The Darkest Night

revealed more bad than good, forcing her to listen to centuries of hateful accusations and even shrieks of terror. And the one man who'd given her any measure of peace, they'd brutally slain.

Do something, Darrow. She scrubbed her burning eyes with the back of her wrist and straightened to shaky legs. What could she do? They outnumbered her. They were stronger than she was.

An extremely tattooed man frowned over at her. He had military-cropped brown hair, two eyebrow rings and soft, full lips. He also had more muscles than a world champion power-lifter. He would have been handsome—in a serial-killer kind of way—if not for those tattoos.

Even his cheeks were painted with violent images of war and weapons.

His eyes were the same shade of violet as Maddox's, but they lacked any hint of warmth or emotion. Blood dripped down his nose as he rubbed his chin with two fingers. 'We have to do something with the girl.' That cold, emotionless voice again. 'I don't like her being here.'

'Even so, Aeron, we aren't to touch her.' This speaker had inky hair that was like a dark halo around his head and different-colored eyes—one brown, one blue. His face was a mass of scars. At first glance, he was hideous. At second, there was an almost hypnotic quality to him, enhanced by the scent of roses drifting from him. 'Tomorrow morning she'll be in the same condition she is now. Breathing and clothed.'

'Just like Maddox, taking away our fun.'

The wry voice came from behind her and she yelped, spinning. The beautiful pale-skinned man stood in the doorway. He watched her, hunger in his eyes, as if he were picturing her naked and liked what he saw.

A tremor started at the top of her head and worked its way down, all the way to her toes. Bastards, every one of them! Her feral gaze scanned the room and narrowed on the bloody sword that had been carelessly tossed onto the floor. The very sword that had sliced through Maddox as if he were nothing more than a thin layer of silk.

'I want to know who she is,' the cold, tattooed one—Aeron—said. 'And I want to know why Maddox brought her here. He knows the rules.'

'She must have been one of the humans on the hill,' the angel said, 'but that still doesn't explain why he brought her into our midst.'

She would have laughed if she hadn't felt on the verge of a total breakdown. I should have listened to McIntosh. Demons did live here.

'Well?' Aeron prompted. 'What do we do with her?'

Each of the men faced her again, and Ashlyn dove for the blade. Her fingers curled around the hilt and she straightened, pointing the tip in their direction. The sword was heavier than she'd thought and her arms instantly began to shake under its weight, but she held firm.

Her companions merely regarded her with curiosity. Their lack of fear didn't faze her. Though she'd only known Maddox a short while, there was something wild inside her that mourned his loss and demanded she avenge his death.

Maddox. His name whispered through her mind. He was gone. Forever. Her stomach clenched painfully. 'I should kill you, all of you. He was innocent.'

'Innocent?' someone scoffed.

'She wants to kill us. Hunters have come for us, then,' Aeron said with disgust.

'A Hunter would not call Maddox innocent. Even in jest.'

'Bait would not be above it. Remember, every word out of their mouths was a lie, though their faces were always guileless.'

'I watched Maddox slay four men on my monitor, which he wouldn't have done if they had been innocent. And I doubt a coincidence brought a guiltless female to the forest at the exact same time.'

'Think she has any skill with a sword?'

Snort. 'Of course not. Look how she's holding it.'

'Brave little thing, though.'

Ashlyn gaped at them, hardly able to keep up with the conversation. 'Does no one care that a man was murdered here? That you were the ones who murdered him?'

The black-clothed angel laughed, actually laughed, but there was anguish in his green eyes. 'Believe me. Maddox will thank us in the morning.'

'If he doesn't kill us for being here in the first place,' someone retorted.

To her astonishment, several of the men chuckled. All shook their heads in hearty agreement. Only the one who had rendered the fatal wounds remained silent. He continued to stare at Maddox's body, his expression wracked with agony and guilt. Good. She wanted him to suffer for what he'd done.

The sensual one, the one who thought no woman could resist him, leveled his gaze on her, and she was treated to another slow, seductive smile. 'Put the sword away, sweet, before you hurt yourself.'

She held tight, determined. 'Come and take it from me, you… you… animal!' The words flew from her mouth, a challenge she couldn't hold back. 'I may not have any skill with swords, but if you come near me I will hurt you.'

There was a sigh. A laugh. A muttered, 'What kind of female can resist Paris?'

'I say we lock her in the dungeon.' This from the one named Aeron. 'No telling what she'll do otherwise.'

'Agreed,' the others echoed.

Edging toward the door, Ashlyn shook her head and gripped the sword more tightly. 'I'm leaving. Do you hear me? I'm leaving! And mark my words, justice will be served. Every single one of you will be arrested and executed.'

'Maddox can decide what to do with her in the morning,' the one with the mismatched eyes said calmly, ignoring her.

As if Maddox could decide anything now.

Her chin trembled. And then her eyes widened as each of his killers stalked forward, determination in their every step.

Don't hurt me. Please, don't hurt me.

A pause. A snap.

An anguished cry.

My arm! Huge, gut-wrenching sobs. You broke my fucking arm! Ashlyn's own arm throbbed in sympathy. I didn't… do anything… wrong.

The voices had returned in full force.

She huddled on the floor of a dark, dank cell, shivering and scared. 'I just wanted to find someone who could help me,' she whispered. Instead, she'd fallen straight into a Grimm's folk tale, but with no happy ending in sight.

I will. I will. Just… need… a… moment.

The one-sided conversation had been rolling through her mind for an eternity, it seemed, now a discordant concerto of anger, desperation and pain. Above it, however, a single voice rose: Maddox's. Not a voice of the past, but a memory. A burst of screams.

'You left the Institute for this.' She shook her head in grief and disgust, wanting to convince herself this day had been nothing more than a nightmare. That a man had not been slain right in front of her. Stabbed. Repeatedly. But she knew the truth. His shouts… God, his shouts. His rage at being chained and beaten, his torment… worse than anything she'd ever heard from another human being.

Tears rained down her face. She couldn't get his image out of her head—not his image before he died and not his image after. Harshly handsome face almost savage in its intensity. Facial bones blurred and sunken. Violet eyes bright. Violet eyes closed. Tall, tanned and muscled body. Broken, bloody, lifeless body.

She whimpered.

After shoving her into this cell, Maddox's killers had promised to bring her blankets and food. The vow had been delivered ages ago, but no one had returned. She was glad. She didn't want to see them again. Didn't want to hear them, didn't want to talk to them. She'd rather endure the cold and the hunger.

Shivering, she tugged her jacket tight at the collar. She was thankful she still had it, that the men, those