The Darkest Surrender (Lords of the Underworld #8)(83)
Author: Gena Showalter

Strider growled low in his throat and the sound reminded her of a countdown clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock, someone’s about to die.

“Thanks,” Kaia said, “but I’d rather be on an island, a millionaire hunting me so he can kill me and drape my skin in front of his fireplace.”

“You and I will play that game later, baby doll,” Strider said. “You, on the other hand,” he threw at Lazarus, “can go someplace private with me now.”

Cold fingers of dread ran down Kaia’s spine. Please, please, please don’t challenge him.

“Thanks,” Lazarus replied, “but you’re not my type. So, if you won’t leave with me, sweet Kaia, why don’t we stay here and chat?”

The words earned another savage growl from Strider.

Oh, gods. The two were going to come to blows and there would be no stopping them.

She knew how powerful the immortal in front of her was. He’d ripped through a camp of Harpies, escaped unscathed and remained hidden for…well, she didn’t know how long, just that he had. Strider was powerful, too, but he had a handicap. His demon.

Like that’ll slow him.

The thought was immediately followed by another. You can use this. She needed to know what her mother and Juliette were planning and a fight between Strider and Lazarus would serve as the perfect distraction, allowing her to slip away unnoticed to accidentally on purpose overhear something.

Strider must have considered the same thing—and his demon must have accepted the challenge of finding out—because he launched himself at the warrior without another word. The two flew to the ground in a tangle of limbs. And knives. The silver tips glinted in the moonlight.

Yeah, Strider wanted to kill the warrior, but that wasn’t why he’d started the fight and she knew it. He’d given her the cover she needed to find the women in question, but damn it! She hated to leave him.

As the warriors grunted in pain, dashed and ducked, threw punches, kicked and slashed, the Harpies around the campfire noticed. A second later, the cheering and betting began.

Kaia worked her way through the throng, her gaze remaining on Strider until the last possible second. He and Lazarus were now rolling in the snow, leaving pools of blood in their wake. Her stomach clenched.

Don’t worry. He can take care of himself.

That didn’t stop her from trembling as she crouched on the fringes of the crowd and sniffed, searching for her mother’s familiar scent. Nothing. She inched forward. Still nothing. To the right. Nothing. To the left—there!

She propelled in that direction, staying in the shadows as much as possible. All too soon the mountain’s incline stopped her forward progress. She glanced upward. Ice, jagged rocks. A ledge.

A ledge that most likely led to a cavern.

How cliché. Harpies could jump higher than humans, and even hover in the air for short periods of time, but because their wings were so small, they couldn’t fly. She had to do this the hard way and climb. She placed her hands and feet precisely, lest a pebble or ice chunk fall. If the women were up there—and she thought that they were, the unimaginative villains—the slightest noise could alert them. Oh, she didn’t doubt that they heard the chaos below, but that was something they’d expected.

The clenching in her stomach worsened when a voice she recognized as belonging to an Eagleshield whooped and shouted from below, “That’s the way, cowboy. Beat his face in!”

Who was the cowboy? Strider or Lazarus? Her money was on Lazarus because Juliette was an Eagleshield, which meant her clan would prefer him to Strider. Even though Strider was a delicious Lord of the Underworld. Idiots. They made her ashamed to call herself a Harpy.

“Holy hell, I think you broke his nose. Sweetest punch ever. Do it again! Do it again,” someone else chanted.

“Gut him!”

“I get to nail the winner!”

“No way. I do.”

You can’t afford to look.

Up she continued to climb, not pausing until she reached the ledge. Her arms shook and her thighs burned, but she held herself steady, listening. There was a murmur of voices, yes, but they were whispered and she couldn’t tell if they were male or female. Couldn’t even guess how many were speaking.

To find out, she’d have to go in.

If they spotted her, they’d fight her. But a fight was better than a secret meeting, where plans were made and enacted. At the very least, she’d prevent the attendees from solidifying any goals.

She inhaled a measured breath, reached down, dangling from the ledge by one hand and palmed a dagger. Then she did the same with the other hand, until she was two-fisting weapons and ice. Then she hauled herself over.

A mistake. One she knew she would regret forever.

She’d been set up, she immediately realized with dread.

There was no time to act. Manacles shot out from the bottom sides of the cavern and latched around her ankles, metal teeth digging so deep they hit bone. She stifled her cry of pain, even as her knees buckled. Can’t distract Strider.

Her mother and Juliette hadn’t met in private. They hadn’t met at all. They’d simply assembled a group of murder-minded Hunters. And those Hunters were staring at her, smiling, as if they’d been waiting for her all along.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WIN, WIN, WIN.

As Strider fought the strongest immortal he’d ever encountered, his demon chanted excitedly, nervously. That wouldn’t have been so bad, or so distracting, if there hadn’t been another voice inside his head. Tabitha’s. Prodding him toward a raging darkness he’d never felt before.

They want to kill her. They will kill her.

He damn well knew the Harpies wanted to kill her. Would they succeed, though? Hell, no. But if Tabitha was talking to him, she couldn’t be meeting with Juliette. And if she wasn’t meeting with Juliette, why the hell had he accepted a challenge he might not be able to win, just to distract the ranks, giving Kaia time to infiltrate her enemy’s camp?

WIN!

You aren’t helping. Hard knuckles connected with his mouth, his teeth shredding the bastard’s skin. Not quite the silver lining of his dreams. His brain banged against his skull and for a moment, he saw stars. He hated stars. Blood coated his tongue, slid down his throat. Lazarus rolled on top of him, pinning his shoulders with firm, bony knees. Punch, punch, punch.

Bone cracked. Broke. Shattered.

WIN!

I damn well know, he mentally sneered. And he would win this. Just as soon as he found his knives in the blood-stained snow. Bastard was going to lose his head. Maybe. Hopefully.