The Darkest Lie (Lords of the Underworld #6)(20)
Author: Gena Showalter

An erotic dream, then.

“Who is this?”

Galen. Leader of Hunters. Keeper of Hope.

Galen. She scowled. The warrior had led his army against the Lords because they were demon-possessed, and yet Galen himself carried a demon. The contradiction was baffling, but it didn’t surprise her.

Galen had always struck her as more snake than man. A few times, he’d helped Gideon bring a prisoner into Tartarus, and he’d been all smiles while Gideon faced him, but the moment Gideon had turned away, Galen’s glower had bored into his back.

When Gideon had told her that he’d found a way to curry the gods’ favor thanks to his pal Galen, and that for his reward, he would request her freedom, she had begged him not to do it, whatever he planned. Of course, he hadn’t listened. He’d been too assured, too hopeful, of his success.

She’d wanted to “thank” Galen for his part in Gideon’s failure for a long, long time, but hadn’t allowed herself to do so. That would have helped Gideon, and she hadn’t wanted to do that, either.

Now, however, with that necklace burning against her chest, she no longer minded the prospect quite so much.

Ready?

Slowly she grinned. “Let’s do this.”

They stepped through the entrance, a phantom unseen by the dreamer, and suddenly Scarlet was viewing the evidence of what she’d heard. Galen was tall and muscled, with blond hair and blue eyes. Eyes that were peering down at a beautiful, pale-haired female. A female he had anchored against a bathroom sink, his majestic white wings outstretched, enclosing her in a feathered haven.

The woman’s shirt was pushed to her chin, bearing her large—really large—breasts. He feasted on them eagerly. Her pants were around her ankles as Galen pounded inside her, hips shifting to produce maximum pleasure.

His pants were merely opened at the waist, so Scarlet saw very little of him. Too bad. She could have taunted Gideon with the size of his enemy’s c**k and the hardness of his ass.

So many fears, Nightmares said with awe.

“Tell me.” She spoke aloud, knowing dream Galen couldn’t hear her unless she wanted him to.

Being alone. Being defeated. Helpless. Ineffective. Overlooked. Forgotten. Dead.

Weird. He carried the demon of Hope. Shouldn’t he be more optimistic? No matter. Scarlet walked through the dream bathroom, Galen as oblivious to her presence as he was to her voice, and allowed Nightmares to re-paint the scene.

“Make him sorry he was ever created.”

My pleasure.

Suddenly, the writhing, moaning girl became a man. A human.

Galen stopped pounding. Even yelped and jumped away, wings shuddering with the movement.

Scarlet laughed. Oh, this was going to be fun. “More.”

The bathroom was replaced by a long, dark tunnel, and the human disappeared. Galen spun, wild gaze searching his new surroundings, the tips of those wings grazing the walls and scratching.

“What’s going on?” he rasped. “Where am I?”

His words echoed, but that was it, the only sound. Desperate for answers, he kicked into gear, racing forward. The tunnel stretched forever, no end in sight. His panic doubled, tripled, hot breath rasping from him and sweat pouring from his body.

Delicious. Nightmares laughed. Tastes so good.

“More,” she said again.

Do you want the honors?

Sharing was caring, she thought. “Yes. Please.”

Lead him to the edge, and I’ll show him what might one day happen to him. Oh, his fear…none of the others will compare.

Scarlet allowed herself to materialize, though she didn’t show the formidable warrior what she truly looked like. The image she projected was one of a little girl she’d met inside Tartarus. For the single day the child had been allowed inside a cell. A little girl named Fate.

Everyone had been frightened of her, because everything Fate had spoken had come true. Everything. That’s why the Greeks had so quickly put her to death, the poor thing.

But for that one day, she had been Scarlet’s friend.

“If you believe what you see, you’ll lose your husband,” Fate had told her during their only conversation.

Of course Scarlet had believed what she’d seen—Gideon’s absence—so of course Scarlet had lost him.

Many, many years had passed. Perhaps Galen would recognize Fate, perhaps not. Either way…let the games begin.

As Fate, Scarlet wore a robe streaked with dirt, had big blue eyes, so innocent, and a mouth forever dipped in sadness. Red hair hung in tangles all the way to her ankles.

She appeared a few feet in front of him. “Come,” she said gently, and held out her small, mud-caked hand. “You must see what awaits you.”

He tripped over his own feet but stopped before he hit her, still panting, still sweating. “Who are you?”

As forgetful as Gideon, then. But sometimes ignorance served her best. What people imagined was often far worse than anything she could tell them.

“Come,” she repeated. “You must see.”

“I— Yes. All right.” Galen shakily placed his palm against hers.

Down the corridor she ushered him, Nightmares practically jumping around in her head. Finally, because she willed it, a light appeared, and the significance of that light was not lost on him. Once again, his fear spiked.

He even tried to pull away from her, but she tightened her grip, stronger than she appeared. “You must see,” she told him. “You must know.”

They reached the light, which just happened to be a cliff ledge that overlooked a battlefield. On that battlefield was man after man, woman after woman, an ocean of death and destruction, for each body was bloody, motionless. And on each of their wrists was a tattoo of infinity. The mark of the Hunter.

There, in the center, was Galen. He was still standing, though he, too, was bloody and wounded. His white-feathered wings were outstretched but clearly broken. His strength was drained, his knocking knees threatening to give out.

“No. No!” Beside her, a shaking dream Galen did drop to his knees, dust pluming around him.

On the battlefield, Gideon strode toward him, as menacing as ever. His blue hair danced around his face in the strong wind, and his piercings gleamed in the sunlight. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth where his lip ring had been ripped out. In one hand, he gripped a long, sharp sword. In the other, he clutched a gun.

Laughing, he pointed the latter at Galen and fired. The leader of the Hunters flew backward, landing on his ass, unable to rise as Gideon continued to bear down on him.