"Har, har. You're a borderline fucktard, you know that?"
"Hey, I'm not going to apologize for being on my A game.
Why don't you step up to the plate and join me, Junior League?"
Torin ignored him. "It's weird, don't you think? Two demons hooking up?"
Strider peered at him, blinked. "I can't believe you just said that."
"Why?"
"One word-Cameo. And you. Okay, so three words."
Torin snapped his teeth at him. "Whatever. We were talking about Scarlet. Which brings me to more gossip. Turns out she's the only daughter of...wait for it... Rhea."
What? Rhea? And he hadn't known? Strider had been way more self-involved than he'd realized. Rhea was queen of the gods, the estranged wife of Cronus, and the bitch helping Galen, keeper of the demon of Hope-and an al around asshole-leader of the Hunters. "How'd Gideon take the news?"
"Wel , he tried to kil his mother-in-law."
"Sweet. But such romantic gestures aside, our boys have gotta start picking their significant others with more care.
Gwen is Galen's only kid, Scarlet is Rhea's. What's next?"
A Hunter? A participant in Baden's kil er?
Yes, he was a fucktard.
"I'l tel you what's next," Torin said. "Lucifer's brother."
"Come again."
"Did no one tel you? Wil iam is related to Lucifer. And Lucifer is the devil, in case you didn't know."
"Come again."
The corners of Torin's lips quirked with amusement. "I know. Whacked out as hel , but kind of fitting."
He wouldn't ask again. He wouldn't. "How?" Damn! The question escaped before he could stop it.
"Don't know. Wil iam refused to spil . Needless to say, things have been pretty festive around here. So, anyway.
You're back, and you're kind of healthy, so I can ask the question I've been holding in for three days.
Where the hel is the Cloak of Invisibility? I looked through your stuff, your room, but couldn't find it."
Oh, shit. Now it was his turn to drop a news bomb. "About that..."
CHAPTER EIGHT.
HAIDEE PROWLED THE CONFINES of her cel .
She had no idea how much time had passed since she'd been pushed inside. She was alone. Food and water had been brought to her only once. The fruits and nuts and crisp, clean water had somehow curbed her hunger completely, strengthening her in a way she couldn't explain.
Oh, and the food had been delivered by an angel-a freaking angel living in a demon's den. That stil had her reeling. But she now knew beyond a doubt she was in the Budapest fortress. As they'd dragged her down here, she'd spotted wear and tear from a recent bombing. A bombing she hadn't been involved in, but one she'd heard al about.
Enough time had passed for Micah-"Amun," Defeat had cal ed him-to have suffered countless fates.
Torture, relocation, even death. The thought of each had sent her into a near hysteric state. She'd clawed the wal s until she had no nails left. She'd beaten the bars until her knuckles had cracked and swel ed.
She'd screamed for answers until her voice had fractured.
Now, in the silence, al she could do was think, one sentence echoing over and over again. Defeat had cal ed him Amun. Was he Amun, a Lord? Or was he Micah, a Hunter?
He'd known her, shouted for her help. That had to mean he was Micah. But, on the flip side, he hadn't known anything else about her. Not their history, not their purpose. That had to mean he was Amun.
Argh! The back-and-forth, was he or wasn't he, was driving her as crazy as her confinement. Could he be a mix of both? Amun's demon stuffed into Micah's body? Because real y, two men couldn't look that much alike. Could they?
No matter the answers, she wasn't leaving without him.
Even though, deep down, a part of her suspected the worst.
That two men could easily look alike-especial y if powers beyond a human's comprehension were involved. That he was Amun, that he'd always been Amun. That Micah was someone else completely, out there somewhere, stil searching for her, and she was simply trying to convince herself otherwise so she wouldn't feel guilty.
That kiss...something else she couldn't get out of her mind.
Micah had never kissed her like that. Fiery, consuming.
Necessary.
Despite the danger they had been in-were in-she would have al owed him to strip and penetrate her.
She would have met him thrust for wild thrust, taking, giving, claiming.
She would have clung to him, desperate for more, for everything.
Hel , she would have crawled inside him if she could have.
She'd wanted them fused, never able to part. How crazy was that? A kiss had never affected her like that. Never. A man had never affected her like that.
Always before, she had remained detached. From everyone. Maybe because she'd known the people around her would die, while she would continue on, eternal y brought back from the grave. Maybe because there was darkness inside her. So much darkness. A living entity, as real as the ice that flowed through her veins, a presence in the back of her mind, muted but always there, urging her to despise people, places, life, death. Anything, everything.
For the first time, she hadn't had to fight to feel or garner affection. She had looked at Amun- That's how you think of him now? Amun?
Yes, she realized. Somehow he was Amun to her now.
Micah didn't fit those ful er lips and wider shoulders. So, she had looked at Amun, and sensual awareness had sizzled inside her. Connecting them. She had heard his voice inside her head, and that sensual awareness had deepened.
And if he real y was Amun, not Micah, she should feel guilty about what had happened between them.
She should be horrified that she'd succumbed to her enemy. Should be devastated that she'd let him give her more than an explosive kiss; she'd let him lick between her legs, and she had loved it. Had been begging for more.
Guilt and horror were not what she felt, however. Wel , not completely. She felt them, but she was stil consumed by desire.
Forgetting the fact that Amun was the enemy, she wasn't a cheater. And yet, had he walked through her cel , she felt pretty certain she would have thrown herself into his arms.
She scrubbed a shaky hand down her face. What was happening to her common sense? Her wel -honed self-preservation instincts?
Micah was the first boyfriend she'd al owed herself in centuries, and only because she had dreamed of him first.
But she hadn't needed him, hadn't been lost without him.
She paused and peered down at her tattooed arm. At his name, branded so deeply into her flesh.
M-i-c-a-h. She traced the letters with a scabbed fingertip. There was no leap in her pulse, no hum of desire.
She thought the name Amun.
Goose bumps broke out over every inch of her skin. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly flooded with moisture.
See? Reaction. Always. And that wasn't good. Not good at al .
What if...what if she hadn't dreamed of Micah? What if she'd dreamed of Amun? Did that mean Amun was a bad memory trying to surface? Or, like the visions he had showed her of her past, was he something good?
Neither made sense, real y. One, in the visions, she knew the man she saw was her key to happiness, to freedom.
Two, how could a demon-possessed immortal, responsible for the travesty that was her life-and her parents' and sister's deaths-be something good?
She kicked back into motion, her sure strides eating up the distance from one cel wal to the other. A better question: How could a demon-possessed warrior be the one thing she craved? The one thing she didn't think she could live without?
Live. Without. The words echoed through her mind, and she stumbled to another halt. Her stomach twisted, sharp little knots forming, cutting. No. No, no, no. She purposely kept her home and belongings sparse, her friendships casual.
That way, she could pick up and leave without a moment's notice or regret.
She could live without him. She could. He was a mystery right now. A mystery she needed to solve.
That was al .
Another complication sprouted. If the warrior she craved Another complication sprouted. If the warrior she craved was Amun, he wouldn't want her when he discovered the truth about her. The fact that he'd kissed her meant he hadn't realized who she was and what she'd done to his friend, Baden. When he did, he would want to kil her, not pleasure her.
But he knew you were a Hunter. You told him. Stil . Easier to forgive a run-of-the-mil Hunter, she thought, than the Hunter who had helped behead his friend-and planned to do the same to al the others.
Footsteps suddenly resounded. Haidee swung around, facing the cel door. She tensed, waiting, dreading. A few seconds later, the blond, blue-eyed keeper of Defeat rounded the corner and approached her prison. Bile burned a path up her throat. His pretty features were devoid of emotion, but his skin was pale, the tracery of his veins evident.
Though her heartbeat sped up, thumping erratical y, she didn't back away, wouldn't act the coward.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, just to taunt him. "Have a tummy ache?"
Both of his sandy brows arched into his hairline, his eyes glittering dangerously. His gaze perused her from top to bottom, purposely lingering at her breasts, between her legs. "I'm feeling like I can do anything I want with you."
Calmly yet brutal y uttered, his threat clear. "Anything."
That wasn't the answer she'd expected, and she scowled at him. But then, she should have known he wouldn't simply endure her snide remarks. He always had to one-up her.
So. Enough pleasantries.
"Where's the warrior?" she demanded. "The one I was with?"
"You mean Amun, keeper of the demon of Secrets?" So calm, so certain. "Or your boyfriend?"
Secrets, he'd said. Just as she'd suspected. The confirmation explained so much. The knots in her stomach twisted into themselves, sharpening further. Stil , she wouldn't confirm or deny what she knew.
"Maybe that's what you want me to believe. That he's masquerading as a Hunter, while in reality, he's real y your friend." The words croaked from her. "Or maybe you just want me to hate my own boyfriend. Maybe you want me to hurt him and afterward, you'l taunt me, laugh at me."
"Now why would I want that, huh? If he's my friend, demon-possessed like me, yet I told you he wasn't, that he was your man, you would do your best to watch over him. And I would want my friend watched over, wouldn't I?" Strider propped his shoulder against the bar, and though his head was turned, his hard gaze remained fixed on her. "But if he isn't, if he is your boyfriend, why would I give the pleasure of kil ing him to you, even for a joke?"
Her chin lifted a notch, her stubborn core refusing to be cowed. Despite his sound reasoning. "Why would you admit he was your friend, then? Thereby placing him in danger?"
"So I've admitted he's Amun, have I?"
No, he hadn't. He'd only questioned her thoughts on the matter, probably trying to confuse her. "I don't care who he is." Either way, he belonged to her. That was a fact she couldn't argue, even with herself. "I just want to see him, make sure he's okay."
"Want, want, want." He tapped a finger against his chin.
"Who said anything about giving you what you want?"
She popped her jaw, stil refusing to show him emotion.
"Why are you here, Defeat?"
"We'l get to that in a minute. First, I have some questions for you."
"And I have every intention of answering them," she said, sugar sweet.
"You wil if you want to see your...man again." The last was gritted, as if the prospect bothered him.
"You just told me I wouldn't get what I wanted."
"No, I didn't. Think back. I asked you who said you would."
True. Bastard. But would he honor his word? The Lords of the Underworld were not known as givers in her world.