The Darkest Lie

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DRY, BRITTLE foliage reached out from the plethora of trees, slapping at Strider's cheeks, scratching his skin and darkening his already black mood. He had Hadiee, aka Haidee, aka Ex, roped to him and leading the way, taking the brunt of the branch-slaps as she grumbled and complained and called him all manner of names. "Bastard" was the kindest.

Back at the hotel, he'd lain on top of her, vowing to hurt her worse than she'd ever been hurt, but in the end, he hadn't cut her into small pieces, hadn't even scratched her, and he was pissed as hell about it.

He'd raised his blade to do so. To take a finger at the very least. She deserved it for killing Baden. But she'd gazed up at him with such courage, such challenge, wanting him to end her it seemed. So he'd stayed his hand. No way would he give her what she wanted.

As if she sensed the direction of his thoughts—and hell, maybe she did. She was immortal now, but he didn't know how she was or what she was—she shouted over her shoulder, "You should have killed me, you stupid moron!" Her gray eyes gleamed. Her skin was flushed and dewy with sweat—that actually resembled tiny beads of ice—and her pink hair was plastered to her temples.

Even worn-out, she was a lovely sight. Thank the gods "beautiful bitch" wasn't his type. "And end your suffering? Ha! Keep moving."

"You're the one who's going to suffer. If you think I'll keep my fury to myself, you're stupider than you look. And you look endlessly stupid! I plan to tell you about every damn thing that bothers me. Starting with the insects. They're eating me alive!"

For half an hour, she complained about the damn bugs. Only took five minutes, though, for his ears to start bleeding from the shrillness of her voice.

"Time-out," she snapped. "We've been walking for hours, and I need to rest."

"Time in. We're close to where I want to be. No resting yet."

"Time-out. Or are you too scared to rest for a few minutes?"

Scared? It was a challenge to prove himself, and one his demon accepted.

Scowling, Strider stopped abruptly. Ex didn't realize this and kept moving until the rope around her ankle—a rope that was tied to his wrist—ran out of slack and jerked. She tumbled to her face, quickly rolled over and glared up at him.

His scowl became a grin as he dropped his backpack at the base of a tree and flopped beside it. "Fine. Time-out."

Ex remained on the ground, though she sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. "Bastard," she muttered.

"Touch your ankle and I'll cut off your hands." An empty boast—maybe—but she didn't know that. "And here's another bitch-slap of truth, little girl. From now on, every time you challenge me, I will view it as an invitation to have sex with you." Nothing would disgust her more, he was sure.

The rosy flush abandoned her cheeks. "Warning received."

Good. Now. Since they were resting "for a few minutes," he might as well make the best of it. "Hungry?"

"Yes."

He unzipped his pack and withdrew a box of Red Hots.

Ex spotted them, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "That's what you brought for field rations? You idiot! Stupid is too generous a word for you. Candy won't sustain us."

"Speak for yourself." He tossed a mouthful past his lips, chewed and closed his eyes at the delicious taste. Maybe even moaned.

When he next looked at her, she was frowning and holding out her hand.

"You sure you want some? These are only for idiots too stupid to bring proper field rations."

"Just give me."

He dumped a few of the precious candies into her shockingly chilled palm before he could change his mind about feeding her, then shook as many as he could fit into his mouth. Again, his eyes closed in ecstasy. Cinnamon. There was no better taste. Even females couldn't compare. Unless they tasted like cinnamon, but he'd never met one who did. Not naturally, at least.

"Where we going, anyway?" Ex grumbled.

He swallowed. "None of your damn business." He said it pleasantly, yet left no room for argument.

Truth was, he was taking her to Budapest. Only, he was taking her the long way. Through forest and desert and anything else that struck his fancy. Anything that would break her down, weaken her and force her to rely on him. Not to mention, get her boyfriend off his trail.

Right now they were on the newly risen island of the Unspoken Ones, making their way to the temple, but staying away from civilization.

After all, he'd been on his way to visit the Unspoken Ones when Ex and her friends had interrupted him, and he saw no reason to change his plans on her account. Besides, this way he had the added benefit of showing Ex what a true monster was.

They'd frighten her, she'd realize Strider wasn't as bad as she'd thought and be grateful he'd kept her safe. Soon she would trust him to always see to her protection. She would open up and tell him everything he wanted to know about her and her Hunter pals. Since he obviously didn't have the stomach to kill her—now, at least, and that still dropped him right into a shame spiral—he might as well use her. And then betray her. Just as she'd betrayed Baden.

When Strider finished with her, when she trusted him completely, he might just send her back to her people. After they knew how disloyal she had been to them, that is. Then they could kill her.

To gain her trust, though, he couldn't be too nice to her. Not in the beginning at least. She would become suspicious. Besides, he wasn't that good an actor. He hated this woman, and the thought of being nice to her grated his every nerve.

"Got any water?" she asked in that whining, complaining voice.

Gra-ted. "Yeah." He grabbed one of the bottles of water he'd brought, twisted off the cap and drained most of the contents while she watched. A whimper escaped her, and he squeezed the bottle a little too hard, crackling the plastic.

"Well? Are you going to share or not?"

With a forced shrug, he tossed her what was left. "That has my cooties," he informed her.

"Good news is, I'm up-to-date on all my shots." She drained the contents in seconds, then peered over at him, clearly irritated with what little he'd given her.

"Be grateful I gave you any at all," he said with feeling.

"Evil bastard."

"Murderous bitch." Stop. This isn't the way to win her over. Who cares if she becomes suspicious thanks to sweet behavior?

Win her over, Defeat commanded. Win. Win. Win.

Great. His demon saw winning her as a challenge. It was a challenge he hadn't needed, but there was no way around it now. He had to convince her to—he almost growled—like him.

Motions clipped, Strider dug through the backpack until he found the dehydrated meat he'd brought. He pulled out a bag of it, as well as another bottle of water, and tossed both to the girl.

She caught them easily, realized what they were and grumbled, "Thanks."

"You're...welcome." Ugh. That hadn't been fun to say. Actually tasted like ash on his tongue.

Silent, he watched her as she ate. Dirt smudged her face, and there were tiny scratches along her jaw. Bugs had bitten her neck, leaving swollen, pink circles. Her clothes were wet with perspiration and just as dirty as her face.

Why didn't any of that detract from her loveliness?

She probably made a deal with the devil. Like Legion. Unlike Aeron, he wasn't willing to die to save her. "How long have you been dating your man?"

Dark lashes lifted, and then gunmetal eyes were peering into his soul. "Why do you want to know?"

"Simple curiosity."

"Fine. I'll tell you. But answer a question for me first."

"Sure." That didn't mean he'd answer honestly.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No." Truth. No reason to lie about that.

"Didn't think so," she said with a smugness that irritated him.

Strider popped his jaw. What? She didn't think he was good-looking enough to catch a female? She didn't think anyone could tolerate him for long periods of time? Well, she was mistaken. He didn't have a girlfriend because he didn't want one. His demon fed off the challenge of winning their hearts, but once that was accomplished, the demon's attraction was gone.

And then, of course, the females would try and challenge him in other ways. Ways he hated. Bet you can't spend the entire day with me and enjoy yourself. Bet you won't call me every night for the next week. It was just better for everyone involved if he kept things temporary.

"So," he said. "How long have you been dating your man?"

"Seven months."

Seven months? In human years—something akin to dog years—that was a very long time. "So why haven't you guys gotten married?"

She shrugged as she stuffed the last piece of jerky into her mouth.

"Let me guess. You wanted to, but he didn't?"

"Actually," she said stiffly, "he wanted to, but I didn't."

Interesting, and unexpected. "Why didn't you? Just using him for sex?"

The flush returned to her cheeks, softening her features, making her more than beautiful. Making her appear vulnerable...sweet. "Something like that," she muttered.

There was a tightening in his chest. One he didn't understand and didn't want to contemplate. You aren't attracted to this woman.

"Not to change the subject—and by that I mean I'm ready to change the subject. Do you remember killing me?" she asked.

"Yes." All those centuries ago, he'd slammed his blade into her stomach, raging over what she'd done to Baden. Then, when she'd doubled over, he'd taken her head. "Mind telling me how you're alive?"

She ignored him. "No guilt for your actions?"

"Hell, no. Do you feel guilty for what you did to my best friend?"

"Hell, no."

He hadn't thought so. And that...bothered him. It shouldn't have bothered him. He knew who and what she was—for the most part. Snuffing out evil was her ultimate goal, and she'd considered Baden evil. Would it have killed her to pretend remorse, though?

Frowning, he zipped up his bag and stood. "Time in. Again," he barked. Then cringed. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh.

Ex didn't rush to obey. In fact, she stared up at him for a long while, hands rubbing up and down her calves.

"Up," he said more gently, tugging at the rope. But there was too much give in that rope. Somehow she had managed to cut it, even though he'd never seen her fingers near it. And she certainly hadn't been gripping a knife. Not one that he'd been able to see, at least.

"Time out." Grinning, she kicked out her leg with more force than someone her size should have been capable of, swiping his ankles together and knocking him to the ground. Like a bolt of lightning, she streaked off.

Catch, catch. Win, win, Defeat shouted as Strider leaped to his feet and darted after her. You're losing. You must win.

As he sprinted, he reached for the Cloak he'd strapped to his chest, hiding it there because he'd known the last thing Ex would want to do was feel him up. Only, it wasn't there.

That...bitch! Somehow, she'd stolen it. Just like with the rope, he had no idea how she'd done it. He only knew he had to catch her. Before she reached her boyfriend.

SO LOUD...so terrible. Amun was somehow on his feet, gripping a blade. William and Aeron were on each of his sides, pinning him in to protect him. A new horde of demons surrounded them—they'd already fought the first and second lines of defense—some small, some big, but all of them determined. Their thoughts...totally focused on blood and pain and death.

Taste, they thought. Hurt. Kill. They swiped at the warriors with their claws, biting at them with poisoned fangs, kicking and hitting, laughing and taunting.

The battle itself had been raging for hours. Maybe days. Perhaps years. Each man was exhausted, cut, bleeding, shaking, at the edge, probably in agonizing pain, and every time they killed a demon, three more took its place. But they refused to give up.

Amun tried to help them, but every time he moved, every time he reached out to slash one of the creatures, a new voice entered his mind and grew in volume, new images flashing inside his head—rapes, more tortures, more killings—nearly driving him to his knees.

Through it all, Lucifer sat upon his throne, watching, grinning, Legion at his feet. Every so often, he would pet her head as if she were a favored dog. And when she would try and rise, desperate to help Aeron, the prince of darkness would dig his claws into her scalp and hold her down until she whimpered her surrender, blood trekking down her temples.

"I don't know how much more I can take," Aeron gritted out.

"Arm...hanging...by...thread," William replied. He wasn't exaggerating, either.

Must help them, Amun thought. The air was hot, draining what little remained of his strength. And the smoke...gods, all he wanted to do was cough. Cough until he finally hacked up enough intestine to die.

Although, that might not be necessary. The scent of death clung to every inhalation, stinging his nostrils, promising a reckoning. Very, very soon.

Push through. Ignore the voice, the images. Only reason the two warriors were still standing, despite the poison probably working through them from those demon bites, was that they'd drunk the rest of the Water of Life.

If this didn't end soon, the water would lose its potency and nothing would save them.

Can't let them die. Him, yeah. He welcomed an end. But not his friends. Never his friends. With a roar, Amun raised his arm, blade at the ready. And yes, the voices and images grew in intensity, but he didn't let either stop him this time. He plowed forward, out of the protective embrace of his friends, and slashed. Slashed and slashed and slashed. Demon after demon fell, grunting, groaning, bleeding at his feet.

By the time he reached the center of them, he was dripping with their fluids, his eyes burning, his mouth filled with the taste of rot, but still he didn't stop. And soon, he didn't want to stop. The images...yes, he wanted to kill. He wanted to maim.

He cut off a demon's arm and grinned. He snapped a demon's leg in two and laughed. He removed eyeballs, tongues, even private parts, and laughed all the harder. This. Was. Fun.

Fear sparked in their crimson eyes, and they were soon backing away from him. But he was having none of that. Needed more. Was excited. Was imagining all the things he could do to them. They'd scream, they'd beg, they'd bleed. Yes. Fun.

"Stop him!" Lucifer shouted, no longer relaxed. "Take his head."

"How about we take your head instead?" a new voice proclaimed. "It will look very nice in my trophy case."

Amun recognized that voice, knew it belonged to someone he admired, but didn't take time to look at the speaker. So many targets, just waiting for his blade. He sliced a throat, stabbed a heart, felt a warm splatter on his face and licked it away. Delicious.

"Lysander," Lucifer hissed.

"Oh, Aeron," a female shouted. "My poor darling. You're falling apart."

"Olivia! Get out of here. Go! You shouldn't see this."

"Not without you. And if you had any idea what I had to do to convince the Heavenly High Council to send an army down here, you would be begging my forgiveness for leaving me behind and then thanking me profusely for coming to your aid."

The angels had arrived, Amun thought distantly. He probably should have been happy about that, but the demons around him flew from the chamber, screaming, leaving him with no one else to kill. Or take. That was not fun.

Scowling, he whipped around. Saw the army of white-robed angels forming a half circle around Lucifer. Saw the prince of darkness hissing at them as he, too, tried to flee. One of those angels held a sobbing Legion, one a nearly unconscious William, and Olivia had her arms wrapped around a trembling Aeron.

If Amun couldn't kill demons, he supposed he could kill angels. Yes. Yes, he thought, he could. He smiled. They might even be better targets. They would scream louder, fall harder, hurt easier.

Grinning now, he launched forward, blade raised...swiping down...about to nail one of the winged bastards in the back. Fun, fun, fun. But a hard hand locked around his wrist, stopping him.

Amun roared out his fury. He hadn't spoken in a while, and his vocal cords were raw, the sound they created raspy.

"What are you doing, Secrets?" Lysander demanded, shaking him. "These are my people, come to help you. You do not attack them. Ever."

Again, Amun roared. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the weakened Aeron tried to pull from Olivia's grip. "Let him go, Lysander. He isn't himself."

"Aeron, stop," Olivia said, wings wrapped around him to bind him closer to her. "Look at Amun's eyes. He's fully demon now. Stay away from him or he might infect you, too."

Infect? Amun had never felt better. Had never enjoyed himself more. His friends would be lucky to experience this.

"Just let me talk to him," Aeron pleaded. "He's like this because of me."

"Talk alone won't suffice," Lysander said, dark eyes swirling, practically peering into Amun's dark soul. His voice was calm, hypnotic. "Will it, demon?"

Amun wrenched himself free and swiped at the angel, startled to find a demon's arm cradled within his grasp. When had he ripped it off? Lysander expected the blow, however, and blocked it with one hand; with the other he created a fiery sword out of thin air.

"No!" Aeron and William shouted in unison.

But it was too late. The momentum of the angel's block had spun Amun around, and the ensuing dizziness had sent him to his knees. It was the perfect position for a beheading.

Only, Lysander didn't take his head.

The sword of fire descended, struck him in the chest, burned through clothing and flesh and left a gaping hole.

At first, Amun was too stunned to do more than gaze down at that smoking wound. Then the pain set in, sweeping through him, eating him alive, shooting the voices and images inside his head into a tailspin of their own. He fell forward, onto his face, every muscle in his body spasming with agony.

Lysander knelt beside him. "If you're lucky," the angel said, "you'll die from this. If not, you'll survive but wish you hadn't. Either way, you'll spend your remaining days imprisoned."