The Darkest Passion

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

SLAP. Her lip split.

Punch. Air abandoned her lungs.

Crack. A hard fist slammed into her lower arm, shattering bone.

Olivia remained mute through it all, enduring, but she couldn’t help the tears that swam in her eyes. The torture had begun an hour ago. An eternity. Her wrists were tied to the arms of a small, wooden chair; she was bruised, bleeding and broken.

Her hair was soaked from the many times the man called Dean Stefano had held her head underwater, preventing her from breathing, forcing her to suck in mouthful after mouthful of liquid. Now those ice-cold droplets covered her, keeping her awake, ensuring she felt every bit of pain.

Not as bad as hell, she told herself. You’ll survive. You have to survive.

“Galen left me in charge of your care,” Stefano said, his face streaked with soot and patches of his skin blistered, “specifically asking that I interrogate you. And I will. I promise you. Your friends did this to me, you see. They burned me and what had become my home. I barely escaped, and owe them one. Or two.”

She looked away from his wild eyes. She was in a warehouse of some sort. A warehouse with a concrete floor and metal walls. The room she now occupied was small. There was a table piled high with knives she fully expected the bastard to begin using any moment now. There was a basin of water deep enough to drown her in, which she’d already gotten up close and personal with more times than she could count, and the chair she sat upon.

“Ready to talk now, angel?” How calm he suddenly sounded. Not at all like the cruel man he was.

If only she’d tell him what he wanted to know, she would be saving the Lords the agony of losing a war, she thought, then bit her tongue. No. No! Galen must be nearby. His demon, Hope, must be playing with her, for that thought had not belonged to her.

Stay strong.

“All you have to do is tell me where the Lords have hidden the Cage and this stops.” Stefano offered her a kind smile. “Surely you want that.”

Did she want it to stop? Yes. Who wouldn’t? But once she told him what he wanted to know, he would kill her. Don’t forget that fact. She pressed her lips into a mulish line.

He plucked a feather that had fallen to the floor when Galen dumped her here and caressed the tip along her jaw. “The Cage. Where is it? Tell me. Please. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

You know what you have to do, a voice suddenly growled through her head. Not Lucifer, not Galen. The third that day. This time, she fought back a sob of relief. Lysander. He was here. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t sense him, but she knew he was there.

She wasn’t alone in this any longer.

“Angel,” Stefano snapped. Directly in front of her, he curled his hand into a fist, preparing to hit her already-shattered arm. The feather had floated to the floor and now mocked her with its softness. “Talk.”

“I don’t…I don’t know where it is,” she rasped. A lie. She’d never thought she would be grateful for the ability to tell them, but she was now. Of course, that meant the human could choose not to believe her.

Olivia. Say the words, and I’ll take you home.

Oh, she knew she could leave. Knew she could return to the heavens as planned and escape this. All of it. The pain, the humiliation. But she’d made a promise to Aeron, and it was a promise she intended to keep. She had to tell him goodbye. She would tell him goodbye.

“You do know,” Stefano said. “You traipsed that fortress for weeks without anyone knowing you were there. You had to have seen it.”

Olivia, please. Return with me. I can’t stand to see you like this. I can’t stand this sense of helplessness, of knowing I can save you but being unable to act.

“I can’t,” she told him.

Stefano punched her arm, just as she’d known he would, and a small cry finally found its way free. Stars winked over her vision, and dizziness rushed through her head, slamming from one temple to the other.

Olivia!

“I can’t,” she said again, gasping for breath.

Slap. “You can,” the human replied, thinking she had spoken to him. “You’re not giving me enough credit for what I can and will do to you, and that hurts my feelings.”

The sting inside her already-cut mouth spread.

Olivia, Lysander snarled again. This is madness. Nothing is worth this. Come home. Please. I can’t help you any more until you do.

“Your wife…would not have…wanted this.” This time she was speaking to Stefano and ignoring Lysander. She was glad he was here, yes, but she wouldn’t cave in this matter.

Through her spying, Olivia knew that Darla, the wife in question, had committed suicide. Because of Sabin, keeper of Doubt, and Stefano—the two men who had loved her. She’d been locked in a tug-of-war between them, death her only escape.

Stefano’s eyes narrowed, shielding the darkness of his irises. “She was tricked. The demons tricked her into liking them.” He leaned down, flattening his palms on her bound arms—on her broken bone—and pressed. “If she’d been in her right mind, she would’ve wanted me to do more.”

Another cry escaped her. The pain was so sharp, it traveled through her entire body before collecting in her stomach and burning.

Olivia!

“Aeron will hate me more than ever, as well, when I send him one of your fingers,” Stefano said, as calm as when he’d caressed her with that feather. “Then he’ll come for you. He’ll end up dying for you. Is that a price you’re willing to pay? Tell me where the Cage is, and I’ll spare his life.”

There it was again. That hope for a better future. If she told Stefano what he wanted to know, she would go free, return to Aeron, and they could be together forever. They could make love again, and even start a family.

Did Galen know what his man was doing in a bid for the answers he sought? Did he care? Did he realize what his nearness was doing to her?

Olivia, damn you. You don’t have to tell him and you don’t have to endure. Just come home.

In and out she breathed. Fighting herself, her desires. Fighting that silly hope. Fighting the pain. She opened her mouth. What she planned to say, she might never know. Stefano hit her and she couldn’t form a single word…was fading…sinking…blessedly lost…

“IT’S GOING TO TAKE A WHILE and could yield no results.”

Aeron studied his friend, barely able to stop himself from latching onto those massive shoulders and shaking. Lucien’s mismatched eyes, one brown, one blue, were regarding him with grim resolve. “I don’t care how long it takes. Just do it.”

He wanted to shake himself for not thinking of this sooner.

Everyone here thought that Olivia had returned to the heavens, as Legion had claimed. Hell, they’d all watched the video Torin’s camera had recorded. The one of her jumping from the balcony in his bedroom.

The scene played through his mind constantly. She’d been standing inside his room, staring out at the night. She’d stiffened, turned. Then she’d turned again, walking outside, her mouth moving as if she were talking to someone—Legion said she’d been mumbling about her excitement to rejoin her friends—but it had been terror that had bled from her expression. Then she’d leapt. Fallen, fallen, begun to soar. Without her wings.

How could she have flown without her wings? Why had she been afraid?

The others assumed that terror stemmed from the unknown, of wondering how the angels would receive her. Aeron knew better. Olivia wouldn’t fear that. She’d told him the angels were forgiving—patient, had been her word—and that they would welcome her with open arms.

The only rational conclusion was that Legion was lying. Again. Which meant Olivia had been taken, as he’d first assumed. And there was only one way that could’ve happened. Galen. Galen had used the Cloak of Invisibility.

Save her. Punish him.

That the demon wished to save first and punish second proved the depths of his affection.

Aeron had scoured the entire city of Buda. He had raided buildings, terrorized citizens and killed. Oh, had he killed, and happily, too, no trace of guilt, having discovered many Hunters still lingering nearby. He might never be able to remove the blood from his hands. But there’d been no sign of Olivia. No hint of her scent. No rumors, no sightings. He. Was. Desperate. And only growing more so.

“Come. There’s no better time to begin.” He led Lucien down the hallway to his bedroom, where he threw open the door.

Legion, who was once again lounging on the bed, sat up. The sheet fell to her waist, revealing bare breasts. “Finally. Are you ready to do this or what?”

He ignored her—as he had since tossing that vial at Strider—so angry with her he no longer knew how to treat her, and stepped aside, allowing Lucien deeper inside the room.

Legion released a frustrated sigh. “Company? Now?”

Wrath hissed at her.

Aeron sensed that the demon liked her still, as he did, despite his rage, because there were no urges to hurt her. But no longer was Wrath calmed by her. She’d destroyed their piece of “heaven,” and neither of them could forget.

Lucien was careful not to glance toward the bed. He stopped in the center of the room and spun slowly. He was here to lock on to Olivia’s spirit trail—a trail he could then follow to wherever she was being held. Aeron’s hands fisted.

“Gods,” Lucien said, the awe in his tone clear. “She has the purest spirit I’ve ever beheld.”

Aeron couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, and nodded. “I know.”

“Who?” Legion asked with a pout.

Again, he ignored her. Six days left until he had to be with her, but just then he wasn’t sure he could do it, even to save his friends.

“I’ll follow it as far as it goes,” Lucien told him, “and if I—”

“When you,” Aeron corrected, a low growl forming in his throat. She is fine. She has to be fine.

The warrior nodded. “When I find her, I’ll come back for you.” With that, Lucien disappeared into the spirit realm to follow that trail.

Gods, he felt helpless. He wanted—needed—to be out there, actively looking for her himself. But his first attempt had wielded no results, and deep down he knew his second wouldn’t, either. Galen could have taken her anywhere, and Lucien would reach her much faster. If Aeron left the fortress now, Lucien would then have to hunt him down, once the warrior discovered her location.

“Aeron!” Legion jumped to her feet, scowling over at him as she clutched the sheet around her. “This is about the angel, I take it. Well, she’s gone. Let her stay gone. We’re better off. Why can’t you see that?”

“We aren’t better off without her,” he shouted, no longer able to temper his ferocity. He faced her, pinning her with the fierceness of his stare. Why couldn’t she see how much he needed Olivia? “She’s better than any of us.”

Disbelief glimmered in her eyes like tears. “I didn’t believe her, but she was right. You…you love her.”

Aeron didn’t allow himself the luxury of answering. If he admitted, even to himself, that he loved Olivia, he wouldn’t be able to let her go when the time came. He would keep her, no matter the consequences. “Tell me what happened when she left. Tell me the truth, damn you!”

She opened her mouth. To lie. He knew it; Wrath sensed it. “Don’t.” With anyone else, the demon would have plagued him with an urge to lie in return. Legion’s sins had never bothered Wrath before, hadn’t even registered, but as pissed as they were with her, things were changing. “The truth, godsdamn it. Only the truth. After everything I’ve done for you, do I deserve anything less?”

“Y-you’re right. I—I’m sorry. I just thought…I thought it’d be easier for you if you thought she was…willing to leave you.”

No. Fuck, no. A raw cry from him, from Wrath. “So Galen…”

“Has her. Yes. I’m sorry, Aeron. So sorry.”

Having his suspicions confirmed…well, he might as well have cut the heart from his chest and torched it. His beautiful Olivia was indeed with his enemy, probably hurting unbearably, for mercy was not something Galen’s army practiced.

He tilted back his head and roared.

“Aeron. Tell me what I can do to—”

“Quiet!” As he glared over at her, he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “You’ve hurt a woman who gave up her life to save us. Us. Not just me, but you. She’s the reason you’re still here.”

“I’m sorry,” Legion repeated raggedly, pulling from his gaze and peering down at the floor. “I really am.”

“Doesn’t matter.” That didn’t bring Olivia back.

Punish.

Wrath’s demand, tossed out so determinedly, threw him. Even though the demon had been edging in that direction already.

She betrayed us.

Careful. Wouldn’t you rather save Olivia? Aeron asked.

Anger morphed into sorrow. Heaven.

He’d take that as a yes. Pushing Legion from his mind, Aeron stalked to the closet and began to prepare for Lucien’s return, strapping on as many knives and guns as his body could hold.

Just in case, he also grabbed what remained of the River of Life. Half the bottle. Strider hadn’t heeded his instructions all that well, but a little was better than none. Hopefully, Olivia wouldn’t need any. But if Galen had hurt her, there wasn’t a hole the bastard would be able to hide in or a piece of fabric he’d be able to shield himself with. In the end, Aeron would find him.

Vengeance.

Yes. Vengeance would be his.

WHAT HAVE I DONE? Legion thought, horrified, as Aeron stalked out of the chamber he’d decorated to amuse her. He was suffering. And she was the cause. He was right. He’d only ever treated her with kindness, and she’d reduced him to this. His eyes were bleak, his voice ripe with despair.

Her stomach churned with sickness. She would have done anything, anything, to make this better for him. Maybe…maybe even step aside so that he could be with Olivia again. No. Don’t think like that. Because she’d made that wretched bargain with Lucifer, her course was set—and so was Aeron’s.

There had to be something else she could do, though. Something that would make him happy again. Something like…

The answer hit her, and she closed her eyes. No, no, no, she thought. Then, Only way.

For Aeron.

With shaky hands, she tugged on her clothes. A pair of pants and a T-shirt she’d borrowed from Danika. She could get the angel back. Not for Aeron to be with, but so that he could finally tell her goodbye. Legion couldn’t follow spirit trails like Lucien, but she could sense her brethren. That’s how she’d found Aeron the day they’d first met. She’d sensed his demon nearby. She could sense Galen, as well.

I should never have let him leave with the angel. Despite the Cloak hiding him, she’d known the moment he stepped into this room. She’d said nothing, too busy hoping he’d destroy her competition. I’m a bad, bad girl.

Find him. Yes. Okay. That’s what she’d do. She’d present Aeron with both Olivia and Galen. And then Aeron would love her again.

“LEAVE ME ALONE, child.”

“I’m not a child.” Gilly placed her hands on her hips, the picture of feminine pique. Too-young feminine pique. “You need someone to care for your wounds.”

“My wounds,” William told her with a frown, “are healing just fine.” Since the moment he’d returned to the fortress, riddled with slices, she’d been fussing over him.

Yeah, he liked it. What man wouldn’t enjoy being cared for? But the fact that he had to keep reminding himself that Gilly was too young for him was freaking him out. He shouldn’t have to remind himself that he preferred older, more sophisticated women.

He shouldn’t have to remind himself that he even preferred married women. Gods, did he love married women. The brokenhearted, too. They were easy pickings. Actually, anyone with low self-esteem was an aphrodisiac to him. He seriously jonesed, watching them bloom under his flattery. But adorable little Gilly?

No. No, no, no. Off-limits. Always. No matter her age. With all the women he’d been with—and yes, there’d been thousands—he knew you didn’t play with the toys in your own home. That left too big a mess. You played with other people’s toys in their homes.

“Why are you being this way?” She tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ears. A delicate ear. An ear made for nuzzling.

Idiot! “Get out,” he said more harshly than he’d intended.

She flinched, and then a blanket of hurt fell over her lovely features. “And go where? The other girls are with their boyfriends, and I don’t like hanging out with the single men.”

Uh, hello. “I’m single.”

“Yeah, but you’re not like them,” she said, gazing down at her shoes.

That was true. He was way more handsome and intelligent. Probably a little more deadly, too. “Gilly,” he said on a sigh. “I think it’s time we had a chat. I’ve sensed that you have some…feelings for me. I don’t blame you. Hell, I commend you for your intelligence and keen appreciation of beauty. But we’re friends, you and I, and that’s all we can ever be.”

“Why?” Those big eyes with their too-long lashes flicked up, pinning him in place, giving him ideas he shouldn’t be having. Like teaching her that pleasure didn’t have to be ugly.

You’re worse than an idiot. He made sure to moderate his tone. “Because you’re too young to be with a man and understand what that means.”

She laughed bitterly. “I’ve known for years what that means.”

There it was again, a verbal confirmation that things had been done to her. Things that should never have been done. “Whoever was with you was wrong,” he said tightly. “Very, very wrong.”

A blush bloomed in her cheeks, and he wasn’t sure if the color was born of shame, embarrassment or relief that someone recognized the ill-treatment she’d received. She didn’t know that he knew about the stepfather, and he wasn’t going to tell her; she only knew that William blamed the one who had hurt her, not Gilly herself.

Which was true. Her stepfather should be shot. And gutted. And then hung. And then set on fire. And William would see to it. In fact, that would be his next mission. Her mother wouldn’t fare very well, either.

“It wouldn’t be wrong with you,” she whispered.

Gods, she was killing him. “Why do you want to hang around me, anyway?” He wouldn’t tell her what he planned. She might try and stop him. “What makes me different from the others?”

She licked her lips, the pink tip of her tongue hiding away before he’d gotten a good enough look at it. “Well, you don’t smoke.”

That’s what she found appealing? “Neither do the other men here. But unlike them, I’ve been meaning to take up the habit.” And would do so, immediately. “And I won’t be using a filter!”

She crossed her arms over her chest and drummed her nails. “It’s more than that. You’re beautiful, as you’ve already told me.”

“As always, there’s no denying that.”

“Modest, too,” she added dryly.

He was what he was. He knew his appeal, and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “Looks aren’t everything, though. Especially since I’m as shallow as a rain puddle. I use women, Gilly. I sleep with them and then I’m done with them, even if they want more from me.” He hated to taint her illusions about him, but it had to be done. One of them had to be smart about this.

She shifted from one foot to the other, once again looking away from him. “I knew all of that. I’ve heard talk about you.”

“From who?” Whoever gossiped about him needed to be—

“Anya.”

Spanked. Hard. “Whatever she told you, just remember that she’s a liar.”

“She said you can make a woman forget her troubles. So much so that the woman is happier when you leave her than she was when you found her, no matter the broken heart you leave behind.”

Oh. “Well, for once she spoke true.” His touch was magical. “But listen. In a few years, the right man is going to come along and make you happier.” Sure, that man would have to meet William’s standards and gain his approval, but they would jump that hurdle when they came to it. “As for me, I’m not that man. I’m not right for anyone long-term.”

Again, hurt fell over her face. “But—”

“No. We aren’t going to happen, Gilly. Not now, not ever.”

She gulped, visibly gathering her composure. “Fine,” she finally said. “I’ll leave you alone. As you prefer.” True to her word, she stalked from his bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Unfortunately, she left the sweet scent of vanilla in her wake, taunting his bastard of a nose.

William pushed to his feet. His sides hurt, the wounds still in the process of scabbing over, but he had to get out of here before he followed her. The more distance between himself and Gilly the better. Besides, he had cigarettes to buy.

Maybe he’d help Aeron find his angel—who cared if she was findable or not—and then, when he was at full capacity, he would track and kill Gilly’s family.

A good plan, if he did say so himself, but why did he suddenly feel so…incomplete?

A WIFE, GIDEON THOUGHT, dazed. He’d had a wife. A wife he didn’t remember. How was that possible?

After Scarlet’s announcement, he’d just sort of stumbled from the dungeon. He hadn’t known what to say to her. Hadn’t known whether he could believe her, Lies absolutely no fucking help. All he’d known was that he hadn’t wanted to leave her, but he’d promised to do so, so he had.

Except, he’d stayed nearby, in the stairwell. Waiting, thinking, floundering, hoping she would call for him. She hadn’t. Now, hours later, she was sleeping and he was headed…somewhere. He gazed up, meaning to keep track of his surroundings, when he bumped into an equally distracted Strider.

“Watch where you’re going, my man,” his friend said with a grin. “And shouldn’t you be in your room?”

He had his shoulder propped against the wall for support, was panting and sweating. He hadn’t eaten in forever, and was weakening by the second. “Probably not. No help needed.”

Concern chased away Strider’s smile. “Let me.”

A strong arm clasped his waist and Gideon shifted his weight. “No thanks, enemy.”

“You’re welcome.” Along the way, Strider told him about the bombing of The Asylum, and their victory. That explained the happy glow in the warrior’s eyes. But there was something else in his eyes. Something out of place. Something…dark, upsetting.

“That’s not great, but what about what’s not troubling you?”

Strider looked over his shoulder, then scanned the hallway, ensuring they were alone. They were. Even so, he remained silent until he got Gideon inside his room and situated atop his mattress.

He sat on the chair Ashlyn—and then sweet Olivia—had once occupied, propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, head dropping into his upraised hands. “So get this. We met the Unspoken Ones. They’re bad, dude. Bad. They know where the fourth artifact is, and they’re willing to give it to whoever brings them Cronus’s head. Even the Hunters.”

“So we won’t—”

“No, we won’t. You remember the painting Danika made of Galen?”

Shit. Yeah, he remembered. In it, Galen had taken Cronus’s head.

“If that comes true,” Strider continued, “the Unspoken Ones, who are extremely powerful, will be freed from Cronus’s rule, and they’ll be able to do whatever they want. Like, I don’t know, eat every human on the planet. I noticed they prefer an organ-rich diet.”

Shit didn’t cover it. “That’s awesome.”

“I summoned Cronus, hoping to talk to him about this, to see if there was any way we could destroy the Unspoken Ones before Galen got creative with his blade, but he’s ignoring me. Torin summoned him, too. Nothing. And get this. I just ran into Danika. She’d just finished her newest painting.”

Dread curled through Gideon. Usually, Strider relished an upcoming challenge. Now he just looked sickened. “I don’t want to know.”

“You might change your mind when you hear this. It was of Cronus and his wife, Rhea. Oh, yeah. Did anyone tell you Rhea is helping the Hunters? Anyway, they were with Lysander, Cronus fuming and Rhea cheering. You know Lysander, right? He’s the angel shacking up with Bianka.”

“No.” Yes.

“No biggie, right?” Strider said. “So what if Cronus is pissed at Lysander and Rhea is pleased with him. The angel doesn’t really concern us. Well, your demon will really dig this. That’s a lie. The angel concerns us big-time.”

“Please, don’t go on, then. Don’t hurry with the details. I mean, I love that you’re dragging this out.” Which he was probably doing because he didn’t want to drop the bad news at all and was having to work up the courage. Still. Gideon couldn’t take much more.

Strider looked up, expression grim. “Aeron was there, in the painting. Lysander had just taken his head.”