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 The Darkest Pleasure, the third installment of my brand-new paranormal trilogy, Lords of the Underworld, which began with The Darkest Night and continued with The Darkest Kiss. 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. And stay tuned for further adventures from the Lords of the Underworld as the stakes get higher, the quest more dangerous and the romance hotter!

Wishing you all the best,

Gena Showalter

THE DARKEST PLEASURE

Gena Showalter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This first Lords of the Underworld trilogy could not

have been possible without the following amazing,

wonderful, kick-ass people

(whom I adore):

Donna Hayes

Loriana Sacilotto

Dianne Moggy

Randall Toye

Tracy Farrell

Margo Lipschultz

Keyren Gerlach

Kathleen Oudit

Juliana Kolesova

Diana Wong

Stacy Widdrington

Marianna Ricciuto

Pat Muir-Rand

Melissa Caraway

Kristin Foti

Kim Elliott

Vicki So

Josh Hilburt

Nancy Fischer

Sally Noonan

Brian McGroarty

The Harlequin Sales Group

Deidre Knight

Patricia Rouse

Susan Grimshaw

Kathy Baker

Max Showalter

Matt Showalter

Roy Showalter

Destinee Showalter

Sheila Fields

Jill Monroe

To Kemmie Tolbert, an amazing woman who

loves books as much as I do

CHAPTER ONE

REYES STOOD on the roof of his Budapest fortress, five stories up, his feet balanced precariously on the highest ledge. Above him, moonlight seeped red and yellow from the sky, blood mixed with fickle gold, dark mixed with light, wounds freshly cut in the endless expanse of black velvet.

He gazed down at the gloomy, waiting void beneath him, the taunting ground opening its arms as if begging to embrace him. Thousands of years, and I’m still reduced to this.

Frigid wind blustered, ruffling his hair in every direction, tickling his bare chest, the hated butterfly etched up onto his neck and the remembered lifeblood splattered there. Not his blood, though. No, not his, but his friend’s. Every stroke of hair against that phantom evidence of life and death was like kindling thrown into the fire of his blazing guilt.

So many times he’d come here, wishing for things that could never be. So many times he’d prayed for absolution, relief from his daily torment and the demon inside him responsible…relief from his utter dependence on self-mutilation.

His prayers had never been answered. Would never be answered. This was what he was, what he would always be. And his agony would only increase. Once an immortal warrior to the gods, he was now a Lord of the Underworld, possessed by one of the many spirits formerly locked inside dimOuniak. From favor to dishonor, beloved to despised. From happiness to constant misery.

He ground his teeth. Mortals knew dimOuniak as Pandora’s box; he knew it as the source of his eternal downfall. He and his friends had defiantly opened it all those centuries ago; now he and his friends were the box, each holding a demon inside himself.

Jump, his demon beseeched.

His demon: Pain. His constant companion. The tempting whisper in the back of his mind, the dark entity that craved unspeakable evil. The supernatural force he battled every damned minute of every damned day.

Jump.

“Not yet.” A few more seconds of anticipation, of knowing most of his bones would shatter on contact. He grinned at the thought. The razor-sharp bone shards would cut his injured, swollen organs and those organs would burst like water balloons; his skin would rip from the excess fluid and this time the lifeblood that drained would be his own. Agony, such blissful agony, would consume him.

For a little while, anyway.

Slowly his smile faded. Within days—hours, if he failed to hurt himself badly enough—his body would heal itself, totally and completely. He would wake up, whole again, Pain once more a commanding force inside his mind, too loud to be denied. But oh, for those few blessed ticks of the clock before his bones began to realign, before his organs began to weave back together and his skin to reconnect, before blood once more pumped through his veins, he would experience nirvana. The ultimate paradise. Rapture of the sweetest kind. He would writhe in the exquisite pleasure the pain brought with it—his only source of pleasure. The demon would purr with utter contentment, so drunk on the sensation it was unable to speak, and Reyes would experience such blissful peace.

For a little while. Always, only, a little while.

“I do not need another reminder about how fleeting my peace is,” he muttered to drown the depressing thought. He knew how quickly time passed. A year sometimes felt like nothing more than a day. A day sometimes felt like nothing more than a minute.

And yet, both were sometimes infinite to him. Just one of the many contradictions of life as a Lord of the Underworld.

Jump, Pain said. Then, more insistently, Jump! Jump!

“I told you. Just a few seconds more.” Once again Reyes glanced at the ground. Jagged rocks winked in that bleeding moonlight, the clear puddles surrounding them rippling in the wind. Mist rose like ghostly fingers, summoning him closer, wonderfully closer. “Plunging a blade into your enemy’s throat kills him, yes,” he told the demon, “but then it’s over, done, and you have nothing left to anticipate.”

Jump! A snarled command, impatient and needy, a child throwing a tantrum.

“Soon.”

Jumpjumpjump!

Yes, sometimes demons really were like whiny human children. Reyes shoved a hand through his tangled hair, a few strands ripping from his scalp. He knew of only one way to shut his other half up. Obedience. Why he’d even tried to resist and savor the moment, he didn’t know.

Jump!

“Maybe this time you’ll be sent back to hell,” he muttered. A man could wish, anyway. Finally, he splayed his arms. Closed his eyes. Leaned…

“Come down from there,” he heard a voice say from behind him.

Reyes’s eyelids popped open at the unwelcome intrusion, and he stiffened. He rebalanced but didn’t turn. He knew why Lucien was here, and he was too ashamed to face his friend. While the warrior understood what he dealt with because of his demon, there would be no understanding what he’d done.

“That’s the plan, coming down. Leave and I’ll see that it gets done.”

“You know what I meant.” There was no hint of laughter in Lucien’s voice. “I need to talk to you.”

The dewy scent of roses suddenly saturated the air, thick and lush and so unexpected in the late-winter night that Reyes would have sworn he’d been transported to a spring meadow. A human would have found the aroma hypnotic, lulling, almost drugging, and would have done anything the warrior asked. Reyes merely found it annoying. After thousands of years together, Lucien should have known the fragrance held no power over him.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said tightly.

Jump!

“We’ll talk now. Afterward, you may do whatever you please.”

After Reyes admitted his newest crime? No, thanks. Guilt, shame and grief might bring emotional pain, but none would soothe his demon in any way. Only physical suffering offered relief, which was why Reyes had always guarded his emotional well-being so diligently.

Yes, and you’ve done such a great job at it.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, unsure who had whispered that sarcastic little gem. Himself or Pain. “I’m in a bad place right now, Lucien.”

“As are the others. As am I.”

“You, at least, have a woman to comfort you.”

“You have friends. You have me.” Lucien, keeper of the demon of Death, was tasked with escorting human souls to the hereafter, whether the hereafter was heaven or the deepest fires of hell. He was stoic, ever calm—most of the time. He’d become their leader, the man every warrior residing in this Budapest fortress turned to for guidance and aid. “Talk to me.”

Reyes didn’t like to deny his friend, but he told himself it was better that Lucien did not learn the terrible thing he’d done.

Even as Reyes thought it, he recognized the lie for what it was: a shameful lack of courage on his part. “Lucien,” he began, only to stop. Growl.

“The tracking dye has worn off and no one knows where Aeron is,” Lucien said. “No one knows what he’s doing, if he’s the one who slaughtered those humans in the States. Maddox said he called you right after Aeron escaped the dungeon. Then Sabin told me you left Rome and the Temple of the Unspoken Ones in a hurry. Want to tell me where you went?”

“No.” Truth. He didn’t. “But you may rest assured Aeron is no longer able to slaughter humans.”

There was a pause, the rose scent intensifying.

“How do you know for sure?” The question possessed a bite.

Reyes shrugged.

“Why don’t I tell you what I think happened?” Where Lucien’s tone had been sharp before, it was now threaded with expectation. And fear? “You went after Aeron, hoping to protect the girl.”

The girl. Aeron had kidnapped the girl. Aeron had been ordered by the new gods, the Titans, to murder the girl. Reyes had taken one look at the girl and allowed her to invade his most private thoughts, color his every action and reduce him to a lovesick fool.

With only a glance she had changed his life, and not for the better. And yet, the fact that Lucien refused to say her name pissed Reyes off royally. Reyes desired that girl more than he desired a hammer to the skull. For Pain, that was saying something.

“Well?” Lucien prompted.

“You’re right,” Reyes said through tight lips. Why not admit it? he suddenly thought. His emotions were in turmoil and remaining quiet had only roused them further. More than that, his friends could not hate him any more than he hated himself. “I went after Aeron.”

The admission hung in the air, as heavy as shackles, and he paused.

“You found him.”

“I found him.” Reyes squared his shoulders. “I also… destroyed him.”

Rocks crumbled under Lucien’s boots as he stalked forward. “You killed him?”

“Worse.” Still, Reyes did not turn. He peered down longingly at the still-waiting ground. “I buried him.”

The pounding of footsteps ceased abruptly. “You buried him but did not kill him?” Confusion drifted from Lucien’s voice. “I do not understand.”

“He was about to kill Danika. I could see the torment in his eyes and knew he did not want to do it. I cut him down to slow him and he thanked me, Lucien. Thanked me. He begged me to stop him permanently. He begged me to take his head. But I couldn’t do it. I raised my sword, but I just couldn’t do it. So I had Kane collect Maddox’s chains and bring them to me. Since Maddox no longer needs them, I used them to lock Aeron underground.”

Reyes had once been forced to shackle Maddox to a bed every night, cursed to stab his friend in the stomach six hated times, knowing the warrior would awaken in the morning and Reyes would have to kill him all over again. Some friend I am.

After hundreds of years, Maddox had come to accept the curse. Restraining him, however, had been a necessity. As the keeper of Violence, Maddox tended to attack without warning. Even his friends. And as strong as the warrior was, he would have rent man-made metal in seconds. So they’d commandeered links forged by the gods, links no one, not even an immortal, could open without the proper key.

Like Maddox, Aeron had been—was—helpless against them. In the beginning, Reyes had resisted using them on his friend, not wanting to take even more of the warrior’s freedom. Sadly, as with Maddox, employing them had become a necessity.

“Where is Aeron, Reyes?” Underneath the question was a command laced with the authority of a man used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted. A man who ensured there were severe consequences for any type of delay.

Reyes wasn’t frightened. He simply hated to disappoint this warrior he loved like a brother. “That, I will not tell you. Aeron doesn’t wish to be freed.” And even if he did, I do not think I would free him.

There lay the crux of Reyes’s guilt.

Another pause slithered between them, this one strained and expectant. “I can find him on my own. You know I can.”

“You have already tried and failed or you would not be here.” Reyes knew that Lucien could flash into the spirit world and follow a person’s unique psychic trail. Sometimes, though, the trail faded or became tainted.

Reyes suspected Aeron’s was tainted, as the warrior was not the man he used to be.

“You’re right. His trail ends in New York,” Lucien admitted darkly. “I could continue my search, but that would take time. And time is something none of us can spare right now. Already two weeks have passed.”

How well Reyes knew that, for he’d felt every day of those weeks like a noose tightening around his neck, one worry stacking upon another. Hunters, their greatest enemy, were even now searching for Pandora’s box, hoping to use it to suck the demons out of each and every warrior, destroying man and locking away beast.

If the warriors wished to survive, they had to find the box first.

Chaotic as life now was, Reyes was not ready to end his permanently.

“Tell me where he is,” Lucien said, “and I’ll bring him to the fortress. I’ll bolt him inside the dungeon.”

Reyes snorted. “He escaped once. He could escape again. Even from Maddox’s chains, I’m thinking. His bloodlust gives him a strength I’ve never encountered before. Better he stay where he is.”

“He’s your friend. He’s one of us.”

“He’s warped now, and you know it. Most of the time, he is not aware of his own actions. He would kill you if given the chance.”

“Reyes—”

“He’ll destroy her, Lucien.”

Her. Danika Ford. The girl. Reyes had seen her only a few times, talked to her even less, but still, he craved her with every ounce of his being. Something he didn’t understand. He was dark, she was light. He was anguish, she was innocence. He was wrong for her in every way, and yet, when she looked at him, his entire world felt right.

He knew beyond any doubt that the next time Aeron reached her, the warrior would savagely murder her. There would be no stopping him. Not again. Aeron had been ordered to kill Danika—and her mother and her sister and her grandmother— and was as helpless against the gods and their powers as everyone else. He would do it.

Reyes’s temper flared and he had to glance at the rocks below to calm himself. Aeron had resisted the gods’ dark task at first. He was— No. He had been a good man. But with every day that had passed, his demon had grown stronger, louder inside his head, until finally it overtook his mind. Now Aeron was the demon inside him. He was Wrath. He obeyed. He slew. Until those four women were destroyed, he would live only to hunt and kill.

Except, inside Danika’s temporary apartment those fourteen days, four hours and fifty-six minutes ago, there had been a small part of Aeron that had known the crimes he committed. A small part that hated who and what he had become and desired death above all things. Desired an end to the torment. Why else would Aeron have asked Reyes to kill him?

And I refused him. Reyes couldn’t bring himself to hurt another warrior. Not again. Still. What kind of monster left his friend to suffer? A friend who had fought for him, killed for him? Loved him?

There had to be a way to save both Aeron and Danika, he thought for what, the thousandth time? He’d spent countless hours pondering, but still did not see a solution.

“Do you know where the girl is?” Lucien demanded, cutting into his musings.

“No, I do not.” Truth. “Aeron found her, I found Aeron, and that’s when we fought. She ran. I didn’t follow her afterward. She could be anywhere by now.” Best that way. He knew it, but he was still desperate to know her location, what she was doing…if she lived.

“Lucien, man, what’s taking so damn long?”

At the second intrusion, Reyes finally turned. Paris, keeper of Promiscuity, now stood beside Lucien. Both men were facing him, eyes narrowed. Beams of crimson moonlight fell around them but not on them, as if those colored rays were afraid to touch the evil that even hell itself had been unable to contain.

Immortal that he was, Reyes saw them clearly, gaze cutting expertly through the darkness.

Paris was tall, the tallest of the group, with multicolored hair, pale otherworldly skin and eyes so pure a blue not even the most fanciful poetry would do them justice. Human women found him mesmerizing, irresistible, constantly throwing themselves at him and begging for a single touch. A heated kiss.

Lucien, though mated now, was not so lucky. Human women stayed far away from him. His face was hideously scarred, grotesque even, giving him the appearance of a bedtime monster found only in fairy tales. Didn’t help that he had mismatched eyes—a brown one that saw the natural world and a blue one that saw the spiritual world—and both promised death would soon come knocking.

Both men were corded with the kind of muscle mass only hours of daily physical exertion could provide. They were loaded down with weapons and ready to fight at any moment of any day. They had to be.

“I don’t recall deciding to throw a party up here,” Reyes said.

“Well, old age will wipe your memory like that,” Paris replied. “Remember, we need to discuss our next plan of action? Among other things.”

He sighed. The warriors did what they wanted, when they wanted, and no biting remark would stop them. He knew that firsthand, because he was the exact same way. “Why aren’t you out researching Hydra’s hiding places?”

Lush lips better suited for a woman thinned into a mulish line. Paris’s eyes flashed the kind of agony Reyes usually saw staring back at him from his own mirror, replaced all too soon by the warrior’s usual irreverence.

“Well?” Reyes prompted when there was no answer.

Finally his friend said, “Even immortals need coffee breaks.”

There was obviously more to the story than that, but Reyes didn’t press. I am not the only man with secrets. Several weeks ago the warriors had split up to search for Hydra, a cranky half snake, half woman…thing who was guarding some of King Titan’s favorite “toys.” Those toys—weapons, really—were supposed to lead them to Pandora’s box. So far, they’d only managed to snag one. The Cage of Compulsion. They had only the barest of clues about the locations of the others.

“Yes, but when faced with extinction, coffee breaks lose their importance. And yes, I realize I need to do more for our cause. I will. After.”

Paris shrugged. “I’m doing what I can. The U.S. is a huge damn place and studying it from afar is almost as difficult as navigating its lands amidst all those people.” Each of the warriors had traveled to different countries to ferret out clues about the box, had no success and had quickly returned to learn what they could from here. Without switching his attention from Reyes, Paris asked Lucien, “Did he tell you where Aeron is or what?”

One of Lucien’s black brows arched toward his hairline. “No. He didn’t.”

“Told you he’d be difficult.” Paris frowned. “He hasn’t been himself for weeks.”

Reyes could say the same about Paris, he realized as he noticed lines of fatigue and stress around the usually optimistic man’s eyes. Perhaps he should press Paris for answers. Clearly, something had happened to his friend. Something major.

“We’re running out of time, Reyes.” Accusation coated Paris’s words. “Cooperate. Help us.”

“Hunters are more determined than ever to end us,” Lucien added. “Humans have discovered the Unspoken Ones’ temple, limiting our access yet increasing that of the Hunters. We’ve only found one artifact out of four, but all are supposedly needed to locate the box.”

Reyes arched a brow, mimicking Lucien’s earlier expression. “You think Aeron can help with any of that?”

“No, but we do not need discord among us. Nor do we need the distraction of worrying about him.”

“You can stop worrying,” Reyes said. “He doesn’t want to be found. He hates who and what he is and he hates us seeing him like that. I swear to you, he’s content where he is or I would not have left him.”

The door to the roof burst open and Sabin, keeper of Doubt himself, stalked through, dark hair dancing in the breeze.

“For fuck’s sake,” the man said, throwing up his arms. “What the hell’s going on?” He spotted Reyes and comprehension instantly dawned. He rolled his eyes. “Damn, Pain, you sure know how to spoil a meeting.”

“Why aren’t you researching Rome?” Reyes asked him. Had everyone stopped working in the half hour he’d been on the roof?

Gideon, keeper of Lies, was close at Sabin’s heels and prevented the warrior from answering with a sober, “My, my, how fun this looks.”

In Gideon speak, “fun” meant boring. The man couldn’t utter a single truth without experiencing debilitating pain. Pain, exactly what I need. If only Reyes simply had to lie to receive it, how easy life would have been.

“Shouldn’t you be helping Paris research the States?” Reyes demanded. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “This is starting to feel like a damned circus. Can’t a man do a little sulking and self-mutilation in private?”

“No,” Paris said, “he can’t. Stop stalling, and stop changing the subject. Give us the answers we want or, I swear to the gods, I’m coming up there and laying a big wet one right on your mouth. My boy is hungry and looking to feed. He thinks you’ll do just fine.”

Reyes didn’t doubt Promiscuity wanted to bed him, but he knew Paris, and knew the warrior preferred women.

Get rid of them. Reyes studied his newest guests. Gideon was dressed entirely in black, with hair dyed electric blue, eyebrows pierced in several places, the silver studs gleaming, and charcoal-rimmed eyelashes. Humans found him cut-your-heart-out scary.

Sabin wore all black, as well, but his brown hair, brown eyes and square, guileless face didn’t make him look as if he would kill anyone who approached him—and laugh while doing it.

Both men were stubborn to their very cores.

“I need time to think,” Reyes said, hoping to play on their sympathy.

“There’s nothing to think about,” Sabin replied. “You will do what’s right because you’re an honorable warrior.”

Aren’t you? Perhaps you are as weak as the human girl you desire. Why else would you hurt those who love you like this?

Ouch, he thought, cringing. He was weak. He was— “Sabin,” Reyes growled as realization set in. “Stop sending doubts into my mind. I have enough of my own.”

The warrior shrugged sheepishly, not even trying to deny it. “Sorry.”

“Since our meeting is clearly not canceled,” Gideon said, “I’m not heading into the city, not visiting Club Destiny, and not screwing a few screams of pleasure out of a human female.” He disappeared behind the door a second later, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Don’t cancel the meeting,” Reyes told the others. “Just… start without me.” He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze starting in the sky and falling slowly. Night’s sinister canvas still waited, beckoning him to finally leap. “I’ll be down in a few.”

Paris’s lips twitched. “Down. Funny. Maybe I’ll meet you down there and we can play Hide-the-Pancreas again. Forcing you to completely regenerate rather than simply heal always amuses me.”

Even Lucien grinned at that.

“Oh, oh, I wanna play! Can I hide his liver this time?”

At the sound of Anya’s sultry voice, Reyes stifled a groan.

The white-haired goddess of Anarchy rushed through the doorway and threw herself into Lucien’s now-open arms, her strawberry fragrance drifting on the ever-increasing wind. The pair cooed and cuddled like lovesick idiots for an eternity, lost in each other, the world around them forgotten.

It had taken Reyes a while to warm to the woman. She belonged in Olympus, home to the very beings he reviled—strike one. She left chaos in her wake, something as natural to her as breathing—strike two. But in the end, she had aided every warrior here, and had blessed Lucien with a happiness Reyes could only imagine.

Sabin coughed.

Paris whistled, though the sound of it was strained.

A pang of envy tightened Reyes’s chest, squeezing at the heart that would soon stop beating. The heart he wished he did not possess. Without one, he would not have wanted Danika even though he knew he couldn’t have her.

Didn’t matter, he supposed. She would never want him in return. Most women did not appreciate his particular brand of pleasure and sweet, angelic Danika would hate it more than most. Even being near him had terrified her.

Perhaps, though, he could have won her over, seduced her, softened her toward him. Perhaps…but he refused to even try. The women he bedded always succumbed to his demon, became drunk on it, addicted to its predilections. They developed their own need for pain, lashing out and hurting everyone around them.

“Someone gather the others,” Reyes said, sarcasm dripping from the words and hopefully hiding his inner agony. “We’ll make this a reunion.” What was Danika doing right this second? Who was she with? A man? Was she cuddling against him as Anya was cuddling against Lucien? Was she dead, buried as Aeron was buried? His hands curled into fists, his nails elongating into claws, slicing skin and stinging beautifully.

“You can shut it, Painie,” Anya said, facing him. She burrowed her head in the hollow of Lucien’s neck, blue eyes peeking through thick strands of pale hair. “You’re wasting Lucien’s time, and that seriously irritates me.”

Bad things happened when Anya was irritated. Wars, natural disasters. Reyes’s weapons left in the rain to rust. “He and I have already spoken. He has the information he desired.”

“Not all of it,” Lucien said.

“Tell him or I’ll push you,” Anya said. “And then I swear to the gods—bastards that they are!—that while you’re recovering and unable to stop me I’ll find your little girlfriend and mail you one of her fingers.”

Just the thought caused a red haze to curtain his eyes. Danika…hurting… Do not react. Do not allow fury to swamp you. “You will not touch her.”

“Watch your tone,” Lucien told him, tightening his grip on his woman.

“You don’t even know where she is,” Reyes said more calmly, marveling at how protective the once stolid Lucien was.

Anya smiled a secret smile.

“Anya,” he warned.

“What?” she asked, all innocence.

“Aeron needs to be with us,” Lucien said.

“Aeron is no longer up for discussion,” Reyes growled. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the torment in his eyes. You didn’t hear the pleading in his tone. I did what I had to do, and I’d do it again.” He spun away from his friends. Glanced down. The puddles were now undulating fiercely against the jagged rocks lining the ground. They were still beckoning.

Deliverance, they whispered.

Just for a little while….

“Reyes,” Lucien called.

Reyes jumped.

CHAPTER TWO

“ORDER’S UP.”

Danika Ford caught the two steaming plates that slid across the silver warmer. One a greasy hamburger, hold the onions. The other a chili dog with extra cheese. Both were overflowing with heart-attack-in-the-making fries and wafting delicious scents to her nose, making her mouth water and her stomach rumble.

Last thing she’d eaten had been a bologna sandwich before bed last night. The bread had been crusty and the meat ripe. Sadly, she would have paid good money for another crusty, overripe sandwich just then. If she’d had any money, that is.

Three more hours till her shift ended, then she could eat again. Three feet-throbbing, backbreaking, limb-shaking hours. She wouldn’t last. Don’t be a princess. Chin up. Game on. You’re a Ford. Built for strength and all that jazz.

Despite the pep talk, her gaze fell to the plates. She swiped her tongue over her lips. Maybe a nibble. What could it hurt? No one would know.

Her arm rose before she could stop it, her fingers reached…

“I think she’s stealing one of my fries,” she heard a man whisper.

Another whispered back, “What’d you expect from someone like her?”

Danika froze. For a moment, her appetite was forgotten and a million emotions swept through her. Sadness, frustration and embarrassment were the front-runners. This is what my life has become. From sheltered daughter to woman-on-the-run in a single bleak night. From well-respected artist to take-whatever’s-dished waitress.

“Like to say I’m surprised, but…”

“Check your wallet when we leave.”

Embarrassment edged ahead of the other two. She didn’t have to see the men to know they were watching her with hard, judging eyes. Three times they’d come to eat at Enrique’s and all three times they’d given her self-esteem a good workout. It was weird, too. They never said anything harsh, always smiled and thanked her when she brought them something, but they just couldn’t mask the distaste shining in their eyes.

She’d dubbed them the Bird Brothers, so badly did she want to flip them off.

Don’t bring attention to yourself, her common sense piped up. These days, it was the only rule she lived by.

“I better not catch you trying to sneak food again,” her boss snapped. Enrique was the owner, as well as the short-order cook. “Now, hurry up. Their food’s getting cold.”

“Actually, it’s too hot. They might burn themselves and sue.” The plates were obscenely warm against her cold skin—skin she hadn’t been able to warm in weeks. Even now, in the heat of the diner, she wore a sweater she’d purchased for $3.99 at the thrift shop down the street. But to her consternation, the burn from the plates never seeped inside her.

Surely something good would happen to her soon. Weren’t good and evil supposed to balance each other out? Once, she had thought so. Had believed happiness waited around every corner. Sadly, Danika now knew better.

Behind her, past the wall of windows that provided a mocking view into the pulsing heart of L.A.’ s nightlife, cars whizzed and people strolled, carefree and laughing. Not too long ago, that was me.

Danika had taken the job here, working as many hours as possible, because Enrique paid her under the table, no social security number required. Cash, no taxes deducted. She could disappear at a moment’s notice.

Was her mother living like this? Her sister? Her granny—if she was still alive?

Two months ago, the four of them had decided to take an extended vacation in Budapest, her grandpa’s favorite city. Magical, he’d always said. After he died, they’d gone to celebrate his memory and finally say goodbye.

Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

They’d soon found themselves kidnapped and locked away. By monsters. Real, honest-to-God monsters. Creatures the Boogeyman probably searched his closet for before daring to go to bed. Creatures who sometimes looked human and sometimes didn’t. Every so often, Danika had caught a glimpse of fangs, claws and skeletal faces underneath their human personas.

In a moment of luck, she and her family had been rescued. But she’d been captured again, only to be released unharmed. Unharmed but warned: Run, hide. You’ll be hunted soon. If you’re found, you and your family are dead.

So each of them had run. They’d split up, hoping they would be harder to find that way. They’d hidden, shadows their new best friends. Danika had first traveled to New York, the city that never slept, trying to lose herself in the crowds. Somehow, the monsters had found her. Again. But once more she’d managed to escape them, hitching nonstop to L.A., each day making just enough money to survive and pay for self-defense lessons.

In the beginning, she and her family had maintained contact every day by calling and leaving disposable cell-phone numbers with trusted friends. Then Danika’s grandmother had gone silent. No more calls.

Had she been found by the monsters? Killed?

Last time Danika had heard from her, her granny had arrived in a small town in Oklahoma. She had friends there, had known better than to travel anywhere familiar, but at her age had probably grown weary of running. Yet even those friends had not heard from her in weeks; Grandma Mallory had gone to the market and simply never returned.

Thinking about her beloved grandmother and the pain the woman might have endured caused grief and sorrow to well up inside Danika’s chest. She couldn’t call her mom or her sister and ask if they’d heard anything. They, too, had stopped checking in. For everyone’s safety, her mom had said during their last conversation. Calls could be traced, cell phones confiscated and used against them.

Her eyes burned and her chin trembled. No. No! What are you doing? She couldn’t think about her family now. “What if” would paralyze her.

“You’re wasting time,” Enrique said, tugging her from her dark musings. “Shake your ass like I told you. Your customers are waiting and if they send back their food ’cause it’s cold, you’re going to pay for it.”

She wanted to throw the plates at him, but “No attention!” was screaming inside her head, so she just smiled and pivoted on her heels, ratty sneakers squeaking. Chin high, back straight, she marched toward the table with dread congealing in her stomach. Both men watched her with those hard eyes. They were clearly middle-class with their inexpensive clothes and average haircuts. Tanned and buff as they were, they could have been construction workers. If so, they hadn’t come straight from a job. They were clean, their jeans and T-shirts unstained.

One had a toothpick sticking out from between his teeth and was rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other, the motions faster and faster the closer she came. Her hands were shaking from fatigue, but she managed to set the plates in front of each man without accidentally dumping the food in their laps. A lock of inky hair escaped her ponytail and fell down her temple.

Hands finally free, she hooked the strands behind her ear. BB—before Budapest—she’d had long blond hair. AB—after Budapest—she’d chopped it to shoulder length and dyed it black to alter her appearance. Another crime to lay at the monsters’ door.

“Sorry about the fry.” Despite their clear disdain for her, these men were good tippers. “I wasn’t trying to eat it, just to keep it on the plate.” Liar. God, she never used to lie.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bird One said, unable to mask the slight twinge of irritation in his voice.

Don’t send the food back. Please don’t send the food back. She couldn’t afford the cut in her pay. “Can I get you anything else?” Their cups were almost full, so she left them in place.

“We’re fine,” Bird Two replied. Again, polite enough words but uttered in an unmistakably waspish tone. He waved one of the paper napkins and settled it on his lap.

She caught a glimpse of a small figure eight tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Surprising. Had anyone asked her to bet, she would have put big money on a dark-haired female with a bloody hatchet coming out of her back.

“Well, holler if you need anything.” She forced herself to smile, knowing she probably resembled a feral wolf. “I hope you enjoy your meal.” Just as she was about to move away—

“When do you take a break?” Two asked abruptly.

Uh, what now? He wanted to know when she went on break? Why? She doubted he’d asked for romantic reasons, since he was still watching her with mild distaste. “I, uh, don’t.”

He popped a fry in his mouth, chewed, then licked his grease-smeared lips. “How about taking one tonight?”

“Sorry. Can’t.” Keep smiling. “I have other tables.” She should have added: Maybe next time. Encouragement might have softened him at tip time. But the words clumped together in her throat, forming a hard knot. Go, go, go.

Pivot. They disappeared from view. Her smile—gone. Six quick strides and she reached Gilly, the only other waitress on duty tonight, who stood in front of the drink counter, filling three plastic cups with different sodas. Though Danika should’ve been checking on the patrons she’d used as an excuse only seconds before, she needed a moment to fortify her composure.

“God save me,” she muttered. She flattened her hands on the bar and leaned forward, cocking her hip. Thankfully, a half wall blocked her from the customers’ view.

“He won’t.” Gilly, a sixteen-year-old runaway—eighteen if anyone asked—flashed Danika a tired grimace of sympathy. They’d both been working fourteen-hour days. “He’s already given up on us, I think.”

Such pessimism seemed wrong in someone so young. “I refuse to believe that.” Lying must have become second nature to her. Danika wasn’t sure God cared anymore, either. “Something wonderful could be days away.” Yeah. Right.

“Well, my something wonderful was that the Bird Brothers sat in your section again.”

“Who are you kidding? They smile at you as if you’re the Sugar Plum Fairy and they smirk at me as if I’m the Wicked Witch of the West. I have no idea what I did to them or why they keep coming back for more of me.” Second time they’d come in, she’d feared they meant to pull her back into the nightmare she’d just escaped. But they’d never revealed a monstrous side, so she’d eventually relaxed.

Gilly laughed. “Want me to shank them for you?”

“Now, Gilly, that would be a travesty. Shanking’s a felony and cuffs are so not a good look for you.”

The girl’s smile slowly melted away. “Don’t I know it,” she muttered.

Part of Danika wanted to tell her to go home; life with her mom couldn’t be this bad. The other part admitted that life with Gilly’s mom could indeed be much, much worse. The terrible things Danika had seen on these darkened streets, even in the short time she’d been here…women with deadened eyes selling their bodies. Beatings. Drug overdoses. Whatever Gilly’s mother had done to drive the teenager to the streets had to have been severe.

Once, Danika had been able to delude herself into thinking the world was a safe and magnificent place, full of possibilities. Now, her eyes had been opened.

“Are you going to class in the morning?” she asked, propelling them into a safer conversation. She’d only worked here a week, but every day of that week she and Gilly had taken self-defense lessons, learning how to kick, hit and yes, kill with lethal precision. Besides her family, those lessons were the only thing Danika lived for anymore.

She would never be helpless again.

Gilly sighed and faced her. Danika thought again that she looked too young and fresh to be leading such a life of drudgery. Dark, chin-length hair, as straight as a pin. Big brown eyes. Honey-kissed skin. Average height, curvy body. She was innocence mixed with haunted sensuality. Right now, she was the only friend Danika had.

“My feet will loathe me forever, but yeah. I’m going. You?”

“Absolutely.” Friends weren’t something she could afford these days, but Danika had taken one look at the sad, brave girl and felt an instant kinship with her.

“Maybe we’ll overpower the instructor again. Now, that was fun.”

A chuckle escaped her, the first in what seemed forever. “Maybe.”

A bell rang, hacking through the cackle of voices that echoed across the diner. Another order was up. Neither of them moved, however.

“Gotta tell you,” Gilly said, anchoring her hand on her hip. “When Charles told us to come at him, rage, like, took me over. I could have killed him and giggled about it later.”

“Me, too.” Sadly, those words were not a lie.

Picture me as your enemy and show me what you’ve learned so far. Attack me, Charles had said, and both of them had.

He’d needed fifty-nine stitches before the night had ended. Fortunately, he’d been a good sport about it.

Dark fury had consumed Danika as images of Aeron, Lucien and Reyes—she gulped. Reyes!—had fluttered through her mind. Her kidnappers, her tormentors. Men she should hate with every fiber of her being. Did hate. Except for one. Reyes. Stupid girl.

Him, she dreamed about constantly. Waking, sleeping, didn’t matter. He was always on her mind, as if he’d been branded there.

Sometimes he even defeated the creatures in her nightmares. He would attack them, they would fight violently, and blood would flow in rivers. Always afterward, he would come to Danika, injured and hurting. Without hesitation, she would take him in her arms. He would kiss her everywhere—slow, so slow—laving his tongue over her hollows and planes, each lick another brand.

Every nighttime second spent with him caused her to crave more and more and more, until he was all she wanted, all she needed. He became more important to her than air. He was like a drug, the worst kind of addiction.

What’s wrong with me? He’d kidnapped her for no reason, held her family hostage. He didn’t deserve her desire! Why did she crave him so desperately? He was handsome, dangerously so, but other men were handsome, too. He was strong, but he would use that strength against her. He was intelligent, but he didn’t exude any sort of humor. He never smiled. Yet she had never wanted a man the way she wanted Reyes.

Like Gilly, he had dark hair, dark eyes and honey-kissed skin. Honey mixed with melted chocolate. He also possessed that same haunted sensuality, as if he’d seen the most painful side of love and was marked forevermore.

The differences ended there, however. Reyes was tall and stacked with a warrior’s muscle. He wore more knives than he did clothing, strapping them behind his head, on his wrists, ankles and thighs and hanging them at his waist. Every time she’d seen him, he’d been covered in combat wounds, cuts up and down his arms and legs, bruises on his face. He was a soldier to the bone.

They all were, those self-proclaimed “Lords of the Underworld.”

Lords of Nightmares, she called them, for of all the frightening dreams she’d had in her life, none came close to the reality of these men.

Aeron had black gossamer wings and could fly like a bird— or a malevolent dragon of lore. Lucien had multicolored eyes that swirled hypnotically just before he disappeared as if he’d never existed. The scent of roses always drifted from him, insidiously sweet.

What magical ability Reyes possessed, she didn’t know.

All she knew was that he’d saved her once. Had fought his fellow soldier for her. Why? she’d wondered so many times since. Why had he hurt his friend rather than her? Why had he looked at her as if she were his only reason for breathing? Why had he then set her free, again?

Does it matter? He’s one of them. He’s a monster. Don’t forget. Another ding sounded, slicing through her thoughts. “Girls!”

Enrique shouted.

Gilly moaned.

Danika massaged the back of her neck. Reprieve over. She straightened. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of her customers wave his arm in a bid for her attention. To Gilly, she said, “I’ll be at your place about…four-thirty tomorrow morning? Sound good?”

“Make it five. Yep, I’ll be tired but ready.” Gilly turned and gathered the drinks.

Danika moved off. Ten minutes of napkin and straw duty, coffee pouring and fetching for the Bird Brothers followed. Kept her mind off Reyes, at least.

Twice, Bird One dropped his fork and needed her to fetch him a new one. Once, Bird Two needed a refill. Once he needed a clean napkin. When she tried to leave after the last delivery, Two grabbed her wrist to stop her, his touch sharpening her nerves to razor points.

She didn’t rebuke him—every penny counts, every damn penny counts—but politely asked what he needed and tugged free.

“We’d like to talk to you,” he said, reaching for her once more.

She stepped backward. If he touched her again, she just might snap. No longer were strangers allowed to put their hands on her. Not for any reason. “About what?”

A mother and young son strolled inside, the bell above the door tinkling to announce their arrival.

“About what?” she repeated.

“About a job. Money.”

Her eyes widened. Dear God. They thought she was a hooker? So that was what they’d meant by “someone like her.” Funny that they looked at her with disdain and yet were willing to buy her services. “No, thank you. I’m happy where I am, doing what I do.” Well, not really happy, but they didn’t need to know that.

“Danika,” Enrique called. “Got people waiting.”

The men glanced at the entrance and frowned. “Later,” Two said.

How about never? Seriously. A hooker? Closer to the door than Gilly, Danika gathered two menus and ushered the new arrivals to a table. They were a little unkempt, thin, clothing stained and wrinkled. They would not be good tippers, but the smile she gave them was genuine, if a bit envious.

She missed her mother like crazy.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Water,” they said in unison.

There was a wistful gaze in the boy’s blue eyes as he stared at the soda resting on the table a few feet away from him, condensation running down the plastic. Danika’s head tilted to the side, her artist’s eye seeing the heart-wrenching possibilities of a portrait. Human desires were always simplified when all but the bare essentials were taken away.

You’re not going to paint anymore, remember?

It was too much of a luxury in this die-any-moment world. Besides, she had to feel to paint. Not just happiness, either. For her, painting required a wide spectrum of emotion. Fury, sadness, bliss. Hate, love, sorrow. Without them, she simply mixed colors and splattered them on a canvas. But with them, she would lose the edge she needed to stay alive.

Tamping down the sadness she couldn’t afford, she handed the pair their menus. “I’ll be back in a moment with your drinks, and then I’ll take your order.”

“Thank you,” the mother said.

On the way to the fountain, Bird Two grabbed her arm again, fingers locked in a tight grip. Danika stiffened, sparks of fury so hot under her skin she suddenly felt wrapped in flames. She couldn’t fight the emotion, couldn’t tamp it down as easily as she had the sadness. The ice she’d imagined coating her skin all these weeks melted.

“What time do you get off?”

“I don’t.”

“We’re asking for your own good. The world is a bad, bad place and unless you’re one of the bad guys, you shouldn’t be out there alone.”

“Grab me again,” she said through clenched teeth, ignoring his feigned concern, “and you’ll regret it. I’m not a hooker, and I’m not looking to make any money. Okay?”

As both gaped at her, she ripped free. She stalked away from them before she did something stupid. At the station in back, she filled the mother and son’s drink order, her hands shaking. Her heartbeat nearly cracked her ribs. You have to calm down. Deep breath in, deep breath out. That’s the way. Finally her muscles released their vise-grip on her bones.

She steered clear of the Bird Brothers on her way back to the table, remaining completely out of reach. When the mother realized she’d brought the boy a Coke, she opened her mouth to protest but Danika stopped her with a raised hand—a still-shaking hand, she realized with surprise. Hadn’t calmed from Two’s touch, then. Another deep breath in, another deep breath out.

“On the house,” she whispered. Enrique gave nothing away, not even to his waitresses, and would deduct the dollar ninety-seven from Danika’s pay if he heard. “If it’s okay that he has it, that is.”

The boy’s expression lit with happiness. “It’s okay, right, Mom? Please, please, please.”

The mother gave Danika a grateful smile. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Know what you want to order?” She withdrew the pad and pencil from her apron. Her hand had stopped shaking, but the muscles were so rigid she accidentally snapped the pencil in two. “Oops. Sorry.” More carefully, she dug out the spare.

The pair placed their order, and as she wrote she scanned the diner. Another family had just walked in. She gave them only a cursory inspection. Less and less, she jumped when people entered. First few days here, she’d expected Reyes to stalk through the door, throw her over his shoulder and steal into the night with her.

Gilly motioned the family to the only other available booth, her gaze catching Danika’s. They shared a tired smile. Danika’s felt brittle, her nervous system clearly still raw from Two’s touch. You know you can’t react like this. You have to be prepared, ready for anything.

“Did you get that?” the woman asked her.

She returned her attention to her customer. “Yes. Two hamburgers, one plain, one with everything, both with fries.”

The woman nodded. “Great. Thanks.”

“I’ll get this turned in. Shouldn’t take too long to get it cooked.” Danika tore the page from her pad and marched toward Enrique.

Bird One grabbed her this time. “Look. We don’t think you’re a prostitute. We just want to talk to you. Bad things are headed your way.”

Before she could stop it, instinct took over. In her mind, she saw her sister’s panicked face the night they’d been snatched from their hotel room and carted to that fortress, prisoners of the monsters. She heard her mother’s voice in her head: Your grandmother might be dead. Might have been murdered.

Red clouded her vision and fury returned full force, morphing her from woman to berserker. Attack! Never helpless again! She slammed her free hand into the man’s nose. Cartilage broke on contact, and blood poured onto his shirt, his plate. He howled in pain, tenting his hands over his face.

In the wake of that howl, there was a heavy silence. Then someone dropped a cup. Clang, splash. Liquid gurgled over the tiled floor. Someone cursed. All of the sounds boomed like thunder, piercing her mind and jerking her out of the vengeful haze.

Danika’s mouth fell open.

Two gasped, his eyes widening. He jumped up, breath sawing in and out. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, bitch?”

“I—I—” A tremor rolled through her entire body. She stood frozen, fighting panic. She’d just brought attention to herself. A lot of it, and none of it good. “I—I told you guys not to touch me.”

“You assaulted him!” Looming menacingly, the uninjured man settled his hands atop her shoulders and shoved her backward.

She could have stopped him from pushing her, could have shoved her pencil in his jugular before stumbling away. She didn’t. Mortification blended with regret and both tumbled through her, overshadowing any lingering hint of fury. Where’s your numbness now?

“You know what?” he said, snarling at her. “You’re just like them. ‘She might be innocent,’ I was told, ‘so be careful with her. Be gentle.’ I didn’t believe it, not for a second, but I obeyed. Shouldn’t have. You just proved how despicable you really are. Maybe you’re a whore after all—their whore.”

You’re just like them, he had said. Just like who? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I—” There was nothing she could say to make this better. Clearing her throat, she smoothed the wrinkles from her sweater. Blood must have splattered her palm because streaks of crimson appeared everywhere her hands touched. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Someone call 9-1-1, for fuck’s sake!”

Oh, God. She was going to have to run again, when she’d only just settled in. If this made the papers… Oh, God, she thought again. Her heart once more began slamming against her ribs.

Enrique stomped out of the kitchen, double doors swinging behind him. He was a big man, both tall and overweight, and utterly imposing. His thinning hair fell into his narrowed eyes as he barked, “You, little girl, are fired. And that’s the least of your problems. Go to the back and wait ’til the cops get here.”

Of course she was fired. And deep down, she knew he was going to stiff her for today’s work. “I’ll go,” she lied, “just as soon as you pay me. You owe me for—”

“You’ll march back there now! You’re scaring the customers.”

Danika’s gaze moved through the diner and landed on the mother and son. The woman had one arm locked protectively around the boy while the other pushed away the Coke Danika had given him. Both were staring at her in fear. Me? But I was merely defending myself.

Her eyes moved away, and Gilly came into focus. Concern radiated from the girl’s face as she approached, obviously meaning to support Danika. She’d lose her job and today’s pay, as well, and Danika couldn’t allow that.

“I’ll wait for the police at my apartment,” she lied.

“No, you won’t,” Enrique said. “You’ll—”

Turning, she marched from the diner, head high, shoulders squared. Thankfully, no one tried to stop her, not even Bird Two. The night was warm, lit with neon signs and crowded. She felt as if she were spotlighted in the glare and everyone she passed was staring at her.

God, what was she going to do?

She quickened her pace, almost running. She had forty dollars in her pocket. Enough for a bus ticket somewhere. Where should she go? Georgia, maybe. The peach state was a good distance away. More importantly, she would pass through Oklahoma. She could search for her grandmother.

The thought had barely registered before something slammed into her back, propelling her into a darkened alley. She hit the pavement with so much force, oxygen whooshed from her lungs. Rocks cut past her thin sweater and T-shirt and into her skin. Her jaw cracked against the concrete. Bright white stars glittered behind her lids.

“Demon bitch!” a man growled at her temple, spittle spraying into her hair. Bird Two. Hadn’t let her escape, after all. “Did you really think I’d let you run again? You’re ours and, baby, you’re going to suffer just like your friends. I’m not allowed to kill them, but you…you’ll beg for it.”

Instinct once again kicked into gear. Don’t scream, just fight. Don’t react, just strike. The words had been drilled into her mind and now seemed as much a part of her as her arm or leg. When her assailant grabbed her by the hair, lifting her, she spun of her own accord. Her scalp stung as the hairs ripped free, but that didn’t slow her as she jabbed her arm forward to cut off his airway and buy herself enough time to slip free while he gasped for breath. Contact.

There was a grunt, a wail. His hold on her loosened.

Warm liquid ran down her fingers, pooling in her knuckles. What the—realization clattered through her. She’d still been gripping the pencil and she’d shoved the tip deep into his jugular—just as she’d stopped herself from doing in the diner.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” Dazed, she scrambled to her feet. She swayed and had to grab on to his shoulders to stay upright. Horror nearly drowned her as the man fell to his knees, gurgling.

Moonlight seeped past the buildings surrounding him, highlighting his pale, pain-filled, shocked features. He tried to speak, but no sound emerged.

“I’m sorry!” She splayed her fingers, releasing him completely. She held up her hands, palms out, and the blood poured down her arms. Panic blended with her horror. There was no precious numbness to be found. Not now.

One step, two, she backed away. Oh, God. Oh, God. Murderer, her mind screamed. You’re a murderer. The metallic scent of his blood blended with the aromas of urine and body odor.

Two slumped, collapsed onto the concrete. His head was turned and his eyes seemed to focus on her as his chest stilled. Oh, God. Bile rose in her throat. You had to do it. He would have killed you.

Not knowing what else to do, Danika spun, ran and barreled through the people crowding the far side of the building. Those neon signs illuminated her every movement, and her raspy pants were like drumbeats in her ears. No one tried to stop her.

Two weeks ago in New York, one of her self-defense instructors had told her that she didn’t have a killer instinct.

If only.

I’m as bad as the monsters.

CHAPTER THREE

“I KNOW WHERE your woman is.”

Reyes straightened on the couch, the tip of the knife stilling inside his arm. He’d pushed it deep, so deep he’d sliced the vein in half. But the wound healed all too soon, sealing shut around the blade. Blood dried on his skin.

He’d jumped from the roof three days ago and was only now recovered enough to walk. Unfortunately. Pain was louder and more demanding than ever, wanting something more. What, Reyes didn’t know. This cut hadn’t helped in the least.

He ripped the weapon free, creating another injury. He licked his bottom lip, trying to savor the pain. This injury healed quickly, as well. Not enough of a sting. Never enough.

“Nothing to say to me?”

“You’re as bad as Gideon.” He glared over at Lucien, who stood in the doorway. The warrior’s dark hair fell in waves to his shoulders and his mismatched eyes gleamed with expectation.

“As if I would lie.”

They were alone in the entertainment room. Paris, who could usually be found there watching one of his fleshfests, was now in the city, keeping up his strength by bedding as many women as he could. Maddox and his woman, Ashlyn, were in their bedroom. As always.

Sabin and the other warriors were currently in the kitchen—they’d kicked Reyes out ages ago for bleeding on the table—outlining a plan to raid the Temple of the Unspoken Ones in Rome without humans knowing they were there.

Reyes doubted the temple would lead the way to the All-Seeing Eye, the Cloak of Invisibility or the Paring Rod, whatever that was, but he was in the minority so he kept quiet. Still, he knew he was right. If there were something to be found amid the crumbling rock, moss and seashells, they would have found it by now. Besides, the Cage of Compulsion they’d discovered after searching the Temple of the All Gods hadn’t helped them find the box in any way.

Yes, it was a nice weapon to own. Anyone locked inside that cage was magically compelled to do anything the owner commanded of them. But who were they supposed to lock inside it? What were they supposed to command that person to do? Until they learned the answers, he suspected Lucien and Anya would continue to play with it like naughty children.

“Reyes,” Lucien said. “We were discussing Danika.”

“No, we weren’t.” He wanted her purged from his mind, but he was beginning to suspect she was a permanent part of him now. Like his demon. Only worse. She had destroyed his precious sense of peace. Peace that had not returned, even while he was lying in bed, broken and throbbing in delicious agony.

“Shall I tell you what I know about her?” Lucien asked.

Do not take the bait. You’re better off not knowing. Without Reyes providing a constant stream of tangible pain, his demon would spiral out of control, ravenous for someone’s bodily suffering. His—others. It didn’t matter. That’s one of the reasons he’d sent Danika away. Were he to find her, he might one day hurt her irreparably.

“Tell me,” he found himself commanding, his voice hoarse.

“Three days ago, she stabbed a man.”

That sweet little angel, hurt a human? Reyes snorted. “Please. Now I’m sure you are lying.”

“When I have never lied to you before?”

No, Lucien had never lied to him. Reyes gulped back a surge of bile, his next words emerging hard and strained. “How do you know she harmed a man?”

“More than harmed. She killed him. The victim lingered in the hospital for two days and only died this morning. When I was summoned to take his soul, I saw he bore the mark of a Hunter.”

“What!” Reyes popped to his feet, fury washing through him. Hunters had found Danika? She’d been forced to slay one? In that moment, he no longer allowed himself the delusion of disbelief. Hunters hated him. They could have seen her here, at the fortress, followed her and tried to torture her for information about him.

His teeth gnashed together. Damned Hunters! They were so mindlessly fanatic they believed all of the world’s evil stemmed from the demons inside the Lords. They were ruthless in their quest to destroy those spirits and the men who harbored them, and they would not hesitate to cut down anyone they considered a friend of the warriors.

Danika was not a friend, but they couldn’t know that. Even now, they might be planning to use her as Bait, hoping to draw him out in the open by dangling her in his face.

This changed everything.

“Was she hurt? Did they touch her?” He palmed his second blade before he realized what he was doing: preparing for war.

Lucien continued his story as if Reyes had never spoken. “As I escorted the Hunter’s soul to hell, I saw the last few acts of his life inside my mind.”

“Was. She. Hurt?” The stilted question hissed out of his throat, from between his clenched teeth.

“Yes.”

Pain prowled the corridors of his mind, sharpening its claws against the sides of his skull. “Is she—” Reyes pressed his lips together. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Could barely tolerate thinking it.

“No,” Lucien answered anyway. “She is not dead.”

Thank the gods. Relief gobbled up his fury, and his shoulders sagged. “Were any other Hunters involved?”

“Yes.”

Again, Lucien did not elaborate.

“How many?”

“One. She broke his nose.”

“On purpose?” he asked, shocked.

“Yes.”

The Danika he remembered had been gentle, sweet. He was not sure what to think of this tigress, but he would stake his own life on the fact that she was tormented by her actions.

“Where is she?” He would go to her, check on her, find a way to protect her from future Hunter attacks, and then he would leave her. He would not allow himself to linger, would not even engage her in a conversation. But he had to see her, had to verify that she was alive and well.

Afterward he would find and savagely kill the other Hunter responsible for her pain. A broken nose wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy his raging need for vengeance.

Lucien didn’t answer him. “We’re traveling to Rome in less than a week to search the temple again. We need those artifacts.”

So that was the way they were going to play it, huh? “I know.”

“I want Aeron brought here before we leave.”

“You want to place the entire household in danger, then. You want to ignore Aeron’s wishes to appease your own.”

“He is one of us. He needs us now more than ever.”

Reyes stalked forward, past Lucien and out of the room. Since Anya and Ashlyn had moved in, the old crumbling fortress had been transformed into a home. Flowers now overflowed from colorful vases. The walls had been lined with artwork Anya had stolen—mostly of naked men; she had a wicked sense of humor—and the furniture had been updated.

Haphazardly patched-together couches were out and plush leather was in. Intricately carved and polished chests, wire-rimmed benches and pillowed lounges filled the rooms and adorned the hallways. He’d been leery of the women at first. Now, he wasn’t sure what he’d do without them. They were anchors amid a terrible storm.

His boots pounded the staircase, creating a wild thump, thump rhythm. He rounded the corner of the third floor—and stopped abruptly. Lucien waited at his bedroom door, expression determined.

All Death had to do was think of a location and he could flash there in an instant.

“I will not give up,” Lucien said. “That should please you. I would not give up were the situation reversed and it was your life I fought for.”

Scowling, Reyes propelled back into motion. He shouldered Lucien aside and shoved open his bedroom door. Inside, he marched straight to his favorite cache of weapons.

“The others feel as I do and are angry about your refusal to speak of Aeron. I have asked them for a few days to talk some sense into you. After that…”

After that they would be at his throat constantly. To them, he was choosing Danika over Aeron, and a warrior did not choose a woman over another warrior. Ever. Reyes did not point out that Maddox had chosen Ashlyn and Lucien had chosen Anya. He did not point out—again—that Aeron preferred death over the creature he’d become and would not be happy about returning to the fortress. It would do no good. Worse, part of him felt as Lucien did.

Reyes lifted his Sig Sauer, checked the twenty-round, chrome-plated magazine. Full. Checked the chamber. One already loaded. Good.

“Going to find her, guns blazing?”

“If necessary.” Reyes pocketed three other rubber-floored magazines and a box of .45s. There were daggers already strapped to his ankles and throwing stars attached to his belt.

“You don’t know where to go.”

“That won’t stop me. I will find her.”

Lucien sighed, loud and long. “I can flash you to her. You can be with her, saving her, in seconds.”

Saving her. An admission of the danger she was in or a trick? He anchored the gun at his back and flattened his palms on the velvet-lined table, head bowed. For a long while he remained silent, weighing his options. Waste time searching for Danika or free Aeron, who could already taste her blood in his mouth?

Neither appealed to him.

Reyes sighed, the sound an echo of Lucien’s. His king-size bed lay sprawled at his left side, spacious and rumpled. He’d imagined Danika there every night since meeting her, blond hair tumbling, naked body glistening with desire. Nipples pearled, desperate for his tongue. Legs spread, core wet.

Sometimes, though, the fantasy was replaced by his greatest fear, an image of blood and death. Danika’s throat cut, her naked body painted crimson…motionless. The likelihood of that fear coming true would increase upon Aeron’s release. You knew you could not hold him prisoner forever. Release him, save her and then protect her.

Protecting her would mean keeping her with him rather than walking away from her as planned. That would increase her contact with the death-hungry Aeron, but it would also increase her contact with Reyes. Dangerous though it was, the thought was as sultry and heady as a lover’s caress might be—if Reyes had been able to find pleasure in softness.

To have Danika here…to hold her… Her angel face flashed through his mind. Wide green eyes that had looked at him with a range of emotions: fear, hope, hate—and desire? Small, pert nose. Lush pink lips that cursed him to everlasting hell while silently promising the sweetest rapture. Delicate body deliciously curved and ripe for a man’s touch.

He closed his eyes, his nostrils suddenly filled with her scent. Stormy nights and innocence, sugar sweetness edged with something a little dark…perilous. His brow furrowed. Dark? Perilous? She had been neither of those things before.

“Give me your hand,” Lucien said, suddenly in front of him, warm breath beating over Reyes’s cheeks.

Reyes blinked in surprise as he faced his friend. He trusted this man, respected him, yet he had disappointed him over and over in the past few days. Though he didn’t know what Lucien planned, he offered his hand without reservation.

Without dragging his swirling eyes from Reyes’s gaze, Lucien wrapped his fingers around Reyes’s.

At the moment of contact, a lightning spear slammed through his entire body. Every muscle he possessed clenched and unclenched as though hooked to a generator, volts of pure, electrical power pumping through his bloodstream. Heat slithered around him, a python holding on to a meal, tightening more and more until he could no longer breathe. Felt so good, the pain. He squeezed his lids shut, savoring. His demon purred.

His mind blackened for several heartbeats, a dark shroud covering every corner. Then pinpricks of light formed, growing… growing… An image winked into place, not yet cohesive. Just an outline. And then, suddenly, he could see Danika lying on a bed just as he’d imagined all these weeks. Except she wasn’t a fair goddess spread and waiting for his pleasure. She was shackled to the bed, her once-pale hair cut and dyed.

She was trembling. Tear streaks had dried on her cheeks, and she’d nibbled on her lower lip so forcefully that tiny droplets of blood had beaded. In that moment, rage was like another demon inside him. Danika was a woman meant for pleasure and light, not darkness and fear.

“She does not look well.” Lucien released him and stepped away, taking the vision with him. “The longer she is with them, the more harm they can do to her. I followed the dead Hunter’s body to a funeral home, stayed there in spirit form and watched as Hunters came to visit. They unknowingly led me straight to Danika. They know she killed their friend. Apparently they’ve had her since the night of the stabbing. They have her chained to a bed and have kept her asleep. She is unable to fight them like that, is helpless, vulnerable, a—”

“Yes!” Reyes’s arm fell to his side. He was panting. “Yes,” he repeated. He didn’t have to think about what to do any longer. “Give me Danika and I will give you Aeron.” Perhaps this was the answer to his torment. Save Danika, protect her and help restore Aeron to his former self, reminding the warrior of what he had once been. Though how he would accomplish the latter, he still didn’t know. “But I will have your word that when he is brought here, he will be given the solitude he craves.”

“You have it.” Lucien nodded, grim. “Know that I do this partly because Anya thinks Danika can lead us to one of the artifacts. And doubt me not. When the girl is here, I will use her to find it.”

“And doubt me not. I am not myself when I am with her and do not know how I will react if you willingly place her in harm’s way.” Already he felt feral with the thought. “Take me to her.”

“First tell me you understand that we might save her now, only to lose her later. I will not have you blame me if—”

“She will not die.” He wouldn’t let her. “No more talking. Take me to her.”

I FOUGHT FOR MY LIFE only to lose it like this? Danika laughed bitterly. She’d only just woken up, wasn’t sure how much time had passed or what had been done to her. The thought made her gag.

After the…the…attack—oh, God, don’t think about it— she had raced to her shabby apartment to gather her things. Mistake. She should have left the gun and clothing behind, but without the day’s pay she’d known replacing them would have been too expensive. And since she hadn’t yet mastered the ability to steal without getting caught, she’d felt she had no other recourse.

A group of strange men had been waiting for her, standing in the shadows next to the fire escape as though they’d known what route she most often took. As if they’d been watching her for days and knew her habits.

She could have fought one or two. Even three. But there had been six of them, all bearing the same figure-eight tattoo on their wrists as the man she’d—she’d—she couldn’t even think the word now. They’d possessed the same tattoo as the man who’d died in that dirty alley. They’d overpowered her, knocked her out.

Never helpless again, huh?

When she’d first opened her eyes a little bit ago, her hope that the men were cops and she might make bail was completely dashed. Cops did not chain women to strange beds. Who were these men? What did they want with her?

Nothing good, that much was clear. Panic bloomed inside her chest, freezing her blood. Her ears rang with fear. Her jaw ached from the knock it had taken. Her strength was depleted, hunger gnawing at her. She had trouble drawing in a breath, her airways too constricted.

Don’t make a sound. The chains were cold and heavy, abrading. She tugged at them as her wild gaze circled the room. It was nicely furnished with overstuffed chairs, colorful beaded pillows and a mahogany vanity that boasted a square, gilt-edged mirror.

Reyes’s doing? she wondered, not knowing what to think about that. He had kept her in comfort, too.

No, not Reyes, she decided in the next instant. He wasn’t the kind of man to send others to do his dirty work. He would have been there, would have subdued her himself. So who had taken her? she wondered again. Friends of the man she’d…hurt, obviously. Those tattoos…

Did the men mean to punish her for hurting him? Did they mean to rape her? Torture her? Oh, God. Did they think she was a hooker, too, and plan to sell her services?

Tears burned in her eyes. Right now she was alone. She continued to work at the chains, minute after minute dragging by. Sweat poured from her and soaked the sheets underneath her. The more she moved, the more her clothing pulled away from the metal bands, no longer acting as a block. Soon her skin was sliced and blood oozed from her wrists and ankles.

A knock sounded.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she pursed her lips to silence a whimper. She stilled. Should she pretend to be asleep?

The room’s only door creaked open, revealing a tall, average-looking male. She couldn’t force her eyelids to close. Could only stare at him, taking his measure. He wore a white button-down shirt and black slacks and looked to be in his late thirties. He had brown hair, which was combed from his face. His eyes were large, green like hers. He appeared very professional, very unmurderer-like. Calm, perhaps even friendly.

That didn’t lessen her terror.

Danika swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Not a sound. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Don’t reveal fear. In, out, she breathed, slowly, each intake and exhalation precise.

“Good. You’re awake.” With barely a pause, the man added, “Relax, my dear. I have no plans to hurt you.”

“Unchain me, then.” The pleading quality of her voice stripped away every effort she’d made to appear strong.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely upset. “The chains are a necessity.”

“Just let me go and—”

He held up one hand, silencing her. “I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time. My name is Dean Stefano. My friends call me Stefano, so I hope that you will, as well. You are Danika Ford.”

“Let me go. Please.”

“I will, just not yet.” His brows disappeared into his hairline. “Let’s cut to the heart of the matter, shall we? What do you know about the Lords of the Underworld?”

The Lords? This was about her other kidnapping? A crazed laugh escaped her. What kind of shit had Reyes and company dragged her into?

“Tell me.”

“Nothing,” she said, because she didn’t know what kind of answer Stefano wanted. “I know nothing about any Lords.”

Irritation flickered in his eyes. “Lying will only get you in trouble, my dear. So let’s try again. You stayed with a group of men in Budapest. Not just any men, but unquestionably the most violent men the world has ever seen. Yet they didn’t harm you. And if they didn’t harm you, that means they considered you a friend.”

“They’re monsters,” she said, and prayed that was what he wanted to hear. “I hate them. I don’t know why they kept me, and I don’t know why they let me go. Amusement, maybe.” Truth and hate blared from every syllable. “Let me go. Please. I didn’t mean to hurt… It was an accident and I…” Tears once again stung her eyes.

Stefano sighed. “We kept you drugged while we decided what to do with you. Drugged yet safe. You took a strong soldier from us, Danika, one of our best. We miss Kevin terribly. His wife hasn’t stopped crying since I told her of his demise; she refuses to eat and prays for death so that she can join him. You owe us now, don’t you agree?”

As he’d probably hoped, his words filled her with white-hot guilt and that guilt cut deeper than the shackles. “Please. I just want to go home.” Not that she had a home anymore. She laughed again, feeling a little crazed and a lot shaky. Dizzy. “Please.”

Stefano’s expression didn’t soften. “The Lords—Maddox, Lucien, Reyes, Sabin, Gideon, they call themselves. Shall I go on? They are demons, created in the heavens yet spawned from hell itself. Did you know that?”

She blinked, breath congealing in her lungs. “D-demons?” A few months ago, she would have rolled her eyes at him. Now, she nodded. That explained so much. She’d seen her captors’ faces morph into skeletal beings. She’d been flown through the city cradled in the arms of a winged man. She’d seen fangs elongate and claws sharpen. She’d heard growls and screams of pain and torture.

Demons. Like the ones in her dreams, her secret paintings. Had she somehow known, even as a little girl, that she’d end up in Budapest with Reyes and his friends? Then later, with this man? Had the nightmares she’d always battled been a means of preparing her for this?

“Yes. Oh, yes. You believe. You see the truth.” Stefano stalked toward her, hate radiating from him. That hate transformed him from calm and friendly to menacing beast. “Death is a demon. Destruction is a demon. Disease is a demon. Every evil deed the world has ever known, every evil that has ever transpired, can be traced to their doorstep.”

The closer he came to her, the more she shrank into the mattress. “Wh-what does this have to do with me?”

“So no one you’ve loved has died? Nothing you’ve owned has been destroyed? No one has ever lied to you? Sickness has never plagued you?”

“I—I—” She didn’t know what to say.

“Still aren’t convinced of their treachery? One of those demons seduced my wife. She was all that was pure and right and never would have betrayed me on her own. Yet somehow, some way, the very demon spawn who tricked her into bed convinced her that she was evil, that she needed to die. So she killed herself, and I was the one to find her body hanging from the rafters of our garage.” Each word sharpened his voice. His jaw had become granite.

Danika knew the pain of discovering a loved one dead. She’d been the one to find her grandfather after his heart attack, and the image of his pale, lifeless body still haunted her, tainting the memories of the vital man he’d once been. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Stefano gulped, seemed to gather his composure around himself. “That loss gave me a purpose in life—one I share with thousands of others around the globe. While the Lords are darkness, we are light, and we were not meant to endure the evil they have brought into this world. Our world,” he added. He closed his eyes as if he could taste the delicious flavor of his hope. “Once we capture the Lords and contain their evil once and for all, things will be as they were always meant to be. Beautiful…peaceful. Perfect.”

Keep him talking. Keep his thoughts off you. “Why capture? Why not kill them?”

Slowly his eyelids cracked open, the happy glaze already fading from his irises. He stared at her, seeming to probe her soul. The sensation was eerie. “Killing them frees the demons inside them, allowing those vile beasts to roam the earth crazed and unfettered. We need man and spirit bound together.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care, but his gaze razored. “Until we find the box, that is.”

“Box?” Trying to appear relaxed, she wiggled her wrists against the chains. They were still too tight, but her skin was wet with sweat. If she could just slip free… She could, what? Run? Demons were chasing her family. Not humans. Would her loved ones ever truly be safe?

“Pandora’s box,” Stefano said, still watching her intently.

Her eyes widened, and she stilled. Is this a dream, perhaps? Another nightmare? “You’re kidding, right?” Her grandmother used to tell her stories about Pandora and her infamous box. “That’s a myth. A legend.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, stretching the fabric of his shirt and defining the lean line of his muscles. Obviously he trained with weights and weapons, just like the Lords. “And demons do not walk the earth, I suppose?”

Her stomach tightened with dread.

“I’ll tell you a story, all right? Listen closely.”

He paused, waiting. She nodded, hoping that’s what he desired.

Obviously, it was. He said, “A few hundred years after the creation of the earth, a horde of demons escaped hell. They were the vilest creatures Hades and his brother Lucifer had ever spawned. They were uncontrollable, living nightmares. In a bid to save their world, the gods used the bones of the goddess of oppression to create a box. With cunning and precision they were able to capture the demons and lock them inside.”

“I know the rest,” Danika whispered, the tightening in her stomach becoming a sea of sickness.

Stefano arched a brow. “Tell me.”

“The gods asked Pandora to guard the box.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Pandora opened it,” she continued, because it was the most well-known version of the story. That wasn’t what her grandmother had told her, however.

“No. That’s where legend is wrong,” Stefano traced a fingertip over the tattoo on his wrist. “Pandora was a warrior, the greatest female warrior of her time. The box was given to her for safekeeping. She wouldn’t have opened it, even upon threat of death.”

Another tug against the chains, this one weaker. Danika found herself suddenly fascinated, listening despite her desire to leave. Stefano had just confirmed what her grandmother had told her, a tale unlike the one the world believed. “And?”

“And the gods’ elite soldiers were angry that they hadn’t been chosen to guard it, their pride slighted. They decided to show the gods their mistake. While the one called Paris seduced Pandora, the others fought her guards. In the end, the soldiers won. Their leader, the one named Lucien, opened the box, releasing those vile demons upon the innocent world once more. Death and Darkness reigned.”

Danika once again sagged into the mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to imagine harsh, rugged Reyes as Stefano claimed he’d been. Prideful, jealous. When Danika had been with him, Reyes hadn’t seemed to care what others thought of him. He’d barked orders and snapped commands. He’d been surly and brooding. “And?”

“The box disappeared. No one knew where it had been taken or who had taken it. Having no other alternative, the gods gathered the demons and placed them inside the warriors responsible for the travesty, then banished them to earth. Those men lost all threads of their humanity; they became their demons, bathing our world in blood. And they continue to be a blight upon us all. As long as they’re roaming free, no one is safe.” Stefano rubbed at his Adam’s apple, his head tilting to the side, expression intense. “I asked you before, but I will ask you again. Can you imagine a world without rage, pain, lies and misery?”

“No.” She couldn’t. For the past two months, those were all she’d known. They’d been her only companions.

“The Lords killed your grandmother, Danika. Are you aware of that?”

“You don’t know that for sure!” she yelled, the words leaving her on a burst. Tears filled her eyes again, but she suppressed them as she had before. “She could be alive.”

“She’s not.”

“How do you know?” The question was panicked, hoarse. “You can’t know unless you’ve…unless you’ve…”

“Seen her.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. No. Goddamn it, no! “Have you?” She barely heard herself, but didn’t have the strength to ask again.

“Yes and no,” he admitted. “One of my men saw the creature Aeron carrying her limp body over his shoulder. The pair disappeared inside a building, or my agent would have followed.” Stefano pinched the bridge of his nose in regret. “At first, we planned to watch you and wait for the Lords to come for you again. We assumed you meant to aid their cause, and we planned to capture all of you at the same time. But you continually ran as if you didn’t want them to find you. That intrigued me.”

Like she cared about his plans! Was her grandmother dead? A limp body did not a corpse make. Grandma Mallory could very well be alive, laughing, eating a bowl of her favorite soup. She pictured it and nearly cried out in longing, desperate for it to be true.

The image soon morphed, a dagger protruding from her grandmother’s chest. No. No! She wanted to scream, to rail. Emotion does you no good. You know that. You cannot wallow or you’ll collapse.

Hardly matters if I collapse, she thought, nearing hysteria. Not like I can run now.

“You can help us capture them, Danika. Ensure that they never do to others what they’ve done to you and me. You can punish them for hurting your loved one. Your family can finally stop running. You can all be together again.”

Without Grandma Mallory?

This time, she couldn’t stop the sob. Her chin trembled and her jaw ached. Warm tears flowed down her cheeks freely.

“Help me,” Stefano added earnestly. “In return, I’ll help you. I’ll guard you and your family until every single one of the Lords is dead. Those demons will never hurt you again. You have my word of honor.”

To know her family was safe and would remain safe… She wouldn’t have cared about the terms of the deal even if she had to sign her soul over to the devil. The hope that Stefano could help her mother and sister was irresistible. The thought of revenge was overwhelming.

“What do I have to do?”

CHAPTER FOUR

ONE AT A TIME, Lucien flashed most of the warriors to an abandoned building. They were inside the fortress in Budapest one second, night all around them, and someplace sunny and warm the next.

Lucien flashed Reyes last. Last time he’d been transported like this, he’d vomited. This time, his concern for Danika overcame even the slightest bit of nausea.

Inhaling dust and crumbling plaster, Reyes opened his eyes. The silver stone of the fortress had disappeared, the comforts of hearth and home gone. Bare gray walls, cement floors and piles of lumber now greeted him. Several windows were cracked; black garbage bags had been taped to them but now fell halfway, as if bowing, allowing the men to peer into an unknown world of…silence and stillness, he realized, hearing nothing and seeing no one.

The others stalked the building, searching for a hidden enemy, blades and guns raised and ready for action. All but Anya, who’d come in place of Maddox, wore expressions of confusion. A few muttered, “Where are the Hunters?”

“Not here,” Lucien answered.

“Where are we?” Reyes asked quietly. His own blades were pressed against his thighs. Urgency swam laps in his bloodstream.

“The States.” Sabin closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “L.A. is my guess. No place else has the stench of Hollywood.”

“Correct,” Lucien said with a grim nod.

“Hunters have a large faction here.” There was relish in the undertones of Sabin’s voice. “A faction I despise with every ounce of my being. The leader and I have history, and he despises me, too, so be ready for anything. He joined the Hunters after his wife and I…” He shrugged, some of his anticipation muted by sorrow. “We were together, but I’m not good for humans and things ended badly. Hunters recruited him, and he’s been gunning for me ever since.”

Sabin and his men had been battling Hunters far longer than Lucien and his group had. Paris, Maddox, Torin, Aeron and Reyes had split with Sabin, Strider, Gideon, Cameo, Amun and Kane several thousand years ago.

Their friend Baden, keeper of Distrust, had been brutally murdered by Hunters. After revenge had been meted out, half of the Lords had desired peace. What was better for a battered soul than a cessation of the constant struggle between good and evil, darkness and light? The other half had desired Hunter blood spilling into the streets of ancient Greece, crimson rivers of pain and terror.

Unable to come to terms, they’d gone their separate ways. Until Sabin brought the blood feud to Budapest, that is.

Though Reyes had walked away all those years ago, he would not, could not, do so now. He was involved, the illusion of peace forever shattered. Hunters had recently cut Torin’s throat, attempting to weaken him and capture everyone else. Thankfully, those Hunters had failed.

Reyes would not fail in his mission.

Whatever he had to do to destroy his enemy, he would do. And if he had to destroy the gods who might very well support the Hunters’ quest, eventually he would find a way to do that, too.

It was hard to know the gods’ ultimate goal, however. Fickle and mysterious, they were like a puzzle missing several key pieces. While the silent Greeks had angered Reyes with their neglect, the cryptic Titans edged him toward a murderous rage. They claimed to want harmony for the world, both in the heavens and below. They claimed to desire worship and adoration, freedom from death and destruction. And yet they had ordered Danika’s execution. They’d even ordered Anya’s execution, though they’d since changed their minds. And what they were doing to Aeron…

Do not venture down this path. Not here, not now. Already his nails were elongated, pinpricks pressing into his palms. Red spots winked over his vision, and the demon whispered seductively: Cut yourself. Hurt.

“No,” he gritted out.

“This way,” Lucien was saying, but he paused when Reyes spoke and peered at him quizzically. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I am fine.” When Danika was safe and tucked in his bed, he would feed his demon. Until then, there would be no hurting himself. Blood loss ultimately would weaken him, and he needed to be at top strength for the coming combat.

But for every second he resisted, the demon would grow louder and louder. Reyes knew that well. He would become more and more distracted. That was the bane of his demon-curse. He needed to cut himself, but in the end he weakened like any other being when injured, albeit temporarily.

“What were you saying?” he asked Lucien.

Every gaze shifted to him.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “The girl is being held one street over. Innocents fill the area, so we will have to be careful.”

He didn’t care about innocents. Cold and callous of him, but then, he’d never been a soft, easy man. Well, that wasn’t true. In the years before his pairing with Pain, he remembered laughing and joking with his friends. “How many Hunters are with her?” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he thought of the suffering she might even now be enduring.

Whatever was done to Danika, Reyes would retaliate a hundredfold when facing the Hunters. He might hate his demon for the torment he constantly endured, but he wouldn’t hesitate to hand over the reins of control so that the creature could unleash its powers. Not today. Pain could look into a human’s soul, find every vulnerability, even the tiniest chink, and systematically scrape each one with poisoned arrows until the human was screaming, writhing, clawing at his skin to stop the agony.

“Earlier today,” Lucien said, “there were twenty-three in the building.”

“They multiply like rabbits.” Sabin grinned, and the sight of it was pure wickedness. “Could be a hundred more by now.”

Lucien motioned to the far window, his dark hair swaying at his temples. “We have several hours until nightfall. I will flash to the building, remain in the spirit world and listen. Observe. We need to know what she’s told them, and we need to know what they’re planning.”

All Reyes heard was “several hours.” “We’re supposed to stay here?” he growled. “Do nothing?”

“Yes.” Lucien eyed him now, those mismatched orbs swirling once more. “If they are monitoring the area, I will disable their computers. Then, at dark, when humans are less likely to notice your height, your build and your weapons and send policemen after you, you will walk there. I’ll be waiting for you in the shadows outside.”

More inactivity. More waiting.

The knowledge was both emotionally and physically painful for him. Reyes wanted to lash out, punch something, and that he couldn’t…the demon fed off that corporal agony and demanded more. Wanted control.

Soon, he promised.

This was one of the many reasons Reyes had sent Danika away and one of the few reasons he should not be here to rescue her. She roused him and the demon as surely as if she were rattling a stick against a hungry animal’s cage.

If he gave his demon free rein as it craved, he would lose control of his actions. What if he hurt Danika? What if he enjoyed hurting her? Smiled while beating her bones to powder? What if he killed her, the very act he’d locked his best friend away for even contemplating?

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, knowing he’d destroyed something so…precious. Yes, he realized then. She was precious to him. She was the angel to his demon, the good to his evil. The pleasure to his pain. And she was inside a Hunter stronghold, bound, helpless…suffering.

Once again red winked over his vision and rather than welcome it he now fought it. Damn this! There could be no giving over to his demon side, then, not even to battle the Hunters. Reyes would have to maintain command.

Someone slapped him on the back, jostling him from his musings. “Save it, my friend,” a female said.

Calm, settle. Reyes turned his head and found himself staring down at Cameo, keeper of Misery and the only female Lord. He quickly looked away. With her long black hair, silver eyes and skin like peaches and cream, she was beauty incarnate. She was also a strong, fierce warrior despite her delectable little body. It was hard to face her, though, when all of the world’s unhappiness seemed to seep from her pores and into his heart.

“We’ll retrieve her safely,” Cameo said, meaning to comfort him but only managing to make his chest ache. “Don’t worry.”

Gods, her voice. He tried not to cringe while the demon inside him sighed, liking the pain she unwittingly inflicted. Why couldn’t Reyes have been attracted to her? Would have made his life easier.

You’re hurting now only because the subject being discussed is Danika. Much as his demon enjoyed physical pain, Cameo represented an avalanche of emotional turmoil and dysfunction. So no, wanting her would not have been easier. Her tragic voice could drive any man to suicide and Reyes tried to kill himself enough already.

“Hunters once abducted a lover of mine,” she said.

Reyes rubbed his chest. Someone had actually slept with her? “And you were able to save him?”

“Oh, no. He died horribly. They cut out his heart and mailed it to me.”

Reyes blinked against a surge of panic, but didn’t face her again. That won’t happen to Danika. He scanned the building, breathing in and out, slowing his wild pulse, calming again. Lucien was already gone, and the others were sitting along the edges of the walls, polishing their weapons with lethal efficiency.

Finally, he trusted himself to speak without screaming. “That little story is supposed to soothe me?”

“Yes. They bested us once in this manner. We won’t allow them to do so again.”

Small comfort. Even now, a fist could be flying toward Danika’s face, a foot toward her stomach. A whip arching toward her back. A knife sliding into her organs. She could be sobbing for him to save her. And here he was, close, but waiting, leaving her helpless.

The knowledge was intolerable.

He stalked away from Cameo. Back and forth he paced. Should he ignore Lucien’s command and attack now? Let him work. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll come for you if she’s placed in any sort of danger.

Even knowing that, time passed with agonizing slowness, every tick of the clock a torturous beat. Only when the sun began to wane, dulling from bright gold to hazy pink, from hazy pink to deep purple and finally blessed gray, did he relax.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Paris remarked. “Fidgety, distracted.”

“Hopefully you won’t see me like this again.”

“I’m sending a prayer heavenward that I never look that way,” Sabin muttered. “Not that it’ll do any good. Still.”

Strider grinned. “But you’re so pretty when you’re in love.”

Sabin flipped him off.

Love? Was Reyes capable of such an emotion? “Night has fallen. Let’s go.” He pounded toward the front door.

Anya latched on to his arm, her fingernails digging into his bare flesh. “Hold it right there, sweetness. You don’t know the way.”

He barely managed to plant his feet into the concrete. “And you do?”

“Of course.” Her nails sank deeper, cutting skin, and he nearly moaned at the heady sting. “Lucien tells me everything.”

“Guide us, then, but do it now. I won’t spend another second inside this building, and I will break into every shop, home and structure that I encounter if necessary.”

“So impatient.” She tsked under her tongue and released him. “I admire that in a man. Just…keep up with me. If you can.”

With that, she claimed the lead. Everyone else filed out behind her. Overwarm, stuffy air became cool and fragrant, a mix of good and bad aromas: fresh flowers, car exhaust, baked breads and cloying perfume. Multihued lights pulsed from signs—Nude Dancers Here—and horns blared in a hurried symphony. Footsteps clomped in every direction, though nothing overshadowed the frantic dance of Reyes’s heart.

At one time, he had dreamed of traveling, of seeing this new world he’d hidden from for hundreds of years, but he had been bound to Budapest by Maddox’s curse. Now, he didn’t care about the world around him. He just wanted to reach Danika.

Though he and the others remained in the shade as much as possible, humans did notice them. Some jumped out of their way, some stared. Most grinned, seemingly fascinated. Not the typical mortal reaction; even the Buda townspeople were more respectful than friendly. Hollywood, Sabin had said. Reyes realized these humans thought the men were part of a movie.

A few times, Paris stopped to steal a kiss from a willing female. He was as helpless against his demon as Reyes was, so when Promiscuity wanted to play, Paris took time to play. Otherwise, he weakened unbearably. But for the first time in all their years together, Paris did not look as if he enjoyed the kissing.

Reyes didn’t slow, didn’t wait for his friend or ask him what was wrong. Urgency pounded through him, harder and more intense with every slap of his boots against concrete. Anya turned a corner, her long pale hair a beacon in the night. Down a dirty alley she escorted them, the scent of urine suddenly saturating the air.

When she turned the next corner, she tossed an anticipatory smile over her shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

Reyes palmed his gun and a knife. They were so familiar to him, so much a part of him, they were almost a natural extension of his hands. Not much longer now and you’ll see her. Soon, very soon, the battle would begin.

He would not leave a single survivor.

Around him, he could feel the adrenaline surges of his friends. War was a part of them, infused in their every cell. They’d been made for it, after all.

The Greeks, their creators, had known the ease with which a heavenly being could be toppled, for they themselves had fought and imprisoned the Titans. In an effort to protect themselves from the same fate, the Greeks used the blood of the god of war to breed immortal warriors, and thereby an army of defenders.

After the dimOuniak tragedy, with Pandora slain, the box missing and the demons locked inside the warriors responsible, the gods had banished them to earth. New warriors had been recruited to take their place. Not that they’d done the Greeks any good in the end, Reyes thought with a satisfied smile.

“Just a bit more…” Anya breathed, excited. There was no better replacement for Maddox. Anya adored violence.

A large trash can burned ahead, the golden flames flickering, smoke billowing. Four men stood around it, one holding out a spoon, melting a small, solid mass into bubbling liquid. With his free hand, he used a syringe to suck that liquid up. The others awaited their turn.

Drugs. How Reyes wished they worked on him. But he’d tried all of them, from smoking to pills, drowning in liquids, injecting his veins with needles. Nothing had dulled his need for pain.

Anya stopped abruptly at the end of the alley. Lucien was there, stepping from the shadows. He and Anya shared a kiss, Lucien’s arm automatically winding around her waist as it did every time they were together.

Reyes glanced away from them, the sight of their love too much to witness at the moment. Who are you trying to fool? It’s too much at every moment.

The alley forked into three sections: left, straight and right. Five buildings glared at him in a half moon. He didn’t need to ask which held Danika. Suddenly he could smell her thunderstorm scent. He could feel her fear all the way to the marrow of his bones, as if it pulsed from the redbrick shop in front of him.

A weapons store. How appropriate. And ironic. With all their talk of peace, the Hunters should have picked a church.

“There are private rooms above the public one. She is up there,” Lucien said, his tone grim. “The men have been strangely silent, almost as if they knew I was there, waiting.”

Bile rose in Reyes’s throat. “Is she…still alive?” The words would barely form.

“Yes.”

He gulped. Something about Lucien’s inflection did not settle well inside him. “But?”

“She is still sleeping.”

His fingers clenched around his weapons. “How many Hunters are in the building now?”

“Twelve. Several have already left.”

“Their leader?”

“One of the absent.”

Bastard. Reyes would find him, though. Soon. Once Danika was safe, there would be no stopping his wrath.

“There is a man who appears to be guarding her,” Lucien said. “He has barely left her side. He’s there now, watching her sleep.”

“Has he…did he…touch her?”

“Not in anger.”

Then in what? Lust? “Was she raped?” Reyes’s teeth gnashed together with a dark need to strike.

“I do not know.”

“He is mine.” Despite the false calm in his voice, he left no doubt of his intention. “No one else even approaches him.”

Lucien nodded. “Very well. The time for battle has arrived.”

Ready, Reyes pushed past his friends and stalked to the building. When he entered, a bell tinkled merrily, announcing his presence. The human behind the counter was in the process of smiling—until he spotted Reyes’s harsh countenance. The smile froze midway and hate filled the Hunter’s eyes.

To Reyes’s knowledge, they had never met, but they instantly recognized each other for what they were: enemies.

“Where is she?”

“You killed my son, demon.”

“I’ve never met your son, Hunter.”

“You’re a cancer upon this earth, all of you, and you’re responsible for every death. Not for much longer, though. Long live the Hunters!” As though he’d been expecting Reyes all along, the man lifted a semiautomatic with a silencer.

Reyes lifted his own gun. They fired at the same time. Reyes, to savage. The Hunter, to injure. Killing him would have freed his demon, and the Hunters would do anything to prevent that. The knowledge was as good as a weapon.

A bullet slammed into Reyes’s shoulder, and he laughed at the wonderful sting. The Hunter’s brains splattered onto the wall behind him; the man didn’t laugh. Reyes felt a moment of sorrow, but reminded himself there could be no peace as long as Hunters lived to spread their hate.

One down. Eleven to go.

“Jeez. Try to save some for the rest of us,” Sabin muttered, moving around Reyes, past the counter of guns to a door. He kicked it open, revealing a narrow staircase.

“Good job, Painie.” Anya slapped him upside the head. “Now the others know we’re here.”

With that, she flew up the stairs, right behind Sabin.

Blood dripped from Reyes’s wound as he climbed.

“May I join my dear wife and watch your destruction from above,” a human shouted, but he was silenced as another muted gunshot sounded. There was a scream. A gurgle. A thump as a body hit the floor.

Footsteps. “See you in hell, demons,” another human yelled, but he, too, was soon silenced.

“She’s in the third room on the right,” Lucien said, suddenly beside Reyes.

They reached the top and raced in different directions. Reyes encountered only one other Hunter before he reached Danika’s room. That Hunter shot at him, too, nailing him in the stomach.

Reyes never paused, his adrenaline too high, his demon too happy.

Smiling, he reached the human and sliced his throat. Then he was in front of the bedroom door. He kicked it open, not bothering with the lock. Too time-consuming.

A pop and whiz crackled in his ears as another bullet hit him, this one in the thigh. His limbs trembled as weakness tried to set in, but he managed to remain upright. Blood poured, the demon sang and Reyes scanned the room, taking stock. Danika lay in bed, bound, motionless. A human stood at her side, trembling and pale as he aimed a gun at Reyes.

“I’ve waited for this moment a long time,” that human said hoarsely. “Dreamed of it. Craved it. Now here you are.”

Reyes zeroed in on the man’s tattoo: the mark of infinity, symmetrical, black. “Here I am. Did you touch her?”

“As if you care what’s been done to a human.”

Another shot. Reyes leapt to the side. He would enjoy the pain, but didn’t want to lose any more blood. The next five minutes were too important.

This blast sailed past him, and he raised his own gun. Aimed.

“Whatever you do to me, staying here, watching the woman, was worth it,” the man said as Reyes squeezed the trigger. Another head shot. The Hunter collapsed onto the carpeted floor and didn’t rise.

Reyes was at Danika’s side in the next instant, snapping the bands apart and liberating her wrists and ankles. He gathered her sleeping form in his arms, his blood dripping onto her stained white shirt and too-pale face. Her dark hair was matted to her scalp and temples, her cheeks hollow— how much weight had she lost?—and her eyelashes cast ghostly shadows that blended with the bruises under her eyes before branching into menacing spikes. There was another bruise on her jaw.

“Danika.” Her name was both a prayer and a curse.

She didn’t stir.

Her arms hung limply at her sides, her head lolled. Awake, she would have shoved him away. He would rather that happen than this…inactivity. This nothingness.

Behind him, the sounds of battle ceased, replaced by the wail of sirens. He could hear his friends filling the doorway, shuffling inside the room. He didn’t care. He tightened his hold on Danika—too long, it had been too long since he’d last seen and held her—resting her cheek against his neck.

Her skin was cold, so cold. Like ice. Her heartbeat was slow against his chest.

“Lucien?” The name croaked from his throat. Hot tears blurred his vision.

“I am here, my friend.” A hand settled on his shoulder. “Somehow they knew we were coming and were prepared, but they have now been dispatched.”

“Never mind that. Take us home.”

CHAPTER FIVE

DANIKA HAD BEEN COLD for so long that the blazing-hot blanket draped over her shocked her out of the death-sleep. Her eyelids popped open, and a gasp shoved past her lips. Remnants of her nightmare refused to fade, however, preventing her from seeing what surrounded her. She saw only a darkness slashed with crimson, the night bleeding from lethal wounds. She heard swords clanking, demons laughing evilly and the whoosh of heads as they rolled.

Death, death, her every breath proclaimed.

Calm down, just calm down. This isn’t real. You know better.

Her grandmother had once suffered from dreams like these. Dreams where demons ruled and evil reigned. Dreams that had driven the frail woman to try and kill herself at the age of sixty-five.

The dreams were not premonitions of the future, for they never came true. Until Reyes and his friends had entered her life, that is. But the dreams were real enough to terrify, so Danika understood her grandmother’s pain.

Most of them were turbulent, screams and fatality infusing every macabre scene. All her life, that’s how it had been. Bloody death. Used to be, she would awaken from those painful nights and paint what she’d seen in an attempt to draw the madness from her subconscious—and keep it out.

Once, before she’d known any better, she had shown her parents one of the paintings. They’d been so frightened and upset, looking at her as if she were one of the monsters she’d painted, that she had never let another person see them. Besides, she didn’t even like to look at them.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, though, her dreams were sometimes utter serenity. Angels, their wings spread in white-feathered glory, would float through the bright azure skies. Their beauty always amazed her, and she would awaken smiling and full of verve rather than sweating and trembling as she was now.

“I’m here, angel, I’m here.”

That deep, rich voice belonged in her nightmares and those angelic glimpses, both heaven and hell rolled into one mesmerizing seduction. As she lay there, the bad dream quieted and the darkness faded, light pushing its way into her mind.

A bedroom came into view, but it wasn’t the one she remembered falling asleep in. Weapons adorned the walls, from throwing stars to swords to daggers. Even axes. There was a polished vanity, but no chair. The owner didn’t sit there? Didn’t study his reflection or brush his hair?

His? How do you know this room belongs to a man?

In and out she breathed, the familiar scent of sandalwood and pine filling her nose. Oh, she knew. A man, definitely, and one in particular. The knowledge rocked her to the core. Maybe you’re wrong. Please be wrong.

The bed was swathed in black cotton; turning her head, Danika saw that she was draped by a half-clothed man. He possessed skin of chocolate and honey, taut muscle and ripped sinew. No hair marred his chest, but there was a menacing butterfly tattoo that stretched from one shoulder to the other and up his neck. Menacing butterfly—two words that could be used together to describe only one man.

Reyes.

“Oh, God.” She bolted upright, dislodging him. Panting, she scrambled to the edge of the mattress, never turning her back to him. A snippet of her conversation with Stefano played through her mind.

“What if they try and kill me?” she’d demanded.

“They won’t,” he’d answered confidently.

“How do you know? You can’t be sure.”

“They are men. You are a woman. Think about it. Besides, they could have hurt you before, but didn’t.”

“They warned me to stay away from them.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out. Find out everything you can. Their weapons, their weaknesses, their plans, their likes and dislikes. You’ll take a cell phone. It’s small, easy to hide. I’ll give you a day to settle in. After that, we’ll talk every night if possible.”

“What about you?” she’d asked, not wanting to consider the dangers of spying just yet. “You’re not a woman. By your rationale, they’ll kill you if they find you here.”

“By the time they arrive, I’ll be gone, watching from another location if I can. Others will be here to guard you, to make sure the Lords don’t intend to harm you, so don’t fret. These men are willing to give their lives to ensure the downfall of those demons. Don’t let their sacrifice be for naught.”

“What? Oh, hell no. I don’t want anyone sacrificing anything.”

“Would you feel better if I told you they’ll run as soon as the Lords arrive?”

“Yes.”

“Then they’ll run.”

Had they, though?

Slowly Reyes sat up, and their eyes met in a heated clash, his as dark as his skin. Turbulent. Hers, a little watery. His lips pulled in a tight frown. Her gaze dropped and she studied the rest of him. His nipples were hard enough to cut glass; three wounds were healing, one scabbing on his shoulder, one on his sternum and one marring his stomach.

“Where am I?” she asked, the words a mere whisper.

“My home.”

“In Buda?”

“Yes.”

Her eyelids narrowed, her mind a black hole that couldn’t provide a single memory of being moved from one location to another. “How did I get here? How did you find me?”

He looked away, hiding his gaze under his lashes. “You know I am not human. Don’t you?”

Knowledge she wished she didn’t possess and a conversation it was best not to start. Why, yes, Reyes, I do know you’re a demon. Your greatest enemy gave me the scoop and now I’m here to help him destroy you. “You came for me,” she said, changing the subject. Part of her had hoped for just such a thing; part of her had feared it.

“Yes,” he repeated.

“Why?” Without the heat of his gaze holding her captive, she was able to scan her own body. She was still clothed, thank God. Her sweater had been removed, but her white T-shirt was still stained with grease and now blood—hers, the man she’d hurt—her jeans ripped from her struggle with her assailant. She…smelled. How long had she been wearing these clothes?

Suddenly the bed bounced, and her eyes jerked back to Reyes. He had propped his back against the headboard, widening the distance between them. That should have pleased her. Yes, it should have.

“I have a feeling I will always come for you.” His angry voice whipped through the silence, his accusing expression laying the blame at her feet.

Once again her eyelids narrowed to tiny slits. “Let me guess. You’ll always come for me because you like hurting me. Well, why didn’t you just kill me while I slept? I wouldn’t have been able to fight. You could have cut my throat, quick, easy. That is what you ultimately plan to do, isn’t it? Or have you changed your mind?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He remained silent.

“Have you captured the rest of my family?”

Again, no reply. Only that increasingly erratic tick.

“Answer me, damn you!” She slammed her fist into the mattress. The frustrated and panicked action offered no relief from the sudden horror in her chest. “Do you know where they are? If they’re alive?”

Finally he deigned to speak again. “I have done nothing to them. You have my word.”

“Liar!” She’d sprung across the bed before she even realized what she was doing, slapping his face, pounding her fists into his wounds to cause maximum pain. “You know something. You have to know something.”

His eyes closed and a blissful smile lifted the corners of his lips.

Her fury intensified. “You think this is funny? Well, what about this?” Seething, not knowing where the desire came from, she launched forward and sank her teeth into his neck, incisors digging so deep she immediately tasted blood.

He moaned. His hands tangled in her hair, not jerking her away but urging her closer. She offered no resistance; she couldn’t. Embers of her anger and helplessness were twisting, breaking apart and realigning into something infinitely sweeter. The heat of him…so good, so damn good. He burned her soul-deep, flames licking at her, consuming her. She liked it, liked hurting him, liked having her mouth on him, and the knowledge shamed her.

Between her legs, his shaft swelled and hardened. When he moaned a second time, it blended with the sound of hers. He arched into her—yes, like that—and she scraped her nails up his chest, to his nipples.

A harsh animal growl filled her ears as his hands settled on her waist, squeezing. His hips writhed against her. Again. She wanted him to do it again. But a moment later, he stilled.

“Stop, Danika. You have to stop.”

No, she didn’t want to stop. She wanted—what the hell are you doing? Nibbling on the enemy?

Her jaw went slack. Gasping for breath, she jolted backward. His arms fell to his sides, his features hard, tight. She wiped her mouth with the back of a shaky wrist. Her entire body was shaking. Her nipples were pearled and aching, her stomach clenched. A metallic tang coated her tongue.

Reyes shifted, covering his jean-clad, swollen cock with the sheet. His cheeks glowed a rosy pink shade. Was he embarrassed? Blood trickled from his neck and swirled down his chest like a tiny, winding river. As she watched, the blood dried and the bite marks partially healed, already scabbing.

Monster, she reminded herself. He’s a monster.

Horror—at her feelings, her actions, and his—washed through her. Must have coated her expression, too, because he said, “Do not touch me again, and I will not touch you.”

“Don’t worry.” A violent tremor overtook her, and she crossed her arms over her middle. She’d wanted to hurt him, had liked it even. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? “I won’t come near you.”

“Good.” He paused, his eyes perusing her body. Checking for injuries or something more erotic? “What did those men do to you?” He sounded unemotional now, her answer clearly of no importance.

That nonchalance irritated her. She hated him, so why did she want him to care? “They—” A wave of dizziness suddenly attacked her. A groan pierced the air. Hers, she realized. Her eyelids closed, so heavy she could no longer hold them open. Her adrenaline had crashed, she supposed, draining her strength.

How long since she’d eaten? Stefano hadn’t fed her, had only given her sips of water every few hours. And he’d injected her with something. Something that had spun her mind out of control, tossing it into the sky before dropping it into a churning ocean to be ripped into a thousand pieces.

“We can’t make it too easy for them,” Stefano had said. “We knew the demon of Death would follow the trail we left him, and that he’d have no idea we were expecting him. We worked hard to make this abduction look real and I won’t fail in that endeavor now. No food, no fresh clothes. We can drug you or we can beat you. Which do you prefer?”

“Neither.”

“Choose or I’ll choose for you. Don’t forget, Danika, you’re doing this for your family.”

“So much for my training,” she’d laughed resentfully. “Drug me. Again, apparently.”

“Danika, what did those men do to you?”

Present collided with past, tearing her from those surreal musings. Stupid girl. Do not relax your guard in front of Reyes!

She pried her eyelashes apart. The world around her was blurred, Reyes nothing more than a dark slash directly in front of her. His fingers were gripping her shoulders and urging her down…gently…softly. As her vision cleared, she saw that his usually harsh features now seemed almost tender with concern.

“No touching,” she told him, the words slurred. Delicious heat once again enveloped her. Perhaps the demon blood she’d ingested was responsible. “We agreed.”

“Shhh.” His breath caressed her cheek, as warm as his touch. “Relax. We will talk later.”

“Go to hell.”

He had no trouble understanding her. “Didn’t we once have this very conversation? I’m already there.”

Fight this. Fight him! She tried, she really did, but a dark tunnel beckoned her, dragging her closer and closer to the edge. “Where is…my mom? My sister? Grandma?”

“I’m sure they are fine.” Fingers brushed her brow, softly smoothing her hair behind her ears.

“I want…to see…them. I won’t…sleep. Can’t make me. Hungry.”

“I’ll feed you.” A petal-soft press of…lips? Yes, lips against the corner of her mouth.

She inhaled deeply, suddenly drowning in the scent of man and spice and inexplicably happy for it. “Hate you,” she said, wishing she meant it.

“I know.” He whispered directly in her ear, his warm breath traveling inside. “Sleep now, angel. You are safe. I will allow nothing else to happen to you.”

She sagged. The cool mattress pressed against her back. Flames on top, ice beneath. Unable to fight any longer, she fell into the tunnel. Oblivion claimed her.

SHE WAS HERE, IN HIS BED. His bed.

Waiting for her to awaken had been a lesson in self-control and Reyes had begun to grow fearful that she would sleep forever. Then she had pulled herself from slumber, those long lashes cracking open to reveal bright emerald eyes, and he’d gotten a real lesson in self-torture.

Pain didn’t like that Reyes was in the process of tiptoeing from the room. More, want more teeth and nails and hurt. “No.”

The demon roared inside his mind.

Reyes pressed onward, only throwing one backward glance over his shoulder. Danika’s black locks were splayed over his pillow, her face where his often rested. That knowledge filled him with pride. Even now, she might be breathing in his scent, making his essence a part of her.

Or perhaps not.

Danika slept fitfully, eyes rolling behind her lids, body twisting, small moans of alarm escaping her. Did she dream of what the Hunters had done to her? What had they done? Torture her for answers? Rape?

She had not answered him when he’d asked, had told him nothing, in fact. He hadn’t pressed her, for her pulse had quickened at the base of her neck, her skin had lost any semblance of color and panic had glazed her lovely eyes.

Fists clenched, he pounded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Soon. He would see her again, talk to her again and learn the truth. He had to know. And perhaps by then he would forget the horror he’d seen in her expression when she realized he had enjoyed being bitten.

Gods, that bite. His heartbeat had yet to slow from the pleasure of it. He’d held Danika, her sharp little teeth in his neck. For a single moment, she’d responded to him sensually; she’d wanted him, had been unable to stop herself from grinding against his cock. Then he’d realized it wasn’t him she desired but pain, the demon already clouding her judgment, and he had commanded her to stop. She’d wrenched away. The physical agony he’d experienced in that moment had been the worst of his life—and the best.

Pain wanted more.

Hands shaky, Reyes opened the refrigerator. Paris did the shopping, so Reyes never knew what he’d find. Today’s selection was shaved meats and loaves of bread. A sandwich, then.

“Where is Aeron?” Lucien asked behind him. “I kept my part of our bargain. The time has come for you to keep yours.”

Reyes didn’t turn. “I will take you to him. In the morning.”

“No. You will take me to him now.”

Reyes withdrew a package of turkey and a package of ham, looked from one to the other, then shrugged. He didn’t know which Danika would prefer, so he would make her both. “Danika is weak and hungry. After I see to her needs, I will be at your disposal.”

The usually calm Lucien uttered a low growl. “Every minute he is locked away is probably absolute agony. Our demons cannot stand to have their hosts restrained, and you know it. Wrath is likely screaming for release, even now.”

“Need I remind you again that he begged for it? And what I know is that when Aeron is brought here, he will have to be…what? Locked away. What is the difference if the prison is somewhere else? Besides that, he does not want to be near us.” Reyes tossed the packages onto the counter and grabbed one of the loaves of bread. Wheat.

Did she like wheat or white? After a moment’s deliberation, he decided to use both. Just in case. He pinched the plastic covering the white and slid the loaf in front of him. “I’m only asking for one more night.”

“What if he’s dying? We are immortal, yes, but under the right circumstances we can die like any other living thing. Another fact you already know.”

“He’s not dying.”

“How do you know?” Lucien insisted.

“Somehow I can feel his desperation burning inside of me every minute of every day. It is stronger with every second that passes, as I’m sure he is weaker against Wrath.” Reyes drew in a breath, held…held…then slowly released it, letting his sudden burst of anger leave him, too. “Just a few more hours. That’s all I ask. For me, for Danika. For him.”

There was a heavy pause. He fit two slices of meat atop each slice of bread, smashed them together.

“Very well,” Lucien said. “A few.” His boots clomped as he strode away.

Reyes studied the sandwiches. “Not enough,” he muttered. Humans needed variety. Isn’t that what Paris always said about his lovers? Frowning, Reyes opened the refrigerator again and searched inside. His gaze landed on a bag of purple grapes. Yes, perfect. Last time Danika had stayed here, she’d plowed through a bowl of the fruit in minutes.

He withdrew the entire bag, washed the contents and spread them around the four sandwiches.

What would she like to drink? Back to the fridge he went. He saw a bottle of wine, a pitcher of water and a carton of orange juice. He knew better than to give Danika wine. The wine here was laced with ambrosia stolen from the heavens and had once almost killed Maddox’s human woman, Ashlyn.

Reyes scooted the chilled bottle aside and latched on to the juice. He poured every drop into a tall glass.

“Damn, boy. You feeding an army?”

Reyes tossed a quick glance over his shoulder. Sabin leaned against the door frame, thick arms crossed over his chest. He was as modern as Paris with his silly Pirates of the Caribbean shirt, but he lacked Paris’s finesse. “She is hungry.”

“I guessed. Tiny as she is, I don’t think she’ll be able to eat all that. Besides, she just spent three days with Hunters. You should starve her, question her about what went down, and only then, when you have answers, should you feed her.” Arm outstretched to claim one of the squares, Sabin moved forward.

Reyes latched on to his friend’s wrist and squeezed. “Make your own or lose the hand. And she is not in league with the Hunters.”

Sabin arched a sandy brow, the picture of pique. “How do you know?”

He didn’t have an answer, but he would not allow anyone to hurt her in any way. “Just stay away from her,” he said, “and leave the food alone.”

“Since when are you so giving?” Gideon asked at his other side, swiping a sandwich before Reyes could do anything about it.

“Giving” equaled “stingy” in Gideon’s messed-up world.

“Back off,” Reyes growled.

Both warriors chuckled.

“Yeah. Whatever,” Sabin said, and grabbed a sandwich with his free arm.

Reyes ground his teeth together. I will not pull a weapon on my friends. I will not pull a fucking weapon on my friends.

“Oh, goodie! Food.” Anya skipped into the room, Ashlyn at her side, their arms linked. “I thought I smelled the sweet scent of culinary genius.”

Red spotted Reyes’s vision as he gathered the plate and the glass before the women could confiscate a single crumb or drop. “Danika’s,” he said tightly.

“But I really like turkey.” Anya pouted up at him. She was tall for a woman, but even in four-inch heels she only reached Reyes’s chin. “Besides, when I slap a sandwich together, it never tastes as good as when you do it. There’s something so delicious about food prepared by a man.”

“Not my problem.” He tried to step around her, but she leapt in front of him, hands fisted on her hips. He sighed, knowing she would trip him if he attempted to pass her. “Lucien will cook something for you.”

Another pouting frown. “He’s out collecting souls.”

“Paris, then.”

“He’s doing some chick in town, the nympho.”

“Starve,” Reyes told her unsympathetically.

“I’ll make us something,” Ashlyn offered, rubbing her slightly swollen belly. She was pregnant, just beginning to show. “While I do, I want to hear all about Danika.”

Reyes wasn’t sure how he felt about the coming birth. Would the baby be a demon? A human? He couldn’t decide which would be worse. Constant inner torment or mortality? “She’s well. Nothing more to say.”

“Make me something, too,” Sabin told Ashlyn. “I’m ninety-seven percent famished. That sandwich I stole only helped a little.”

“I’m totally full,” Gideon said, which meant he was on the verge of starvation. He wiped his hands to dislodge any remaining crumbs.

“Shame on you boys for making a pregnant woman do all the work,” Anya scolded.

“Hey!” Sabin wagged a finger at the gorgeous goddess. “You’re letting a pregnant woman make your sandwich. How is that any different?”

“Pregnant or not, I’ll let her make me one, too.”

At the sound of that scratchy voice, everyone stilled. Turned. A collective gasp rang out. Then a collective, “Torin!”

Grinning, Ashlyn stepped toward the now-healed warrior, arms opening to hug him. Anya latched on to her shoulder and jerked her back.

“He’s Disease, sweetness,” the goddess said. “You can’t touch him without getting sick, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Ashlyn smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re better.”

Torin smiled in return, though his expression was tinted with sadness and yearning. “Me, too.”

He looked just as Reyes remembered—before the man’s neck had been cut from end to end by Hunters, that is. White hair, black brows and bright green eyes. Beautifully masculine and utterly eerie. He wore black gloves that stretched from fingertips to armpits, for he could not touch another living being skin to skin without infecting it with disease. Not even an immortal. The warriors would not become ill themselves if they touched him, but they would spread the disease to humans.

“How are you feeling?” Reyes asked him.

“Better.” That green gaze lowered to the plate Reyes held. “Hungry.”

“Back off,” Reyes said. “I’m glad you’re better, but not enough to share.”

Torin’s grin lost its edge of sadness. “You almost make me wish I were still bed-bound. You’d have to bring me food with a smile. Oh, guess what?” he said, pivoting toward Anya. “Your friend is climbing the hill. He keeps shouting that he wants to put you over his knee and spank you, so I decided not to kill him as Lucien instructed. Guy has a blade strapped to his left thigh, but that’s the only weapon I detected. He should reach the door any—”

Knock. Knock.

Grinning, Anya clapped her hands. “William’s here!”

“What is he doing here?” Reyes asked. “Lucien told him never to return or he’d kill him, and you hate him.”

“Hate him? I adore him! Even made sure he’d come back by holding his favorite book hostage. And FYI, Lucien was only teasing about killing him. They’re BFF’s now, I swear.” She bounded off, clapping happily.

“William!” the group in the kitchen heard a moment later.

“Where’s my book, woman?”

“Where’s my hug, you big teddy bear?”

“Is this the same William who drove Lucien crazy while Anya was recovering from the loss of her key?” Ashlyn asked, just as Maddox strode up behind her and enfolded her in his arms. “And what book?”

“The very same,” Maddox said, nuzzling her cheek. “The book, I don’t know. This William did not strike me as the intellectual type. What’s a BFF?”

“A best friend forever.”

Maddox frowned. “I did not get the impression the two were best friends forever or even temporarily. Someone should lock the man up until Lucien returns.”

Ashlyn melted into her man. “Anya seems to like him. I say we leave him alone. The more, the merrier, right?”

Reyes rolled his eyes. Every day in the fortress was a party now, it seemed.

While Ashlyn and the men engaged in a heated discussion about who would cook what, as well as what they should do about the mysterious William, Reyes finally made his escape, careful to hold the plate straight and the glass of juice steady as he stalked from the kitchen.

I hate you, Danika had said.

I know, he’d told her, and he’d meant it. He’d once held her and her loved ones prisoner. He’d helped bring her to the Hunters’ attention. She had every reason to despise him. But now, he wanted to give her something good. Something she could smile about in the years to come. Even if it was only a simple meal.

Up the stairs he climbed, and still, he did not spill a drop. Most likely, she was still sleeping. He hated the thought of waking her, but knew it was for the best. The paleness of her skin and the shadows under her eyes concerned him. She needed sustenance.

While she’s here, I’ll see to her every need. She’ll want for nothing.

He sailed into the bedroom, but stopped abruptly when he reached the edge of the bed. His mouth dried and the haze of red returned to coat his vision. The black sheets were rumpled. Empty.

Danika was gone.

CHAPTER SIX

AERON CROUCHED in his underground prison, fury flowing through his veins. Fury with himself, the gods, his demon. Reyes. He should have killed me. Too late now. I want to live. I want to taste the death of those women.

Darkness would have enveloped him completely, but he’d long since given over to his demon. His eyes glowed bright red, throwing crimson beams wherever he looked. Mud and rock surrounded him. He was buried so deep in the earth he could hear the screams of the damned, could smell the sulfur and rotting flesh wafting from hell’s gates. He’d thought Lucien was the only warrior with access to the hereafter, but apparently Reyes had it, as well.

Wrath, his demonic companion, foamed at the mouth and chomped at the edges of Aeron’s mind, desperate to escape this hated place. To act.

Too close to home, the demon shouted. Won’t go back.

“No, you won’t go back.”

Aeron couldn’t survive without his demon; they were now one being, two halves of a whole, incomplete without the other. No longer was Aeron ready to die. Craving his own demise had been a momentary burst of madness, surely. Now he knew, now he accepted. He couldn’t allow himself to be killed until the blood of those four women stained his hands, coated his arms and filled his mouth.

Mallory, Tinka, Ginger and Danika.

He smiled, practically tasting their deaths already. Cut their throats, Cronus, the king of gods, had commanded him. Do not leave their sides until their hearts stop and their lungs still. Aeron thought he might have resisted at first—innocent, they were innocent—but he could not be certain. Allowing those women to live seemed…abhorrent.

“Soon,” he promised himself. He trembled with anticipation.

He’d killed recently. He knew it, deep in his bones, but his memory was hazy. All his mind would provide was the image of an old woman splayed on the cold ground, blood crusted on her temples. There were tears in her eyes and cuts on her right arm.

“Don’t hurt me,” she begged. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

In one hand, Aeron clutched a dagger. His other hand was pure claw, sharp and lethal. He lunged forward—

And then, as always, the vision faded completely. What had happened after that? What had he done? He wasn’t sure. His only certainty was that he would not have backed away from the kill. He would not have left her alive.

Want out. Want up! Want to stretch wings and fly.

“I know.” Aeron jerked at his chains. They rattled and cut his already scabbed wrists, but they didn’t budge. He bared his teeth in a scowl. Fucking Reyes.

Fucking Pain.

Aeron could not recall how Reyes had defeated him and carted him here, only that he had. A tortured “Forgive me” still rang in Aeron’s ears.

They were the same words Aeron used to mutter as he stood on the outskirts of Budapest, watching the humans, amazed that they blithely went about their days unconcerned about their inherent weaknesses and the knowledge that they would soon die. Some by his hand.

Aeron had sometimes erupted into blood-rages, Wrath judging and executing those who deserved his particular brand of punishment. Rapists, molesters. Murderers. Like me. Some, though, did not deserve what he did to them. Like the women.

He frowned. The thought was out of place in the chaos of his mind, a notion he would have considered before the gods tasked him with the beautiful death of the Ford women.

Suddenly rocks crumbled, falling from the far cavern wall and disrupting his brooding. Aeron’s attention whipped to it, eyelids slitting. There was a narrow hole in the center, a pair of glowing red eyes—demon eyes like Aeron’s—pulsing through it.

Aeron growled a warning. He was chained and weaponless, but he was not helpless. He had teeth. He would eat his foe, if necessary.

More rocks fell, widening the hole. Then a bald, scaled head pushed through. Those bright red eyes looked right and left before landing on Aeron. Sharp, glistening fangs appeared in a feral smile.

“I sssmelled you, brother.” The creature spoke with a lisp, forked tongue flickering. It sounded happy rather than menacing.

“I am not your brother.”

Thin lips slithered into a pout. “But you Wrath.”

Aeron’s claws elongated to razor points. “Yes, I am.” You know him? he asked his demon.

No.

There was a third tumble of rocks as scaled shoulders emerged, followed by a short scaly body.

“Come any closer and you will die.”

“No, I won’t. Me never die.” The creature planted hoofed feet on the ground and stood. It was so short it couldn’t have reached any higher than Aeron’s navel. A tremble passed through its small body, scattering dust from its dull green scales.

“How can you be so sure?”

“We friendsss.”

“I have no friends. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Massster used to call me Legion before he called me Ssstupid Idiot.” It moved one step closer, humming with giddiness. Grinning, fangs making another appearance. “Want to play?”

Legion. Interesting. “One of a thousand what?”

“Minionsss.” Another step.

Servants of hell, Wrath supplied with disgust. Useless, disposable, unworthy. Eat him.

Aeron drew his knees up to his chest, preparing to attack. “Stop.” Now why had he said that? He wanted the thing to approach. Wanted to feast on it.

It obeyed, the pout returning to its lips. “But we friendsss now. Friendsss get to sssometimesss ssstand next to each other. I ssseen them do it.”

He didn’t bother reiterating that they weren’t friends. “Why are you here, Legion?” Questions first, dinner second.

Anticipation brightened those crimson eyes. “Me want to play. Will you play with me? Pleassse, pleassse, pleassse.”

“Play what?” Saliva dipped from the corner of Aeron’s mouth, and he licked at it. The more he considered the option of eating his foe, the more he liked the thought of having the demon for a snack. Aeron had enough slack in his chains that he’d been able to catch and sustain himself on rats. The demon would make a tasty change. Mustard would have been nice, though. Fucking Reyes. “What game?”

“Catch the demon! Massster stopped playing with me. Kick me out of home.” It looked down and punted a pebble with its hoof. “Me did a bad, bad thing and don’t get to play with him no more.”

“What bad thing?” He asked the question before he could stop himself.

Those fangs emerged, chewing away at that thin bottom lip. “Ate Massster’sss hand. Want to play?”

And perhaps lose one of his hands? He thought about it, shrugged. “We can play.” Turnabout was only fair.

“Goody!” Claws clapped together in excitement, though the fiend remained a good distance away. “Can we change rule?”

There were rules? “What rule is that?”

“Winner never can beat me with ssstonesss.”

“Agreed.” Aeron would just bite him with teeth.

Laughing eerily, Legion leapt into the air. He bounded from one side of the cave to the other, a mere blur to Aeron’s eyes. Twice he whizzed past, cackling happily, and twice Aeron reached out, the metal bonds cutting deeper. The creature arched just out of reach.

Aeron stilled and pondered his options. He had limited range of motion, and Legion moved too quickly to see. He’d have to wait, a spider weaving a web, using his other senses.

Determined, he closed his eyes, welcoming total darkness. He placed his hands on his upraised knees, hoping he was the picture of tranquility.

Legion’s gleeful laughter echoed in his ears, closer…closer… Fingertips scraped his forehead, but Aeron didn’t even twitch.

“Catch me, catch me, if you can.”

Stones fell from the far wall a split second before the laughter increased in volume and a breeze ruffled the humid, ash-soaked air. Any moment…wait…wait for it… Something hot brushed his arm, and Aeron snapped his fingers closed.

A gasp, a squeal. Legion wiggled against his grip, laughter ceasing.

“I win.” Aeron’s teeth sharpened and he threw his head forward. Contact. Acid blood filled his mouth, burning, blistering.

“Ow!”

Coughing and spitting, Aeron released the demon. His eyelids popped open but soon narrowed to slits. Why didn’t you tell me he was poison? he barked at Wrath.

Didn’t know, was the pouting reply.

“You bit me.” There was accusation in the creature’s tone. Accusation and hurt. Tears filled those red eyes.

“You taste like bile, you disgusting maggot.”

“But…but…you made me bleed.” Legion rubbed at his neck, black blood seeping from between his scaled fingers. “You promisssed not to.”

“I promised not to beat you.” Something almost like… remorse? Yes, remorse sparked to life in Aeron’s chest, overshadowing his constant anger and overwhelming death-lust. “I—” What? Nearly gnawed you to bits but I’m sorry now? “I thought that’s how the game was played.”

“You thought wrong.” Legion sniffed and turned away. He— no longer an “it” in his mind, Aeron realized—stalked to the corner and buried his face in the rock, sulking.

Dear gods. How did I stumble into this situation?

Minions are such babies, Wrath growled, as if it wasn’t a baby.

“I didn’t know the rules,” Aeron said, shocked that he felt more like himself in that moment than he had in months and unsure of why.

Legion peeked over his shoulder, scales glistening like polished rubies in the red glow of Aeron’s demonic irises. His scales had been green before, hadn’t they? “If we going to be friendsss, you have to promissse not to bite anymore. My feelingsss got hurt, too.”

Friends? “Legion, I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but—”

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