The Darkest Secret (16 page)

“Hurry,” she said. “I don't like this area, either.”

Then you're really not going to like what my demon just told me.

“Oh, God. What?”

We've just entered the Realm of Snakes,
Amun said grimly.

Sweet heaven above. “Please tell me the Realm of Snakes refers to the sweet little garden variety, and that we'll only encounter one or two of them.”

The Realm of Snakes refers to the sweet little garden variety, and we'll only encounter one or two of them.

Though she knew he was lying, his dry baritone caused her lips to twitch and some of her fear to fade. “Good, that's good. So what else did Secrets tell you?” Fingers crossed she didn't have a panic attack after his next words.

That we shouldn't look directly into their eyes because they can hypnotize us into believing we actually want them to bite us.

The fear returned full-force, but at least the dizziness now made sense. Hypnosis. Shit. Control was one of her most prized possessions. Too well did she know the horror of being without a choice. For days, weeks, whatever, she'd been Strider's prisoner, allowed to do only what he wanted her to do. Before that, every time she'd died, losing pieces of her memories when she finally returned to life, she had known only consuming hate and a driving need to destroy. And long before
that,
she'd been a puppet of the evil one, then the Bad Man, then the Greeks who had enslaved her.

“I'm not sure I can do this,” she whispered.

Just pretend the snakes are demon-possessed warriors. I'm sure you'll do fine.

Ouch. He'd struck more sharply than the snake. Tears momentarily burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. No weakness. Especially when she deserved such a stinging remark. Once, she might have even been proud to hear it. Once, but not today.

“And why don't you pretend they're innocent humans?” she said softly. He, too, deserved to be cut down, and she couldn't let herself forget.

Another bout of silence thickened the air between them. Until he sighed and admitted,
I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. Again.

The second apology, offered far more poignantly than the first, was so unexpected she was shocked—and softened. “I'm sorry, too. And I understand why you did,” she admitted. “I took something from you. Something you loved.”

Yes. And we took something from you?

“Yes.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but she never did. She'd already told him she wouldn't discuss the past with him, and she'd meant it. There was nothing he could say to ease the hurt, and a million things he could say to increase it.

I won't let anything happen to you while we're here, Haidee. You have my word.

Again he shocked her. Silly thing was, she believed him, and not just because he needed her. He may not like her, but he'd taken responsibility for her welfare. No matter the circumstances, his responsibilities were clearly important to him.

Something else to like about him.

The deeper they walked, the more lush the vines became, until there was no gap between leaf and limb, tree and cave wall. There was only mile after mile of what seemed to be a tranquil forest.

How many snakes lurked nearby? Waiting? Hungry?

Oh, God.
Bile, rising again…

Soon steam was wafting from the leafy greens, limiting their range of vision. She inhaled deeply, scented sulfur and something else, something sweet. The conflicting aromas left her gagging and swaying with another bout of dizziness. Was she being hypnotized again and just didn't know it?

“Help,” she managed to whisper, hating that she was already losing control of herself. Her knees were knocking, about to give out. “Amun.”

In the next instant, he had turned, his arm winding around her waist and holding her up.
What's wrong?

Her lashes fluttered shut, suddenly too heavy for her to keep open. “Don't know. Head…spinning…” He was so still against her, she couldn't even feel his heartbeat or the rise and fall of his chest. Couldn't feel his heat, that amazing heat.

There's ambrosia in the air, a substance very harmful to humans, but you aren't…

“Human. Yes. I am.”

I don't understand. You died. Now you're alive. You can't be human.

The dizziness intensified, pulling her under a dark, dark wave. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn't swim to the top. “Amun…”

Haidee. Listen to my voice. Stay with me.

“Can't,” she wanted to tell him. No sound emerged.

If you pass out, I'll strip you and touch you again. Do you hear me? I'll view it as an invitation to take you.

Before she could tell him the invitation wouldn't have an expiration date, that his “consequences” were not a threat but a delightful prospect, the darkness swallowed her completely.

 

D
AMN THIS
. Amun hefted Haidee over his shoulder, barely registering her slight weight. He did, however, register the
fact that her breasts were smashed into his back. Because of her unusually cool body temperature, her nipples were already pebbled.

She'd been behind him for what seemed an eternity, touching him fleetingly yet awakening every nerve ending he possessed. Despite the danger, he'd almost stopped a dozen times, desperate to taste her again, to hear her moan his name. His, and no other.

When she'd confessed that she had only dated that bastard Micah because she'd mistaken him for Amun, she'd almost found herself pressed against the cave wall, her jeans and panties ripped away, his shaft pounding its way home. Control had been maintained through a wish and a prayer only.

Confounding baggage. How was he supposed to callously use her and work her from his system when she treated him with such…sweetness? When she responded to his barbs with hurt rather than venom?

Secrets still couldn't read her mind, but the demon had begun to sense the absolute conviction in her every word. She believed everything she said. Of course, the demon also retreated every time Haidee touched him. The coolness that so delighted Amun terrified his companion.
All
of his companions. Since leaving the fortress, the other demons had yet to try to influence him in any way. Why?

Damn this, he thought again, striding forward. Didn't matter why. He needed this woman.

A little dizzy himself, he shouldered his way through the foliage. He'd whisk Haidee to safety if it killed him. And it just might. If he was affected by the ambrosia in the air, how much damage would the substance do to her?

Through Maddox, Amun had learned that humans simply couldn't tolerate ambrosia, a drug meant only for immortals. They were better off being injected with tainted
heroin. Haidee hadn't ingested the substance, had only breathed in the fumes, so Amun told himself she would be okay.

Was she human, though? She truly believed she was and could very well be, despite the fact that she'd risen from the dead. But surely she was more than she realized. That unnatural coolness, her mental connection to Amun, the way she corralled his demons, each bespoke something beyond mortality.

Still. To be safe, he wanted to get her out of this forest as quickly as possible. All he had to do was find the entrance to the next realm. Which, if he wasn't mistaken, would be the Realm of Shadows. So far, all he could see were trees. Trees, trees, trees. They surrounded him so completely they were like a second layer of clothing.

Soon he was panting from exertion. His dizziness increased, and he tightened his hold on Haidee. They didn't touch skin to skin, merely cloth to cloth. Perhaps if he slid his hands up the hem of her pants and gripped her thigh properly, her temperature would stave off the dizziness the same way it staved off the demons.

Follow your own advice and stay alert. No touching the girl.
A single touch, and he'd become lost to the lust again.

Branches slapped at him, slicing his cheeks. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The action must have roused Secrets. Instantly agitated, the demon prowled through his skull, hatred for this place welling up.

Voices suddenly wafted to Amun's ears.

Come closer, warrior…

Welcome to our home…

We won't hurt you…much…

Thoughts soon followed, filling his mind.

They'll taste
so
good.

Maybe she'll scream just the way I like…

The snakes were closing in, ready to strike. To kill. He couldn't fight them with Haidee dangling so precariously over his shoulder. She would take the brunt of the action, her body acting as his shield, and that he wouldn't allow.

Not knowing what else to do, he stopped and eased her to the ground—no sudden movements—then fit the backpack she still carried around her neck, shielding the sensitive area as best he could. As he slowly, so slowly straightened, he withdrew two of his blades, metal whistling against leather.

That must have been the starting bell for the snakes.

Dozens of crimson eyes leveled on him… Fangs flashed bright white.

He tensed.

The snakes launched forward.

N
OW THIS IS THE SHIT
,
Strider thought with a slow grin.

A few hours ago, Lucien had flashed him and William to Paris. The guy, not the city. Though the evening had only just begun, Paris had been well on his way to ambrosia intoxication, already laughing like a loon. So rather than cart him off and start hunting Gilly's parents to play a little game of slice and dice, as planned, and rather than leaving him behind in such a vulnerable condition, Strider and William had decided to take care of Paris—aka down a little ambrosia themselves—and head out as a unit in the morning.

Brotherly love and all that.
The things I do for my friends.
Not that Strider was intoxicated. He was the sober one.

He reclined on a delightfully cushioned lounge in the sprawling ranch Paris had rented. In Dallas, Texas, of all places. Promiscuity had decked himself out, too, wearing a Stetson (weird), no shirt (understandable), unfastened jeans (smart) and cowboy boots (weird again). Dude looked ready to rustle cattle or something.

At least the girls Paris had invited to party with him were more sensible. They wore bikinis.

Best of all, as the girls swam in the moon-and-lamplit pool, laughing, playing, Strider was reminded that he'd always preferred females with big boobs and lots of makeup. He was able to forget all about only-a-handful
Haidee and how lovely and delicate she'd looked in Amun's arms. Arms that should have been
his
. But whatever.

“I call dibs on the topless one,” William said from Strider's left, throwing back his ambrosia-laced beer. “And the one wearing dental floss.” He'd changed his mind five times in the past ten minutes. As of now, he had dibs on every single female in sight.

“That's a thong, moron,” Paris slurred from Strider's right.

They reclined in lounges, too, the only cocks within miles of this little henhouse.

The girls were in front of them, some using the concrete rim around the hourglass pool as a dance floor. Gods love this modern era, because the females weren't afraid to grind on each other.

“If the thing riding up her ass is a thong, whatdya call that string across her nipples?” William countered.

“A string,” Paris said, then nodded as if confirming his own genius. “And by the way, I get first pick since I rounded 'em up and brought 'em here, and I call dibs on the topless one.”

“Where'd you get 'em, anyway?” Strider asked. Funny. His own words were slurred.

“Strip club downtown,” Paris replied, finishing off his latest bottle of jack. “Throw enough money around and you can have anything you want. Except, maybe, fried Twinkies. I can't find those anywhere.”

William tapped two fingers against his chin. “You had any of 'em before?”

“Fried Twinkies?” Paris nodded. “Only once, but I've never forgotten the experience. It's like heaven in your mouth, man.”

“Fried— Paris, you dumb bastard.” Exasperated, William shook his head. “I meant the women.”

Exasperated himself, Paris splayed his arms. “How
would I know whether or not the women have had a fried Twinkie? I only just met them.”

“Dear gods.” William pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have you. Slept with. One of. The women. Before?”

“Oh. Sure, I have. And shit. Why didn't you say that to begin with?”

“Finally,” William said. “We get somewhere. Who?”

Because of his straight-up awesome demon, Paris couldn't screw the same woman twice. Sure, he weakened unbearably if he failed to roll around in the sheets at least once a day, but that was a small price to pay for unlimited nookie.

“Like I remember,” Paris replied.

“Your cock always remembers.”

“Well, we're currently not speaking, so…”

“And we come to yet another dead end.” William's sigh was somehow as wry as his tone. “You're just gonna have to take who I give you and deal.”

“Like anyone would pick you over me.”

William blustered over the insult. “You just wait and see. I'll have every single one of them eating out of my hand.”

“Only if you find one of those delicious fried Twinkies,” Paris snapped.

Strider rolled his eyes. Egotistical morons. Anyone with a set of eyes could see that Strider was the pretty one in their little threesome.

His demon immediately recognized the challenge and stretched, gearing up to do whatever was necessary to ensure that statement was true.
Win?

Down, boy.
He didn't need the hassle tonight.

“Hey, William,” a beautiful blonde frolicking in the water called. “You said you wanted to taste me when I got wet. Well, I'm very,
very
wet,” she ended with husky entreaty. “Come taste me.”

“You're not quite wet enough, honey bun. Keep playing, and I'll let you know when you're ready.”

For all his own dib-calling the past few hours, William hadn't touched a single female yet. Strider had, though. He'd already taken the one with blue streaks in her sandy-colored hair upstairs. For forty-five minutes he'd unleashed his sexual needs on her willing body, making her moan and scream and writhe. He'd even made her beg.

Clearly, he'd been the best she'd ever had. Not that he'd ever doubted that would be the case. Not that he'd waited several minutes after the loving was done, tense, expecting to double over in pain since he hadn't laid his patented moves on her, had just acted on need.

When he and Defeat had realized they could add another name to their ever-growing list of completely satisfied females—not that they remembered any of the names— Strider should have shot right into another climax. But the rush of victory hadn't done anything for him. He hadn't felt any better about his situation. He might even have felt worse. Like, hollowed out or something.

The girl had fallen asleep immediately afterward, thank the gods, because if she'd tried to talk to him, he would seriously have cut off his ears. Sex, good. Conversation, bad. He should have let her rest, but he hadn't trusted her enough to leave her unattended, so he'd carted her back outside and placed her on a lounge—on the opposite side of the pool, where she was still sleeping. A guy couldn't be too careful.

Still. She hadn't been a challenge, not in any way, really, and he'd liked that. Liked being able to relax. With Ex, the challenge would
always
be there, influencing everything he did, so he would always be on edge. Of course, that would also mean the pleasure of finally winning her would be unparalleled, because the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory.

Not that he gave a shit about that now. He just wanted to take the easy road, damn it. He deserved the easy road for once. Even though he was learning the easy road sucked.

“Why don't you join us, Paris?” a brunette called silkily, dragging Strider's mind back to the party. She sat at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the crystalline water. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she swirled a finger over one of her bared nipples. “I've wanted to get my hands on you ever since you first said hi to me.”

A few others sighed dreamily, as if remembering that very thing. As if Paris's “hi” was the most stimulating conversation they'd ever had the privilege of enjoying.

“I've been watching you all this time,” Paris responded in a rumbling purr, “and as you can guess, I'm practically on fire to have you. But I gotta get myself under control before I can trust myself to even kiss you.”

The girls giggled.

Such a smooth talker Paris was, flattering without hurting a single feeling, yet doing exactly as he desired. Staying just where he was without inviting anyone over. But his desires were stupid, Strider thought. Did Paris want to spend the night alone and untouched?

And what the fuck, man. Was Strider dog food? Where was his shout-out? Where was his “come over here and play with me?” Or maybe they thought he only wanted the sandy-haired wench. Well, he wanted the topless one.

Win.
Defeat stretched a little more, practically humming about the possibility of trying to steal the girl's affection away from Paris.

Damn it. Can't I have a single night to myself?

The demon replied with more humming. Meaning, hell no.

I gave you a victory tonight already.

WIN.

Fine. One more.
But it wouldn't be the fight his demon wanted. Frowning, Strider pointed to the shortest female in the group. “You.”

Her eyes widened with pleasure. “Me?”

She was slightly older than the others, putting her in her early thirties, with black hair and green eyes. He kinda wished she were a blonde, but she had a few tattoos scattered across her back—birds rather than words and faces, not that he cared—so he figured she would do. Not that he was particular or anything, or going for a specific type. He just knew what he wanted, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“Yeah. You. C'mere, honey,” he said, crooking that finger and motioning her over.

She giggled and jumped to a stand. Several of the other girls threw her jealous scowls as she closed the distance and plopped onto his lap, and he nodded in satisfaction. Now that was more like it.

There's your one more, you little shit.

Defeat quieted, happy with the win but bored by the ease of it.

Strider sighed. Earlier, this female had taken a dip in the water, and her gold-foil bathing suit was still damp. She fit her ass right over his semi-erect penis and leaned back, stretching out against him. Her large—really large—breasts jutted up, her nipples beaded underneath the fabric of the suit, and she squirmed against him, trying to rub him into full arousal.

Suddenly he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to be rubbed—or talked to. Damn his irresistible sexual magnetism.

“Easy now,” he told her, gripping her hips to ensure she slowed down. “I need a few minutes to recover from the excitement of having you here.”

Thankfully, she stilled. She twisted just a little, peering
up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Want me to turn around?”

She smelled of peaches and cigarette smoke. “Actually, be a good girl and get me another beer from the kitchen.” He hefted her to her feet and gave her tight ass a pat. “I need to rebuild my strength or I'll never be able to keep up with a woman as talented and beautiful as you.”

The action startled her, and she yelped, then threw a narrowed glance over her shoulder. “Beer?”

“Yeah, and sometime tonight,” he prompted, not wanting to give her time to question him further. “That's a sweet girl.”

“Grab me one, too, sweetness,” Paris called. “Don't pop the lid, though, all right?”

With a huff, she flounced inside. The kitchen sat right next to the patio, the glass doors allowing him to watch her as she dug into the fridge, turned and stalked back out. By the time she reached him, she had calmed down.

When she tried to sit back on his lap, he confiscated the beers and gave her a little push toward the pool. “Watching you swim is about the sexiest thing I've ever seen. Show me that swan dive again, and transport me right back to heaven.”

“But I thought you wanted… If you're sure you don't…”

“I'm sure. I'm practically drooling just thinking about how graceful you are.”

Her shoulders squared proudly, and she raced off to do just that. Strider tossed Paris his beer.

“I just had the best idea ever,” William said the moment they were alone. Well, as alone as three guys could be with a backyard filled with strippers. He grinned evilly. “Let's give Maddox a ring.”

Paris had dumped a baggie of ambrosia in the new bottle and had just taken a swig. The liquid caught in his
throat, choking him. After banging a fist into his sternum, he regained his breath and said, “You mean
propose
to him? To grumpy ole Maddox? Shit, Willie, why didn't you tell us you're a masochist who swung that way? You're so delicate, he'll rip you to shreds the moment you climb into his bed. Plus, he's hitched himself to Ashlyn. You try to lay a move on him, and that sweet thang will rearrange your face.”

Rolling his eyes, William withdrew Paris's cell phone from the pocket of the swim trunks he'd borrowed. “I mean call him, you idiot. What's with you tonight? Permanent brain damage? We'll breathe heavily and ask him what he's wearing. I bet no one's phone sexed him before.”

“Hey!” Paris frowned as he eyed the small black device. “I had that stashed in my bedroom.”

“I know. That's where I found it when I was snooping through your things.” As always, William was unrepentant about his sins. “So who has the titanium balls to actually do it, huh?”

Defeat raised his arm like a schoolboy, the only kid in class who knew the answer to the seemingly impossible mathematical equation on the board.

Enough from you already! You had your “more.”

“Why Maddox?” Strider asked. If anyone could kick his ass over the phone, it was the keeper of Violence. The warrior would probably find a way to reach through the line and strangle him the moment he started describing all the naughty things he supposedly planned to do to him.

William flashed his perfect white teeth. “Because he'll curse the most, and that'll make me laugh the hardest. Now, are you in or not?”

“Give me that effing phone,” Strider grumbled, opening his palm and waving his fingers.

“Effing?” William laughed with genuine amusement. “You ever realize how polite you get when you're
hammered? And you know what they say. A man's true character is revealed when he's toasted. So you gotta face facts, man. You're a closet gentleman.” He shuddered. “Loser!”

“The heck I am!”

Even Paris laughed at that.