The Darkest Night

Maddox stepped into his bedroom, unsure of what he'd find. A sleeping Ashlyn? A freshly bathed, naked Ashlyn? A ready-to-fight Ashlyn?

A ready-for-pleasure Ashlyn?

To his irritation, his heart drummed erratically inside his chest. His palms were sweating. Fool, he chastised himself. He was not a human, a servant to fear, nor was he inexperienced. And yet, he wasn't exactly sure how to handle this woman, this… punishment.

What he didn't expect to find was an unconscious Ashlyn, sprawled on the floor, a puddle of crimson— blood?—around her, soaking her hair and clothes.

Darkness shuddered through him. 'Ashlyn?' He was at her side in the next instant, crouching down, gently rolling her over and scooping her into his arms. Wine, only wine. Thank the gods. Droplets splashed her too-pale face and dripped onto him. He almost smiled. Just how much had she drunk?

She weighed so little he would have been unaware he held her if not for the low-voltage tingles seeping from her skin into his. 'Ashlyn, wake up.'

She didn't. In fact, she seemed to slip deeper into unconsciousness, the movement behind her eyelids ceasing.

His throat was tight, and he had to force the next words out. 'Wake up for me.'

Not a moan, not a sigh.

Worried by her lack of response, he carried her to the bed, ripping off her wet jacket in the process and tossing it aside. Though he didn't want to release her, he lay her on the mattress and cupped her face in his hands. Her skin was ice-cold. 'Ashlyn.'

Still no response.

Was she… No. No! Lead balls settled in his stomach as he flattened his palm over her left breast. At first he felt nothing. No gentle beat, no hard slam. He nearly belted out a curse to the heavens. Then, suddenly, there was a weak patter. A long pause. Another feeble patter-patter.

She was alive.

His eyes closed briefly, his shoulders sagging in relief. 'Ashlyn.' He gently shook her. 'Come on, beauty. Wake up.' What in the name of Zeus was wrong with her? He didn't have any experience with inebriated mortals, but he did not think this right.

Her head lolled to the side; her eyelids remained closed. Her lips were tinted a pretty but unnatural blue. Sweat trickled down his temples. She was not simply inebriated. Had the night in that cell sickened her? No, there would have been signs before now. Had Torin inadvertently touched her? Surely not. She wasn't coughing or covered in pockmarks. What, then?

'Ashlyn.' I can't lose her. Not yet. He hadn't gotten enough of her, hadn't touched her as he'd dreamed, hadn't talked to her. He blinked in surprise. He wanted to talk with her, he suddenly realized. Not just sate himself inside her body. Not just interrogate her. But talk. Get to know her and find out what made her the woman she was.

All thoughts of killing her vanished; thoughts of saving her took their place, strong, undeniable.

'Ashlyn. Speak to me.' He shook her again, helpless, not knowing what else to do. Cold continued to radiate from her, as if she'd been bathed in frost and dried in an arctic wind. He gripped the covers, pulled them up and tunneled them around her, trying to envelop her in warmth. 'Ashlyn. Please.'

Even as he watched, bruises formed under her eyes. Was this to be his punishment instead? Watching her die slowly and painfully?

The sensation of helplessness intensified. As strong as he was, he couldn't force her to respond. 'Ashlyn.' This time her name was a hoarse entreaty. He shook her yet again, hard enough to rattle her soul. 'Ashlyn.'

Damn this. Still nothing.

'Lucien!' he roared, gaze never leaving her. 'Aeron!' As far away as he was from them, he doubted they could hear. 'Help me!' Had Ashlyn called for help? Bending down, Maddox meshed his mouth against hers, trying to breathe his strength into her. Warmth… tingles…

Her blue-tinted lips parted and she moaned. Finally. Another sign of life. He almost howled in relief. 'Talk to me, beauty.' He smoothed the wet hair from her face, disconcerted to find his hands trembling. 'Tell me what's wrong.'

'Maddox,' she rasped. Still her eyes remained closed.

'I'm here. Tell me how to help you. Tell me what you need.'

'Kill them. Kill the spiders.' She spoke so quietly, he struggled to hear.

He brushed his fingers over her cheek as he glanced around the room. 'There are no spiders, beauty.'

'Please.' A crystal tear squeezed past her lid. 'Won't stop crawling on me.'

'Yes, yes, I'll kill them.' Though he didn't understand, he continued to trail his hands over her face, then her neck, then down her arms, stomach and legs. 'They're dead now. They're dead. I promise.'

That seemed to relax her a little. 'Food, wine. Poison?'

He paled, felt the color leach from his face until he was likely as white as Ashlyn. He hadn't thought…hadn't considered… The wine had been made for them, the warriors, not for humans. Since human alcohol did little for them, Paris often mixed in droplets of ambrosia he'd stolen from the heavens and hoarded all these years. Was the ambrosia like a poison to humans?

I did this to her. Maddox thought, horrified. Me. Not the gods. 'Argh!' He slammed his fist into the metal headboard, felt his knuckles crack further and fill with blood. Unappeased, he punched the headboard again. The bed rattled and Ashlyn moaned in pain.

Stop; don't hurt her. He forced himself to still, to breathe slowly, all the while willing himself to calm for the thousandth time that day. But the urge to brutalize was so dark, so bleak. So intense, it was nearly uncontrollable. Except for that brief time following his fight with Aeron, he'd been on edge all day and this only pushed him further. Any moment he might cross the threshold and cause irreparable harm.

'Tell me how to help you,' he repeated.

'D-doctor.'

A human healer. Yes, yes. He'd have to take her into the city, for none of the Lords had any medical training. There had never been a need for it. What if this doctor wanted to keep her overnight? He shook his head. That, he couldn't allow. She could tell the Hunters what she'd learned here, what she'd seen—how best to defeat the warriors. What bothered him most, however, was the fear that someone could take her, hurt her, and he would not be able to save her.

He would have to bring a doctor here.

Maddox brushed another soft kiss on her cold, cold lips. Again there was a jolt—this one more muted than the last, as weak as Ashlyn herself. His hands curled into fists. 'I'll find you a doctor, beauty, and bring him to the fortress.'

She moaned, and her long lashes finally fluttered open. Amber pools of pain stared up at him. 'Maddox.'

'I won't be long, I swear it.'

'Don't…go.' She sounded on the verge of tears. 'Hurt. Hurt so bad. Stay.'

The need to give in and the need to fetch help warred inside him. In the end, he could not deny her. He strode to the door and shouted, 'Paris! Aeron! Reyes!' The sound of his voice echoed off the walls. 'Lucien! Torin!'

He didn't wait for them, but stalked back to the bed. He intertwined his fingers with Ashlyn's. Hers were limp. 'What can I do to ease your pain?'

'Don't let go.' She gasped out a shallow breath. Red striations streamed from the corners of her mouth. Was the poison spreading?

'I won't. I won't.' More than anything, he wanted to draw the pain away from her and into himself. What was a little more suffering to him? Nothing. But she was… what? He didn't have an answer for that.

Groaning, she clutched her stomach, rolled to her side and curled into a ball. Maddox used his free hand to brush her hair behind her still-damp ear. 'Is there anything else I can do?'

'Don't know.' She watched him, expression glassy. 'Going to… die?'

'No!' He hadn't meant to shout, but the denial had escaped on a burst. 'No,' he repeated more softly. 'This is my fault and I won't let you.'

'On purpose?'