The Darkest Night

Savage, the look in his violet eyes said. Predator.

Maybe I should have listened to McIntosh. Maybe the men really are demons.

“Are you one of them?” the man repeated.

Shocked to her core, frightened beyond belief, it took her a moment to realize something was…different. The air, the temperature, the—

The voices had stopped.

Her eyes widened in astonishment.

The voices had stopped, as if they were actually cognizant of the man’s presence and were as afraid of him as she was. Silence enveloped her.

No. It wasn’t utter silence she experienced, she decided a moment later, but rather…quiet. Magnificent, blissful quiet. How long since she’d known such a thing, untainted by conversation? Had she ever?

Wind rustled and leaves smacked together. Snow hummed softly as it drifted through the air, a tranquil melody meant to lull and relax. The trees breathed with life and vitality, branches waving gently.

Had anything ever sounded as magnificent as nature’s symphony?

In that moment, she forgot her fear. How could this man be possessed by a demon when he came with such lovely quiet? Demons were a source of torment, not peace.

Was he an angel of mercy, then, as the locals assumed?

Closing her eyes in delight, she drank in that peace, reveled in it. Embraced it.

“Woman?” the angel said, confusion radiating from his voice.

“Hush.” Contentment skipped through her. Even at home in North Carolina, in a house that had been built by construction workers forbidden to speak more than necessary, she always heard the echo of deep-rooted whispers. “Don’t speak. Just enjoy.”

For a moment, he didn’t reply. “You dare tell me to hush?” he said finally, angry surprise in his tone.

“You’re still talking,” Ashlyn admonished, then pressed her lips together. Angel or not, he didn’t strike her as the kind of person she should scold. Besides, angering him was the last thing she wanted to do. His presence brought silence. And delicious warmth, she realized as the chill rapidly left her body.

Slowly she cracked open her eyelids.

They were nose to nose, his balmy breath trekking over her lips. His skin glowed like smooth copper, almost otherworldly in the moonlight. All hard angles and fierce planes, his face boasted a sharp blade of a nose and black-as-the-devil’s-heart eyebrows.

Those predatory purple eyes bored into her, somehow all the more menacing framed as they were by long, feathered lashes. I’ll kill anyone, anywhere, his expression seemed to say.

Demon. No, not a demon, she reminded herself. The silence was too good, too pure and right. But he was not an angel, after all, she decided. He’d brought the quiet, yes, but he was clearly as dangerous as he was beautiful. Anyone who could throw blades like that…

So what was he?

Ashlyn gulped, studied him. Her pulse should not have fluttered just then, and her breasts should not have ached. But it did. They did. He was like the dragons in the fairy tales McIntosh had read her: too lethal to tame, too mesmerizing to walk away from.

And yet, she suddenly wanted to bury her head in the hollow of his neck. Wanted to wrap herself around him. Wanted to hold on to him and never let go. She even found herself leaning toward him with every intention of giving in to those wants.

Stop. Don’t.

Most of her life, human touch had been denied her. At five, she’d been sent to the Institute, where most of the employees hadn’t concerned themselves with anything other than studying her ability. McIntosh was the closest thing she’d ever had to a friend, but even he had not hugged or touched her often, as if he feared her as much as he cared for her.

Dating, too, was tough. Men sort of freaked when they learned of her ability. And they always learned. There was no way to hide it. But…

If this man was who—what—she thought he was, he might not care about her little talent. He might let her touch him. And touching him and his heat might very well prove to be as potent a sensation as the silence, yet so much more—

“Woman?” he repeated, the word husky now, wine-rich as it cut into her thoughts.

She froze. Gulped again. Was that…desire flickering in his icy violet irises, completely obliterating that must-kill glaze? Or was the desire she saw born of pain and brutality, her death imminent? A swarm of emotions bombarded her: another clap of fear, morbid awe and yes, feminine curiosity. She had little experience with men, and even less with desire.

What had she been thinking, leaning toward him like that? He might have viewed her touch as an invitation. Might have touched her in return.

Why didn’t the mere thought send her into hysterics?

Perhaps because she might be wrong. Perhaps he wasn’t a dragon after all, but the prince who slayed the dragon to save the princess. “What’s your name?” she found herself asking.

A tension-filled second ticked by, then another, and she assumed he wouldn’t answer. Lines of strain bracketed his rough features, as though being near her was a chore. Finally he said, “Maddox. I am called Maddox.”

Maddox… The name slipped and slid through the corridors of her mind, a seductive chant that promised unimaginable satisfaction. She forced herself to smile in greeting. “I’m Ashlyn Darrow.”

His attention deviated to her lips. Despite the snow, beads of sweat broke out over his forehead, glistening. “You should not have come, Ashlyn Darrow,” he snarled, losing all hint of the desire she’d both fancied and feared. But he traced his hands up her arms, surprisingly gentle, and stopped at the base of her nape. Gingerly his thumb tripped over her throat, lingering on the wildly thumping pulse.

She sucked in a breath and swallowed it, his fingers moving with the motion. An unintentional yet wholly erotic caress that liquefied her entire body. Until, a moment later, his grip tightened, almost hurting.

She gasped out a raspy “Please,” and he released her completely.

Ashlyn blinked in surprise. Without his touch, she felt…bereft?

“Dangerous,” he said, this time in Hungarian.

She wasn’t sure if he meant himself—or her. “Are you one of them?” she asked softly, not switching languages herself. No reason to let him know she spoke them both.

Astonishment darkened his gaze, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “What do you mean? One of them?” English this time.

“I—I—” The words refused to form. Fury was blanketing his features, more fury than she’d ever seen another person project. It radiated from every contour of his hard body. She drew her arms around her middle. No, not a prince after all. A dragon, definitely, as she’d first assumed.

Remaining on his knees, he inched away from her. He drew in a measured breath and slowly released it, the air misting around his face. His hand hovered over the opening of his boot, as if he couldn’t decide whether to reach inside or not. Finally, he said, “What are you doing in these woods, woman? And do not lie to me. I’ll know it, and you will not like my response.”

Ashlyn somehow found her voice. “I’m looking for the men who live at the top of this hill.”

“Why?” The single word was spat.

How much should she reveal? He was one of the men with strange abilities, had to be. He was too vibrant, too powerful to be solely human. But more than that, his mere presence had somehow chased the voices away, something that had never happened to her before. “I need help,” she admitted.

“Do you?” There was a conflicting mix of suspicion and indulgence in his expression. “With what?”

She opened her mouth to say…what? She didn’t know. In the end, it didn’t matter. He stopped her with a quick shake of his head. “Never mind. You aren’t welcome here, so your explanation is moot. Return to the city. Whatever you came here for, you will not receive.”

“But—but…” She couldn’t allow him to send her away. She needed him. Yes, she’d only just met him. Yes, the only things she knew about him were his name and the fact that he threw daggers with expert precision. But she was already horrified at the thought of losing the silence. “I want to stay with you.” She knew desperation seeped from her, but she didn’t care. “Please. Just for a little while. Until I learn how to control the voices myself.”

Instead of softening, he seemed infuriated by her plea. His nostrils flared and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Your babbling will not distract me. You’re Bait. You have to be. Otherwise you would be running from me in fear.”

“I’m not bait.” Whatever bait was. “Swear to God.” She reached out and gripped his forearms, the flesh firm and solid, unbelievably hot and utterly electrifying underneath her hand. Tingles speared her arm. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Quick as a snap, he slashed out a hand and caught the base of her skull, jerking her forward into a beam of moonlight. The action didn’t hurt her. On the contrary, she experienced another electrical jolt. Her stomach quivered.

He didn’t speak, just studied her with an intensity that bordered on cruelty. She studied him, too, shocked as something began to flash…swirl…materialize under his skin. A face, she realized with macabre awe. Another face. Her heart skipped a beat. Can’t be a demon, can’t be a demon. He made the voices stop. He and the others have done wonderful things for this city. It’s just a trick of the light.

While she could still see Maddox’s features, she could also see that shadow of someone—something—else. Red, glowing eyes. Skeletal cheekbones. Sharp-as-daggers teeth.

Please be a trick of the light.

But the more that skeletal countenance stared at her, the less she could pretend it was an illusion.

“Do you want to die?” Maddox—or the skeleton?—demanded, the words so guttural they were barely more than an animalistic growl.

“No.” He could kill her, but she’d die with a smile. Two minutes of silence were worth more to her than a lifetime of noise. Scared but determined, and still tingling because of his fever-touch, she raised her chin. “I need your help. Tell me how to control my power and I’ll leave here and now. Or let me stay with you and learn how it’s done.”

He released her, then reached for her again, then stopped and fisted his hand. “I do not know why I am hesitating,” he said, even as he eyed her mouth with what might have been longing. “Midnight is closing in, and you need to be as far away from me as possible.”

The moment the last word left him, he frowned. A second later, he barked, “Too late! Pain is searching for me.” He inched away from her, that skeletal mask still flashing behind his skin. “Run. Go back to the city. Now!”

“No,” she said with only the slightest tremble. Only a fool ran from heaven—even if that piece of heaven possessed a transparent face straight from hell.

Cursing under his breath, Maddox jerked the two blades from the tree and pushed to his feet. His gaze lifted skyward, past snow and treetops to the half moon. His frown became fierce, angry. One step, two, he backed away.

Ashlyn used the tree as leverage and stood. Her knees knocked together, nearly collapsing under her weight. Suddenly she could feel the icy wind again, could hear the whisper of chatter closing in on her. A cry of despair rose inside her.

Three steps, four.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “Don’t leave me here.”

“No time to take you to shelter. You’ll have to find it on your own.” He wheeled around, giving her a view of his wide shoulders and stiff, retreating back, before throwing over his shoulder, “Do not return to this hill, woman. Next time, you will not find me so generous.”

“I’m not going back. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” A threat, yes, but one she intended to uphold.

Maddox stopped and whipped to face her, baring his teeth in another fearsome scowl. “I could kill you here and now, Bait, as I know I should. How would you follow me then?”

Bait again. Her heart drummed erratically in her chest, but she met his stare dead on, hoping she appeared stubborn and determined rather than simply petrified. “Believe me, I’d rather you do so than leave me alone with the voices.”

A curse, a hiss of pain. He doubled over.

Losing her bravado in the face of concern, Ashlyn raced to him. She splayed her fingers over his back and searched for injury. Anything that crumpled this hulking beast had to be excruciating. He shoved her away, however, and she stumbled from the unexpected force.

“No,” he said, and she would have sworn he spoke with two separate voices. One a man’s. The second…something so much more powerful. It boomed like a thunderstorm, echoing in the night. “No touching.”

“Are you hurt?” She righted herself, trying not to reveal just how badly his actions cut. “Maybe I can help. I—”

“Leave or die.” He spun and leapt forward, disappearing into the night.

Chatter crashed into her mind, as if it had merely been awaiting his departure. Now it seemed louder than ever before, blaring after the precious silence.

Langnak ithon kel moradni.

Stumbling in the same direction Maddox had taken, Ashlyn covered her ears. “Wait.” She moaned. Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Wait. Please.”

Her foot tangled with a broken limb and she toppled again to the ground. A sharp ache tore through her ankle. Whimpering, she dragged herself to her hands and knees and crawled.

Ate ìtéleted let minket veszejbe.

Couldn’t stop. Had to reach him. Wind beat against her, as sharp as the daggers Maddox carried.

On and on the voices clamored.

“Please,” she cried. “Please.”

A fierce roar split the night, shaking the ground, rattling the trees.

Suddenly Maddox was beside her again, drowning out the voices. “Foolish Bait,” he spat. More to himself, he added, “Foolish warrior.”

Crying out in relief, she threw her arms around him. Holding tight. Never wanting to let go—even if he did still wear that eerie skeletal mask. Tears streamed down her cheeks, crystallizing on her skin. “Thank you. Thank you for coming back. Thank you.” She buried her head in the hollow of his neck, exactly as she’d wanted to do earlier. When her cheek brushed his bare skin, she shivered, those warm tingles rushing through her once more.

“You’ll come to regret this,” he said, sweeping her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She didn’t care. She was with him, the voices gone, and that was all that mattered.

Maddox sped into motion, maneuvering around those ghostly trees. Every so often, he grunted as if in pain. Snarled as if in a rage. Ashlyn begged him to set her down so that she could spare him the burden of her weight, but he squeezed the inside of her thigh, a silent command for her to shut the hell up. Finally she relaxed against him and simply enjoyed the ride.

If only that joy could have lasted.

CHAPTER THREE

GET HOME, GET HOME, get home. Maddox chanted the command in his mind, trying to distract himself from the pain. Trying to dampen the urge to do violence…an urge that was building steadily. The woman—Ashlyn—bounced on his shoulder, an unwelcome reminder that he could break at any moment and slaughter everything around him. Her, especially.

You wanted to drown in a woman, the spirit taunted. Here’s your chance. Drown in her blood.

His hands curled into fists. He needed to think, but couldn’t do so over the pain. She had mentioned a power, asked for his help. Hadn’t she? Some of what she had said was lost amidst the roar in his head. All he knew for certain was that he should have left her behind as he’d intended.

But he had heard her cry out, a tortured sound—the sort of crazed groan Maddox himself had often wanted to release. Something inside him had reacted deeply, and he’d been filled with a need to help her, a need to touch her soft skin just one more time. A need that had somehow proven stronger than Violence. An amazing, unbelievable feat.

And so he’d returned to her, even though he’d known she was in more danger with him than she was alone in the forest. Even though he’d known she had most likely been sent to distract him and help Hunters gain access to the fortress.

Fool. Now she was draped over him, her feminine scent teasing his nose, her soft curves his to explore.

Or slice, the demon goaded.

Hauntingly beautiful as she was, it was easy to understand why the Hunters had sent her. Who would want to mar such lush femininity? Who would turn such blatant sensuality away? Not him, it seemed.

Fool, he inwardly cursed again. Hunters! They truly were in Budapest, their tattoos a grim reminder of those dark, dark days in Greece. Clearly they were once more out for blood, for each of the four men following Ashlyn had carried a gun and silencer. For mortals, they’d fought with expert skill.

Maddox had emerged the victor in that bloody tête-à-tête, but he had not emerged unscathed. His lower leg had been sliced, and one of his ribs was surely cracked.

Time, it seemed, had only honed their skills.

He wondered how Ashlyn would react when she found out they were gone. Would she cry? Scream? Rail? Would she attack him in a grief-stricken rage?

Did any others wait in town?

At the moment, he couldn’t seem to make himself care. Holding Ashlyn in his arms, he was transported, the hell that was his life momentarily receding, leaving only…something he didn’t think he could rightly name. Desire, perhaps. No. He discarded the word instantly. It failed to explain the intensity of the rush, the heat.

Instant obsession, maybe.

Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. It was more powerful than anything he’d experienced before, threatening to control him. Maddox did not need another force trying to pull his strings.

She was just so…lovely. So lovely it almost hurt to gaze upon her. Her skin was smooth and supple, like cinnamon dipped in a honey pot then churned into lickable cream. Her eyes were that same honey shade and so haunted they made his chest hurt. He’d never seen a mortal look so tormented and felt a strange kind of kinship with her.

While strands of long, silky hair, also the color of honey yet veined with copper and quartz, had wisped around her delicate features, he’d ached. He’d wanted. Wanted to touch, to taste. Wanted to devour. Consume. But he hadn’t wanted to hurt. The knowledge still amazed him.

Ashlyn… Her name whispered through his mind, as delicate as the woman herself. Taking her to the fortress was against the rules, a threat to their most guarded secrets. He should be ashamed of himself for carrying her forward rather than away, and she should be crying in terror.

Apparently should did not mean anything to either of them.

Why wasn’t she crying? More importantly, why hadn’t she cried? When he’d first pounced on her, clearly splattered with the blood of her allies, a delicious smile had lit her face, her plump lips showcasing perfect white teeth.

Remembering that smile, Maddox experienced a jolt of blistering arousal. Underneath it, however, confusion still lingered. Though it had been an eternity since he’d last dealt with Bait, he could not recall the Hunters’ decoys ever being so transparent in their satisfaction.

Not even Hadiee, the Bait who had helped bring Baden, keeper of Distrust, to his knees. Hadiee had played the abused, frightened soul to perfection. Seeing her, Baden had decided to act without suspicion for the first time since his demon had been placed inside him. Or maybe not. Maddox had always wondered if the man had wanted to die. If so, he’d gotten his wish. He’d been stabbed in the throat moments after opening his spiti to Hadiee—who in turn allowed armed Hunters inside.

Most likely, the stabbing alone would not have killed Baden. The Hunters, however, then proceeded to decapitate him. Baden hadn’t stood a chance. Not even an immortal could recover from that.

He’d been a good man, a fine warrior, and hadn’t deserved such a bloody demise. Maddox, however…

My murder would be justified.

The Bait before Hadiee had seduced Paris. Not that such a thing required much effort. During the act, Hunters had crept inside the woman’s bedroom and stabbed the warrior in the back, attempting to weaken him before going for his head.

Paris, though, was strengthened by sex. Even injured, he’d managed to fight his way free and kill everyone around him.

Maddox couldn’t imagine the woman in his arms being cowardly enough to strike from behind. She had faced him and hadn’t backed down, even when the spirit inside of him clamored for release. Perhaps Ashlyn was innocent. He hadn’t found cameras or dynamite on the trees where she’d lingered. Perhaps—

“Perhaps you are more a fool than you realize,” he muttered.

“What?”

He ignored her, knowing it was safer that way. Her voice was soft and lilting and prodded at the spirit, mocking in its gentleness. Best to keep her silent.

Finally he spotted the dark, crumbling stone of the fortress. None too soon. An excruciating pain ripped through his stomach, almost knocking him to the ground. Violence poured through his veins and shimmered in his blood. Kill. Hurt. Maim.

“No.”

Kill, hurt, maim.

“No!”

Killhurtmaim.

“Maddox?”

The spirit roared, desperate, so desperate for release. Fight it, he commanded himself. Remain calm. He drew air into his lungs, held it, slowly released it. Killhurtmaim, killhurtmaim. “I will resist. I am not a monster.”

We shall see.…

His nails elongated, itching with that inexorable urge to strike. If he didn’t compose himself, he would soon assault anything and everything within his reach. He would kill, without mercy, without hesitation. He would destroy this home stone by stone, kicking and clawing. Raging. He would destroy everyone inside of it. And he would rather burn in hell for all eternity than do such a thing.

“Maddox?” Ashlyn said again. Her sweet voice drifted to his ears, an entreaty that was part soothing balm, part kindling. “What’s—”

“Silence.” He skimmed her off his shoulder, still holding her tight, and burst through the front door, nearly ripping the wood from its hinges. Angry voices greeted him. Torin, Lucien and Reyes stood in the foyer, arguing.

“You never should have let him leave,” Lucien said. “He becomes an animal, Torin, annihilating—”

“Stop!” Maddox shouted. “Help!”

All three men spun, facing him.

“What’s going on?” Reyes demanded. Seeing Ashlyn, he gaped. Shock settled over his features. “Why have you brought a woman into the house?”

Hearing the commotion, Paris and Aeron raced into the foyer, features taut. When they spotted Maddox, they relaxed. “Finally,” Paris said, clearly relieved. But he, too, spotted Ashlyn. He grinned. “Sweet! A present? For me?”

Maddox bared his teeth. Kill them, Violence beseeched, a seductive whisper now. Kill them.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The words tore from his throat. “Take her and leave. Before it’s too late.”

“Look at him,” Paris said, his relief and amusement gone. “Look at his face.”

“The process has already begun,” Lucien said.

The words spurred Maddox to action. Though he found he didn’t want to release Ashlyn, even in his madness, he tossed her at the group. Lucien caught her effortlessly. The moment her weight settled on her feet, she winced. Must have twisted her ankle on the hill, Maddox realized, concern slipping past bloodlust for a split second.

“Careful of her foot,” he commanded.