The Darkest Lie lotu-7 Read online

  Olivia upset that you left her behind? Amun signed, and William translated, his gaze then roving over the dark, misty water in search of another boat.

  A muscle ticked below Aeron's violet eyes. Eyes he, too, was moving over the water. "Yes."

  "How'd you manage it?" William asked, sounding genuinely curious rather than cheekily blithe for once. "I know women, and that one is more determined than most. And, well, you've got no backbone where she's concerned."

  Aeron ignored the jab. "Lysander helped."

  Lysander. An angel. An elite angel, at that. He was Olivia's mentor, the one who'd killed Aeron, and the only man powerful enough to keep a resourceful female like Olivia from following her man.

  "She'll hate me when this is over," Aeron added morosely.

  Amun caught the bulk of his thoughts. Aeron had nearly called this trip off to prevent such a thing from happening, and that had filled him with guilt. Olivia was his life, his future. He loved her more than he loved himself, more than he loved his friends. She was his everything. But he wouldn't be the warrior she'd fallen in love with if he'd left Legion here to die. Yet he hadn't been able to tolerate the thought of bringing innocent Olivia into this dark, evil place.

  She'd been here before, and several demons had attacked her and ripped off her wings. The memories still troubled her at times, and Aeron never wanted her to have to relive those helpless moments. So he'd tricked her into staying with Lysander, who now held her captive in the sky.

  In spite of everything, part of him wanted to go back for her and bring her here if that's what she wished. Anything to stop her from hating him.

  "Yeah, you're probably right," William replied after some thought involving knives, scissors and a tub of honey. He showed no mercy. But then, he never did. "Women aren't known for their forgiveness. Especially women who've been spending quality time with the minor goddess of Anarchy and a bunch of bloodthirsty Harpies."

  Aeron scowled at him, and the warrior just laughed. That laughter caused Aeron's aggression to spike and his paddling to increase in velocity. Gently, Amun removed the oars from his hands and took over.

  Because of the thickness of the mist, he could see very little in front of him. However, he began to see what looked to be pinpricks of orange-gold light. A crackling fire, perhaps? Were they close to the River Phlegethon?

  He turned just as slow and easy as he paddled to silently ask the others to verify. But as he moved, he spotted several ripples in the water. Ripples that weren't coming from their boat. His blood heated, and it had nothing to do with the two-hundred-degree temperature.

  Amun smoothly locked the oars in their holders and grabbed his guns. Aeron and William caught the significance of his gesture and followed suit.

  "What do you see?" William whispered as his gaze scanned the area.

  Aeron crouched on his belly, peering intently into the night. A moment passed, silent, taut. "There's another boat," he whispered back. "Several yards ahead."

  Amun opened his mind, allowing his demon to search for any incoming streams of conscious thought. All he heard was Must die, must die, must die.

  Charon, he realized, just as the other boat came into view. A figure wearing a long, black cloak stood in the center. He had flames instead of hair, and a face that was composed only of bone. Worse, with only the barest (yet still earth-shattering) glance, Amun realized Charon's eyes were deep black holes where thousands of souls seemed to dance...or writhe in pain.

  "Let me take care of this," William said.

  "By all means," Aeron replied.

  William stood, and the vessel rocked. "You know me, old friend. It is I, William the Beloved," he called. "We mean you no harm. We just want to pass through."

  Old friend? William the Beloved?

  Charon lifted both hands and pointed a bony finger at Aeron and William.

  Oh, shit. William's thoughts invaded Amun's mind. Guess I shouldn't have bagged his wife last time I was here.

  Wonderful.

  "What does being pointed at mean?" Aeron demanded softly.

  "It means we're on his hit list," William responded, sounding grimmer than Amun had ever heard him. "Be afraid. Be very afraid."

  Amun, the guardian had ignored. Which made no—The answer hit him, drifting to him from the creature's thoughts. Charon sensed the demon inside Amun and didn't care if he entered hell or not.

  Just as, this very morning, he hadn't minded if Galen entered. The memory washed through Amun's mind.

  "You demand payment, this I know," Galen had said just before tossing a severed human head into Charon's boat.

  Charon had nodded in acceptance, and swept his arm behind him so that Galen could pass. Only, Galen remained in place, jaw hardening. He looked over his shoulder, forward, over his shoulder again.

  Again, Charon swept his arm back to usher Galen along.

  Galen scrubbed a hand down his face. "I can't. Not yet. There's something I have to do on the surface first." His hands fisted. "Someone I have to kill before the bastard kills me. But I'll be back. And when I am, you'll remember that I've already paid for my entrance."

  "Uh, Amun, man," Aeron said, dragging Amun from his troubling vision. "You listening? Any ideas about what we should do? William says we can't look into the bastard's eyes without losing our own souls, and we can't touch him, either. If we do, he'll be able to compel our gazes to his."

  Charon's boat was inching forward, Amun saw, and sparks were now igniting over his fingertips. Kill, kill, kill, the boatman was thinking. The obsessive concentration he displayed didn't bode well.

  Options? Payment wouldn't work, not for them. Aeron was no longer possessed by a demon, and William was merely an immortal. Charon wouldn't let them pay to pass unless they were dead. Or missing their souls. And the boatman planned to do whatever was necessary to ensure either outcome.

  The first thing he planned? Splashing them.

  Thank the gods Olivia had supplied them with a vial of water from the River of Life. Found only in the heavens, a single drop could counteract the effects of this water. Only problem was, once they ran out, they were out. There'd be no more. Ever.

  Better for one man to use one drop than three men to use three drops. More than that, Amun's soul was tied to his demon, so Charon wouldn't want it. Which meant Amun was the only one who could look at and touch the guardian without consequence.

  Which meant Amun had to be the one to act.

  Have an idea, Amun signed. On my signal, propel our vessel to the shore.

  "Great. Someone else will be the hero for a change. But what's the signal?" William asked.

  This. Amun leaped at Charon, throwing them both into the river. Sizzling water enveloped him, practically burning away his clothing and peeling away his skin. But he held tight to Charon, caging the bony creature within his arms. Perhaps the water negated a little of the creature's ability, because Amun felt no compulsion to gaze at him. Most of his power remained, however. Skeletal hands pushed at him and those hands were a thousand times hotter than the water, like jolts of electricity straight to his heart, causing the organ to stutter to a halt.

  Still Amun held on.

  Soon, lack of oxygen began to fuzz his brain. He opened his mouth, accidentally swallowed a mouthful of that terrible, rotting liquid and gagged. Death crawled through him, destroying him cell by cell, filling him with decay. Weakening him.

  Charon wiggled loose.

  The boatman kicked his way to the surface. Though Amun's vision was dotting over with black, he fought his way up, too. Before he could discover whether Aeron and William were safe, Charon batted him back under with a hard elbow to the top of his head. Stars flashed behind his eyes. More of that disgusting water slid down his throat and into his stomach. A stomach now churning and burning with nausea.

  Again, Amun fought his way up. The moment he broke the surface, he sucked in as much air as he could. Good thing, too. His boat was out of sight, and Charon was pissed and now determined
to end Amun. Demon or not.

  As Amun treaded water, their eyes met. The souls were swirling, faster and faster, white blurs that hypnotized. And yet, Amun didn't lose his soul. Somehow, his demon kept him grounded.

  Punish, punish, punish, the creature was thinking. He grabbed Amun by the hair and shoved him under. This time, Amun wasn't strong enough to free himself. He could only flail, sucking in gulp after gulp, dying a little more with every second that passed.

  Dear gods. Was this it for him? His muscles seized, preventing all movement. Yes, this was it. The end. His body was shutting down. He'd lived so long, he should be happy about that. But he'd never fallen in love, cherished anyone the way his friends cherished their women, and found that he mourned the lost opportunity.

  Inside his head, Secrets roared. Roared so loud and long his muscles twitched back to life. Can't give up. Can't. Give. Up.

  His demon had never spoken to him before.

  Though it required every last bit of his strength, Amun kicked Charon in the chest, shooting them apart, and swam up and away. He glanced left, right, and spotted the shore because William was holding some type of glowing stick and waving him over.

  Determined, he breast-stroked toward the light. Until Charon grabbed hold of his ankle and stopped him. Secrets roared for a second time. Must...fight...

  Secrets even reached a mental claw toward the boatman and unleashed a stream of images inside his head. Good images. The few happy secrets Amun possessed. Secrets that had saved human lives. The giving of money. The giving of organs. Love from afar.

  Charon released him and clutched at his own bony temples. Panting, still dying inside, Amun worked his way to the shore.

  William reached for him, but Aeron stopped him. "You can't touch him. You'll weaken, too."

  Amun fell upon the ground, sharp rocks digging into his bare, blistered back.

  "Open your mouth," Aeron commanded. He was thinking: Never seen a man in this condition. Will the water be enough to save him? Oh, gods. How could I have brought him here? If he dies, it'll be my fault.

  Amun didn't have the strength to obey. The cool water Aeron tried to pour into his mouth dribbled over the side of his face. And damn it! That had been more than a drop.

  "Open, or I'll do it for you," William growled. He meant what he said.

  Amun finally managed to unhinge his jaw, prying his lips apart, and a second later a cool stream was dripping into his mouth, slowly chasing away the weakness and the burn.

  "That's enough," William said. "There's hardly any left."

  "Is he—"

  "He'll be fine. Look, the charred areas of his skin are weaving back together."

  "Yeah, but how long—" Abruptly, Aeron stopped talking.

  A few yards away, voices cackled. Amun didn't have to see to know multiple pairs of red eyes peeked around a bloodstained boulder. He could already hear their thoughts: Fresh meat.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BACK ON MY FEET and in fighting form, Gideon thought the next night. Well, perhaps "fighting form" was too strong a phrase. Barely-hanging-on-but-forcing-himself-into-action was a much better description. He led Scarlet through secret passageway after secret passageway in Cronus's palace, stumbling over his own feet every couple of steps.

  "Sure you're good?" Scarlet asked, squeezing his hand.

  "Of course," he lied smoothly. No way he'd turn around and go back to that bedroom. One, he'd make love to her. There wasn't time for that, and worse, she'd have to do all the work and he'd look like a jerk. More of a jerk than he already was. And two, vengeance waited.

  "Great. You're doing horribly. We should turn around and—"

  "Yes."

  "Argh! You're so frustrating. Well, are you sure you know where you're going?" she asked next.

  She wasn't a woman to suffer in silence.

  "Nope." Thousands of years had passed since he'd last been inside this heavenly citadel, but he remembered these hidden hallways. Gods knew he'd once used them enough, having been one of Zeus's trusted elite. He'd had to sneak the king to his mistresses and the mistresses to the king, all the while listening for plots against his majesty and watching for spies. Then and now, it helped that many of the walls were made of two-way glass.

  "Beautiful," Scarlet suddenly gasped out, tugging at him, trying to get him to stop.

  "We'll gawk at everything later." No, actually, they wouldn't. They'd be too busy torturing their son's murderer. Don't think about that until you find the bastard. The rage would consume him, and he'd use up what remained of his energy.

  She knew what he'd meant, knew they wouldn't be coming back. "But I...I've never seen anything like this."

  That's right, he thought with a pang of regret. Even though she was the daughter of a queen, she'd been treated like a slave her entire life, denied her birthright not only when all the Titans were imprisoned, but after they were freed, as well. Fuckers! He slowed his steps, allowing her to take in the stardust chandeliers, the glistening marble waterfalls, the orchids blooming straight out of the walls.

  How could her mother have kept this from her? How could the woman who'd given birth to her have treated her so poorly?

  Like you treated your own son?

  Gideon popped his jaw. Someone stole my memory of him, damn it.

  That didn't ease his guilt. He should have remembered that precious boy. Some part of him should have, at the very least. Yet, of all the times Gideon had seen flashes of Scarlet in his mind, he'd never seen flashes of Steel. He didn't have a single tattoo to represent and honor his dead son.

  I'm the worst fucking father in the world.

  Lies had nothing to say on the matter; it was as if the demon didn't care about the boy, living or dead, truth or lie, on any level.

  But Steel couldn't be a lie. No one would fake the pain Scarlet had projected upon his murder. Not even the actors Scarlet liked to eat with her eyes.

  With his free hand, Gideon scrubbed at his scalp. Even now, he couldn't remember his life with Scarlet. Couldn't fucking remember, even though their wedding was the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed. She'd glowed. Oh, had she glowed. With love, promise...hope. Just thinking of it, he was humbled.

  And yeah, he wanted her to look at him like that again. He didn't deserve it, but he couldn't stop the desire.

  He fingered the butterfly necklace once again clasped around his neck. Thank the gods Scarlet had found it and brought it to him. Even though she had every reason to hate him, she'd thought of him, looked out for him.

  She truly was far too good for him.

  "Can you imagine living here?" she asked with wonder. Wonder tinged with regret and sadness. "I mean, I've been forced to live in caves and crypts and this was my legacy. Wow. Just wow."

  "Believe me, I don't prefer to live below." Here, he was one of a thousand others who were just as strong as he was. If not stronger. There, he was a man of power.

  He wanted to be all-powerful in Scarlet's eyes. He wanted to be well able to provide for her.

  Hell, he might just buy her a palace of her own. Actually, no. He'd build the bitch with his bare hands.

  "Amazing." She tugged free of his hand, stopped and pressed her palms to the glass. Her own necklace clinked. "People actually read in those chairs?"

  He paused beside her and sighed. "Take your time. We don't need to reach Cronus's room, like, ASAP. He won't be returning for me soon, and we don't need to be long gone by then."

  "I know that, but why venture into his bedroom?" Her gaze was glued to the heavy velvet drapes and the gold-inlaid tables that filled the empty sitting room. No, not empty, he realized. Someone—a tall, blond male—was striding to the bookcase. "Can he hear us?" Scarlet whispered.

  Did she want him to? "Yes."

  "Oh. Good. So we can drool in peace."

  He didn't recognize the god, but that didn't stop Gideon from hating the male at first sight.

  "Anyway. As I was saying," she continued. "Why can't we ju
st head to the prison?"

  "We don't need a slave collar to open the gates of Tartarus."

  "Hell, no! I'm not wearing a slave collar. Not ever again!"

  "We have to wear it, smartie, not just hold it. Now. Do you not know who that is?" So I know the name of the next man I kill.

  "Of course I do. That's Hyperion, Titan god of Light. Gorgeous, isn't he?"

  Damn her and her attraction to blonds. "I might have known the face, but I don't know the name. I also don't know that Hyperion is a sociopath. He doesn't enjoy setting immortals on fire just to watch them burn and hear them scream."

  "Sexy."

  "You didn't meet him in prison?" he gritted out.

  "Met, yes. We didn't share the same cell, though. Unfortunately."

  If Scarlet thought to kiss another man the way she'd kissed Gideon, if she thought to allow another man to touch her the way Gideon had touched her, burning to death would be the least of her worries. Right now, she belonged to Gideon. She was his wife. He didn't share. At least, not anymore.

  Scowling, Gideon grabbed her hand and tugged her forward. "Not enough of that." His steps were clipped, his boots thumping into the onyx floor. They snaked a corner and another room came into view. A ballroom. Glittery sprites were darting throughout it, dusting and polishing the entire area.

  Around another corner, the hall tilted at a steep incline, and though his still-tired thighs hated the burn, he didn't slow. His growing anger gave him strength. Anger, not jealousy. He didn't do jealousy.

  "So who aren't you today?" He hadn't asked yet, he realized. But as always, once he wondered, he could think of nothing else. Say Lord. You had better say Lord.

  "Scarlet...Hyperion. Yes, that has a nice ring to it."

  Enough! At the top of the incline, Gideon stopped and spun. When Scarlet slammed into him, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. She kept her gaze averted and...was that...was she... Sure enough. Her lips were curling into a smile. She was fighting laughter, the witch.

  Gideon released her, his anger draining. Anger, not jealousy. "You're not begging for a spanking, you know that?"

  "I—" Her words cut off as she gasped. Once more she pressed herself against the glass, her amusement forgotten. "That's Mnemosyne. My aunt."