The Darkest Secret(The ninth book in the Lords of the Underworld series)A novel by Gena Showalter
I was writing this book when my cherished friend, Donnell Epperson, died. She was a woman of unwavering faith and deep love, who dreamed of being a published author. Tragically, she died before that dream could be realized. And thats a shame (or a Glorious Misfortune, as she would have said with a beautiful and slightly wicked smile). She was truly gifted and utterly dedicated, and I like to think she was with me as I wrote this.
And so, this one is for you, my friend. And when Jill, Sheila and I get to heaven, I have a feeling well be arguing about where our mansions are placed. I call dibs on the middle. Just sayin. Until then, I continue to miss you with all my heart. Save me a hug, and maybe tell the Big Man Im not so bad. Sometimes. Meanwhile, its no secret that I will always love you.
CHAPTER ONE
STRIDER, KEEPER OF THE DEMON of Defeat, burst through the towering front doors of the Budapest fortress he shared with a growing cast of friendsbrothers and sisters by circumstance rather than blood, but all the closer for itfighting a rush of undeniable pleasure.
Hed freaking done it, man. Done. It. After chasing his enemy cross-continent, bargaining away one of the four godly relics needed to find and destroy Pandoras boxand yeah, he was gonna get spanked hard for thatthen, after being eaten alive by insects and at one point (cough) walking into a chicks knife (cough), hed finally won. And damn if he wasnt ready to celebrate.
Im king of the world, bitches. Come in here and bask in my glory. His voice echoed through the foyer, expectant, eager.
No one returned the greeting.
Still. Grinning, he shifted the unconscious female draped over his shoulder into a more comfortable position. More comfortable for him. She was the enemy hed been chasing, as well as the chick whod oh, so impolitely introduced his pancreas to the freaking hilt of her blade. He could hardly wait to tell everyone that hed done what they hadnt. Hed bagged and tagged her, baby.
He called, Daddys home. Somebody? Anybody?
Again, there was no response. His grin dulled a bit.
Damn it. When he lost a single challenge, he battled crippling pain for days. When he won, thoughgods, it was almost a sexual high, energy buzzing in his veins, heating him, priming him. That kind of enthusiasm called for a playmate. And, hell, twelve warriors and their menagerie of female companions lived here, yet no one had waited around to welcome him home? Even though the grounds were now gated, monitored and someone had had to punch him in, like, five minutes ago?
Didnt that just figure.
But he deserved it, he supposed. Seven days had passed since hed last texted or phoned. Technically, though, that wasnt his fault. Hed been a wee bit preoccupied, what with subduing his bundle of anything but joy. And on his last update, hed been told the danger here had passed and everyone could return, so hed stopped the I-have-to-know-how-everyones-doing flurry of calls.
So, fine. No biggie. The fact that no one wanted to play actually did him a solid. Now he could take care of a little business. Thanks, guys. Youre the best. Really. And you can all suck it!
Strider surged forward. To console himself, he imagined his prisoners expression when she woke up and found herself trapped in a four-by-four cage. Now thats the good stuff. Then his gaze snagged on his unfamiliar surroundings, and the last vestiges of his grin fell away. He stopped abruptly.
Hed been gone only a few weeks, and hed thought most of the others had been, too, but in that time someone had managed to turn the run-down monstrosity they called home into a showpiece. Once comprised of crumbling stone and mortar, the floor was now brilliant white marble veined with amber. Equally deteriorated walls were now vividly polished rosewood.
Before, the winding staircase had been cracked; now it gleamed, not a flaw in sight, an unblemished gold railing climbing to the top. In the corner, a white velvet-lined chair was pushed against reflective paneling, and beyond that, priceless artifactscolorful vases, bejeweled trinket boxes and aged spearheadswere perched behind glass cases.
None of which had been there before.
All these changes, in less than a month? Seemed impossible, even with Titan gods popping in and out at will. Maybe because those gods were more concerned with murder and mayhem than interior decorating. But maybemaybe while Strider had been congratulating himself on a job well done, hed entered the wrong house? It had happened before.
And talk about awkward. There was no way to explain the cut, bruised and soot-covered baggage he was hauling around. Not without a little jail time. Explaining the blood splatter on his clothing would be a real treat, too.
Nah, he decided a second later. This was the right place. Had to be. Along the staircase wall hung a portrait of Sabin, keeper of Doubt. Naked. Only one person had the balls to taunt badass Sabin with something like that. Anya, goddess of Anarchy and dealer of disorder, who just happened to be engaged to Lucien, keeper of Death. Odd pair, if you asked Strider, but no one had, so hed kept the opinion to himself. Besides, better silence than the loss of a favorite appendage. Anya didnt take kindly to anyone second-guessing her. About anything.
Yo, Tor Tor, he shouted now.
Torin, the keeper of the demon of Disease. Dude never left the fortress. He was always here, monitoring camera feed, ensuring the home remained invasion-free, as well as playing on his computers and making their miniature, by-invitation-only army a shitload of cha-ching.
At first, there was no reply, only another echo of his voice, and Strider began to worry. Had something catastrophic happened? A total demon wipeout? If so, why was he still here? Or had Kane, keeper of All Kinds of Bad Shit, had a crappy week and
Footsteps pounded, closer and closer, and relief flooded him. He looked up the staircase, and there was Torin, standing on a zebra-print rug Strider also didnt recall seeing before, his white hair shagging around his devils face, his green eyes bright as emeralds.
Welcome home, Torin said, adding, You shithead.
Nice greeting.
You dont call, you dont write, and you want hearts and flowers?
Yeah, I do.
Figures.
Torin wore black from neck to toe, his hands covered by soft leather gloves. Fashion-wise, those gloves were overkill. To save mankind, though, they were kinda necessary. A single touch of Torins skin against anothers, and hello plague. Guys demon pumped some kind of disease in his veins, that single touch all that was needed to spread it. Even to Strider. But immortal as he was, Strider wouldnt die from a little cough/fever/vomiting of blood. Not like humans, who would be ravaged, perhaps worldwide, the infection becoming nearly unstoppable. Strider would give the illness to everyone he touched in turn, though, and as he moderately enjoyed seducing humans, he relied on skin-to-skin action.
So, everything good here? Strider asked. Everyone fine?
Now you want to know?
Yeah.
Figures. Well, for the most part, alls well. A lot of the guys are out hiding artifacts, and looking for the last one. Those who arent are hunting Galen. Torin took the stairs two at a time and stopped at the bottom, remaining out of striking distance. As always. His gaze flicked to the female, and amusement expanded his pupils, hiding whatever emotion had been banked there before. So youre the next of us to fall in love, huh? Sucker! I thought youd have more sense.
Please. I want nothing to do with this raging bitch. A lie. During their seemingly eternal trek, hed found himself desiring her more and more. And hating himself more and more. She might be sex walking, but she was also death waiting.
Too-pretty-to-be-male lips curved in sheer delight. Thats what Maddox said about Ashlyn. What Lucien said about Anya. What Reyes said about Danika. What Sabin
Okay, okay. I get it. Strider rolled his eyes. You can shut up now. While he would admit the girls punked-out style appealed to him, hed never be dumb enough to try and tap that.
He liked his women compliant. And sane.
Liar. You like this one. Just as she is. He wished he could blame his demon for that admission, but Even now, simply thinking about her, his body was tensing, readying.
Torin crossed his arms over his chest. So what is she? A human with a supernatural ability? A goddess? A Harpy?
The guys here did have a propensity for choosing females of myth and legend. Females far more powerful than their demons. Ashlyn could hear voices of the past, Anya could start fires with her mind (among other things), Danika could see into heaven and hell, and Sabins wife, Gwenwell, she had a dark side you saw just before you died. Painfully.
My friend, what Ive got here is a bona fide Hunter. Strider slapped her ass as if a fly was perched there and he couldnt live another second without smashing it. The action was a reminder that she meant nothing to him. Although why he didnt tell his friend which Hunter she was, when hed been so excited before, he didnt know. Actually, he did know. Fatigue. Yeah, he was tired, that was all, and didnt want to have to deal with all the praise. Tomorrow, after a nice long rest, hed spill everything.
The girl offered no reaction to his slap, but then, he hadnt expected her to. Hed repeatedly drugged her as hed dragged her from one corner of the world to the other. From Rome to Greece to New York to L.A. and finally to Budapest, leading her brethren on a merry chase as they attempted to save her.
Something they would never do.
We won! his demon laughed.
Damn right we did. He shivered in delight.
Hunter? All amusement fled his friends face, the light dying in his eyes, turning those emeralds into sharp, deadly blades.
Afraid so. Hunters. Their greatest enemy. The fanatics who wanted to destroy them. The bastards who considered them evil, beyond redemption, and the scourge of the earth. The assholes who blamed them for all the worlds heartache. Best yet, they were the militia Strider was going to send to the hottest depths of hell, one soldier at a time. Or, with grenades, a few hundred at a time. Depended on his mood, he supposed.
You should have offed her already, Torin remarked. Now Sabin will want to talk with her.
Talk equaled torture in Sabins mind. I know he will. Thats why shes still alive. She knew things about the gods pulling their strings, and could do things, impossible things, like cause weapons to materialize from thin air. Something only angel warriors could do. Or so hed thought. Problem was, she wasnt an angel. And not just because she lacked wings. Girl had a temper.
Strider wanted to know how much she knew and how she did what she did.
More than that, he hadnt been able to do his jobaka dispose of Hunter trashwhen hed been alone with her. Every time hed tried, hed looked at her beautiful face and hesitated. The hesitation had given way to desire, and hed started battling urges to kiss her rather than off her.
Sabin wouldnt let him get away with that shit. Sabin would ride his ass until he acted. Strider would have no choice but to step up to the plate and knock the ball out of the park. Because His hands curled into fists. Because this woman, this walking atrocity
His teeth gritted, and his jaw clenched so tightly the ache shot through his temples and straight into his brain. He experienced the same reaction every time he considered what shed once done. This woman had helped decapitate his friend Baden, once keeper of the demon of Distrust. Strider could never forget or forgive that fact.
The savage beheading had taken place thousands of years ago, but the pain inside him was as fresh as if it had happened this morning. Along with his friend, a piece of his own soul had died that day, and as the girl had learned during their trek to this fortress, a good portion of his heart had withered, too.
Mercy wasnt something he possessed. Not anymore. Most especially not for her.
He thought hed killed her in vengeance already, all those centuries ago. Recalled the slash of his blade, the crimson tide of her blood and the metallic stench of death wafting on the air. The sound of her body slamming into rock, her last gurgle of breath. Yet here she was, alive and well and driving him flipping insane. Maybe he had killed her. Maybe shed been reborn. Or maybe her soul had been stuffed inside another body. Or maybe this chick was more immortal than he was and had somehow healed after the beheading. He didnt know, didnt care.
All that mattered was that she was Hadiee of ancient Greece. Well, she called herself Haidee now. From Hade-ay to Hay-dee. Evidently shed changed the spelling and pronunciation for modernization. Not that he gave a shit. He called her Ex, short for Demon Executioner, and that was that.
The proof of her crimes rested in her eyes. Those wintry, callous gray eyes. In the pride that dripped from her voice every time she spoke of that fateful nightI just loved the way his head rolled. Didnt you?and the stark tattoos etched into her back. Tattoos that kept score. Haidee 1. Lords 4.
She deserved everything he and Sabin would do to her.
Im taking her to the dungeon, he said, and hed never heard such a combination of relish and regret in his own voice before. Once again he started forward, throwing over his shoulder, If youd be a sweetheart and let Doubty-Poo know
No can do, Stridey-man. Theres, uh, something you gotta see. A blast of fear mixed with dread and grim expectation accompanied the words.
Strider halted, one foot raised midair. He straightened, still-sleeping baggage nearly sliding to the ground. Slowly he turned, adjusting Ex, and faced Torin, his own sense of dread sprouting as he spied his friends now pallid skin. White dusted with tiny rivers of blue. You said everything was fine. Whats wrong?
Torin shook his head. No way to explain until youve seen. And I said everything was fine for the most part. Now come on.