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  “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.

  “Why did…friends stab you?”

  He didn’t discuss his curse, not even with the very men who suffered alongside him. He should not discuss it with Ashlyn. Anyone but her, in fact, but that didn’t stop him. Looking at her, seeing her grimace from pain, he would have done anything to distract her. “They stab me because they must. Like me, they are damned.”

  “That…explains nothing.”

  “That explains everything.”

  Several minutes ticked by in silence. She began squirming, as if preparing for another round with the bowl. He had made her ill; he owed her anything she desired. He opened his mouth and let the tale of his life spill from him. “Here is a story for you. I am immortal, and I’ve walked the earth since the beginning of time, it seems.”

  As he spoke, he felt her muscles loosen their vise-grip on her bones. “Immortal,” she echoed as if tasting the word. “Knew you were more than human.”

  “I was never a human. I was created a warrior, meant to guard the king of gods. For many years, I served him well, helping to keep him in power, protecting him even from his own family. But he did not think me strong enough to guard his most precious possession, a box formed from the bones of the dead goddess of oppression. No, he commanded a woman to do it. She was known as the greatest female warrior, true, but my pride was stung.” Thankfully, Ashlyn remained relaxed. “Thinking to prove a mistake had been made, I helped release the demons inside upon the world. And in punishment, I was bonded to one.” He wound his arm around her waist and gently rubbed her stomach, hoping the action would soothe her.

  She expelled a slight breath. Of relief? He hoped. “Demon. I suspected.”

  Yes, she had. He still didn’t understand why she admitted it so readily.

  “But you’re good. Sometimes,” she added. “That’s why your face changes?”

  “Yes.” She thought him good?

  Filled with pleasure, he continued his story. “I knew the moment I had been breached, for there was a shock inside me, as if parts of me were dying, making room for something else, something stronger than myself.” It had been the first time he had ever understood the concept of death—and little had he known just how intimately he would soon come to understand it.

  Another delicate sigh escaped her. If she actually understood what he was saying now, he couldn’t tell. At least she wasn’t crying, wasn’t writhing in pain.

  “For a while, I lost touch with my own will and the demon had total control of me, forcing me to do—” All manner of evils, he mentally finished, visions of blood and death, smoke and ash and utter desolation filling his mind. He could barely tolerate the knowledge himself and would not taint Ashlyn with it.

  To the very second, he recalled how the spirit’s hold on him loosened, like a dream-haze clearing, the black smoke in his mind wafting away in a sweetly scented morning breeze, leaving behind only its hated memory.

  The demon had compelled him to kill Pandora, the guardian it hated above all else. Bloodlust at last appeased, it had receded to the back of Maddox’s mind, leaving Maddox to deal with the damage.

  “Gods, to go back,” he said on a sigh. “To walk away from that box.”

  “Box,” Ashlyn said, startling him. “Demons…I’ve heard something about that.” She opened her mouth to say more, then jerked. Crying out, she reached blindly for the bowl.

  Maddox moved faster than he ever had before, leaping from the bed and swiping the bowl in seconds. The moment he held it out, she leaned over and retched. He cocooned her against his stomach through the worst of it, cooing to her like he’d never done to another. Giving comfort was new to him, and he prayed he did it correctly. He’d never even comforted his friends. They were all as private about their torment as he was.

  When Ashlyn finished, he settled her back on the mattress and once more cleaned her face. Then he turned his gaze to the ceiling. “I am sorry for the way I spoke of you,” he whispered to the heavens. “But please do not harm her for my sins.”

  Peering back down at her, he felt as if an eternity had passed since he’d first met her, as if he’d known her forever and she had always been a part of his life. A life that would collapse into nothingness if she were taken from him. How was that possible? Only an hour before, he had convinced himself that he might be able to slay her. Now…

  “Let her live,” he found himself adding, “and I’ll do anything you want.”

  Anything? a quiet voice asked, relish in the undertones. Not the voice of Violence, he realized, or any voice he had heard before.

  Maddox blinked, stilled. A moment passed before his shock settled into mere confusion. “Who’s there?”

  Startled by his outburst, Ashlyn dragged her red-rimmed eyes to him. “I am,” she croaked.

  “Pay no attention to me, beauty. Sleep,” he said softly.

  Who do you think I am, warrior? Can you not guess who has the power to speak to you thus?

  Another shocked moment passed before the answer took root. Could it be? A…Titan? He had sent pleas to the Greeks for years, and never had he been addressed within seconds. He’d never been addressed at all. And hadn’t the Titans called Aeron to the heavens like this, with only a voice?

  Hope—and dread—unfurled inside him. If these Titans were benevolent, if they would help, Maddox thought perhaps he would do anything. If they were malicious, however, and made things worse…His hands clenched.

  They’d ordered Aeron to kill four innocent women; they could not be good. Damn this! How should he now interact with this being? Humbly? Or would that be seen as weakness?

  Anything? the voice insisted. There was a disembodied laugh. Think carefully before you answer, and know that your woman could very well die.

  Maddox glanced at Ashlyn’s trembling body, her pain-contorted features, and remembered the way she’d been. The way she’d looked at him with ecstasy and asked him to savor the silence with her. The way she’d stood in front of him a
nd thanked him for food. The way she’d leapt to guard him from his own friends.

  Until then—now—no one had needed him. That she did brought a heady rush and deepened his awareness of her. I cannot let her suffer like this, he thought.

  He would have to take a chance on the Titans. Whatever they truly wanted from the warriors here, whatever their purpose, and whether or not they were indeed using the Hunters and Ashlyn to punish him for his lack of respect, he would take a chance.

  He suppressed a curse, suspecting he was going to suffer as he’d never suffered before. But that didn’t change his answer. “Anything.”

  REYES WAS PANTING AS he raced toward Lucien’s room. He had lost a lot of blood these past few days. More so than usual. But then, the need for pain, that terrible, beautiful pain, had ridden him harder than ever lately.

  He did not know why and could not stop it. He could no longer control it, really. The last few days, he had stopped trying. What the spirit of Pain wanted, the spirit of Pain received. Now, with every day that passed, he lost a little more of his desire to control it. A part of him wanted to embrace it, to finally lose himself. To experience the numb nothingness every flicker of suffering brought.

  That was not the way it had always been. For a time, he had learned to live with the demon, to coexist somewhat peacefully. Now…

  He rounded a corner, mottled shards of light seeping through the side window and blurring his vision. He didn’t slow. He’d never seen Maddox so torn and frightened. So vulnerable. And over a human, a stranger. Bait. Reyes did not like it, but he counted Maddox as a friend and would help in whatever way he could.

  He would help even though he desperately wanted things back to normal, where Maddox raged and died at night, then acted as if he hadn’t a care the next morning. Because when Maddox pretended that everything was all right, it was easier for Reyes to pretend, too.

  Those thoughts skidded to a halt as Lucien came into view.

  He was seated on the floor, knees bent and head resting in his upraised hands. His halo of dark hair was in spikes, as if he’d tangled his fingers through it too many times to count. He appeared dejected, pushed past his limits. Reyes swallowed a hard lump.

  If the situation could rock the normally stoic Lucien…

  The closer he came, the more the scent of roses thickened the air. Death always smelled like flowers, poor bastard. “Lucien,” he called.

  Lucien gave no reaction.

  “Lucien.”

  Again, no response.

  Reyes reached him, leaned down and cupped his shoulder, then gave a shake. Nothing. He crouched and waved a hand in front of the warrior’s eyes. Nothing. Lucien’s gaze was vacant, his mouth immobile. Understanding dawned. Rather than physically leaving the fortress as he usually did, flashing from one location to another in seconds, Lucien had left spiritually.

  That was something he rarely did, because it left his body vulnerable to attack. Most likely he’d wanted something, even an unresponsive form, guarding his bedroom door while he was out collecting souls.

  I’m on my own, then. Only one thing left to try.

  Standing, Reyes gripped the doorknob to his friend’s room, unlocked it and burst inside.

  All four women were seated on the bed, heads bent together, whispering, but they lapsed into silence the moment they spotted him. Each of them paled. One of them gasped. The youngest, a pretty little blonde, stood to obviously shaky legs and assumed a warrior stance meant to block him from her family. She raised her chin, eyes daring him to approach.

  His body hardened. His body hardened every time she was near him. Last night, he’d even smelled her. Sweet powder and thunderstorms. He’d spent hours sweating, panting and so aroused he’d considered fighting Maddox for Ashlyn, thinking it was she who had reduced him to such a state.

  This woman was pleasure and heaven, a feast to his castigated senses. There were no scars on her, no signs of hard living. Only flawless, sun-kissed skin and bright green eyes. Only a full red mouth made for laughing—and kissing.

  If she’d known a single moment of pain, it didn’t show. And that drew him. Even though he knew better. His relationships could only ever end badly.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” the little blond angel snapped, hands balling at her sides.

  Planning to strike him? A laughable concept, that. She had no way of knowing he would enjoy it. That he would want more and more and more, until he was begging her to strike him again. I would do the world a favor if I let the Hunters chop off my head.

  Gods, he hated himself. Hated what he was and what he was forced to do. What he now craved.

  “If you’ve come to rape us, you should know that we’ll fight you. We won’t be taken easily.” She raised her chin another notch and squared her shoulders.

  Such courage from one so small amazed him, but he could not be sidetracked from his current task. “Do any of you know how to heal a human?”

  She blinked at him, losing a little of her bravado. “Human?”

  “A female. Like you.”

  She blinked again. “Why?”

  “Do you?” he insisted, not bothering to answer her. “We haven’t much time.”

  “Why?” she repeated.

  Reyes stalked toward her, savagery in every step. To her credit, she did not back down. The closer he came, the more her scent filled his nostrils, heady, alluring. Like the girl herself. Unexpectedly, his anger lessened. “Answer me, and I might let you live another day.”

  “Danika. Answer him. Please.” The oldest of the women reached out a trembling, wrinkled hand and latched onto the girl’s arm, trying to tug her back to the bed, away from him.

  Danika. The name rolled through his mind. Rolled over his tongue, too, he realized, speaking it aloud before he could stop himself. “Danika.” His cock jerked in response. “Pretty. I am called Reyes.”

  The girl resisted the old woman, shaking off her hold. She continued to face Reyes. Her eyebrows and lashes were as pale as the hair on her head. She would be pale between her legs, he suspected.

  He couldn’t help himself. Despite the need to hurry, he mentally stripped her. Curve after curve greeted him, a banquet to his starved gaze. Large breasts tipped by raspberry nipples. Soft, flat belly. Soft yet strong thighs.

  Reyes no longer allowed himself to bed humans, choosing to take care of himself when the need arose. His passions were too dark, too painful for most women to endure. This one, with her softness and her aura of innocence, would be more hurt and disgusted than most. There was no doubt in his mind. Worse, the women he slept with became drunk on his demon, seeking and inflicting pain as intently as he did.

  Even if all he wanted from Danika was a kiss, she would not be able to handle it. He might not be able to handle it. The thought of bruising her, of making her bleed, of ruining her, left a hollow ache inside his chest.

  “I will ask one more time. Are any of you healers?” he barked, suddenly eager to escape Danika and her taunting innocence.

  She blanched at his harshness, but still did not retreat. “If—if I am a healer, will you swear to spare my mother, sister and grandmother? They haven’t done anything wrong. We came to Budapest to get away, to say goodbye to my grandpa. We—”

  He held up a hand and she fell silent. Hearing about her life was dangerous; already he wanted to wrap her in his arms and comfort her for a loss that had obviously shaken her. “Yes, I will spare your lives if you save her,” he lied.

  If the Titans could be believed, Aeron would soon break, becoming crazed for blood and death. He would exist for no other purpose than killing these women. Giving them a little peace of mind during their final days was merciful, Reyes rationalized. Final days. He didn’t like the reminder.

  Danika’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and she cast a determined glance at her family. Each woman was shaking her head no. Danika nodded.

  Reyes frowned, not understanding the byplay between them. Did she, too, lie? Finally, Danika
turned back to him. He forgot his confusion as their gazes locked. Or he simply didn’t care about the answer. Her angelic beauty was more enthralling than Pandora’s box, promising absolution it couldn’t possibly deliver. And yet, a part of him wished that it could. Just for a moment.

  She closed her eyes, released a long, heavy breath and said, “Yes. I’m a healer.”

  “Come with me, then.” He didn’t take Danika’s hand, too afraid of what would happen if he touched her. Afraid of a mere human? Coward. No, smart. If he did not know what she felt like, he could not miss the sensation when she was dead.

  What if Lucien thought of a way to save her? What if—

  “Come.” Refusing to waste any more time, Reyes pivoted and strode from the room, forcing Danika to follow. He locked the other women inside, then sprang into motion, trying to maintain a healthy distance between himself and the angel.

  OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, Danika Ford chanted in her mind. Her heart was trying to fight its way out of her chest, banging on her ribs as if they were a door with frozen hinges. Why did I do this? I’m not a healer.

  She’d taken an anatomy class in college, yeah. She’d taken a CPR class in case Grandpa had a heart attack in front of her, sure. But she wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. She was just a struggling artist who’d thought a vacation would help heal the grief and sorrow brought on by her grandfather’s death.

  What was she going to do if this hard, steely-eyed soldier—clearly that’s what he was, a soldier—wanted her to perform surgery of some sort? She wouldn’t do it, of course. She couldn’t put someone’s life in jeopardy like that. But anything else…maybe. Probably. She had to save her family. It was their lives in jeopardy now.

  Ohmygod. Trying to find a measure of tranquility, she studied her captor’s back as he paced in front of her. He had tanned skin and black-as-midnight eyes. He was tall with the widest shoulders she’d ever beheld. She’d seen him once before, and he hadn’t smiled then, either. There’d been pain in his eyes, then and now. There’d been fresh cuts on his arms, then and now.