The Darkest Surrender (Lords of the Underworld #8)(79)
Author: Gena Showalter

Stefano. Galen’s right-hand man, a Hunter top dog, and an all around pain in the ass. Too bad the bastard wasn’t here. But just like that, Kane began to understand. Hunters had blown up the house. Hunters had taken him to that female doctor, who was not a Hunter but married to one, ensuring he survived. Hunters had not had him carried down here. The female had, against her husband’s orders.

The husband must have found out and killed her accomplices.

“Demon animal,” the guy who’d checked his pulse muttered as he straightened. A booted foot slammed into Kane’s stomach, rubbing a few of his organs against his spine.

Kane willed his eyelids to remain shut. Willed his muscles to remain lax. Meanwhile, Disaster churned in his head, now a seething cauldron. Not yet, he repeated. If they planned to cart him to Stefano, he could finally, at long last, destroy the bastard, taking out as many of his enemy as possible—even if it meant taking out himself, too. That’s what he’d planned to do here, anyway. A change of location hardly mattered on that score.

Of course, when Kane kicked it, his body would no longer be able to contain the evil inside him and his demon would be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. Disaster would escape, crazed, hungry, desperate to create tragedy after tragedy.

That had happened to Kane’s friend, Baden. He’d died—beheaded by Hunters—and his demon, Distrust, had roamed the earth unfettered. Perhaps that was why nations had fought each other for so long. They always suspected the other of foul deeds and even fouler intentions. Perhaps that was why so many marriages had failed over the years.

Then, not long ago, the Hunters had somehow managed to find Distrust and pair the demon with a new host, one of their choosing. A female. She had yet to challenge the Lords, probably still too lost to the evil inside her to do more than moan and writhe and beg for relief.

“Diego?” someone muttered.

“Yeah,” a man with a slight Spanish accent replied.

“You ready?”

“Yes, sir.” There was a nervous tremor to the words.

“Markov, Sanders, hold his arms. Just in case he wakes up before he dies. Billy, cut deep and cut fast. There’s no room for error.”

“I’m not stupid. We’ve gone over this a thousand times,” was the belligerent reply from the man who’d kicked Kane.

“Yes, we have, but this is go time, our one and only chance. If we aren’t careful, his demon will escape the cave before Diego can absorb it.”

O-kay. There would be no waiting, no reaching Stefano, Kane decided. They were going to murder him and try and pair his demon with a Hunter, thinking to control Disaster and use the demon to fight for their cause. To destroy his friends. To rule the world.

Cue evil overlord laugh, Kane thought dryly, then sobered. This was serious business.

Get ready, he told his demon.

The churning quickened, quickened, and the entire cave shook. Just a little. Just enough to cause dust to plume in the air and pebbles to fall from the ceiling, thudding on the ground.

“What’s that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just hurry. Let’s get this done. Knife?”

“Here.”

Strong hands suddenly gripped Kane’s arms and flipped him over so that he was lying on his back. Those same hands pushed, hard, pinning him in place. Kane didn’t wait a second longer.

Now!

The shaking increased swiftly, the falling pebbles becoming falling boulders. Boom, boom. Boom! Someone screamed in pain. Kane was released. There was another scream, a round of curses.

Finally, Kane opened his eyes. Just in time, too. A boulder was heading straight for him. He rolled out of the way, coughing as his mouth filled with dirt and debris. The abrupt movement tore the stitches riding the curve of a rib.

His gaze panned his surroundings in one swoop. He was in a cave, just as he’d suspected, though it was more spacious than he would have believed possible, branching in several different directions. No wonder the Hunters had so easily overpowered his original captors. Not even an army could protect itself from ambush here. There were too many places to hide.

The Hunters scrambled for cover. The shaking continued and the rocks rained down. Another scream, a grunt. The crunch of breaking bone.

Kane lumbered to his feet. That’s the way, buddy. Keep at it.

“Don’t let him escape,” someone shouted.

“Got him in my sights!”

Crack.

A sharp pain lanced through his leg. A dark curse left him. Someone had shot him. He hurried to one of the darkened enclaves, dodging the boulders along the way. More shaking, more boulders. Soon he would be trapped. If he wasn’t already. But there was no way to stop a disaster of this magnitude once it had started.

He honestly didn’t mind the prospect of dying. He’d almost died a thousand times before and had long ago prepared himself for the eventuality. At least he was taking these Hunters with him. Not that Kane would give up without trying to save himself. His warrior instinct would allow nothing less.

He searched the shadows for a way out…saw the barest crack of light to the right. Not stopping to think, he dove for it, jerking at the rocks, widening the airy space, ignoring the twinges of pain shooting through him.

“Kane!”

William? He stilled, stiffened. Shit. Shit! If he killed his friend…

Crack.

“Human!” William shouted angrily. Someone must have shot at him. “You’re gonna hurt for that.”

Boom, boom, boom.

“Get out of here,” Kane shouted. “Run!”

“Kane, damn it! Where are you? I didn’t knock Nurse Ratchet out and travel all the way down here to my least favorite place just to play hide-and-seek with you. Get your ass over here!”

Kane pushed to his feet, inhaling more dust. He raced out of the safety of the enclosure—just in time to see William grab a Hunter by the throat. He wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see the massive rock descending on him.

And because Kane was watching William, he didn’t see the massive rock descending on him.

“SWEET SUNRISE, THAT was amazing.”

Paris rolled away from the grinning, panting female and her glistening sweat-sheened body to peer up at the ceiling. As he’d hoped, Arca hated Cronus and hadn’t minded betraying the god king. As he’d dreaded, she’d had a price— Paris’s body, his demon’s scent arousing her the moment he stepped inside her chamber.

He’d just spent the past hour pleasuring her in a way he was sure she’d never been pleasured. She had enjoyed every second of his attention, while he had loathed himself, his actions.