The Darkest Torment

“Was going to...use them to find you...but they attacked...had to...put down.”

Her gaze homed in on the bite marks that littered his arms. Marks he’d been without yesterday. The dogs must have smelled her scent on his clothing—smelled her desperation—and acted out to protect her. To save her. And he’d killed them for it.

Rage bubbled over, spilling through her. She hammered her fists into his ugly, wretched, despised face. He was too weak to dodge her and couldn’t shield himself from the blows, could only sit there and take what she dished out. His teeth scraped her knuckles, and his bones cracked hers, but she didn’t care, couldn’t stop, would never stop. Her babies...dead...gone forever.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist and wrenched her from Alek. “Enough, Katarina. You’ve hurt yourself.”

Baden’s calm voice only made her more furious.

“Hate you!” she spat at Alek, then at Baden. He’d absconded with her. If he’d left her behind, if he’d allowed her to remain with her despicable husband, the dogs would still be alive. “Hate you so much!” Using her captor as a pulley, she kicked out her legs, nailing Alek in the face. “Odjebat! You are horrible men! Horrible! And yet you live and they...they...”

Baden carried her around the desk, out of striking distance.

“Let me go!” She fought him with all of her strength, scratching his arms, punching, kicking. “Don’t you dare whisk me—”

The bunker vanished, a bedroom quickly taking shape around her.

She wrenched free and tried to orient herself. Little details hit her awareness. Masculine furnishings. A massive sleigh bed with a dark brown comforter. Aged stone walls, like those she’d seen when her family toured the abandoned castles in Romania and Budapest—when life was wondrous, happiness the norm. Wrought-iron sconces and a cracked marble fireplace boasting hand-carved roses.

Another prison? Well, this one was well earned. She hadn’t protected her babies. When they’d needed her most, she’d failed them. They’d died in pain, alone and afraid, after she’d promised to always protect them.

Guilt and sorrow joined the rage, leaching what remained of her strength, and her knees crumpled. She would have crashed into the floor if Baden hadn’t caught her and eased her down.

She kicked him. “Panchart! Don’t you dare touch me.” She’d tried to scream the words at him, but the lump in her throat caused her to whisper. “I hate you.”

He straightened and held up his gloved hands in a sign of surrender. A lie! This male never surrendered.

“Hate you,” she repeated. The toxic mix of emotions wrapped her in a cold embrace. She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry so badly. The dogs deserved her tears, but there was no telltale burn in her eyes.

Baden rubbed the spot just above his heart. “You lost loved ones?”

For the first time in their acquaintance, there was a note of gentleness in his voice. A note she resented. Where had this softer side been as she’d begged him to let her search Alek’s homes?

“Katarina,” he prompted, still gentle.

“My dogs, the most precious fur babies ever born, are dead. Gone.” She didn’t even have pictures of them. The fire had destroyed physical copies, and Alek and Dominik had crashed her website. “They were murdered. And you are the man who prevented me from saving them. Does that please you and your beast?”

“No. I’m sorry, Katarina.” He crouched beside her and reached out, running a fingertip along the corner of her eye. Was he searching for a teardrop?

“Save your sorry and get out of my face, kretén.”

“Had I known—”

“Get out!”

He blanched, but stubborn bastard that he was, he remained in place.

The protective sheath around her heart suddenly cracked, all the rage, guilt and sorrow spewing out; the emotions became a gale force she couldn’t fight, destroying her.

She curled into a ball, shaking so forcefully her muscles soon gave out, her bones as limp as noodles. She hated anyone— especially this man—seeing her in such a helpless state, but she no longer cared to maintain a brave face.

“Katarina.” He reached for her again. “I need to—”

She rolled away, done with him, done with the conversation—done with life.

* * *

Besieged by helplessness, Baden plowed a hand through his hair. Katarina loved her dogs the way he loved his friends. All-encompassing. Never-ending. Nothing held back. He had no doubts about that. Even without a flood of tears, so much sadness and misery radiated from her, she rivaled Cameo.

In an attempt to save her dogs, Katarina had sacrificed her happiness and her future. And, during Baden’s short acquaintance with her, he’d repeatedly mocked her for it. He’d sneered at her and insulted her. His actions had even spurred Aleksander’s, leading to the untimely deaths of the animals.

She hated Aleksander, and she hated Baden. She had every right.

She’s just a means to an end. I don’t need her admiration.

But there was an ache in his chest now. One he couldn’t shake. He knew the horror of losing loved ones, of feeling as if you’d been dropped in the middle of an ocean during a turbulent storm, wave after wave crashing over you, rocks scraping you; again and again you swallowed too much water, but still you fought to breathe, to rise. The moment you breached the surface, hoping you were in the clear, you were swept under again.

How many centuries had passed before he’d stopped missing his friends? Trick question. He’d never stopped.

Far too vividly he remembered the centuries he’d been imprisoned, the rats his only friends. He’d adored those rats...had cried when he’d had to eat them to survive.

Survival before sentiment.

No, no. The rats...not Baden’s memory but Destruction’s.

With a grunt, Baden pulled at his hair. “You’ll be safe here, Katarina. You have my word.” He owed her, and he would pay his debt.

The beast began to utter a protest, only to quiet. The girl’s misery touched a chord in them both.

Silence met his pronouncement, somehow worse than a torrent of curses.

He’d brought Katarina to the fortress in Budapest. The other women would care for her, hopefully soothing her as they’d so often tried to soothe him; the men would guard her from any and every danger while Baden saw to Aleksander’s punishment. For killing the dogs, he would lose his eyes. To start.

Anticipation...

Suddenly the wreaths began to warm. Baden glanced down as a soft red glow pulsed from the metal.

Another summons from Hades.

Knowing what was coming, he raced to the door, shouting, “Maddox. Ashlyn. Anyone! Do not harm the—”

The fortress vanished, and the throne room materialized. Hades was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the siren. Instead, a black tornado swirled over the bottom step of the royal dais, a thousand screams assaulting Baden’s ears.

The tornado slowed...stopped, the wealth of black shadows thinning. Hades appeared in the center, standing over what might have been a body, the flesh and muscle picked off, the bone pitted. A bloody heart rested in his hand. He’d ditched the suit and tie in favor of a black T-shirt and leather pants, chains wrapped around both of his wrists.

From business formal to punk rock. The man was a chameleon.

Destruction played the quiet game, just as before, irritating Baden. “What do you want?”