The Darkest Secret

The proof of her crimes rested in her eyes. Those wintry, callous gray eyes. In the pride that dripped from her voice every time she spoke of that fateful night—I just loved the way his head rolled. Didn’t you?—and the stark tattoos etched into her back. Tattoos that kept score. Haidee 1. Lords 4.

She deserved everything he and Sabin would do to her.

“I’m taking her to the dungeon,” he said, and he’d never heard such a combination of relish and regret in his own voice before. Once again he started forward, throwing over his shoulder, “If you’d be a sweetheart and let Doubty-Poo know …”

“No can do, Stridey-man. There’s, uh, something you gotta see.” A blast of fear mixed with dread and grim expectation accompanied the words.

Strider halted, one foot raised midair. He straightened, still-sleeping baggage nearly sliding to the ground. Slowly he turned, adjusting Ex, and faced Torin, his own sense of dread sprouting as he spied his friend’s now pallid skin. White dusted with tiny rivers of blue. “You said everything was fine. What’s wrong?”

Torin shook his head. “No way to explain until you’ve seen. And I said everything was fine for the most part. Now come on.”

“The girl—”

“Bring her. She’ll be guarded, you’ll see.” A wave of

Torin’s hand, and he was racing up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Dread increasing, Strider followed, Ex bouncing on his shoulder. If she’d been awake, she would have lost her breath, over and over again, grunting from the pain of having her stomach repeatedly slammed into his bone. She also would have fought him with a skill matched by few.

Too bad the drugs had been so potent. A good fight would have settled his nerves.

What was so important that Torin didn’t want him taking a few minutes to lock an abominable Hunter away?

His thoughts splintered the moment he hit the landing.

All he could do was gape. Angels. So many angels. No wonder the house had been redecorated. Divine intervention and all that. Angels did like them some pretties.

They stood along the wall, the only space between them filled by the arch of their wings. White feathers laced with gold, the wings of warriors. Their scents perfumed the air, a collage of orchids, morning dew, chocolate and champagne. They ranged in height, though none were shorter than six foot three, and though they wore girly white robes, their muscle mass rivaled Strider’s.

Most were male, but all were demon assassins trained to hunt, to destroy, and when warranted, to protect. Since they didn’t rush at him, ripping swords of fire from the air, as he knew they were very capable of doing, he assumed they were here for the latter.

He studied them, searching for answers. Twenty-three in total, but not one of them glanced in his direction. They kept their eyes straight ahead, their stances taut, their hands anchored behind their backs. Not a sound did they make. Not even the rasp of breath.

Physically, they … entranced him. And yeah, it was embarrassing as hell to admit that, even to himself. But the sheer magnetism of them was stunning. Hypnotic. A drug for his eyes.

They possessed all different shades of hair. From the darkest of midnight to the palest of snow, but his favorite was the gold. So pure, so fluid, a king’s ransom that had been melted and mixed with the dazzle of summer sun. Rich, vibrant. Almost … alive. No way he’d be teasing any of them about such prissy locks, though.

They might not be attacking him, might not even be looking at him, but death radiated from them.

Someone cleared his throat.

Strider blinked, Torin coming back into focus. His friend occupied the center of the hallway. Probably had the entire time, only Strider had lost sight of anything but the angels the moment he’d spied them. Yep. Em-bar-rass-ing.

“Why?” was all he asked.

Torin understood. “Aeron and William took Amun into hell on a rescue mission. And yeah, they got Legion out of there. She’s alive, healing, but Amun.”

Strider filled in the rest and wanted to punch a hole in the wall. The keeper of Secrets had new voices in his head.

He’d been with Amun for thousands upon thousands of years. Eons, what seemed countless millennia. He knew the warrior’s demon absorbed the darkest thoughts and deepest mysteries of anyone nearby. Things long buried, horrific, gruesome. Unwanted, humiliating. Soul-changing. And if Amun had been in hell, where demons roamed in their purest form, his head was now churning with all kinds of evil. Malevolent whispers, wicked images, both drowning the essence of who he was.

Or rather, who he’d been.

“The angels?” Strider gritted out. Yeah, he knew it was rude to discuss the beings as if they weren’t there, but he simply didn’t give a shit. He didn’t love many people, but he loved the other demon-possessed residents of this fortress. Even more than he loved himself, and that was a whole hell of a lot.

“They wanted to kill him, but—”

“Fuck no!” he roared. Anyone touched his friend, and they’d lose their hands—followed by their limbs, their organs and, when he tired of torturing them, their lives.

He hefted Ex off his shoulder and into his arms before easing her to the floor and stalking forward, already reaching for a blade.

Defeat sensed his need to destroy and laughed. Win!

“Stop.” Torin raised his arm to ward him off, even as he backtracked to maintain distance. “Let me finish, damn it! They wanted to kill him, were supposed to kill him, but they haven’t. Won’t.”

Yet hung in the air like a noose around his neck. Strider chose to ignore that noose—for the moment—and stopped, already panting and sweating with the force of his instant and white-hot rage.

Win? his demon whined.

No challenge has been issued. Therefore, he could back off without consequences.

Oh, he thought he heard, a whole lot of disappointment in the undertone.

“Why are they here, then?” he snapped, demanding an answer now. Or else.

Green eyes grew shadowed as Torin shifted from one foot to the other. His mouth opened and closed, the right explanation eluding him perhaps. “Amun didn’t just absorb new memories. He absorbed demon minions. Hundreds of them.”

“How? How the fuck is that possible? I’ve lived with him for centuries, and he’s never absorbed my demon.”

“Nor mine. But ours are High Lords who can bind themselves to humans. Those were mere underlings, and as you know, they can only bind themselves to, what? High Lords. Which they did, to his. He’s … tainted now, a danger far worse than the brush of my skin. The angels are guarding him. Limiting the contact he has with others, ensuring he doesn’t leave and … hurt. Himself, humans.”

Strider scowled. Amun rarely spoke, containing the secrets he unwittingly stole inside himself so that no one else would have to deal with them, fear them or be sickened by them. A grueling burden few could carry. Yet he did it because there was no one more concerned with the well-being of those around him. So, a danger? No. Strider refused to believe it.

“Explain better,” he commanded, offering Torin another chance to convince him.

Since they’d reunited a few months ago after centuries apart, he knew Torin was used to his smiles and jokes, but Disease didn’t flinch at Strider’s new vehemence. “Evil seeps from him. Just going into his room, you’ll feel its sticky gloom. You’ll crave things.” He shuddered. “Bad things. And you won’t be able to simply wish the disgusting desires away. They’ll cling to you for days.”

Strider still didn’t care and still wouldn’t believe it. “I want to see him.”

Only the slightest hesitation, as if the decree had been expected, then Torin nodded. “But the girl.” His words trailed off.

Behind him, there was a rustle of clothing, a feminine moan. Strider whipped around in time to see one of the angels lifting Ex into his arms and carrying her toward the unclaimed bedroom next to Amun’s.

He almost rushed forward and ripped her away from the heavenly creature. He’d dealt with an angel before—Lysander, leader of these warriors and the worst of the worst when it came to do-gooders—and knew such beings wouldn’t understand the depths of his hatred for the woman. They would see Haidee as an innocent human in need of sweet, tender care. But Amun was far more important than any Hunter’s treatment, so Strider remained in place.

“Just so you know, she’s worse than a demon,” he said, a lethal edge sharpening the truth in his tone. “So if you want to protect your charges, you’ll guard her like you’re guarding Amun. But don’t kill her,” he added before he could stop himself. Not that they would have. Still. A guy had to state his wants up front, so there would be no confusion later. “She has … information we need.”

The angel paused in his stride, head turning to Strider with unerring precision. Like Torin, his eyes were green. Unlike Torin, there were no shadows in them. Only clear, bright flames, crackling, intense … ready to strike like a bolt of lightning.