The Darkest Pleasure

Now, his past sins no longer mattered. He hated the Hunters more than he hated himself. And after Sienna…

'Hunter,' Lucien muttered, his blades already unsheathed. 'Eleven o'clock.'

'Mine,' Paris told him.

'I see him,' Sabin said, 'and I'm wondering why you get all the fun.'

'Mine,' Paris repeated.

Sabin rolled his eyes. 'I counted six earlier, and I'm betting they're all here, waiting.'

Six? 'I counted five.'

'You miscounted,' was all his friend replied, checking the chamber of his .45.

'Every single one of them does not have a gun and those guns are not 9 mm semiautomatics,' Gideon the liar said.

Excellent. A shoot-out.

Paris blocked the stream of memories trying to batter their way into his mind: deafening shots, zipping bullets, a feminine gasp of pain. 'They haven't seen us or they would have started firing already.'

Lucien didn't reply. He disappeared, there one moment, gone the next. He reappeared next to Anya and said something Paris couldn't hear. Anya nodded and seemed to be caught in the center of a small, whipping tornado a moment later. Then the tornado rose above her, creating a thick wall between Hunters and Lords.

The first blast sounded, the first bullet flying. But it hit the wall of wind and fell to the ground, useless.

Lucien was beside him again a second later, Anya nowhere to be seen. Her protests echoed, though. '— tricked me. The wall was to save you, not protect me so you could flash me.' He must have taken her home. Or above the dome to continue wielding the storm. Another shot rang out, and one of the Hunters yelled, 'Demons!'

'They came,' someone said gleefully. 'Must be our lucky day.'

'You know the rules.'

A third shot. The wind wall had fallen away. Rock exploded and dust spewed behind Paris as the bullet slammed just above his shoulder. He ducked, already crouching forward.

'We'll circle around in opposite directions,' Lucien said, 'and meet in the middle when every one of them is dead.'

'Let the blood flow,' Paris muttered, and then his gaze locked with Strider's, whose eyes were the same cerulean shade as his own. Strider was the keeper of Defeat and could not lose, no matter the circumstances, without severe consequences and excruciating pain.

'Need one alive for questioning,' Strider told him.

'You're asking for a miracle.'

Bullets began flying in quick succession, beating all around them. Strider grinned, a feral flash of teeth completely at odds with his pretty-boy face. He pointed to the always-silent, always-reserved Amun, a dark slash in the quickly falling night, who lifted a tranq-gun.

'You out there, cowards?' a Hunter called.

'Come and get us,' Strider said. 'If you can.'

Paris nodded in understanding and sheathed his weapon. They were to keep one alive. If possible. With a semiautomatic in hand, Paris wasn't sure he'd remember to keep things nonlethal.

Strider leapt into motion, staying low to the ground. He disappeared around a bush. A few seconds later, a scream echoed through the island, pain-filled and shocked. One down. Only five left.

Each of his inhalations heavy in his ears, Paris jolted forward. Amun kept pace beside him, and they whipped around half walls and rocks and slid against the moss-covered floor. He saw his target, a human he might have passed on the street without glancing twice. Tall. Average face. Average build. The menacing, hate-filled gaze gave him away, however.

'Always hoped I'd get a chance to face you. Be the one to bring you in.' Grinning, he aimed the barrel of his 9-mil at Paris's leg and squeezed the trigger. Aiming so low prevented Paris from ducking, which he knew had been the Hunter's purpose. Most people ducked, and if he did, the bullet would sink right into his heart, temporarily stopping him cold. So Paris leapt, flying at the shooter and intending to tackle. And when the bullet hit him, it lodged in his leg. Painful, but not debilitating.

He slammed into the Hunter and they propelled down, smacking into hard stone, debris ripping at their exposed skin. Amun was there a second later, aiming the tranq-gun and shooting the bastard right in the neck.

At first, the struggling Hunter gave no sign he'd been hit. But when Paris punched him in the face, nose cracking under the pressure of his fist, the man couldn't even lift his hand to feel the damage. Finally, he stilled altogether and Paris rose, panting.

'Hope you…suffer…' the man managed to croak. 'Deserve it.' His eyes closed.

Still, the gunfire raged around them.

Strider was there a second later and gave Paris another smile. 'Ready for the next one?'

'Absolutely.' He didn't glance at his throbbing thigh. There would be time to patch himself up later. He'd have to remove the bullet; it hadn't gone all the way through and he could feel the little metal cylinder abrading his muscle.

Of course, he'd have to find a woman and screw her to heal.

Once, he would have laughed happily at that. More and more, he hated himself, his actions, and the women who accepted him. Better a woman than a man. His stomach clenched at that. As dependent on sex as he was, he had to be with someone. If he couldn't find a woman…

'Come on,' he growled, and he, Amun and Strider joined the fray.

Blood dripped from him onto the ground, leaving a crimson trail that blended with the puddles left over from Anya's storm. His legs shook and he stumbled once.

He never found another target; the Hunters had already been defeated. All but one were dead, and that one was sleeping. Three of Paris's friends had been shot, and Lucien had to flash Gideon back to the fortress in Buda to recuperate, his stomach riddled with holes.

Suddenly tired, Paris sank to the ground. Water and blood soaked his pants, and it probably looked as if he'd wet them, but he didn't care. I didn't get to kill anyone, he thought with disappointment. He wanted a Hunter to jump from the bushes. He wanted to attack that Hunter. Wanted to slice a blade through the man's throat. Wanted to stab over and over and finally, hopefully, release some of the turmoil inside himself.

As he dug his fingers into his throbbing wound, Lucien flashed the living Hunter to their dungeon. A dungeon that had gone virtually unused for centuries and now seemed to welcome a new occupant every day. They might as well place a welcome mat in front of the fortress with all the traffic they were getting.

Paris didn't find the bullet until a few minutes later, when Lucien returned. The warrior was pale, shaking.

'You okay?' Paris managed to work past clenched teeth. Fuck, that hurt! The metal was slick and kept slipping from his grip.

'He awoke and stabbed himself with a little knife he'd stuffed in his pocket before I even set him down. Got me in the neck, too.' Blood oozed from a perfect hole in Lucien's neck. 'Now I'm being summoned to transport the others.' Even as he spoke, his eyes glazed over and his body slowed its movements.

Death had called him to action. No telling how long his spirit would be gone as he and his demon escorted souls to heaven. Or hell. He could have taken his body, but probably hadn't wanted to deal with his aching neck.

Paris sympathized. What would it take to get the bullet out of his thigh?

When he finally achieved success, his shaky arm fell limply to his side, the compressed metal tumbling out of his fingers. Strider plopped beside him, unharmed, and motioned to his bleeding wound with a tilt of his chin.

'Maybe work on your reflexes for next time.'

'Fuck you.'

His friend grinned. 'I'm flattered, but have to decline. You know I don't swing that way.'

Paris's head fell back and he stared up at the lightning storm still shielding the temple. 'I walked right into that one.'

'Well, not everyone can be as smart and as beautiful as me.'