asses and capture him, he wouldn’t have any secrets to spill.
Secrets. Amun. Ex.
His jaw clenched.
«He’s means Liam and Liama,» William called, but a shadow then passed over his features, his grin fading.
«Madd and Madder are kicking like professional soccer players,» she replied, her voice softening with love and affection. «I swear, we’re gonna have our hands full when they finally get here.»
«By the way, you’ve ruined a perfectly good prank call with all this baby talk, Ash,» William scolded her.
«Seriously,» Paris said with a nod.
She laughed with unvarnished delight. «No more than you deserve, boys.»
«Hang up the phone, woman,» Maddox suddenly said, grim. «Someone’s coming.»
«Uh-oh. I have to go now,» she said and hung up before anyone could reply.
Strider tossed the phone to Paris, who missed. «Think they’re in trouble?»
«Nah,» Paris said, plucking the device before William could. «The someone who’s coming is probably Maddox himself.»
«Yeah, he’s probably dragging her back to wherever they’re staying so he can make a prank call of his own,» William said, adding, «on her body.»
Before Defeat could throw in his own supposition, Strider changed the subject. «So now what are we going to do?» Out of habit, he scanned his surroundings.
The girls were watching them, he realized, confused by their amusement but clearly charmed by it. They were wearing dreamy expressions, as if they were already planning a triple wedding.
«I guess we could grab a female or two and head to our bedrooms.» Paris didn’t sound enthused by the prospect. At least he wasn’t going to deny himself his daily dose, though.
«Yeah,» William replied, and he actually sounded depressed.
Strider knew Paris’s problem. The woman he had desired above all others, the first woman he’d ever been able to have sex with more than once, had died in his arms, gunned down by her own people. Hunters. Like Ex.
This time, Strider didn’t even attempt to cut off his thoughts of her. Yet. Had she been among the shooters? Probably. There was no bitch more coldhearted. Literally. He’d never met anyone whose body was as cold as that girl’s — except those he’d sent to the morgue, of course. Like he’d once sent Ex.
Was she cold because she was still dead? Was she akin to the walking dead?
The possibility was worth considering. Later. Right now, he wanted to figure out William’s unusual somberness. A much safer topic. Was there someone the warrior wanted but couldn’t have? Someone he’d lost? Was that why he was so hands-off when he used to be a worse degenerate than Strider? Seriously, he hadn’t touched a single stripper. Not even to slap a rump.
«So am I the only one who sees the dead girl at Paris’s feet or what?» William asked conversationally.
Strider and Paris stiffened in unison. Dead girl?
Strider was the first to find his voice. «What do you mean?» He looked, hard, but saw no hint of a dead… anything.
«Is this a joke?» Paris demanded, and there was no denying the menace in his voice.
«No joke, I swear.» William held up his hands, all innocence. «She showed up a few minutes ago and just kinda threw herself on the ground beside your chair. Dude, she’s got her hands wrapped around your ankle.» His gaze remained in the same spot, as if he were studying her. «She’s got dark hair and dirt-smudged skin. Or maybe those are freckles. She’s wearing a ripped white robe and black wings are growing out of her back. Ohhh, she’s got nice hands. Look at those things. I bet she does all kinds of naughty things with them.»
Paris was on his feet a second later, wild gaze darting over the concrete surrounding his chair. «Where is she? Where, damn it?»
A frowning William pointed at the exact spot Paris was standing. «You’re on top of her. Hey, girl. Girl. I don’t think he can see you. Or feel you. I don’t think grabbing on to him like that is gonna help you.»
Paris jumped back and, with an urgent moan, fell to his knees, patting the area in question as if he were putting out a fire. «I don’t feel her. Are you sure she’s here?» Desperate, uttered in a rush.
«Uh, yeah.» William’s brow furrowed several seconds before smoothing out as comprehension dawned. «I guess I never told you guys, but I see dead people. Oh, and look. There’s Cronus.»
Cronus, the god king. Strider’s eyes widened, but he saw no bright light to announce the sovereign’s sudden appearance. All remained as it was. No, not true. Paris had stiffened, fury bathing his face, his teeth bared in a fearsome scowl.
Cronus had given them medallions to hide them from the gods, but had since taken them back, saying the Lords had abused them. Meaning, Cronus wanted to know where they were at all times. Here was proof.
«Hey, buddy. How you doing?» William waved. «You taking the girl?» Pause. «Wow, you’re brave. Doesn’t look like she wants to leave with you.» Another pause. He didn’t seem to care that he was having a conversation with himself. «Okay, then, but go easy on her. I think Paris likes her. Well, bye.» He waved again.
Paris listened, growing more and more agitated. At the «bye,» he launched himself at William, his roar shattering the ease of the night.
Chapter Fifteen
Haidee fought through the thick, black cloud in her mind, hearing grunts, groans and hisses in the distance. Heavy eyelids blinked open, and through a misty haze she saw a tall, muscled warrior standing over her, a solid leg on each side of her hips. Amun. Her sweet Amun.
He slashed his serrated daggers with swift proficiency, his wrists arcing as his hands overlapped, quickly sailing apart and nailing a target. Or several targets at the same time. Thin, scaled bodies — snakes, she thought groggily — fell all around her, crimson rivers flowing under her. In death, their red eyes were fixed on her, their fangs forever bared but useless.
Those bodies continued to rain as Amun continued to slash, and a more fantastical display of male aggression and skill she’d never seen. But no matter how many reptiles he killed, more flew from the tangle of limbs, desperate to bite him. Many had already succeeded. His arms were covered with tiny punctures, his own blood dripping and blending with theirs.
None of the snakes had reached her, however. Every time one of them angled in her direction, either from in front or behind, he noticed and attacked. He protected her, even though he left his sides wide open to do so, allowing several other sets of fangs to sink deep.
She should help, do something, anything, but her limbs refused to obey her command to move. She drew in a deep breath — the air, so sweet, so pungent — trying to find her center, trying to tap into a reservoir of strength. Only lethargy greeted her.
Amun was panting, sweating, probably tiring and definitely needing her to do — her eyes were closing again…
The next time haidee managed to pry open her eyelids, she saw wide, rocky walls painted red with blood and depicting horrific images that blurred at her sides as she…floated? Even from the swift glimpses she was afforded, she managed to spot three stabbings, two rapes and countless burnings.
Worse than the images, however, she saw an actual human body hanging from the domed ceiling, crows eating at its rotting flesh. What. The. Hell?
Hell. The word echoed in her mind, rousing her memory. She had entered hell with Amun. Her dream man. Her enemy. Her obsession.
Her head felt too heavy to turn even the barest inch, so she moved her gaze instead — and found herself
