The Darkest Night

always.

Instantly the voices slowed, quieted. They didn't vanish completely, but they were no longer debilitating. She blinked in surprise. How? That had never happened before. Was Maddox close by?

His face shimmered, faded as hope swelled inside her chest. As his image vanished, however, the voices grew louder. Louder. Eyes widening, she pictured him again. Again, the voices slowed. Again, they became manageable.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, she would have grinned. I can control it on my own. I can control it! The knowledge was astounding. Amazing. Wondrous. No more hiding away. No more avoiding heavily populated areas. No more!

Uh, Darrow. Hate to be the downer at this party, but you're trapped. With a hunter. Remember?

As if hearing her internal dialogue, a voice chuckled gleefully. I know how to escape. You want in on the action or do you want to stay in this shithole? All we gotta do is a little digging.

The man from the past wasn't talking to her, but to another prisoner. Their conversation caught her attention, causing her ears to twitch. Never releasing Maddox's image, she listened to instructions about exactly where to go. Soon she was grinning.

'Thank you,' she whispered when the voices stopped their chatter.

'Yeah, yeah. You're welcome,' a new voice said. Present, not past.

Smile collapsing, she narrowed her gaze and searched the cell. She was alone, yet something… thickened the air. Hummed with power and energy. 'Who's there?'

'You want to know how to break a curse or what?' A woman's voice. A declaration, not truly an inquiry. 'I thought I heard you asking about that before.'

Ashlyn felt a tingle of heat trail from one shoulder to the other, as if someone ran a fingertip over her skin. Then a warm breeze danced in front of her. Still she didn't see anything. Whatever she was dealing with, she knew it wasn't human. An immortal? One of Maddox's gods?

'Yes,' she answered on a trembling breath. 'I did.'

'Cool. I can totally help with that.'

Cool? Totally? From a potential goddess? Where were the thous and thys? 'Will you help me escape, too?'

'One thing at a time, kitten.' Something shimmered in the corner, then long white hair came into view. Next she saw a tall woman with the body of a supermodel—a body clad in a red crop-top and a black skirt so short it barely covered the line of her panties. Tall, inky boots. Then, finally, a face materialized and Ashlyn found herself beholding the incarnation of loveliness. Features so perfect, so sublime and majestic they could only belong to a god. 'Your friend, captor, whatever, mentioned fairy tales, yes?'

Had delusion set in or was this woman for real? 'Yes.'

'So you already have the answer. Think about the stories.' Frown. A lick of a bright pink lollipop. 'What did they teach you?'

Real enough for me, Ashlyn thought. 'To search for a prince?'

'Ick. Wrong. Think, girlie. I want to get back.'

Back to where? What was this being's name? And why was she here, helping?

'I said think, and babe, you don't look like you're thinking. You're sizing me up. You want a piece or something?'

Of her? 'No. Of course not.'

A shrug. 'Then I suggest you get to it.'

Okay, okay. Thinking… It was hard to recall story details when the need to escape weighed so heavily, but somehow she managed it. The prince in Sleeping Beauty fought through thorns and fire to slay the dragon and save his woman. In Maid Maleen, the princess dug through the walls of the tower she had been locked in for seven years, her determination to live and find her prince giving her strength. In The Six Swans, the princess gave up her voice for six years to set her brothers free from a terrible curse.

Ashlyn had always sighed over those stories, had tucked them deep in her heart to remember when she was alone. She had always secretly wanted a prince to gallop into the Institute and sweep her onto his white steed, riding off into the sunset to a land untainted by old voices. He never had. And that had been for the best, because she'd learned to rely on herself.

'Well?'

'Fairy tales teach determination, perseverance and sacrifice. Well, I'm determined, I'll persevere, but what do I sacrifice?' A shudder racked her. Would she be asked to sacrifice her relationship with Maddox? He was everything to her. To save him, though… anything. Even—her stomach clenched, churned—that. 'I'm not a princess, and my life is hardly a fairy tale.'

A chuckle. 'Well, don'tcha want it to be?' A pause. 'Ah, shit. Your enemy approaches. Think about what I said and we'll powwow later.'

'But you didn't really say anything!'

A second passed and the air seemed to deaden, all sense of life vanishing.

'Better now?' McIntosh suddenly asked.

Ashlyn's eyelids popped open. When had she closed them? McIntosh stood behind the bars. He coughed, this one so strong it doubled him over. He only managed to stay upright by gripping the metal. He looked sicker, paler than when she'd last seen him.

'Better,' she said softly. Had she just imagined that entire encounter with the kind-of-invisible goddess?

He unlocked the bars and stumbled inside. Coughing, he pocketed the key. He didn't make it to the stool but collapsed on the dirt behind it. One minute passed, two. He didn't move, didn't make a sound.

'McIntosh? Are you okay?'

Finally, movement. He shook his head, as though he needed to dislodge a thick fog. 'Picked up a little cold,' he said. 'Most of the men did.' He rolled to his back and eased to a sitting position, wincing all the while.

She frowned. 'How long have we been away from the fortress?'

'The better part of the day.'

A day? So sick, so quickly? 'None of you appeared sick before.'

'Weren't.' He coughed yet again and this time blood trickled from the side of his mouth. 'Some are sicker than others. Damn winter germs. Pennington actually died, poor bastard. Well, maybe lucky.' He scooted back until he rested against the bars.

Died? From a common cold?

'You need a doctor.'

Anger flashed in his dark eyes and he made a visible effort to pull himself together. 'What I need is that box. Those men are evil, Ashlyn. With their presence alone they spread lies and pain, doubt and misery. They're the reason for war and famine and death.' Coughing again, he reached into his pants pocket and weakly tossed several photos in her lap. 'We've fought these bastards for as long as I can remember. Their evil does not stop.'

She looked automatically. And gagged. Decapitated bodies, a hand attached to nothing, blood flowing like rivers.

'The men you keep defending did this.'

Not Maddox, she thought, tearing her gaze away. He wouldn't have done that. He couldn't. 'The men I met aren't the source of the world's evil.' She gentled her tone. 'They could have hurt me, but didn't. They could have raped or killed the other women, but didn't. They could have stormed Budapest and slaughtered its' people, but they didn't do that, either.'

His head lolled to the side and for a moment she thought he'd fallen asleep—or died. This was no cold. Couldn't be. Before her eyes, red pockmarks were appearing on his face. 'McIntosh?'

He jerked awake. 'Sorry. Dizzy.'

'Unlock me. Let me help you.' Let me escape.

'No. Questions first,' he said weakly. 'Don't trust you anymore.'

'Unlock me, and I'll tell you anything you want to know.'

'Told you. Don't trust you. You've been with those monsters. They've corrupted you.'