The Darkest Surrender

THE NEXT DAY, STRIDER SPENT his morning roaming the Budapest fortress, checking on his friends. Anything to distract himself from thoughts of Kaia and how sad she’d sounded just before he’d left her. Not to mention how he’d longed to pull her into his arms, hold her, comfort her. Devour her.

Not going there.

Legion, a spoiled full-on demon minion turned spoiled human with a porn-star body turned tortured prisoner of Lucifer turned subdued, silent bed-bound damsel in distress, rolled to her side, facing away from him when he entered her bedroom.

Physically, she had healed from her hellish captivity. Mentally … she might never heal. She’d spent several weeks being passed from one demon High Lord to another, raped, beaten and gods knew what else. No one knew because she refused to talk about it.

“Hey, there, princess.” Strider eased beside her on the bed and patted her shoulder. She flinched, jerking from the touch. He sighed, removed his hand.

He didn’t like visiting her. Oh, he liked her as a person, for the most part, and ached for the trials she had endured, but he was afraid Defeat would view her emotional distance as a challenge and force him to push her for more. More she wasn’t ready to give.

She needed help, and her closest friend, Aeron, and his joy-bringing angel, Olivia, were trying, but so far Legion hadn’t responded positively to anyone. She wasn’t eating properly, and was slowly but surely wasting away. Strider knew there was a guardian angel keeping watch over her, even though he’d never gotten a peek at the guy. What he did know: the invisible bastard wasn’t doing his job.

Yeah, Legion had been a selfish pain in the ass before, but she didn’t deserve this. And actually, Strider had liked her better the other way.

“What happened to you has happened to a few of the guys here, did you know that? A few times to Kane, in fact. Since he’s possessed by Disaster, he’s like a magnet for that kind of thing. And I’m not gossiping or sharing private info. When we lived in New York, he ran a support group to help others. Maybe you should, I don’t know, talk to him or something.”

Silence.

Her blond hair was tangled and matted, her skin sickly with a grayish cast. Underneath the thick white fabric of her nightgown, he could tell her shoulders were frail.

“One time Paris and I even—wait. That is gossiping. Never mind. You’ll have to ask Paris if you want to know that little tidbit.”

Silence. From her and his demon. Most definitely she presented a challenge, and yet, Defeat was letting the indifference slide.

He tucked the covers higher, just under her chin, and saw a glistening teardrop slither down her cheek.

Okay, then. “I just wanted to check on you, but I know you’re not comfortable with me so I’ll go,” he said gently. She couldn’t relax with him here, and he didn’t want to make things worse for her.

More silence. He released another sigh as he stood. “Call me if you need anything. All right? Anything at all. I’m happy to help.”

Again, no response from either Legion or his demon. He wondered what was up with his—distracted? hiding? uncaring?—companion as he strode to his next stop. Amun’s room.

Despite the fact that he and Amun—and hell, even he and Haidee—were on good enough terms, he’d avoided contact for over a week. Just seeing her caused little sparks of pain to dance through his chest. Not because he still wanted her, but because he’d lost her, could never have her, and his demon couldn’t forget what they’d endured because of her dismissal.

Haidee opened the door, and he studied her out of habit. She was average height, her pale hair streaked with pink. One of her eyebrows was pierced, and one of her arms sleeved in tattoos. Dressed in a Hello Kitty T-shirt and ripped jeans, she would be carded at any bar.

When she saw him, she frowned and moved out of the way, allowing him inside. Despite that frown, she appeared lit up from the inside out, pulse after pulse of … he grimaced. What the hell was that?

If he were fed the muzzle of a .40 and told to guess or die, Strider would have said love in its purest form seeped from her pores. Almost hurt to look at her, she was so radiant.

Shit. “Are you pregnant?”

“No.” A secret smile curved her lips. Well, well. Picking up Amun’s all-things-are-a-mystery vibe already. “What’s up?”

Strider rubbed a hand over his heart, expecting more of those flickers of pain, especially with that glow blasting at his corneas, but … nothing. Not even a skip in the organ’s beat. Okay, fine. Whatever. He could roll.

His gaze swept through the room. Haidee had taken over the decorating, so the place was no longer like vanilla ice cream—plain, unadorned and completely lacking a personality.

Haidee favored contemporary styles with a Japanese flair. He tried not to cringe. Lanternlike lights hung from the ceiling. The walls were now brown and orange, each color staggered to form a boxed pattern. Bonsai trees seemed to grow from every corner, and white shag carpets stretched under three glass nightstands. White carpet. Had she not seen the amount of dirt a warrior’s boots could track in? The comforter on the bed was white, too, with beaded orange pillows.

If she’d tried this shit in his room, they woulda had a serious beef. A man needed to feel comfortable in his surroundings or he couldn’t relax. This wasn’t comfortable.

Only once had Strider “lived” with a woman, and only because she’d challenged him to move in. I know I can make you happy if you come home to me every night. Can you make me happy, though? I guess we’ll find out.

After a few weeks of cohabitating, he’d willingly accepted defeat. He could not make her happy because he didn’t want to make her happy.

He thought back to Kaia’s house and her decorating flare. Now there was a woman who knew how to make a place comfy and fun. Seriously, she’d had a toilet painted to resemble an open mouth. I want.

Haidee cleared her throat. “Strider?”

He turned to face her. “What?” Her expression was expectant, all soft and gooey with whatever pulsed from her, and he recalled that he’d come to her, not the other way around. “Yeah, uh. Where’s Amun?”

“Cronus summoned him to the heavens.”

“Why?”

Another secret smile. “Don’t know yet.”

“How long’s he been gone?”

“Three hours, nine minutes and forty-eight seconds. Not that I’m watching the clock or anything. Can I help you with something?”

“Nah.” He’d just wanted to see the guy, he supposed. After everything Strider had done to him … trying to keep Amun and Haidee apart … Guilt, man, how it ate at him sometimes. “I’ll just, uh, catch him later.”

Her brow furrowed with confusion. And concern? Yeah. That was concern. “You sure?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but … she’d killed Baden, keeper of Distrust. She’d tried to kill Strider. And she’d had very good reason for both. Long, long ago, they’d helped slaughter her family, destroy her life. Hell, because of a demon, she’d been killed time and time again.

Each time she’d come back, she’d remembered only her hate, knew only about the deaths of those she’d once loved. Sought only vengeance. Made sense, since she’d been possessed by a piece of the demon of Hate. And maybe that was another reason Strider had wanted her. That piece of Hate had caused other people to dislike themselves and even her. Strider had gotten over that quickly, had defeated that, which was why he suspected being with her had been a bit of a rush for both him and his own demon.

That she now adored Amun, that she now supported the Lords and their cause, well, it was a miracle Strider needed to stop questioning.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Never before had he initiated contact that didn’t involve knives. “See you around, Haidee.”

Her mouth fell open, and she sputtered. “Yeah. See ya,” she said weakly. He’d never been quite that nice to her, either.

He must be softening in his old age.

Next he found himself standing in the doorway of Sabin’s bedroom, eating handful after handful of Red Hots. He had a stash of his favorite candy hidden in every corner of the fortress. He watched his friend toss all kinds of shit into a suitcase. His wife, Gwen, bustled around him, making a halfhearted attempt to fold the mountain of clothes Sabin had wadded into balls, stack the weapons he had only partially sheathed and remove the bullhorn from the case for a third time.

Once, the Harpies had called her Gwendolyn the Timid. Strider didn’t know what they called her now, but the moniker certainly didn’t fit anymore. The little firecracker had come into her own and kicked even Kaia’s ass, locking her in the dungeon below to prevent her from peeling Sabin’s skin from his body and wearing it as a victory coat.

Kaia.

His heart skipped a stupid beat, making him feel like a schoolboy with a crush. Something he’d never been. Zeus had created him fully formed, a weapon ready to be unleashed upon anyone who threatened the former god king and those he loved. Even then, before Strider had been given his demon, he had liked to win, railroading anyone who got in his way.

What joy could be found in defeat? None.

His demon grunted in agreement.

Strider refocused on his surroundings before the little shit began pushing him around. As he continued to watch Gwen, he noted how much she resembled her older sister.

Kaia.

Here we go again. Gwen had a thick mass of blond hair streaked with red—the same shade of red as Kaia’s. If he were being honest, though, Kaia’s was prettier. Wavier, silkier. And while Gwen’s eyes were a startling mix of gray and gold, just like Kaia’s, Kaia’s were still lovelier. On her, the gray veered toward liquid silver and the gold, well, the gold flickered like fireflies.

What are you? A wuss? Stop weaving poetry.

Anyway. When Kaia’s Harpy took over, her eyes went completely black, death swimming in their depths. But, if he were still being honest, even that was sexy.

Gwen and Kaia shared the same button nose, the same cherub cheeks. Same stubborn chin. Yet somehow Kaia was sin incarnate and Gwen was innocence walking. Made no sense. Even still, the resemblance affected him, heating him up.

He willed his body to remain unaffected. Sabin would fuss if Strider sported a hard-on around his precious. And of course, “fuss” meant Strider would find his intestines wrapped around his neck, breathing a thing of the past.

Bring it, he thought.

Defeat chuckled, startling him.

On edge, he waited for a challenge to be issued. It never came. Sweet gods above, he’d have to be more careful. No more close calls.

What was he doing here, anyway? He should be in the heavens with Paris. He should be in Nebraska with William, torturing the family who had abused Gilly, a human they’d befriended. He should be out there killing Hunters. He should be in Rome, bargaining with the Unspoken Ones—monsters who were chained inside an ancient temple, desperate for freedom.

He’d given them one of the four godly artifacts needed to find and destroy Pandora’s box. A relic the Hunters were searching for, as well.

The Unspoken Ones had the Paring Rod and the Cloak of Invisibility, and the Lords had the Cage of Compulsion and the All-Seeing Eye. So. Lords 2. Hunters 0. Boo-yah.

Unspoken Ones weren’t interested in the actual artifacts, though. They were interested in what they could trade for the artifacts. Whoever presented them with the head of the current god king (minus his body) would earn the Paring Rod in return, leaving only the Cloak to claim. The Cloak Strider had once owned but had exchanged for Haidee.

At the time, he hadn’t minded making the exchange because he’d been pretty damn confident the Unspoken Ones would keep the thing to bargain with him later. Still was. He’d have to pay through the nose, he was sure, but that was better than allowing Haidee to escape him and reveal his secrets to her Hunter friends.

And he’d meant to go back long before now, but losing her to Amun had knocked Strider on his ass for over a week, his demon a writhing, seething cauldron of pain.

Maybe that was why he’d been unable to let go of the idea of being with Haidee, he mused now. The echoes of that pain. Maybe that was why he still resisted Kaia.

Don’t think about her anymore, you nutcase. You’ll start foaming at the mouth. He resisted her because she would ultimately trample his pride, his well-being and probably even his will to live.

Did he really need another reminder of that?

He forced his thoughts back to the artifacts. Strider had vowed to recapture the Cloak. And he would. Soon. Because whoever found Pandora’s box first would win the war, and more than he wanted Kaia, not that he was thinking about her, he wanted to win the war against the Hunters.

Talk about the ultimate victory. The pleasure he would feel … gods, he could only imagine. Better than sex, drugs or rocking hos.

Anyway. Instead of all of that, he realized he’d purposely cleared his plate this morning, visiting everyone, making amends just so he could leave and … Shit! Not good. This was not good at all.

Just so he could leave and check on Kaia. He had to make sure she was okay. Even if that meant putting his obligations on hold again.

Dude. You can’t do that. And he wouldn’t. No damn way. Now that he’d realized his intention, he could put a stop to it.

“Why the hell are you just standing there?” Sabin suddenly lashed out. “State your business and leave, Stridey-Man. You’re turning Gwen into a raving lunatic.”

“You’re turning me into a raving lunatic!” she growled, removing the bullhorn from the suitcase yet again. “We don’t need all this stuff.”

“How do you know?” Sabin demanded. He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, the gold in his eyes lighter than usual. “You’ve never participated in the Harpy Games before. And goddamn it, you shouldn’t have to participate in them now!”

“You heard Bianka. Every single one of Tabitha Skyhawk’s daughters have been summoned. And even if we hadn’t, even if only a handful of clan members had been summoned, I would still be going. They’re my family.”

“Well, you’re now part of my family.”

“Actually, you’re part of my family, and as I’m the General, the Captain and the Commander, you go where I go. And I’m going!”

“Fuck.” Sabin plopped onto the edge of the bed and put his head between his knees.

“That bad, huh?” Strider asked, doing his best to sound casual. I’m not dying of curiosity. Really.

Kaia had tried to hide her fear yesterday, but she hadn’t quite managed it. He had mentioned her trip, and she had trembled, paled. He shouldn’t have noticed. He’d had his back to her. Except there’d been a crack in her curtains, allowing him to study her reflection in the windowpane. And oh, had he studied.

She had sparkled like a diamond, drawing his eye automatically, and he’d been so eager to touch her that his body had been on fire.

Harpy skin … there was nothing more exquisite. Nothing. Funny, though, that he’d never wanted to stroke and taste Gwen, Bianka or Taliyah the way he’d wanted to stroke and taste Kaia.

Not that he was thinking about her anymore.

Defeat uttered another of those chuckles, and Strider tensed. When the little shit made no reply, accepted no challenge, he relaxed somewhat. Damn it. What the hell was going on with his demon?

Gwen chewed on her bottom lip. “Bianka told me the games are so violent that half the participants end up dead or praying for death. And once, about fifteen hundred years ago, far more than half died. Like, nearly all of them.”

Strider straightened, his blood chilling. “What? Why?”

“She didn’t tell me more than that, so don’t look at me like you’ll cut my throat if I don’t fess up. Anyway, she wasn’t exaggerating,” Gwen continued. “Oh, wait. She did tell me a bit more. Apparently the Skyhawks haven’t been allowed to participate in centuries because of something Kaia did, not that anyone will tell me what. No one in our clan has ever spoken of it, and I was never really around other clanswomen. They’ve always shunned us. But now, suddenly, they’re welcoming us back with open arms. It’s weird, and I don’t like it, but I’m not sending my sisters into hostile territory alone.”

Strider’s mind snagged on one detail only. Kaia had caused the turmoil. What had the gorgeous troublemaker done?

“Oh, and one other thing. Bianka thinks this is a trap.” Gwen angled Sabin’s head up and sank into his lap. Automatically the warrior wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “She thinks the Skyhawks, Kaia especially, will be targets, everyone out for revenge.”

Kaia … a target for every Harpy with a grudge … Now his blood heated for a different reason, the need to rage an inferno inside him. “Men are allowed to go?”

“Consorts and slaves, yes, and they’re more than allowed, they’re encouraged. Blood is medicine to Harpies, and those consorts and slaves help the injured participants heal.”

“Does Kaia have a … slave?” He croaked the question. On one hand, he wanted her to have one, to be safe. On the other, he already wanted to murder the ugly prick.

Defeat snarled, no trace of amusement in the sound. Or his usual fear.

This isn’t a challenge, buddy. Or was his demon upset by the thought of someone besides Strider hurting Kaia?

In a sick, twisted way, that kind of made sense. His sense of possessiveness was highly developed, with his enemies especially, but even with friends. Kaia was a bit of both.

Thankfully, Defeat offered no reply. Strider didn’t need the added complication of fighting Kaia and/or anyone who challenged her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She wasn’t his problem.

“No,” Gwen finally said, sadness creeping into her tone. “Kaia doesn’t have a slave.”

Relief, so much relief. “We’ll find her one, then.” Fury, so much fury.

“No.” Those strawberry-blond tresses slapped her face as she shook her head. “She thinks you are her consort.”

Yeah, once upon a time Kaia had said something like that to him. He’d believed that she believed, but he’d also believed she was mistaken, that she was letting simple attraction confuse her. Not that there was anything simple about her attraction to him. She wanted the best of the best for herself, and he couldn’t blame—

Ego check. He massaged the back of his neck with his free hand. Rephrasing: she wanted someone strong, capable and handsome. Shit. Ego check, he thought again. She’d wanted someone somewhat handsome.

No. That didn’t work. When a fact was a fact, there was no getting around it. She’d wanted someone extremely handsome, and he fit the bill. But …

Paris was handsomer.

Handsomer wasn’t even a word, damn it. Was it? Yeah, it probably was, and had most likely been coined because of Paris. “So?” he said with more force than he’d intended.

“So, she won’t take anyone else,” Sabin blurted. “Harpies are territorial, possessive and stubborn as hell. Meaning, they’re just like you and can’t compromise worth shit.”

Gwen frowned. “Hey!”

“Sorry, baby, but it’s true.” Then, “Kaia will take you or no one,” he said to Strider. “That’s just the way it’s sliced.”

“Which is why …” Gwen inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, her gaze locking on Strider with menace. “You know I love you, right?”

He gave a stiff nod. Shit, shit, shit. Him or no one. A blessing and a curse. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t spend any more time with her. Had already said goodbye to her.

A goodbye that had come close to rousing his demon. With every step he’d taken from Kaia’s home, Defeat had prowled through his head, wanting to act, to pin her and take her—victory would be so damn sweet—but not allowing himself to do so. Loss would be so damn painful.

Strider had never been happier that the demons of Pandora’s box were afraid of the Harpies. And with good reason. They were descendants of Lucifer, the master of all things demonic.

Plus, Defeat had seen Kaia fight. No matter what weapon she used—gun, blade, claws, fangs—she blazed through her opponents faster than the eye could track. Nice qualities in a date, sure, and definite aphrodisiacs. If your very existence didn’t depend on your victories, as his did.

Strider finished off the last of his candy, and chucked the empty box into the trash bin beside Sabin’s desk. Swish. Two points!

Defeat purred his approval, little sparks of satisfaction shooting through Strider’s veins.

“—listening to me?” Gwen asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he lied, gaze quickly finding her. She was no longer perched on Sabin’s lap. Now she stood a few inches from Strider, her legs braced apart, her hands fisted at her sides. He recognized that pose. “But, uh, give me a refresher. You were saying …”

She rolled her eyes. “I was telling you that you only have two days to take care of any pressing business you might have. Because even though I love you, I’m going to make sure you attend the games. Kaia needs you, and you will be there for her. Or else.”

His attention flicked to Sabin, all what-are-you-going-to-do-about-this. Sympathy filled every curve and hollow of the man’s face, but there was no hint of determination or ire. Okay, so. His fearless leader would be doing nothing. Perfect.

He glared at Gwen. “Don’t even think about challenging me,” he snapped. “I won’t hesitate to retaliate.” Of course, one little scratch on the girl and Sabin would attack him. He’d have to go berserker on his boss, but two victories for the price of one? Bring it.

“As if I would ever use your demon against you,” she replied, startling him. “God, I can’t believe you think so little of me.” She truly sounded offended. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize to her, she said, “I’m only planning to beat the crap out of you, tie you up and have Lucien flash you to where the first meeting is being held. Jeez! Cut me some slack.”

“Only” planning, she’d said. He pursed his lips. “You do realize that beating the crap out of me and tying me up would be, what? Using my demon against me. The loss would destroy me.”

“Oh.” Her features fell. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Then she raised her chin, reminding him of Kaia all over again. “I’ll still do it, though. Just make this easier on yourself and agree to go with her. Please.”

“Begging doesn’t work on me. Neither does crying, just so you know.” Once upon a time when he’d done the dating thing, he’d learned that begging and crying were forms of feminine warfare. Women wanted something, and they did anything to get it.

Admirable, but it hadn’t taken him long to harden his heart against such wiles. Or to decide that long-term relationships simply weren’t for him. As easily as he’d learned about his partners’ ploys, they’d learned about his.

He had to win, and they always tried to use that to their advantage. How many times had he heard some variation of, “Bet you can’t spend the whole day with me and like it?” Countless.

“Well?” Gwen demanded. “Yes or no? Easy way or hard way?”

“How long?” he gritted out.

“Four weeks,” she replied, clearly hopeful.

She could have said “eternity,” so emphatic was his reaction. Four weeks. Four damn weeks with Kaia. Feeding her, protecting her, guarding her with his body if the opportunity presented itself.

His cock twitched with eagerness. This isn’t something to look forward to, you idiot. He’d guard her with his body if circumstances demanded. But even with the rephrase, this had trouble written all over it. Getting in and getting out as swiftly as possible was his M.O. now, and one that worked for him. No one had time to learn his quirks—or use them against him.