The Darkest Lie lotu-7 Page 8

  "What's going on?" he rasped. "Where am I?"

  His words echoed, but that was it, the only sound. Desperate for answers, he kicked into gear, racing forward. The tunnel stretched forever, no end in sight. His panic doubled, tripled, hot breath rasping from him and sweat pouring from his body.

  Delicious. Nightmares laughed. Tastes so good.

  "More," she said again.

  Do you want the honors?

  Sharing was caring, she thought. "Yes. Please."

  Lead him to the edge, and I'll show him what might one day happen to him. Oh, his fear...none of the others will compare.

  Scarlet allowed herself to materialize, though she didn't show the formidable warrior what she truly looked like. The image she projected was one of a little girl she'd met inside Tartarus. For the single day the child had been allowed inside a cell. A little girl named Fate.

  Everyone had been frightened of her, because everything Fate had spoken had come true. Everything. That's why the Greeks had so quickly put her to death, the poor thing.

  But for that one day, she had been Scarlet's friend.

  "If you believe what you see, you'll lose your husband," Fate had told her during their only conversation.

  Of course Scarlet had believed what she'd seen—Gideon's absence—so of course Scarlet had lost him.

  Many, many years had passed. Perhaps Galen would recognize Fate, perhaps not. Either way...let the games begin.

  As Fate, Scarlet wore a robe streaked with dirt, had big blue eyes, so innocent, and a mouth forever dipped in sadness. Red hair hung in tangles all the way to her ankles.

  She appeared a few feet in front of him. "Come," she said gently, and held out her small, mud-caked hand. "You must see what awaits you."

  He tripped over his own feet but stopped before he hit her, still panting, still sweating. "Who are you?"

  As forgetful as Gideon, then. But sometimes ignorance served her best. What people imagined was often far worse than anything she could tell them.

  "Come," she repeated. "You must see."

  "I— Yes. All right." Galen shakily placed his palm against hers.

  Down the corridor she ushered him, Nightmares practically jumping around in her head. Finally, because she willed it, a light appeared, and the significance of that light was not lost on him. Once again, his fear spiked.

  He even tried to pull away from her, but she tightened her grip, stronger than she appeared. "You must see," she told him. "You must know."

  They reached the light, which just happened to be a cliff ledge that overlooked a battlefield. On that battlefield was man after man, woman after woman, an ocean of death and destruction, for each body was bloody, motionless. And on each of their wrists was a tattoo of infinity. The mark of the Hunter.

  There, in the center, was Galen. He was still standing, though he, too, was bloody and wounded. His white-feathered wings were outstretched but clearly broken. His strength was drained, his knocking knees threatening to give out.

  "No. No!" Beside her, a shaking dream Galen did drop to his knees, dust pluming around him.

  On the battlefield, Gideon strode toward him, as menacing as ever. His blue hair danced around his face in the strong wind, and his piercings gleamed in the sunlight. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth where his lip ring had been ripped out. In one hand, he gripped a long, sharp sword. In the other, he clutched a gun.

  Laughing, he pointed the latter at Galen and fired. The leader of the Hunters flew backward, landing on his ass, unable to rise as Gideon continued to bear down on him.

  "No!" the Galen beside her shouted again. "Stand up. Fight him! I didn't survive that demon girl's poisonous bite only to die at the hands of my enemy."

  He didn't, allowing Gideon to raise his sword and strike. Galen's head detached, leaving his body behind. "No! No!" Sky-blue eyes found her, a well of despair. His face was pale, the blue veins underneath his skin arrestingly evident. "Tell me I can change this. Tell me this isn't my fate."

  "You wish me to lie?" she said in that sweet little-girl voice.

  His hands fisted at his sides, useless weapons against what awaited him. "Why did you show me this, then? Why?"

  "Because—"

  Scarlet came awake with a jolt, sitting up, panting as Galen had done in the dream realm. Damn it. She hadn't finished with him, but her time there had ended. And there would be no going back for twelve hours.

  At least Nightmares was satisfied. The demon had fed on Galen's terror, terror so much more intense than what humans experienced, and now retreated to the back of her mind.

  "Not good. You're asleep."

  Gideon.

  His voice floated over her, into her, burning her up. With anger, with lust. Goodbye fun dream world, hello hated reality.

  "Where are we?" she demanded, studying her new surroundings. She'd fallen asleep in his presence—again—and he'd clearly taken full advantage of the situation. "Someplace shitty."

  Rather than a hotel room, she found herself in a forest, the sun setting in a violet sky. She rested atop a cool bed of moss, and there was a natural, bubbling spring beside her. She still wore the dress he'd given her, but at least he'd removed the cuffs.

  Before she'd jacked up the music in the car, he'd tried to ask her what she found most romantic. She hadn't replied, so he'd obviously taken a guess. And to her consternation, the bastard had guessed correctly. This was amazing. Night birds were chirping, the scent of wildflowers saturated the air and Gideon was gloriously bathed in that violet-tinted light.

  Right now, he was sitting in front of her, only a few inches away, leaning against a tree trunk. A lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead, and just as before, she had to curb the urge to brush the strands back in place. His baby blues were all over her, perusing, lingering, savoring. Trying to remember?

  His hands were fisted on his lap. Was he trying to stop himself from reaching for her?

  Gods help her, but she knew exactly what this man could do to her body. With his hands, his tongue. He could have her writhing, begging, in seconds.

  Fight his appeal. "You might as well let me go." Or you yourself could, I don't know, finally ditch him. "You're not going to find any pleasure with me."

  "I'm sure you're right."

  Sweet heaven. He truly thought to bed her. Was utterly confident in her capitulation. Why, oh, why was that so damn sexy?

  She narrowed her eyes, lest he see the desire surely banked there. "You sprang me for answers, so why are you trying so hard to soften me romantically? You'd have better luck working me over with your fists." Good. She'd sounded angry rather than breathless.

  "Didn't think about that already."

  He'd thought about hitting her? That—that—

  "And I could absolutely bring myself to do it." Sweetheart.

  Gods, she really was an idiot, melting like butter because he'd decided not to beat her up. Next she'd be hearing angels sing because he decided not to fork her jugular. "No matter what you do, you're going to fail." Fingers crossed that wasn't a bluff.

  "Even if all I want us to do is relearn each other?"

  Yes. No. Argh.

  Hey. No more softening. "Nothing wrong with forgetting each other, either."

  He was grinding his teeth as he moved his legs, trapping her knees with his ankles and placing her feet dangerously close to his—hard, growing—penis. Tragically—er, thankfully—his pants prevented her from experiencing skin-to-skin contact. Therefore she despised—loved, damn it—those low-slung jeans.

  "So who aren't you today?" he asked, wisely changing the subject.

  Hurt him. Make him stop this slow seduction. "Scarlet...Reynolds." She shivered as if the thought delighted her. "Yes. I'm in the mood for a little Rye-Rye today."

  Gideon popped his jaw, teeth bared for a second. "Are we not married?"

  "Sure we are," she said. "But in my mind I'm cheating on you with Ryan."

  Now the pink tip of his tong
ue peeked out from his lip, as if he meant to chew it off. "You're so freaking funny."

  "Who said I was joking?"

  Before she could blink, he was on her, pushing her into the moss, his chest pressed against hers, his weight pinning her. "You do not annoy the shit out of me."

  A tremor skipped down her spine, her nipples straining against her dress, trying to reach him. She could have knocked him off; she was strong enough, skilled enough, but she didn't. She fisted the collar of his shirt, holding him in place. Craving... "Well, if you hadn't guessed, you do annoy the shit out of me."

  In and out he breathed, nostrils flaring. "Keep talking, I don't dare you."

  Shut up, he meant. "Or what?" He smelled so damn good, like musk and alluring spice. Warmth radiated from him and enveloped her, slinking around her in a sly embrace.

  "Or..." His gaze dropped to her lips. The anger seemed to drain from him, something hotter, sultrier taking its place. Those rasping pants never slowed, and in between them, he said, "You're so unbelievably...ugly." The last was offered hesitantly, as if he feared she wouldn't understand what he was trying to tell her. "You don't make me ache. You don't make me hunger for so many things. Dirty things. Wicked things."

  Kiss him.

  No, don't you dare.

  A war raged between body and mind. If she kissed him, she wouldn't be able to halt what was sure to follow. Once his lips met hers, she would be lost. His taste drugged her, his body addicted her. That's the way it had always been with him.

  And now, she would want but she couldn't have. Not truly. But for one blissful night, she would belong to him again. Any price was worth that. Added bonus: she could forget her troubles, forget the lonely future that awaited her.

  Forget. Wrong word. She stiffened, no longer having to talk herself into resisting. "Get off me."

  "I want to hurt you," he whispered, heated breath dragging over her skin. "Tell me to stop."

  Meaning, he wanted to pleasure her and all she had to do was give him the go-ahead. She shook her head in a desperate attempt to prevent what she still wanted, needed, but could never afford. "No. I won't."

  Wait. No, she wouldn't tell him to stop? Argh!

  Slowly he smiled—so wicked—as if that's exactly what he'd hoped she would say, no matter her meaning. "Too bad," he said. And then he fed a sizzling kiss straight into her mouth.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SWEET GODS ABOVE, Gideon thought, dazed. This woman—his woman—tasted like perfectly ripe berries, felt like caged lightning against him, and the sounds she made as his tongue rolled and thrust against hers, those little catches of breath, were like heroin mixed with ambrosia. Addictive, mind-fuzzing, overwhelming.

  He had her pressed into the ground, his legs between hers, his erection resting against the apex of her thighs. He wanted to knead her breasts. Gods, did he want to knead her breasts. But that would be too much too fast. For her, at least. So he did the only other thing he could. He captured her wrists and pinned them over her head, effectively pinning his own movements, as well.

  Mistake. That, of course, arched her lower back and closed all hint of distance between their chests, muscle to soft, luscious breasts. Her nipples were hard, so wonderfully hard, and they created the most delicious friction against his chest, catapulting him to a new level of awareness.

  A dangerous level where her enjoyment and happiness were more important than his own.

  He didn't release her, though. It was too late for that. He had to have more. So if he couldn't roll those nipples between his fingers, if he couldn't tongue them, he'd have to settle for continuing to rub himself against them. As an added bonus, every little movement rammed his shaft into her core, causing them both to shiver and groan.

  Kissing usually did nothing for him. Maybe because he could never ask for what he wanted; he had to lie and demand the opposite. He had to ask for sweet, innocent. He had to ask for gentle, tender. Yet, with Scarlet, he didn't have to ask for anything. She simply gave him hard and wet. Deep and intense. She bit at him, sucked on his tongue, scraped at his teeth. And he couldn't get enough.

  He kissed her forever. He kissed her while the insects sang and the moon fought for its place in the sky. He kissed her until he lost his breath. Kissed her until she was writhing against him, her legs wrapped around him, squeezing him, her teeth nipping at him as she silently begged for more.

  And yet, through it all, she seemed distanced. As if she weren't truly there with him. As if she held a part of herself back. Hell. No.

  Distance, he wouldn't tolerate. He might not want to push her too far, but by the time this kiss ended, she would think of no other man but him. She would be happy she was wed to him. She would dream of him, crave him more than any other.

  Was this what it had been like between them, all those centuries ago? Consuming need dipped in fervent heat then twined with unquenchable aches?

  He released one of her hands, and she immediately tunneled her fingers through his hair, nails digging into his scalp. Enough to make him bleed. Yes, yes. More. Maybe he could push her a little further. But to do so, he'd have to sacrifice the kiss. With their mouths pressed together like this, he couldn't think properly.

  Moaning, Gideon wrenched himself away from her lips. She had her eyes sealed shut, as if she were in pain. Those lips were swollen and red, moist. Unable to help himself, he licked that moisture away before hiking her dress up to her neck, baring her panties, her stomach and lastly her breasts. He hadn't given her a bra. Too much had he liked the idea of her sitting next to him, a thin piece of cotton all that rested between his skin and her nipples.

  Her breasts were perfectly sized, a little less than a handful, and those nipples were as red as her lips. His mouth watered as he lowered his head. And dear gods, sucking one of those little berries into his mouth was a religious experience. The moment his tongue made contact, his entire body felt as though it went up in flames from the inside out. His blood turned his organs to ash. His ashed organs liquefied his bones, and those liquid bones scorched his skin, leaving blisters.

  She must have experienced the same melting sensation, because a scream of pleasure exploded from her. An honest-to-gods, I'm-losing-my-mind scream of pleasure. He loved it, reveled in it. Except a thousand other screams followed hers. And those weren't forged by pleasure. Those reeked of fear and pain.

  "Gideon," she rasped.

  Once again, he raised his head. Her eyes were still sealed shut, only now her mouth was pulled tight in an agonized line. Thick black shadows were seeping from her ears, her mouth, and swirling around her head.

  Her demon, he realized.

  Since Gideon had gained control of his body and his actions all those centuries ago, Lies had been like a ghostly companion. There, but hardly noticeable. Well, until recently. Before Scarlet, the demon had rarely spoken to him outright or asserted its presence physically. Rather, his demon had mostly led him through compulsions.

  This wasn't a compulsion for her. This was an all-out manifestation. And he had no fucking clue what to do.

  "How can I make this worse, devil?" He tried to pull away from her, to ease her in any way he could, even if that meant no longer making out with her. But her eyelids at last popped open, her irises glowing bright red, and she grabbed his shirt, jerking him back.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" The words were a harsh growl, and all those discordant screams layered the undertone, a tide of malevolence. "Hear us well. If you dare stop, we will punish you."

  Us. We. Her demon was that involved? That much a part of her? O-kay. Not his first three-way, but certainly his strangest. There was no time to marvel, however.

  Scarlet dragged a finger down the center of his shirt, ripping the cotton, exposing his chest. She flattened her palm against his pierced nipple and licked her lips. "More," she moaned, arching into him.

  Her cleft brushed his shaft, and the rest of the blood left his brain. The moist tip of his cock even pushed past the wa
ist of his pants. The fact that the shadows were still drifting from her, the fact that those screams were still echoing between them, failed to faze him. His desire for her was simply too great. He, too, had to have more.

  Not sex, he told himself. Not yet. He still thought it would be pushing her too hard and too fast. And he wouldn't have her crying foul later, claiming he'd taken advantage of her and using that as an excuse to distance herself further.

  "You're just sitting there. Hurry!"

  Complaints about his performance already when she was clearly passion-drunk. He'd like to say that was a first, but couldn't. Many women had complained about his get in as fast as you can, get and give an orgasm and leave mentality. "Gideon! Obey."

  "Sure, sure. Don't show me what you want first." He didn't leap into action, of course, but watched as Scarlet began kneading her own breasts, exactly as he'd yearned to do. Strands of her silky black hair fell down her shoulders and curled around her fingers, as if tickling her.

  Her eyelids closed to half-mast, and her teeth chewed at her bottom lip as she reached down with one hand, past her pretty blue panties and into the wet heat of her. Gods, she was sexy. Her stomach hollowed into the most sensual navel he'd ever seen, and her thighs stretched into the hottest legs.

  "That good enough for you? I showed you, damn it, now keep up your end of the bargain."

  Finally, he moved. He reached out and fisted her dress, lifting the material the rest of the way over her head and then tossing it aside. "Press your knees closer together," he croaked out.

  At first, she obeyed and closed her legs to him. When he applied pressure to her knees, urging them farther apart, she realized what she'd done and dropped them open. Spreading herself, eager for him. Her hips arched forward, back, beseeching him to do something, anything.

  For a moment, he luxuriated in the image of her. He'd seen her like this before. He knew it, to his very soul he knew it. For this image didn't seem new, but somehow a part of him. Deep inside, hidden but there. Yet, when he tugged those panties aside, pushed her fingers from the place he wanted to be and lowered his head, when he traced his tongue up the slick heat of her, the taste of her was new. He had absolutely no memory of it.