There was a red film over her eyes, coloring her vision, painting everything she studied in crimson. Fitting, since she wanted everything in the room to be bathed with blood. Hers, Cronus's. She craved it. Dreamed of it. The velvet curtains, the flowers blooming from the walls, the polished wood and the alabaster statues of too-tall men with too many muscles...
...all dripping...
Enough! Must reach Paris, she thought. Or maybe the thought belonged to the demon. Wrath. The enemy inside her. The enemy she should despise but couldn't; just then, Wrath was her only link to vengeance. And salvation.
Paris will help. This time, she knew exactly who the words belonged to: the demon. Paris can guard you until you're strong enough to attack Cronus.
Maybe Paris would guard her. Maybe not. Moments before she'd died, she'd told him how much she hated him. And she had. Hated him. She was pretty sure she still did. Or didn't. God, she was so confused. The more the demon spoke about Paris, the more her dislike faded.
Paris will help.
"I heard you the first time," she snapped.
Part of herthe human partthought she might try to kill the warrior when she reached him. Part of herthe female partthought she might kiss his beautiful face. Only thing she knew for sure was that she was going to find him, and she was going to use him, as Wrath had suggested. He, too, was possessed by a demon, and while he guarded herif he wouldhe could teach her how to control this new, darker side of herself.
And once that happened...bye-bye Cronus.
Determined, urgent, she stepped forward again. Or tried to. Those damn chains yanked but held steady. Her body burned with rage, with hate, and the wings still growing between her shoulder blades flapped wildly.
Each emotion gave her strength. She jerked again. And again. Skin sliced open and vessels burst. The pain, the pain, the pain... Paris, her mind shouted, giving her strength...and finally, one of the chains cracked...
AMUN STUMBLED through the smoky cavern, William and Aeron holding him up and keeping him from kissing the bone-laden ground. They'd fought countless demon minions to get here, to this forgotten valley of death. They were as injured as he was. He shouldn't add to their burden, but he couldn't help himself.
Crunch, crunch. Sweat poured from him, draining him. His skin was sliced like a Christmas ham, but that wasn't the worst of his torment. Too many secrets...they were bombarding him, consuming him. Evil secrets, vile secrets. Thefts, rapes and murders. Oh, the murders.
The souls decaying in this underground prison had killed their brethren in the most heinous of ways, enjoying every bit of torture they inflicted. And now, the demons who lived here were enjoying every bit of the torture they inflicted. Retaliation, they found it so sweet.
The demons, at least, didn't keep secrets. They were happy to share the disgusting details of their lives. But Amun could also read their minds and knew their basest thoughts. He could feel their desire to steal, to rape and murder. Could see through their eyes as they did so.
Never had he felt so dirty, and he doubted he would ever be able to cleanse himself of this. Secrets loved it, though. Loved every moment of it. Was humming, soaking up each new revelation like chocolate through a straw.
"Nothing on Legion?" Aeron asked for the thousandth time.
He shook his head and winced at the ensuing ache.
"We can't keep roaming this place blind," William said. "We're each cut up and bleeding from our last go-round with those minions. They're small, but damn, they're wily. I thought I was going to lose my balls."
Lucifer might be afraid of the warrior, but his servants were not. They'd attacked William as staunchly as they'd attacked Amun and Aeron.
"You're going to have to steal a demon's memories," Aeron told Amun grimly. "It's the only way. William's right for once. The longer we're here, the more we're forced to fight and the weaker we become."
No, Amun thought, even as he nodded. He'd known it would come to this. He'd hoped otherwise, and had resisted for as long as he could. If things were bad now, they were going to be impossible after he stole a full set of demon memories. There would be no purging himself later.
They would be a part of him forever.
Why are you doing this again? he wondered. Because he loved Aeron. Wanted his friend happy and knew his friend couldn't be happy any other way.
And what of your happiness?
He ignored that question. He might talk himself out of what he was about to do, and couldn't allow himself to do such a thing. Find a demon, he signed. Bring it to me alive. The higher up the caste system it is, the better.
"You want a High Lord?" William asked, incredulous. A High Lord was what possessed each of the Lords. They were the most powerful of the demons and the most knowledgeable of what was happening down here, but there were only a few left within these depths. A few that hadn't tried to escape with the others. Like Secrets.
Amun nodded. If possible. They would also be the hardest to capture.
His friends led him to the shadowed mouth of the nearest cave and eased him down. Every muscle in his tired body sighed in relief, basically liquefying. He closed his eyes. Rest, he'd rest for a moment.
Someone patted his shoulder. Someone placed a gun in his hand. Then footsteps sounded. How long he sat there, weapon gradually slipping from his too-loose hold, he didn't know. All he knew was that the next time he opened his eyes, his friends were back.
Aeron and William stood before him, panting, barely managing to maintain their grip on a wildly bucking demon. The creature was as tall as they were, with green scales over portions of its body and a face composed only of bone. Several horns protruded from its spine and even its feet.
"Not a High Lord, but close enough," Aeron gritted out. There was a new gash on his forehead and blood was seeping into his left eye.
"Do your thing," William commanded. "Before it's too late."
Though it required every ounce of his strength, Amun managed to reach out and place his hands on the creature's skull. The bucking intensified. Frantic screams escaped. Twice, Amun's sweaty palms slid out of place, but he eventually made the mental connection and his hands were no longer needed.
Memory after memory flooded him. A lifetime of rage and pain and torture. All inflicted upon others. The creature was second in command to the High Lord Pain, Reyes's demon. Upon Pain's escape, this creature had taken over. And oh, had it enjoyed hurting others. In every way imaginable and even some Amun had never considered.
This one had even hurt Legion. And now her shrieks were trapped inside Amun, her terrified expression the only thing he could see. Gods, he wanted to vomit. And did vomit, the moment the connection was severed.
William and Aeron released their burden, and it collapsed to the ground, useless now, brain wiped clean.
A hand settled atop Amun's head and caressed down, stopping at the base of his neck and massaging. A comforting touch meant to soothe. Nothing could soothe him, however. Not ever again.
"Do you know where she is?" Aeron asked gently.
Amun nodded, tears burning his eyes. Those shrieks...the blood...too much...
The hand on his neck stilled. "Where? Tell me, Amun. Please."
Amun raised his gaze, ready to vomit again. She's given to a new demon every other day. She's beaten, tortured...and worse. In between those days, she returns to Lucifer, who entertains his minions with her screams. Today, she's with him. And he...he...he knows you're here. He plans to kill you in front of her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SCARLET DIDN'T move or speak as Gideon crawled up her body. He took his time, too, removing her boots, socks and pants along the way. She could have protested. She didn't. She needed this, she realized. Just once. A moment of beauty and pleasure to overshadow a lifetime of hate and regret. Of sadness and pain. Of deceit.
Funny, Gideon was keeper of Lies, yet he'd been the only person ever to be honest with her.
So this moment? Yes, she would take it. Cling to it. Anything else with him...no. As long as her mother lived, as long as her aunt could manipulate her mind, she was a danger to him.
A danger he didn't deserve. He was blameless of every crime she'd ever tossed at his door.
Gods, she was a fool. Deserved only punishment. She should leave, not luxuriate in her own selfishness by stealing this moment. She owed him that, at the very least. But she couldn't force herself to pull away from him. Just once, she reminded herself. She'd have him. He seemed to want her, too, so really, leaving would make her selfish.
"So ugly," he whispered, reverently tracing his fingertips along the inside of her thighs.
Goose bumps broke out over her flesh, but when he realized what he'd said, he froze and looked up at her with budding panic.
"I know what you meant," she told him softly. He'd left her in a T-shirt and panties, so he couldn't see the hard tips of her nipples. Couldn't see how much she already desired him.
Slowly, he relaxed. "I'm not amazed by you, devil." His thumbs dabbled at the indentation behind her knee, caressing her, tantalizing her. "Don't tell me you know that."
How could he be so gentle with her? How could he stand to touch her? After everything they'd just learned? If you're going to enjoy this, you have to stop traveling down that thought path.
But she couldn't stop. The thoughts lanced at her, sharp and undeniable. She had built fantasies around this man. She had. All on her own. Her aunt had merely made the suggestion that they'd been married, and Scarlet had created a full-blown history. She was humiliated. She was remorseful. Vulnerable. Raw. Humiliated. Had she mentioned that?
Mostly, she was mourning. Her beautiful wedding had never happened. She'd never lain in this man's arms, hopeful and sated. She hadn't given him a son. Her chin trembled as white-hot tears flooded her eyes.
"You don't have to do this." She might not want him to end it, might want this one moment with him, but she had to offer him a way out. If he was doing this out of pity, well, she couldn't handle any more embarrassment and that would embarrass her more than anything else. "You aren't really my husband."
"Keep talking," he muttered, lifting her shirt, bending down and laving at her navel. "I'm loving what you have to say."
A tremor moved through her, sultry and hungry. "Keep talking" equaled "shut up" in Gideon Speak. Who would have thought she'd enjoy hearing those words? "All I'm trying to say is that you don't owe me anything." Was that breathless voice hers? "If anything, I owe you."
He stilled, raised his head again, his eyes narrowing, lashes tangling together and blocking that gorgeous ocean-blue. "You owe me lots." There was unrestrained fury in his tone. "That's exactly what this is about." O-kay.
"I don't want you desperately," he said tightly. "Do you not understand? My body doesn't ache for yours. I haven't dreamed of being with you since the first moment I saw you. The past matters. It does."
Several tears splashed over and trickled down her cheeks. Embarrassing tears. But still she couldn't move away. The past didn't matter to him? "Really?" How could she dare to hope?
He nodded, his unrelenting gaze never leaving hers. "You aren't mine."
She was his. And just like that, something snapped inside her. The resistance she'd fought so hard to build against him, perhaps. All that remained inside her was desire. So much desire. She would have him. Just this once, she reminded herself a second time. She would hold nothing back. Would give him everything.
What would happen to her heart afterward, she didn't know. Liar! What's left of it will shatter. She wouldn't worry about that until absolutely necessary. Right now, Gideon was with her. He wanted her. That would be enough.
Though she'd wanted to jump him every time he'd neared her, she'd never allowed herself to be the aggressor with him. Her resentment and pride had hindered and muted every sensation. But not this time.
Slowly Scarlet sat up, forcing Gideon to do the same, until he straddled her thighs. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders. The strands weren't long enough to shield her cleavage, and that irritated her for a moment. Such a thing would have been sexy, and she wanted to be sexy for this man. In every possible way.
She wanted him to want her with the same intensity she'd wanted him all these years. All these centuries.
He sucked in a breath. "No more."
More. "Not yet. I want to see you." She gripped the hem of his shirt and jerked the material over his head.
Now she was the one to suck in a breath. Gods, he was magnificent. Perfect in every way. His skin was golden, his stomach roped with unparalleled strength. The black eyes and red lips he had tattooed on his chest and neck caught her gaze and she traced them with a fingertip. She even traced an imaginary butterfly on his right shoulder, nail scraping lightly, leaving an imprint of red. They might not be married, but the symbol connected them.
"Cools so bad," he panted.
Burns so good, he meant, and that thrilled her. She moved her touch to the indigo loop piercing his nipple, then the sapphire stud in his navel. Blue again.
"Why do you like blue so much?" she asked just before flicking her tongue against the nipple ring. Cold metal and hot skin, a delicious combination.
A moan escaped him. "You don't want to talk about this now?" He curled a hand over the erection straining over the waist of his pants and rubbed up and down. "There's not something better for us to do."
And she'd thought him magnificent before. Silly her. Here he was, at his most primal. A warrior who saw what he wanted and took it, damn the consequences. But... "Yeah. I do want to talk." Knowing him was just as important as being with him. Only this once.
That time, she despised the reminder.
Gideon's hand fell away, and he sighed, placing her desires above his own. He didn't edge away from her, but cupped her ass and urged her forward, until the core of her covered him. Hard, hot. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop a reckless groan from forming.
He licked his lips. "There wasn't this kid in Tartarus, and he wasn't the ugliest little thing I'd ever seen. One day I didn't deliver a new prisoner into his cell and the kid didn't ask for a game. Only thing I couldn't find was paper and a crayon. Wasn't blue. When I didn't hand them over, the kid didn't smile the sweetest smile I'd ever seen and tell me that blue was the bestest color in the world, like the sky he'd heard about but had never seen. That day, blue didn't start to represent...freedom to me."