Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author

Gena Showalter

“A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and nonstop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest, and a fabulous start to an imaginative new series.” —New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning

“Showalter delivers another smart and sexy romance

brimming with hilarious pickup lines, fiery banter

and steamy sensuality. A wickedly well-matched hero and heroine mix with an entertaining, creative

and tremendously fun premise.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4½ stars, on Catch a Mate

“Smart-alecky, wicked, and hilariously funny…

sure to please the most jaded reader.”

—Contemporary Romance Writers on Catch a Mate

“A world of myth, mayhem and love under the sea!”

—New York Times bestselling author J. R. Ward on The Nymph King

“I want to visit Atlantis! Deliciously evocative and

filled with sexy men, The Nymph King is every woman’s fantasy come to sizzling life. A must read.” —Award-winning author P.C. Cast

“Wow… Gena Showalter always takes us on

a fantastic ride.” —USA TODAY bestselling author Merline Lovelace on Playing with Fire

“The versatile Showalter takes the nail-biting elements

of her exciting paranormals…and blends them with

the wit and humor of her contemporary romances…

to make a delicious offering spiced with the best

ingredients of both.”

—Booklist, starred review, on Playing with Fire

“Charming and hilarious…

I was hooked from page one.”

—New York Times bestselling author MaryJanice Davidson on Playing with Fire

“Another sizzling page-turner from one of the premier

authors of paranormal romance. Gena Showalter

delivers an utterly spellbinding story!”

—New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole on Playing with Fire

“Showalter writes with a sparkling humor that keeps

the story light without losing poignancy.”

—Booklist on Animal Instincts

“Bold and witty, sexy and provocative,

Gena Showalter’s star is rising fast!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips on Animal Instincts

“Shines like the purest gem….Rich in imagery

and evocative detail, this book is a sterling example

of what makes romance novels so worthwhile.”

—A Romance Review, 5 stars, on Jewel of Atlantis

“Lots of danger and sexy passion give lucky readers

a spicy taste of adventure and romance.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Heart of the Dragon

“This couple is dynamite and Tristan’s intense

sensuality will have you sweating. [The Pleasure Slave] is definitely going on my keeper shelf.” —The Romance Studio

“Sexy, funny and downright magical! Gena Showalter

has a lyrical voice and the deft ability to bring

characters to life in a manner that’s hilarious and

absorbing at the same time.”

—New York Times bestselling author Katie MacAlister on The Stone Prince

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to present my brand-new paranormal trilogy, LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD, which begins with The Darkest Night. In a remote fortress in Budapest, six immortal warriors—each more dangerously seductive than the last—are bound by an ancient curse none has been able to break. When a powerful enemy returns, they will travel the world in search of a sacred relic of the gods—one that threatens to destroy them all.

Join me on a journey through this darkly sensual world, where the line between good and evil blurs and true love is put to the ultimate test.

Wishing you all the best,

Gena Showalter

Gena Showalter

THE DARKEST NIGHT

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Kresley Cole and Nalini Singh. Not only

because your books are beyond amazing and I get

twitchy if I don’t get a KC and NS fix, but also

because you are such wonderful people.

To Shelly Mykel. Because you’re awesome and

I’m determined to get it right (at least once).

To Debbie Splawn-Bunch. Because I’m a terrible

friend, you love me anyway and I know you

wouldn’t have let me title this book Take This Sword and Shove It.

To Jill Monroe. Because you’re always in my

corner—even if you do have my adored Lobby.

And speaking of Lobby…

To Lobby. Because I miss you.

Max Showalter, you are my one and only.

CHAPTER ONE

EVERY NIGHT DEATH CAME, slowly, painfully, and every morning Maddox awoke in bed, knowing he’d have to die again later. That was his greatest curse and his eternal punishment.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing it were a blade over his enemy’s throat instead. Most of the day had already passed. He’d heard the time seep away, a poisonous tick-tock in his mind, every beat of the clock a mocking reminder of mortality and pain.

In little more than an hour, the first sting would pierce his stomach and nothing he did, nothing he said, would change that. Death would come for him.

“Damned gods,” he muttered, increasing the speed of his bench presses.

“Bastards, every one of them,” a familiar male voice said from behind him.

Maddox’s motions didn’t slow at Torin’s unwelcome intrusion. Up. Down. Up. Down. For two hours he had worked out his frustration and anger on the punching bag, the treadmill and now the weights. Sweat ran from his bare chest and arms, riding the ropes of his muscles in clear rivulets. He should be as exhausted mentally as he was physically, but his emotions were only growing darker, more powerful.

“You should not be here,” he said.

Torin sighed. “Look. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but something’s happened.”

“So take care of it.”

“I can’t.”

“Whatever it is, try. I’m in no shape to help.” These last few weeks very little was needed to send him into a killing haze where no one around him was safe. Even his friends. Especially his friends. He didn’t want to, never meant to, but was sometimes helpless against urges to strike and to maim.

“Maddox—”

“I’m at the edge, Torin,” he croaked. “I would do more harm than good.”

Maddox knew his limitations, had known them for thousands of years. Ever since that doomed day the gods had chosen a woman to perform a task that should have been his.

Pandora had been strong, yes, the strongest female soldier of their time. But he had been stronger. More capable. Yet he had been deemed too weak to guard dimOuniak, a sacred box housing demons so vile, so destructive, they could not even be trusted in Hell.

As if Maddox would have allowed it to be destroyed. Frustration had bloomed inside him at the affront. Inside all of them, every warrior now living here. They had fought diligently for the king of the gods, killed expertly and protected thoroughly; they should have been chosen as guards. That they hadn’t was an embarrassment not to be tolerated.

They’d only thought to teach the gods a lesson the night they’d stolen dimOuniak from Pandora and released that horde of demons upon the unsuspecting world. How foolish they had been. Their plan to prove their power had failed, for the box had gone missing in the fray, leaving the warriors unable to recapture a single evil spirit.

Destruction and havoc had soon reigned, plunging the world into darkness until the king of the gods finally intervened, cursing each warrior to house a demon inside himself.

A fitting punishment. The warriors had unleashed the evil to avenge their stinging pride; now they would contain it.

And so the Lords of the Underworld were born.

Maddox had been given Violence, the demon who was now as much a part of him as his lungs or his heart. Now, man could no longer live without demon and demon could no longer function without man. They were woven together, two halves of a whole.

From the very first, the creature inside him had beckoned him to do malicious things, hated things, and he’d been compelled to obey. Even when led to slay a woman—to slay Pandora. His fingers clenched the bar so tightly his knuckles nearly snapped out of place. Over the years he had learned to control some of the demon’s more vile compulsions, but it was a constant struggle and he knew he could shatter at any moment.

What he would have given for a single day of calm. No overpowering desire to hurt others. No battles within himself. No worries. No death. Just…peace.

“It’s not safe for you here,” he told his friend, who still stood in the doorway. “You need to leave.” He set the silver bar atop its perch and sat up. “Only Lucien and Reyes are allowed to be close to me during my demise.” And only because they played a part in it, unwilling though they were. They were as helpless against their demons as Maddox was his.

“About an hour until that happens, so…” Torin threw a rag at him. “I’ll take my chances.”

Maddox reached behind his back, caught the white cloth and turned. He wiped his face. “Water.”

An ice-cold bottle was soaring through the air before the second syllable left his mouth. He caught it deftly, moisture splashing his chest. He drained the icy contents and studied his friend.

As usual, Torin wore all black and gloves covered his hands. Pale hair fell in waves to his shoulders, framing a face mortal females considered a sensual feast. They didn’t know the man was actually a devil in angel’s skin. They should have, though. He practically glowed with irreverence, and there was an unholy gleam in his green eyes that proclaimed he would laugh in your face while cutting out your heart. Or laugh in your face while you cut out his heart.

To survive, he had to find humor where he could. They all did.

Like every resident of this Budapest fortress, Torin was damned. He might not die every night like Maddox, but he could never touch a living thing, skin to skin, without infecting it with sickness.

Torin was possessed by the spirit of Disease.

He hadn’t known a woman’s touch in over four hundred years. He’d learned his lesson well when he’d given in to lust and caressed a would-be lover’s face, bringing about a plague that decimated village after village. Human after human.

“Five minutes of your time,” Torin said, his determination clear. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Think we’ll be punished for insulting the gods today?” Maddox replied, ignoring the request. If he didn’t allow himself to be asked for a favor, he didn’t have to feel guilty for turning it down.

His friend uttered another of those sighs. “Our every breath is supposed to be a punishment.”

True. Maddox’s lips curled into a slow, razored smile as he peered ceilingward. Bastards. Punish me further, I dare you. Maybe then, finally, he would fade to nothingness.

He doubted the gods would concern themselves, though. After bestowing the death-curse upon him, they had ignored him, pretending not to hear his pleas for forgiveness and absolution. Pretending not to hear his promises and desperate bargaining.

What more could they do to him, anyway?

Nothing could be worse than dying over and over again. Or being stripped of anything good and right…or hosting the spirit of Violence inside his mind and body.

Jackknifing to his feet, Maddox tossed the now-wet rag and empty water bottle into the nearest hamper. He strode to the far end of the room and braced his hands above his head, leaning into the semicircular alcove of stained-glass windows and staring into the night through the only clear partition.

He saw Paradise.

He saw hell.

He saw freedom, prison, everything and nothing.

He saw…home.

Situated atop a towering hill as the fortress was, he had a direct view of the city. Lights glowed brightly, pinks, blues and purples illuminating the murky velvet sky, glinting off the Danube River and framing the snowcapped trees that dominated the area. Wind blustered, snowflakes dancing and twirling through the air.

Here, he and the others had a modicum of privacy from the rest of the world. Here, they were allowed to come and go without having to face a barrage of questions. Why don’t you age? Why do screams echo through the forest every night? Why do you sometimes look like a monster?

Here, the locals maintained their distance, awed, respectful. “Angels,” he’d even heard whispered during a rare encounter with a mortal.

If they only knew.

Maddox’s nails elongated slightly, digging into the stone. Budapest was a place of majestic beauty, old-world charm and modern pleasures, but he’d always felt removed from it. From the castle district that lined one street to the nightclubs that lined the next. From the fruits and vegetables hawked in one alley to the living flesh hawked in the other.

Maybe that sense of disconnection would vanish if he ever explored the city, but unlike the others who roamed at will, he was trapped inside the fortress and surrounding land as surely as Violence had been trapped inside Pandora’s box thousands of years ago.

His nails lengthened farther, almost claws now. Thinking of the box always blackened his mood. Punch a wall, Violence beckoned. Destroy something. Hurt, kill. He would have liked to obliterate the gods. One by one. Decapitate them, perhaps. Rip out their blackened, decayed hearts, definitely.

The demon purred in approval.

Of course it’s purring now, Maddox thought with disgust. Anything bloodthirsty, no matter the victims, met with the creature’s support. Scowling, he leveled another heated glance at the heavens. He and the demon had been paired long ago, but he remembered the day clearly. The screams of the innocent in his ears, humans bleeding all around him, hurting, dying, the spirits having devoured their flesh in a rapturous frenzy.

Only when Violence had been shoved inside his body did he lose touch with reality. There had been no sounds, no sights. Just an all-consuming darkness. He hadn’t regained his senses until Pandora’s blood splattered his chest, her last breath echoing in his ears.

She had not been his first kill—or his last—but she had been the first and only woman to meet his sword. The horror of seeing that once-vibrant female form broken and knowing he was responsible for it… To this day, he had not assuaged the guilt, the regret. The shame and the sorrow.

He’d sworn to do whatever was necessary to control the spirit from then on, but it had been too late. Enraged all the more, Zeus had bestowed a second curse upon him: every night at midnight he would die exactly as Pandora had died—a blade through the stomach, six hellish times. The only difference was, her torment had ended within minutes.

His torment would last for eternity.

He popped his jaw, trying to relax against a new onslaught of aggression. It wasn’t as if he were the only one to suffer, he reminded himself. The other warriors had their own demons—literally and figuratively. Torin, of course, was keeper of Disease. Lucien was keeper of Death. Reyes, of Pain. Aeron, of Wrath. Paris, of Promiscuity.

Why couldn’t he have been given that last one? He would have been able to journey to town anytime he wished, take any woman he desired, savoring every sound, every touch.

As it was, he could never venture far. Nor could he trust himself around females for long periods of time. If the demon overtook him or if he could not return home before midnight and someone found his dead, bloody body and buried him—or worse, burned him…

How he wished such a thing would end his miserable existence. He would have left long ago and allowed himself to be roasted in a pit. Or perhaps he would have jumped from the fortress’s highest window and smashed his brains from his skull. But no. No matter what he did, he’d merely awaken once again, charred as well as sore. Broken as well as sliced.

“You’ve been staring at that window for a while,” Torin said. “Aren’t you even curious as to what’s happened?”

Maddox blinked as he was dragged from his thoughts. “You’re still here?”

His friend arched a black brow, the color a startling contrast to his silver-white hair. “I believe the answer to my question is no. Are you calm now, at least?”

Was he ever truly calm? “As calm as a creature like me can be.”

“Stop whining. There’s something I need to show you, and don’t try to deny me this time. We can talk about my reason for disturbing you along the way.” Without another word, Torin spun on his booted heel and strode from the room.

Maddox remained in place for several seconds, watching his friend disappear around the corner. Stop whining, Torin had said. Yes, that’s exactly what he had been doing. Curiosity and wry amusement pushed past his lethal mood, and Maddox stepped from the gym into the hallway. A cold draft of air swirled around him, thick with moisture and the crisp scents of winter. He spied Torin a few feet away and stalked forward, quickly closing in.

“What’s this about?”

“Finally. Interest,” was the only response.

“If this is one of your tricks…” Like the time Torin had ordered hundreds of blow-up dolls and placed them throughout the fortress, all because Paris had foolishly complained about the lack of female companionship in town. The plastic “ladies” had stared out from every corner, their wide eyes and let-me-suck-you mouths taunting everyone who passed them.

Things like that happened when Torin was bored.

“I wouldn’t waste my time trying to trick you,” Torin said without turning to face him. “You, my friend, have no sense of humor.”

True.

As Maddox kept pace, stone walls stretched at his sides; sconces glowed, pulsing with light and fire, twining shadow with gold. The House of the Damned, as Torin had dubbed the place, had been built hundreds of years ago. Though they had modernized it as best they could, the age showed in the crumbling rock and the scuffed floors.

“Where is everyone?” Maddox asked, only then realizing he hadn’t spotted any of the others.

“You’d think Paris would be shopping for food since our cabinets are nearly bare and that’s his only duty, but no. He’s out searching for a new woman.”

Lucky bastard. Possessed as he was by Promiscuity, Paris could not bed the same woman twice, and so he seduced a new one—or two or three—every day. The only downside? If he couldn’t find a woman, he was reduced to doing things Maddox didn’t even want to contemplate. Things that left the normally good-tempered man hunched over a toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach. Though Maddox’s envy abated at such moments, it always returned when Paris spoke of one of his lovers. The soft brush of a thigh…the meeting of hot skin…the groans of ecstasy…

“Aeron is… Prepare yourself,” Torin began, “because this is the main reason I hunted you down.”

“Did something happen to him?” Maddox demanded as darkness shuttered over his thoughts and anger overtook him. Destroy, obliterate, Violence beseeched, clawing at the corners of his mind. “Is he hurt?”

Immortal Aeron might be, but he could still be harmed. Even killed—a feat they had all discovered in the worst possible way.

“Nothing like that,” Torin assured him.

Slowly, he relaxed and gradually Violence receded. “What, then? Cleaning a mess and throwing a fit?” Every warrior here had specific responsibilities. It was their way of maintaining some semblance of order amid the chaos of their own souls. Aeron’s task was maid service, something he complained about on a daily basis. Maddox took care of home repairs. Torin played with stocks and bonds, whatever those were, keeping them well-moneyed. Lucien did all the paperwork and Reyes supplied them with weapons.

“The gods…summoned him.”

Maddox stumbled, shock momentarily blinding him. “What?” Surely he had misheard.

“The gods summoned him,” Torin repeated patiently.

But the Greeks hadn’t spoken to any of them since the day of Pandora’s death. “What did they want? And why am I just now hearing about this?”

“One, no one knows. We were watching a movie when suddenly he straightened in his seat, expression dead, as if there were no one home. Then a few seconds later he tells us he’s been summoned. None of us even had time to react—one minute Aeron was with us, the next he was gone.

“And two,” Torin added with barely a pause, “I tried to tell you. You said you didn’t care, remember?”

A muscle ticked below his eye. “You should have told me anyway.”

“While you had barbells within your reach? Please. I’m Disease, not Stupid.”

This was…this was… Maddox did not want to contemplate what this was, but could not stop the thoughts from forming. Sometimes Aeron, keeper of Wrath, lost total control of his spirit and embarked on a vengeance rampage, punishing mortals for their perceived sins. Was he now to be given a second curse for his actions, as Maddox had been all those centuries ago?

“If he does not return in the same shape he left, I will find a way to storm the heavens and slaughter every godly being I encounter.”

“Your eyes are glowing bright red,” Torin said. “Look, we’re all confused, but Aeron will return soon and tell us what’s going on.”

Fair enough. He forced himself to relax. Again. “Was anyone else summoned?”

“No. Lucien is out collecting souls. Reyes is gods-know-where, probably cutting himself.”

He should have known. Even though Maddox suffered unbearably each night, he pitied Reyes, who could not live a single hour without self-inflicted torture.

“What else did you have to tell me?” Maddox brushed his fingertips over the two towering columns that flanked the staircase before beginning to climb.

“I think it will be better if I show you.”

Would it be worse than the announcement about Aeron? Maddox wondered, striding past the entertainment room. Their sanctuary. The chamber they’d spared no expense creating was filled with plush furniture and all the comforts a warrior could desire. There was a refrigerator crammed with special wines and beers. A pool table. A basketball hoop. A large plasma screen that was even now flashing images of three naked women in the middle of an orgy.

“I see Paris was here,” he said.

Torin did not reply, but he did quicken his steps, never once glancing toward the screen.

“Never mind,” Maddox muttered. Directing Torin’s attention to anything carnal was unnecessarily cruel. The celibate man had to crave sex—touch—with every fiber of his being, but he would never have the option of indulging.

Even Maddox enjoyed a woman upon occasion.

His lovers were usually Paris’s leftovers, those females foolish enough to try to follow Paris home, hoping to share his bed again, not knowing just how impossible such a thing was. They were always drunk with sexual arousal, a consequence of welcoming Promiscuity, so they rarely cared who finally slid between their legs. Most times, they were all too happy to accept Maddox as a substitute—even though it was an impersonal joining, as emotionally hollow as it was physically satisfying.

It had to be that way, though. To protect their secrets, the warriors did not allow humans inside the fortress, forcing Maddox to take the women outside in the surrounding forest. He preferred them on their hands and knees, facing away from him, a swift coupling that would not rouse Violence in any way or compel him to do things that would haunt him forever and still another eternity.

Afterward, Maddox would send the females home with a warning: never return or die. It was that simple. To allow a more permanent arrangement would be foolish. He might come to care for them, and he would definitely hurt them, which would only heap even more guilt and shame upon him.

Just once, though, he would have liked to linger over a woman as Paris was able to do. He would have liked to kiss and lick her entire body; he would have liked to drown in her, completely losing himself, without fearing his control would snap and cause him to wound her.

Finally reaching Torin’s quarters, he blocked those thoughts from his mind. Time spent wishing was time wasted, as he well knew.

He glanced at his surroundings. He’d been in this room before, but he did not remember the wall-to-wall computer system or the numerous monitors, phones and various other equipment lined throughout. Unlike Torin, Maddox eschewed most technology, for he had never quite gotten used to how quickly things seemed to change—and just how much further each new advancement seemed to pull him from the carefree warrior he’d once been. Though he would be lying if he claimed not to enjoy the convenience such gadgets provided.

Survey complete, he faced his friend. “Taking over the world?”

“Nope. Just watching it. It’s the best way to protect us, and the best way to make a little coin.” Torin plopped into a cushioned swivel chair in front of the largest screen and began typing on the keyboard. One of the blank monitors lit up, the black screen becoming intertwined with grays and whites. “All right. Here’s what I wanted you to see.”

Careful not to touch his friend, Maddox stepped forward. The indistinct blur gradually became thick, opaque lines. Trees, he realized. “Nice, but not something I was in dire need of viewing.”

“Patience.”

“Hurry,” he countered.

Torin flicked him a wry glance. “Since you asked so nicely…I have heat sensors and cameras hidden throughout our land so that I always know when someone trespasses.” A few more seconds of tapping and the screen’s view shifted to the right. Then there was a swift flash of red, there one moment, gone the next.

“Go back,” Maddox said, tensing. He wasn’t a surveillance expert. No, his skill lay in the actual killing. But even he knew what that red slash represented. Body heat.

Tap, tap, tap and the red slash once again consumed the screen.

“Human?” he asked. The silhouette was small, almost dainty.

“Definitely.”

“Male or female?”

Torin shrugged. “Female, most likely. Too big to be a child, too small to be a grown man.”

Hardly anyone ventured up the bleak hill at this time of night. Or even during the day. Whether it was too spooky, too gloomy or a sign of the locals’ respect, Maddox didn’t know. But he could count on one hand the number of deliverymen, children wanting to explore and women prowling for sex who’d braved the journey in the last year.

“One of Paris’s lovers?” he asked.

“Possibly. Or…”

“Or?” he prompted when his friend hesitated.

“A Hunter,” Torin said grimly. “Bait, more specifically.”

Maddox pressed his lips together in a harsh line. “Now I know you’re teasing me.”

“Think about it. Deliverymen always come with boxes and Paris’s girls always race straight toward the front door. This one looks empty-handed and she’s gone in circles, stopping every few minutes and doing something against the trees. Planting dynamite in an attempt to injure us, maybe. Cameras to watch us.”

“If she’s empty-handed—”

“Dynamite and cameras are small enough to conceal.”

He massaged the back of his neck. “Hunters haven’t stalked or tormented us since Greece.”

“Maybe their children and then their children’s children have been searching for us all this time. Maybe they finally found us.”

Dread suddenly curled in Maddox’s stomach. First Aeron’s shocking summons and now the uninvited visitor. Mere coincidence? His mind flashed back to those dark days in Greece, days of war and savagery, screams and death. Days the warriors had been more demon than man. Days a hunger for destruction had dictated their every action and human bodies had littered the streets.

Hunters had soon risen from the tortured masses, a league of mortal men intent upon destroying those who’d unleashed such evil, and a blood feud had erupted. The battles he then found himself fighting, with swords clanging and fires raging, flesh burning and peace something of lore and legend…

Cunning had been the Hunters’ greatest weapon, however. They had trained female Bait to seduce and distract while they swooped in for the kill. That’s how they managed to murder Baden, keeper of Distrust. They had not managed to kill the demon itself, however, and it had sprung from the decimated body, crazed, demented, warped from the loss of its host.

Where the demon resided now, Maddox didn’t know.

“The gods surely hate us,” Torin said. “What better way to hurt us than to send Hunters just when we’ve finally carved out a somewhat peaceful life for ourselves?”

His dread intensified. “They would not wish the demons, crazed as they would surely be without us, loose upon the world. Would they?”

“Who knows why they do any of the things that they do.” A statement, with no hint of a question. None of them really understood the gods, even after all these centuries. “We have to do something, Maddox.”

His gaze flicked to the wall clock and he tensed. “Call Paris.”

“Did. He’s not answering his cell phone.”

“Call—”

“Do you really think I would have disturbed you this close to midnight if there were anyone else?” Torin twisted in the seat, peering up at him with forbidding determination. “You’re it.”

Maddox shook his head. “Very soon, I’m going to die. I cannot be outside these walls.”

“Neither can I.” Something murky and dangerous shimmered in Torin’s eyes, something bitter, turning the green to a poisonous emerald. “You, at least, won’t obliterate the entire human race by leaving.”

“Torin—”

“You’re not going to win this argument, Maddox, so stop wasting time.”

He tangled a hand through his chin-length hair, frustration mounting. We should leave it out there to die, Violence proclaimed. It—the human.

“If it is a Hunter,” Torin said, as if hearing his thoughts, “if it is Bait? We can’t allow it to live. It must be destroyed.”

“And if it’s innocent and my death-curse strikes?” Maddox countered, tamping down the demon as best he could.

Guilt flashed over Torin’s expression, as though every life he was responsible for taking clamored inside his conscience, begging him to rescue those he could. “That is a chance we have to take. We are not the monsters the demons would have us be.”

Maddox ground his teeth together. He was not a cruel man; he was not a beast. Not heartless. He hated the waves of immorality that constantly threatened to pull him under. Hated what he did, what he was—and what he would become if he ever stopped fighting those black cravings and evil musings.

“Where is the human now?” he asked. He would venture into the night, even if it cost him terribly.

“At the Danube border.”

A fifteen-minute run. He had just enough time to weapon up, find the human, usher it to shelter if it was innocent or kill it if circumstances demanded, and return to the fortress. If anything slowed him down, he could die out in the open. Anyone else foolish enough to venture onto the hill would be placed in danger. Because when the first pain hit, he would be reduced to Violence and those black cravings would consume him.

He would have no other purpose but destruction.

“If I don’t return by midnight, have one of the others search for my body, as well as Lucien’s and Reyes’s.” Both Death and Pain came to him each night at midnight, no matter where Maddox was. Pain rendered the blows and Death escorted his soul to hell, where it would remain, tortured by fire and demons almost as loathsome as Violence, until morning.

Unfortunately, Maddox could not guarantee his friends’ safety out in the open. He might hurt them before they completed their tasks. And if he hurt them, the anguish he would feel would be second only to the agony of the death-curse that visited him every night.

“Promise me,” he said.

Eyes bleak, Torin nodded. “Be careful, my friend.”

He stalked out of the room, his movements rushed. Before he made it halfway down the hall, however, Torin called, “Maddox. You might want to look at this.”

Backtracking, he experienced another slap of dread. What now? Could anything be worse? When he stood in front of the monitors once more, he arched a brow at Torin, a silent command to hurry.

Torin motioned to the screen with a tilt of his chin. “Looks like there are four more of them. All male…or Amazons. They weren’t there earlier.”

“Damn this.” Maddox studied the four new slashes of red, each one bigger than the last. They were closing in on the little one. Yes, things could indeed be worse. “I’ll take care of them,” he said. “All of them.” Once more he leapt into motion, his pace more clipped.

He reached his bedroom and headed straight to the closet, bypassing the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. He’d destroyed his dresser, mirror and chairs in one fit of violence or another.

At one time, he’d been foolish enough to fill the space with tranquil indoor waterfalls, plants, crosses, anything to promote peace and soothe raw nerves. None of it had worked and all had been smashed beyond repair in a matter of minutes as the demon overtook him. Since then he’d opted for what Paris called a minimalist look.

The only reason he still had a bed was because it was made of metal and Reyes needed something to chain him to as midnight drew near. They kept an abundant supply of mattresses, sheets, chains and metal headboards in one of the bedrooms next door. Just in case.

Hurry! Quickly, he jerked a black T-shirt over his head, pulled on a pair of boots and strapped blades to his wrists, waist and ankles. No guns. He and Violence were in agreement about one thing—enemies needed to die up close and personal.

If any of the humans in the forest proved to be Hunters or Bait, nothing could save them now.

CHAPTER TWO

ASHLYN DARROW SHIVERED against the frigid wind. Strands of light brown hair whipped in front of her eyes; she hooked them behind her throbbing ears with a shaky hand. Not that she could see much, anyway. The night was black, thick with fog and snowflakes. Only a few golden slivers of moonlight were strong enough to peek through the towering, snowcapped trees.

How could a landscape so beautiful be so damaging to the human body?

She sighed, mist forming in front of her face. She should have been relaxing on a flight back to the States, but yesterday she’d learned something too wonderful to resist. Hope had filled her, and earlier this evening she’d raced here without thought, without hesitation, seizing her first chance to find out if it were true.

Somewhere in the vastness of this forest were men with strange abilities no one seemed able to explain. Exactly what they could do, she didn’t know. She only knew that she needed help. Desperately. And she’d risk anything, everything, to speak with those powerful men.

She couldn’t live with the voices anymore.

Ashlyn had only to stand in one location to hear every conversation that had ever taken place there, no matter how much time had passed. Present, past, any and all languages, it didn’t matter. She could hear them in her mind, translate them, even. A gift, some assumed. A nightmare, she knew.

Another chill wind beat against her and she leaned against a tree, using it as a shield. Yesterday, when she’d come to Budapest with several colleagues from the World Institute of Parapsychology, she’d stood in the center of town and begun hearing tidbits of dialogue. Nothing new for her…until she’d deciphered the meaning of the words.

They can enslave you with a glance.

One of them has wings and flies when the moon is full.

The scarred one can disappear at will.

As if those whispers had opened some sort of doorway in her mind, hundreds of years of chatter had slammed into her, a blend of old and new. She’d doubled over from the intensity of it, trying to sort the mundane from the essential.

They never age.

They must be angels.

Even their home is creepy—straight out of a horror movie. Hidden on a hilltop, shadowy corners, and damn, even the birds won’t go near it.

Should we kill them?

They’re magical. They eased my torment.

So many people, present and past, evidently believed these men operated beyond human ability, that they possessed extraordinary skills. Was it possible the men could help her? Eased my torment, someone had said.

“Maybe they can ease mine,” Ashlyn muttered now. Over the years and in all corners of the world she’d listened to rumors of vampires, werewolves, goblins and witches, gods and goddesses, demons and angels, monsters and fairies. She’d even led the Institute’s researchers to many of those creatures’ doorsteps, proving they did, in fact, exist.

The whole purpose of the Institute, after all, was to locate, observe and study paranormal beings and determine how the world could benefit from their existence. And for once, working as a para-audiologist might prove to be her salvation, as well.

Oddly enough, she hadn’t led the Institute to Budapest, as was usually the case with a new assignment. She hadn’t heard a word about Budapest, in fact, in any of the recent conversations she’d tapped into. But they had brought her here anyway, asking her to listen for any discussions about demons.

She knew better than to ask why. The answer, no matter the question, was always the same: classified.

When she had done as ordered, she’d learned that a few of the locals considered the men living atop this hill to be demons. Evil, wicked. Most, however, considered them angels. Angels who kept to themselves—all but one, that is, who reputedly liked bedding anything female and had been dubbed the Orgasm Instructor by a giggling trio who had spent a “single, glorious” night with him. Angels who, through their presence alone, kept the crime levels low. Angels who poured money into the community and made sure the homeless were fed.

Ashlyn herself doubted such do-gooders were possessed. Demons were invariably malicious, unconcerned with those around them. But whether the men were angels living on earth or simply ordinary people capable of doing extraordinary things, she prayed they could help her as no one else had been able to. She prayed they could teach her how to block the voices or even help strip her of her ability completely.

The thought was intoxicating, and her lips lifted in a slow smile. That smile quickly faded, however, as another blast of wind cut through her jacket and sweater and seeped into her skin. She’d been out here for more than an hour, and she was chilled to the bone. Stopping to rest (again) hadn’t been the smartest of plans.

Her gaze climbed the hill. Through a break in the clouds, a sudden ray of amber light poured down and illuminated the massive charcoal-colored castle. Mist curled from the bottom, beckoning her with ghostly fingers. The place looked exactly as the voice had said, she mused, shadowed and spiked along the top, a horror movie come to life.

That didn’t deter her. Quite the opposite. I’m almost there, she thought happily, once again trudging uphill. Her thighs already burned from dodging limbs and jumping over elevated roots, but she didn’t care. She kept moving.

Until, ten minutes later, she found herself stopping for the thousandth time, unable to walk another step as her shaky, tired thighs morphed into blocks of ice. “No,” she moaned. Not now. Rubbing her legs to warm them, she studied the distance again. Her eyes widened when she realized that the castle didn’t appear any closer. In fact, it might have been farther away.

Ashlyn shook her head in astonished despair. Damn it! What did she have to do to reach the place? Sprout wings and fly?

Even if I fail, I don’t regret coming here. The no provisions and no planning part, yeah, she regretted that, but she’d had to try. No matter how foolish, she’d simply had to try. She would have made the journey naked and barefoot if necessary. Anything for a chance at normalcy.

She loved that she helped safeguard the world with her—gag—gift, but the torment she endured was too much. Surely there was another way for her to help. With a little silence, she might be able to think of how. Deep-breathing exercises and meditation only did so much for her peace of mind.

She rubbed her legs more frantically, the ministrations finally melting some of the internal ice and spurring her back into motion. Ök itt. Tudom ök, she heard as she stepped past a hunched, gnarled tree. They’re here, her mind instantly translated, I know they are.

Then someone else said, Aren’t you a pretty thing?

“Yes, I am, thank you,” she said, hoping the sound of her own voice would overshadow the others. It didn’t. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

As she continued to slog forward, different conversations from different time periods drifted into her awareness, stacking one on top of the other in her mind. Most were spoken in Hungarian, some in English, and that made them all the more jumbled.

Yes. Yes! Touch me. There, yes, there.

Bárhol as én kardom? En nem tudom holvan.

One more taste of his lips, and I’ll forget him. I just need one more taste.

Ashlyn stumbled over twigs and rocks, the words blending together, growing louder. Louder still. Her heart drummed in her chest and she barely refrained from screaming in frustration. Deep breath in, deep breath—

If you knock on the door, you’ll be fucked like an animal and I guarantee you’ll love every minute of it.

She covered her ears, even though she knew that wouldn’t work, either. “Keep going. Find them.” More wind. More voices. “Keep going,” she repeated, the words chiming in harmony with her footsteps. She’d come all this way; she could make it a little farther. “Find them.”

When she’d told Dr. McIntosh, vice president of the Institute as well as her boss and mentor, what she’d learned about the men, he’d given her a brief nod and a brisk “Well done”—his highest form of praise.

Then she’d asked to be taken to the chateau atop this imposing hill.

“Not a chance,” he’d said, turning away from her. “They could be the demons some of the locals paint them.”

“Or they could very well be the angels most of the locals consider them.”

“You’re not going to risk it, Darrow.” That’s when he’d ordered her to pack her bags and readied a car for her departure to the airport, just as he always did when her part of the job—providing the ears—was done.

It was “standard agency procedure,” he always claimed, yet he never sent the rest of the workers home. Just her. McIntosh cared about her and wanted her safe, she knew that. After all, he’d seen to her care for more than fifteen years, taking her under his wing when she’d been a scared child whose parents hadn’t known how to ease their “gifted” daughter’s torment. He’d even read her fairy tales to teach her that the world was a place of magic and endless possibilities, a place where nobody—not even someone like her—had to feel odd.

While he did care, she also knew her ability was important to his career, that the Institute would not be half as effective without her and that as a result, she was something of a pawn in his eyes. That’s why she didn’t feel (too) guilty for sneaking here the moment his back was turned.

Fingers numb, Ashlyn once again smoothed her hair from her face. Maybe she should have taken the time to ask the locals for the best route, but the voices had been too loud, too incapacitating in the heart of the city. More than that, she’d been afraid an Institute employee would see her and take her in.

Might have been worth taking her chances, though, to avoid this debilitating cold.

There’s one way to learn the truth. Stab one in the heart and see if he dies, a voice said, snagging her attention.

Oh, that feels good. Please, more!

Distracted, Ashlyn tripped over a fallen limb. Down she tumbled, landing with a pained gasp. Sharp rocks abraded her palms and scratched at her jeans. For a long while, she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Too cold, she thought. Too loud.

As she lay there, her strength seemed to drain completely. Her temples throbbed, the voices still bombarding her. Closing her eyes, she pulled the lapels of her jacket tight and managed to crawl to and huddle against the base of a tree.

We shouldn’t be here. They see everything.

Are you hurt?

Look what I found! Isn’t it pretty?

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she shouted. Of course, the voices didn’t listen to her. They never did.

Dare you to run through the trees naked.

Éhes vagyok. Kaphatok volamit eni?

A pop and whiz suddenly sounded, and her eyelids sprang open. Next there was a tortured scream. A man’s scream, quickly followed by three others.

Present. Not past. After twenty-four years, she knew the difference.

Terror snaked her in an iron grip, squeezing the breath out of her. Even through the chattering of voices, she heard a sickening thud. She tried to stand, to run, but a sudden whoosh of air held her in place. No, not air, she realized a second later, but a blade. Her entire body jerked in surprise as the hilt of a blood-coated knife swayed just above her shoulder, embedded in tree bark.

Before she had time to scramble away, to scream, there was another whoosh. Another jerk. Ashlyn’s attention swung to the other side. Sure enough, a second blade was rooted just above her left shoulder.

How—What—The thoughts hadn’t yet fully formed when something burst from a nearby thicket. Brittle leaves clashed together in an ominous dance, the snow that had covered them sprinkling to the ground as limbs slapped and shook. Then the something raced past a ray of moonlight and she caught a glimpse of black hair and radiant violet eyes. A man. A big, muscled man was charging toward her at top speed. His expression was pure brutality.

“Ohmygod,” she gasped out. “Stop. Stop!”

Suddenly he was there, right in her face. Crouching, pinning her in place, sniffing her neck. “They were Hunters,” he said in lightly accented English, his voice as harsh and rough as his rugged features. “Are you?” He grabbed her right wrist and peeled back the material of her jacket and sweater. He ran his thumb over the pulse there. “No tattoo, like they had.”

They? Hunters? Tattoo? A tremor cartwheeled down her spine. The intruder was huge, hulking, his muscular frame surrounding her with menace. A metallic tang drifted from him, mixed with the fragrance of man and heat and something she couldn’t identify.

Up close, she could see the splatter of red on his too-harsh face. Blood? The biting wind seemed to slither past her skin and into the marrow of her bones.

Savage, the look in his violet eyes said. Predator.

Maybe I should have listened to McIntosh. Maybe the men really are demons.

“Are you one of them?” the man repeated.

Shocked to her core, frightened beyond belief, it took her a moment to realize something was…different. The air, the temperature, the—

The voices had stopped.

Her eyes widened in astonishment.

The voices had stopped, as if they were actually cognizant of the man’s presence and were as afraid of him as she was. Silence enveloped her.

No. It wasn’t utter silence she experienced, she decided a moment later, but rather…quiet. Magnificent, blissful quiet. How long since she’d known such a thing, untainted by conversation? Had she ever?

Wind rustled and leaves smacked together. Snow hummed softly as it drifted through the air, a tranquil melody meant to lull and relax. The trees breathed with life and vitality, branches waving gently.

Had anything ever sounded as magnificent as nature’s symphony?

In that moment, she forgot her fear. How could this man be possessed by a demon when he came with such lovely quiet? Demons were a source of torment, not peace.

Was he an angel of mercy, then, as the locals assumed?

Closing her eyes in delight, she drank in that peace, reveled in it. Embraced it.

“Woman?” the angel said, confusion radiating from his voice.

“Hush.” Contentment skipped through her. Even at home in North Carolina, in a house that had been built by construction workers forbidden to speak more than necessary, she always heard the echo of deep-rooted whispers. “Don’t speak. Just enjoy.”

For a moment, he didn’t reply. “You dare tell me to hush?” he said finally, angry surprise in his tone.

“You’re still talking,” Ashlyn admonished, then pressed her lips together. Angel or not, he didn’t strike her as the kind of person she should scold. Besides, angering him was the last thing she wanted to do. His presence brought silence. And delicious warmth, she realized as the chill rapidly left her body.

Slowly she cracked open her eyelids.

They were nose to nose, his balmy breath trekking over her lips. His skin glowed like smooth copper, almost otherworldly in the moonlight. All hard angles and fierce planes, his face boasted a sharp blade of a nose and black-as-the-devil’s-heart eyebrows.

Those predatory purple eyes bored into her, somehow all the more menacing framed as they were by long, feathered lashes. I’ll kill anyone, anywhere, his expression seemed to say.

Demon. No, not a demon, she reminded herself. The silence was too good, too pure and right. But he was not an angel, after all, she decided. He’d brought the quiet, yes, but he was clearly as dangerous as he was beautiful. Anyone who could throw blades like that…

So what was he?

Ashlyn gulped, studied him. Her pulse should not have fluttered just then, and her breasts should not have ached. But it did. They did. He was like the dragons in the fairy tales McIntosh had read her: too lethal to tame, too mesmerizing to walk away from.

And yet, she suddenly wanted to bury her head in the hollow of his neck. Wanted to wrap herself around him. Wanted to hold on to him and never let go. She even found herself leaning toward him with every intention of giving in to those wants.

Stop. Don’t.

Most of her life, human touch had been denied her. At five, she’d been sent to the Institute, where most of the employees hadn’t concerned themselves with anything other than studying her ability. McIntosh was the closest thing she’d ever had to a friend, but even he had not hugged or touched her often, as if he feared her as much as he cared for her.

Dating, too, was tough. Men sort of freaked when they learned of her ability. And they always learned. There was no way to hide it. But…

If this man was who—what—she thought he was, he might not care about her little talent. He might let her touch him. And touching him and his heat might very well prove to be as potent a sensation as the silence, yet so much more—

“Woman?” he repeated, the word husky now, wine-rich as it cut into her thoughts.

She froze. Gulped again. Was that…desire flickering in his icy violet irises, completely obliterating that must-kill glaze? Or was the desire she saw born of pain and brutality, her death imminent? A swarm of emotions bombarded her: another clap of fear, morbid awe and yes, feminine curiosity. She had little experience with men, and even less with desire.

What had she been thinking, leaning toward him like that? He might have viewed her touch as an invitation. Might have touched her in return.

Why didn’t the mere thought send her into hysterics?

Perhaps because she might be wrong. Perhaps he wasn’t a dragon after all, but the prince who slayed the dragon to save the princess. “What’s your name?” she found herself asking.

A tension-filled second ticked by, then another, and she assumed he wouldn’t answer. Lines of strain bracketed his rough features, as though being near her was a chore. Finally he said, “Maddox. I am called Maddox.”

Maddox… The name slipped and slid through the corridors of her mind, a seductive chant that promised unimaginable satisfaction. She forced herself to smile in greeting. “I’m Ashlyn Darrow.”

His attention deviated to her lips. Despite the snow, beads of sweat broke out over his forehead, glistening. “You should not have come, Ashlyn Darrow,” he snarled, losing all hint of the desire she’d both fancied and feared. But he traced his hands up her arms, surprisingly gentle, and stopped at the base of her nape. Gingerly his thumb tripped over her throat, lingering on the wildly thumping pulse.

She sucked in a breath and swallowed it, his fingers moving with the motion. An unintentional yet wholly erotic caress that liquefied her entire body. Until, a moment later, his grip tightened, almost hurting.

She gasped out a raspy “Please,” and he released her completely.

Ashlyn blinked in surprise. Without his touch, she felt…bereft?

“Dangerous,” he said, this time in Hungarian.

She wasn’t sure if he meant himself—or her. “Are you one of them?” she asked softly, not switching languages herself. No reason to let him know she spoke them both.

Astonishment darkened his gaze, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “What do you mean? One of them?” English this time.

“I—I—” The words refused to form. Fury was blanketing his features, more fury than she’d ever seen another person project. It radiated from every contour of his hard body. She drew her arms around her middle. No, not a prince after all. A dragon, definitely, as she’d first assumed.

Remaining on his knees, he inched away from her. He drew in a measured breath and slowly released it, the air misting around his face. His hand hovered over the opening of his boot, as if he couldn’t decide whether to reach inside or not. Finally, he said, “What are you doing in these woods, woman? And do not lie to me. I’ll know it, and you will not like my response.”

Ashlyn somehow found her voice. “I’m looking for the men who live at the top of this hill.”

“Why?” The single word was spat.

How much should she reveal? He was one of the men with strange abilities, had to be. He was too vibrant, too powerful to be solely human. But more than that, his mere presence had somehow chased the voices away, something that had never happened to her before. “I need help,” she admitted.

“Do you?” There was a conflicting mix of suspicion and indulgence in his expression. “With what?”

She opened her mouth to say…what? She didn’t know. In the end, it didn’t matter. He stopped her with a quick shake of his head. “Never mind. You aren’t welcome here, so your explanation is moot. Return to the city. Whatever you came here for, you will not receive.”

“But—but…” She couldn’t allow him to send her away. She needed him. Yes, she’d only just met him. Yes, the only things she knew about him were his name and the fact that he threw daggers with expert precision. But she was already horrified at the thought of losing the silence. “I want to stay with you.” She knew desperation seeped from her, but she didn’t care. “Please. Just for a little while. Until I learn how to control the voices myself.”

Instead of softening, he seemed infuriated by her plea. His nostrils flared and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Your babbling will not distract me. You’re Bait. You have to be. Otherwise you would be running from me in fear.”

“I’m not bait.” Whatever bait was. “Swear to God.” She reached out and gripped his forearms, the flesh firm and solid, unbelievably hot and utterly electrifying underneath her hand. Tingles speared her arm. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Quick as a snap, he slashed out a hand and caught the base of her skull, jerking her forward into a beam of moonlight. The action didn’t hurt her. On the contrary, she experienced another electrical jolt. Her stomach quivered.

He didn’t speak, just studied her with an intensity that bordered on cruelty. She studied him, too, shocked as something began to flash…swirl…materialize under his skin. A face, she realized with macabre awe. Another face. Her heart skipped a beat. Can’t be a demon, can’t be a demon. He made the voices stop. He and the others have done wonderful things for this city. It’s just a trick of the light.

While she could still see Maddox’s features, she could also see that shadow of someone—something—else. Red, glowing eyes. Skeletal cheekbones. Sharp-as-daggers teeth.

Please be a trick of the light.

But the more that skeletal countenance stared at her, the less she could pretend it was an illusion.

“Do you want to die?” Maddox—or the skeleton?—demanded, the words so guttural they were barely more than an animalistic growl.

“No.” He could kill her, but she’d die with a smile. Two minutes of silence were worth more to her than a lifetime of noise. Scared but determined, and still tingling because of his fever-touch, she raised her chin. “I need your help. Tell me how to control my power and I’ll leave here and now. Or let me stay with you and learn how it’s done.”

He released her, then reached for her again, then stopped and fisted his hand. “I do not know why I am hesitating,” he said, even as he eyed her mouth with what might have been longing. “Midnight is closing in, and you need to be as far away from me as possible.”

The moment the last word left him, he frowned. A second later, he barked, “Too late! Pain is searching for me.” He inched away from her, that skeletal mask still flashing behind his skin. “Run. Go back to the city. Now!”

“No,” she said with only the slightest tremble. Only a fool ran from heaven—even if that piece of heaven possessed a transparent face straight from hell.

Cursing under his breath, Maddox jerked the two blades from the tree and pushed to his feet. His gaze lifted skyward, past snow and treetops to the half moon. His frown became fierce, angry. One step, two, he backed away.

Ashlyn used the tree as leverage and stood. Her knees knocked together, nearly collapsing under her weight. Suddenly she could feel the icy wind again, could hear the whisper of chatter closing in on her. A cry of despair rose inside her.

Three steps, four.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “Don’t leave me here.”

“No time to take you to shelter. You’ll have to find it on your own.” He wheeled around, giving her a view of his wide shoulders and stiff, retreating back, before throwing over his shoulder, “Do not return to this hill, woman. Next time, you will not find me so generous.”

“I’m not going back. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” A threat, yes, but one she intended to uphold.

Maddox stopped and whipped to face her, baring his teeth in another fearsome scowl. “I could kill you here and now, Bait, as I know I should. How would you follow me then?”

Bait again. Her heart drummed erratically in her chest, but she met his stare dead on, hoping she appeared stubborn and determined rather than simply petrified. “Believe me, I’d rather you do so than leave me alone with the voices.”

A curse, a hiss of pain. He doubled over.

Losing her bravado in the face of concern, Ashlyn raced to him. She splayed her fingers over his back and searched for injury. Anything that crumpled this hulking beast had to be excruciating. He shoved her away, however, and she stumbled from the unexpected force.

“No,” he said, and she would have sworn he spoke with two separate voices. One a man’s. The second…something so much more powerful. It boomed like a thunderstorm, echoing in the night. “No touching.”

“Are you hurt?” She righted herself, trying not to reveal just how badly his actions cut. “Maybe I can help. I—”

“Leave or die.” He spun and leapt forward, disappearing into the night.

Chatter crashed into her mind, as if it had merely been awaiting his departure. Now it seemed louder than ever before, blaring after the precious silence.

Langnak ithon kel moradni.

Stumbling in the same direction Maddox had taken, Ashlyn covered her ears. “Wait.” She moaned. Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Wait. Please.”

Her foot tangled with a broken limb and she toppled again to the ground. A sharp ache tore through her ankle. Whimpering, she dragged herself to her hands and knees and crawled.

Ate ìtéleted let minket veszejbe.

Couldn’t stop. Had to reach him. Wind beat against her, as sharp as the daggers Maddox carried.

On and on the voices clamored.

“Please,” she cried. “Please.”

A fierce roar split the night, shaking the ground, rattling the trees.

Suddenly Maddox was beside her again, drowning out the voices. “Foolish Bait,” he spat. More to himself, he added, “Foolish warrior.”

Crying out in relief, she threw her arms around him. Holding tight. Never wanting to let go—even if he did still wear that eerie skeletal mask. Tears streamed down her cheeks, crystallizing on her skin. “Thank you. Thank you for coming back. Thank you.” She buried her head in the hollow of his neck, exactly as she’d wanted to do earlier. When her cheek brushed his bare skin, she shivered, those warm tingles rushing through her once more.

“You’ll come to regret this,” he said, sweeping her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She didn’t care. She was with him, the voices gone, and that was all that mattered.

Maddox sped into motion, maneuvering around those ghostly trees. Every so often, he grunted as if in pain. Snarled as if in a rage. Ashlyn begged him to set her down so that she could spare him the burden of her weight, but he squeezed the inside of her thigh, a silent command for her to shut the hell up. Finally she relaxed against him and simply enjoyed the ride.

If only that joy could have lasted.

CHAPTER THREE

GET HOME, GET HOME, get home. Maddox chanted the command in his mind, trying to distract himself from the pain. Trying to dampen the urge to do violence…an urge that was building steadily. The woman—Ashlyn—bounced on his shoulder, an unwelcome reminder that he could break at any moment and slaughter everything around him. Her, especially.

You wanted to drown in a woman, the spirit taunted. Here’s your chance. Drown in her blood.

His hands curled into fists. He needed to think, but couldn’t do so over the pain. She had mentioned a power, asked for his help. Hadn’t she? Some of what she had said was lost amidst the roar in his head. All he knew for certain was that he should have left her behind as he’d intended.

But he had heard her cry out, a tortured sound—the sort of crazed groan Maddox himself had often wanted to release. Something inside him had reacted deeply, and he’d been filled with a need to help her, a need to touch her soft skin just one more time. A need that had somehow proven stronger than Violence. An amazing, unbelievable feat.

And so he’d returned to her, even though he’d known she was in more danger with him than she was alone in the forest. Even though he’d known she had most likely been sent to distract him and help Hunters gain access to the fortress.

Fool. Now she was draped over him, her feminine scent teasing his nose, her soft curves his to explore.

Or slice, the demon goaded.

Hauntingly beautiful as she was, it was easy to understand why the Hunters had sent her. Who would want to mar such lush femininity? Who would turn such blatant sensuality away? Not him, it seemed.

Fool, he inwardly cursed again. Hunters! They truly were in Budapest, their tattoos a grim reminder of those dark, dark days in Greece. Clearly they were once more out for blood, for each of the four men following Ashlyn had carried a gun and silencer. For mortals, they’d fought with expert skill.

Maddox had emerged the victor in that bloody tête-à-tête, but he had not emerged unscathed. His lower leg had been sliced, and one of his ribs was surely cracked.

Time, it seemed, had only honed their skills.

He wondered how Ashlyn would react when she found out they were gone. Would she cry? Scream? Rail? Would she attack him in a grief-stricken rage?

Did any others wait in town?

At the moment, he couldn’t seem to make himself care. Holding Ashlyn in his arms, he was transported, the hell that was his life momentarily receding, leaving only…something he didn’t think he could rightly name. Desire, perhaps. No. He discarded the word instantly. It failed to explain the intensity of the rush, the heat.

Instant obsession, maybe.

Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. It was more powerful than anything he’d experienced before, threatening to control him. Maddox did not need another force trying to pull his strings.

She was just so…lovely. So lovely it almost hurt to gaze upon her. Her skin was smooth and supple, like cinnamon dipped in a honey pot then churned into lickable cream. Her eyes were that same honey shade and so haunted they made his chest hurt. He’d never seen a mortal look so tormented and felt a strange kind of kinship with her.

While strands of long, silky hair, also the color of honey yet veined with copper and quartz, had wisped around her delicate features, he’d ached. He’d wanted. Wanted to touch, to taste. Wanted to devour. Consume. But he hadn’t wanted to hurt. The knowledge still amazed him.

Ashlyn… Her name whispered through his mind, as delicate as the woman herself. Taking her to the fortress was against the rules, a threat to their most guarded secrets. He should be ashamed of himself for carrying her forward rather than away, and she should be crying in terror.

Apparently should did not mean anything to either of them.

Why wasn’t she crying? More importantly, why hadn’t she cried? When he’d first pounced on her, clearly splattered with the blood of her allies, a delicious smile had lit her face, her plump lips showcasing perfect white teeth.

Remembering that smile, Maddox experienced a jolt of blistering arousal. Underneath it, however, confusion still lingered. Though it had been an eternity since he’d last dealt with Bait, he could not recall the Hunters’ decoys ever being so transparent in their satisfaction.

Not even Hadiee, the Bait who had helped bring Baden, keeper of Distrust, to his knees. Hadiee had played the abused, frightened soul to perfection. Seeing her, Baden had decided to act without suspicion for the first time since his demon had been placed inside him. Or maybe not. Maddox had always wondered if the man had wanted to die. If so, he’d gotten his wish. He’d been stabbed in the throat moments after opening his spiti to Hadiee—who in turn allowed armed Hunters inside.

Most likely, the stabbing alone would not have killed Baden. The Hunters, however, then proceeded to decapitate him. Baden hadn’t stood a chance. Not even an immortal could recover from that.

He’d been a good man, a fine warrior, and hadn’t deserved such a bloody demise. Maddox, however…

My murder would be justified.

The Bait before Hadiee had seduced Paris. Not that such a thing required much effort. During the act, Hunters had crept inside the woman’s bedroom and stabbed the warrior in the back, attempting to weaken him before going for his head.

Paris, though, was strengthened by sex. Even injured, he’d managed to fight his way free and kill everyone around him.

Maddox couldn’t imagine the woman in his arms being cowardly enough to strike from behind. She had faced him and hadn’t backed down, even when the spirit inside of him clamored for release. Perhaps Ashlyn was innocent. He hadn’t found cameras or dynamite on the trees where she’d lingered. Perhaps—

“Perhaps you are more a fool than you realize,” he muttered.

“What?”

He ignored her, knowing it was safer that way. Her voice was soft and lilting and prodded at the spirit, mocking in its gentleness. Best to keep her silent.

Finally he spotted the dark, crumbling stone of the fortress. None too soon. An excruciating pain ripped through his stomach, almost knocking him to the ground. Violence poured through his veins and shimmered in his blood. Kill. Hurt. Maim.

“No.”

Kill, hurt, maim.

“No!”

Killhurtmaim.

“Maddox?”

The spirit roared, desperate, so desperate for release. Fight it, he commanded himself. Remain calm. He drew air into his lungs, held it, slowly released it. Killhurtmaim, killhurtmaim. “I will resist. I am not a monster.”

We shall see.…

His nails elongated, itching with that inexorable urge to strike. If he didn’t compose himself, he would soon assault anything and everything within his reach. He would kill, without mercy, without hesitation. He would destroy this home stone by stone, kicking and clawing. Raging. He would destroy everyone inside of it. And he would rather burn in hell for all eternity than do such a thing.

“Maddox?” Ashlyn said again. Her sweet voice drifted to his ears, an entreaty that was part soothing balm, part kindling. “What’s—”

“Silence.” He skimmed her off his shoulder, still holding her tight, and burst through the front door, nearly ripping the wood from its hinges. Angry voices greeted him. Torin, Lucien and Reyes stood in the foyer, arguing.

“You never should have let him leave,” Lucien said. “He becomes an animal, Torin, annihilating—”

“Stop!” Maddox shouted. “Help!”

All three men spun, facing him.

“What’s going on?” Reyes demanded. Seeing Ashlyn, he gaped. Shock settled over his features. “Why have you brought a woman into the house?”

Hearing the commotion, Paris and Aeron raced into the foyer, features taut. When they spotted Maddox, they relaxed. “Finally,” Paris said, clearly relieved. But he, too, spotted Ashlyn. He grinned. “Sweet! A present? For me?”

Maddox bared his teeth. Kill them, Violence beseeched, a seductive whisper now. Kill them.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The words tore from his throat. “Take her and leave. Before it’s too late.”

“Look at him,” Paris said, his relief and amusement gone. “Look at his face.”

“The process has already begun,” Lucien said.

The words spurred Maddox to action. Though he found he didn’t want to release Ashlyn, even in his madness, he tossed her at the group. Lucien caught her effortlessly. The moment her weight settled on her feet, she winced. Must have twisted her ankle on the hill, Maddox realized, concern slipping past bloodlust for a split second.

“Careful of her foot,” he commanded.

Lucien released her to look at her ankle, but Ashlyn scrambled away from him and limped her way back into Maddox’s arms. His concern intensified as his arms wound around her. She was trembling. But a moment later, he stopped caring. A pestilent haze fell over his mind, brutality obliterating every emotion in its path.

“Release me,” he growled, pushing her.

The woman clung to him. “What’s wrong?”

Lucien grabbed her, jerking her backward and locking her in an iron grip. Had she touched Maddox a second longer, he might have clawed her to pieces. As it was, he slammed his hands into the nearest wall.

“Maddox,” she said on a tremulous breath.

“Do not hurt her.” The words were for himself as much as the others. “You,” he grated, pointing to Reyes with a crimson-stained finger. “Bedroom. Now.” He didn’t wait for a response, but pounded up the stairs.

He heard Ashlyn fight for freedom and call, “But I want to stay with you.”

He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He allowed himself a single glance over his shoulder.

When Lucien further tightened his hold on the struggling Ashlyn, his dark hair brushing her shoulders, Maddox’s need for bloodshed strengthened. He almost changed paths, almost sprinted back into the foyer to hack his friend to pieces. Mine, his mind shouted. Mine. I found her. No one but me should be allowed to touch her.

Maddox wasn’t sure whether it was the spirit or himself who thought such a thing, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to kill. Yes, kill. Fury, such fury, exploded through him. He did stop. Did change direction. He was going to slice Lucien in half and coat the floor with his friend’s blood. Destroy, destroy, destroy. Kill.

“He’s going to attack.” Lucien.

“Get her out of here!” Torin.

Lucien dragged Ashlyn from the room. Her panicked cries echoed in Maddox’s ears, which only managed to increase his darkest needs. The image of her pale, lovely face flashed in his mind over and over again, becoming the only thing he saw. She was terrified. Trusted him, wanted him. Her arms had reached for him.

His stomach was a stinging mass of pulsing agony, but he didn’t slow his steps. Any minute, midnight would arrive and he would die—but he was taking everyone here with him. Yes, they must be destroyed.

“Ah, hell,” Aeron muttered. “The demon has taken over completely. We’ll have to subdue him. Lucien, get back in here. Hurry!”

Aeron, Reyes and Paris advanced. With the speed of a single breath, Maddox unsheathed his daggers and launched them. Expecting the attack, all three men ducked and the silver blades soared over them, embedding in the wall. Two seconds later, the men were on top of him and he was lying flat on his back. Fists jabbed into his face, his stomach, his groin. He fought. Roaring, growling, punching.

Knuckles slammed into his jaw, dislocating the bone. A knee jammed into the sensitive flesh between his legs. Still he fought. And as the battle raged, the warriors managed to drag him up the steps and into his bedroom. Maddox thought he heard Ashlyn sobbing, thought he saw her trying to tear the men away from him. He jabbed his fist forward and hit something—a nose. Heard a howl. Experienced satisfaction. Wanted more blood.

“Damn it! Chain him, Reyes, before he breaks somebody else’s fucking nose.”

“He’s too strong. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him.”

Minutes passed as he fought, maybe an eternity, then cold metal locked around his wrists, his ankles. Maddox bucked and arched, the links cutting into his flesh. “Bastards!” The pain in his stomach was unbearable now, no longer sporadic but constant. “I’ll kill you. I’ll take every one of you to hell with me.”

Reyes stood over him, a dark glaze of determination and regret blanketing his tanned features. Maddox tried to knock him down by raising his knees and kicking, but the chains held. The warrior, too, held steady, withdrawing a long, menacing sword from his side.

“I’m sorry,” Reyes rasped as a clock chimed the hour. And then he stabbed Maddox in the stomach.

The metal sliced all the way to his spine before leaving his body. Instantly blood poured from the wound, wetting his chest and stomach. Bile burned his throat, his nose. He cursed; he bucked.

Reyes stabbed him again. And again.

The pain…the agony… His skin felt scorched. With only those three slices, his bones and organs were already shredded, each tear a point of anguish. Still he fought; still he felt a desperate urge to kill.

A woman screamed. “Stop! You’re killing him!”

When her voice pierced Maddox’s consciousness, his struggles became all the more wild. Ashlyn. His woman from the forest. His. Get to her, had to get to her. Had to kill her—no! Had to save her. Kill…save…the two needs battled for supremacy. He jerked at his chains. The metal shackles dug deeper into his wrists and ankles, but he reared up and kicked. The bed shook with the force of his movements, and both the headboard and footboard bent forward with a whine.

“Why are you doing this?” Ashlyn shouted. “Stop! Don’t hurt him. Ohmygod, stop!”

Reyes stabbed him again.

Black cobwebs wove over his vision as he searched the room. Paris, he saw dimly, was striding toward Ashlyn. Reached her, wrapped his arms around her. She was dwarfed by the larger man, enfolded in his shadow. Tears glistened in those amber eyes and on her too-pale cheeks.

She fought, but Paris held firm and dragged her from the room.

Maddox uttered an animalistic roar. Paris would seduce her. Strip her and taste her. She would not be able to resist; no woman could. “Let her go! Now!” He strained so fervently for freedom, a vessel burst in his forehead. His vision blackened completely.

“Get her out of here and keep her out.” Reyes stabbed Maddox once more, the fifth blow. “She’s making him more crazed than usual.”

Had to save her. Had to get to her. The sound of rattling chains blended with his panting as he struggled all the more.

“I’m sorry,” Reyes whispered again.

Finally, the sixth blow was delivered.

That’s when all of Maddox’s strength seeped from him. The spirit quieted, retreating to the back of his consciousness.

Done. It was done.

He lay on the bed, drenched in his own blood, unable to move or see. The pain didn’t leave him, nor did the burning. No, they intensified, more a part of him than his own skin. Warm liquid gurgled in his throat.

Lucien—he knew it was Lucien for he recognized the deceptively sweet scent of Death—knelt beside him and clasped his hand. That meant his demise was close, so torturously close.

But for Maddox, the true torment had yet to begin.

As part of his death-curse, he and Violence would spend the rest of the night burning in the pits of hell. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a cough emerged. More and more blood was rushing into his throat, choking him.

“In the morning, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do, my friend,” Lucien said, adding gently, “Die now. I’ll take your soul to hell, as required—but this time you might actually want to remain there, eh, rather than deal with the trouble you’ve brought into our home.”

“G-girl,” Maddox finally managed to say.

“Don’t worry,” Lucien said. Whatever questions he had, he kept to himself. “We won’t hurt her. She’ll be yours to deal with in the morning.”

“Untouched.” The request was odd, Maddox knew, because none of them had ever been possessive of a woman. Ashlyn, though… He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with her. He knew what he should do—and what he couldn’t. Both mattered little just then. Because, more than anything, he knew that he didn’t want to share.

“Untouched,” he insisted weakly when Lucien said nothing.

“Untouched,” Lucien agreed at last.

The scent of flowers intensified. A heartbeat of time passed, and then Maddox died.

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHO ARE YOU and how do you know Maddox?”

“Let me go!” Ashlyn wiggled and squirmed, trying to free herself from her captor’s iron grip. Her ankle throbbed, but she didn’t care. “They’re killing him in there.” Oh God. They were killing him, stabbing him over and over again. There’d been so much blood…such terrible screams. She gagged, remembering.

The voices might still be gone, but she felt more tormented than ever.

“Maddox will be fine,” the man told her. Maddox had broken his nose—she’d seen it—but it had snapped back into place almost immediately. There wasn’t even a trace of blood on his face. Now he removed one of his arms from her waist, only to caress her temple and gently brush aside a lock of hair. “You’ll see.”

“No, I won’t see,” she all but sobbed. “Let me go!”

“Much as I hate to deny you, I have to. You were causing him undue torment.”

“I was causing him undue torment? I wasn’t the one stabbing him. Now let me go!” Not knowing what else to do, she stilled and gazed up at him. “Please.” He had brilliant blue eyes and skin as pale as milk. His hair was a captivating blend of brown and black. He was handsome beyond anyone she’d ever seen before, too perfect to be real.

And all she wanted to do was escape him.

“Relax.” He smiled a slow, seductive smile. Practiced, even to her untrained eye. “You have nothing to fear from me, gorgeous. I’m all about the pleasure.”

Fury and fright, sorrow and frustration gave her strength and bravery; she slapped him. He’d just watched a man stab Maddox, and he’d done nothing to stop it. He’d just watched a man stab Maddox, and he dared to flirt with her. She had everything to fear from him.

He lost his grin and frowned down at her. “You hit me.” There was surprise in his tone.

She slapped him again. “Let. Me. Go!”

His frown deepened. He rubbed his cheek with one hand and held her still with the other. “Women do not hit me. Women love me.”

She raised her palm, ready to deliver another blow.

Sighing, he said, “Fine. Go. Maddox’s screams have stopped. I doubt you can upset him now, dead as he surely is.” His arm fell away from her.

Ashlyn didn’t give him time to change his mind. Suddenly free, she leapt into motion, racing down the hall despite the pain in her ankle. When she entered the room and saw the blood-soaked bed and motionless body, she skidded to an abrupt halt.

Dear God.

Maddox’s eyes were closed; his chest was utterly still.

A sob burst from her, and she covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Red-hot tears filled her eyes. “They killed you.” She raced to the bed and cupped Maddox’s jaw in her hands, tilting slowly. His eyelids didn’t flicker open. Breath didn’t seep from his nose. His skin was already cold and pale from loss of blood.

She was too late.

How could someone so strong and vital have been destroyed so callously?

“Who is she?” someone said.

Startled, she turned. Maddox’s murderers stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves. How could she have forgotten them? Every few seconds, they glanced in her direction. None of them spoke directly to her. They continued their conversation as if she didn’t matter. As if Maddox didn’t matter.

“We should take her to the city, but she’s seen too much,” a harsh voice said. The coldest, most uncaring voice she’d ever heard. “What was Maddox thinking?”

“All this time, I’ve lived with him and I never knew what he suffered,” an angelic-looking blond with green eyes said quietly. He was dressed entirely in black and wore gloves that stretched to his biceps. “Is it always like this?”

“Not always, no,” the one who had wielded the sword said. “He’s usually more accepting.” His black gaze was hard, his tone tormented. “The woman…”

Murderer! Ashlyn inwardly cried, wanting to attack him. All her life, her ability had revealed more bad than good, forcing her to listen to centuries of hateful accusations and even shrieks of terror. And the one man who’d given her any measure of peace, they’d brutally slain.

Do something, Darrow. She scrubbed her burning eyes with the back of her wrist and straightened to shaky legs. What could she do? They outnumbered her. They were stronger than she was.

An extremely tattooed man frowned over at her. He had military-cropped brown hair, two eyebrow rings and soft, full lips. He also had more muscles than a world champion power-lifter. He would have been handsome—in a serial-killer kind of way—if not for those tattoos. Even his cheeks were painted with violent images of war and weapons.

His eyes were the same shade of violet as Maddox’s, but they lacked any hint of warmth or emotion. Blood dripped down his nose as he rubbed his chin with two fingers. “We have to do something with the girl.” That cold, emotionless voice again. “I don’t like her being here.”

“Even so, Aeron, we aren’t to touch her.” This speaker had inky hair that was like a dark halo around his head and different-colored eyes—one brown, one blue. His face was a mass of scars. At first glance, he was hideous. At second, there was an almost hypnotic quality to him, enhanced by the scent of roses drifting from him. “Tomorrow morning she’ll be in the same condition she is now. Breathing and clothed.”

“Just like Maddox, taking away our fun.”

The wry voice came from behind her and she yelped, spinning. The beautiful pale-skinned man stood in the doorway. He watched her, hunger in his eyes, as if he were picturing her naked and liked what he saw.

A tremor started at the top of her head and worked its way down, all the way to her toes. Bastards, every one of them! Her feral gaze scanned the room and narrowed on the bloody sword that had been carelessly tossed onto the floor. The very sword that had sliced through Maddox as if he were nothing more than a thin layer of silk.

“I want to know who she is,” the cold, tattooed one—Aeron—said. “And I want to know why Maddox brought her here. He knows the rules.”

“She must have been one of the humans on the hill,” the angel said, “but that still doesn’t explain why he brought her into our midst.”

She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt on the verge of a total breakdown. I should have listened to McIntosh. Demons did live here.

“Well?” Aeron prompted. “What do we do with her?”

Each of the men faced her again, and Ashlyn dove for the blade. Her fingers curled around the hilt and she straightened, pointing the tip in their direction. The sword was heavier than she’d thought and her arms instantly began to shake under its weight, but she held firm.

Her companions merely regarded her with curiosity. Their lack of fear didn’t faze her. Though she’d only known Maddox a short while, there was something wild inside her that mourned his loss and demanded she avenge his death.

Maddox. His name whispered through her mind. He was gone. Forever. Her stomach clenched painfully. “I should kill you, all of you. He was innocent.”

“Innocent?” someone scoffed.

“She wants to kill us. Hunters have come for us, then,” Aeron said with disgust.

“A Hunter would not call Maddox innocent. Even in jest.”

“Bait would not be above it. Remember, every word out of their mouths was a lie, though their faces were always guileless.”

“I watched Maddox slay four men on my monitor, which he wouldn’t have done if they had been innocent. And I doubt a coincidence brought a guiltless female to the forest at the exact same time.”

“Think she has any skill with a sword?”

Snort. “Of course not. Look how she’s holding it.”

“Brave little thing, though.”

Ashlyn gaped at them, hardly able to keep up with the conversation. “Does no one care that a man was murdered here? That you were the ones who murdered him?”

The black-clothed angel laughed, actually laughed, but there was anguish in his green eyes. “Believe me. Maddox will thank us in the morning.”

“If he doesn’t kill us for being here in the first place,” someone retorted.

To her astonishment, several of the men chuckled. All shook their heads in hearty agreement. Only the one who had rendered the fatal wounds remained silent. He continued to stare at Maddox’s body, his expression wracked with agony and guilt. Good. She wanted him to suffer for what he’d done.

The sensual one, the one who thought no woman could resist him, leveled his gaze on her, and she was treated to another slow, seductive smile. “Put the sword away, sweet, before you hurt yourself.”

She held tight, determined. “Come and take it from me, you…you…animal!” The words flew from her mouth, a challenge she couldn’t hold back. “I may not have any skill with swords, but if you come near me I will hurt you.”

There was a sigh. A laugh. A muttered, “What kind of female can resist Paris?”

“I say we lock her in the dungeon.” This from the one named Aeron. “No telling what she’ll do otherwise.”

“Agreed,” the others echoed.

Edging toward the door, Ashlyn shook her head and gripped the sword more tightly. “I’m leaving. Do you hear me? I’m leaving! And mark my words, justice will be served. Every single one of you will be arrested and executed.”

“Maddox can decide what to do with her in the morning,” the one with the mismatched eyes said calmly, ignoring her.

As if Maddox could decide anything now.

Her chin trembled. And then her eyes widened as each of his killers stalked forward, determination in their every step.

Don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me.

A pause. A snap.

An anguished cry.

My arm! Huge, gut-wrenching sobs. You broke my fucking arm! Ashlyn’s own arm throbbed in sympathy. I didn’t…do anything…wrong.

The voices had returned in full force.

She huddled on the floor of a dark, dank cell, shivering and scared. “I just wanted to find someone who could help me,” she whispered. Instead, she’d fallen straight into a Grimm’s folk tale, but with no happy ending in sight.

I will. I will. Just…need…a…moment.

The one-sided conversation had been rolling through her mind for an eternity, it seemed, now a discordant concerto of anger, desperation and pain. Above it, however, a single voice rose: Maddox’s. Not a voice of the past, but a memory. A burst of screams.

“You left the Institute for this.” She shook her head in grief and disgust, wanting to convince herself this day had been nothing more than a nightmare. That a man had not been slain right in front of her. Stabbed. Repeatedly. But she knew the truth. His shouts… God, his shouts. His rage at being chained and beaten, his torment…worse than anything she’d ever heard from another human being.

Tears rained down her face. She couldn’t get his image out of her head—not his image before he died and not his image after. Harshly handsome face almost savage in its intensity. Facial bones blurred and sunken. Violet eyes bright. Violet eyes closed. Tall, tanned and muscled body. Broken, bloody, lifeless body.

She whimpered.

After shoving her into this cell, Maddox’s killers had promised to bring her blankets and food. The vow had been delivered ages ago, but no one had returned. She was glad. She didn’t want to see them again. Didn’t want to hear them, didn’t want to talk to them. She’d rather endure the cold and the hunger.

Shivering, she tugged her jacket tight at the collar. She was thankful she still had it, that the men, those barbaric monsters, hadn’t taken it from her during the seemingly endless trek from topside to underground.

Just then, something scampered across her fingertips, squeaking happily, and she jerked. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. She scooted into the nearest corner. Mouse. A hairy little rodent that would eat anything, and where there was one…

Stomach churning, she swept her gaze through the cell. Not that it did any good. The room was too dark, and she wouldn’t have been able to see a hand—or a monster—if it were right in front of her face.

“Stay still.” Deep breath in. “Stay calm.” Deep breath out.

I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but please don’t hurt me again, Broken Arm said, sobbing his way back into her thoughts. I didn’t mean to sneak inside. There was a long pause. Okay, yes, yes. I did. I meant to, but I only wanted to see who had taken residence here. I’m not a hunter, I swear I’m not.

Ashlyn’s ears twitched, and she pressed deeper into the rocky wall. Hunter, the man had said. Maddox’s killers had called her a hunter. What did they mean? Bounty hunter? She frowned and rubbed her swollen, aching ankle. Who could ever think that of five-foot-five, average Ashlyn?

“Doesn’t matter. You have to find a way out of here, Darrow.” She had to tell the authorities what had happened to Maddox. Would they believe her? Would they even care? Or had the men here somehow bewitched them as they’d done the rest of the townspeople—angels, indeed—allowing them to do anything they wanted, whenever they wanted?

A sob gushed from her lips; a tremor raked her. No one should have to die that slowly, that painfully. Dignity gone. Cries unheeded.

One way or another, Maddox would be avenged.

MADDOX SCREAMED.

Flames licked him from head to toe. Blistering, melting away his flesh, reducing him to nothing but bone. No, not even bone, he mused in the next instant. The flames had reduced him to ash. But he was still aware…always aware. He still knew who he was, still knew what he was, and that he would have to return to the fire tomorrow.

The agony was nearly more than he could bear. Plumes of smoke thickened the air, scattering soot in every direction. Disgustingly, he knew that soot belonged to him. Was him.

Much too soon, it returned to where he had stood, fused together and became a body, a man—a man that once again caught fire. A body that once again melted bit by grueling bit, pouring flesh from muscle, then flickering orange-gold sparks over muscle before disintegrating altogether. There was another blackened breeze, returning everything to its place so the entire process could repeat itself. Again and again and again.

All the while, Violence roared inside his head, desperate to escape, no longer sated as it had been at the moment of his death. Blending with that were the sounds of the other condemned souls, screaming as the flames of hell devoured them. Demons, those disgusting winged creatures with glowing red eyes, skeletal faces and thick yellow horns atop their heads, fluttered from one tormented prisoner to another, laughing, taunting, spitting.

I have one of those monsters inside me. Except mine is worse.

The other demons knew it, too. “Welcome back, brother,” they would jeer before licking him with their fiery, forked tongues.

Always before, Maddox had wished to fade into nothing when the fire overcame him, never to return to hell or to earth. He’d wished to end his miserable existence and finally stop the pain. Always before—but not tonight. Not this time.

Tonight, pain was eclipsed by desire.

Ashlyn’s image rose inside his mind, taunting him far more than the demons. You’ll find nothing but bliss with me, her eyes seemed to say, lips parting, softening for a kiss.

She was a puzzle he yearned to solve. His first glimpse of heaven with her warm, amber-rich hair and honey-colored eyes. She was exquisite and lush, and so unequivocally feminine she called to his every masculine instinct.

Surprisingly, she had fought to stay with him. Had even fought to save him from the others, he’d realized only a few minutes ago. He didn’t fully understand why, but he liked the notion anyway.

He might not have known what he wanted to do with her earlier, but he knew now. He wanted to taste her. All of her. Bait or not. Hunter or not. He simply wanted. After all his suffering, he deserved a sliver of happiness.

Even in his days as an elite warrior to the gods, he had never desired a specific woman above all the rest. After, he had always taken what he could get, when he could get it. But Ashlyn, he wanted specifically. Ashlyn, he wanted now.

Where had Lucien placed her? In the room adjoining his? Did she lounge on the bed, naked body wrapped in silks and velvets? That’s how he would take her, Maddox decided then. Not outside as was his custom. Not on a cold, twig-laden ground. But in a bed, face to face, skin to skin, pumping and sliding slowly.

His body burned with the thought—a burn that had nothing to do with the flames.

She means us harm. We’ll harm her first and be the better for it, the spirit urged.

Do not dare suggest it, he commanded, trying to eclipse Violence—who, surprisingly, seemed content to discuss Ashlyn calmly now, rather than roar. I am not a monster.

We are the same, and that woman spells danger.

Yes, she did. Yet he’d never encountered a woman quite as vulnerable as Ashlyn. Alone in the forest, secrets in her pretty eyes. Killers on her trail. Whether they’d meant to ignore her, kill her or use her to kill him and the other Lords, he would find out.

In the morning, when Lucien returned his soul to his healed body, Maddox would find and question her. No, he would touch her first, he decided. Kiss her. Taste her entire body as he so desperately wanted to do right now.

Despite the pain, he found himself grinning with relish. The woman had looked at him with ecstasy in her eyes; she had tried to follow him, to save him. Yes, she had made her own bed. And now she would lie in it. With him.

Only after the loving was done would he question her. And if he discovered that she truly was Bait—there was a pang in his chest—he would deal with her as he’d dealt with the Hunters.

“THE TITANS HAVE OVERTHROWN the Greeks,” Aeron announced. The knowledge had been bubbling inside him since his return to the fortress an hour ago, but with all the commotion he hadn’t had a chance to share. Until now. Things had finally quieted—but he knew the peace would last only until his meaning sank in.

Frowning, he plopped onto the plush red couch, Maddox’s human no longer a concern. If only his words could be dismissed so easily—and what was suddenly making all that noise?

He looked around, scowled and grabbed the TV remote, flicking off the “movie” Paris had just turned on. Titillating moans ceased. The wet slap of man against woman faded from the flat screen. “You have to stop buying that garbage, Paris.”

Paris swiped the remote from him and switched the fleshfest back on. Thankfully, he punched the mute button. “Not pay-per-view, bro,” he said without a hint of remorse. “This one’s from my own personal collection. Oil Wrestlers Gone Wild.”

“You become more human every day,” Aeron muttered. “It’s embarrassing. You know that, right?”

“Aeron, you cannot make an announcement like that and simply change the subject. You mentioned the…Titans?” Lucien said in his ever-calm voice.

Ever-calm. Yes, that described Death perfectly. The immortal maintained an iron lock on his temper—on all of his emotions, really—for when it was unleashed, he was a force even Wrath feared. More than a beast, Lucien became a true demon. Aeron had only witnessed the transformation once, but he’d never forgotten.

“I thought I heard something along those lines, as well.” Reyes shook his head, as if that would help him understand. “What’s happening here? First Torin tells us the Hunters have returned, then Maddox comes home with a woman. And now you say the Titans have taken over? Is something like that even possible?”

“Yes, it is.” Unfortunately. Aeron scrubbed a hand over his chopped hair, the short spikes abrading his palm. How he wished he could next deliver happy news. “Apparently the Titans spent their centuries of imprisonment honing their powers. In recent weeks they escaped Tartarus, ambushed the Greeks, enslaved them and seized the throne. They control us now.”

There was a heavy silence as everyone absorbed the shocking news. No love was lost between the warriors and the Greeks, the very gods who had cursed them. But…

“You are sure?” Lucien asked him.

“Very.” Until tonight, all Aeron had known about the Titans was that they’d ruled Mount Olympus during the Golden Age, a time of “peace” and “harmony”—two words spouted by the Hunters who’d risen in Greece all those years ago. “They placed me in some sort of tribunal chamber, their thrones circling me. Physically, they are smaller than the Greeks. Their power, however, was unmistakable. I could almost see it, like a living entity. And on their faces, I saw only uncompromising determination and dislike.”

Several tense minutes passed.

“Dislike aside, is there a chance the Titans can release us from the demons without killing us?” Reyes voiced the question they undoubtedly all were thinking.

Aeron himself had wondered. Had hoped. “I do not think so,” he said, hating to disappoint them. “I asked that very question and they refused to discuss it with me.”

Another silence, this one even more strained.

“This is…this is…” Paris trailed off.

“Unbelievable,” Torin finished for him.

Reyes massaged his jaw. “If they will not free us, what do they plan for us, then?”

There would be no reprieve from the bad news. “All I know for sure is that they plan to take an active role in our existence.” The one point in the Greeks’ favor was that they had ignored the warriors after cursing them, allowing them to have some sort of life—tormented though it was.

Again, Reyes shook his head. “But…why?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Is that why they summoned you?” Lucien asked. “To inform you of this change?”

“No.” He paused, closed his eyes. “They ordered me to…do something.”

“What?” Paris demanded when he failed to elaborate.

He studied each of his friends, trying to find the right words.

Torin stood in the corner, his profile to everyone. Distanced, always distanced. But then, Torin had to be. Reyes sat across from him. Tanned like the sun god, the warrior didn’t look as though he belonged on earth, much less in the room. He was busy slicing grooves into his lower arm as he awaited Aeron’s answer. Every few seconds, Reyes winced. That wince became a satisfied smile as blood trickled, forming tiny crimson rivers over his skin. Pain was the only thing that satisfied him, the only thing that made him feel alive.

Aeron had no idea how the man might respond to pleasure.

Paris was sprawled on the couch beside him, hands tucked behind his head as he switched his attention between Aeron and the movie, his demon probably urging him to watch just a little more. A man with his kind of luck should be ugly. At the very least, he should have to struggle to lure a woman into his bed. Instead, he simply looked at a woman with his handsome face and she stripped instantly, willing to be taken anywhere, available bed or not.

Maddox’s woman hadn’t, though, Aeron recalled. Why?

Lucien leaned against the pool table, his hideously scarred face revealing nothing. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, and those disconcerting eyes of his watched Aeron intently. “Well?” Lucien prompted.

He drew in a breath, released it. “I’ve been ordered to slay a group of tourists in Buda. Four humans.” He paused, closed his eyes again. Tried not to feel a single shred of emotion. Cold. To get through this, he’d have to be cold. “All female.”

“Come again.” Paris jolted upright, frowning over at him, television forgotten.

Aeron repeated the gods’ command.

Paler than usual, Paris shook his head. “I can buy that we’re now under new management. I don’t like it, I’m confused as hell by it, but hey. I buy it. What I don’t get is that the Titans ordered you, the possessor of Wrath, to kill four human women in town. Why would they do something like that?” He threw up his arms. “That’s craziness.”

He might be the most promiscuous man ever to roam the Earth, bedding his partners and forgetting them in the same day, but women of every race, size and age were Paris’s lifeblood. His entire reason for existence. He’d never been able to tolerate seeing a single one of them hurt.

“They did not give me a reason,” Aeron answered, knowing a reason would not have mattered. He didn’t want to harm those women in any way. He knew how it felt to kill. Oh, yes. He’d killed many, many times before, but always through the undeniable urgings of his demon—a demon that chose its victims well. People who beat or molested their children. People who took joy from the destruction of others. Wrath always knew when a person was deserving of death, their shameful actions playing through his mind.

When the women had been brought to his attention, the demon had tried them and found them innocent. And yet, he was supposed to murder them.

If that happened, if he was forced to spill the blood of the undeserving, Aeron would never be the same. He knew it, felt it.

“Did they give you a time frame for when the deed must be done?” Lucien asked, still seemingly unaffected. He was Death, the Grim Reaper—Lucifer, he’d even been called, not that the people who had called him by that name were still alive—so Aeron’s task was probably nothing to him.

“No, they didn’t. But…”

Lucien arched a dark brow. “But?”

“They did tell me that if I failed to act quickly, blood and death would begin to consume my mind. They said I would kill anything and everything until the day I complied. Just like Maddox.” They hadn’t needed to warn him, though. Wrath had overtaken him numerous times. When the spirit decided it was time to act, Aeron always tried to resist, but the cravings for destruction grew and grew until finally he would snap. Even in the worst thrall of Wrath, however, he had never been compelled to kill an innocent. “But unlike Maddox, my torment will not end with the dawn.”

Gravely, Paris asked, “How are you to do it? Did they at least tell you that?”

His stomach twisted, cramped. “I am to slit their throats,” he said. How he would love to refuse to obey these new gods. Only the horror of being ordered to do something even worse had kept him silent.

“Why are they doing this?” Torin demanded, a question they would each ask at least once, it seemed.

He still did not have an answer.

Paris stared over at him. “Are you going to do it?”

Aeron looked away. He remained silent, but he knew, deep in his bones, that nothing could save the females now. They had been placed on the spirit’s mental kill-list, no matter that they were innocent, and they would eventually be checked off. One by one.

“What can we do to help?” Lucien asked, his eyes sharp.

Aeron slammed his fist into the couch arm. If he did this terrible deed when he already teetered on the brink of depravity, he would crumble. He would lose himself to the spirit completely. “I don’t know. We’re dealing with new gods, new consequences and new circumstances. I’m not sure how I’ll react once—” say it, just say it “—I’ve killed the women.”

“It is possible to change their minds?”

“We are not to even try,” he answered, dejected. “They again used Maddox as an example, saying we would be cursed as he is if we dared object.”

Paris exploded to booted feet and paced from one wall of the spacious room to the other. “I fucking hate this,” he grumbled.

“Well, the rest of us love it,” Torin said dryly.

“Perhaps you will be doing the women a favor,” Reyes said, his attention remaining fixed on his blade as he carved an X on the center of his palm. Crimson drops trickled onto his thigh.

He was the reason all of the furniture was dark red.

“Perhaps I will be ordered to take your life next,” Aeron replied darkly.

“I need to think about this.” Lucien worried two fingers over his roughly scarred jaw. “There has to be something we can do.”

“Maybe Aeron can just obliterate the entire world,” Torin said in that annoyingly wry tone. “That way, all possible future targets will be eliminated and we’ll never have to have this discussion again.”

Aeron bared his teeth. “Do not make me hurt you, Disease.”

Those piercing green eyes glowed with wicked humor and Torin offered a mockingly feral grin. “Have I hurt your feelings? I’d be happy to kiss you and make you feel better.”

Before Aeron could leap across the room—not that he could do anything to Torin—Lucien said, “Stop. We cannot be divided. We don’t know the magnitude of what we’re facing. Now, more than ever, we must stand together. It’s been an eventful night and it’s not over yet. Paris, Reyes, head into town and make sure there are no more Hunters lurking about. Torin—I don’t know. Watch the hill or make us some money.”

“What are you going to do?” Paris asked.

“Consider our options,” he replied gravely.

Paris’s brows arched. “What of Maddox’s woman? I will be better able to fight any Hunters if I spend a little time between her—”

“No.” Lucien stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Not her. Remember, I promised Maddox she’d return to him untouched.”

“Yeah, I remember. Remind me again why you’d promise such a dumb-ass thing.”

“Just…leave her alone. She didn’t seem to want you, anyway.”

“Which is even more shocking than the news about the Titans,” Paris muttered. Then he sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself, but someone needs to feed her. We told her we would.”

“Perhaps we should starve her,” Reyes suggested. “She’ll be more likely to talk in the morning if she’s weakened from hunger.”

Lucien nodded. “I agree. She might be more willing to give Maddox the truth if she thinks it will buy her a meal.”

“I don’t like it, but I won’t protest. And I guess this means I’m going into town without my vitamin D injection,” Paris said on another sigh. “Let’s do this, Pain.”

Reyes was on his feet a moment later and the two strode out of the room, side by side. Torin followed suit, though he gave them a generous head start. Aeron couldn’t imagine the pressure of making sure no part of himself ever touched another. Had to be hell.

He snorted. Life for all the warriors here was hell.

Lucien closed the distance between them and eased into the leather chair opposite him. The fragrance of roses drifted from him. Aeron had never understood why the Grim Reaper smelled like a spring bouquet—surely a curse even worse than Maddox’s.

“Thoughts?” he asked, studying his friend. For the first time in many, many years, Lucien radiated something other than calm. His forehead was furrowed and there were stress-creases further marring his scarred face.

Those scars slashed from each of his dark brows all the way to his jawline, thick and puckered. Lucien never talked about how he’d acquired them and Aeron had never asked. While they’d lived in Greece, the warrior had simply returned home one day, pain in his eyes and marks on his cheeks.

“This is bad,” Lucien said. “Really bad. Hunters, Maddox’s woman—however she fits into this—and the Titans, all in one day. That cannot be an accident.”

“I know.” Aeron dragged a hand down his face, his fingertip catching and tugging on his eyebrow piercing. “Do the Titans want us dead, do you think? Could they have sent the Hunters here?”

“Perhaps. But what would they do with our demons once our bodies were destroyed and the spirits released? And why order you to act for them, if they only meant to have you slain?”

Good questions. “I have no answers for you. I don’t even know how I’m going to do this deed that’s been demanded of me. The women are innocents. Two are young, in their twenties, the third is in her late forties and the fourth is a grandmother. She probably bakes cookies for the homeless in her spare time.”

Curious about them, he had hunted and found them in a hotel in Buda after he’d left Olympus. Seeing them in the flesh had only intensified his horror.

“We can’t wait. We must act as soon as possible,” Lucien said. “We can’t allow these Titans to dictate our actions in this or they will attempt to do so over and over again. Surely we can come up with a solution.”

Aeron thought they would have better luck figuring out a way to patch the charred, tattered remains of his soul when he killed those women. And even that seemed hopeless.

As it was, they sat in silence for a long while, minds churning with options. Or rather, lack of them. Finally Aeron gave a shake of his head and felt as if he had just welcomed a new demon inside him. Doom.

CHAPTER FIVE

SOMETIME DURING THE endless night, Ashlyn stood and felt her way around the cramped cell. Her ankle throbbed with every step, a reminder of the hours she’d spent climbing the snowcapped mountains outside and the sense of hope she’d lost with six swings of a sword.

Her search for a way out had proved fruitless. There was no window like the one in Rapunzel’s tower, no wicked witch’s magic mirror to walk through. Nor had she found any bars to squeeze through or tunnels to burrow into like Alice. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her cell phone. Not that she could get reception in the dungeon of a castle.

As time ticked by, the darkness seemed to close tighter and tighter around her.

The mice had stopped squeaking, at least.

She just wanted to go home, she thought, once again huddling on the floor. She wanted to forget this entire experience. She could live with the voices now. She would live with them. Trying to silence them had cost her too much. Her job, perhaps. Her lifelong friendship with McIntosh, maybe. A piece of her sanity, definitely.

She would never be the same.

Maddox’s lifeless face would haunt her, waking and asleep, for the rest of her life. Oh God. Tears streamed down her cheeks, chilling with the cold. How many would she shed before the ducts dried completely? Before the ache in her chest faded?

Please, just let me go, a voice babbled. Please. I swear. I’ll never return.

Me, too, she thought miserably.

“Have you been here all night, woman?”

A moment passed, the question unanswered as Ashlyn oriented herself. That voice…she would swear it came from the present, not the past. The rough, booming sound of it echoed in her ears.

“Answer me, Ashlyn.”

Another moment passed before she realized it was the voice that had come to haunt her above all others. A voice that was somehow imprinted in her mind, even though she’d only heard it a few times before. She gasped, eyes straining through the darkness, searching…searching…but finding nothing.

“Ashlyn. Answer me.”

“M-Maddox?” No, surely not. It had to be a trick.

“Answer the question.”

Suddenly a door was opened and rays of light flooded the cell. Ashlyn blinked against the orange-gold spots clouding her vision. A man stood in the doorway, a tall, black shadow of menace and muscle.

Sweet silence—silence she’d only encountered once before—enveloped her.

She flattened her palms against the wall behind her and inched to a stand. Shock pounded through her and her knees wobbled. He wasn’t… He couldn’t be… This wasn’t possible. Wasn’t even fathomable. Only in fairy tales did something like this happen.

“Answer me,” the man said yet again. There was violence in his tone now, as if he spoke with two voices. Both dark, thick and thunderous.

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound emerged. That double voice was guttural, turbulent and yet sensual beyond her wildest dreams. Maddox. She hadn’t been mistaken. Shivering, she wiped at her tearstained cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I don’t understand,” she breathed. Am I dreaming?

Maddox—no, the man, for he couldn’t possibly be Maddox, no matter how similar the voices—stepped into the cell. His attention jerked to the side, away from her, as if he needed a moment to compose himself.

Golden rays of sunlight danced over him, reverently caressing his beautiful face. Same dark eyebrows, same thickly lashed violet eyes. Same blade of a nose and lush lips.

How could this be? How had her captors produced the exact likeness of the man she’d met last night, down to that same feral edge? A man who stopped the voices of the past with his mere presence?

A twin?

Her eyes widened. A twin. Of course. Finally, something made sense. “They killed your brother,” she blurted out. Maybe he already knew. Maybe he was glad. But maybe, just maybe, he’d take her into town and she could report the horrendous crime she’d witnessed. Justice could be served.

“I do not have a brother,” he said. “Not by blood.”

“But…but…” Maddox will be fine, the gorgeous man had said. She shook her head. Impossible. She’d watched him die. But an angel could have been resurrected, right? A hard lump formed in her throat. The men of this household were most definitely not angels, no matter what the townspeople claimed.

His gaze swept back to her, down her body in a possessive appraisal and up again. He scowled. “Did they leave you here all night?” Countenance darker by the second, he scanned the rest of the cell. “Tell me they gave you blankets and water and only removed them this morning.”

Shaking still, she smoothed a hand over her face and through her hair, wincing at the tangles she encountered. Dirt probably caked her from head to toe. Like that matters. “Who are you? What are you?”

For a long while, he didn’t speak. Just studied her as though she were a bug under a microscope. She knew that look well. It was a favorite of everyone at the Institute. “You know who I am.”

“But you can’t be him,” she insisted, not wanting to accept the other alternative. He was not like the others, the demons who had slain him. “My Maddox is dead.”

“Your Maddox?” Something fiery flickered in his eyes. “Yours?”

She lifted her chin, refusing to answer.

Lips inching into what might have been a smile, he held out one arm and beckoned her over. “Come. We will clean you up, warm you and feed you. Then I will…explain.”

That hesitation made it clear he wouldn’t be explaining anything. He had something else in mind and his tone suggested that something would be intense. She remained in place, scared to the core. “Let me see your stomach,” she said, stalling for time.

His fingers gave a swift jerk. “Come.”

A part of her wanted to go to him, to follow wherever he would lead. Because he did look like Maddox, and whatever else Maddox was, he’d still been the best thing to ever happen to her. But once again she held her ground. “No.”

“Come.”

She shook her head. “I’m staying here until you show me your stomach.”

“I won’t hurt you, Ashlyn.” The words not yet echoed from the walls—unsaid, but there all the same. Even more unnerving, the sound of her name on his tongue was decadent, as if he couldn’t help but savor it. And desire another taste. “Ashlyn,” he repeated.

Another shiver raked her and she frowned. He shouldn’t desire her, and she damn sure shouldn’t desire him. “You can’t be my Maddox. You just can’t.”

That intense, fiery something flashed over his face again. “That’s twice now you’ve claimed me as yours.”

“I-I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. Maddox had saved her from the voices, for a little while at least. She had watched him die. They were connected. He was hers.

“Don’t be sorry.” He sounded almost tender just then. “I am Maddox,” he insisted. “Now come.”

“No.”

Tired of her refusal, the man closed the rest of the distance between them. He smelled of wanton heat and primitive rituals performed in the moonlight. “I’ll carry you over my shoulder if I must, just as I did last night. If I’m forced to do it, however, I cannot guarantee you’ll make it out of this cell with your clothes on. Understand?”

Oddly, his words were heady when they should have been frightening. Comforting when they should have been intimidating. Only Maddox knew the way she’d been carted. He’d switched her to his arms before entering the chateau and yelling at his murderers.

“Please,” she found herself saying. “Just show me your stomach.” The more she demanded to see it, the more she wanted to. Would she find stitched wounds? Smooth skin? Would there be any indication that this man had been stabbed over and over again?

At first he gave no reaction to her request. Then, finally, he sighed. “It appears I am the one who will not make it out of here with my clothes on.” He reached for the hem of his black tee and slowly…slowly…raised it.

Despite her insistence, Ashlyn couldn’t yet work up the courage to tear her attention from his intense violet gaze. She told herself it was because his eyes were so beautiful, so mesmerizing that she was lost in them, drowning. But she knew that was only half the truth. If he was stitched, was scabbed…if this was Maddox…

“You wanted to look. So look,” the man commanded, both impatient and resigned.

Do it. Look. Inch by inch, her gaze lowered. She saw a corded neck and a wildly ticking pulse. A collarbone mostly covered by black cloth. She saw one of his thick hands fisting that cloth right above his heart. His nipples were tiny, brown and hard. His skin was that otherworldly bronze she’d admired in the forest, and he was stacked with rope after rope of muscle.

And then she saw them. Six scabbed-over wounds. Not stitched, but red and angry. Painful.

She sucked in a shocked breath. Almost in a trance, she reached out. Her fingertip brushed the scab that slashed through his navel. The healing sore was rough and warm and abraded her palm. Electric tingles rushed up her arm.

“Maddox,” she gasped out.

“Finally,” he muttered, backing away as if she were a bomb, detonation imminent. He dropped the shirt, blocking the injuries from her view. “Are you satisfied now? I’m here, and I’m very real.”

He—no, not “he.” Maddox. Not his twin, not a dream. Not a trick. He’d been stabbed; the evidence was there, those six hellish wounds. He’d had no heartbeat, no breath. And now he stood before her.

“How?” she asked, needing to hear him say it. “You’re not an angel. Does that mean you’re a demon? That’s what some people have said about you and your friends.”

“The more you speak, the more you hang yourself. Will you follow me now?”

Would she? Should she? After that “hang yourself” remark… “Maddox, I—” What?

“I showed you my stomach. In return, you said you would come with me.”

Did she really have any other choice? “Fine. I’ll follow you.”

“Do not try to run. You will not like what happens.” Motions fluid, he wheeled around and marched out of the cell.

Ashlyn paused only a moment before limping after him, doing her best to stay close on his heels. Her hands itched to touch him again, to feel the life pulsing beneath his skin. “You never answered my question,” she said. The farther they walked from the cell, the more the cold air gave way to warmth. “If you are a demon, I can take it. Really. I won’t be grossed out or anything.” She hoped. “I just have to know so I can prepare myself.”

No response.

Those flaxen rays of sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting rainbow flecks on the stone walls. Fatigue and lack of nourishment must have weakened her, because she fell a few steps behind. “Maddox,” she said, a low entreaty.

“No conversation,” he replied, his gait never slowing as they climbed a flight of stairs. “Perhaps later.”

Later. Not what she’d hoped for, but better than never. “I’ll hold you to that.” She stumbled and winced, sharp pains shooting through her ankle.

Maddox stopped abruptly. Before she realized what he’d done, she’d slammed into his back with a pained cry. Immediately that tingling warmth returned, sparking, catching fire and spreading.

As she struggled to find her balance, he hissed a breath through his teeth and spun around, pinning her with a vicious stare. His eyes were black, the violet gone as if it had never been. “Are you hurt?”

A tremor swam through her. Yes. “No.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I twisted my ankle last night,” she admitted quietly.

His features softened as his gaze slowly perused her, lingering on her breasts, her thighs. Goose bumps broke out over her skin. It was as though he were stripping away her clothing piece by piece, leaving her in nothing but flushed skin. And she liked it. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest; moisture pooled between her legs.

Suddenly she didn’t care about answers, the pain in her ankle or the lethargy in her muscles. Her nipples hardened and strained. Her stomach clenched and unclenched with need. Her skin felt too hot and tight for her bones. She wanted his arms around her, comforting her, holding her close.

A moment later, she realized she was reaching out.

“No touching.” He jumped onto the step behind him, widening the distance between them. All hint of softness left him. “Not yet.”

Her arms fell to her sides as disappointment crashed through her. No answers, no touching, she silently mocked, fighting off the decadent rush of pleasure that came with finally being close to the man who’d consumed her thoughts all night. His warmth, the silence…a combination lethal to her common sense.

One stroke, that’s all she’d needed—all she’d wanted, surely—but he was determined to deny her. “What about breathing?” she asked dryly. “Can I do that?”

His lips twitched, smoothing the edges of his fierceness. “If you do it quietly.”

Her eyelids narrowed to tiny slits. “Well, aren’t you a sweetie. Thanks a lot.”

That twitch became a full-fledged smile, the blinding force of it knocking the air from her lungs. He was beautiful. Absolutely mesmerizing. Ashlyn found herself caught in his snare yet again—how did he do that to her?—and again reached up without thought. Craving that spark of contact, yes, yes. Needing…needing…

He gave a sharp shake of his head, humor suddenly gone. She stilled, annoyed with him, herself.

“There is something I need to do before the touching can commence,” he said, the words so husky and low she felt them as deeply as a caress.

“What is it?” she asked, biting her bottom lip as violet began to reclaim his eyes, trickling from his pupils to overshadow the black. Amazing.

“Doesn’t matter.” Frowning, he reached out as if he meant to stroke her cheek. He caught himself and dropped his arm to his side, a mirror of her own actions a few moments before. “What does matter is that you never answered me. Were you in that cell all night?”

His heady, masculine scent wafted to her nose, summoning her closer. She tried to resist, truly she did, but found herself leaning toward him despite his warning. “Yes.”

Again, fury darkened his face. “Were you fed?”

“No.”

“Given blankets?”

“No.” Why did he care?

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“No.”

“Did anyone…touch you?” A muscle ticked in his jaw, once, twice.

Her face scrunched in confusion. “Yes. Of course.”

“Who?” he demanded. His face began that freaky change, gnarled skeleton flashing and churning under his skin as if he wore a see-through mask. Even his eyes changed again. Black covered violet, then red covered black, glowing ominously.

Another of those hard lumps formed in her throat and she struggled to catch her breath. Not even in the forest, not even while chained to a bed, a sword slicing through his organs, had he exuded such ferocity.

Why are you still standing here? Run!

His expression twisted, as though he knew what she planned to do. “Don’t,” he said, confirming her fear. “You will only incite me further. This will pass in a moment. Now tell me who touched you.”

“All of them,” she forced out, remaining in place. “I think. But they had to,” she hurried to assure him. She couldn’t believe she was defending his murderers, but it seemed the fastest way to calm him down. “It was the only way to get me inside the cell.”

He relaxed, but only slightly. The skeletal image receded and the red glow faded from his eyes. “They didn’t touch you sexually?”

She shook her head, relaxing a bit herself. He’d been angry with the men, then, not with her for resisting.

“I will allow them to live. Barely.” Forgetting his own rule, he cupped his palms over her temples and forced her attention on his face.

She experienced those electric tingles again as his warm breath fanned her nose. He was so big he dwarfed her, his shoulders so wide they engulfed her.

“Ashlyn,” he said gently.

The swift change in him, from beast to concerned gentleman, was dizzying.

“I didn’t want to discuss this yet, but I find I must hear your response now.” Heavy pause as he stared at her. “I killed those four men last night. The ones following you.”

“Following me?” Had someone from the Institute seen her and come after her? Had they—the rest of his words finally registered. She gasped as a high-voltage shock-wave slid down her spine. “You killed them?”

“Yes.”

“What did they look like?” she choked out. If Dr. McIntosh had been slain because of her… She pressed her lips together to cut off a pained moan.

Maddox described the men—tall, strong warriors—and she slowly relaxed. Most of the employees she’d met at the Institute were older, like McIntosh. Many were pale, with thinning hair and glasses, eyes weakened from constantly staring at computer screens. Relief speared her, which in turn made her feel guilty. People had died last night. It shouldn’t matter whether she knew them or not.

“Why would you do something like that?”

“They were armed and eager for battle. I had a choice—kill them or let them kill me.”

He said it without a single hint of remorse, as though it were a simple point of fact. What a bloody, violent place this fortress had turned out to be. Maddox, too. Her savior spoke like a veteran soldier…or a cold and callous killer like his roommates. He didn’t, and wouldn’t, hesitate to slay.

So why did she still want his arms around her?

Whatever emotion Maddox saw on her face seemed to answer his unspoken question. His brow puckered and his mouth thinned. In displeasure? But why? Before she could study him further, he turned away and climbed two more steps, saying, “Forget I mentioned it.”

“Wait.” She leapt forward, winced at the renewed pain in her ankle and grabbed hold of his bicep. A puny move, really, but he stopped.

He stiffened, then slowly turned his head and growled down at her fingers.

She jerked away from him. Not because of his reaction but because she’d felt more of those strange tingles. She’d have liked to believe it was static cling. Something, anything, besides more of that oh, so wrong desire.

“Sorry,” she muttered. No touching, she reminded herself. It was better for both of them that way. She couldn’t seem to control her body’s reaction when they were close. Actual, prolonged contact might reduce her to a drooling puddle. “Maddox?”

In profile his expression appeared blank, completely devoid of emotion. “Yes?”

“Don’t be mad, but it is technically later so I’m going to bring us back to Topic One. What are you?” Before he could jump back into motion as if she hadn’t spoken, she added, “I answered your questions. Please answer mine.”

He didn’t. But he did face her again.

Nervous, she ran her tongue over her lips. His gaze followed the movement and his nostrils flared. She didn’t mean to, but she started babbling. “Look, there are all kinds of unusual creatures in the world. No one knows that better than me. Did I mention I know firsthand that demons exist? I just want to know what I’m dealing with here.” Shut up. Stop talking.

If only he would respond. She’d never had to fill a silence before. Never thought silence could be uncomfortable.

He eased down a step, the action measured and precise as it closed the small distance between them; she eased down a step in response, widening it again.

“No more questions. I want you bathed, fed and resting within the hour. You’re covered in dirt, wavering on your feet because of hunger and there are dark circles under your eyes. Afterward, we can…talk.”

Again that hesitation. It disconcerted her, and she gulped. “If I asked you to take me back to the city, what would you say?”

“Unequivocally no.”

I thought so. Her shoulders slumped. No matter how much she might want this man—or maybe because of how much she wanted this man—she had to start acting like a rational human being and escape.

What if she was next in line for a stabbing? She wouldn’t rise from the dead, that much Ashlyn knew.

Yesterday she would’ve sold her soul to come here. Who are you kidding? You did sell your soul. She might not have learned to control the voices unless Maddox was with her, but she simply couldn’t stay. There were too many uncertainties and too much violence.

But to escape, she’d have to endure the mountain, the cold, the fog and the voices. You can do it. You have to do it.

Maddox arched a brow. “Do I need to lock you up again, Ashlyn?” he asked, as if reading her thoughts.

The threat scared and infuriated her, but she shook her head. No reason to upset him and risk getting herself killed or thrown back in that icy, damp prison, freedom unattainable. Outside of it, at least, she stood a chance. Small though it was.

Silence isn’t as sweet as you hoped, is it?

“Do you want to leave because there is someone you need to speak with?” he asked. He failed to disguise his growing anger with that polite inquiry—she saw the flickers of it just beneath the surface of his skin. “Is someone anxious to know where you are?”

“My boss,” she said honestly. Maybe, if she found a phone, she could call him. He could then call the police—no. She nixed that thought immediately, reminding herself they might be entranced by the “angels.”

But if she could call McIntosh, the Institute could devise a way to rescue her. She could return to her old life and pretend the last two days had never happened—even though the thought of abandoning Maddox created an inexplicable ache in her chest. Stupid girl!

“Who exactly is your boss?”

As if she would tell him and put an innocent man in danger. Instead, she gathered her courage and said, “Let me go, Maddox. Please.”

Another pause, heavier than before. He stepped closer, placing them nose to nose as he had in the forest. His eyes were bright violet now. “Last night I told you to return to the city. You refused. You even followed me. You cried out for me. Remember?”

The reminder stung. “A moment of insanity,” she whispered, looking down at her hands. Her fingers were intertwined, the knuckles white.

“Well, that moment of insanity sealed your fate, woman. You’re staying here.”

Maddox escorted the reluctant Ashlyn to his bedroom. He’d already cleaned the floor and thrown out the soiled mattress, replacing it with a new one from the array in the room next door. In anticipation of her seduction, he’d prepared a bath for her, made up a platter of meats and cheeses, opened a bottle of wine and turned down the clean, sun-kissed sheets.

He’d never put so much effort into a coupling, had only heard Paris talk about how quickly women melted when men pampered them like this.

Maddox hadn’t realized Ashlyn would spend the entire night in a cell or that she would need all of this care thanks to his friends. His fingers curled into a tight fist.

Her comfort doesn’t matter. He wasn’t sure who the thought came from—the demon or himself. He only knew it was a lie.

“Bathe, change and eat,” he forced himself to say. “No one will bother you.” He paused. “Is there anything else you might require?”

She walked around him in a wide half circle, turning to face him almost immediately, as if she didn’t trust him at her back. “Freedom would be nice.”

“Besides that.”

Her gaze scanned the room. He didn’t like how pale she was, how wobbly and withdrawn. She had not been so drained last night, even in the bitter chill of the forest. “What about wiping out my memory of the past few days?”

“Besides that,” he repeated darkly, not liking that she wanted to forget him.

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