The Darkest Surrender (Lords of the Underworld #8)(85)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Not for you,” Strider said, flushing.

“Thank the gods for that.”

“So.” Let’s get the rest of this over with. “You heal quickly?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry for this, but I need five minutes alone and I can’t have you coming after me.” He reclaimed the swords, jerked them from the ice, then slammed them into Lazarus’s shoulders. “Do me a solid and stay down.”

A grunt, a stiffening of that big body. Boos all around him.

Strider pushed to his feet and moved out of striking distance, already scanning the vista. Harpies gaped at him, even backed away. A few of the braver ones offered him pinkie waves and seductive grins, open invitations to bed them.

He caught Sabin’s gaze. Lysander was beside him, golden wings arching over his shoulders. Despite the cold, the two were sweating. They must have heard the commotion and rushed here.

He motioned to the mountain at his left with a tilt of his chin and they nodded. While Lazarus had been pounding his face in, he’d kept an eye on Kaia. She’d climbed that mountain and disappeared inside a cavern.

He stalked forward, determined. Within a few steps, the consorts were flanking his sides. Along the way, he thought he smelled smoke. And burning flesh. Panic suddenly infused him and he looked up. The panic mixed with dread. Dark smoke wafted from the cavern.

Shit! No time to climb. “Get me up there,” he demanded. “Now.”

Lysander caught his urgency. He gripped Strider under the arms, wings extending, legs bending to push. They shot into the air and the angel dropped him onto the ledge before heading down to repeat the process with Sabin.

“Kaia!” Strider rushed inside, coughing as the smoke thickened and burned his throat. He waved his hand in front of his stinging eyes, trying to see. Then he was in the center of the destruction, and there was no reason to wave away the darkness. He could see just fine.

At least twenty-five bodies were on fire, flames still crackling from them, illuminating the area. They were so charred, he couldn’t tell if they were male or female. His heart nearly burst from his chest, his blood heating with more of that panic. She couldn’t be one of the dead. She just couldn’t.

He would have failed her. He couldn’t have failed her. He needed her. Loved her. “Kaia,” he said past the lump growing in his throat. “Kaia, baby doll. Where are you, love?”

“What the hell?” Sabin demanded behind him.

“Great Deity,” Lysander breathed.

Strider ignored them, bending to study the bodies closest to him. He was shaking as he reached out and removed the dagger clutched in that blackened hand. The hilt was so hot his skin immediately blistered, but he didn’t release it. He didn’t recognize it, either. Okay. Okay, then. This one wasn’t her.

A whimper echoed a few feet ahead of him. Female. Pain-filled. Familiar. No sweeter sound. He was on his feet in an instant, racing toward it. Then he saw her, and ground to an abrupt halt. His stomach twisted into a hundred sharp knots, each one cutting at him.

They’d staked her to the wall.

As relieved as he was that she lived, he wanted to die. Swords were anchored into her shoulders, pinning her to the rocky wall. Blood dripped down her naked body, covering her with crimson streaks of pain. If they had raped her…

With only the thought, Strider felt ready to open himself up to his demon completely, to let his wicked half reign, to beat every citizen in the world to pulp.

Rage later. See to her now. One stomping step, two.

Flames crackled on his shirt, burning the material, singeing his skin. He stopped and patted himself down. When that didn’t help, he ripped the fabric over his head and tossed it aside. Only then did the fire die.

“What happened—”

“Get out,” Strider growled, and Sabin shut his mouth. “Both of you. Now.” She would not want anyone to see her like this.

Silence. Reluctant footsteps. Strider studied his woman all the while. Her eyes were black, the whites completely gone, but interspersed throughout that midnight canvas were the same flames that had singed him. They crackled angrily.

“Kaia,” he said gently.

She struggled against the swords, gave another whimper.

“Be still, baby doll. Okay?” He dared another step closer. A mistake. His jeans caught fire next. Again he stopped. This time he didn’t bother patting himself down, he just cut the offending material from his body, leaving him in underwear and boots.

“Baby doll, listen to me. Okay?” he said, trying again. He dropped the blade, lest she think he meant to hurt her. “Please listen to me. I want to help you. I’m going to help you, whether you want me to or not. Please don’t kill me until I get you out of here.”

He expected Defeat to kick up a few protests about that litany of “pleases.” Maybe consider it a challenge. The demon remained silent, however. Still afraid of Kaia? Or mourning what had been done to her after the pleasure they’d experienced in her arms?

“Here I come.” Strider inhaled the thickened air…held…held…and strode forward. His skin continued to heat, but he didn’t catch fire again, and finally he reached her. Gently, so gently, he cupped her cheeks, his thumbs tracing the fine bones beneath her silken skin. He was surprised to see his own claws had emerged. The demon’s claws. Yet he didn’t cut her, was oh, so careful.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, his chest aching. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears leaked from the corners of those midnight eyes, and he knew he was reaching the woman inside. He hadn’t protected her from this and he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t in pain as a result of his failure. Because she would heal? Please let her heal. Because someone other than Harpies had done the damage? If that was the case, who had done it? Hunters again?

Desperately he wanted to slice open his jugular and give her all the healing blood she needed. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He couldn’t risk her bones and flesh healing around the metal that caged her in place.

“I’m going to remove the swords, okay?” He couldn’t allow this to happen to her again. Ever. He couldn’t bear it. That is a challenge, he told Defeat. A challenge you will accept. She is ours to protect and if we fail her again, we will suffer, even if she will later heal. Understand?

A pause. Then, a faint, Win.

Though Strider didn’t want to release her, he did, and gripped the swords. They were hotter than the dagger he’d used to cut his pants and his already blistered hands throbbed in pain. He didn’t care. His pain mattered little. What did matter? Her pain. That small movement tormented her, he knew, because her tears fell more quickly.