The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(26)
Author: Gena Showalter

His face had been, was, a mass of bruises and cuts. Black and blue and bloodied, his left eye swollen, his lip split from top to bottom. At the memory, nausea churned in her stomach. Had those monsters tried to kill him again?

Again. Ha! She laughed humorlessly. They had killed him. And two of his killers had stood at his side. He’d seemed on affable terms with them, conversing with them as if he had no reason to hate them. How could they still be friends?

She lumbered from the bed. Her body creaked and ached with every movement, as if she were a doddering ninety rather than a spry twenty-four. She frowned. Too much stress, with no real end in sight.

The men must have wandered off, because she no longer heard them beyond the threshold. Good. She didn’t want to deal with them right now. Or ever. Take care of business, then find a way out of here.

She trekked to the bathroom, awed by its surprising beauty, considering the sparseness of the bedroom and the starkness of the dungeon. Here she found white-tiled walls and a matching marble floor, a built-in chrome and black vanity overflowing with towels, a porcelain sink, a gleaming claw-foot tub with a raised nozzle – in case a giant decided to shower? she wondered, wide-eyed – and a nearly transparent curtain.

For some reason, everything was bolted down.

A tiered light hung from the ceiling, its brass arms stretching in different directions. There were no other decorations, though. No pictures or amenities. Had Maddox removed them, afraid she’d try to steal them?

Ashlyn snorted. The Institute paid her very well to listen for and learn about all things paranormal; money was not a problem. Besides, whatever she wanted, McIntosh willingly gave her. And if she didn’t want to ask him, she ordered from the Internet and had it delivered to her doorstep.

She blushed, thinking of some of the things she’d recently ordered. Romance novels, which had invariably led to the purchase of a harem girl costume, a black leather bra and panty set, and after reading one particular book about an undercover agent and former female thief, silk scarves and duct tape. Not that she’d ever used any of them.

With a sigh, she dipped a towel into the now-cold bathwater. Leaving her clothes on, she washed herself as best she could. No way would she strip. Any of the men could return at any moment.

Yeah, but you’d like it if Maddox returned.

No, she assured herself, flustered by the thought. She wouldn’t. He scared her.

He brings precious silence.

Not anymore. He wasn’t here, yet the voices hadn’t returned. Her head was clear, her own thoughts all she heard. I’m cured.

No, you’re not. You heard voices last night, in the dungeon,

"Now I’m talking to myself," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "What’s next?"

She studied her reflection in the mirror. Droplets of water dripped from her forehead to her nose, from nose to chin. Her cheeks were bright with rosy color and her dark eyes gleamed. Odd. She’d never been more aware of her own mortality, but she’d also never looked more alive.

When her stomach rumbled, she recalled the tray of food Maddox had left on the floor. Her feet carried her to it without being ordered, kicking past the clothing she’d scattered when she’d searched the closet for a hidden phone. Black T-shirts, black pants, black briefs.

Her ni**les hardened with the thought of muscled Maddox in nothing but a pair of those briefs. He’d lie on the bed, hard and straining, erection peeking through the top, wickedness in his eyes as he beckoned her over with a crook of his finger.

And she’d willingly go to him.

Ashlyn nibbled on her bottom lip. Maddox… on a bed… wanting her… Her knees weakened, and her belly quivered. Stupid girl. Apparently, when given a little silence, all she could think about was sex.

She gathered the tray of food and tottered to the window, where she balanced the edge on the wall and popped a grape into her mouth. The sweet juice ran down her throat, and she nearly moaned before ordering herself to focus on the matter at hand – escape. She’d told McIntosh, and thereby the Institute, about the men and this fortress. McIntosh had even known she wanted to visit. Most likely he’d have guessed by now where she’d gone.

Would he come for her? Or would he feed her to the wolves for daring to disobey? While he’d always been kind to her, he had never tolerated mistakes from his other employees, much less willful disobedience.

He will come, she assured herself. He needs you.

But as she stared out the window, only trees and snow greeted her. Still, she didn’t let that disappoint her. He could be anywhere. Standing there, allowing anyone outside to see her, she popped another grape in her mouth and tapped on the glass. I’m here. Do you see me?

She needed out as soon as possible. With every second that passed, the warriors’ madness seemed to take deeper hold of her. She had imagined her jailer in his underwear, for God’s sake.

Hopefully, McIntosh would see her, blow a hole in the front door and snatch her out. Boom. Done. Over. No, wait. Rewind. She didn’t want McIntosh inside the walls. He  would be no match for Maddox and the others. She was going to have to distract Maddox, maybe knock him out somehow, and run. Out of the fortress and down the hill. The cold and the voices were better than the threat of death she’d found here.

So, just how was she going to distract the man? Mulling it over, she devoured the rest of the grapes. And when those were gone, she concentrated on the meat and cheese, sipping wine between bites. In a matter of minutes, only crumbs and half a bottle remained. Never had anything tasted so delicious. The ham had been glazed with brown sugar, a succulent feast to her taste buds. The cheese had been smooth, not too sharp, the grapes a perfect contrast. The wine, excellent.

Okay, so this place did have a few things in its favor.

Food wasn’t a good enough reason to stay, though. What about sex? Of course not, she thought, her stomach giving another of those strange flutters. That was –

Everything inside her went on sudden alert – the quiet before a debilitating storm. She didn’t exactly hurt, but she became aware that something wasn’t quite right in her body. One heartbeat passed. Two. She gulped, waiting.

Then the storm arrived.

Her blood chilled to ice, yet beads of sweat that were as sharp as broken glass appeared on her skin. Crawling over every inch of her like spiders. She yelped, whimpered, tried to scratch at them. But they wouldn’t go away, and now she could actually see them. They were on her. On her, their tiny legs scampering. A scream bubbled in her throat at the exact moment a wave of dizziness slammed into her, so the sound was nothing more than a groan. She had to grip the window to remain standing. The tray fell, clanging.

All too soon, the dizzying fog became an ache and the ache a piercing knife, slicing its way from her belly to her heart. She swayed, gasping and moaning at the same time. Bright lights flashed in front of her eyes, an array of blinding colors.