The Darkest Passion

CHAPTER TWELVE

AS THE NIGHT GAVE WAY to dawn, the citizens just now awakening and emerging to begin their days, Aeron stalked the streets, Paris at his side, both remaining in the shadows, silent. Perhaps Paris, who hadn’t hesitated in his choice of companion this time—did that mean he was finally getting over Sienna?—was as lost in thought as Aeron was as they headed back to the fortress.

Olivia had cried herself to sleep, and he’d held her through those tears. When she’d finally fallen into unconsciousness, he’d flown her to Gilly’s apartment, thinking that things would be easier that way. If she couldn’t talk to him, she couldn’t tempt him to forget his purpose. But he hadn’t left right away. Paris had needed time with his chosen, so Aeron had snuggled in next to the angel.

Once again, he’d found that he liked holding her. Which was all the more reason to finally get rid of her. But as he’d walked away from her, meaning to do so permanently, he’d no longer been sure he wanted to get rid of her. Not that he’d ever been sure, but damn, his resolve had been shaken.

Seeing her in Gideon’s arms had given life to a possessive streak he hadn’t known he possessed, the earlier incidents with William and Paris paltry in comparison. The thought of Olivia roaming these roads, determined to have “fun,” alone, so easy for the plucking… His teeth ground together, a common occurrence whenever he thought of her.

A man passed, claiming his attention. A human. Mid-twenties. Large. Instantly Wrath began growling, chomping for freedom, conveying images of meaty hands swinging at—and connecting with—a sobbing female face.

Wifebeater, Aeron realized as Wrath flashed more of those images through his mind.

You’re worthless, the man liked to yell, spittle spraying from his mouth. I’m not sure why I married you. You were a fat cow then and you’re a fatter cow now.

For once, Aeron didn’t try to stop himself. What if Olivia had been the target of that rage? What if Legion had been? Allowing Wrath to pull his strings without any resistance, loving his demon more than he should, without the taint of guilt, he turned on his heel, raced forward and closed the distance between himself and the man. A man who gasped when Aeron grabbed him and spun him around.

“What the hell?”

“Aeron,” Paris called, weary.

Aeron ignored him. “You disgust me, you insignificant little shit. Why don’t you try beating me?”

The man paled, trembled. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but you better get out of my face, asshole.”

Tourist, he thought, or he would have been recognized. “Or what?” Aeron smiled slowly, cruelly. “You’ll call me another bad name?”

There was a snarl low in the man’s throat. He had a knife in his pocket, Aeron suddenly knew. He wanted to stab Aeron in the stomach, in the neck, and watch him bleed to death.

Without any warning, Aeron struck. His right fist connected with the man’s nose. There was a grunt, a howl of pain. Blood sprayed. He didn’t pause, but swung his other hand. His left fist connected with the man’s mouth, splitting tissue. The howl became a scream.

Aeron wasn’t done.

Can’t fight fair. Have to hurt. Wrath was in total control.

Still, Aeron didn’t mind.

As the man tried to orient himself, tried to struggle free, Aeron kneed him in the groin. His opponent doubled over, air shooting out of his crimson-soaked lips. No mercy. This bastard had never shown any. Aeron kicked him in the shoulder, and he flew backward. After that, he was in too much pain to stand or even defend himself.

He gazed up at Aeron through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me.”

“How many times has your wife said something similar to you?” Aeron dropped to his knees, straddling the man’s waist.

Drawing on a reservoir of strength he probably hadn’t known he possessed, the white-faced man tried to scoot backward. Aeron merely tightened the grip of his legs, holding the bastard in place.

“Please.” The man’s voice was shaky, desperate.

Aeron struck again and again, raining one blow after another. The man’s head whipped left and right with each new impact. More blood sprayed. Teeth even flew out like pieces of candy. Skin split and bones broke.

Soon, there were no grunts, no gasps.

A hand patted his shoulder. “You’ve punished him. You can stop now,” Paris said from behind him.

Aeron stilled. He was panting, his knuckles throbbing. Too easy. That had been too easy. The man hadn’t paid enough for the damage he’d inflicted. But maybe he learned a lesson, a voice of reason said inside Aeron’s head. For reason to have returned, control must be his once again.

“Let’s go home,” Paris suggested.

Home, no. He wasn’t ready to return to his room—to see the bed where he’d kissed and touched Olivia. Still, Aeron stood. He gave the man a final kick in the stomach before facing his friend. “I need some time. Alone.”

A while passed in silence, Paris studying his hard expression. Finally he nodded. “All right. Maybe use it to decompress, ’cause damn.”

“Plan to.” Even after Paris walked away, Aeron remained in place, trying to pull himself back together. I’m in control, he reminded himself, even though he still didn’t want to be. I’m in control.

Wrath continued to prowl through his mind, worked into a frenzy and ready for the next victim.

He needed Legion.

Or Olivia, he thought then.

His heart began pounding for a different reason, and it took him a minute to realize why. Arousal mixed with regret was beating through him exactly as his fists had beat at the human. Olivia hadn’t woken when he’d left her in Gilly’s guest room. She hadn’t woken when he’d given Gilly instructions to call him the moment she did. No, she’d lain on the bed, splayed adorably, hair tangled around her, snoring delicately. Fighting the urge to curl beside her again had proved nearly impossible. But he’d done it. He’d headed out to round up Paris.

Perhaps he should return to her, he thought, heading in the direction of Gilly’s apartment before he could stop himself. He glanced up at the heavens, hoping for guidance. His gaze never made it to the stars. Instead, he caught sight of white, feathered wings and ground to a halt.

Galen. Leader of the Hunters. False angel. Bastard.

Automatically Aeron palmed two blades and slipped deeper in the shadows. He shouldn’t have come into town without a gun, but he’d been so preoccupied with Olivia that he hadn’t thought to grab anything extra. Galen was perched on top of a building, those wings outstretched as he scanned the streets.

If he knew Aeron was below, watching him, he gave no notice.

All the while Wrath howled inside Aeron’s head. The warrior had committed too many sins for the demon to process, the need to kill simply flooding Aeron. Control. Absolute control. He couldn’t lose it this time.

Galen straightened unexpectedly. Aeron pressed against the wall of the building behind him, sure he’d been spotted but unwilling to walk away. Perhaps tonight they would end this. Finally.

Galen jumped, falling…falling… His wings stretched farther, flapped once, and he landed softly, several yards away from Aeron.

Aeron tensed. He couldn’t kill Galen without severe consequences, but he could torture the bastard before locking him away. And then torture him again afterward.

A moment ticked by, then another, Galen simply tucking his wings into his back and waiting. He never approached.

Every fiber of Aeron’s being wanted to leap forward and attack. Surprise attacks were his forte, after all, but he held himself steady. Sometimes battle wasn’t the best course of action in a war. Sometimes merely watching and learning reaped far greater rewards. What was going on here? What was Galen doing in Budapest?

He’d come here before, of course, but he’d recently left to fight a contingent of Lords who had raided a facility in Chicago where he’d been raising—and educating—halfling children. Half human, half immortal. All of whom had been taught to hate the Lords.

Now that school was in ruins, the Lords having liberated the kids and found them loving homes. Homes the Hunters would hopefully never be able to track down.

Was Galen here for vengeance, then?

Punish, Wrath said.

Not yet.

“Finally,” Galen said, his rich voice filling the silence.

Aeron scanned the area, but saw no one approaching. So, to whom was Galen speaking? To himself? Or—

A pair of legs appeared a few feet in front of Galen. Only, those legs weren’t attached to a torso. What the hell? The question had barely formed before a waist appeared, then shoulders, arms—and there, on the inside of the…apparition’s right wrist, was a symbol of Infinity, the mark of a true, dedicated Hunter—and lastly, a face. Then a male was standing there, fully formed, holding a piece of dark, flowing cloth.

Not a ghost, then, for there was no shimmering outline around him. Just a man, as real as Aeron was. But how had he— Cloth. The word echoed through Aeron’s mind, followed by another. Invisible.

His eyes widened in dread and astonishment. Cloth. Cloak. The…Cloak of Invisibility?

“I’ll take that.” Galen confiscated the cloak and folded it once, twice. Rather than cause the material to shrink yet thicken, each fold diminished both size and width, and soon it appeared the warrior held a simple square of paper.

Oh, yes. This could be nothing else but the Cloak of Invisibility.

Galen tucked the artifact into his robe, even as Aeron reached out automatically. Stay. Wait. His arm fell to his side. Information first, artifact second.

“There are cameras here,” the human said. “I haven’t found them, but I know the demons keep the city under surveillance.”

“Don’t worry.” Galen laughed, smug. “They’ve been taken care of.”

Oh, really. How? The cameras hadn’t been disabled. Torin would have texted him. Had someone hacked into the system perhaps, and was even now replaying feed? That had happened in one of the movies Paris had forced him to watch. Or could more powerful forces be at work?

Cronus sometimes helped the Lords, so it stood to reason that another god could be helping the Hunters.

“You confirmed that they have an angel in their midst?” Galen asked.

“Yes, though she doesn’t seem to be as powerful as you.”

“Few angels are. And half their troops are missing?”

“Yes.”

Another laugh from Galen. “Very good. Now join the others and stay hidden until I return. Some of our troops disappeared yesterday, and even our lovely queen has lost sight of them. Once I find them, we can attack. And this time, we’ll show no mercy.”

Punish! Wrath chimed in again.

“No mercy? But I thought—”

Galen shook his head. “Tell the others our experiment was a success.”

The man’s grin was slow but no less satisfied. “No mercy, then.”

Those white wings shot out, flapped, then stilled. Galen frowned. “My daughter. I want her left alone and alive.” With that, he leapt into the air.

His surprising concern for Gwen would not save him, Aeron mused darkly, darting into the air himself. His wings were completely healed and he would have no problem following—

Galen disappeared, there one moment, gone the next.

PUNISH!

Damn it, Aeron inwardly fumed. I can’t. The Cloak was gone, out of his reach, and Galen with it. Only thing left to do was dig up more information. Not that getting it would redeem him from this failure.

His gaze narrowed on the human below him. The male wound around buildings and parked cars, always scanning his surroundings. Aeron followed. Finally his prey entered the newly remodeled Club Destiny—now under new management and renamed The Asylum—and didn’t emerge.

Was that where the Hunters had set up camp?

Impossible. Some of the Lords were fond of partying there, so Torin had installed security cameras inside. They would have picked up their enemy’s presence. But…

Maybe not impossible. Perhaps the camera feed was being distorted, as it had been in the streets?

Other questions began playing through his mind. What experiment had been a success? Where had Galen’s troops gone? Who was their “queen”?

With Wrath still screaming in his head, demanding he act, he withdrew his cell phone and texted Torin. Call a meeting. Two hours. He had a few things to take care of first. Namely, Olivia. If she had answers, he would get them out of her. Meanwhile, she could calm him as he’d originally planned. I found something. Even saw Galen with the godsdamn Cloak of Invisibility.

Torin, who never seemed to sleep, replied instantly. Make it one. If what you know is more important than our enemy having an artifact, I gotta hear it ASAP.

Done. Aeron pocketed the phone and pivoted on his heel to head back to Gilly’s apartment, wake Olivia if he had to and demand those answers. But halfway there, a tall, menacing figure stopped him in his tracks.

Cronus, king of the gods, was frowning. As always, he wore a long, white robe and his feet were wrapped in sandals. His toes were visible, his toenails yellowed and curled.

Still, Aeron couldn’t help but notice he looked younger than he ever had before. His hair no longer sported strands of gray, but was thick and sandy-colored. His face was almost unlined, his eyes a brighter brown than Aeron was accustomed to. What had caused the change?

“My Lord,” he said, careful to keep his irritation to himself. The god rarely appeared when summoned, but never minded visiting at the most inopportune moments.

Wrath, still primed and ready, didn’t flash images inside Aeron’s mind, but then, it never did with this god. As had occurred when he spotted Galen, with too many sins to process, he merely experienced an overwhelming rush. Not to kill this time, but, curiously, to steal everything the god possessed. An urge he didn’t understand, and hadn’t been able to decipher.

“You have disappointed me, demon.”

Don’t I always? “This isn’t the place for such a discussion. Hunters—”

“No one can see or hear us. I’ve made sure of it.”

Just like another god had made sure the Hunters were unobservable? he wondered again. “Then please. Tell me why I have disappointed you. I cannot live another moment without knowing.”

Those brown eyes narrowed. “Your sarcasm displeases me.”

And as he knew all too well, bad things happened when the god king was displeased. Like Aeron’s mind and demon becoming crazed with bloodlust and his friends’ lives placed in jeopardy. “My apologies.” He bowed his head to hide the hate surely shimmering from behind his lashes.

“Need I remind you that Galen’s death is as important to you as it is to me? Yet you have allowed the angel to distract you.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Cronus waved a hand through the air. “Think you I paid any heed to your ridiculous begging? I do not want you distracted, so why would I send a woman to ensure that you are?”

He’d wondered the same thing.

“Get rid of her.”

“I’m trying,” he said, hands fisting.

Keep, Wrath snapped.

“Try harder,” Cronus ordered.

“She’ll only be here another ten—no, nine days.” With morning approaching, he’d lost a little more time with her. Which was a good thing. Yes, good. “And then she’ll be back in the heavens.” Where she belonged. He would make sure of it.

A pang of sadness hit him, but he ignored it. Just as he ignored Wrath’s whimper.

Cronus looked only marginally appeased at the words. “If she isn’t, I will—”

“You will what?” Another male suddenly appeared without warning. This one was tall and muscled, with pale hair and dark eyes. Like Galen, he had wings. Only, his were solid gold.

Lysander.

Aeron had only seen the warrior angel a few times, and as with Olivia, there were no flashes of vile deeds inside his head, no urge to punish in any way. That didn’t mean Aeron liked the bastard, though.

She’s too good for you, Lysander had said. Do not soil her or I’ll bury you and all those you love.

Aeron hadn’t sensed the angel on any level, then or now, and loathed how helpless that suddenly made him feel. Lysander could have sliced his throat and he wouldn’t have been able to fight back.

Olivia had been right.

Cronus paled to an unflattering shade of white. “Lysander.”

“Hurt her,” Lysander said, gaze darting between them, “touch a single hair on her head, and I will ruin you.”

“How dare you threaten me!” Cronus bared his teeth in a scowl, color swiftly returning with his fury. “I, who am almighty. I, who am—”

“A god, yes, but you can be killed.” Lysander laughed without humor. “You know I never make idle threats. You hear the truth in my voice. Harm her, and your ruin will be ensured by my hand.”

Silence.

Thick, heavy.

“I will do as I wish,” Cronus finally said, “and you will not stop me.” Contrary to his words, however, he disappeared.

Aeron struggled to gain his bearings. The god king had never backed down from anything. That he had now, before an angel…that didn’t bode well for Aeron, who was far less powerful.

“As for you.” Lysander held out his hand and a sword composed solely of fire suddenly appeared. The tip of that sword was pointed at Aeron’s throat before he could blink.

His flesh sizzled, even as his eyes narrowed. “Is this about the…soiling?”

“You have no idea how much I long to kill you,” the angel said. “Coldly, without mercy.”

“But you will not.” Otherwise, the angel would have already struck. They were clearly the same in that regard. When it was warranted, warriors acted without hesitation. They didn’t pause for conversation.

“No, I will not. Bianka wouldn’t like it. Nor would Olivia.” The sword lowered, vanished. “I want her back, but she…likes you.” Disgust layered his truthful voice. “Therefore, you will live. For now. But I want you to make her miserable, to make her hate this mortal life, and I want you to do it while keeping her safe.”

“Agreed.”

“So easily?” Those dark eyes widened. “You do not want to keep her?”

Want—yes. In that instant, at the thought of losing her once and for all, he admitted that part of him did indeed want to keep her. At least for a little while. He wanted to help her have fun, wanted to watch her smile and hear her laugh. He wanted to hold her again. Kiss her again. Touch her again. Finally sink inside that sweet little body. But he wouldn’t. She would be better off in the heavens, and he could return to the life he’d made for himself. A life without complications. Or worry. Well, except for the coming attempts to end his life.

If she remained on earth, she would be human. Fragile. She would soon wither and die. And he would only be able to watch her. That wasn’t something he would ever allow himself to do. Not for anyone. Not even her. Especially not her.

Mine, Wrath growled.

“No,” he forced himself to say—to Wrath, to Lysander. No more ignoring or accepting the demon’s claim. It was far too hazardous. “I don’t want to keep her.” Unlike the angel, he could lie unflinchingly.

“Yet you do wish to…. soil her completely?”

He pressed his lips into a mulish line. They were not having that conversation. Already his body reacted at the thought of bedding her, hardening in all the right places.

“I can see that you do. Very well, then.” Or maybe they were. “Be with her in…that way, if that’s what you both desire. I will not punish you for it, for no one knows better than I that a woman bent on seduction is irresistible. And no one knows Olivia better than I. If she doesn’t experience everything—” Lysander, the fearsome angel actually blushed “—she won’t leave you. So. After the act, make her miserable like I told you. Convince her to leave you without physically harming her, and I’ll do my best to convince the Heavenly High Council to spare you and your demon friend.”

Lysander’s best would equal success. No question in Aeron’s mind.

Which meant Aeron and Legion would be alive, and Olivia would be forever protected. Olivia, whom Lysander knew better than anyone. That statement roused more emotion than any other—even the one about being spared.

He should be the one to know her best.

“Thank you,” he forced himself to say. Funny. The words sounded like they’d been shoved past blades.

Lysander backed away, one step, two. “I’ll go now, but not without first imparting information you have long craved, as you cannot protect my ward the way she needs if you do not know what’s happening around you.” He didn’t wait for Aeron’s response. But then, Aeron didn’t have one. Had he spoken, he might have accidentally sent Lysander on his way rather than urging him to continue. “You’ve often wondered why Cronus refuses to harm Galen on his own. The reason is simple. Cronus and his wife, Rhea, despise each other. They have taken opposite sides in your war and have vowed not to capture or kill any Lord themselves. Their way of keeping the fight somewhat fair, I suppose. Rhea is, of course, Galen’s shield and informant.”

So. A god was helping the Hunters. And not just any god, but the Titan queen.

Should have known, should have guessed. Aeron had met her once, when the Titans had first defeated the Greeks and overtaken the heavens. They’d summoned him, hoping he would supply information about the Lords. Rhea had looked as old as Cronus once had, with silver hair and wrinkled skin. She had radiated such coldness and hatred, Aeron had been taken aback—though at the time, he’d been more concerned by the news about the changing of the heavenly guard than by one lone goddess’s chilly stare.

“One more bit of information I’ll leave you with,” Lysander said, “for this will aid you more than any other. Cronus and Rhea are like you.”

Like him? “What do you mean?”

“They are gods, yes, but they are also Lords. She is possessed by the demon of Strife and he—he is possessed by Greed.”