The Darkest Secret

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HAIDEE LUXURIATED IN THE now-familiar warmth enveloping her, branding her all over again, as the hazy dream took shape in her mind. Moonlight surrounded her, illuminating the veranda she stood upon, as well as the pond she studied in the courtyard. Fireflies hovered over the clear, dappled water like fallen stars that had finally found a new perch. A cool breeze ruffled the wild tumble of her hair, and her lavender robe—her wedding gown—danced at her ankles.

She could hardly believe this day had arrived.

Solon had actually married her. After a rocky start and courtship, he’d vowed to love and cherish her in front of his friends and family. Even though he was a powerful noble, she was not, and he could have kept her as a slave. But that arrangement was unacceptable, he’d said. As his wife, no one would ever hurt her again. Even after he died.

For that alone, she would have fallen in love with him. Except, she’d already loved him. He was older than she by sixteen years but strongly built nonetheless. He had only ever regarded her with kindness, had never raised a hand to her in anger, even though his first reaction to her had been one of tension, and had never allowed his visitors to abuse her.

He’d begun to cosset her soon after buying her at the slave market, some eleven years before. She’d been a child then, still devastated by the loss of her family, terrified by the new fate that awaited her and confused by the numbing cold that had never left her. A cold that had saved her from being raped, time and time again. Most men couldn’t stand to touch her.

And perhaps that was why Solon had never demanded sexual favors in return for his kindness. At least, that’s what she had assumed. Until six weeks ago, when he had asked for her hand in marriage.

“Are you nervous, my sweet?” a familiar voice asked from behind her.

She turned, heart accelerating with dizzying speed. Leora, friend and equal until this very day, was now supposed to be her servant. Gray hair frizzed around her aged features, and she wore the same coarse sack Haidee was used to wearing.

If Leora was here, that meant the time had come. That meant her husband had summoned her, was ready for her. Her husband. “I love when you call me that,” she replied sincerely. “Especially since you did not like me at first.” No one had. For that matter, no one ever did.

“No. But that soon changed, did it not?”

Yes. Just like with Solon. “It did. And yes, yes. I’m nervous, but excited, too.”

Finally, she would be allowed to show Solon the depths of her gratitude for him.

Leora arched a too-thin brow. “And you know what a man does to his new wife on their wedding night?”

“Yes.” At least she thought so.

She had squeezed her eyes tightly closed when the guards at the market had raped the other slaves. The screams, though… Haidee shuddered, momentarily lost in the pain and humiliation she had been helpless to stop, no matter how much she had struggled against her chains, no matter how much she had prayed and cried and hated.

Deep down, she knew bedding Solon wouldn’t be like that. He would be tender, patient. He was kind and sensitive, and he would ease any fears she harbored.

“Then I will not keep you a moment longer,” Leora said with a soft smile. “Your man awaits.”

The old woman turned, her bones creaking, and ushered dream Haidee inside a torch-lit hallway, toward the gynaeceum. The master’s bedchamber. Alabaster columns stretched on each side of them, the arching doorway—their final destination—looming closer…closer still…

Real-life Haidee cried out, reaching for the innocent girl she’d been, trying to grab her, halt her. “No. Don’t go in there.” She had never remembered what had led to this point of her memories, but she suddenly knew what waited beyond that entrance. “Stop! Please, stop!”

Neither female paid her any heed. Closer…

Haidee. A male’s hard, determined baritone filled her head. Equally hard bands wrapped around her forearms, white-hot and inexorable, shaking her. Wake up.

Haidee fought the voice, just as she fought the dream. “No!” Her arms flailed, her legs kicked. If she could prevent herself from going inside that bedroom, she could save herself thousands of years of guilt and pain. “Don’t go in there! Please!”

Closer…

As Leora slowed her steps, she glanced over her shoulder and offered Haidee another sweet smile. They had finally reached the door. Leora stepped aside. A trembling, unsuspecting Haidee reached out—

—was somehow floating, suspended—

—was tightening her fingers around the edges of the curtain—

—was being straightened out, placed on her feet—

Before she could enter the room, cold water hit her full-force, soaking her from head to toe and shocking her into reality. Haidee sputtered, blowing droplets out of her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered open.

Out of habit, she immediately took stock of her surroundings. She stood inside a shower stall. Unfamiliar. Spacious, tiled, the faucet speckled with gold filigree. She glanced down at herself. She still wore the new T-shirt, jeans and underclothes Strider had given her before chaining her. Her feet were still bare. Dark arms ripped with muscle were wrapped around her waist, holding her upright.

She stiffened, began to struggle. Panic gave her weakened body strength, her heart pumping blood through her veins at an astonishing rate. Yet, no matter what she did, she couldn’t budge those meaty arms.

Easy. Easy now. Are you okay?

Amun’s voice, steady though concerned, uncompromising though tender. He was the one holding her, she realized. Instantly the fight abandoned her, and she sagged against him, resting her head in the hollow of his neck.

If he was standing, that meant he had recovered. She was so relieved she could have sobbed. She’d spent several days trapped beside his bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. His stupid friend had carted her in and out, in and out. Just when Amun would stop thrashing, about to awaken, Defeat would move her. When the bastard would finally take her back, Amun would be worse than before. Each and every time.

Now he was aware, lucid. For good. Now she was free.

Now they were touching.

Nightmare? he asked.

“Yes,” she managed to croak past the sudden lump in her throat. “How did we get here?” Later.

She thought she remembered vowing that she wouldn’t allow herself to touch him again. Wouldn’t allow him to touch her. Both were dangerous. And maybe she had, maybe she hadn’t. Nothing seemed real just then. But when one of his arms moved away from her, she had to cut off a whimper.

To her surprise, he didn’t abandon her. He merely reached forward and twisted the faucet before straightening and holding her again. A few seconds later, the temperature of the water warmed considerably.

Tell me about the nightmare, he said, gripping the hem of her T-shirt and lifting.

She could have protested. Instead, she raised her arms and allowed him to whisk the material over her head. This moment was so steeped in fantasy, so…necessary, she wanted only to follow it to its end. “I saw the vision you showed me the other day. The one on the veranda.”

I thought that was a good thing. He unfastened her jeans and pushed them to her ankles, then picked her up and kicked the denim out of the tub, leaving her in her bra and panties.

“I saw what came after.” Another croak.

With one hand snaked around her waist, propping her up, he used his other hand to palm a bar of soap and began lathering her skin. But you were so happy at the beginning.

So intimate a task, so shattering a topic. Yet, despite who and what he was, she had never felt more comfortable with another being. He didn’t try to arouse her as he cleaned her, careful of her cuts and bruises; he merely performed a basic task.

“Yes,” she said.

Tell me, he repeated. Once her skin was washed free of dirt and grime, he massaged shampoo into her hair. The scent of sandalwood bonded with the rising steam.

She opened her mouth to obey, but the words tangled on her tongue. If she spoke them, she realized, she would fling herself back to the past, back to that dark, dark day that had forever changed the course of her life—and his. She would lose the tranquility of this moment.

Tranquility she desperately needed.

“No,” she finally said. “Not now. Later. Please.”

Our later is filling up.

“I know.”

She expected him to push for answers, but he merely ducked her head under the spray of water and rinsed the suds from her hair. Clearly he understood a woman’s needs because he coated the thick strands with conditioner, gave the cream time to do its job, then gently rinsed her hair again.

There. All clean.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t switch off the water or even move from where he stood behind her. He simply continued to hold her, strong fingers tracing circles just below her navel, his chin resting atop her head.

Still he didn’t try to arouse her. Not once did he pluck at her pebbled nipples or brush his fingertips over her sex. Yet, with every second that passed, her skin became more sensitized, a primitive need unfurling inside her and overshadowing that thick cloak of fantasy.

Reality was better.

Still. She had to resist. For every reason she’d already noted and the thousand others she hadn’t yet considered.

Took every ounce of strength she possessed, but she stopped herself from lifting her arms, curling them back and digging her fingers into his scalp. Stopped herself from angling her face up to his for a kiss. Bottom line, despite everything else, he didn’t desire her. He couldn’t. Not when she was practically bare, covered only by thin strips of white cotton, and he’d had his hand all over her, yet had never tried to arouse her.

Suddenly that wasn’t the comfort it had previously been.

Had he figured out exactly who she was? Was that why he no longer wanted her?

No, he couldn’t know. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be taking such good care of her. Most likely he’d just decided kissing a Hunter, any Hunter, was wrong.

“Amun, I have to—” she began, stopping when he stiffened. What had she said?

You know my name?

Her nerve endings flared with trepidation. “Yes,” she whispered.

So you know who and what I really am. A statement of fact, not a question. You know I’m not your Micah.

No reason to deny the truth. “Yes.” Another whisper.

And yet you of all people let me hold you like this?

Something about the absolute confusion in his tone alerted her. She replayed his words. “You of all people,” he’d said. Oh, God. She’d been wrong, she thought dizzily. He knew. He’d already known she was a Hunter, yes. She’d told him. Now, however, he knew the rest, the worst of the details. He knew about her part in Baden’s death.

Why hadn’t he killed her already?

The moisture in her mouth dried, and her knees began to tremble. “Defeat—Strider told you who I am. What I’ve done.” She was proud to note that no emotion filled her voice, only arctic steel.

No. I discovered the truth on my own. You were Hadiee then, but are now Haidee. Whoever you were, whatever you are, you were there when Baden was slain.

Confirmation. “And yet you of all people hold me like this?” As she snapped the question, understanding dawned. This was the calm before the storm. He’d merely shown her the pleasure she could have had but now would be forever denied.

A bitter laugh escaped her. In a lifetime of regret and pain, he had no idea that denying her would simply be more of the same. That he wouldn’t break her. Wouldn’t ruin her. No matter what he did, she’d already experienced worse.

Amun spun her around before severing all contact. Their gazes locked, black fire glittering down at her. She gasped as another realization struck. He hadn’t been unaffected by touching her. Far from it. Lines of tension branched from his eyes and mouth. His lips were pulled taut over the straight white pearls of his teeth. His breath emerged shallow and fast, his nostrils flaring.

Wait. Did he want her? Or was he simply pissed?

The swelling had gone down in his face, revealing a rough beauty that shocked her further. His skin was like the richest coffee mixed with the slightest dollop of cream. Those gorgeous black eyes were framed by a thick fan of silky lashes, lashes longer even than hers. He had an aquiline nose, regal and proud. His cheekbones were so sharp they could have cut glass. Lips that would have been considered cruel if not for their soft pink color glistening with moisture.

His chest was bare, scabbed in striking patterns of four. Claw marks, she thought with a shiver. His own? Hers? His nipples were small and brown, beaded. Rope after rope of muscle descended the torso of a man who had honed his strength on the battlefield rather than inside a gym.

He wore sweatpants that hung low on his waist, revealing the barest hint of dark, springy curls on his groin. And when she saw that the rounded head of his penis stretched past the material, semen pearling from the slit, she swallowed, her gaze jerking back up to his face.

He was the gentle one, Strider had said. Yet she’d never seen a man look quite so fierce.

How did you get me mixed up with him?

“You guys look a lot alike. Weirdly alike.”

Was he immortal? Pause. You know I’m immortal, right?

“Yes, I know, and no, he’s not. Believe me, I would have known. He was injured time and time again, but he healed as slowly as any human.”

So our likeness is a mere quirk of fate? Doubtful. I was created by Zeus, fully formed, and I’ve often wondered if the former king had simply looked down from his perch in the heavens, picked out a face he liked and boom. But that creation happened thousands of years ago, so my face had to come first.

“And so you think someone else created Micah? Someone who saw you?”

Yes.

“Then how is he human?”

There are gods, humans, demigods, and then creatures in between. He could be any number of things.

“Well, maybe Zeus saw past, present and future faces, and picked from those. Or hey, maybe Micah’s your son, and you just don’t know it. I’m sure you’ve picked up a few humans in your time.”

Not possible.

“Why? Accidents happen, even with immortals.”

I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Like, a century. And if he looks to be my age…

She couldn’t hide her relief. He hadn’t been with anyone in over a hundred years. Same with her. “Oh. Well, maybe he’s a descendant of yours. Maybe it’s just one of those strange, unexplainable things. Or hell, maybe—”

Okay. Maybe you’re right, he allowed. Doesn’t matter, anyway. We’re on opposing teams.

“Very true.”

So why did you change your name? he asked, switching gears.

“The simple change of spelling helped me blend in as society changed around me,” she said. “Plus, there are more Haidees than Hadiees, and I didn’t want to be spotlighted for any demons that happened to be looking for me.”

If you wanted to blend in, you shouldn’t have done so much to stand out. His gaze raked her hair, her tattoos.

She stiffened at his obvious censure. What did she care if he found her appearance lacking? Except for the ache in her chest, she didn’t care at all, she told herself.

How are we connected? he demanded, switching the subject again. Bye-bye distraction. He’d asked an excellent question. How were they connected in mind and body?

“I—I don’t know.” Her cheeks flamed when she heard the stutter. She had fought and won too many battles to count. This man would not intimidate her.

Why can’t I harm you?

Had he tried? The thought unsettled her. “Maybe for the same reason I can’t harm you.”

And that is?

You’re the sweetest form of temptation. I know the spicy decadence of your kiss. I’ve ridden your fingers and want to ride them again. Not that she’d make such an admission aloud. “I don’t know. I’ve had the opportunity, though,” she reminded him. “Several times.”

A sigh slipped from him, easing some of his tension. But you soothed me instead. Protected me.

She nodded. “As you did for me.”

For a long while, only the pattering of the water against the porcelain could be heard. Part of her was glad they knew about each other. That she didn’t have to wonder what would happen when he discovered her secrets. The other part of her had never been more frightened.

They knew, but if they pursued each other anyway…there could be no excuses for their actions. For their stupidity. Their friends would blame them, perhaps begin to hate them. And for what? No matter what they did, there could never be a happily ever after for them.

She must have retreated into her mind—a shocking discovery, that, since she never allowed herself to drop her guard—because she never saw him move, but suddenly his hands were clamped onto the flare of her hips. Another gasp escaped her as their gazes tangled anew.

Amun backed her up, pushing her under the waterfall, then walked through the spray himself, not stopping until she was smashed against the tiled wall. And even though they weren’t touching anywhere but her waist, the heat of him wrapped around her, sinking past skin into bone. Her nipples hardened, aching for contact.

He looked capable of anything just then. Most especially of driving her to the brink of passion, of madness.

Stop this before it’s too late, she commanded herself. A single brush of his lower body against hers, and “too late” would happen. She knew it. After their last kiss…

She flattened her palms on his chest, felt the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. A harried rhythm that matched her own. “I can’t be with you this way. Until I’ve spoken to Micah.” Oh, God. Had she really said that? Had she really just pushed the qualification out of her mouth, trying to pave the way for them to be together? Even for a little while?

Seriously. What the hell was wrong with her?

Amun’s eyelids narrowed, hiding his irises. That should have lessened the dangerous magnetism of him. It didn’t. She doubted anything could.

Why? The single word was snapped, demanding an immediate response.

“I have to tell him it’s over between us.” That was the only honorable thing to do. For all her faults, she truly wasn’t a cheater. But God, even talking about this, she was undermining everything she’d already decided, not to mention her resolve to leave Amun alone.

You would end your relationship with him in favor of me? A demon-possessed warrior you’ve sworn to murder? He laughed without humor. I’m not as foolish as you apparently think I am.

She was the foolish one. They would never be able to trust each other, and with good reason. That still didn’t stop her from saying, “Yes.” See? Foolish. She wanted to be with him. Despite everything, even her reasons for pushing him away, part of her needed him and that part clearly would not be denied.

His false laughter died quickly. Your relationship didn’t stop you from kissing me before. Now his voice was a growl of frustration.

“I didn’t know who you were then.”

He pondered that for a moment, then nodded. Fine. I’ll give you that. But how do I know this isn’t a trick?

Nope, no trust. Not that she blamed him. “You don’t.”

And how do you plan to speak with this Micah?

“I’ll call him.” How else?

Water droplets rained down Amun’s hard expression. And during the conversation, I’m positive you won’t speak in code and inform him of your location. I’m equally positive he won’t try to swoop in and save you. Of course, that means I’m positive he won’t then try to capture everyone inside this fortress.

“No.” She shook her head to emphasize her denial. “I would break it off with him. No more, no less.”

Intense need flickered over his expression. Need blended with possessiveness and primal instinct, with hope and helpless indecision.

No one had ever looked at her like that. As if she were a treasure, wanted in the most primitive of ways—as if she were a bundle of dynamite that could detonate at any moment.

So badly she wanted to glide her hands to his back, lock her fingers together and jerk him into the soft line of her body. Then she’d feel his hands settle on her bottom and heft her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around him. She’d grind against the long, thick length of his erection until they were both screaming from the pleasure. Already she was close to begging for it.

Amun’s hands fell away from her, dropping heavily to his sides, and he straightened. The water cascaded over him without mercy, shielding his features from her view.

Never going to happen, Haidee, he said flatly. A simple fuck isn’t worth the consequences. With that, he left her alone in the shower.

His crudeness and cruelty shouldn’t have surprised her, but they did. They hurt her, too. She’d been willing to try to make something work between them; he hadn’t. He never had. His eyes had been cold, distant as he’d reduced her to “a simple fuck.” She’d never been more to him, would never be more. There were too many obstacles between them.

She wanted to hate him. God, did she want to hate him.

Instead, Haidee did something she hadn’t done in hundreds of years. She sobbed like a baby over the cruel fate she’d once again been dealt.