The Darkest Night lotu-2 Read online

  Man and spirit bellowed in unison. There was no sign of the Hunters on the hill, which meant they were already a good distance away. Sweet gods, the Hunters had her. The Hunters had touched Torin and had then touched Ashlyn.

  Sick to his stomach, he barreled toward the entertainment room. He removed the gloves and extra T-shirt along the way, dropping them on the floor wherever he happened to be.

  "Towels?" Lucien asked when he spotted him. Obviously, he hadn't heard Maddox's cries for help. But he saw his friend's expression and frowned.

  Maddox told the group what he'd discovered, the broken, panicked admission rushing from him. Each of them snapped to attention and clamored around him. Each of them paled.

  "Did they breach our walls?" Paris demanded.

  "Yes." Maddox turned to Sabin with a snarl. "Did you help them?"

  The man held up his hands, the picture of aggravated innocence. "I was being blown to bits, too, remember? And my goal has always been their destruction."

  "What of Danika?" Reyes asked roughly.

  "Gone."

  Reyes's eyelids squeezed closed.

  "Torin needs medical attention," Paris said. "How are we going to manage that?"

  "He'll have to heal on his own. Gods, there's going to be a plague," Lucien said grimly. "We can't stop it now."

  Maddox's hands tightened into fists. "I don't care if there's a plague or not. My woman is out there. I'll do whatever is necessary to save her."

  Strider stepped forward. "Kane was in that cemetery with Torin. He might have followed him back. Did you see him?"

  "Torin said there was a battle on the hill. Kane was taken."

  "Fuck," Sabin snarled, slamming his fist into the wall.

  How had a day so bright with promise combusted so quickly?

  "I'll go into town with you," Reyes said to him. He'd cleaned some of the soot from his face, but his feet were still charred and bare.

  "I'll search the rest of the fortress." There was a blazing fire in Lucien's mismatched eyes. Aeron had once claimed that Lucien possessed a temper darker than the most violent of storms. Maddox hadn't believed him then. He believed now. "I'll make sure they aren't still here, hiding."

  After seeing that rappel wire, Maddox doubted it. "Five minutes," he said to Reyes before racing to his room and loading his body with weapons. Knives, guns, throwing stars.

  Hunters were going to bleed tonight.

  Reyes watched Maddox with shock.

  They had stalked the streets of Budapest until finally stumbling upon a group of four Hunters. They were now in the forest, surrounded by trees and safe from the prying eyes of humans. Night had fallen and flaxen rays of moonlight slithered over nature, beast and human alike.

  Maddox had attacked without warning.

  He wore the veil of Violence, and it was no longer a mere shadow. It had taken over his face completely, a skeletal visage straight out of nightmares. Quickly he—it—killed two of the Hunters with a simple slash of his blade, their necks slit, just as had been done to Torin. They fell to the ground, instantly dead.

  Reyes remained in place. He wasn't sure Maddox was aware of his surroundings, much less of who he fought. And if Reyes were to intervene, he suspected he would be slashed, as well.

  His own rage was as fierce as Maddox's. For some reason, he felt responsible for Danika and was infuriated that she had been taken out from under him. So what that she was already marked for death?

  "Where is your leader?" Maddox quietly asked as he stalked around the two Hunters still breathing.

  "D-don't know," one of them said with a whimper.

  "Where are the women?"

  "Don't know," the other cried. "Please. Please don't hurt us."

  Maddox showed no mercy. He fingered the bloody tip of his blade, running his tongue over his teeth. The blood splattered over that skeleton-face added all kinds of eerie. "Where were they taken?"

  "D—"

  "Say it, and I'll cut out your tongue. You'll watch as I eat it," Maddox warned.

  Reyes didn't recognize that voice. It was lower, harsher, than Maddox had ever sounded before. He was all beast, no trace of man.

  "I want to know where they are."

  "I do—"

  The man didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. Maddox spun toward him, arm rising. He sliced down. One moment the man was alive. The next he was dead, blood pouring from his neck.

  That's when the sole survivor whimpered. Coughed.

  "I'm only going to ask once more," Maddox said, and the Hunter coughed again. "Where were they taken?"

  "McIntosh didn't tell us," was the trembling response. "Just said we were to watch the city and radio if we saw one of the Lords: Except for Miss Darrow, there wasn't supposed to be a woman inside the fortress. Please. They just want the girl and the box. They planned to sneak inside, grab her and look for it. That's all."

  Reyes stomped over and grabbed the radio that was strapped to one of the corpses. He hooked it to the back of his belt, planning to listen and see what he could learn. Right now there was only silence.

  Maddox peered at him and Reyes nodded. Without a word of warning, Maddox reached over and snapped the man's neck, letting him fall in a heap with his friends. They couldn't have allowed him to live. He was a Hunter. He was infected. And he'd played a part in Ashlyn's disappearance.

  "What should we do next?" Reyes stared up at the heavens, part of him hoping the answer would fall from the stars.

  "I do not know." Maddox felt nearly mad with worry as he echoed the unfortunate Hunters' words. Violence had taken over and ruled him totally, but in the back of his mind, he was aware. If he didn't find Ashlyn soon, he would have to wait until morning, when he returned from the dead. And if he had to wait… if Ashlyn had to spend the night with Hunters…

  He wanted to kill them all.

  "Let's search the town one more time. There has to be a trace," Reyes said. "We have to have missed something."

  Side by side, they strode back into the city. Not many people were out, but those that were stayed clear of them. The bombing had probably ruined the illusion that they were angels. That and the fact that there was blood on Maddox's hands and splashed on his face.

  When he and Reyes stood in an alley, a dirty, urine-scented place that closed in on him like a life-sized coffin, he stopped and looked toward the velvety heavens as Reyes had done. Helplessness bombarded him, a poor companion to the rage and dark urges he already felt.

  Ashlyn was his reason for living.

  He loved her. He had known it before, but he was sure of it now. She was gentleness and she was light. She was passion and she was calm. Hope and life. Innocence and… everything. She was his everything.

  Now that he'd found her, he could not imagine his life without her. It was as if she were the missing link, the final element of his creation, the only thing that completed him.

  He had promised her that he would always protect her.

  He had failed.

  Roaring, he punched the wall beside him. He felt shredded inside.

  A newspaper danced at Reyes's ankles and the warrior bent down, grabbed it and crumbled it into a ball before tossing it aside. "We're running out of time."

  "I know." Think! "The Hunters would not have taken the women out of the city. They'll be focusing all their energies on searching for the box, and they must think we have it to have entered the fortress as they did."

  "Yes."

  "Most likely, they're still here in town. Hiding."

  "I would not doubt if they hoped to use the women as a trade for the box," Reyes said. "We should arrange one."

  From his tone, Maddox knew he did not mean a fair one. They would take the women and leave only bloodshed behind. "How?"

  Reyes held up the walkie-talkie. They listened to it for several long, agonizing moments, but it offered nothing except static—even when they requested an audience.

  "Damn this! I don't want to return to the fortress empty-
handed, but I don't know what else to do." Reyes sounded tortured by the thought. "Midnight approaches."

  All Maddox knew was that he needed Ashlyn safe and whole and in his arms. Gaze still on the heavens, he splayed his arms wide. "Help us," he and the spirit shouted as one. "Help us. Please."

  Nothing. The heavens did not open up and pour out a tide of rain. Lightning did not strike. All remained as it was. The stars twinkled from their inky perches. His eyes narrowed. When this was over, he and those uncaring, selfish gods were going to have a reckoning. Whatever had been done to Ashlyn, he would mete out to them. A thousandfold. "Let us circle the area one last time."

  Reyes nodded.

  Fifteen minutes later, Reyes and Maddox were exiting a chapel they had quietly searched when they spotted an old man across the street. He was dirty, unkempt, wearing only a thin, hole-infested coat. And he was coughing. A bone-deep, spit-up-a-lung cough.

  Maddox recalled the night Torin had come into this very city—a city much different than it was today. Huts rather than buildings. Mud streets rather than cobblestone. The people had been the same, though. Fragile, weak, unsuspecting.

  Torin had removed his glove and caressed the cheek of a woman begging for his touch. A woman he had longed for from afar for years. His resistance had crumbled and he'd hoped, just once, that someone would survive. That love would conquer all.

  An hour later, the woman had started coughing. Just like the old man was now.

  An hour after that, the rest of the village had followed suit. In the days that followed, most of the townspeople had died terrible deaths, their skin pockmarked and every orifice of their bodies bleeding.

  Maddox cursed under his breath. Ashlyn was out there somewhere, with the very Hunters who had caused this new epidemic—for that's what it would be. An epidemic.

  Violence sank fully into the shadows of his mind, as if it respected that Maddox needed to take charge. He and Reyes crossed the street with heavy footfalls, closing the distance between themselves and the old man.

  Most of the area was still deserted, people tucked safely in their homes. Tomorrow, they would not be safe even there. "I need to speak with you," Maddox called to the old man.

  Coughing, he stopped. His eyes were fevered as he gazed up at Maddox. When he saw the warrior, he gave a start. "You're one of them." He doubled over from another cough. "The angyals. My parents told me bedtime stories about you. I've wanted to meet you my entire life."

  Maddox barely heard him. "You might have been in contact with a group of men. Strangers to the city. They might have been in a hurry and would have had tattoos on their wrists. They might have had five women with them." He tried to temper his voice, to keep his fury and concern and desperation to a minimum. It would not do to scare the old man into a heart attack.

  Although, that might be merciful. The death that would soon claim him would not be a kind one. Yes, Lucien was going to be a busy man.

  Reyes described the Hunters he had seen at the club, then described the women.

  "Saw the little blonde you're talking about," the man said. Cough. "There were three women with her, but I don't recall what they looked like."

  Danika, then. But who had been with her? Her family, most likely. That meant Ashlyn was… no. No! She was alive. She was fine. "Where did they go?" he gritted out, unable to temper his reaction this time. Urgency rushed through him. "Tell me. Please."

  Confusion flitted over the man's weathered face and he wobbled, nearly falling. Coughed. "Were running down that street, chased by someone tall. A man." He pointed, coughed. "Nearly toppled me over."

  "Which direction did they travel?" Reyes demanded.

  "North."

  "Thank you," Reyes said. "Thank you."

  The old man coughed and collapsed to the ground. Though loath to lose any more time, Maddox crouched beside him. "Sleep. We… bless you."

  The human died with a smile, as Maddox never had. Ashlyn, he silently called. I am coming for you.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ashlyn awoke with a gasp, ice-cold water dripping from her face. A moment passed, her ragged breaths the only sound, before she oriented herself. Her shirt was plastered to her skin, nearly ice. Her watery gaze was hazy at first, but the room soon came into view. Stone walls, dark, scuffed. Bars on one side that looked into a narrow stone hallway. Chains hung in the far corner.

  Don't panic, don't panic. Next she saw a familiar thinly lined face. At one time, McIntosh would have been a welcome sight. Now, she felt hate pour through her.

  Tossing the now-empty bucket aside, he sat on a wooden stool in front of her. She was cuffed to a chair, arms stretched behind her, she realized, and tried to pull free. The cold metal dug into her skin, but the cuffs didn't open.

  "Where am I?" she demanded.

  "Halal Foghaz." His voice was rougher than usual. Scratchy.

  Prison of the Dead.

  "Some of the worst criminals in Budapest's history were kept here until they revolted and slaughtered their guards. The place was closed down. Until a few weeks ago."

  Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

  "Relax," he told her. He was pale, his eyes rimmed with red. He coughed. "I'm not the dragon you always feared when I read you those fairy tales."

  The reminder of the years they'd spent together didn't soften her. "Let me go. Please." Droplets of water trickled into her mouth, droplets that were fused with dirt and she didn't want to think about what else. Grains scratched at her gums. "What did you do to the men, the warriors? Where are the other women?"

  "I'll answer your questions in good time, Ashlyn. Right now, I want you to answer mine. Okay?" He coughed again. At least he sounded reasonable. Not like the crazy fanatic she'd encountered in the fortress.

  She shivered in cold. "Okay." But then she could say no more, voices crashing into her mind. She stiffened.

  She thought she heard McIntosh sigh, thought she heard him utter, "I see you're in no shape to answer questions now. I'll be back when the voices quiet." She thought she heard footsteps, the bars slam shut. And then she heard only the voices.

  There were so many, so many. Prisoners, killers, murderers, thieves. Rapists. Oh God. A man was raping another man, and the victim was screaming in pain and humiliation.

  "Maddox," she whimpered. Her hands were locked together by those cold metal links, so she couldn't even cover her ears. So loud, so loud, so loud. "Maddox." His image formed in her mind, strong, determined. His violet eyes were tender, his lips soft from kissing her. Dark hair hung over his forehead.

  I'm here, he mouthed. I'm here. I will protect you always.

  Instantly the voices slowed, quieted. They didn't vanish completely, but they were no longer debilitating. She blinked in surprise. How? That had never happened before. Was Maddox close by?

  His face shimmered, faded as hope swelled inside her chest. As his image vanished, however, the voices grew louder. Louder. Eyes widening, she pictured him again. Again, the voices slowed. Again, they became manageable.

  If the situation hadn't been so dire, she would have grinned. I can control it on my own. I can control it! The knowledge was astounding. Amazing. Wondrous. No more hiding away. No more avoiding heavily populated areas. No more!

  Uh, Darrow. Hate to be the downer at this party, but you're trapped. With a hunter. Remember?

  As if hearing her internal dialogue, a voice chuckled gleefully. I know how to escape. You want in on the action or do you want to stay in this shithole? All we gotta do is a little digging.

  The man from the past wasn't talking to her, but to another prisoner. Their conversation caught her attention, causing her ears to twitch. Never releasing Maddox's image, she listened to instructions about exactly where to go. Soon she was grinning.

  "Thank you," she whispered when the voices stopped their chatter.

  "Yeah, yeah. You're welcome," a new voice said. Present, not past.

  Smile collapsing, she narrowed her gaze and searched the ce
ll. She was alone, yet something… thickened the air. Hummed with power and energy. "Who's there?"

  "You want to know how to break a curse or what?" A woman's voice. A declaration, not truly an inquiry. "I thought I heard you asking about that before."

  Ashlyn felt a tingle of heat trail from one shoulder to the other, as if someone ran a fingertip over her skin. Then a warm breeze danced in front of her. Still she didn't see anything. Whatever she was dealing with, she knew it wasn't human. An immortal? One of Maddox's gods?

  "Yes," she answered on a trembling breath. "I did."

  "Cool. I can totally help with that."

  Cool? Totally? From a potential goddess? Where were the thous and thys? "Will you help me escape, too?"

  "One thing at a time, kitten." Something shimmered in the corner, then long white hair came into view. Next she saw a tall woman with the body of a supermodel—a body clad in a red crop-top and a black skirt so short it barely covered the line of her panties. Tall, inky boots. Then, finally, a face materialized and Ashlyn found herself beholding the incarnation of loveliness. Features so perfect, so sublime and majestic they could only belong to a god. "Your friend, captor, whatever, mentioned fairy tales, yes?"

  Had delusion set in or was this woman for real? "Yes."

  "So you already have the answer. Think about the stories." Frown. A lick of a bright pink lollipop. "What did they teach you?"

  Real enough for me, Ashlyn thought. "To search for a prince?"

  "Ick. Wrong. Think, girlie. I want to get back."

  Back to where? What was this being's name? And why was she here, helping?

  "I said think, and babe, you don't look like you're thinking. You're sizing me up. You want a piece or something?"

  Of her? "No. Of course not."

  A shrug. "Then I suggest you get to it."

  Okay, okay. Thinking… It was hard to recall story details when the need to escape weighed so heavily, but somehow she managed it. The prince in Sleeping Beauty fought through thorns and fire to slay the dragon and save his woman. In Maid Maleen, the princess dug through the walls of the tower she had been locked in for seven years, her determination to live and find her prince giving her strength. In The Six Swans, the princess gave up her voice for six years to set her brothers free from a terrible curse.