The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(12)
Author: Gena Showalter

He lost his grin and frowned down at her. "You hit me." There was surprise in his tone.

She slapped him again. "Let. Me. Go!"

His frown deepened. He rubbed his cheek with one hand and held her still with the other. "Women do not hit me. Women love me."

She raised her palm, ready to deliver another blow.

Sighing, he said, "Fine. Go. Maddox’s screams have stopped. I doubt you can upset him now, dead as he surely is." His arm fell away from her.

Ashlyn didn’t give him time to change his mind. Suddenly free, she leapt into motion, racing down the hall despite the pain in her ankle. When she entered the room and saw the blood-soaked bed and motionless body, she skidded to an abrupt halt.

Dear God.

Maddox’s eyes were closed; his chest was utterly still.

A sob burst from her, and she covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Red-hot tears filled her eyes. "They killed you." She raced to the bed and cupped Maddox’s jaw in her hands, tilting slowly. His eyelids didn’t flicker open. Breath didn’t seep from his nose. His skin was already cold and pale from loss of blood.

She was too late.

How could someone so strong and vital have been destroyed so callously?

"Who is she?" someone said.

Startled, she turned. Maddox’s murderers stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves. How could she have forgotten them? Every few seconds, they glanced in her direction. None of them spoke directly to her. They continued their conversation as if she didn’t matter. As if Maddox didn’t matter.

"We should take her to the city, but she’s seen too much," a harsh voice said. The coldest, most uncaring voice she’d ever heard. "What was Maddox thinking?"

"All this time, I’ve lived with him and I never knew what he suffered," an angelic-looking blond with green eyes said quietly. He was dressed entirely in black and wore gloves that stretched to his biceps. "Is it always like this?"

"Not always, no," the one who had wielded the sword said. "He’s usually more accepting." His black gaze was hard, his tone tormented. "The woman…"

Murderer! Ashlyn inwardly cried, wanting to attack him. All her life, her ability had revealed more bad than good, forcing her to listen to centuries of hateful accusations and even shrieks of terror. And the one man who’d given her any measure of peace, they’d brutally slain.

Do something, Darrow. She scrubbed her burning eyes with the back of her wrist and straightened to shaky legs. What could she do? They outnumbered her. They were stronger than she was.

An extremely tattooed man frowned over at her. He had military-cropped brown hair, two eyebrow rings and soft, full lips. He also had more muscles than a world champion power-lifter. He would have been handsome – in a serial-killer kind of way – if not for those tattoos.

Even his cheeks were painted with violent images of war and weapons.

His eyes were the same shade of violet as Maddox’s, but they lacked any hint of warmth or emotion. Blood dripped down his nose as he rubbed his chin with two fingers. "We have to do something with the girl." That cold, emotionless voice again. "I don’t like her being here."

"Even so, Aeron, we aren’t to touch her." This speaker had inky hair that was like a dark halo around his head and different-colored eyes – one brown, one blue. His face was a mass of scars. At first glance, he was hideous. At second, there was an almost hypnotic quality to him, enhanced by the scent of roses drifting from him. "Tomorrow morning she’ll be in the same condition she is now. Breathing and clothed."

"Just like Maddox, taking away our fun."

The wry voice came from behind her and she yelped, spinning. The beautiful pale-skinned man stood in the doorway. He watched her, hunger in his eyes, as if he were picturing her naked and liked what he saw.

A tremor started at the top of her head and worked its way down, all the way to her toes. Bastards, every one of them! Her feral gaze scanned the room and narrowed on the bloody sword that had been carelessly tossed onto the floor. The very sword that had sliced through Maddox as if he were nothing more than a thin layer of silk.

"I want to know who she is," the cold, tattooed one – Aeron – said. "And I want to know why Maddox brought her here. He knows the rules."

"She must have been one of the humans on the hill," the angel said, "but that still doesn’t explain why he brought her into our midst."

She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt on the verge of a total breakdown. I should have listened to McIntosh. Demons did live here.

"Well?" Aeron prompted. "What do we do with her?"

Each of the men faced her again, and Ashlyn dove for the blade. Her fingers curled around the hilt and she straightened, pointing the tip in their direction. The sword was heavier than she’d thought and her arms instantly began to shake under its weight, but she held firm.

Her companions merely regarded her with curiosity. Their lack of fear didn’t faze her. Though she’d only known Maddox a short while, there was something wild inside her that mourned his loss and demanded she avenge his death.

Maddox. His name whispered through her mind. He was gone. Forever. Her stomach clenched painfully. "I should kill you, all of you. He was innocent."

"Innocent?" someone scoffed.

"She wants to kill us. Hunters have come for us, then," Aeron said with disgust.

"A Hunter would not call Maddox innocent. Even in jest."

"Bait would not be above it. Remember, every word out of their mouths was a lie, though their faces were always guileless."

"I watched Maddox slay four men on my monitor, which he wouldn’t have done if they had been innocent. And I doubt a coincidence brought a guiltless female to the forest at the exact same time."

"Think she has any skill with a sword?"

Snort. "Of course not. Look how she’s holding it."

"Brave little thing, though."

Ashlyn gaped at them, hardly able to keep up with the conversation. "Does no one care that a man was murdered here? That you were the ones who murdered him?"

The black-clothed angel laughed, actually laughed, but there was anguish in his green eyes. "Believe me. Maddox will thank us in the morning."

"If he doesn’t kill us for being here in the first place," someone retorted.

To her astonishment, several of the men chuckled. All shook their heads in hearty agreement. Only the one who had rendered the fatal wounds remained silent. He continued to stare at Maddox’s body, his expression wracked with agony and guilt. Good. She wanted him to suffer for what he’d done.