The Darkest Secret (26 page)

Secrets. I need you. What do they have?
Even as he asked, he looked at his own hand. All right. Not bad. A pair of eights to kick things off. If there was another eight in the flop, giving him a three of a kind, he just might bring home the first victory.

As usual, Secrets didn't speak to him outright, but suddenly Amun knew that White and Black were his only competition this round. White had an ace and a king, and Black had the potential for a flush.

He knew, too, that the card he wanted for himself waited at the bottom of the deck. So Amun bottom dealt the turn and the river and ended up with three of a kind, just as he'd wanted. His excitement was short-lived, however. Black beat him with the aforementioned flush. That quickly, and that easily.

Damn. His stomach tightened with dread as he leaned back in his chair. If ever a man needed his hands, it was Amun. But he wouldn't fight the Horsemen when they removed his. He had another round to play, after all.

A grinning Black withdrew a serrated blade from his
boot. A blade already coated with blood. “Come on. Let's see the prize.”

“How can he play the next round without his hands?” Haidee yelled. “You can't do this. You—”

“I guess you'll have to deal the next round for him,” White interjected without a hint of mercy.

No,
Amun signed. If she remained near him during the next round, his demon wouldn't be able to read the Horsemen and their cards. He would lose his advantage—not that it had helped him so far.

Haidee's clothing rustled, as if she were moving away from her perch.
I agreed to this,
he told her.
It's fine. I'll be fine. I'll find a way to play.
Again, he hoped.
I need you to stay where you are. That's the most important thing right now.

Thank the gods, the rustling stopped. He placed his arms on the tabletop. Gideon had had his hands chopped off twice in his lifetime. If Gideon could survive, Amun could, too. He only regretted the fact that he wouldn't be able to touch Haidee tonight as he'd dreamed.

Before he had time to move, or protest, or change his mind, Black struck. Boom. Metal sliced through the bone in his left wrist before hitting the barbed table. Blood squirted, and sharp, agonizing pain exploded through Amun's arm, swiftly traveling through the rest of his body. He thought he heard Haidee scream, then soft hands were smoothing over his back, feminine whispers drifting through his ears.

Worth it,
he thought, panting, sweating. He wouldn't have let them take one of her precious hands for any reason.

“Please, don't hurt him again,” she was crying. “Please, take one of mine. Don't do this to—”

Black struck again, taking the other hand.

Haidee released another agonized scream. Dizziness
swam through him, as did more of that pain, but he didn't allow himself to even grunt. He compressed his lips and held everything inside, watching as White lifted the unattached hands and studied them.

“Nice and strong,” she said with satisfaction.

“I think I'll like his feet better,” Red said. “We can actually walk a mile in his shoes.”

Every member of the Rainbow Brigade laughed.

Tell them…tell them to start…the next round,
he managed to gasp to Haidee. He didn't dare look up at her. She was sobbing, he could feel the icy splash of her tears on his cheeks. Those tears would unman him, enrage him, and now wasn't actually an optimal time to fight the Horsemen.

Silent, ignoring his demand, she placed her own hands over his gushing wrists and an icy sheen spread, stopping the crimson flow and causing Secrets to scramble to the back of Amun's mind…fade. The other demons screamed as Haidee had done, rushing to hide deeper inside him.

“The old cards are covered in blood,” she said. “Here's a new set.” Then she released him, picked up the new deck and shuffled. She was trembling. Amun couldn't find the strength to send her away, no matter how desperately he needed his demon's aid.

The second game started a moment later, but his brain was foggy, his reactions slow. He wasn't sure how he remained in his chair, but he did. He wasn't sure what cards the Horsemen possessed, or even what kind of cards he possessed. His vision swam, blurring the numbers and pictures.

“What do you want me to do?” Haidee asked him, fear wafting from the words.

“Yes,” White said. “Tell us all.”

Do you know how to play?
he asked, ignoring the Horsewoman.

Haidee gave the slightest nod.

He peered at his cards, willing away the haze. His determination paid off, and he finally saw what he had. Better than what he'd expected. He concentrated on the flop, again staring until his eyesight cleared. He needed an ace of hearts and he'd have a royal flush. Anything else, and he'd have nothing.

What did his opponents have?

Nothing with the potential of his hand; he would just have to work that to his advantage.

In the first hand, no one had folded. Because they hadn't been playing for stakes, just the end results. Time to change that.
Tell them we want to up the pot.

After only a moment's hesitation, she did, and each of the four leaned forward, utterly interested. Amun outlined his demands to Haidee, and she peered down at him for a long while, eyes wide and face pale.

Do it!
he snapped.

“I have a proposition for you all,” she said. “If you lose, each of you will owe my friend here a year of service when you finally leave this place.” Something they would find reprehensible, Amun knew. “And if he loses, well, he'll give you more than just his feet. He'll give you me.”

That isn't what I said, damn it!
He'd told her to offer him, all of him.
Tell them what I really said. Now.

She shook her head, enraging him.

The Horsemen studied the flop, gauging what cards Amun might have. They had to know how close he was to that royal flush—or think he had one already, since he was risking everything.

“If you fold now, however,” she went on, “you will be exempt from the new agreement.”

Haidee, damn it. Tell them they can't have you! If you don't, I'll do it. I'll start speaking, and you know what happens then.
He wouldn't risk her, not for any reason.

She didn't.

He opened his mouth.

“The new terms are acceptable,” Red said before he could utter a single word.

And just like that, there was no backing down. The stakes had been set. Amun wanted to vomit.

White and Black folded, eliminating fifty percent of the competition and leaving only Red and Green. As he'd hoped. The rest of the flop was dealt, and Red practically hummed with satisfaction.

Green threw his cards onto the floor and spit on them. He hadn't gotten what he'd wanted.

“What do you have?” Haidee demanded of Red.

He flipped one card, then the other. Full house, Amun realized, queen over nines.

Haidee sucked in a breath. “Amun wins.” Grinning now, she tossed his cards at Red. “You lose. Both you and your friend owe him a year of service.”

Merciful gods. He'd gotten his royal flush.

All four Horsemen pushed to their feet, scowling over at him, their auras pulsing brightly. Red and Green even leapt at him. But everything—the males, the female, the smoke, the tent—disappeared in flash, before a single point of contact could be made.

The cave once again surrounded him and Haidee.

They were alone, he realized just before the haze returned. He was bombarded with relief, and that relief wiped out the adrenaline rush he'd fought so hard to maintain. He collapsed, unable to hold his own weight a second longer. He was panting harder, sweating more profusely, the pain no longer hidden by duty.

How?
he asked. He was certain he'd won that final round through dishonorable means. Not that he cared. He simply needed to know in case the Horsemen returned and challenged him.

Haidee crouched at his side and placed the backpack on his stomach. “The angel said the pack would give us everything we needed to survive, so I asked for a deck of cards that would stay ordered in a way that would give you an undefeatable hand, even after I shuffled them. And now I'm asking for
literal
hands.” As she spoke, she stuffed his arms inside.

The movement blasted the pain to another level, and he passed out before he discovered the results.

S
TRIDER POSITIONED HIMSELF
on the thick branch of an oak tree, surrounded by lush foliage and darkness. The clouds were thick and gray tonight, shielding the moon and stars and scenting the air with promised rain. The perfect atmosphere for fighting. Of course, he would have said the same thing if the sun had been shining brightly.

Planning an ambush was a lot more fun than vacationing with a horny immortal of questionable morals, a depressed, drugged-out warrior looking for his lost love and a forked-tongued little Harpy who rubbed his nerves raw.

William had decided he wanted no part in the coming battle. Said he couldn't risk injury when he had more important things to do, or some shit like that. So he'd taken off for Gilly's family home. Paris had just screwed a random stranger, his strength returned, his body healed, and was in the process of gathering weapons for The Stupid-Ass Chase, as Strider was now calling it. But Kaia, well, she was perched in the tree across from Strider's, waiting for the Hunters to find them.

They'd left a subtle but clear trail, acting as if they only wanted to camp and screw.

Below them was a tent, a crackling fire that cast only the barest hint of gold, hot dog weenies roasting on a portable grill—turned to its lowest setting, of course—and a lawn chair with a CPR dummy lounging on the plastic. How Kaia had produced the thing, he didn't know and wasn't
going to ask. The stupid thing looked like him and had clearly been stabbed. Repeatedly. In the groin.

He thought she might have used the dummy for target practice, and tried not to be offended. Key word: tried. What had he ever done to piss her off? Well, besides annoy the hell out of her. But that had only happened recently, and she must have had that dummy for weeks. There were just so many slashes.

Suddenly his branch bounced, the leaves rattling together. He bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't have to look to know what had just happened. Kaia had decided to join him. She still smelled like cinnamon rolls, and his mouth still watered every time she neared him.

“You have your own tree, woman,” he pointed out. “You said you'd stay on yours, and I'd stay on mine.”

“Yeah, well, I lied.” Kaia settled next to him, completely at ease. “That happens. Get used to it. Besides, yours is prettier.”

He didn't allow himself the luxury of looking at her. One, he'd already memorized her features. In his mind, he saw the glossy red of her hair, so much like flames. Saw those gray-gold hawk eyes framed by lashes the same shade of red as her hair. Saw that pixie nose, those siren lips. Two, she would distract him—more than she already was. And with her litany of challenges still ringing in his head, she'd made certain he couldn't afford a distraction.

He wished his demon would get the message.

Ever since she'd opened that fire-and-brimstone mouth of hers in the car, Defeat had been supercharged. Eager, humming with nervousness, but also with great waves of anticipation. She was a worthy opponent, strong, brave and fearless. Besting her would be a thrill unlike any other, and a sexual high the likes of which he'd never experienced. As many battles as he'd fought over the centuries, he knew it, felt it. Wanted it.

And yeah, some of Strider's anger with Kaia had drained as they'd staged the campsite. She was just so unabashedly female, so unrepentantly aggressive, and he admired those qualities. But that didn't mean he
liked her
liked her.

The burn of her gaze brought him back to the present. She was studying him, taking his measure.

“Why are you here?” he asked, checking the site on the rifle mounted beside him. “Why did you ask Lucien to find me? The truth this time.”

She sighed, her breath warm as it drifted over his shoulder. “Maybe I wanted to be with Paris.”

“Nope. Try again. You've slept with Paris, and you know he can't have you again.” Irritation had crept into his voice, and he didn't know why. What did he care if this gorgeous Harpy had welcomed his friend into her bed? She wasn't his, and he felt no sense of possession toward her.

“Maybe I wanted to make William jealous.”

“Please,” Strider said, his irritation rising for whatever reason. “Lucien said you'd specifically asked for me, and you don't need me to make William jealous. He'd offer himself up for your pleasure, even if you just wanted to carve the Chinese symbol for dumbass in his chest.”

She paused, tensed. Then she grumbled, “Fine. I admit it. I wanted to be with you.”

Harpies were notorious liars, as she'd admitted, but in this instance, he suspected she was finally telling the truth. Not because he was hot and most females wanted him. Well, yeah, he was hot and most females wanted him. But there had to be another reason.

“Why?” he insisted. “And don't give me that shit about being bored, because I also want to know why you tracked
my
Hunters.”

“
Your
Hunters?” She snorted, every inch the warrior. “When you weren't tracking them yourself?”

“Kaia. Please.”

She sighed again, the second caress of her breath making his muscles go rigid. “Lookit. You don't know this, but I was in the clouds with Bianka when you brought that female Hunter to the fortress. You…desired her and hated yourself for it.”

He stiffened. If there was one topic guaranteed to blacken his mood, it was Haidee. “How do you know that?”

“Duh. While I'm in the clouds, I can watch anyone I want.”

And she'd wanted to watch him? “Why me?” he demanded again.

Another pause, this one brittle with increased tension. “I…like you,” she eventually admitted.

The words had him stiffening all over again. There was so much longing in her tone, he wanted to cover his ears. “As a friend, right?” He did
not
need a Harpy crushing on him. Especially now. Harpies were more determined, more stubborn than a pack of rabid pit bulls.

“No,” she said, tracing something on the space between them. “Not as a friend.”

Defeat's attention switched from the coming battle to the Harpy. Winning her heart would be—

No. His hands curled into fists. No. He didn't want to win her heart. Her body, yes. His cock was filling, hardening, suddenly desperate to feel the slick glide of her inner walls. He shook his head when he realized the direction of his thoughts. He didn't want to win her body, either.

Gentle, he had to be gentle with her. If he hurt her feelings with a rejection, she would hurt his face with her claws. The situation was as simple as that. “Kaia. You slept with Paris. One of my best friends.”

“I made a mistake,” she said hoarsely. “Haven't you ever made a mistake? I mean, you still smell like the strip
per you banged. The one wearing the peach-scented body oil.”

He understood her hatred for peaches now. She'd been—was—jealous. That did not please him. “Okay, so, yeah. I've clearly made mistakes, and I don't blame you for yours. But I'm not going to sleep with you.” Defeat might have whimpered.
You're afraid of her, remember?
“Some of the guys can share. I can't.”

“I—I wouldn't be with anyone else while we were together,” she whispered, and his chest ached.

If he didn't know better, he would think she was…vulnerable right now. But he did know better. Harpies were as hard as steel. Nothing intimidated them, nothing softened them. They wanted something badly enough, they took it, and that was that. She probably just saw him as a challenge, something to tame. Gods knew enough women had tried and failed over the centuries. Gods also knew he understood the allure of a challenge.

“That doesn't matter,” he said, still using that gentle tone. “It doesn't change the past.”

“You wanted to share with Amun,” she replied, trembling now. “You wanted his woman. Would have taken her if she'd wanted you in return.”

“But I didn't, and I won't. Why do you think I left the fortress?”

“Well,” she huffed, “just so you know, I didn't ask you to nail me. I just wanted to go on a date with you, maybe get to know you better.”

So she could hop into bed with Paris, no preliminaries, but Strider needed to wine and dine her first?

And don't you dare take this as a challenge,
he snapped at his demon. The beast had gone quiet, ceasing that annoying humming, waiting for Strider to reply to her, waiting for Kaia's next response.

“Let's backtrack a little,” he said. Maybe, if he prodded
her enough, her desire for him would fade. “You saw that I wanted the Hunter.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I realized I didn't like it.”

Again, he doubted she lied. “So you tracked the other Hunters because…”

“I didn't want you distracted by them.”

“Because…”

“I wanted you focused on me.”

He was not pleased by that, either. When are you going to stop lying to yourself? “On dating you, not sleeping with you.”

“Yes.”

“Even though I wanted someone else?”

“Yes,” she snarled.

Time to go in for the kill. “I'll be honest with you, Kaia. Ultimately, I need a woman who won't challenge me.”
Which will bore the hell out of you,
common sense piped up. Strider ignored his stupid common sense. “I hate what happens when I lose, and with you, everything would be a challenge.”
And exciting. And nerve-racking.

“No, I wouldn't—”

He held up his hand for silence. “You wouldn't be able to help yourself. Look where we are, think about what we're doing. You challenged me to kill more Hunters than you do, for gods' sake.”

“That was for your own good,” she protested. “You were depressed or something and not taking care of business, which placed you in all kinds of danger. I was
helping
you, damn it!”

Maybe. Maybe not. “Well, your help has ensured that I slaughter anyone who's foolish enough to track me. Your help ruined my much-needed vacation.”

Silence.

Finally he allowed himself to look at her. She was still watching him, those beautiful gray-gold eyes wide and glassy, as if she was fighting tears. A Harpy, cry? Not bloody likely. She was just disappointed that she wasn't getting her way, he rationalized, but that didn't stop the ache from blooming in his chest again. Didn't stop a wave of guilt and remorse from winding through him. He had hurt her.

“Kaia,” he began, then paused. He didn't know what else to say.

In the distance, a twig had snapped.

Both he and Kaia stilled, not even daring to breathe. They waited…waited…but no other sounds were forthcoming. Neither relaxed their guard, however. They knew.

The Hunters had finally arrived.

How many men had Haidee's man brought with him?

Defeat started humming again, prowling through Strider's head as he focused on the battle.
Win. Win, win, win.

Strider leaned into the rifle he'd propped at his side, studying his surroundings through the night-vision scope. Night-vision was both a blessing and a curse. Using the scope cut through the darkness, sure, but afterward, he wouldn't be able to see shit without it, even in the light.

There. He spotted…six men inching toward the camp. A slight adjustment of his alignment, and he saw…six more men doing the same on the other side. Twelve soldiers, then. Unless there were more behind him, of course, and he would bet his ass there were.

His heartbeat quickened with a hot surge of excitement. Much as he'd chastised Kaia, he really did love to fight. He loved the adrenaline rush, the knowledge that he was one step closer to finally winning the war with the Hunters.

The branch he perched upon suddenly shuddered the slightest bit. His jaw clenched as the leaves rattled together,
announcing his location. Kaia had just jumped down. No one seemed to notice her, or him, however.

Win,
Defeat said.
Win!

I know. I will.

A shriek rent the air. A Harpy's high-pitched shriek.

A second later, he heard a
pop
and a
whiz
. The sounds of silencers, bullets. Next he heard a
crack
. The sound of a target being hit. The lawn chair shook, the dummy's body jolting.

Strider lined a target of his own in his sights—chest, dead center—and softly squeezed the rifle's trigger. There was a scream, then a grunt, and his victim tumbled down, face-first in the dirt.

The rest of the Hunters rushed into the camp, a few attacking the dummy.

“It's a fake,” someone snapped.

“Ambush?” someone else said.

“Maybe.”

“Stay on alert.”

“Always.”

“Spread out. Anything moves, anything at all, shoot to kill. I don't give a flying fuck about setting some crazed demon free. I want the host dead. The keeper of Defeat deserves to die.”

“Hate that bastard,” another murmured.

There was another scream, this one shrill and desperate. Kaia must have struck—with her claws. Damn it. He couldn't allow her to best him.

Strider angled his gun. Fired. Hit someone else in the chest. Angled. Fired. Hit again. Over and over he repeated the process, quick, so quick, before anyone realized what he was doing or where he hid. Bodies piled around his tree.

Finally the Hunters gained their bearings and spotted him. They peppered his branch with round after round.
Strider jumped, only one bullet grazing him as he fell. Fire lanced through his arm, but it wasn't enough to slow him.

Win!

As anticipated, he only had one good eye, the other shrouded with black. He could see there were quite a few Hunters left standing, and they'd already ferreted out his new locale. They converged, firing as they approached; he fired back. Before meeting them in the middle, he was struck twice, once in the shoulder and once in the stomach. He mentally blocked the pain.