The Darkest Lie (Lords of the Underworld #6)(82)
Author: Gena Showalter

That…bitch! Somehow, she’d stolen it. Just like with the rope, he had no idea how she’d done it. He only knew he had to catch her. Before she reached her boyfriend.

SO LOUD…so terrible. Amun was somehow on his feet, gripping a blade. William and Aeron were on each of his sides, pinning him in to protect him. A new horde of demons surrounded them—they’d already fought the first and second lines of defense—some small, some big, but all of them determined. Their thoughts…totally focused on blood and pain and death.

Taste, they thought. Hurt. Kill. They swiped at the warriors with their claws, biting at them with poisoned fangs, kicking and hitting, laughing and taunting.The battle itself had been raging for hours. Maybe days. Perhaps years. Each man was exhausted, cut, bleeding, shaking, at the edge, probably in agonizing pain, and every time they killed a demon, three more took its place. But they refused to give up.

Amun tried to help them, but every time he moved, every time he reached out to slash one of the creatures, a new voice entered his mind and grew in volume, new images flashing inside his head—rapes, more tortures, more killings—nearly driving him to his knees.

Through it all, Lucifer sat upon his throne, watching, grinning, Legion at his feet. Every so often, he would pet her head as if she were a favored dog. And when she would try and rise, desperate to help Aeron, the prince of darkness would dig his claws into her scalp and hold her down until she whimpered her surrender, blood trekking down her temples.

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” Aeron gritted out.

“Arm…hanging…by…thread,” William replied. He wasn’t exaggerating, either.

Must help them, Amun thought. The air was hot, draining what little remained of his strength. And the smoke…gods, all he wanted to do was cough. Cough until he finally hacked up enough intestine to die.

Although, that might not be necessary. The scent of death clung to every inhalation, stinging his nostrils, promising a reckoning. Very, very soon.

Push through. Ignore the voice, the images. Only reason the two warriors were still standing, despite the poison probably working through them from those demon bites, was that they’d drunk the rest of the Water of Life.

If this didn’t end soon, the water would lose its potency and nothing would save them.

Can’t let them die. Him, yeah. He welcomed an end. But not his friends. Never his friends. With a roar, Amun raised his arm, blade at the ready. And yes, the voices and images grew in intensity, but he didn’t let either stop him this time. He plowed forward, out of the protective embrace of his friends, and slashed. Slashed and slashed and slashed. Demon after demon fell, grunting, groaning, bleeding at his feet.

By the time he reached the center of them, he was dripping with their fluids, his eyes burning, his mouth filled with the taste of rot, but still he didn’t stop. And soon, he didn’t want to stop. The images…yes, he wanted to kill. He wanted to maim.

He cut off a demon’s arm and grinned. He snapped a demon’s leg in two and laughed. He removed eyeballs, tongues, even private parts, and laughed all the harder. This. Was. Fun.

Fear sparked in their crimson eyes, and they were soon backing away from him. But he was having none of that. Needed more. Was excited. Was imagining all the things he could do to them. They’d scream, they’d beg, they’d bleed. Yes. Fun.

“Stop him!” Lucifer shouted, no longer relaxed. “Take his head.”

“How about we take your head instead?” a new voice proclaimed. “It will look very nice in my trophy case.”

Amun recognized that voice, knew it belonged to someone he admired, but didn’t take time to look at the speaker. So many targets, just waiting for his blade. He sliced a throat, stabbed a heart, felt a warm splatter on his face and licked it away. Delicious.

“Lysander,” Lucifer hissed.

“Oh, Aeron,” a female shouted. “My poor darling. You’re falling apart.”

“Olivia! Get out of here. Go! You shouldn’t see this.”

“Not without you. And if you had any idea what I had to do to convince the Heavenly High Council to send an army down here, you would be begging my forgiveness for leaving me behind and then thanking me profusely for coming to your aid.”

The angels had arrived, Amun thought distantly. He probably should have been happy about that, but the demons around him flew from the chamber, screaming, leaving him with no one else to kill. Or take. That was not fun.

Scowling, he whipped around. Saw the army of white-robed angels forming a half circle around Lucifer. Saw the prince of darkness hissing at them as he, too, tried to flee. One of those angels held a sobbing Legion, one a nearly unconscious William, and Olivia had her arms wrapped around a trembling Aeron.

If Amun couldn’t kill demons, he supposed he could kill angels. Yes. Yes, he thought, he could. He smiled. They might even be better targets. They would scream louder, fall harder, hurt easier.

Grinning now, he launched forward, blade raised…swiping down…about to nail one of the winged bastards in the back. Fun, fun, fun. But a hard hand locked around his wrist, stopping him.

Amun roared out his fury. He hadn’t spoken in a while, and his vocal cords were raw, the sound they created raspy.

“What are you doing, Secrets?” Lysander demanded, shaking him. “These are my people, come to help you. You do not attack them. Ever.”

Again, Amun roared. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the weakened Aeron tried to pull from Olivia’s grip. “Let him go, Lysander. He isn’t himself.”

“Aeron, stop,” Olivia said, wings wrapped around him to bind him closer to her. “Look at Amun’s eyes. He’s fully demon now. Stay away from him or he might infect you, too.”

Infect? Amun had never felt better. Had never enjoyed himself more. His friends would be lucky to experience this.

“Just let me talk to him,” Aeron pleaded. “He’s like this because of me.”

“Talk alone won’t suffice,” Lysander said, dark eyes swirling, practically peering into Amun’s dark soul. His voice was calm, hypnotic. “Will it, demon?”

Amun wrenched himself free and swiped at the angel, startled to find a demon’s arm cradled within his grasp. When had he ripped it off? Lysander expected the blow, however, and blocked it with one hand; with the other he created a fiery sword out of thin air.

“No!” Aeron and William shouted in unison.