The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld #7)(19)
Author: Gena Showalter

Apparently, he’s not too weak after al . Like him, she didn’t run from the room.

God help her, she wasn’t leaving without him.

What should she do? If she threw herself into the fray, she might cut Micah instead of the Lord. They were moving so quickly…twisting and turning, flying apart, springing back together. And if she accidental y delivered Micah’s death-blow…

Damn it. What the hel should she do? she wondered again, no closer to an answer.

“What the f**k is going on?” Defeat demanded between punches. “Stop. Amun, you have to stop.”

Amun?

She’d heard the name before, knew it belonged to one of the Lords, but she couldn’t connect the name with a face.

And because she had memorized al the names and faces of her enemy, she knew that could only mean one thing.

There was one immortal warrior the Hunters had never been able to photograph or even sketch throughout the years. Not that they hadn’t tried. They’d snapped pictures, but those pictures had never turned out, had always been blurry. And when they’d drawn what they’d thought was his face, they’d later realized they’d done nothing but scribble on the page.

Amun was also the Lord most people forgot the moment they walked away from him. He was the immortal the Hunters knew the least about. Maybe because Amun was possessed by the demon of Secrets.

Al the Hunters real y knew about him? He had dark hair and dark eyes, and he was tal and muscled.

That little bit of information had been acquired through centuries of observation.

Had this Amun died, his demon given to Micah? Did Micah now carry Secrets inside him? Was that why the Lords had chosen Micah? And he was demon-possessed. She no longer had any doubts about that. Those red eyes…peering down at her…hungry…craving…raging… She shuddered, then scowled.

This was another sin to heap on an already mountainous pile. Another crime to hate the Lords for.

Had they wanted someone with the same physical characteristics as their friend Amun? Probably. How amused they must have been, using a Hunter to house one of their disgusting demons.

Don’t think about that, either. Get yourself in the game, woman.

Haidee shook her head, clearing her mind, thankful y thinning the fog. The two men were on their feet now, throwing punches, fal ing backward into the wal s, causing dust and plaster to waft through the air, then reconnecting and tossing each other into furniture. They were a blur of motion, brutal, like wild animals fighting over the only snack in the jungle. Wood chips were scattered across the floor, some even swimming in little pools of blood.

Blood, a river between her mother and her father. Both helpless…dead.

Again she had to shake her head, dislodging the memory.

“Amun,” Defeat snarled. “For gods’ sake! I’m your goddamn friend. What the hel are you doing?”

In the next instant, Micah’s thoughts hit her. Must kil . Must safeguard.

The words were sluggish, lower in volume than the ones that had come before them, and she realized he was weakening. His wounds were opening, seeping, dripping al over the room.

“She’s a Hunter,” the demon continued in that outraged tone, “and she’s my prisoner.”

Mine! blasted through her head. Not yours. Never yours.

Mine to safeguard.

Could Defeat hear him? Probably not. Otherwise, he would have been backing out of the bedroom and running for his life. There had been barbwire in Micah’s tone, the tips laced with poison.

But then, Micah’s thoughts switched direction. I have to stop this. Why am I doing this? I love this man.

Confusing, wrong, but again, those thoughts switched direction. Must kil . Must safeguard.

Micah snarled low in his throat, the sound rumbling through her mind as he punted Defeat into the already crushed vanity. More wood chips scattered. Red sparked in Defeat’s eyes, a gnarled mask of bone and scales fal ing over his features.

He was turning, she thought with dread. From immortal to demon.

“Win,” he growled now, and there was another voice fused to his. One that was guttural, raw.

Determined.

Shit. She knew that determination. No longer would he pul his punches or deflect Micah’s. Now he would fight to win.

He closed the distance and threw his meaty clubs around, a jackhammer of lethal purpose. Not once did he miss. Micah weakened further, wobbling on his feet, his eyes beginning to swel shut as his head whipped left then right, alternating as Defeat switched fists.

The fact that Micah had lasted this long was astonishing, proof of his own determination, but he wouldn’t last much longer. He couldn’t. Not at the rate Defeat was delivering blows, and not with the already ravaged condition of his body.

She had to risk hurting Micah, she decided. There was no other way. Which meant she had to put herself in front of him, probably take a few blows before she was able to strike. No problem there.

Better she die than him, even though he was now tainted.

He was tainted, yes, but he wasn’t evil. That kiss…no, he wasn’t evil. And if she was kil ed this day, she would come back; she would remember him. Not the kiss, that had been too good, and al her favorite things were always wiped, but this fight. She would recal the blood, her fear…her despair.

But if Micah died, he would be gone forever.

Haidee stiffened, preparing to jump, waiting for the perfect moment. A thought suddenly hit her and she hesitated. If Micah turned his sights on her or even struck her accidental y… Oh, God. If she died, she wouldn’t remember why he’d done so when she awakened, only that he had—and she would come back to kil him just as she planned to come back and kil the others. If he survived this, they would be enemies.

Defeat landed a particularly vicious blow to Micah’s side, causing him to wheeze.

Worth the risk, she decided in the next instant. He was teetering…fal ing…

At last Haidee jumped forward, hooked her arm around Micah’s waist and threw him with al her might.

I’m sorry, baby. As he stumbled to his knees—away from the action

—she used her momentum to spin and duck, swinging her right fist at Defeat’s groin. Contact. He doubled over, oxygen bursting from his bleeding lips. She used her other hand, the one clutching the fragment of glass, to slice across his stomach. No mercy.

As she straightened, she landed a hard right to his chin. His head jerked backward, and he grunted, blood and teeth spewing. She aimed the glass at his throat, but only managed to slash his shoulder as he pivoted.