The Darkest Night lotu-2 Page 11

  Feminine fists beat against the frame. "Let us go! Let us go, do you hear me?"

  "We hear you, woman," Reyes said. "I'm sure the dead hear you, as well."

  That Reyes, the most serious of the bunch, had cracked a joke was disturbing. Only when circumstances were dire did he resort to humor.

  This was a nightmare. After centuries of rigid routine, Maddox suddenly had a woman to interrogate, then destroy before she could be further used against him. He had a friend to save from an unthinkable command. And he had gods to appease. Gods he wasn't even sure how to approach.

  These Titans were unknown entities. If he asked for mercy and they ordered him to do something vile—something he refused to do—the situation would most assuredly become worse than it was now.

  "Why don't I touch them?" Torin suggested, turning back to the group. His eyes were as bright and green as the girl's inside the room. While hers had been filled with anger, his were filled with despair. "If they die of disease, no one will have to worry about his conscience." Except Torin.

  "No," Aeron said at the same moment Paris shouted, "Hell, no."

  "No disease," Lucien agreed. "Once it starts, it's impossible to control."

  "We'll keep the bodies contained," Torin said, his determination clear.

  Lucien let out another sigh. "That won't work, and you know it. Disease always spreads."

  "Disease!" the girl cried. "You're going to infect us with a disease? Is that why you brought us here? You disgusting, loathsome, rotten pieces of—"

  "Hush," another female voice commanded. "Don't incite them, Dani."

  "But, Grandma, they—"

  Their voices trailed off. The girl was probably being dragged away from the door. Maddox liked her courage. It reminded him of Ashlyn, how she had stood up to him in the cell and demanded he lift his shirt. She had wanted to run—the desire had shone brightly in her eyes—but she hadn't. Just the memory caused his blood to heat and his body to harden. She had even stroked his wound, sparking something to life inside him. Something he hadn't understood.

  Tenderness, perhaps?

  He shook his head in denial. He would fight that emotion until his last breath—which should take place in about thirteen hours, he thought wryly. He did not, would not, have tenderness for Bait, or a divine punishment, or whatever she was.

  Proof—next time he saw her he would take her hard and fast, pounding…pounding… She would moan and scream his name. Her thighs would tighten around his waist and—No, no. Of its own accord, the image realigned in his head, shifting to please Violence.

  She would be on her stomach, braced on her hands and knees. That lovely hair would cascade down her elegant back and he would grab hold of it, tugging. Her neck would arch; her lips would part on a gasp of pleasure-pain. In and out he would pound, her sheath hot and wet. Tight. Yes, she would be tighter than a fist. His testicles would slap at her legs.

  When I finally have Ashlyn in my bed, I'm going to be gentle. Remember?

  That thought was ignored. She would beg for more, and he would give it to her. He would—

  "This is becoming tiresome." Aeron pushed him, hard, slamming him into the wall. "You're panting and sweating and your eyes are starting to glow with red fire. About to erupt, Violence?"

  The image of Ashlyn, naked and aroused, vanished—and that infuriated the spirit, who attempted to jump through Maddox's skin and attack. Maddox found himself snarling, too, craving another glimpse of her in his mind.

  "Calm down, Maddox." Lucien's serene voice penetrated the haze. "Keep this up and we'll be forced to chain you. Who will protect Ashlyn then, hmm?"

  His blood chilled, sobering him. They would do it, he knew they would, and chains he could not allow. Not during the day. At night, yes. He was a menace then and there was no other way. I'm a menace now. But if he were bound now, when he was barely hanging on to his sense of self, he might as well admit defeat and stop trying to be anything other than a demon.

  All of the men were staring at him, he noticed.

  "I'm sorry," he grumbled. Something was very wrong with him. This hair-trigger dance with the spirit was utterly ridiculous. Worse, it was embarrassing. They usually fought each other, but not like this.

  Maybe he needed more time in the gym. Or another round with Aeron.

  "Good?" Lucien asked him. How many times would he be forced to ask that today?

  Maddox gave a stiff nod.

  Lucien braced his arms behind his back and regarded each man. "Since that's settled, let's discuss the reason I brought you here."

  "Let's discuss the reason you brought the women here," Paris interjected, "rather than leaving them in the city. Yeah, Aeron has a job to do, but that doesn't explain—"

  "The women are here because we didn't want them leaving Buda, perhaps compelling Aeron to follow," Lucien said, cutting him off. "And I wanted you to see them so that you wouldn't kill them if you caught them wandering around the fortress. If they manage to get loose, just bring them back to my room and lock them inside. Don't talk to them, don't hurt them. Until we figure out how to free Aeron from this deed, the women are our unwilling guests. Agreed?"

  One by one, the men nodded. What else could they do?

  "For now, leave them to me and relax. Rest. Go about your day. You'll be needed soon enough, I'm sure."

  "I, for one, plan to drink myself into oblivion." Aeron scoured a hand down his face. "Women in the house," he muttered, adding as he stalked away, "Why don't we invite the whole city over for a party?"

  "A party would be fun," Torin said, once again amused. "Might help me forget all this hive-inducing male bonding." And then he, too, was off.

  Reyes didn't say a word. Just unsheathed a blade and stomped down the hall, leaving no doubt about what he planned to do. Maddox would have offered to cut him, to whip him or beat him and spare Reyes the agony of self-infliction, but he'd offered before and always the answer was an abrupt no.

  He could understand Reyes's need to do it on his own. Being a burden was almost as bad as being possessed. They all had their demons—literally—and Reyes didn't want to make it worse for any of them.

  At the moment, though, Maddox might have welcomed the distraction.

  "I'll see you losers later," Paris said. "I'm going back to the city." Fine lines of strain bracketed his eyes—eyes that were now a dull blue rather than bright with satisfaction. "I didn't have a woman last night or this morning. All this—" he waved a hand toward the door "—has fucked with my schedule. And not in a good way."

  "Go," Lucien told him.

  The warrior hesitated and glanced toward the door. He licked his lips. "Unless, of course, you'd allow me inside your bedroom…"

  "Go." Lucien gestured impatiently.

  "Their loss." Paris shrugged and disappeared around the corner.

  Maddox knew he should offer to guard the women. After all, he was probably the reason they were here. But he needed to see Ashlyn. No, not needed. Wanted. Better. He did not need anything. Especially a human with questionable motives who was already marked for death.

  But not knowing what these Titans would do next, he realized he did not want to waste another moment. He would go to Ashlyn even though he hadn't completely subdued the demon. Besides, he might never be calm when it came to that woman. And it was better to do what he wanted with her now, before he was forced to—he could not even bring himself to think it.

  "Lucien," he began.

  "Go," his friend said again. "Do whatever you need to do to get yourself under control. Your woman—"

  "Ashlyn is not up for discussion," Maddox responded, already knowing what Lucien meant to say. Your woman needs to be taken care of as soon as possible. He knew that, too.

  "Just get her out of your system, then do what needs doing so that at least part of our lives can return to normal."

  Maddox nodded and turned, part of him wondering if his normal life was worth returning to.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

&n
bsp; Maddox stepped into his bedroom, unsure of what he'd find. A sleeping Ashlyn? A freshly bathed, naked Ashlyn? A ready-to-fight Ashlyn?

  A ready-for-pleasure Ashlyn?

  To his irritation, his heart drummed erratically inside his chest. His palms were sweating. Fool, he chastised himself. He was not a human, a servant to fear, nor was he inexperienced. And yet, he wasn't exactly sure how to handle this woman, this… punishment.

  What he didn't expect to find was an unconscious Ashlyn, sprawled on the floor, a puddle of crimson—blood?—around her, soaking her hair and clothes.

  Darkness shuddered through him. "Ashlyn?" He was at her side in the next instant, crouching down, gently rolling her over and scooping her into his arms. Wine, only wine. Thank the gods. Droplets splashed her too-pale face and dripped onto him. He almost smiled. Just how much had she drunk?

  She weighed so little he would have been unaware he held her if not for the low-voltage tingles seeping from her skin into his. "Ashlyn, wake up."

  She didn't. In fact, she seemed to slip deeper into unconsciousness, the movement behind her eyelids ceasing.

  His throat was tight, and he had to force the next words out. "Wake up for me."

  Not a moan, not a sigh.

  Worried by her lack of response, he carried her to the bed, ripping off her wet jacket in the process and tossing it aside. Though he didn't want to release her, he lay her on the mattress and cupped her face in his hands. Her skin was ice-cold. "Ashlyn."

  Still no response.

  Was she… No. No! Lead balls settled in his stomach as he flattened his palm over her left breast. At first he felt nothing. No gentle beat, no hard slam. He nearly belted out a curse to the heavens. Then, suddenly, there was a weak patter. A long pause. Another feeble patter-patter.

  She was alive.

  His eyes closed briefly, his shoulders sagging in relief. "Ashlyn." He gently shook her. "Come on, beauty. Wake up." What in the name of Zeus was wrong with her? He didn't have any experience with inebriated mortals, but he did not think this right.

  Her head lolled to the side; her eyelids remained closed. Her lips were tinted a pretty but unnatural blue. Sweat trickled down his temples. She was not simply inebriated. Had the night in that cell sickened her? No, there would have been signs before now. Had Torin inadvertently touched her? Surely not. She wasn't coughing or covered in pockmarks. What, then?

  "Ashlyn." I can't lose her. Not yet. He hadn't gotten enough of her, hadn't touched her as he'd dreamed, hadn't talked to her. He blinked in surprise. He wanted to talk with her, he suddenly realized. Not just sate himself inside her body. Not just interrogate her. But talk. Get to know her and find out what made her the woman she was.

  All thoughts of killing her vanished; thoughts of saving her took their place, strong, undeniable.

  "Ashlyn. Speak to me." He shook her again, helpless, not knowing what else to do. Cold continued to radiate from her, as if she'd been bathed in frost and dried in an arctic wind. He gripped the covers, pulled them up and tunneled them around her, trying to envelop her in warmth. "Ashlyn. Please."

  Even as he watched, bruises formed under her eyes. Was this to be his punishment instead? Watching her die slowly and painfully?

  The sensation of helplessness intensified. As strong as he was, he couldn't force her to respond. "Ashlyn." This time her name was a hoarse entreaty. He shook her yet again, hard enough to rattle her soul. "Ashlyn."

  Damn this. Still nothing.

  "Lucien!" he roared, gaze never leaving her. "Aeron!" As far away as he was from them, he doubted they could hear. "Help me!" Had Ashlyn called for help? Bending down, Maddox meshed his mouth against hers, trying to breathe his strength into her. Warmth… tingles…

  Her blue-tinted lips parted and she moaned. Finally. Another sign of life. He almost howled in relief. "Talk to me, beauty." He smoothed the wet hair from her face, disconcerted to find his hands trembling. "Tell me what's wrong."

  "Maddox," she rasped. Still her eyes remained closed.

  "I'm here. Tell me how to help you. Tell me what you need."

  "Kill them. Kill the spiders." She spoke so quietly, he struggled to hear.

  He brushed his fingers over her cheek as he glanced around the room. "There are no spiders, beauty."

  "Please." A crystal tear squeezed past her lid. "Won't stop crawling on me."

  "Yes, yes, I'll kill them." Though he didn't understand, he continued to trail his hands over her face, then her neck, then down her arms, stomach and legs. "They're dead now. They're dead. I promise."

  That seemed to relax her a little. "Food, wine. Poison?"

  He paled, felt the color leach from his face until he was likely as white as Ashlyn. He hadn't thought…hadn't considered… The wine had been made for them, the warriors, not for humans. Since human alcohol did little for them, Paris often mixed in droplets of ambrosia he'd stolen from the heavens and hoarded all these years. Was the ambrosia like a poison to humans?

  I did this to her. Maddox thought, horrified. Me. Not the gods. "Argh!" He slammed his fist into the metal headboard, felt his knuckles crack further and fill with blood. Unappeased, he punched the headboard again. The bed rattled and Ashlyn moaned in pain.

  Stop; don't hurt her. He forced himself to still, to breathe slowly, all the while willing himself to calm for the thousandth time that day. But the urge to brutalize was so dark, so bleak. So intense, it was nearly uncontrollable. Except for that brief time following his fight with Aeron, he'd been on edge all day and this only pushed him further. Any moment he might cross the threshold and cause irreparable harm.

  "Tell me how to help you," he repeated.

  "D-doctor."

  A human healer. Yes, yes. He'd have to take her into the city, for none of the Lords had any medical training. There had never been a need for it. What if this doctor wanted to keep her overnight? He shook his head. That, he couldn't allow. She could tell the Hunters what she'd learned here, what she'd seen—how best to defeat the warriors. What bothered him most, however, was the fear that someone could take her, hurt her, and he would not be able to save her.

  He would have to bring a doctor here.

  Maddox brushed another soft kiss on her cold, cold lips. Again there was a jolt—this one more muted than the last, as weak as Ashlyn herself. His hands curled into fists. "I'll find you a doctor, beauty, and bring him to the fortress."

  She moaned, and her long lashes finally fluttered open. Amber pools of pain stared up at him. "Maddox."

  "I won't be long, I swear it."

  "Don't…go." She sounded on the verge of tears. "Hurt. Hurt so bad. Stay."

  The need to give in and the need to fetch help warred inside him. In the end, he could not deny her. He strode to the door and shouted, "Paris! Aeron! Reyes!" The sound of his voice echoed off the walls. "Lucien! Torin!"

  He didn't wait for them, but stalked back to the bed. He intertwined his fingers with Ashlyn's. Hers were limp. "What can I do to ease your pain?"

  "Don't let go." She gasped out a shallow breath. Red striations streamed from the corners of her mouth. Was the poison spreading?

  "I won't. I won't." More than anything, he wanted to draw the pain away from her and into himself. What was a little more suffering to him? Nothing. But she was… what? He didn't have an answer for that.

  Groaning, she clutched her stomach, rolled to her side and curled into a ball. Maddox used his free hand to brush her hair behind her still-damp ear. "Is there anything else I can do?"

  "Don't know." She watched him, expression glassy. "Going to… die?"

  "No!" He hadn't meant to shout, but the denial had escaped on a burst. "No," he repeated more softly. "This is my fault and I won't let you."

  "On purpose?"

  "Never."

  "Why then?" she breathed. Groaned again.

  "Accident," he said. "That wine wasn't meant for your kind."

  Whether she heard him or not, she gave no indication. "Going to—" she ga
gged, covered her mouth with her hand "—vomit."

  He grabbed the empty fruit bowl and held it out. She pushed herself to the edge of the bed and emptied her stomach. He clasped her hair back, away from the line of fire.

  Was purging herself good or bad?

  Ashlyn fell back onto the mattress just as Reyes and Paris raced into the room. Both men looked confused. "What?" Reyes demanded.

  "What's wrong?" Paris asked. He was sweating, the lines of strain deeper around his eyes.

  Reyes's arms were bleeding again, his hand swollen, and he held two blades, clearly ready for battle. His gaze took in the scene and his confusion intensified. "Need help with the death-blow?"

  "No! The wine… the ambrosia Paris puts in it. I left it for her." The confession spilled from him, dripping with guilt and desolation. "Save her."

  Paris wobbled, but managed to remain upright. "I don't know how."

  "You must! You've spent countless hours with humans!" Maddox barely leashed a deafening roar. "Tell me how to help her."

  "I wish I could." He mopped his moist brow with the back of his hand. "I've never shared our wine with others. It's ours."

  "Go and ask the other humans if they know what to do. If they don't, tell Lucien to flash into the city and find a doctor to bring here." Death was the only one of the warriors who could move from one place to another with a single thought.

  Reyes nodded and spun on his heel.

  Paris said, "I'm sorry, Maddox, but I'm at my limit. I need sex. I heard your call from the front door and came here instead of leaving. Shouldn't have. If I don't get into the city soon I'll…"

  "I understand."

  "Make it up to you later." Paris stumbled out and disappeared around the corner.

  "Maddox." Ashlyn moaned again. Sweat trickled from her temples. Her skin was still laced with blue, but was now so pallid he could see the tiny azure veins that swam underneath. "Tell me… a story. Something… mind off… pain." She closed her eyes, those lashes casting shadows on her cheeks again.

  "Relax, beauty. You should not be talking." He raced to the bathroom, emptied and cleaned the bowl and swiped a towel. He wet it down and returned, setting the bowl beside the bed—just in case. Her eyes were still closed. He thought she might have fallen asleep, but she tensed as he bathed her face. He settled behind her, unsure of what to say.