The Darkest Secret

“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 further 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.

Haidee, he projected to her, the word a croak, even in his mind.

“Yes?”

Don’t do it, part of him cried. She was sweet and lovely and utterly luscious.

Secrets might even have whimpered, eager to return to her mind and play rather than destroy.

The other part of Amun recalled her past deeds, her current motto. “Die if you must, but take as many Lords as you can with you.” The moment she realized he wasn’t this Micah—Amun’s hands fisted, how he despised the bastard … for no other reason than he was a Hunter—she would attack. There would be no stopping her if he failed to act. And fast.

Determined, he lifted his chin. Come here.

CHAPTER FIVE

PANTING FROM EXERTION, those drugs still playing havoc with her body, Haidee strode to the bed. She placed a sharp glass shard on the nightstand, within Micah’s reach, then stuffed one under his pillow. Never hurt to have two weapons at your disposal, rather than one.

Then she searched the nightstand, surprised she hadn’t thought to do so before. She found all kinds of goodies inside. Toothpaste, a toothbrush, mouthwash, antibiotic ointment, bandages and wet wipes. None of which made sense. Or had the Lords wished to torment Micah with what he couldn’t have or use?

Well, she would show them! She made use of the wash and wet wipes and helped Micah do the same, cleaning them from top to bottom, even intimately, which left her blushing—hello, big boy—then applied the ointment to his wrists as gently as she was able.

He watched her, silent, his dark eyes intent but unreadable. She hated that he didn’t remember her or their relationship. Not that there was a lot to remember, but months ago they’d reached an understanding. They’d get to know each other before they had sex, but they’d get to know each other without discussing their pasts; they’d also vowed that no matter what, they wouldn’t see other people.

Why had he agreed to that? she wondered now. At the time, she’d thought he respected her, hoped to ease her skittish nature. But had she not had those visions, she wouldn’t have agreed to such an arrangement. Because with the restrictions laid bare like that, she realized they hadn’t had a relationship. They’d had a tolerance.

That would change, she vowed. He’d come after her, fought to get to her and endured horrendous torture on her behalf. He deserved everything she had to give. So, she would give.

When she finished, she put everything back inside the drawer. “Now. The shards will cut your hand if you use them,” she said, easing beside him, “and with as much blood as you’ve already lost.” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to remind him of his frailty. He was a warrior to his soul and might think to prove his strength if she pressed too forcefully. “What I’m saying is, only use them if absolutely necessary. Okay?”

He might be healing physically, and at an astonishing rate she couldn’t explain, but her worry for him hadn’t faded. He’d been savaged and mind-fucked in the most terrible way. He would be a different man now. Was already showing signs of change.

He’d always been an intense man, and that intensity had deepened and darkened over the past few months, frightening everyone around him. Moods had blackened around him before he’d ever spoken a word. Even hers. Now, he was just as intense, but the darkness had faded. He actually lightened her mood.

Before, the thought of sleeping with him had disturbed her. She’d felt as if she would be cheating herself of … something. The sizzle, she supposed.

And maybe if she’d felt that sizzle she would have felt comfortable discussing her past with him. She’d never told him that she’d lived before, that she’d died before. She’d never told him what happened to her after she died. That she’d lived far longer than her seemingly twenty-odd years. That she’d had hundreds of lives but couldn’t recall any detail that didn’t involve blood, pain and death. That she’d tattooed herself so that she would have some link to the good things that had happened to her.

To her knowledge, she’d never told anyone.

One, she didn’t trust people. Ever. Not even Micah, not fully. Two, when your business involved killing anyone with a supernatural ability—because that ability could mean possible demon contamination—you didn’t admit to having a supernatural ability of your own. And three, the less people knew about her, the easier it was to return from the dead as someone else.

Yet, she thought she might like confessing all her secrets to this man. Even though he was more distant than ever—such clipped responses to her every word. Even though he was harder than she’d ever seen him—he’d endured so much, yet he barely seemed to notice his pain. They were connected in a way they’d never been before, and he’d been so gentle with her. More than that, she felt safe with him. And desired.