They'd led normal lives until now, getting up every morning and going to work, carefree and unconcerned, deceived into believing that nothing bad would happen to them. Before this, the worst thing Danika had ever dealt with was the death of her grandpa two months ago. He'd been a loving man with a zest for life, and she'd felt his loss to the marrow of her bones. They all had. Did.
They'd thought, hoped, vacationing here would help dull the grief and make them feel closer to a man they'd never see again. Granddad had loved it here, had constantly talked about the magical two weeks he'd spent here before marrying Grandma.
He had never mentioned a group of homicidal warriors with wings.
"We've searched the room over and over again," her grandma said. Her weathered face was more lined than usual. "The only way out is the front door or the window, and we can't open either one."
"Why do they want to hurt us?" Ginger cried. Her blue gaze was watery, her pale hair damp from her many bouts of tears. Red splotches stained her skin from forehead to chin.
None of them were pretty criers.
"They didn't say." Danika sighed. God, what a nightmare. Right before they'd been taken, she and her family had toured the castle district. She'd never seen anything so lovely as the multihued lights shining from hundreds of years of majestic architecture. She'd yearned for her paints, her canvas, wanting to capture the sights.
And that's exactly what she'd planned to do at the hotel. Paint.
But the moment she'd stepped inside her room, a mana large, scarred man with dark hair and oddly colored eyeshad accosted her. He'd smelled of flowers, she remembered, the scent somehow comforting her even in the midst of the greatest panic attack of her life. The winged man had been there, too, only his wings had been hidden underneath a T-shirt.
How easily they'd subdued her. Shame still filled her at the thought. Four women against two men, and still the women had lost, had hardly put up a fight. They'd been knocked out and carted here, awakening in this very room.
"Maybe we should try to seduce a key from one of them," Ginger whispered to her.
The dark-skinned, black-eyed warrior immediately pushed his way into Danika's thoughts. Every time she'd seen him, he'd been bleeding. Clumsy? He hadn't seemed so, but Perhaps she should have offered to "doctor" his wounds. Maybe he would have been nicer to her. Maybe he would have helped her when she'd asked.
Maybe he would have kissed her.
The thought alone excited her, damn it. "No woman should have to barter her body to escape a prison," she said, angry at herself. The image of Reyes swam before her eyes again, and she found herself adding, "But I'll think about it."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Maddox held Ashlyn for several hours as she napped, hopefully reviving body and soul. Time was his enemy, midnight fast sneaking up on him, but he didn't wake her. Not even when he stripped her of her shoes and sweater, revealing delicate feet and a T-shirt that clung to her round breasts, his blood burning with arousal.
Lunch had long since come and gone. He was hungry, but he wanted Ashlyn more than he wanted food. Holding herhearing her melodious, sleep-rumbling sighs heaven.
Her breasts, smashed against his side, were unbelievably soft. One of her arms was draped over his stomach, cleaving to him in a tight embrace, as if she feared, even in sleep, that he might slip away.
More at peace than he had been in centuries, he was not surprised when his eyelids began to grow heavy and his mind began to drift.
Awaken, warrior. I have returned, a voice said in his mind. An all-too-familiar voice. Now this surprised him.
Maddox stiffened, eyelids springing open as fury speared him, completely chasing away the sleep-fog. Gaze sharp, he quickly searched the room. He saw no one lurking about, no suspicious shadow.
He would rather deal with an intruder, a Hunter, than this Titan who had promised to help Ashlyn and then had abandoned her. Would the being now attempt to rip her from his arms?
Where is my thanks, warrior?
He felt a slight hum of power, the air thickening, twisting. Ashlyn released a breathy sigh and he forced himself to relax. He wanted her to wake up, but not until the god was gone. If she were to anger the being, even unintentionally, she could be hurt.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
I shouldn't have to tell you, was the annoyed reply.
Maddox popped his jaw, doing his best to remain at peace. No violence, no raging. How cruel the Titan was to make him guess. "What do you want from me great one?"
You promised me anything. Everything.
"I promised you anything you wanted if you saved the girl. You did not save her," he said, even as his mind screamed, Do not provoke the god! "We did."
And yet she is alive.
"But you did nothing." He pressed his lips together. Antagonizing a god was not wise. But he feared what he would be asked to do if he agreed with the being, knowing it would be payment for aid that had not been given.
Are you sure? The voice was silky now, daring him to contradict.
Was he sure? Danika had helped with her strange pounding on Ashlyn's chest, then by breathing life into her lungs. Reyes and Aeron, too, had done their part. Maddox had held her, cleaned her and comforted her.
What could this being have done? Does it matter? he thought then. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, resigned.
There was a satisfied purr. Tell your friends to visit Kerepesi Cemetery at midnight. They are to take no weapons. They are to tell no one what they are doing. They are to come alone, and I will visit them. I will show them exactly who I am.
"At midnight, we will be otherwise occupied."
Your death-curse. Yes, I know. Lucien and Reyes have my permission to arrive late.
"But"
No buts. Midnight. Unarmed.
Maddox blinked. That did not make sense. Why demand the men arrive unarmed? A god could crush them no matter how many weapons were strapped to their bodies.
Will you tell them?
His eyes narrowed. Either this was not a god or the being meant to lead them into an ambush. He already thought the Titans cruel, so he would not doubt that they were capable of such an act. But either way, he was damned. If this was a god, Maddox would be punished, for he could not bring himself to ask his friends to approach a potentially dangerous situation weaponless. And if this wasn't a god, that meant someone elsesomething elsehad the power to infiltrate his thoughts.
At his side, Ashlyn smacked her lips and rolled to her back. One hand was draped over her brow and the other was curled on her stomach. Close to waking up, he realized, but fighting it.
Will you tell them? the voice demanded again, too eager now, too uncertain.
In that moment, Maddox knew. This wasn't a god. Couldn't be. An all-powerful being could simply whisk the Lords to the cemetery. An all-powerful being wouldn't betray a single shred of doubt. He ground his teeth together.
Do not make me ask again.
"Of course I will tell them," he said, and it wasn't a lie. He would tell themjust not what the being wanted him to tell.
Until tonight, then, the voice said, practically humming with satisfaction.
Until we learn the truth. Of course, Maddox did not voice the thought aloud. When there was no response, no reaction, he grinned slowly. The being could push its words into his mind, but could not hear his thoughts. Good. Very, very good.
The current of power suddenly vanished from the air.
Probabilities spun in Maddox's mind. Perhaps the being could hear dialogue from a distance. Perhaps, like Maddox and the others, the speaker was an immortal with special abilities.
An immortal Hunter?
Careful not to disturb Ashlyn, Maddox crept from the bed and made his way through the stronghold until he found Lucien. The warrior sat on the couch in the entertainment room, alone, silent, a glass of scotch in his hand.
Maddox told his friend what had happened and Lucien paled, even his scars blanching. "Hunters. Titans. Women. Now unnamed beings with unidentified powers? When does it end?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "Every minute that ticks by, it seems something new arises." And to think, only yesterday Maddox had complained about the monotony of life.
"We have several hours, at least, to decide what to do about this. I need to think before we tell the others. Too much is happening at once, too many changes "
Maddox nodded. "You know where to find me when you need me." He returned to his room, glad for the reprieve. He wasn't ready to leave Ashlyn.
She lay exactly as he'd left her, a vision in his barren chamber. He climbed in beside her, accidentally jostling the mattress.
"Maddox," she murmured.
The single word was sleep-rich, a rumbling moan that fired his blood as surely as a caress from her delicate fingers would. With his renewed desire, Violence once again made itself known, its mood dark and hungry. Needing something. Blood? Pain? Screams? He did not know, couldn't tell. I will control myself. I will not harm this woman.
Ashlyn rubbed her cheek against his side and purred like a contented kitten. "Maddox?"
Violence purred in response.
He gripped the sheets, the cool material shredding under his ministrations. What was Violence trying to force him to do? Its desires were hazy. Sweat beaded over Maddox's skin. His jaw clenched so tightly he felt the tendons in his neck strain.
"Maddox?" Ashlyn repeated. This time, she sounded concerned. She eased up, those glorious honey tresses cascading down her shoulders. Rays of sunlight streamed in from the window and bathed her in a bright amber halo. Her eyes swept over him. "What's wrong?"
He couldn't answer, couldn't speak past the knot in his throat.
Concern visibly intensifying, she leaned over and reached under his shirt, running her palms over his bare chest. The touch was exhilarating, consuming. Always there was that energy between them. He'd never felt anything like it.
But the spirit liked it too, he realized. It roared; not with fury but with arousal. More The hazy needs of before built again, finally making themselves known. Pleasure and passion. Ecstasy and exquisite longing.
"How are you feeling?" Maddox asked, the lump receding. Amazing, to crave something, someone, without feeling a deeper urge to hurt.
"Better."
"I am glad." He remained in place for a long while, letting Ashlyn pet his chest and reveling in the sensations. Soft, sweet, an erotic dream he never wanted to end. He vibrated, or maybe the spirit did. Dangerous. He'd strip her and take her in a matter of minutes if he didn't stop her.
"Your face looks better," she said. "Not as battered."
"I heal quickly. Come." He rolled from the bed and held out one hand.
Her tawny gaze traveled from his face to his hand, then back to his face, searching for some sort of answer. "You change moods faster than anyone I've ever met," she grumbled, but she tentatively reached out, as if she couldn't stop herself. Their fingers intertwined.
Another sizzle.
She obviously felt it, as well, gasping at first contact.
Shaking with the need to claim her, he tugged her to her feet. She swayed and tightened her grip on him. "Where are we going?"
To Paradise, if he had his way. "Shower." He didn't wait for her response, but shepherded her toward the bathroom.
Surprisingly, she didn't protest. "I must look terrible." She smoothed a hand down her hair and grimaced. "Ugh. Bedhead."
"You could never look terrible."
Her cheeks flushed to a rosy pink. "Yes, I could. JustI don't know. Avert your eyes until I'm clean or something."
"I've tried to keep my gaze from you. Believe me." But his eyes always sought her of their own accord, pulled by a force far greater than himself.
They reached the bathroom and he released her. An acute sense of loss filled him. Almost time. Just a little longer.
His back to her, he twisted the knobs in the tub. Water burst from the nozzle, cold at first, but gradually heating. Soon steam drifted through the bathroom, curling toward the ceiling, condensing, then falling like tiny drops of rain.
Steeling himself, he faced Ashlyn.
"I'm sorry about your room. I'll, uh, clean it later," she said, gazing down at her bare feet. The nails weren't polished, but the toes were charming, square-tipped.
"I'll clean it," he told her gruffly.
Her gaze snapped to his. "No. I'd rather you didn't. I'm embarrassed enough. I mean, I threw up in front of you. Several times. Maybe even on you. Anything thatoh God, this is mortifying. Anything that landed on the floor is my responsibility."
"My fault. My room. I will clean." He didn't like the image of her doing manual labor. He wanted her in bed, resting. And naked. Yes, naked. Perhaps not resting, then, but licking and biting him.
His cock jumped in response.
"Take off your clothes." His voice was huskier than he'd intended.
She blinked up at him, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. "Wh-what?"
"Take off your clothes."
"Right now?" she squeaked.
His brow furrowed. "Do you normally shower with them on?"
"No, but I normally shower alone."
"Not today." He felt as if he'd waited forever for this moment. Ashlyn. Naked. His to do with as he pleased, her curves begging to be explored.
"Why not today?" she asked, the words cracked and pleading.
"Because." Stubborn, he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Maddox"
"Ashlyn. Take off your clothes. They are dirty."
Behind him, the water continued to beat against the white tile. In front of him, Ashlyn continued to stare, as though flummoxed. "No," she said. She backed away toward the exit. One step, two.
He leaned forward, his nose inching toward hers. He didn't kiss her, though. Didn't touch her. He simply reached behind her and flicked the door shut, blocking her escape.
The soft clink echoed off the walls, and she gulped. Paled.
He sighed. He didn't want her scared, he wanted her aroused. "Do not be frightened."