The Darkest Passion (Lords of the Underworld #5)(65)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Wait,” one of the men said. “Stop.”

“What?”

“Air. Do you feel the breeze?”

“We must be close to an opening.”

Closer still.

There was a shuffling of feet. Multiple sets. Olivia’s trembling increased, and he squeezed her in reassurance.

“It’s gotta be a room.” A pause. A crackle. “Yes. Yes! There’s too much space for this to be another hallway.”

“She can’t be here. She couldn’t have found her way inside.”

“She’s possessed by the f**king demon of Nightmares. Of course she could have found her way. Just…feel around. She’ll be asleep. If you encounter warm skin, just start shooting.”

How did they know so much? Had Cronus told his wife? Or again, had someone made use of the Cloak and listened to private conversations?

“Hell, no. No shooting. We’ll just shoot each other.”

“That’s better than allowing a demon to go free.”

There was a beat of shocked silence as the other Hunters absorbed the man’s death wish.

“We either cut her, or I’m out of here,” someone finally snapped. “I didn’t sign up for a suicide mission.”

“Then cut her, damn it, but make sure you incapacitate her so we can cart her out without fearing she’ll be strong enough to attack. Every bad dream we’ve ever had is her fault. Every bad thing we’ve ever endured is her doing.”

More shuffling. Aeron tensed, waiting. If any of them managed to make it to the coffin, he would have to—

A man screamed.

“What the hell—”

Another scream. A gurgle. Followed by another and another.

There would be no one making it to the coffin.

Nightmares’s traps would see to that. Several of the Hunters discharged their guns, despite their fear of friendly fire, but the darkness hid the sparking of the powder. One of those bullets slammed into Aeron’s shoulder, knocking him backward.

He caught himself as several more human screams rent the air. Though he didn’t want Olivia trapped with the girl, unable to protect herself, he didn’t want her shot, either. He slammed the coffin lid shut.

“What’s happening?”

“Cut,” someone managed to say between coughs.

Another scream, this one blending with the rising tide of pained moans and the wafting scent of fresh blood.

“Retreat,” someone wheezed. “Re— Argh!”

There was even more shuffling, but the number of moving feet had severely decreased. And then, as more screams and moans abounded, the shuffling ended entirely. Over. Done. It was the battle he’d wanted, craved, yet he hadn’t had to lift a single finger to win.

He waited until silence reigned before tossing back the lid and saying, “Light.”

Immediately Olivia obeyed. Once again that nearly blinding light glimmered from her, grew, and conquered the darkness, and he saw that she was pale but unharmed. Scarlet still hadn’t moved.

“Aeron, I was so—” Olivia sat up and twisted to face him. Her expression immediately became pinched. “You’re hurt.”

He gazed down at his wound. There was a hole in his shoulder; crimson seeped from it, riding the ridges of his stomach, each drop absorbing into the waist of his pants. Now that his concern for Olivia had faded, and his adrenaline had decreased, he realized it hurt. Fire spread, quickly, surely, as if his veins pumped gasoline rather than blood.

Didn’t matter. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Been injured worse, so it’s nothing to worry about.”

“I can’t help it.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she reached out and traced her fingertips over his jaw. “I’m worried.”

The touch was meant to comfort him. But as always, the feel of her tormented him. He needed more. Wrath needed more, whimpering inside his head.

Now isn’t the time. Bleeding bodies were piled upon bleeding bodies, blades protruding from each of them. Some had fallen face-first, and others had landed backward. Each had died. He would have to thank the girl for her decorating skills. They, rather than he, had saved Olivia’s life.

He didn’t know if any of the Hunters had managed to escape this room of terror, but he wasn’t going to wait around to see if they returned with backup. After helping Olivia to her feet—shit! and causing his wound to split—he hefted Nightmares into his arms as he’d wanted to do before they were interrupted.

“Stay close,” he said. “Only step where I step.”

“I will.”

He made his way to the open doorway, darting around bodies along the way, grimacing as the fire inside him intensified.

Hurt, Wrath cried.

His lips curved into a frown. You, too?

Bad.

We’ll go home. Rest. There were no trails of blood on the stairs, not even a speck. Which meant no one had made it out. Excellent. Except…by the time he reached the top of the stairs, he was trembling. Weakening. His eyes were glazing over, creating a fog everywhere he looked.

Wrath moaned.

The fire finally died—only to be replaced by a frigid ice.

“Aeron?”

He slowed, his motions sluggish, his feet tripping over each other. “Reach into my back pocket. Grab my phone.” At this rate, he wouldn’t have the strength to fly both women to the fortress.

“What’s wrong with you?” Olivia asked, doing as he’d requested. “Is it your injury? You told me not to worry!”

He ignored the question and the concern. He didn’t want to lie to her—again—and tell her everything was going to be fine, but he didn’t have an answer, either. Neither he nor Wrath had ever reacted this way to a simple gunshot.

“Do you know how to text?” They rounded a corner.

“No. I’ve seen humans do it, but I’ve never tried it myself.”

“What about making a call?” Up ahead, he could finally see the sunlight pushing its way into the crypt. Sweat beaded every inch of him, yet that did nothing to melt the ice. His motions were slowing further, dragging.

“No,” she said again. “I’m sorry.”

Damn. If he released the girl, he wouldn’t be able to pick her back up. That, he knew. Damn, damn, damn.

There were only two possibilities that explained this reaction, he realized. Either the Hunters had used some sort of special bullets or he hadn’t truly recovered from their last attack, as he’d assumed. Neither boded well for him.