The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld #7)(20)
Author: Gena Showalter

His narrowed gaze landed on her. He could have hit her just then. He didn’t.

Firm hands suddenly gripped her waist from behind and tossed her. Through the air she soared, flailing for an anchor, wondering what the hel had just happened. The makeshift weapon flew from her clasp, then she was bouncing on the bed, realization setting in. Micah was aware enough to know who she was, aware enough to want her out of harm’s way. Sweet of him, but that wasn’t going to stop her. He’d done his part. Now she would do hers.

Before the bouncing stopped, she was throwing her legs over the side of the bed and straightening, once again intending to knock Micah out of way. Only, she saw that he had somehow tackled Defeat and now straddled the warrior’s prone body, punching…punching…

Between whaling fists, Defeat groaned and babbled.

“Lost…lost…no, gods, no…lost…”

For several moments, she could only blink, watch. Micah had done it. Despite his injuries, he’d won.

Against an immortal. That’s my man.

Seriously? You’re going to victory lap now? Haidee forced herself into motion and rushed to Micah.

She latched onto his surging elbow. He could have shrugged her away, batted her off, could have swung at her with his other arm, but he didn’t. He faced her. What she could see of his glowing red eyes locked on her, tormented, agonized.

Didn’t want to hurt him…couldn’t stop…couldn’t let him hurt you…. Why couldn’t I let him hurt you?

The words echoed in her mind. Didn’t want to hurt him. Why couldn’t I let him hurt you? Courtesy of the demon? Was the demon trying to convince him that he liked the Lords?

Didn’t matter, she supposed. They’d deal with it. Later.

Along with everything else.

“Come on. We don’t want to free his demon right now.” She tugged him to his feet, and God, he was heavy. “We have to leave before the others come.” They’d be pissed when they saw what had been done to their friend. She didn’t want Micah punished for that. And they would punish him. She had no doubt. Even though he was currently part of their group.

She ushered him to the doorway but had to pause there to wind her arm around his waist. He was stumbling, barely able to remain standing on his own.

“You can do this, baby. Come on.”

Where are…we…going?

“If we’re lucky, no one wil be around and we’l find a way outside.” Dragging him through the doorway left her shaking and ice-sweating. He was bleeding al over her, giving her more and more of his massive weight. How she maintained her grip, she didn’t know. What she did know after taking two steps to the right?

They weren’t lucky.

Her eyes widened as she stumbled to a halt, Micah moaning, nearly fal ing. She held tight. They were surrounded—but not by the demons she’d expected.

Robed warriors fil ed the entire enclosure, wings of white and gold outstretched. Scowls lined every single one of their faces, but even stil those faces were glorious, radiant.

So beautiful…so majestic…dazzling her. She couldn’t look away. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t look away. Exquisite…

Angels. These men were angels.

Maybe she and Micah were lucky. Maybe Galen had sent reinforcements to rescue them.

“Help us,” she beseeched. “The demons captured us, and we’re trying to escape.”

A lovely dark-haired male stepped forward, hard gaze pinning her in place more forceful y than any of the others.

“We were told to wait out here.” His voice was just as thril ing as his face. A sensual breeze, an exotic caress.

“We did so. We were told not to interfere with what happened inside the room. We did not. But now you have come to us. Now we interfere.”

Realization cut like a knife. The angels hadn’t been sent by Galen. They were helping the demons.

Horror barely registered before Micah was ripped from her grip. She’d never seen the angels move, had been too riveted by the one in front of her, but losing her man snapped her from that lost, dreamy haze.

With a scream of outrage, she kicked the angel in the chest. He stumbled backward only a few steps.

She spun, reaching for Micah. Her voice must have snapped him out of his pained, weakened stupor, because, as two angels dragged him down the hal , farther and farther away from her, he blinked open his swol en eyes.

When he spied the distance between them, he roared.

Loud and long and ragged, but only she seemed to hear him. No one else paid him any attention, no one else cringed. As she elbowed her way to him, the angels attempted to grab her. She twisted and squirmed for freedom.

Al the while, Micah fought his captors. Soon, the two holding him weren’t enough. Soon, she wasn’t pegged as the biggest threat. The angels turned their attention to the warrior, al but one needed to subdue him.

Haidee! Haidee!

Before she could reach him, the one that had remained behind caught her, strong arms banding around her and squeezing tight. Breathing became a thing of the past. Stil .

Her struggles never ceased.

Micah’s didn’t either, she noted as she was at last carted out of the hal . “I’l come back for you,” she screamed. “I swear I’l come back.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

STRIDER FUCKING hurt.

He hurt everywhere but especial y his gut. Maybe because Ex had sliced him open from hip to hip, spine to navel. The angels had had to stuff his insides back, wel , inside.

They’d even stitched him up and tended his feverish, sweat-drenched body for three solid days.

He would have healed sooner if he’d won the fight with Amun and Ex like a big boy. But he hadn’t.

He’d lost. And so his pain had been magnified a thousandfold, and he’d been too weak to do a damn thing about it. Talk about humiliating!

Now he was stil bed-bound and propped against pil ows, but at least he was awake and aware. His demon was silent, too afraid to poke his head from the shadows of Strider’s mind and lose another chal enge until they’d recuperated sufficiently.

Torin sat in a chair in the far corner, and Zacharel, the black-haired angel Lysander had left in charge, leaned against one of the metal posters of Strider’s bed. Both were watching him, waiting. Clearly impatient.

Could a guy not suffer in peace?

This room was supposed to be his sanctuary, his private escape, but he’d opened his eyes a little while ago to find Torin pacing beside him—and not out of concern, the curious bastard. Zacharel had been exactly as he was now.