The Darkest Night (5 page)

Reyes stabbed him again.

Black cobwebs wove over his vision as he searched the room. Paris, he saw dimly, was striding toward Ashlyn. Reached her, wrapped his arms around her. She was dwarfed by the larger man, enfolded in his shadow. Tears glistened in those amber eyes and on her too-pale cheeks.

She fought, but Paris held firm and dragged her from the room.

Maddox uttered an animalistic roar. Paris would seduce her. Strip her and taste her. She would not be able to resist; no woman could. “Let her go! Now!” He strained so fervently for freedom, a vessel burst in his forehead. His vision blackened completely.

“Get her out of here and keep her out.” Reyes stabbed Maddox once more, the fifth blow. “She’s making him more crazed than usual.”

Had to save her. Had to get to her.
The sound of rattling chains blended with his panting as he struggled all the more.

“I’m sorry,” Reyes whispered again.

Finally, the sixth blow was delivered.

That’s when all of Maddox’s strength seeped from him. The spirit quieted, retreating to the back of his consciousness.

Done. It was done.

He lay on the bed, drenched in his own blood, unable to move or see. The pain didn’t leave him, nor did the burning. No, they intensified, more a part of him than his own skin. Warm liquid gurgled in his throat.

Lucien—he knew it was Lucien for he recognized the deceptively sweet scent of Death—knelt beside him and clasped his hand. That meant his demise was close, so torturously close.

But for Maddox, the true torment had yet to begin.

As part of his death-curse, he and Violence would spend the rest of the night burning in the pits of hell. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a cough emerged. More and more blood was rushing into his throat, choking him.

“In the morning, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do, my friend,” Lucien said, adding gently, “Die now. I’ll take your soul to hell, as required—but this time you might actually want to remain there, eh, rather than deal with the trouble you’ve brought into our home.”

“G-girl,” Maddox finally managed to say.

“Don’t worry,” Lucien said. Whatever questions he had, he kept to himself. “We won’t hurt her. She’ll be yours to deal with in the morning.”

“Untouched.” The request was odd, Maddox knew,
because none of them had ever been possessive of a woman. Ashlyn, though…He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with her. He knew what he should do—and what he couldn’t. Both mattered little just then. Because, more than anything, he knew that he didn’t want to share.

“Untouched,” he insisted weakly when Lucien said nothing.

“Untouched,” Lucien agreed at last.

The scent of flowers intensified. A heartbeat of time passed, and then Maddox died.

“W
HO ARE YOU
and how do you know Maddox?”

“Let me go!” Ashlyn wiggled and squirmed, trying to free herself from her captor’s iron grip. Her ankle throbbed, but she didn’t care. “They’re killing him in there.” Oh God. They
were
killing him, stabbing him over and over again. There’d been so much blood…such terrible screams. She gagged, remembering.

The voices might still be gone, but she felt more tormented than ever.

“Maddox will be fine,” the man told her. Maddox had broken his nose—she’d
seen
it—but it had snapped back into place almost immediately. There wasn’t even a trace of blood on his face. Now he removed one of his arms from her waist, only to caress her temple and gently brush aside a lock of hair. “You’ll see.”

“No, I won’t see,” she all but sobbed. “Let me go!”

“Much as I hate to deny you, I have to. You were causing him undue torment.”

“
I
was causing him undue torment? I wasn’t the one stabbing him. Now let me go!” Not knowing what else to do, she stilled and gazed up at him. “Please.” He had brilliant blue eyes and skin as pale as milk. His hair was a captivating blend of brown and black. He was handsome beyond anyone she’d ever seen before, too perfect to be real.

And all she wanted to do was escape him.

“Relax.” He smiled a slow, seductive smile. Practiced, even to her untrained eye. “You have nothing to fear from me, gorgeous. I’m all about the pleasure.”

Fury and fright, sorrow and frustration gave her strength and bravery; she slapped him. He’d just watched a man stab Maddox, and he’d done nothing to stop it. He’d just watched a man stab Maddox, and he dared to flirt with her. She had
everything
to fear from him.

He lost his grin and frowned down at her. “You hit me.” There was surprise in his tone.

She slapped him again. “Let. Me. Go!”

His frown deepened. He rubbed his cheek with one hand and held her still with the other. “Women do not hit me. Women love me.”

She raised her palm, ready to deliver another blow.

Sighing, he said, “Fine. Go. Maddox’s screams have stopped. I doubt you can upset him now, dead as he surely is.” His arm fell away from her.

Ashlyn didn’t give him time to change his mind. Suddenly free, she leapt into motion, racing down the hall despite the pain in her ankle. When she entered the room and saw the blood-soaked bed and motionless body, she skidded to an abrupt halt.

Dear God.

Maddox’s eyes were closed; his chest was utterly still.

A sob burst from her, and she covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Red-hot tears filled her eyes. “They killed you.” She raced to the bed and cupped Maddox’s jaw in her hands, tilting slowly. His eyelids didn’t flicker open. Breath didn’t seep from his nose. His skin was already cold and pale from loss of blood.

She was too late.

How could someone so strong and vital have been destroyed so callously?

“Who is she?” someone said.

Startled, she turned. Maddox’s murderers stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves. How could she have forgotten them? Every few seconds, they glanced in her direction. None of them spoke directly to her. They continued their conversation as if she didn’t matter. As if Maddox didn’t matter.

“We should take her to the city, but she’s seen too much,” a harsh voice said. The coldest, most uncaring voice she’d ever heard. “What was Maddox thinking?”

“All this time, I’ve lived with him and I never knew what he suffered,” an angelic-looking blond with green eyes said quietly. He was dressed entirely in black and wore gloves that stretched to his biceps. “Is it always like this?”

“Not always, no,” the one who had wielded the sword said. “He’s usually more accepting.” His black gaze was hard, his tone tormented. “The woman…”

Murderer!
Ashlyn inwardly cried, wanting to attack him. All her life, her ability had revealed more bad than good, forcing her to listen to centuries of hateful accusations and even shrieks of terror. And the one man who’d given her any measure of peace, they’d brutally slain.

Do something, Darrow.
She scrubbed her burning eyes with the back of her wrist and straightened to shaky legs. What could she do? They outnumbered her. They were stronger than she was.

An extremely tattooed man frowned over at her. He had military-cropped brown hair, two eyebrow rings and soft, full lips. He also had more muscles than a world champion power-lifter. He would have been handsome—in a serial-killer kind of way—if not for those tattoos.
Even his cheeks were painted with violent images of war and weapons.

His eyes were the same shade of violet as Maddox’s, but they lacked any hint of warmth or emotion. Blood dripped down his nose as he rubbed his chin with two fingers. “We have to do
something
with the girl.” That cold, emotionless voice again. “I don’t like her being here.”

“Even so, Aeron, we aren’t to touch her.” This speaker had inky hair that was like a dark halo around his head and different-colored eyes—one brown, one blue. His face was a mass of scars. At first glance, he was hideous. At second, there was an almost hypnotic quality to him, enhanced by the scent of roses drifting from him. “Tomorrow morning she’ll be in the same condition she is now. Breathing and clothed.”

“Just like Maddox, taking away our fun.”

The wry voice came from behind her and she yelped, spinning. The beautiful pale-skinned man stood in the doorway. He watched her, hunger in his eyes, as if he were picturing her naked and liked what he saw.

A tremor started at the top of her head and worked its way down, all the way to her toes. Bastards, every one of them! Her feral gaze scanned the room and narrowed on the bloody sword that had been carelessly tossed onto the floor. The very sword that had sliced through Maddox as if he were nothing more than a thin layer of silk.

“I want to know who she is,” the cold, tattooed one—Aeron—said. “And I want to know why Maddox brought her here. He knows the rules.”

“She must have been one of the humans on the hill,” the angel said, “but that still doesn’t explain why he brought her into our midst.”

She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt on the verge
of a total breakdown.
I should have listened to McIntosh.
Demons
did
live here.

“Well?” Aeron prompted. “What do we do with her?”

Each of the men faced her again, and Ashlyn dove for the blade. Her fingers curled around the hilt and she straightened, pointing the tip in their direction. The sword was heavier than she’d thought and her arms instantly began to shake under its weight, but she held firm.

Her companions merely regarded her with curiosity. Their lack of fear didn’t faze her. Though she’d only known Maddox a short while, there was something wild inside her that mourned his loss and demanded she avenge his death.

Maddox.
His name whispered through her mind. He was gone. Forever. Her stomach clenched painfully. “I should kill you, all of you. He was innocent.”

“Innocent?” someone scoffed.

“She wants to kill us. Hunters
have
come for us, then,” Aeron said with disgust.

“A Hunter would not call Maddox innocent. Even in jest.”

“Bait would not be above it. Remember, every word out of their mouths was a lie, though their faces were always guileless.”

“I watched Maddox slay four men on my monitor, which he wouldn’t have done if they had been innocent. And I doubt a coincidence brought a guiltless female to the forest at the exact same time.”

“Think she has any skill with a sword?”

Snort. “Of course not. Look how she’s holding it.”

“Brave little thing, though.”

Ashlyn gaped at them, hardly able to keep up with the conversation. “Does no one care that a man was murdered here? That
you
were the ones who murdered him?”

The black-clothed angel laughed, actually laughed, but
there was anguish in his green eyes. “Believe me. Maddox will thank us in the morning.”

“If he doesn’t kill us for being here in the first place,” someone retorted.

To her astonishment, several of the men chuckled. All shook their heads in hearty agreement. Only the one who had rendered the fatal wounds remained silent. He continued to stare at Maddox’s body, his expression wracked with agony and guilt. Good. She wanted him to suffer for what he’d done.

The sensual one, the one who thought no woman could resist him, leveled his gaze on her, and she was treated to another slow, seductive smile. “Put the sword away, sweet, before you hurt yourself.”

She held tight, determined. “Come and take it from me, you…you…animal!” The words flew from her mouth, a challenge she couldn’t hold back. “I may not have any skill with swords, but if you come near me I
will
hurt you.”

There was a sigh. A laugh. A muttered, “What kind of female can resist Paris?”

“I say we lock her in the dungeon.” This from the one named Aeron. “No telling what she’ll do otherwise.”

“Agreed,” the others echoed.

Edging toward the door, Ashlyn shook her head and gripped the sword more tightly. “I’m leaving. Do you hear me? I’m leaving! And mark my words, justice will be served. Every single one of you will be arrested and executed.”

“Maddox can decide what to do with her in the morning,” the one with the mismatched eyes said calmly, ignoring her.

As if Maddox could decide anything now.

Her chin trembled. And then her eyes widened as each of his killers stalked forward, determination in their every step.

D
ON’T HURT ME
. Please, don’t hurt me.

A pause. A snap.

An anguished cry.

My arm!
Huge, gut-wrenching sobs.
You broke my fucking arm!
Ashlyn’s own arm throbbed in sympathy.
I didn’t…do anything…wrong.

The voices had returned in full force.

She huddled on the floor of a dark, dank cell, shivering and scared. “I just wanted to find someone who could help me,” she whispered. Instead, she’d fallen straight into a Grimm’s folk tale, but with no happy ending in sight.

I will. I will. Just…need…a…moment.

The one-sided conversation had been rolling through her mind for an eternity, it seemed, now a discordant concerto of anger, desperation and pain. Above it, however, a single voice rose: Maddox’s. Not a voice of the past, but a memory. A burst of screams.

“You left the Institute for
this.
” She shook her head in grief and disgust, wanting to convince herself this day had been nothing more than a nightmare. That a man had not been slain right in front of her. Stabbed. Repeatedly. But she knew the truth. His shouts…God, his shouts. His rage at being chained and beaten, his torment…worse than anything she’d ever heard from another human being.

Tears rained down her face. She couldn’t get his image out of her head—not his image before he died and not his image after. Harshly handsome face almost savage in its intensity. Facial bones blurred and sunken. Violet eyes bright. Violet eyes closed. Tall, tanned and muscled body. Broken, bloody, lifeless body.

She whimpered.

After shoving her into this cell, Maddox’s killers had promised to bring her blankets and food. The vow had been
delivered ages ago, but no one had returned. She was glad. She didn’t want to see them again. Didn’t want to hear them, didn’t want to talk to them. She’d rather endure the cold and the hunger.

Shivering, she tugged her jacket tight at the collar. She was thankful she still had it, that the men, those barbaric monsters, hadn’t taken it from her during the seemingly endless trek from topside to underground.

Just then, something scampered across her fingertips, squeaking happily, and she jerked. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. She scooted into the nearest corner.
Mouse.
A hairy little rodent that would eat anything, and where there was one…

Stomach churning, she swept her gaze through the cell. Not that it did any good. The room was too dark, and she wouldn’t have been able to see a hand—or a monster—if it were right in front of her face.

“Stay still.” Deep breath in. “Stay calm.” Deep breath out.

I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but please don’t hurt me again,
Broken Arm said, sobbing his way back into her thoughts.
I didn’t mean to sneak inside.
There was a long pause.
Okay, yes, yes. I did. I meant to, but I only wanted to see who had taken residence here. I’m not a hunter, I swear I’m not.

Ashlyn’s ears twitched, and she pressed deeper into the rocky wall. Hunter, the man had said. Maddox’s killers had called
her
a hunter. What did they mean? Bounty hunter? She frowned and rubbed her swollen, aching ankle. Who could ever think that of five-foot-five, average Ashlyn?

“Doesn’t matter. You have to find a way out of here, Darrow.” She had to tell the authorities what had happened to Maddox. Would they believe her? Would they even care? Or had the men here somehow bewitched
them as they’d done the rest of the townspeople—angels, indeed—allowing them to do anything they wanted, whenever they wanted?

A sob gushed from her lips; a tremor raked her. No one should have to die that slowly, that painfully. Dignity gone. Cries unheeded.

One way or another, Maddox would be avenged.

M
ADDOX SCREAMED
.

Flames licked him from head to toe. Blistering, melting away his flesh, reducing him to nothing but bone. No, not even bone, he mused in the next instant. The flames had reduced him to ash. But he was still aware…always aware. He still knew who he was, still knew
what
he was, and that he would have to return to the fire tomorrow.

The agony was nearly more than he could bear. Plumes of smoke thickened the air, scattering soot in every direction. Disgustingly, he knew that soot belonged to him.
Was
him.

Much too soon, it returned to where he had stood, fused together and became a body, a man—a man that once again caught fire. A body that once again melted bit by grueling bit, pouring flesh from muscle, then flickering orange-gold sparks over muscle before disintegrating altogether. There was another blackened breeze, returning everything to its place so the entire process could repeat itself. Again and again and again.