepped past a
hunched, gnarled tree. They’re here, her mind
instantly translated, I know they are.
Then someone else
said, Aren’t you a pretty thing?
“Yes, I am, thank
you,” she said, hoping the sound of her own voice would
overshadow the others. It didn’t. Deep breath in, deep
breath out.
As she continued to
slog forward, different conversations from different
time periods drifted into her awareness, stacking one on
top of the other in her mind. Most were spoken in
Hungarian, some in English, and that made them all the
more jumbled. Yes. Yes! Touch me. There, yes,
there.
Bárhol as én kardom?
En nem tudom holvan. One more taste of his
lips, and I’ll forget him. I just need one more taste.
Ashlyn stumbled over
twigs and rocks, the words blending together, growing
louder. Louder still. Her heart drummed in her chest,
and she barely refrained from screaming in frustration.
Deep breath in, deep breath –
If you knock on the
door, you’ll be fucked like an animal and I guarantee
you’ll love every minute of it.
She covered her ears,
even though she knew that wouldn’t work either. “Keep
going. Find them.” More wind. More voices. “Keep
going,” she repeated, the words chiming in harmony with
her footsteps. She’d come all this way; she could make
it a little farther. “Find them.”
When she’d told Dr.
McIntosh, the vice president of the Institute as well as
her boss and mentor, what she’d learned about the men,
he’d given her a brief nod and a brisk, “Well done.”
His highest form of praise.
Then she’d asked to be
taken to the chateau atop this imposing hill.
“Not a chance,” he’d
said, turning away from her. “They could be the demons
some of the locals paint them.”
“Or they could very
well be the angels most of the locals consider
them.”
“You’re not going to
risk it, Darrow.” That’s when he’d ordered her to pack
her bags and readied a car for her departure to the
airport, just as he always did when her part of the job
– providing the ears -- was done.
It was “standard
agency procedure,” he always claimed, yet he never sent
the rest of the workers home. Just her. McIntosh cared
about her and wanted her safe, she knew that. After
all, he’d seen to her care for more than fifteen years,
taking her under his wing when she’d been a scared child
whose parents hadn’t known how to ease their “gifted”
daughter’s torment. He’d even read her fairytales to
teach her that the world was a place of magic and
endless possibilities, a place where nobody -- not even
someone like her -- had to feel odd.
While he did care, she
also knew her ability was important to his career, that
the Institute would not be half as effective without her
and that as a result she was something of a pawn in his
eyes. That’s why she didn’t feel (too) guilty for
sneaking here the moment his back was turned.
Fingers numb, Ashlyn
once again smoothed her hair from her face. Maybe she
should have taken the time to ask the locals for the
best route, but the voices had been too loud, too
incapacitating in the heart of the city. More than
that, she’d been afraid an Institute employee would see
her and take her in.
Might have been worth
taking her chances, though, to avoid this debilitating
cold.
There’s one way to
learn the truth. Stab one in the heart and see if he
dies, a voice said, snagging her attention.
Oh, that feels
good. Please, more!
Distracted, Ashlyn
tripped over a fallen limb. Down she tumbled, landing
with a pained gasp. Sharp rocks abraded her palms and
scratched at her jeans. For a long while, she didn’t
move. Couldn’t. Too cold, she thought. Too
loud.
As she lay there, her
strength seemed to drain completely. Her temples
throbbed, the voices still bombarding her. Closing her
eyes, she pulled the lapels of her jacket tight and
managed to crawl to and huddle against the base of a
tree.
We shouldn’t be
here. They see everything.
Are you hurt?
Look what I found!
Isn’t it pretty?
“Shut up, shut up,
shut up!” she shouted. Of course, the voices didn’t
listen to her. They never did.
Dare you to run
through the trees naked.
Éhes vagyok. Kaphatok volamit eni?
A pop and whiz suddenly sounded, and her eyelids sprang
open. Next there was a tortured scream. A man’s
scream, quickly followed by three others.
Present. Not past.
After twenty-four years, she knew the difference.
Terror snaked her in
an iron grip, squeezing the breath out of her. Even
through the chattering of voices, she heard a sickening
thud. She tried to stand, to run, but a sudden whoosh
of air held her in place. No, not air, she realized a
second later, but a blade. Her entire body jerked in
surprise as the hilt of a blood-coated knife swayed just
above her shoulder, embedded in tree bark.
Before she had time to
scramble away, to scream, there was another whoosh.
Another jerk. Ashlyn’s attention swung to the other
side. Sure enough, a second blade was rooted just above
her left shoulder.
How – what – The
thoughts hadn’t yet fully formed when something burst
from a nearby thicket. Brittle leaves clashed together
in an ominous dance, the snow that had covered them
sprinkling to the ground as limbs shook. Then the
something raced past a ray of moonlight and she
caught a glimpse of black hair and radiant violet eyes.
A man. A big, muscled man was charging toward her at
top speed. His expression was pure brutality.
“Ohmygod,” she gasped
out. “Stop. Stop!”
Suddenly he was there,
right in her face. Crouching, pinning her in place,
sniffing her neck. “They were Hunters,” he said in
lightly accented English, his voice as harsh and rough
as his rugged features. “Are you?” He grabbed her
right wrist and peeled back the material of her jacket
and sweater. He ran his thumb over the pulse there.
“No tattoo, like they had.”
They? Hunters?
Tattoo? A tremor cartwheeled down her spine. The
intruder was huge, hulking, his muscular frame
surrounding her with menace. A metallic scent drifted
from him, mixed with the fragrance of man and heat and
something she couldn’t identify.
Up close, she could
see the splatter of red on his too-harsh face. Blood?
The biting wind seemed to slither past her skin and into
the marrow of her bones.
Savage, the
look in his violet eyes said. Predator.
Maybe I should have
listened to McIntosh. Maybe the men really are
demons.
“Are you one of them?”
the man repeated.
Shocked to her core,
frightened beyond belief, it took her a moment to
realize something was. . .different. The air, the
temperature, the --
The voices had
stopped.
Her eyes widened in
astonishment.
The voices had
stopped, as if they were actually cognizant of the man’s
presence and were as afraid of him as she was. Silence
enveloped her.
No. It wasn’t utter
silence she experienced, she decided a moment later, but
rather. . . quiet. Magnificent, blissful quiet. How
long since she’d known such a thing, untainted by
conversation? Had she ever?
Wind rustled and
leaves smacked together. Snow hummed softly as it
drifted through the air, a tranquil melody meant to lull
and relax. The trees breathed with life and vitality,
branches waving gently.
Had anything ever
sounded as magnificent as nature’s symphony?
In that moment, she
forgot her fear. How could this man be possessed by a
demon when he came with such lovely quiet? Demons were
a source of torment, not peace.
Was he an angel of
mercy, then, as the locals assumed?
Closing her eyes in
delight, she drank in that peace, reveled in it.
Embraced it.
“Woman?” the angel
said, confusion radiating from his voice.
“Hush.” Contentment
skipped through her. Even at home in North Carolina, in
a house that had been built by construction workers
forbidden to speak more than necessary, she always heard
the echo of deep-rooted whispers. “Don’t speak. Just
enjoy.”
For a moment, he
didn’t reply. “You dare tell me to hush?” he said
finally, angry surprise in his tone.
“You’re still
talking,” Ashlyn admonished, then pressed her lips
together. Angel or not, he didn’t strike her as the
kind of person she should scold. Besides, angering him
was the last thing she wanted to do. His presence
brought silence. And delicious warmth, she realized as
the chill rapidly left her body.
Slowly she cracked
open her eyelids.
They were nose to
nose, his balmy breath trekking over her lips. His skin
glowed like smooth copper, almost otherworldly in the
moonlight. All hard angles and fierce planes, his face
boasted a sharp blade of a nose and
black-as-the-devil’s-heart eyebrows.
Those predatory purple
eyes bored into her, somehow all the more menacing
framed as they were by long, feathered lashes. I’ll
kill anyone, anywhere, his expression seemed to
say.
Demon. No, not
a demon, she reminded herself. The silence was too
good, too pure and right. But he was not an angel,
after all, she decided. He’d brought the quiet, yes,
but he was clearly as dangerous as he was beautiful.
Anyone who could throw blades like that. . .
So what was he?
Ashlyn gulped, studied
him. Her pulse should not have fluttered just then, and
her breasts should not have ached. But it did. They
did. He was like the dragons in the fairytales McIntosh
had read her: too lethal to tame, too mesmerizing to
walk away from.
And yet, she suddenly
wanted to bury her head in the hollow of his neck.
Wanted to wrap herself around him. Wanted to hold on to
him and never let go. She even found herself leaning
toward him with every intention of giving into those
wants.
Stop. Don’t.
Most of her life,
human touch had been denied her. At five, she’d been
sent to the Institute where most of the employees hadn’t
concerned themselves with anything other than studying
her ability. McIntosh was the closest thing she’d ever
had to a friend, but even he had not hugged or touched
her often, as if he feared her as much as he cared for
her.
Not much had changed.
Dating was tough. Men
sort of freaked when they learned of her ability. And
they always learned. There was no way to hide it. But.
. .
If this man was who –
what -- she thought he was, he might not care about her
little talent. He might let her touch him. And
touching him and his heat might very well prove to be as
potent a sensation as the silence, yet so much more --
“Woman?” he repeated,
the word husky now, wine-rich as it cut into her
thoughts.
She froze. Gulped
again. Was that. . . desire flickering in his icy
violet irises, completely obliterating that must-kill
glaze? Or was the desire she saw born of pain and
brutality, her death imminent? A swarm of emotions
bombarded her: another clap of fear, morbid awe, and
yes, feminine curiosity. She had little experience with
men, and even less with desire.
What had she been
thinking, leaning toward him like that? He might have
viewed her touch as an invitation. Might have touched
her in return.
Why didn’t the mere
thought send her into hysterics?
Perhaps because she
might be wrong. Perhaps he wasn’t a dragon after all,
but the prince who slayed the dragon to save the
princess. “What’s your name?” she found herself asking.
A tension-filled
second ticked by, then another, and she assumed he
wouldn’t answer. Lines of strain bracketed his rough
features, as though being near her were a chore.
Finally he said, “Maddox. I am called Maddox.”
Maddox. . .the name
slipped and slid through the corridors of her mind, a
seductive chant that promised unimaginable
satisfaction. She forced herself to smile in greeting.
“I’m Ashlyn Darrow.”
His attention deviated
to her lips. Despite the snow, beads of sweat broke out
over his forehead, glistening. “You should not have
come, Ashlyn Darrow,” he snarled, losing all hint of the
desire she’d both fancied and feared. But he traced his
hands up her arms, surprisingly gentle, and stopped at
the base of her nape. Gingerly his thumb tripped over
her throat, lingering on the wildly thumping pulse.
She sucked in a breath
and swallowed it, his fingers moving with the motion.
An unintentional yet wholly erotic caress that liquefied
her entire body. Until, a moment later, his grip
tightened, almost hurting.
She gasped out a
raspy, “Please,” and he released her completely.
Ashlyn blinked in
surprised. Without his touch, she felt. . . bereft?
“Dangerous,” he said,
this time speaking in Hungarian.
She wasn’t sure if he
meant himself -- or her. “Are you one of them?” she
asked softly, not switching languages herself. No
reason to let him know she spoke them both.
Astonishment darkened his gaze, and a muscle ticked in
his jaw. “What do you mean? One of them?” English
this time.
“I – I – ” The words
refused to form. Fury was blanketing his features, more
fury than she’d ever seen another person project. It
radiated from every contour of his hard body. She drew
her arms around her middle. No, not a prince, after
all. A dragon, definitely, as she’d first assumed.
Remaining on his knees, he inched away from
her. He drew in a measured breath and slowly released
it, the air misting around his face. His hand hovered
over the opening of his boot, as if he couldn’t decide
whether to reach inside or not. Finally he said, “What
are you doing in these woods, woman? And do not lie to
me. I’ll know it, and you will not like my response.”
Ashlyn somehow found
her voice. “I’m looking for the men who live at the top
of this hill.”
“Why?” The single
word was spat.
How much should she
reveal? He was one of the men with strange
abilities, had to be. He was too vibrant, too powerful
to be solely human. But more than that, his mere
presence had somehow chased the voices away, something
that had never happened to her before. “I need help,”
she admitted.
“Do you?” There was a
conflicting mix of suspicion and indulgence in his
expression. “With what?”
She opened her mouth
to say. . . what? She didn’t know. In the end, it
didn’t matter. He stopped her with a quick shake of his
head. “Never mind. You aren’t welcome here, so your
explanation is moot. Return to the city. Whatever you
came here for, you will not receive.”
“But – but. . . ” She
couldn’t allow him to send her away. She needed
him. Yes, she’d only just met him. Yes, the only
things she knew about him were his name and the fact
that he threw daggers with expert precision. But she
was already horrified at the thought of losing the
silence. “I want to stay with you.” She knew
desperation seeped from her, but she didn’t care.
“Please. Just for a little while. Until I learn how to
control the voices myself.”
Instead of softening,
he seemed infuriated by her plea. His nostrils flared
and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Your babbling will not
distract me. You’re Bait. You have to be. Otherwise
you would be running from me in fear.”
“I’m not bait.” Whatever bait was. “Swear
to God.” She reached out and gripped his forearms, the
flesh firm and solid, unbelievably hot and utterly
electrifying underneath her hand. Tingles speared her
arm. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Quick as a snap, he
slashed out a hand and caught the base of her skull,
jerking her forward and into a beam of moonlight. The
action didn’t hurt her. On the contrary, she
experienced another electrical jolt. Her stomach
quivered.
He didn’t speak, just
studied her with an intensity that bordered on cruelty.
She studied him, too, shocked as something began to
flash. . . swirl. . .materialize under his skin. A
face, she realized with macabre awe. Another face. Her
heart skipped a beat. Can’t be a demon, can’t be a
demon. He made the voices stop. He and the others have
done wonderful things for this city. It’s just a trick
of the light.
While she could still
see Maddox’s features, she could also see that shadow of
someone – something – else. Red, glowing eyes.
Skeletal cheekbones. Sharp-as-daggers teeth.
Please be a trick
of the light.
But the more that
skeletal countenance stared at her, the less she could
pretend it was an illusion.
“Do you want to die?”
Maddox – or the skeleton? -- demanded, the words so
guttural they were barely more than an animalistic
growl.
“No.” He could kill
her, but she’d die with a smile. Two minutes of silence
was worth more to her than a lifetime of noise. Scared
but determined, and still tingling because of his
fever-touch, she raised her chin. “I need your help.
Tell me how to control my power and I’ll leave here and
now. Or let me stay with you and learn how it’s done.”
He released her, then
reached for her again, then stopped and fisted his
hand. “I do not know why I am hesitating,” he said,
even as he eyed her mouth with what might have been
longing. “Midnight is closing in, and you need to be as
far away from me as possible.” The moment the last word
left him, he frowned. A second later, he barked, “Too
late! Pain is searching for me,” and inched away from
her, that skeletal mask flashing behind his skin.
“Run. Go back to the city. Now!”
“No,” she said with
only the slightest tremble. Only a fool ran from heaven
– even if that piece of heaven possessed a transparent
face straight from hell.
Cursing under his
breath, Maddox jerked the two blades from the tree and
pushed to his feet. His gaze lifted skyward, past snow
and treetops to the half moon. His frown became fierce,
angry. One step, two, he backed away.
Ashlyn used the tree
as leverage and stood. Her knees knocked together,
nearly collapsing under her weight. Suddenly she could
feel the icy wind again, hear the whisper of chatter
closing in on her once more. A cry of despair rose
inside her.
Three steps, four.
“Where are you going?”
she asked. “Don’t leave me here.”
“No time to take you
to shelter. You’ll have to find it on your own.” He
wheeled around, giving her a view of his wide shoulders
and stiff, retreating back, before throwing over his
shoulder, “Do not return to this hill, woman. Next
time, you will not find me so generous.”
“I’m not going back.
Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” A threat, yes, but one
she intended to uphold.
Maddox stopped and
whipped to face her, baring his teeth in another
fearsome scowl. “I could kill you here and now, Bait,
as I know I should. How would you follow me then?”
Bait again. Her heart
drummed erratically in her chest, but she met his stare
dead on, hoping she appeared stubborn and determined
rather than simply petrified. “Believe me, I’d rather
you do so than leave me alone with the voices.”
A curse, a hiss of
pain. He doubled over.
Losing her bravado in
the face of concern, Ashlyn raced to him. She splayed
her fingers over his back and searched for injury.
Anything that crumpled this hulking beast had to be
excruciating. He shoved her away, however, and she
stumbled from the unexpected force.
“No,” he said, and she
would have sworn he spoke with two separate voices. One
a man’s. The second. . . something so much more
powerful. It boomed like a thunderstorm, echoing in the
night. “No touching.”
“Are you hurt?” She
righted herself, trying not to reveal just how badly his
actions cut. “Maybe I can help. I -- ”
“Leave or die.” He
spun and leapt forward, disappearing into the night.
Chatter crashed into
her mind, as if it had merely been awaiting his
departure. Now it seemed louder than ever before,
blaring after the precious silence.
Langnak ithon kel
moradni.
Stumbling in the same
direction Maddox had taken, Ashlyn covered her ears.
“Wait.” She moaned. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“Wait. Please.”
Her foot tangled with
a broken limb and she toppled again to the ground. A
sharp ache tore through her ankle. Whimpering, she
dragged herself to her hands and knees and crawled.
Ate ìtéleted let
minket veszejbe.
Couldn’t stop. Had to
reach him. Wind beat against her, as sharp as the
daggers Maddox carried.
On and on the voices
clamored.
“Please,” she cried.
“Please.”
A fierce roar split
the night, shaking the ground, rattling the trees.
Suddenly Maddox was
beside her again, drowning out the voices. “Foolish
Bait,” he spat. More to himself, he added, “Foolish
warrior.”
Crying out in relief,
she threw her arms around him. Holding tight. Never
wanting to let go, even if he did still wear that eerie
skeletal mask. Tears streamed down her cheeks,
crystallizing on her skin. “Thank you. Thank you for
coming back. Thank you.” She buried her head in the
hollow of his neck, exactly as she’d wanted to do
earlier. When her cheek brushed his bare skin, she
shivered, those warm tingles rushing through her once
more.
“You’ll come to regret
this,” he said, sweeping her up and over his shoulder
like a sack of potatoes.
She didn’t care. She
was with him, the voices gone, and that was all that
mattered.
Maddox sped into
motion, maneuvering around those ghostly trees. Every
so often, he grunted as if in pain. Snarled as if in a
rage. Ashlyn begged him to set her down so that she
could spare him the burden of her weight, but he
squeezed the inside of her thigh, a silent command for
her to shut the hell up. Finally she relaxed against
him and simply enjoyed the ride.
If only that joy could
have lasted.
CHAPTER THREE
Get home, get home,
get home. Maddox chanted the command in his mind,
trying to distract himself from the pain. Trying to
dampen the urge to do violence. . . an urge that was
building steadily. The woman – Ashlyn – bounced on his
shoulder, an unwelcome reminder that he could break at
any moment and slaughter everything around him. Her,
especially.
You wanted to drown
in a woman, the spirit taunted. Here’s your
chance to drown in her blood.
His hands curled into
fists. He needed to think, but couldn’t do so with the
pain. She had mentioned a power, asked for his help.
Hadn’t she? Some of what she had said was lost amidst
the roar in his head. All he knew for certain was that
he should have left her behind as he’d intended.
But he had heard her
cry out, a tortured sound, the sort of crazed groan
Maddox himself had often wanted to release. Something
inside him had reacted deeply, and he’d been filled with
a need to help her, a need to touch her soft skin just
one more time. A need that had somehow proven stronger
than Violence. An amazing, unbelievable feat.
And so he’d returned
to her, even though he’d known she was in more danger
with him than she was alone in the forest. Even though
he’d known she had most likely been sent to distract him
and help Hunters gain access to the fortress. Fool.
Now she was draped over him, her feminine scent teasing
his nose, her soft curves his to explore.
Or slice, the
demon goaded.
Hauntingly beautiful
as she was, it was easy to understand why Hunters had
sent her. Who would want to mar such lush femininity?
Who would turn such blatant sensuality away? Not him,
it seemed.
Fool, he
inwardly cursed again. Hunters! They truly were in
Budapest, their tattoos a grim reminder of those dark,
dark days in Greece. Clearly they were once more out
for blood, for each of the four men following Ashlyn had
carried a gun and silencer. For mortals, they had
fought with expert skill.
Maddox had emerged the
victor in that bloody tété a tété, but he had not
emerged unscathed. His lower leg had been sliced, and
one of his ribs was surely cracked.
Time, it seemed, had
only honed their skills.
He wondered how Ashlyn
would react when she found out they were gone. Would
she cry? Scream? Rail? Would she attack him in a
grief-stricken rage?
Did any others wait in
town?
At the moment, he
couldn’t seem to make himself care. Holding Ashlyn in
his arms, he was transported, the hell that was his life
momentarily receding, leaving only. . . something he
didn’t think he could rightly name. Desire, perhaps.
No. He discarded the word instantly. It failed to
explain the intensity of the rush, the heat.
Instant obsession,
maybe.
Whatever it was, he
didn’t like it. It was more powerful than anything he’d
experienced before, threatening to control him. Maddox
absolutely did not need another force vying to pull his
strings.
She was just so. . .
lovely. So lovely it almost hurt to gaze upon her. Her
skin was smooth and supple, like cinnamon dipped in a
honey pot then churned into lickable cream. Her eyes
were that same honey shade and so haunted they made his
chest hurt. He’d never seen a mortal look so tormented,
and felt a strange kinship with her.
While strands of long,
silky hair, also the color of honey yet veined with
copper and quartz, had wisped around her delicate
features, he’d ached. He’d wanted. Wanted to touch, to
taste. Wanted to devour. Consume. But he hadn’t
wanted to hurt. The knowledge still amazed him.
Ashlyn. . . Her
name whispered through his mind, as delicate as the
woman herself. Taking her to the fortress was against
the rules, a threat to their most guarded secrets. He
should be ashamed of himself for carrying her forward
rather than away, and she should be crying in terror.
Apparently ‘should’
did not mean anything to either of them.
Why wasn’t she
crying? More importantly, why hadn’t she cried?
When he’d first pounced on her, clearly splattered with
the blood of her allies, a delicious smile had lit her
face, her plump lips showcasing perfect white teeth.
Remembering that
smile, Maddox experienced a jolt of blistering arousal.
Underneath it, however, confusion still lingered.
Though it had been an eternity since he’d last dealt
with Bait, he could not recall the Hunter’s decoys ever
being so transparent in their satisfaction.
Not even Hadiee, the
Bait who had helped bring Baden, keeper of Distrust, to
his knees. Hadiee had played the abused, frightened
soul to perfection. Seeing her, Baden had decided to
act without suspicion for the first time since his demon
had been placed inside him. Or maybe not. Maddox had
always wondered if the man had wanted to die. If
so, he’d gotten his wish. He’d been stabbed in the
throat moments after opening his spiti to Hadiee
-- who in turn allowed armed Hunters inside.
Most likely, the
stabbing alone might have killed Baden, but there’d been
a chance for recovery. The Hunters, however, then
proceeded to decapitate him. Baden hadn’t stood a
chance. Not even an immortal could recuperate from
that.
He’d been a good man,
a fine warrior, and hadn’t deserved such a bloody
demise. Maddox, however . . .
My murder would be
justified.
The Bait before Hadiee
had seduced Paris. Not that such a thing required much
effort. During the act, Hunters had crept inside the
woman’s bedroom and stabbed the warrior in the back,
attempting to weaken him before going for his head.
Paris, though, was
strengthened by sex. Even injured, he’d managed to
fight his way free and kill everyone around him.
Maddox couldn’t
imagine the woman in his arms being cowardly enough to
strike from behind. She had faced him and hadn’t backed
down, even when the spirit inside of him clamored for
release. Perhaps Ashlyn was innocent. He hadn’t found
cameras or dynamite on the trees where she’d lingered.
Perhaps --
“Perhaps you are more
a fool than you realize,” he muttered.
“What?”
He ignored her,
knowing it was safer that way. Her voice was soft and
lilting and prodded at the spirit, mocking in its
gentleness. Best to keep her silent.
Finally he spotted the
dark, crumbling stone of the fortress. None too soon.
An excruciating pain ripped through his stomach, almost
knocking him to the ground. Violence poured through his
veins and shimmered in his blood. Kill. Hurt.
Maim.
“No.”
Kill, hurt, maim.
“No!”
Killhurtmaim.
“Maddox?”
The spirit roared,
desperate, so desperate for release. Fight it,
he commanded himself. Remain calm. He drew air
into his lungs, held it, slowly released it.
Killhurtmaim, killhurtmaim. “I will resist. I am
not a monster.”
We shall see. .
.
His nails elongated,
itching with that inexorable urge to strike. If he
didn’t compose himself, he would soon assault anything
and everything within his reach. He would kill, without
mercy, without hesitation. He would destroy this home
stone by stone, kicking and clawing. Raging. He would
destroy everyone inside of it. And he would rather burn
in hell for all eternity than do such a thing.
“Maddox?” Ashlyn said
again. Her sweet voice drifted to his ears, an entreaty
that was part soothing balm, part kindling. “What’s – ”
“Silence.” He skimmed
her off his shoulder, still holding her tight, and burst
through the front door, nearly ripping the wood from its
hinges. Angry voices greeted him. Torin, Lucien, and
Reyes stood in the foyer, arguing.
“You never should have
let him leave,” Lucien said. “He becomes an animal,
Torin, annihilating – ”
“Stop!” Maddox
shouted. “Help!”
All three men spun,
facing him.
“What’s going on?”
Reyes demanded. Seeing Ashlyn, he gaped. Shock settled
over his features. “Why are you bringing a woman into
the house?”
Hearing the commotion,
Paris and Aeron raced into the foyer, features taut.
When they spotted Maddox, they relaxed. “Finally,”
Paris said, clearly relieved. But he, too, spotted
Ashlyn. He grinned. “Sweet! A present? For me?”
Maddox bared his
teeth. Kill them, Violence beseeched, a
seductive whisper now. Kill them all.
“You shouldn’t be
here.” The words ripped from his throat. “Take her and
leave. Before it’s too late.”
“Look at him,” Paris
said, his relief and amusement gone. “Look at his
face.”
“The process has
already begun,” Lucien said.
The words spurred
Maddox to action. Though he found he didn’t want to
release Ashlyn, even in his madness, he tossed her at
the group. Lucien caught her effortlessly. The moment
her weight settled on her feet, she winced. Must have
twisted her ankle on the hill, Maddox realized, concern
slipping past bloodlust for a split second.
“Careful of her foot,”
he commanded.
Lucien released her to
look at her ankle, but Ashlyn scrambled away from him
and limped her way back into Maddox’s arms. His concern
intensified as his arms wound around her. She was
trembling. But, a moment later, he stopped caring. A
pestilent haze fell over his mind, brutality
obliterating every emotion in its path.
“Release me,” he
growled, pushing her.
The woman clung to
him. “What’s wrong?”
Lucien grabbed her,
jerking her backward and locking her in an iron grip.
Had she touched Maddox a second longer, he might have
clawed her to pieces. As it was, he slammed his hands
into the nearest wall.
“Maddox,” she said on
a tremulous breath.
“Do not hurt her.”
The words were for himself as much as the others.
“You,” he grated, pointing to Reyes with a crimson
stained finger. “Bedroom. Now.” He didn’t wait for a
response, but pounded up the stairs.
He heard Ashlyn fight
for freedom and call, “But I want to stay with you.”
He bit the inside of
his cheek until he tasted blood. He allowed himself a
single glance over his shoulder.
When Lucien further
tightened his hold on the struggling Ashlyn, his dark
hair brushing her shoulders, Maddox’s need for bloodshed
strengthened. He almost changed paths, almost sprinted
back into the foyer to hack his friend to pieces.
Mine, his mind shouted. Mine. I found her. No
one but me should be allowed to touch her.
Maddox wasn’t sure
whether it was the spirit or himself who thought such a
thing, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to kill.
Yes, kill. Fury, such fury, exploded through him. He
did stop. Did change direction. He was going to
slice Lucien in half and coat the floor with his
friend’s blood. Destroy, destroy, destroy. Kill.
“He’s going to
attack.” Lucien.
“Get her out of here!”
Torin.
Lucien dragged Ashlyn
from the room. Her panicked cries echoed in Maddox’s
ears, which only managed to increase his darkest needs.
The image of her pale, lovely face flashed in his mind
and took hold, becoming the only thing he saw. She was
terrified. Trusted him, wanted him. Her arms had
reached for him.
His stomach was a
stinging mass of pulsing agony, but he didn’t slow his
steps. Any minute, midnight would arrive and he would
die – but he was taking everyone here with him. Yes,
they must be destroyed.
“Ah, hell,” Aeron
muttered. “The demon has taken over completely. We’ll
have to subdue him. Lucien, get back in here. Hurry!”
Aeron, Reyes and Paris
advanced. With the speed of a single breath, Maddox
unsheathed his daggers and launched them. Expecting the
attack, all three men ducked and the silver blades
soared over them, embedding in the wall. Two seconds
later, the men were on top of him and he was lying flat
on his back. Fists jabbed into his face, his stomach,
his groin. He fought. Roaring, growling, punching.
Knuckles slammed into
his jaw, dislocating the bone. A knee jammed into the
sensitive flesh between his legs. Still he fought. And
as the battle raged, the warriors managed to drag him up
the steps and into his bedroom. Maddox thought he heard
Ashlyn sobbing, thought he saw her trying to tear the
men away from him. He jabbed his fist forward and hit
something – a nose. Heard a howl. Experienced
satisfaction. Wanted more blood.
“Damn it! Chain him,
Reyes, before he breaks somebody else’s fucking nose.”
“He’s too strong. I’m
not sure how much longer I can hold him.”
Minutes passed as he
fought, maybe an eternity, then cold metal locked around
his wrists, his ankles. Maddox bucked and arched, the
links cutting into his flesh. “Bastards!” The pain in
his stomach was unbearable now, no longer sporadic but
constant. “I’ll kill you. I’ll take every one of you
to hell with me.”
Reyes stood over him,
a dark glaze of determination and regret blanketing his
tanned features. Maddox tried to knock him down by
raising his knees and kicking, but the chains held. The
warrior, too, held steady, withdrawing a long, menacing
sword from his side.
“I’m sorry,” Reyes
rasped as a clock chimed the hour. He stabbed Maddox in
the stomach.
The metal sliced all
the way to his spine before leaving his body. Instantly
blood poured from the wound, wetting his chest and
stomach. Bile burned his throat, his nose. He cursed;
he bucked.
Reyes stabbed him
again. And again.
The pain. . . the
agony. . . His skin felt scorched. With only those
three slices, his bones and organs were already
shredded, each tear a point of anguish. Still he
fought; still he felt a desperate urge to kill.
A woman screamed.
“Stop! You’re killing him!”
When her voice pierced
Maddox’s consciousness, his struggles became all the
more wild. Ashlyn. His woman from the forest. His.
Get to her, had to get to her. Had to kill her – no!
Had to save her. Kill. . . save…the two needs battled
for supremacy. He jerked at his chains. The metal
shackles dug deeper into his wrists and ankles, but he
reared up and kicked. The bed shook with the force of
his movements, and both the headboard and footboard bent
forward with a whine.
“Why are you doing
this?” Ashlyn shouted. “Stop! Don’t hurt him. Ohmygod,
stop!”
Reyes stabbed him
again.
Black cobwebs wove
over his vision as he searched the room. Paris, he saw
dimly, was striding toward Ashlyn. Reached her, wrapped
his arms around her. She was dwarfed by the larger man,
enfolded in his shadow. Tears glistened in those amber
eyes and on her too-pale cheeks.
She fought, but Paris
held firm and dragged her from the room.
Maddox uttered an
animalistic roar. Paris would seduce her. Strip her
and taste her. She would not be able to resist; no
woman could. “Let her go! Now!” He strained so
fervently for freedom, a vessel burst in his forehead.
His vision blackened completely.
“Get her out of here
and keep her out.” Reyes stabbed Maddox once more, the
fifth blow. “She’s making him more crazed than usual.”
Had to save her.
Had to get to her. The sound of rattling chains
blended with his panting as he struggled all the more.
“I’m sorry,” Reyes
whispered again.
Finally, the sixth
blow was delivered.
That’s when all of
Maddox’s strength seeped from him. The spirit quieted,
retreating to the back of his consciousness.
Done. It was done.
He lay on the bed,
drenched in his own blood, unable to move or see. The
pain didn’t leave him, nor did the burning. No, they
intensified, more a part of him than his own skin. Warm
liquid gurgled in his throat.
Lucien – he knew it
was Lucien for he recognized the deceptively sweet scent
of Death -- knelt beside him and clasped his hand. That
meant his demise was close, so torturously close.
But for Maddox, the
true torment had yet to begin.
As part of his
death-curse, he and Violence would spend the rest of the
night burning in the pits of hell. No lush, tranquil
hallows of Hades for them. He opened his mouth to
speak, but only a cough emerged. More and more blood
was rushing into his throat, choking him.
“In the morning,
you’ll have a lot of explaining to do, my friend,”
Lucien said, adding gently, “Die now. I’ll take your
soul to hell, as required, but this time you might
actually want to remain there, eh, rather than deal with
the trouble you’ve brought into our home.”
“G – girl,” Maddox
finally managed to say.
“Don’t worry,” Lucien
said. Whatever questions he had, he kept to himself.
“We won’t hurt her. She’ll be yours to deal with in the
morning.”
“Untouched.” The
request was odd, Maddox knew, because none of them had
ever been possessive of a woman. Ashlyn, though. . . He
wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with her. He
knew what he should do – and what he couldn’t. Both
mattered little just then. Because, more than anything,
he knew that he didn’t want to share.
“Untouched,” he
insisted weakly when Lucien said nothing.
“Untouched,” Lucien
agreed at last.
The scent of flowers
intensified. A heartbeat of time passed, and then
Maddox died. |
