The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(21)
Author: Gena Showalter

More perplexing still, she had freely admitted to knowledge of the demons. He hadn’t tortured her for the information. Why would Bait willingly do such a thing? Why not pretend she thought he was human to lower his defenses?

And so far, she had not tried to lead him from the fortress, nor had she tried to let anyone inside. But then, she hadn’t yet had the freedom to do so, he reminded himself. And she wouldn’t.

What confused him most of all, however, was that she had tried to save him from his friends. That, he couldn’t rationalize away. Saving someone she’d meant to harm was ridiculous. She could have been harmed herself.

She was a walking contradiction to his black-and-white world.

Tomorrow he would deal with her true reasons for being here. Today, well, today was meant for other things.

His boots clicked against the floor, the sound echoing from the walls. The entertainment room loomed ahead and he quickened his step. The spirit purred in anticipation as his bones ached for a fight.

When he stood in the wide expanse of the doorway, he saw popcorn scattered over the floor and ground into the crimson rug. His trained eye spotted several splotches of dried blood. Obviously Reyes had been here. For once, the TV was switched off. Balls littered the surface of the pool table, as if someone had stopped a game midway through.

But no sign of the men, not even Lucien. Where had everyone gone?

Maddox stormed through the fortress, bypassing the luxuries they’d acquired over the years. The hot tub, the sauna, the gym, the makeshift basketball court. None of that would help him.

He reached Paris’s room first and burst inside without knocking. The black silk-covered bed was rumpled but empty. The blow-up dolls Torin had purchased were sprawled in every direction, a rapt but useless audience. Whips, chains and a variety of sex toys Maddox couldn’t identify lined the walls. They weren’t in use, which meant Paris should be inside the fortress. Somewhere.

Shaking his head, Maddox stalked down the hall.

Fight. Fight. Fight.

He tried to ignore the demon’s voice as he entered Reyes’s room. No Reyes, and no sexual toys. Instead there were weapons. All kinds of weapons. Guns, knives, throwing stars. There was a blue wrestling mat on the floor with more dried blood splattered over it. There was a punching bag, a few dumbbells. Several holes marred the walls, as if someone had punched the stone until it crumbled into sand.

He would have to patch those up later.

Fight, fight, fight.

Lucien’s room was locked, and no one answered when he knocked. Aeron and Torin’s rooms were empty. Frustration rode Maddox’s shoulders. Black spots were beginning to wink in and out of his line of vision.

Fightfightfight.

He craved Ashlyn, but he could not have her until the urge for violence was tamped – and that could not happen until he found the men. All of which only made him angrier. He strode back into the hall, his biceps flexed, the blood rushing through them blistering hot.

Fightfightfight!

"Where are you?" he shouted. He punched the wall once, twice, leaving a groove identical to the ones he’d seen in Reyes’s room. His knuckles throbbed, but it was a good pain, a pain that made the spirit rumble happily.

Maddox stopped and punched the wall again.

He didn’t have a lot of time. Midnight would come again. Death would claim him. Before that happened, he had to lose himself in Ashlyn. Had to know every inch of her body, for the torment of not knowing was far worse than burning in hell each night.

What if the woman doesn’t truly desire you? the demon taunted. What if she’s pretending to want you so you’ll give her information? What if she’s thinking of another man every time you’re near and her arousal is for him?.

Roaring, Maddox once more slammed his fist into the wall. More of the stone cracked and crumbled. She wanted him. She did. Do not react. Do not listen to the spirit.

Violence shut its mouth, liking his vehemence, his sense of possession.

"What are you doing, messing up the walls rather than fixing them?"

Maddox heard the familiar voice and spun. Blood dripped from his hands, warm and invigorating.

Aeron stood at the end of the hallway. Light streamed in from the windows, dancing over the man’s tough frame. One beam hit directly atop his dark hair, a bright crown that illuminated his decorated skin.

As if it had never been stroked, never been eased, Violence howled to full life. Maddox pointed at his friend and scowled. "You left her down there."

"So?" The black demon tattooed on Aeron’s neck seemed to blink its red-rimmed eyes, awakening from a deep slumber. Saliva seemed to drip from its sharp-toothed mouth. "Did she talk?"

"About?"

"Her reasons for being here."

"No."

"Let me ask her, then."

"No!" She was frightened enough. An image of Ashlyn as she’d looked inside that cell flashed through Maddox’s mind. Her skin had been paler than the snow outside, the only color streaks of black-brown dirt. She’d been trembling. When that woman trembled, it should be from passion, not fear.

Fight. Fight. Fight! chanted the demon again.

"Where is she now?" Aeron demanded.

"None of your concern. But someone is going to pay for the state I found her in."

His friend’s violet eyes – eyes identical to his, as if the gods had been too tired to create something different – widened in surprise. "Why? What’s she to you?"

"Mine," was the only answer he had. "She’s mine."

Aeron ran his tongue over his teeth. "Don’t be foolish. She’s Bait."

"Maybe." Probably. He stalked forward. Seething… hungry…"At the moment, I don’t care."

The warrior stepped toward him, equally infuriated. "You should. And you should not have brought her here."

Maddox knew that, but he wasn’t going to apologize. He would do it again, if given the choice.

"Take her back to town and figure out a way to wipe her memory," Aeron said. "Otherwise, she’ll have to be killed. She’s seen and heard too much, and we cannot allow her to report to Hunters."

They were almost upon each other. Maddox hadn’t armed himself this morning, a fact that saved Aeron’s miserable hide. He would have thrown a dagger in the man’s dead, black heart had he been able. "I would rather hurt you."

The demon tattoo stretched its wings, fully awake now, and Aeron grinned slowly. "We do this, and you’ll have to patch up the mess."

"And you’ll have to clean it."

"Like I care. We going to get started or just talk about it?"

"Oh, yes. We’re going to start." Maddox leapt.

Aeron did, too. They collided in midair.