The Darkest Secret (5 page)

Secrets purred in delight.

The reaction struck Amun as odd. Such an innocent memory, and not what the demon usually favored. Why did the fiend even care about this?

The image suddenly shifted, day replaced by night in an instant, leaving only one of the girls. Older now, her gray eyes sparking with tentative joy, as if she was afraid to hope but couldn't help herself.

Her skin was sun-kissed and glowing with health, her cheeks rosy with vitality. She wore a linen robe of lavender this time, flowers of the same color pinned through her hair. Those curls…like ribbons of the very moonlight surrounding her.

This was a past version of Haidee, Amun realized as a gentle, spice-laden breeze caressed her. She stood at the edge of a veranda, looking down into a dappled, crystalline pond. She bore no tattoos, no streaks of pink in her hair, no piercings; she was innocence and optimism wrapped in an utterly stunning package.

“Are you nervous, my sweet?” a female voice asked from behind her.

Haidee turned, startled from her reverie. “I love when
you call me that,” she replied sincerely. “Especially since you did not like me at first.”

“No. But that soon changed, did it not?”

“It did. And yes, yes. I'm nervous, but excited, too.”

They spoke in Greek. Ancient Greek.

He'd heard the language before, Amun thought, and recently. When? Where?

The scene continued to play on, and Secrets continued to rifle through Haidee's memories, dabbling here and there, the girl completely unaware. Then there was a purr, and Amun knew. Answers. His demon had found the answers.

No new images sprang up, not yet, but what the demon learned, Amun learned, too. Always. So, between one heartbeat and the next, he knew that Little Haidee and Sleeping Beauty Haidee were one and the same. They were
this
woman. And this woman was—

Responsible for Baden's murder,
he realized.

In a flash that lasted no more than a second, Amun saw Baden, hair soaked with blood and plastered to his scalp. Bodiless. He saw Haidee—
Hadiee
—as she'd once been, golden hair streaming down her back, naked, tanned skin luminous in the moonlight despite the hate radiating from her and the crimson-splatter all over her. He saw her friends, Hunters, swarming, battling
his
friends.

Horror blanketed him. The woman he'd lusted after had helped kill his best friend. The woman he'd thought to defend had helped snuff out the kindest soul he'd ever known. The woman he'd cradled at his side had destroyed the one man who'd stood between easily broken mortals and feral, foaming-at-the-mouth immortals still consumed by the evil of their new demons. The man who'd said, “Save the humans, do not hurt them.”

Baden had been the first to find himself in the darkness.
Baden had been the one to help the others do the same. Baden… Baden… Amun's chest constricted so painfully, the barest hint of a gasp left him. He hadn't made a single noise as the new demons had ravaged him, over and over again, but now he was helpless to hold the sound inside. Baden. Gone forever, because of this woman.

Each warrior had loved Baden like a brother, and each had felt as if they were his greatest confidant. That's where the true beauty of the man had lain. His ability to captivate everyone around him. Which had been a miracle, considering the nature of his demon, Distrust.

Now, Amun held one of Baden's killers in his hands. Cupped her temples as he'd once cupped Baden's.

“Are you okay?” Haidee asked him, all concern and sweetness. Her grip on him tightened.

His horror was followed by a quick burst of confusion. How was this possible? She'd died. Hadn't she? Yes. Yes.
She. Had. Died.
Hunters had used her as Bait—dressed her up like a pretty, helpless doll, sent her knocking on Baden's door, begging for help. She had lured him straight into slaughter. The rest of the Lords had arrived just before he'd lost his head; they'd attacked. But even if they had arrived a few minutes sooner, they would have been too late. All the pieces of the game had been set.

Amun remembered the blood, the screams. Remembered Strider victoriously lifting Haidee's head when the battle had finally ended, and like Baden, she'd been without a body. Not even an immortal could recover from that. Otherwise Baden, more alive than anyone he'd ever known, would have risen from the grave long ago. Instead, the man's soul was trapped somewhere in the heavens.

The horror intensified to a shattering level. Amun couldn't bear to remember. Not this. Because the longer he wallowed in the past, the more likely he was to lose his tether on the other deep, dark emotion buried inside him.
Rage. He would destroy the fortress in a way Maddox, keeper of Violence, never had, ruining their home stone by precious stone.

His hands fell away from Haidee and flopped to his sides. Her past faded, as did his own, and he could only stare at her, this present version, hate blending with his horror—then completely overshadowing it. Yet even with that earth-shattering hatred flooding him, the lust remained undiminished.

His body simply didn't care what she'd done.

The pink tip of her tongue swiped over her mouth, leaving a sheen of moisture. Dust motes sparkled around her, and with the pink streaks in her hair and the haze of his vision, she looked like an X-rated fairy-tale fantasy come to dazzling life. Her shirt hugged her breasts, and her nipples were pearled into decadent peaks. “What
was
that?” she breathed, unaware of the change in him.

What do you mean?
The question snapped like a whip, lashing out before he could reason what to do, how to proceed.

“The…memories. Of me as a child, then as me as an adult, on the veranda.”

She'd seen what he'd seen, then. That had never happened before, either. And yet, she made no mention of Baden—but then, Amun hadn't truly pictured his friend, had he? No, not true. He had. There'd been a split-second glimpse. She just hadn't noticed, then, the other memories holding her attention captive.

Therefore, she would have no warning, no way to prepare herself for his retaliation. And he would. Retaliate. He needed to punish her, needed to hurt her. So very badly.

Still she didn't seem to notice the darkness of his emotions. Gray eyes wide, she shook her head. “I've never
remembered the good parts of my lives. Those memories are always taken from me.”

Lives. As in, more than one. Had she been reborn more than once? Was she here to finish the job she'd started all those centuries ago? To cause the destruction of everyone he loved?

How had she gotten here? Why hadn't she tried to kill him already? Why did she treat him with such affection? He'd never had to wonder about someone's motivation before. He knew the truth, always. Knew what those around him most wanted to hide. This uncertainty was maddening, increasing the depths of his rage.

Answers first, he decided. Except, he had no idea how to urge her in that direction.

“Whatever you did…however you did it…” Wonder consumed her expression, lighting her up. “Thank you.” With a shaky hand, she brushed a budding tear from the corner of her eye. “
Thank you.
I knew I'd once had a sister, but I hadn't known what she looked like.”

And the other vision?
Could he trust a single word out of her deceitful mouth?

“I have an idea, but I'm not sure.” Slowly she smiled, a vibrant smile of white teeth and untamed joy. “Maybe…maybe when we're safe we can do this again? I can find out if I'm right.”

The smile he'd seen before, that barest hint of delight, should have warned him of the devastating impact a full-on smile would cause. It hadn't. He sucked in a breath, lost in her—and never wanting to be found. The gray of her eyes lightened so much he could see tiny flecks of blue. The rose in her cheeks deepened, his fingers itching to discover if the color warmed her flesh, or if those cheeks were as deliciously chilled as the rest of her.

He couldn't soften, he reminded himself darkly. Couldn't crave her in any way.

“What?” she asked, suddenly unsure. She'd finally noticed the change in him. “You've never looked at me like that before.”

How am I looking at you?
Like he wanted to stab her? He would. Soon. For Baden. For the others who still mourned the loss of their friend.

“Like I'm…edible.” She leaned down, her breasts rubbing his chest, her breath fanning over his ear. “I like it,” she whispered.

He could only sit there, wanting desperately to grab her, hold her there—to choke her, he assured himself—but unable to make his useless body cooperate. Then, as if she hadn't just sent a thousand bolts of white-hot need—to choke her—through him, she straightened, returning them to the business at hand.

“Okay. So. We can't leave yet, which means we have to prepare. Maybe…maybe we can blockade ourselves in here. That might buy us some time.”

Leave? She meant to leave with him? Without the artifacts she'd mentioned? Without trying to pry information out of him? That made no sense. Unless…

Prepare for what?
His execution?

“The Lords.” She popped to her feet and slowly spun. “I'll have to shut the door between the rooms.” As she spoke, she rushed to the wall. She hooked her fingers around the edge of the “door,” and pulled.

Scraaape.

Gradually, the hole closed. Haidee then shoved the dresser against the exit he hadn't known about, preventing anyone from opening it from the other side. Well, anyone of normal strength. She did the same to the front door, using his vanity.

Amun watched her, no closer to answers now than he'd been before traipsing through her head. Perhaps even fur
ther away. She was serious about protecting him. Despite who and what he was.

“If you continue to heal so rapidly, and they continue to stay away, we might be able to fight them when they finally bust inside. We can escape. And I know, I know. Our motto is ‘die if you must, but take as many Lords as you can with you.' And I was totally prepared to do that when I thought you couldn't be moved. But sometimes it's better to get out and come back later, you know?”

You hate the Lords?
he asked, just to discover what she'd say.

“Hate is a mild word, don't you think?” She never ceased her efforts to blockade them.

She had told the truth. Shocking.
Why?

“I have my reasons, and you have yours.” She attempted to wrench the mirror from the vanity. Hoping to shatter the glass and use the shards as blades? “We don't talk about them, remember?”

No. I don't remember.
Now, what would she say to that?

Finally she paused, her sharp gaze whipping to him. “You don't remember our past?”

She thought they had a past.
No. Should I?
Carefully, he had to tread carefully.

Her eyelids slitted, evidence of the predator that lurked inside. “I swear to God, baby. I'll make them pay for every injury they inflicted on you.”

Baby again. And she meant to seek revenge on his behalf? He still couldn't, wouldn't, soften, but something was wrong here. The knowledge changed the direction of his rage. She wasn't pretending to like him; she actually liked him. And when Amun looked past his own emotions, he realized Secrets sensed no malice in her. Not directed at him, at least. And even as unreliable as the demon had
been since Amun had woken up, he found he couldn't refute that.

Haidee's fingers curled over the mirror's frame so tightly her knuckles leached of color. After a few seconds of deep breathing, she released the wood and straightened.

What are you doing?
he asked.

“We need weapons.” Her gaze circled the room—she did that a lot, he realized, and thought it was a defensive instinct—before landing on his closet.

She strode forward, disappeared inside. He had multiple weapons stashed inside, but he knew she wouldn't find them. No one could hide things quite like Amun. What he wanted to remain unseen, remained unseen. Soon she exited with one of his shirts wrapped around her fist, and that was all. Still, satisfaction radiated from her. Barely a second passed before she reached the mirror and punched, punched again, a hard
jab, jab.

“They have a whole wardrobe in there,” she said. “This room must belong to one of them.” The glass shattered against that second thrust, and she released the material from her grip, letting it float to the floor.

One of them,
she'd said. As he'd suspected, she hefted several shards, tested their weight, turned them in the light. With a nod, she sheathed several in her pockets.

Haidee.

She jolted as if startled. “I'm sorry. Yes?”

Who…am I?

“You don't know your name, either?” A frown darkened her expression. “Your name is Micah. We've been dating for about seven months.”

Micah, like the tattoo on her arm. Micah, her “baby.” That's who she thought he was?
And I'm a Hunter?

“Yes.”

Like you?

“Yes.” So easily admitted, without a care. Unless she
was a grade A actress capable of fooling a demon, she truly believed what she said, that
he
was Micah, a Hunter.

Knots formed in Amun's stomach, then sharpened into daggers, cutting at him. So there it was. Proof, by her own admission, that she was his enemy. He needed to kill her before she discovered the truth about him.
Before
she thought to fight him, to hurt him when he couldn't really defend himself.

And as she'd just locked them inside this room, effectively trapping herself in his presence, all he had to do was summon her over, wrap his hands around her pretty neck, choke as he'd already wanted, and twist. He might be weak, the action might pain him, but he wouldn't back down. He couldn't.