Читать книгу The Darkest Secret - Gena Showalter - Страница 10

AMUN BLINKED OPEN HIS EYES. Or tried to. The action proved difficult, since his lashes felt as if they’d been glued together. And maybe they had been. If one of his friends had punked him, he was going to retaliate. With scissors. He kept tugging and finally managed to separate top from bottom. Immediately his eyeballs burned and watered, everything around him seemingly smeared with Vaseline.

Worse, the light seeping in from the only window still managed to lance his retinas like blade-tipped lasers. He turned his head away from the reflective glass and studied his surroundings as best he could.

He frowned—and damn, that hurt, tugging and splitting multiple cuts on his lips. He was in his own bedroom, but … there was a hole in the wall. A hole that led into the chamber next door. A hole he hadn’t made, and to his knowledge, his friends hadn’t, either. He liked to think they would have asked his permission before redesigning his room like that.

How was he here, anyway?

Last thing he remembered, he’d been deep inside hell, fire crackling all around him as he fought evil spirits and basically got the shit kicked out of both his body and his mind. Demon thoughts and human memories had bombarded him, like bombs going off inside his head, and they—

Were still there, he realized, frown deepening. The dark thoughts and memories were still there, but though they were churning, agitated, they remained at a distance, as if afraid to gain his attention. Why?

A feminine moan stroked his ears, shocking him into concentrating.

Amun stiffened, his attention shifting again, this time landing on his mattress. Or what should have been mattress. Beside him was a woman. A very beautiful woman who was curled on her side, facing him, her warm breath caressing him. One of her arms was bent over his stomach, as if she couldn’t bear to let him go, with her hand resting over his heart. Monitoring the beat?

That arm was tattooed from wrist to shoulder, completely sleeving her. He saw faces—human—each one glowing with life and love. Numbers, too. And dates, maybe? Though, if so, some of those dates were from way back. There were also names: Micah, Viola, Skye. And phrases: Darkness always loses to light and You have loved and been loved.

He knew her. Somehow he knew her. How—

The answer slid into place. Haidee, the one from his visions, or whatever they’d been. The little girl he’d yearned to comfort, and the woman he’d longed to touch. She was here.

How was she here?

He lifted his hand to smooth the pale hair plastered on her cheeks, and his muscle went death match on his bone, both aching in protest. Damn. What the hell was wrong with him?

As carefully as he was able, he moved his arm closer to his face, every inch an unsteady milestone, but not stopping until he had a clear look. Seeing the ruined flesh, the knotted muscle, he wanted to curse.

He’d been chained, maybe tortured. By Hunters?

Had they tortured the girl, and his friends had rescued her, too?

As rage sparked inside him at the thought of her mistreatment, his gaze returned to her. She hadn’t moved, was still sleeping so peacefully. Dark circles marred the delicate tissue under her eyes. There were a few smudges of dirt lining her cheeks and a bruise on the underside of her jaw. Signs of wear and tear, but not torture. The rage muted to a low simmer.

She’s fine. And you’ll defend her. Or rather, he would defend her until she healed and he had to send her on her way. He wasn’t safe to be around anymore. Not for long.

For now, though, she’s yours.

Suddenly she jolted upright, her gaze swinging left and right. “Who said that?” Without waiting for a reply, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She raced to the window.

What was she doing? Haidee, he mentally tsked, you shouldn’t be running around like that. You need time to mend.

As if she’d heard the thought, she spun around and faced him. Eyes of the sweetest pearl-gray widened as they studied him from top to bottom. “Oh, baby. You’re getting better. Thank God!”

Baby. She’d called him baby. The first endearment ever to be directed at him, and his ears soaked it up like nectar from the heavens.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m so sorry.” She tripped back to his side. “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”

I don’t think so. Both of his femurs were cracked, if not broken entirely. He recognized the heavy ache underneath the muscle. Besides that, he was home. He didn’t want to leave.

“Okay, okay. We’ll think of another way, then.” Even as she spoke, she scanned the room a second time. “I thought I’d have to fight them from the bed, but they must not have come back.” She offered him a fleeting smile. Fleeting, but like a ray of sunshine all the same. “Their mistake.”

He blinked. That was the second time she’d—correctly—responded to something he hadn’t spoken aloud. You … hear me?

“Yes. I know, I know. It’s weird.” That gaze never stopped scanning. For weapons? An escape route? “I was surprised, too. I don’t know how it’s happening, but I’m grateful. If I hadn’t heard you from next door, I would have left without you.”

No one had ever heard him like that. No one. He’d always been the one to know what others were thinking, and he found he was … uncomfortable with this new development.

How was she doing it? Could she hear everything? All the secrets floating through his head? Could she even hear his whimpering demon? What about the others, the new ones who liked to scream? Or could she only hear what he projected at her?

“Can you still not speak?” she asked gently.

Test time. He allowed the answer to form in his mind, but he kept a firm mental hold on it.

“Can you?” she insisted. She reached out and traced a fingertip along the seam of his lips, careful, so careful not to hurt him. The you’ve-just-reached-the-freezer-section coolness of her skin delighted him.

She hadn’t heard, he realized, even as he shivered at her silken touch. Such a surreal moment. She acted as if she knew him … liked him. Baby, he thought, dazed all over again.

No. I still can’t talk. He pushed the words at her, watching for the minutest reaction.

An angry sigh escaped her, and the corner of her lip curled in disgust. “Those bastards. Did they do something to your voice box? “

Bastards? No. She’d heard that time. Which meant there were limits. Thank the gods. No one, especially such an innocent human, should have to listen to the evil inside his head. No one, especially such a fragile female, could survive its gloom. Even now, Amun wasn’t sure he could.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked. “How you got here?”

He shook his head, slow, measured, trying not to open up any more wounds. Problem was, he was utterly covered in abrasions. The smallest action tugged too-tight skin and split scabs.

“Okay, then.” Her next sigh was sorrowful. Her hand remained on him, as if she couldn’t bear to sever contact. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

He nodded to encourage her, winced.

“Be still, baby,” she said, all concerned mother hen and determined commando. “Just listen, okay, and try not to panic.” She drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it. “The Lords of the Underworld have us. We’re in a structure on top of a hill. Their fortress in Buda, maybe? I didn’t see any landmarks to verify my suspicions. Though why they’d risk bringing us here, I don’t know. Last I heard, this was where they were keeping two of the artifacts. You think they’d want us as far away from those as possible.”

The artifacts. There were four, and each was needed to locate, and thereby destroy, Pandora’s box, saving him and his friends from certain death. Besides decapitation and other violent demises, that box was the only thing that could separate man from demon, wiping man from existence and unleashing the then-crazed demons on an unsuspecting world. This woman knew two of the artifacts were here—the All-Seeing Eye and the Cage of

Compulsion—yet she expected the Lords to be upset that Amun, a Lord himself, was near them.

She didn’t know he was a Lord, he realized. She thought he was a … Hunter?

Like … her? All that disgust, all that anger directed at the Lords … the notion seemed likely. But, if she knew him, why didn’t she know who—what—he was? And if she was a Hunter, why would his friends have placed her inside his room?

His gaze skidded to the hole in the wall. Maybe his friends didn’t know she was here. But.

She thought she knew him, and he definitely recognized her. At least somewhat. He knew her name. Haidee. Could picture her face softened by sleep, so lovely. He knew they’d met somewhere, interacted in some way, but not where or when.

For once, his demon wasn’t spewing out answers.

This was so damn confusing, and his weakened condition wasn’t helping. Maybe she had tricked him into thinking they’d met, so he’d be more inclined to help her. But again, how? Why? The artifacts? Would anyone except a Hunter be after them?

His stomach twisted into little knots. There was only one way to find out the truth about this beautiful woman whose presence alone both muddled and cleared his brain. That way was dangerous, the possible consequences severe.

He didn’t want to go that route, but he didn’t feel he had any other choice. Normally he could read the thoughts of those around him; so far, he’d heard none of hers, despite the fact that she could hear his. Therefore, he needed to deepen the connection between them, push past any mental shields she might possess and peek into her mind, glimpse her memories.

Amun would be careful. He wouldn’t let his demon wipe her brain clean—the biggest complication of all. Secrets liked to play, to steal memories and leave the victims with nothing but static. Amun would pull away the moment the fiend tried to do so. Unless she proved to be a Hunter, of course; then all bets were off.

Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew he’d feel, Amun lifted his arms. Gods, the sharp lance, the burn, worse than he’d expected. When he’d reached high enough, he allowed his hands to fall onto Haidee’s shoulders.

“Stop whatever you’re doing,” she admonished. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Just that small action caused him to moan and groan inside his head. Need … a moment. Must …

“Must? What do you need, baby? Tell me, and I’ll take care of it.”

Baby, again. She’d “take care” of it, of him, as if she cared. Truly cared. He couldn’t soften, no matter how much he liked the way she treated him. Touch your … temples, he said, guilt suddenly flooding him. He’d just requested her aid for her possible downfall.

Did she have any idea what he could do?

“You getting kinky on me?” she asked with a chuckle. She probably meant to distract him from his pain. She did, just not the way she’d intended. Her jest had his gaze fastening on her lips, imagining the thrust of her tongue inside his mouth.

His body reacted, blood heating, pooling between his legs. Damn it! Just … need … temples.

“Okay, okay. I’ll help you.”

No, she didn’t know. Her fingers wrapped around his wrists, so cool, so welcome—so steady—and lifted without any hesitation. No questions about his motives, his intentions. She trusted him absolutely. When his hands reached her temples, she flattened her palms, pushing his closer, providing skin-to-skin contact.

“Like this?”

Yes. Such faith. Too much. He told himself he was disgusted by that, not delighted. It was a trick to distract him, surely.

Her lashes fluttered closed, and she nibbled on her lush bottom lip. Such straight, white teeth. Once again his body reacted. He wanted those teeth on him … lower … moving up and down on his shaft. He wanted her hands reaching out, tugging at his balls. He wanted her tongue flicking over the slit of his erection, tasting.

I need to get laid, he told himself darkly.

The corner of Haidee’s lips quirked. “Do you now? I’m invited, I hope,” she said with husky entreaty.

Shit. She’d heard. And she wanted to join him. Wanted him deep inside her, rocking them both to satisfaction. Don’t think about that now. He’d forget he needed to learn about her and simply drag her on top of him. Besides, she could be lying, purposely distracting him as he’d suspected.

“I won’t if you won’t,” she said with a warm chuckle.

What?

“Think about having sex.”

Damn it. He had to stop talking to himself. She heard every unshielded thought.

How did his friends stand him? He constantly read their minds, knew their every private—and mostly pornographic—contemplation. They rarely chastised him, however, and never made him feel like a nuisance. He’d always figured they didn’t care. They must have found a way to hide their true feelings from his demon, though. No way they liked his ability.

He owed everyone in this house an apology.

Amun forced his mind to quiet and his own lashes to close. He’d done this a thousand times before, the process as ingrained as breathing. He’d done it for Sabin, his leader. For their cause. He blanked his mind and darkness enveloped him, then he concentrated on his senses. Her skin, cool and soft. Her scent, so earthy. He could hear the rasp of her next exhalation … focused on the chilly breath wafting over him … allowed his demon to reach out.

Colors exploded, chasing away the black. Suddenly images began to take shape. He saw a sky of the brightest azure, a lush green meadow, untouched by time. A scattering of silver stones. Trees missing their leaves, but with sleek, twisted branches. Two little girls running and laughing, playing chase, both wearing lovely pink linen robes, flaxen curls streaming behind them. Sisters. Both possessed hearts practically bursting with love.

Secrets purred in delight.

The reaction struck Amun as odd. Such an innocent memory, and not what the demon usually favored. Why did the fiend even care about this?

The image suddenly shifted, day replaced by night in an instant, leaving only one of the girls. Older now, her gray eyes sparking with tentative joy, as if she was afraid to hope but couldn’t help herself.

Her skin was sun-kissed and glowing with health, her cheeks rosy with vitality. She wore a linen robe of lavender this time, flowers of the same color pinned through her hair. Those curls … like ribbons of the very moonlight surrounding her.

This was a past version of Haidee, Amun realized as a gentle, spice-laden breeze caressed her. She stood at the edge of a veranda, looking down into a dappled, crystalline pond. She bore no tattoos, no streaks of pink in her hair, no piercings; she was innocence and optimism wrapped in an utterly stunning package.

“Are you nervous, my sweet?” a female voice asked from behind her.

Haidee turned, startled from her reverie. “I love when you call me that,” she replied sincerely. “Especially since you did not like me at first.”

“No. But that soon changed, did it not?”

“It did. And yes, yes. I’m nervous, but excited, too.”

They spoke in Greek.

Ancient Greek.

He’d heard the language before, Amun thought, and recently. When? Where?

The scene continued to play on, and Secrets continued to rifle through Haidee’s memories, dabbling here and there, the girl completely unaware. Then there was a purr, and Amun knew. Answers. His demon had found the answers.

No new images sprang up, not yet, but what the demon learned, Amun learned, too. Always. So, between one heartbeat and the next, he knew that Little Haidee and Sleeping Beauty Haidee were one and the same. They were this woman. And this woman was—

Responsible for Baden’s murder, he realized.

In a flash that lasted no more than a second, Amun saw Baden, hair soaked with blood and plastered to his scalp. Bodiless. He saw Haidee—Hadiee—as she’d once been, golden hair streaming down her back, naked, tanned skin luminous in the moonlight despite the hate radiating from her and the crimson-splatter all over her. He saw her friends, Hunters, swarming, battling his friends.

Horror blanketed him. The woman he’d lusted after had helped kill his best friend. The woman he’d thought to defend had helped snuff out the kindest soul he’d ever known. The woman he’d cradled at his side had destroyed the one man who’d stood between easily broken mortals and feral, foaming-at-the-mouth immortals still consumed by the evil of their new demons. The man who’d said, “Save the humans, do not hurt them.”

Baden had been the first to find himself in the darkness.

Baden had been the one to help the others do the same. Baden. Baden. Amun’s chest constricted so painfully, the barest hint of a gasp left him. He hadn’t made a single noise as the new demons had ravaged him, over and over again, but now he was helpless to hold the sound inside. Baden. Gone forever, because of this woman.

Each warrior had loved Baden like a brother, and each had felt as if they were his greatest confidant. That’s where the true beauty of the man had lain. His ability to captivate everyone around him. Which had been a miracle, considering the nature of his demon, Distrust.

Now, Amun held one of Baden’s killers in his hands. Cupped her temples as he’d once cupped Baden’s.

“Are you okay?” Haidee asked him, all concern and sweetness. Her grip on him tightened.

His horror was followed by a quick burst of confusion. How was this possible? She’d died. Hadn’t she? Yes. Yes. She. Had. Died. Hunters had used her as Bait—dressed her up like a pretty, helpless doll, sent her knocking on Baden’s door, begging for help. She had lured him straight into slaughter. The rest of the Lords had arrived just before he’d lost his head; they’d attacked. But even if they had arrived a few minutes sooner, they would have been too late. All the pieces of the game had been set.

Amun remembered the blood, the screams. Remembered Strider victoriously lifting Haidee’s head when the battle had finally ended, and like Baden, she’d been without a body. Not even an immortal could recover from that. Otherwise Baden, more alive than anyone he’d ever known, would have risen from the grave long ago. Instead, the man’s soul was trapped somewhere in the heavens.

The horror intensified to a shattering level. Amun couldn’t bear to remember. Not this. Because the longer he wallowed in the past, the more likely he was to lose his tether on the other deep, dark emotion buried inside him.

Rage. He would destroy the fortress in a way Maddox, keeper of Violence, never had, ruining their home stone by precious stone.

His hands fell away from Haidee and flopped to his sides. Her past faded, as did his own, and he could only stare at her, this present version, hate blending with his horror—then completely overshadowing it. Yet even with that earth-shattering hatred flooding him, the lust remained undiminished.

His body simply didn’t care what she’d done.

The pink tip of her tongue swiped over her mouth, leaving a sheen of moisture. Dust motes sparkled around her, and with the pink streaks in her hair and the haze of his vision, she looked like an X-rated fairy-tale fantasy come to dazzling life. Her shirt hugged her breasts, and her nipples were pearled into decadent peaks.

“What was that?” she breathed, unaware of the change in him.

What do you mean? The question snapped like a whip, lashing out before he could reason what to do, how to proceed.

“The … memories. Of me as a child, then as me as an adult, on the veranda.”

She’d seen what he’d seen, then. That had never happened before, either. And yet, she made no mention of Baden—but then, Amun hadn’t truly pictured his friend, had he? No, not true. He had. There’d been a split-second glimpse. She just hadn’t noticed, then, the other memories holding her attention captive.

Therefore, she would have no warning, no way to prepare herself for his retaliation. And he would. Retaliate. He needed to punish her, needed to hurt her. So very badly.

Still she didn’t seem to notice the darkness of his emotions. Gray eyes wide, she shook her head. “I’ve never remembered the good parts of my lives. Those memories are always taken from me.”

Lives. As in, more than one. Had she been reborn more than once? Was she here to finish the job she’d started all those centuries ago? To cause the destruction of everyone he loved?

How had she gotten here? Why hadn’t she tried to kill him already? Why did she treat him with such affection? He’d never had to wonder about someone’s motivation before. He knew the truth, always. Knew what those around him most wanted to hide. This uncertainty was maddening, increasing the depths of his rage.

Answers first, he decided. Except, he had no idea how to urge her in that direction.

“Whatever you did … however you did it …” Wonder consumed her expression, lighting her up. “Thank you.” With a shaky hand, she brushed a budding tear from the corner of her eye. “Thank you. I knew I’d once had a sister, but I hadn’t known what she looked like.”

And the other vision? Could he trust a single word out of her deceitful mouth?

“I have an idea, but I’m not sure.” Slowly she smiled, a vibrant smile of white teeth and untamed joy. “Maybe … maybe when we’re safe we can do this again? I can find out if I’m right.”

The smile he’d seen before, that barest hint of delight, should have warned him of the devastating impact a full-on smile would cause. It hadn’t. He sucked in a breath, lost in her—and never wanting to be found. The gray of her eyes lightened so much he could see tiny flecks of blue. The rose in her cheeks deepened, his fingers itching to discover if the color warmed her flesh, or if those cheeks were as deliciously chilled as the rest of her.

He couldn’t soften, he reminded himself darkly. Couldn’t crave her in any way.

“What?” she asked, suddenly unsure. She’d finally noticed the change in him. “You’ve never looked at me like that before.”

How am I looking at you? Like he wanted to stab her? He would. Soon. For Baden. For the others who still mourned the loss of their friend.

“Like I’m … edible.” She leaned down, her breasts rubbing his chest, her breath fanning over his ear. “I like it,” she whispered.

He could only sit there, wanting desperately to grab her, hold her there—to choke her, he assured himself—but unable to make his useless body cooperate. Then, as if she hadn’t just sent a thousand bolts of white-hot need—to choke her—through him, she straightened, returning them to the business at hand.

“Okay. So. We can’t leave yet, which means we have to prepare. Maybe … maybe we can blockade ourselves in here. That might buy us some time.”

Leave? She meant to leave with him? Without the artifacts she’d mentioned? Without trying to pry information out of him? That made no sense. Unless …

Prepare for what? His execution?

“The Lords.” She popped to her feet and slowly spun. “I’ll have to shut the door between the rooms.” As she spoke, she rushed to the wall. She hooked her fingers around the edge of the “door,” and pulled.

Scraaape.

Gradually, the hole closed. Haidee then shoved the dresser against the exit he hadn’t known about, preventing anyone from opening it from the other side. Well, anyone of normal strength. She did the same to the front door, using his vanity.

Amun watched her, no closer to answers now than he’d been before traipsing through her head. Perhaps even further away. She was serious about protecting him. Despite who and what he was.

“If you continue to heal so rapidly, and they continue to stay away, we might be able to fight them when they finally bust inside. We can escape. And I know, I know. Our motto is ‘die if you must, but take as many Lords as you can with you.’ And I was totally prepared to do that when I thought you couldn’t be moved. But sometimes it’s better to get out and come back later, you know?”

You hate the Lords? he asked, just to discover what she’d say.

“Hate is a mild word, don’t you think?” She never ceased her efforts to blockade them.

She had told the truth. Shocking. Why?

“I have my reasons, and you have yours.” She attempted to wrench the mirror from the vanity. Hoping to shatter the glass and use the shards as blades? “We don’t talk about them, remember?”

No. I don’t remember. Now, what would she say to that?

Finally she paused, her sharp gaze whipping to him. “You don’t remember our past?”

She thought they had a past. No. Should I? Carefully, he had to tread carefully.

Her eyelids slitted, evidence of the predator that lurked inside. “I swear to God, baby. I’ll make them pay for every injury they inflicted on you.”

Baby again. And she meant to seek revenge on his behalf? He still couldn’t, wouldn’t, soften, but something was wrong here. The knowledge changed the direction of his rage. She wasn’t pretending to like him; she actually liked him. And when Amun looked past his own emotions, he realized Secrets sensed no malice in her. Not directed at him, at least. And even as unreliable as the demon had been since Amun had woken up, he found he couldn’t refute that.

Haidee’s fingers curled over the mirror’s frame so tightly her knuckles leached of color. After a few seconds of deep breathing, she released the wood and straightened.

What are you doing? he asked.

“We need weapons.” Her gaze circled the room—she did that a lot, he realized, and thought it was a defensive instinct—before landing on his closet.

She strode forward, disappeared inside. He had multiple weapons stashed inside, but he knew she wouldn’t find them. No one could hide things quite like Amun. What he wanted to remain unseen, remained unseen. Soon she exited with one of his shirts wrapped around her fist, and that was all. Still, satisfaction radiated from her. Barely a second passed before she reached the mirror and punched, punched again, a hard jab, jab.

“They have a whole wardrobe in there,” she said. “This room must belong to one of them.” The glass shattered against that second thrust, and she released the material from her grip, letting it float to the floor.

One of them, she’d said. As he’d suspected, she hefted several shards, tested their weight, turned them in the light. With a nod, she sheathed several in her pockets.

Haidee.

She jolted as if startled. “I’m sorry. Yes?” Who … am I?

“You don’t know your name, either?” A frown darkened her expression. “Your name is Micah. We’ve been dating for about seven months.”

Micah, like the tattoo on her arm. Micah, her “baby.” That’s who she thought he was? And I’m a Hunter?

“Yes.”

Like you?

“Yes.” So easily admitted, without a care. Unless she was a grade A actress capable of fooling a demon, she truly believed what she said, that he was Micah, a Hunter.

Knots formed in Amun’s stomach, then sharpened into daggers, cutting at him. So there it was. Proof, by her own admission, that she was his enemy. He needed to kill her before she discovered the truth about him. Before she thought to fight him, to hurt him when he couldn’t really defend himself.

And as she’d just locked them inside this room, effectively trapping herself in his presence, all he had to do was summon her over, wrap his hands around her pretty neck, choke as he’d already wanted, and twist. He might be weak, the action might pain him, but he wouldn’t back down. He couldn’t.

Haidee, he projected to her, the word a croak, even in his mind.

“Yes?”

Don’t do it, part of him cried. She was sweet and lovely and utterly luscious.

Secrets might even have whimpered, eager to return to her mind and play rather than destroy.

The other part of Amun recalled her past deeds, her current motto. “Die if you must, but take as many Lords as you can with you.” The moment she realized he wasn’t this Micah—Amun’s hands fisted, how he despised the bastard … for no other reason than he was a Hunter—she would attack. There would be no stopping her if he failed to act. And fast.

Determined, he lifted his chin. Come here.