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Gideon withdrew the key to Scarlet’s cell, his new fingers stiff and shaky from disuse, and reached out.
“Wait.” Strider placed a hard hand on his shoulder, trying to hold him in place. Gideon could have shaken free, but he allowed his friend the illusion of winning this small battle of wills. “You can talk to her here. Get your answers here.”
But they had an audience, which meant she couldn’t relax. And if she couldn’t relax, she wouldn’t allow him to touch her. Degenerate that he was, he wanted to touch her. Besides, how else was he going to seduce information from her? By telling her how ugly she was? By telling her what he didn’t want to do to her?
“Don’t ease off, man. Like I haven’t told you countless times, I have no plans to bring her back when I find out what I don’t want to know. Okay?”
“If you can bring her back. We discussed that little problem already, too. Remember?”
Kinda hard to forget. Unfortunately. “I won’t be careful. You don’t have my word. But I don’t need to do this. It’s not important to me.”
That hard hand never left him. “Now isn’t the time to leave us. We have three artifacts, and Galen’s pissed as hell. He’s gonna want revenge for the one we took from him.”
Galen was leader of the Hunters, as well as a demon-possessed warrior. Only, he looked angelic and was paired with the demon of Hope, so all of his human followers thought he was, indeed, an angel. Because of him, they blamed each of the Lords for the world’s evil. Because of him, they expected a future free of that evil, and fought to the death to achieve it.
Aeron’s new woman, Olivia, who actually was an honest-to-her-God angel, had stolen that third artifact from the bastard. The Cloak of Invisibility. As there were four artifacts needed to lead the way to Pandora’s box—the All-Seeing Eye (check), the Cage of Compulsion (check), the Cloak of Invisibility (as stated, check) and the Paring Rod (check coming soon)—Galen was desperate to win back the Cloak, as well as confiscate all the others.
Which meant their war was really heating up.
Didn’t matter, though. Nothing was going to deter Gideon from his present course of action. Mainly because part of him felt like his very life depended on this.
“Gid. Dude.”
He flicked his friend a narrowed glance, lips pulling back in a snarl. “You’re begging to be kissed.” Beaten to hell.
A moment passed in heavy silence.
“Fine,” Strider finally muttered, raising his arms, palms out. “Take her.”
Jeez. “Wasn’t planning on it, but many thanks for the approval.” But why wasn’t Strider collapsed on the ground, out for the count? He’d just lost a challenge, hadn’t he?
“When will you return?”
Gideon shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking…a week?” Surely seven days was plenty of time to soften Scarlet toward him and get her to open up about their past. Right now, she seemed to hate his guts. He didn’t know why, but he would. It was a vow. But still. She clearly preferred dangerous men. Why else would she have supposedly married him? So he fit the bill.
“Three days,” Strider said.
Ah. Negotiation time. That was why Strider hadn’t fallen to his demon. He wasn’t defeated, merely trying another strategy. Gideon could dig. He felt just as guilty about leaving his boys behind as he did about leaving Scarlet in this cell. They needed him, and if they were hurt while he was gone, he would completely flip his lid.
“I’m not thinking five now,” he compromised.
“Four.”
“No deal.”
Grinning, Strider nodded. “Good.”
So. He had four days to soften Scarlet. He’d fought more difficult battles in less time, he was sure. Funny that he couldn’t recall them at the moment, though.
Hell, maybe he just suffered from selective memory loss. Maybe fights and Scarlet—whom he’d probably fought with a lot, since she was opinionated, bossy and mouthy as shit—were the biggest casualties of that loss.
He would’ve liked to remember the sex, though. Mind-blowing. He just knew it.
“I’ll inform the others,” Strider said. “But in the meantime, I’ll drive you to wherever you want to take her.”
“Sure thing.” Gideon finally inserted the key and unlocked Scarlet’s cell, the door swinging open with a whine. “I’m not gonna drive her myself. I want everyone to know where we’re going.”
Strider gave another growl, this one just as frustrated but now laced with anger. “Stubborn jackass. I have to know you made it safely to wherever you’re going or I won’t be able to concentrate enough to kill anyone. And you know I’m on a strict, at-least-one-Hunter-a-day diet.”
“That’s why you won’t be getting a phone call from me.” Gideon approached Scarlet’s still-sleeping form. She no longer surrounded herself in that impermeable darkness while she slept. As if she wanted Gideon to always be able to see her. As if she trusted him not to hurt her.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
“Gods. I can’t believe you talked me into this. Did I tell you already that you’re a shithead?”
“Nope.” Gently he scooped Scarlet into his arms.
Sighing, she rubbed her cheek against his heart. A heart that was now beating against his ribs like a sledgehammer. She must have liked the erratic rhythm, because she cuddled closer. Nice.
She was five-nine to his six-three, slender, but leanly muscled. She had refused the clothes he’d offered her, so she wore the T-shirt and jeans Aeron had found her in.
Gideon inhaled deeply again, but this time there was no guilt. She smelled of floral-scented soap, and it consumed him. What had she smelled like all those years ago, when they’d supposedly been married? Flowers, like now? Or something else? Something more exotic? Something as dark and sensual as she was? Something he would have enjoyed sucking into his mouth as he tongued her from head to toe?
Head out of gutter. Now wasn’t the time to indulge such thoughts.
He turned with her clutched tightly to his chest, a treasure he would protect while they were outside the fortress walls. Even from his friends. He knew he was contradicting himself, thinking of her in such romantic terms and so ferociously, when his intentions were neither pure nor honorable, but he couldn’t help himself. Stupid lust.
Strider’s expression was wary, but accepting, silently telling him no defensive moves would be necessary. “Go. And be careful.”
Gods, he loved his friends. They supported him no matter what. They always had.
“By the way. You look like you’re a cat, and you just found a bowl of cream,” Strider said with a shake of his head. “That’s not comforting. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, do you?”
Maybe not. Because he hadn’t looked forward to something this intensely in a long time, and he probably should’ve been wary. Having his idiocy pointed out, though…“I’m not showing you a finger in my mind. Do you know that?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s your index finger and you’re telling me I’m number one.”
He laughed. Something like that.
“Four days,” his friend reminded him. “Or I come find you.”
Gideon blew him a kiss.
Strider rolled his eyes. “You wish. But listen. I’ll be praying for you to return to us alive. And with the girl. And that she’s alive, too. Oh, and that you’re satisfied with what you learn. And that she satisfied you in other ways, so you’ll forget about her like you’ve done all the other women in your life.”
Okay. That was a lot of prayers. “Thanks. A lot. I really mean that. So when didn’t you become a priest? And when did the gods decide they liked answering us?” Strider had never wasted his time on prayers before, and the gods actually adored ignoring their requests.
No, not true, he corrected himself. Cronus, the newly crowned Titan king, now liked to visit the fortress without an invite and make all kinds of shitty demands Gideon and the others were forced to obey.
Like killing innocent humans. Like choosing to save either your woman or your friend. Like begging to be told where your friend’s spirit had been sent when the friend in question had had his head cleaved from his body. Yeah, that had happened. Aeron had lost his head to a warrior angel and at Cronus’s behest, Gideon had begged (in his way) to know where the man’s spirit resided, tears streaming down his face. Actually, all of them had begged and sobbed like babies.
But in the end, Cronus had still refused to tell them. Because they’d needed a lesson in humility, the bastard had said.
Then, of course, Aeron had returned on his own. Or rather, with his sweet Olivia’s help. He’d been restored to his body, minus his demon, and once again lived here in the fortress. But Gideon had yet to forgive Cronus for his disregard, so prayers weren’t something he would be offering anytime soon.
“Priest.” Strider’s head slanted thoughtfully. Of course, he ignored Gideon’s questions. Him, though, Gideon easily forgave. “I like it. I mean, it’s practically true. I have sent many women through the gates of heaven.”
Hadn’t they all?
And Scarlet would be no different, he assured himself.
Grinning now, Gideon carried his woman away.
Chapter Two
SCARLET AWOKE with a jolt. But then, she always did. The moment her demon’s required time in dreamland ended, awareness would slam into her brain, as if she’d been hooked to a generator and the switch had been flipped.
Panting, sweating, she sat up, wild gaze roving though not really seeing. Yet. The screams she and her demon had garnered from their victims were already fading, but the images they’d projected into those sleeping minds remained in hers. Crackling flames, melting flesh, black ash wafting and dancing in the breeze.
The night’s terror du jour had been fire.
She couldn’t control the demon while she slept, as he searched out anyone he could find, wreaking what havoc he could. She could, however, make suggestions, urging him to attack certain people in certain ways. And he usually rushed to do so. Not that she’d made any suggestions lately.
Ever since the Lords of the Underworld had captured her, she’d been operating on autopilot, her thoughts consumed with one warrior in particular. The blue-haired, gorgeous, utterly frustrating Gideon.
Why didn’t he remember her?
As always, recalling his selective amnesia had every muscle in her body tensing on bone. Her hands fisted; her teeth gnashed together, little pains shooting through her jaw. But most of all, a savage need to kill someone, anyone, consumed her.
Anger isn’t good for those around you. Calm down. Think of something else.
She forced her mind to return to her demon; sadly, death and chaos were a much safer topic than that of her husband. During their hours awake—which amounted to twelve each and every day, though not always the same twelve—she pulled the strings. She could summon the darkness, and she could garner the screams. The demon could urge her, and she often heeded those urgings. Turnabout was fair play, after all. And usually, Nightmares liked to urge. Scare him…Make her scream…
But right now, her demon was strangely content.
We’re out of the dungeon, Nightmares said, seeing their surroundings before she could.
Aw. No wonder.
The flames finally died, and Scarlet scanned the area. She frowned. Okay. So. Where the hell was she now?
She’d been locked in that dungeon for several weeks, enclosed in crumbling stone and iron bars. Pained moans had constantly drifted from the other cells, and all kinds of pungent, acrid scents had taken up permanent residence inside her nose.
Now…decadence. Floral paper decorated the walls, and dark velvet curtains hung over the bay windows. There was a glistening, violet chandelier over the bed, the lights shaped like bundles of grapes. And the bed, well, her gaze slid along every inch of it. Large, with soft blue sheets and four hand-carved posters.
Best of all, the air smelled sweet, like those hanging grapes mixed with apples and vanilla. She breathed deeply, savoring. How had she gotten here? Without her knowledge?
Clearly, she’d been carried while she’d slept like the dead. Something she usually despised but couldn’t this time because it meant she’d been set free, just as she’d hoped. Yes, hoped. She hadn’t wanted to remain in that fortress, just to be near Gideon. Really.
Still. While she was lost to the dreams of others—and yeah, no matter what time she slipped into that realm of darkness and turmoil, someone, somewhere was sleeping, the demon feeding off their terror—anyone could attack her, and she would be unable to defend herself. Anyone could do anything to her, and she would be powerless to stop them.
Being moved while she was helpless irked.
Usually she protected herself from just such a situation with shadows. She had only to crook a mental finger just before she drifted and they would envelop her the entire time she slept, making it impossible for anyone to see her. But once she’d realized she was inside Gideon’s home, she’d stopped summoning those shadows.
Perhaps she’d wished, on some level, that watching her while she slept would revive his memory of her. Perhaps she’d wished he would grow to desire her again and beg to be a part of her new life. Which was stupid. The bastard had left her to rot inside Tartarus; she shouldn’t want his desire.
She should want his ruin.
“Well, well. I’m so upset you’re finally awake.”
At the sound of his voice, deep and rumbling, Scarlet stiffened, gaze once again roving. Then, she spotted him, and her heart stopped abruptly. He stood in the bedroom’s doorway, muscled arms hanging loosely. He was a warrior whose wicked face promised incomparable nights of sinful pleasures, his eyes bright with anticipation and contradicting his casual pose.
Gideon. Once her beloved husband, but now a man who deserved only her scorn.
Her heart kicked back into gear, quickly gaining speed, and her blood heated with tendrils of awareness. The same reaction she’d experienced the first time she’d seen him, thousands of years ago.
Not my fault, then or now. There was no man more beautiful, part angel, part devil, and all the more masculine for it. No man who tempted even as he repelled, someplace deep inside a woman warning her of the dangers that awaited her should she succumb to his allure. Dangers she couldn’t help but crave.
He wore a black T-shirt that read “You Know You Want Me,” black pants that bagged just a little and a silver chain belt. There were three piercings in his right eyebrow, and now one in his lip. A hoop. Silver. To match his belt, she thought snidely.
He’d always cared about his appearance, and hadn’t liked being teased about it. Something that had once amused her, for it had showed a softer side of him. A hint of vulnerability.
Today, however, she couldn’t summon any joviality. While he stood there looking as edible as a chocolate truffle dipped in caramel, she probably resembled a gutter rat dipped in sewage. She’d only been able to scrub herself with the water the Lords brought her each evening, so her clothes were wrinkled and dirty and her hair a mass of tangles.
“Got lots to say, huh?” he muttered. “We’re on the right track, then.”
She knew he could only speak lies, so she knew exactly what he meant. He wanted her talking. Keep it cas. Don’t let him know how he affects you. She arched a brow, donning what she hoped was an unconcerned expression. “Remember me yet?” Good. There hadn’t been a single spark of hurt in her tone.
His eyes drained of emotion, making those crystalline orbs look as hard as diamonds. “Of course I do.”
So, no. He didn’t. Bastard. She didn’t allow her expression to change, wouldn’t let him know how much he upset her. “Then why did you take me out of the fortress?” Slowly, purposefully, she traced a finger down the column of her neck, between her breasts, wondering if—yep. His gaze followed the entire way. Did some part of him still find her attractive? “I’m a very dangerous woman.”
“Haven’t been warned about that already.” The words were broken, emerging on a rasp of breath. “And I didn’t remove you to talk comfortably, that’s for sure.”
Not because he’d wanted her, then, but just to appease his curiosity. Her hand fell to her lap. She was not disappointed. This was more of the same, and she’d steeled herself against the mental anguish countless times already. One more time should hardly make a difference.
“You’re a fool if you thought a change of scenery would loosen my tongue.”
Though he remained silent, a muscle ticked in his jaw. He was clearly perturbed.
She offered him a sugar-sweet smile, determined to enjoy the moment. And there was something satisfying about leaving him in the dark, keeping him guessing the way he’d kept her guessing about his whereabouts for thousands of worry-filled years.
Reminded of her worry, that soul-deep, ever-present worry, she couldn’t stop her smile, fake as it was, from vanishing. She even had to press her tongue to the roof of her mouth to stop herself from chomping on it in fury.
“I’ll come back for you,” he’d told her one night. “I’ll set you free, I swear it.”
“No. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here.” Gods, she’d been so whiny back then. But she’d been a prisoner, and he’d been her only bright light.
