The Darkest Secret

quivered. Her knees pressed into his sides, squeezing. Had he been human, she would have cracked bone.

He kissed his way to her zipper. Barrier. He couldn’t allow a barrier. Another rip, and the pants were gaping open just like the panties. Then he was peering down at her, at a tiny triangle of pale curls, the rest of her pink and glistening. His. Ready.

Liiick. Holy hell, he thought again. Nothing had ever tasted this good.

Another cry left her, this one hoarse and broken. She released him to reach behind her and grip the headboard, her back bowing. Surprisingly the demons calmed, but only slightly, the pull on them somewhat eased, allowing them to go back into hiding.

The door handle rattled.

Amun was dimly aware of the possible intrusion but unconcerned. Liiick. Heaven and hell wrapped in temptation, leading him straight to his downfall. Addicting him. Consuming him. Owning him.

The door handle rattled again.

This time, there was a flicker of rational thought in his head. Someone meant to enter his bedroom. Friend? Foe? Didn’t matter. He had to wait to finish tasting her.

The intruder would pay for that. Painfully.

Haidee must have sensed his growing disquiet, because she opened her eyes and said, «What are you—' Her mouth floundered open and closed as she gasped in horror. «Your eyes. They’re completely red. Glowing.»

What she didn’t say: demon. She’d known he was possessed, no matter what she thought his name was, and had claimed she would shield him from Hunters. But this must be her first true confirmation.

There was no time to placate her. Someone comes. He swiped the glass shard from the nightstand and whipped around. Haidee jolted upright, the spike of glass under the pillow already palmed. She tried to right her ruined clothing as another rattle sounded.

An instant later, the person on the other side decided to take things to the next level. Wood split from the hinges as the door was savagely kicked, the vanity in front of it skidding to the middle of the room.

A scowling Strider strode inside, knives in both hands. All the demons inside of Amun danced into a sudden frenzy, Haidee forgotten, rushing back to the surface. Torment…punish…pain…blood…suffering…must have. Needed.

Something else struck him. Something that had nothing to do with the demons, but everything to do with a long-buried instinct. Safeguard. He would safeguard the girl. Her taste was still in his mouth, and he needed more. Still had to have more. If she were hurt, he couldn’t have more.

Wrong, that thought was wrong, but he couldn’t banish it. Instinct demanded; he heeded. Go! he mentally screamed at the warrior, but Strider didn’t hear him. Or didn’t care.

When Strider spotted Amun and Haidee on the bed, lower bodies still twined around each other, he blinked. His jaw even dropped. And if Amun wasn’t mistaken, there was a flicker of fury over his expression.

Will safeguard, Amun thought, scowling at his friend. No matter what.

«You bitch,» the warrior growled to Haidee. «What the hell did you do to him?»

Chapter Six

Haidee jumped to shaky legs, breath sawing in and out of her mouth. As she’d predicted, the glass shard she held had already sliced through skin, blood dripping to the floor. She barely noticed the sting or the loss.

Without her there to cushion him, Micah hit the mattress face-first and grunted, but she paid him no heed. She couldn’t. Not if she wanted to get him out of this fortress alive.

And shit! This showdown couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Desire still pumped through her veins, thick and heavy, dulling her reactions and making her limbs feel weighted with rocks. Her chest felt hollowed out, and her muscles ached. Perhaps she could have dealt with those things, but her mind was as clouded as if she’d popped a dozen different pills, a mix of sedatives, stimulants and aphrodisiacs.

She could only blame Micah. His kisses had been CPR to her soul. He’d made her come alive. Split apart. Forget everything and every one. Common sense had abandoned her. So had survival instinct. She’d never ignored her survival instinct before. All she’d been able to think about was him. His touch, his taste. His tongue lapping between her legs. God, she could fly apart simply thinking about that heady caress. In seconds, he’d reduced her to an animal state, where nothing had mattered but sensation.

Now isn’t the time, remember? The doorway was open, offering a straight shot into the hallway. Either she or Micah could run, but not both. One of them had to deal with the demon.

Hopefully Micah would understand what she wanted him to do.

«Not smart, coming in here on your own,» she said to taunt the Lord into an emotional response. What she’d learned about him during their time together? He was always quick to anger, and that anger made him easily distractible. «You ready to die?»

For once, he didn’t react. His gaze darted from her to Micah, Micah to her. He radiated a mix of rage, concern and disbelief.

Micah didn’t move.

Why wasn’t Micah moving? Damn it. If he would move, she could attack. Defeat would have to fight her. Micah was simply too weak to see to the battle himself.

She opened her mouth to challenge Defeat but closed it with a snap. She’d challenged him a few times during their trek. Bet you can’t catch me if you let me go. He’d let her go. And he’d caught her, pissed beyond imagination. Bet you can’t just stand there while I stab you. He’d let her stab him. And rather than pass out from blood loss, as she’d hoped, he had then returned the favor. He’d stabbed her thigh to keep her from bolting while he healed.

He’d then stitched her up, shocking her. Still. His determination to win every challenge gave him strength, more so than usual, and she couldn’t have him stronger than usual right now. Not while she battled the fog. So, as they stood there facing each other, both deliberating how to handle the coming fight — and there would be a fight — she was very careful not to issue another challenge. Not even a challenge to lose the fight.

She’d made that mistake only once.

Bet you can’t lose a fistfight to a girl.

He had allowed her to punch him, and he hadn’t fought back. Therefore in his mind, he had just lost a fistfight with a girl. She’d run off while he’d struggled to breathe—’cause yeah, she’d gone for his trachea — and he’d had to track her down. When he finally caught her, he’d trussed her up like a Thanksgiving turkey, gagged her and started drugging her.

And if she had tried to speak past her gag, he would have removed her voice box. No question.

«What the hell did you do to him?» Defeat repeated, dark, deadly.

«What did I do to him?» She assumed attack position: legs apart, knees slightly bent and ready for her leap. The cold, already so much a part of her, seeped out, sheened her skin. With every exhalation, mist created a cloud in front of her face. All the while, she mourned the loss of Micah’s heat.

She still didn’t know why she froze like this. Still didn’t know how. All she knew was that the ability manifested with her emotions, sometimes strengthening her, something weakening her. Today, she felt empowered.

«Me?» she went on. «What the fuck did you do to him?»

«If you hurt him…» A muscle ticked below his dark blue eyes, and he finally kicked into motion. If she hurt him? What a joke! «This is gonna be fun. I’ve been craving a go at you.» One step, two, she moved toward him, determined to meet him in the middle.

No!