In a sudden blur of motion, Micah sprang from the bed and flew past her, tackling the demon-possessed warrior and sending both men toppling to the floor. Grunts and groans soon echoed. Slashing arms and vicious kicks ensued. They rolled, they struggled, they assaulted each other ferociously.
She’d never seen Micah fight so dirty. He went for the eyes, the throat and the groin, biting and ripping flesh, fists hammering. Defeat, though, merely deflected each of her man’s blows. He never tried to cause harm. Why? Something else she’d never seen — a Lord of the Underworld backing down. And this one, Defeat… Something was wrong. Had to be.
Haidee stood there, numb, watching the bloodbath, sick to her stomach and unsure what to do.
What should she do? If she threw herself into the fray, she might cut Micah instead of the Lord. They were moving so quickly…twisting and turning, flying apart, springing back together. And if she accidentally delivered Micah’s death-blow…
Damn it. What the hell should she do? she wondered again, no closer to an answer.
«What the fuck is going on?» Defeat demanded between punches. «Stop. Amun, you have to stop.»
Amun?
She’d heard the name before, knew it belonged to one of the Lords, but she couldn’t connect the name with a face. And because she had memorized all the names and faces of her enemy, she knew that could only mean one thing.
There was one immortal warrior the Hunters had never been able to photograph or even sketch throughout the years. Not that they hadn’t tried. They’d snapped pictures, but those pictures had never turned out, had always been blurry. And when they’d drawn what they’d thought was his face, they’d later realized they’d done nothing but scribble on the page.
Amun was also the Lord most people forgot the moment they walked away from him. He was the immortal the Hunters knew the least about. Maybe because Amun was possessed by the demon of Secrets.
All the Hunters really knew about him? He had dark hair and dark eyes, and he was tall and muscled. That little bit of information had been acquired through
Had this Amun died, his demon given to Micah? Did Micah now carry Secrets inside him? Was that why the Lords had chosen Micah? And he was demon-possessed. She no longer had any doubts about that. Those red eyes…peering down at her…hungry…craving…raging… She shuddered, then scowled.
This was another sin to heap on an already mountainous pile. Another crime to hate the Lords for.
Had they wanted someone with the same physical characteristics as their friend Amun? Probably. How amused they must have been, using a Hunter to house one of their disgusting demons.
Haidee shook her head, clearing her mind, thankfully thinning the fog. The two men were on their feet now, throwing punches, falling backward into the walls, causing dust and plaster to waft through the air, then reconnecting and tossing each other into furniture. They were a blur of motion, brutal, like wild animals fighting over the only snack in the jungle. Wood chips were scattered across the floor, some even swimming in little pools of blood.
Again she had to shake her head, dislodging the memory.
«Amun,» Defeat snarled. «For gods’ sake! I’m your goddamn friend. What the hell are you doing?»
In the next instant, Micah’s thoughts hit her.
The words were sluggish, lower in volume than the ones that had come before them, and she realized he was weakening. His wounds were opening, seeping, dripping all over the room.
«She’s a Hunter,» the demon continued in that outraged tone, «and she’s my prisoner.»
Could Defeat hear him? Probably not. Otherwise, he would have been backing out of the bedroom and running for his life. There had been barbwire in Micah’s tone, the tips laced with poison.
But then, Micah’s thoughts switched direction.
Micah snarled low in his throat, the sound rumbling through her mind as he punted Defeat into the already crushed vanity. More wood chips scattered. Red sparked in Defeat’s eyes, a gnarled mask of bone and scales falling over his features.
He was turning, she thought with dread. From immortal to demon.
«Win,» he growled now, and there was another voice fused to his. One that was guttural, raw. Determined.
Shit. She knew that determination. No longer would he pull his punches or deflect Micah’s. Now he would fight to win.
He closed the distance and threw his meaty clubs around, a jackhammer of lethal purpose. Not once did he miss. Micah weakened further, wobbling on his feet, his eyes beginning to swell shut as his head whipped left then right, alternating as Defeat switched fists.
The fact that Micah had lasted this long was astonishing, proof of his own determination, but he wouldn’t last much longer. He couldn’t. Not at the rate Defeat was delivering blows, and not with the already ravaged condition of his body.
She had to risk hurting Micah, she decided. There was no other way. Which meant she had to put herself in front of him, probably take a few blows before she was able to strike. No problem there.
Better she die than him, even though he was now tainted. He was tainted, yes, but he wasn’t evil. That kiss…no, he wasn’t evil. And if she was killed this day, she would come back; she would remember him. Not the kiss, that had been too good, and all her favorite things were always wiped, but this fight. She would recall the blood, her fear…her despair. But if Micah died, he would be gone forever.
Haidee stiffened, preparing to jump, waiting for the perfect moment. A thought suddenly hit her and she hesitated. If Micah turned his sights on her or even struck her accidentally… Oh, God. If she died, she wouldn’t remember why he’d done so when she awakened, only that he had — and she would come back to kill him just as she planned to come back and kill the others. If he survived this, they would be enemies.
Defeat landed a particularly vicious blow to Micah’s side, causing him to wheeze.
Worth the risk, she decided in the next instant. He was teetering…falling…
At last Haidee jumped forward, hooked her arm around Micah’s waist and threw him with all her might.
As she straightened, she landed a hard right to his chin. His head jerked backward, and he grunted, blood and teeth spewing. She aimed the glass at his throat, but only managed to slash his shoulder as he pivoted.
His narrowed gaze landed on her. He could have hit her just then. He didn’t.
Firm hands suddenly gripped her waist from behind and tossed her. Through the air she soared, flailing for an anchor, wondering what the hell had just happened. The makeshift weapon flew from her clasp, then she was bouncing on the bed, realization setting in. Micah was aware enough to know who she was, aware enough to want her out of harm’s way. Sweet of him, but that wasn’t going to stop her. He’d done his part. Now she would do hers.
Before the bouncing stopped, she was throwing her legs over the side of the bed and straightening, once again intending to knock Micah out of way. Only, she saw that he had somehow tackled Defeat and now straddled the warrior’s prone body, punching…punching…
Between whaling fists, Defeat groaned and babbled. «Lost…lost…no, gods, no…lost…»
For several moments, she could only blink, watch. Micah had done it. Despite his injuries, he’d won. Against an immortal.
