The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(20)
Author: Gena Showalter

Her comfort doesn’t matter. He wasn’t sure who the thought came from – the demon or himself. He only knew it was a lie.

"Bathe, change and eat," he forced himself to say. "No one will bother you." He paused. "Is there anything else you might require?"

She walked around him in a wide half circle, turning to face him almost immediately, as if she didn’t trust him at her back. "Freedom would be nice."

"Besides that."

Her gaze scanned the room. He didn’t like how pale she was, how wobbly and withdrawn. She had not been so drained last night, even in the bitter chill of the forest. "What about wiping out my memory of the past few days?"

"Besides that," he repeated darkly, not liking that she wanted to forget him.

She sighed. "No. There’s nothing, then."

He knew he should leave, give her a chance to relax and follow his commands, but he found himself reluctant to do so. He leaned against the side of the door. She remained in the center of the room, arms crossed over her middle, stretching the pink jacket she wore over her br**sts. His mouth watered.

"Have you done this to many women?" she asked in a conversational tone.

His eyes snapped up and locked with hers, his body tightening. "Done what?" Entranced them? Seduced them? His throat was suddenly blocked by a hard mass.

Now she snorted. "Locked them away. What else?"

The mass quickly dissolved. "You are the first," he replied, doing his best to hide his disappointment.

"And what do you have planned for me, special girl that I am?"

"Only time will tell," he answered honestly.

A shadow of concern darkened her expression. "How much time?"

"We shall have to discover the answer together."

Now she flashed him a frown. "You’re the most cryptic man I’ve ever met."

He shrugged. "I have been called worse."

"I’m sure you have," she muttered.

Even the insult did not drive him away. Just a little longer…"I did not know what foods you would like, so I brought you a little of everything we had in the kitchen. I fear there wasn’t much to choose from."

"Thank you," she said, then pressed her lips together. A flash of anger descended over her face. "I don’t know why I’m being polite to you. Look at what you’re doing to me."

"Taking care of you?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced away from him.

"Do you belong to a man, Ashlyn?" he asked, hating the thought.

"I don’t understand your question. Am I married? No. Do I have a boyfriend? No. But I do have friends, and people will worry about me," she rushed to add, as if suddenly realizing she’d made herself vulnerable.

Who did she hope to convince? Him? Or herself?

"They’ll search for me. They will," she insisted when he failed to respond.

"But they will not find you," he said, confident. The four last night hadn’t made it up the hill. Her other friends wouldn’t, either.

Her hand fluttered to her throat, drawing his attention to the pulse hammering there. Why did he find himself so entranced by the beat of her heart, compelled to touch the evidence of its movement?

"I didn’t mean to scare you," he told her. He wasn’t certain which of them was more surprised by his words – Ashlyn or himself.

"I don’t understand you," she whispered.

Neither did he understand himself. And the more he stood here talking to her, the less sense he made. He straightened. "Clean yourself up. I will return later." Not giving her a chance to counter, he stepped into the hall, shutting the door without a backward glance.

Better this way. From the moment he had asked her if she belonged to a man, the demon had begun to churn inside of him, eager for a fight. If he stayed, he would touch her. If he touched her, he would take her. But he did not want to risk tangled bodies and heated kisses turning to biting, clawing and a too-rough pounding.

The delicate woman inside his room would not survive.

"Damn this," he growled. Ashlyn was, beyond any doubt, the sweetest-looking human he’d ever encountered. His mouth still watered for her; his besieged body wept for her. Hurting her was not his desire, no matter that she had admitted to knowing about the demon, as only a Hunter or Bait could. No, he wanted only to pleasure her.

Turning, he locked the door from the outside. Switching the tumblers was something else he’d done in anticipation of her seduction. Jumping from the bedroom’s terrace would be the only other way out, and he doubted she wanted to fall five stories and land on jagged rocks. Still, he’d glued the window leading to the terrace shut, just in case.

Maddox stalked down the hallway, praying the other warriors had not fled for the day. When he’d awakened in his already-healing body, his first thoughts had been of Ashlyn. He had prepared his room and a meal for her and sought Lucien, finding him in the entertainment room and demanding to know what happened.

"Dungeon," the man had muttered, a strange glint in his eyes.

Furious, Maddox had raced from the room, desperate to assure himself that she was in the same condition he’d left her in: alive and untouched. He’d thought that at least his friends would have given her food, water and blankets. Wrong. She could have frozen to death. She could have starved. And they wouldn’t have known.

Had they expected him to passively accept such a thing?

Wrong again.

One glance at Ashlyn’s dirty, frightened features and he’d wanted to kill someone. He’d barely leashed the urge, telling himself she’d soon be lying in his bed, naked, open to him. And while that had calmed him, it had not calmed the demon – had only managed to incite it further.

Now Violence needed an outlet for its growing rage. For only then would Maddox be able to touch Ashlyn without fear of snapping that fragile little body.

Body… Ashlyn… two words sure to arouse him when used in the same sentence. Luminous as she was, she was every fantasy he’d ever had come to life, and he planned to sate himself inside her, over and over again, taking her in every position imaginable and even some that weren’t.

Soon she would want that, too.

Desire had glistened in her eyes when she’d looked at him, and she had constantly reached for him, clearly hoping for some sort of physical contact. He’d even smelled her arousal, a perfume of passion, innocence and that delectable honey. He frightened her, though, and that fear overrode her desire.

You should be happy that Bait fears you.

Should, he inwardly scoffed. How he was coming to hate that word.

Was she Bait, though?

When he’d mentioned the four humans who’d followed her, she had appeared genuinely surprised. Horrified by his actions, true, but most women were horrified by war and carnage.