The Darkest Surrender

A second later, arrows soared toward her. She watched them—six of them, moving so slowly. One by one, she caught them, looked them over and threw them down. They weren’t very fun toys.

“Well, did you see that? Impossible!”

Kaia leapt into action. One blink, and she was in the midst of the humans. She danced through them, claws slashing, fangs ripping. The sweet taste of blood slid down her throat. Soon, screams of pain and pleas for mercy echoed all around her.

Mercy? What was mercy? She knew not the word. The only word she knew was more. She needed more. More screams, more blood. She slashed with more fervor, bit with more enthusiasm. La la la, this was so much fun. Oh, look. She knew other words. So much fun. Bones made the most delightful sound when they broke. And when skin ripped, the most magnificent lullaby was created. Scream, scream, plea. Scream, scream, plea. La la la.

All too soon, the bodies stopped rising. The screams and pleas died. There were no more bones to break, no more skin to tear. No more lullabies. Kaia stilled, frowned. But…but…she wanted more. Why couldn’t she have more?

In, out she breathed—and caught the scent of cinnamon. Cinnamon equaled Strider.

Strider.

Her Strider.

Her sexy, irreverent consort who called her baby doll.

The Harpy squawked and, sated, calmed by Strider, retreated to the back of her mind.

Kaia blinked into focus. She was panting, she realized, sweat coating her skin. No, not sweat. Blood. Blood and…other things.

“Nice to have you back, sister dear,” Bianka said, slapping her on the shoulder in a job well done. “As promised, I pulled one aside and saved him for you.”

Kaia turned, saw the crimson snow, the motionless bodies—or rather, what was left of them. Humans had a saying. Mess with the bull and get the horns. Well, Harpies had a saying, too. Mess with a Harpy and die.

The only remaining—and living—human was pinned to a tree. He had an arrow protruding from each shoulder and ankle, and he quaked as Kaia neared him. Each step hurt her and she paused midway to glance down at herself. When she saw nothing out of the ordinary, save for the blood, she removed her now red coat. She had cuts on her arms, stomach and legs—and the tip of an arrowhead in her side. Shit.

“Shit,” Bianka echoed as she, too, noticed. “Let’s get that out before any more damage is done.” Her twin grabbed her bag, withdrew a pair of pliers, pushed Kaia into a sit and went to work, digging out every single shard.

The burn…Kaia wanted to yell and really wanted to bat her sister’s hands away, but she didn’t. She forced herself to concentrate on something else. Her team. She studied Gwen, who was pale but unharmed. There were two team members beside her. Juno and Tedra. One was scratched up, but the other was riddled with puncture wounds and swaying on her feet. She wouldn’t be fighting in the next competition. Damn it!

And hadn’t Kaia smelled cinnamon just a little while ago? Wasn’t that how she’d calmed? So where was Strider now?

“All done,” Bianka said, straightening. Worry layered her tone. They both knew Kaia needed Strider’s blood, or she’d be in bad shape later.

“Thank you.” Kaia stood and closed the rest of the distance between her and the Hunter. He was taller than her by at least five inches and probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds, yet the scent of fear wafted from him, acrid and potent. He’d had a front row seat to the show, after all.

“Please…don’t kill me…” he cried. “Not like that. Not like them.”

“I won’t,” she promised with a cold smile. “And in return, you’re going to do me a favor. Yes?”

“Yes.” Tears of relief tracked down his cheeks. “Please, yes.”

“Good. That’s good. Now, listen closely because I won’t repeat myself.” She unsheathed the dagger from her ankle holster and ripped a strip of furred cloth from her fallen coat.

“Wh-what are you doing? You said you weren’t going to hurt me.”

“No, I said I wasn’t going to kill you and I’m not.” Moving swiftly, she worked the crimson strip around his neck. “Are you listening? Good. Here’s what you’re going to do…”

STRIDER SCENTED THE BLOOD long before he saw the pools of it.

He’d been on Kaia’s trail for hours, his demon going crazy inside his head. Win, win, win. If he heard the word one more time, he was going to kill someone. Namely himself. Then Kaia. Seemed impossible, but he’d find a way to do it. He was that determined and she was that much to blame for this mess.

Except, as he sniffed to make sure he’d identified the notes correctly, he forgot about his irritation with Defeat, forgot about his anger with Kaia and thought only of her safety. Definitely blood.

He and Sabin shared an oh-shit glance and burst into rapid-fire movement, shoving past ice-laden branches and being slapped in the face for their efforts. Strider had his Sig in one hand and a dagger in the other, ready for anything—except to see Kaia hurt. Or worse.

Win, win, win.

Find her? Yeah, he would. Save her? Yeah, he’d do that, too. Lysander and Zacharel flew overhead and they must have scented the odor of death as well, because those long, graceful wings began flapping frantically, and they began a quick descent.

All four men hit the scene at the same time.

Bodies littered the ground. All male. Blood soaked the snow, evidence the humans had not died easily—but by the end, they had probably begged for that death.

Lysander walked the scene, sniffing, touching. “A few of the Harpies were injured.”

“Kaia?” he croaked, his heart skidding to a stop.

A terrible pause. “Yes, but she walked away. They all did.”

Thank the gods. His heart eked back into a semblance of a beat.

“These humans were tainted by the demon of Strife,” Lysander added. “Their minds were locked only on dissension.”

Rhea was possessed by the demon of Strife. And Rhea had opened her Garden of Goodbyes to all Harpies. To better destroy the women of her enemies? “Not the demon of Hope?” he asked, hopeful himself.

“No. This was Strife’s doing, no question.”

Shit. Strider’s job—protecting Kaia—was now ten thousands times more difficult. Not that he cared. He’d do what he had to do, even go up against the queen of the gods. “How can you tell?”

“Each demon emits a certain scent.” The words were said with disgust. “And the pungent stench of discord seeps from these men even still.”

“Our girls are in danger, then,” Sabin growled.

“We know.” But that was Sabin for you, Captain Jackass of the USS Obvious. Strider scrubbed a hand down his face. Now he was just being testy. Something else to blame on Kaia. Who was injured, without his blood to heal her.

“I will summon my angels to clean the mess,” Zacharel said.

His angels? “Not yet.” Amid the death, he, too, caught the hint of a scent. Kaia’s, to be exact. His sense of smell might not be as highly developed as Lysander’s, but when it came to Kaia, Strider was attuned to the littlest things.

Sniff. He followed the coppery odor and Sabin followed him. Sniff. Strider crouched and lifted a broken arrowhead. Blood coated the tip. He brought that tip to his nose and gave another sniff, this one deeper. Sure enough, Kaia’s scent was there. As Lysander had said, she’d been injured.

Having the evidence right in front of him did something to him. A red haze of fury dotted his vision. The thin shaft snapped in his hand. I need to hold her. Make sure she’s okay. And I need to hurt the one who hurt her.

“She’s fine,” Sabin said. “She walked away. The angel can’t lie.”