The girl
Bring her. Shell be guarded, youll see. A wave of Torins hand, and he was racing up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Dread increasing, Strider followed, Ex bouncing on his shoulder. If shed been awake, she would have lost her breath, over and over again, grunting from the pain of having her stomach repeatedly slammed into his bone. She also would have fought him with a skill matched by few.
Too bad the drugs had been so potent. A good fight would have settled his nerves.
What was so important that Torin didnt want him taking a few minutes to lock an abominable Hunter away?
His thoughts splintered the moment he hit the landing.
All he could do was gape. Angels. So many angels. No wonder the house had been redecorated. Divine intervention and all that. Angels did like them some pretties.
They stood along the wall, the only space between them filled by the arch of their wings. White feathers laced with gold, the wings of warriors. Their scents perfumed the air, a collage of orchids, morning dew, chocolate and champagne. They ranged in height, though none were shorter than six foot three, and though they wore girly white robes, their muscle mass rivaled Striders.
Most were male, but all were demon assassins trained to hunt, to destroy, and when warranted, to protect. Since they didnt rush at him, ripping swords of fire from the air, as he knew they were very capable of doing, he assumed they were here for the latter.
He studied them, searching for answers. Twenty-three in total, but not one of them glanced in his direction. They kept their eyes straight ahead, their stances taut, their hands anchored behind their backs. Not a sound did they make. Not even the rasp of breath.
Physically, theyentranced him. And yeah, it was embarrassing as hell to admit that, even to himself. But the sheer magnetism of them was stunning. Hypnotic. A drug for his eyes.
They possessed all different shades of hair. From the darkest of midnight to the palest of snow, but his favorite was the gold. So pure, so fluid, a kings ransom that had been melted and mixed with the dazzle of summer sun. Rich, vibrant. Almostalive. No way hed be teasing any of them about such prissy locks, though.
They might not be attacking him, might not even be looking at him, but death radiated from them.
Someone cleared his throat.
Strider blinked, Torin coming back into focus. His friend occupied the center of the hallway. Probably had the entire time, only Strider had lost sight of anything but the angels the moment hed spied them. Yep. Em-bar-rass-ing.
Why? was all he asked.
Torin understood. Aeron and William took Amun into hell on a rescue mission. And yeah, they got Legion out of there. Shes alive, healing, but Amun
Strider filled in the rest and wanted to punch a hole in the wall. The keeper of Secrets had new voices in his head.
Hed been with Amun for thousands upon thousands of years. Eons, what seemed countless millennia. He knew the warriors demon absorbed the darkest thoughts and deepest mysteries of anyone nearby. Things long buried, horrific, gruesome. Unwanted, humiliating. Soul-changing. And if Amun had been in hell, where demons roamed in their purest form, his head was now churning with all kinds of evil. Malevolent whispers, wicked images, both drowning the essence of who he was.
Or rather, who hed been.
The angels? Strider gritted out. Yeah, he knew it was rude to discuss the beings as if they werent there, but he simply didnt give a shit. He didnt love many people, but he loved the other demon-possessed residents of this fortress. Even more than he loved himself, and that was a whole hell of a lot.
They wanted to kill him, but
Fuck no! he roared. Anyone touched his friend, and theyd lose their handsfollowed by their limbs, their organs and, when he tired of torturing them, their lives.
He hefted Ex off his shoulder and into his arms before easing her to the floor and stalking forward, already reaching for a blade.
Defeat sensed his need to destroy and laughed. Win!
Stop. Torin raised his arm to ward him off, even as he backtracked to maintain distance. Let me finish, damn it! They wanted to kill him, were supposed to kill him, but they havent. Wont.
Yet hung in the air like a noose around his neck. Strider chose to ignore that noosefor the momentand stopped, already panting and sweating with the force of his instant and white-hot rage.
Win? his demon whined.
No challenge has been issued. Therefore, he could back off without consequences.
Oh, he thought he heard, a whole lot of disappointment in the undertone.
Why are they here, then? he snapped, demanding an answer now. Or else.
Green eyes grew shadowed as Torin shifted from one foot to the other. His mouth opened and closed, the right explanation eluding him perhaps. Amun didnt just absorb new memories. He absorbed demon minions. Hundreds of them.
How? How the fuck is that possible? Ive lived with him for centuries, and hes never absorbed my demon.
Nor mine. But ours are High Lords who can bind themselves to humans. Those were mere underlings, and as you know, they can only bind themselves to, what? High Lords. Which they did, to his. Hestainted now, a danger far worse than the brush of my skin. The angels are guarding him. Limiting the contact he has with others, ensuring he doesnt leave andhurt. Himself, humans.
Strider scowled. Amun rarely spoke, containing the secrets he unwittingly stole inside himself so that no one else would have to deal with them, fear them or be sickened by them. A grueling burden few could carry. Yet he did it because there was no one more concerned with the well-being of those around him. So, a danger? No. Strider refused to believe it.
Explain better, he commanded, offering Torin another chance to convince him.
Since theyd reunited a few months ago after centuries apart, he knew Torin was used to his smiles and jokes, but Disease didnt flinch at Striders new vehemence. Evil seeps from him. Just going into his room, youll feel its sticky gloom. Youll crave things. He shuddered. Bad things. And you wont be able to simply wish the disgusting desires away. Theyll cling to you for days.
Strider still didnt care and still wouldnt believe it. I want to see him.
Only the slightest hesitation, as if the decree had been expected, then Torin nodded. But the girl His words trailed off.
Behind him, there was a rustle of clothing, a feminine moan. Strider whipped around in time to see one of the angels lifting Ex into his arms and carrying her toward the unclaimed bedroom next to Amuns.
He almost rushed forward and ripped her away from the heavenly creature. Hed dealt with an angel before Lysander, leader of these warriors and the worst of the worst when it came to do-goodersand knew such beings wouldnt understand the depths of his hatred for the woman. They would see Haidee as an innocent human in need of sweet, tender care. But Amun was far more important than any Hunters treatment, so Strider remained in place.
Just so you know, shes worse than a demon, he said, a lethal edge sharpening the truth in his tone. So if you want to protect your charges, youll guard her like youre guarding Amun. But dont kill her, he added before he could stop himself. Not that they would have. Still. A guy had to state his wants up front, so there would be no confusion later. She hasinformation we need.
The angel paused in his stride, head turning to Strider with unerring precision. Like Torin, his eyes were green. Unlike Torin, there were no shadows in them. Only clear, bright flames, crackling, intenseready to strike like a bolt of lightning.
I sense her infection. His voice was deep, with the barest hint of smoke. I will ensure she does not leave the fortress. And that she continues to live. For now.
Infection? Strider knew nothing about an infection, but again, he didnt care. Thank you. And hell, had he ever thought to thank a demon assassin for anything? Well, besides Aerons Olivia.
With a shake of his head, he wiped Ex and everything else from his thoughts and marched forward, trailing behind Torin.
At the end of the hallway, the last door on the right, Torin paused, drew in a sorrowful breath, and twisted the knob. Be careful in there. Then he moved aside, allowing Strider to breeze past him without a single moment of contact.
First thing Strider noticed was the air. Thick and dark, he could almost smell the brimstonethe bodies charred to ash. And the soundsoh, gods, the sounds. Screams that scraped at his ears, muted, yet in no way forgettable. Thousands upon thousands of demons danced together, creating a dizzying chorus of agony.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, peering down. Amun writhed atop the mattress, clutching his ears, moaning and groaning. No, Strider realized a moment later. Those moans and groans werent coming from his friend. They were coming from him. Amun was silent, his mouth open in an endless cry he couldnt quite release.
His dark skin was clawed to ribbons, those ribbons tattered and dried with blood both old and new. As an immortal soldier, he healed quickly. But those woundsthey looked as if theyd scabbed over, only to be ripped apart again. And again. And his butterfly tattoo, the mark of his demon, had once wrapped around his right calf. Only now, that tattoo moved. Sliding up his leg, undulating on his stomach, breaking apart to form hundreds of tiny butterflies, reconnecting into one, then disappearing behind his back.
How? Why?
Shaking, Strider studied his friends face. Amuns lashes were fused together as if stitched, and the sockets underneath were so swollen he could have smuggled golf balls in there. Oh, gods. Sickness churned in Striders stomach, pushing bile into his throat. He knew what that swelling meant, recognized the pattern blunted nails had left behind.
Amun had tried to pluck out his own eyes.
To stop the images forming behind them?
That was the last coherent thought Strider had. The last thought he controlled.
The darkness shrouded him completely, burrowing into him, filling his mind, consuming him. There were knives strapped all over his body, he recalled. He should palm them, use them. Slice, oh, how he would slice. Himself, Amun. The angels outside the room. Then the world. Blood would flow, an ever-thickening crimson. Flesh would peel like dried, rotted paint, and bone would snap in two, tiny shards falling to the floor, merely dust to be swept away.
He would drink the blood and eat the bones, but they wouldnt be what sustained him. No, he would live off the shrieks and squeals his actions provoked. He would bathe in terror, exult in grief. And he would laugh, oh, how he would laugh.
He laughed now, the chilling sound like music to him.
Defeat wasnt sure how to react. The demon cackled, then whimpered, then sank to the back of Striders mind. Afraid? Be afraid.
Something strong and hard banded around his forearms and jerked him backward, dragging him kicking and shouting out of the darkness and into light. Such bright light. His eyes teared, burned. But with the tears, with the burn, the images in his head washed clean and withered to cinder. Somewhat.
Strider blinked into focus. He was trembling violently, glazed with perspiration, his palms bleeding because he had grabbed his knives. Was still holding them. Only, hed squeezed them by their blades, cutting through tendon into bone. The pain was severe but manageable as he opened his fingers and the weapons clattered to the floor.
One of the angels stood behind him, another in front of him. They were glowing from within, like twin suns just freed from a too-long eclipse; he fought to breathe, managed to suck in one mouthful of oxygen, then two. Thank the gods. No brimstone, no ash. Only the scent of belovedand hatedmorning dew. Hated because, with the fresh, clean scent, reality was brought into Technicolor focus.
Thats what Amun had to endure?
Strider had been given a taste, only a taste, yet his friend suffered with the gloom and soul-shattering urges all day, all night. No one could maintain his sanity when constantly buffeted against that kind of wickedness. Not even Amun.
Warrior? the angel in front of him prompted.
Im myself now, he rasped. A lie. He might never be the same again.
He looked over the angels shoulder and saw Torin. They shared a horrified moment of understanding before he returned his attention to the angel and the situation at hand. Why the hell are you just standing here? Someone chain him. Hes tearing himself apart. Striders throat was raw, grinding the words into broken glass. And for fucks sake, get him on an IV. He needs sustenance. Medicine.
The two angels shared a look similar to the one hed shared with Torin, only theirs was fraught with knowledge only achieved through battle and heartache, before one returned to his post at the wall and the other entered Amuns bedroom.
The one at the wall said, He has been on an IV before. Several times, actually. They do not last. The needles always find a way free, with or without his help. The chains, however, we can do. And before you demand we clean him and care for him, I will tell you that we have. We brush his teeth for him. We bathe him. We clean his wounds. We force-feed him. He is taken care of in every way possible.
What youre doing isnt enough, Strider said.
We are open to any ideas you have.
Of course, he had no response to that. He might be in control of his thoughts again, but as Torin had promised, the need to kill, to truly hurt the innocent, hadnt fled completely. It was there, like a film of slime on his skin.
He had a feeling he wouldnt be able to scrub himself clean, even if he removed every layer of flesh he possessed.
How was Amun going to survive this?
CHAPTER TWO
IN BRIEF MOMENTS OF LUCIDITY, Amun knew who he was, what he used to be and the monster hed become. He wanted to die, finally, blessedly, but no one would take mercy on him and deliver the finishing blow. And no matter how hard he triedand oh, did he tryhe couldnt seem to inflict enough damage on his own body to do the deed himself.