The Darkest Night

She didn’t care. She was with him, the voices gone, and that was all that mattered.

Maddox sped into motion, maneuvering around those ghostly trees. Every so often, he grunted as if in pain. Snarled as if in a rage. Ashlyn begged him to set her down so that she could spare him the burden of her weight, but he squeezed the inside of her thigh, a silent command for her to shut the hell up. Finally she relaxed against him and simply enjoyed the ride.

If only that joy could have lasted.

CHAPTER THREE

GET HOME, GET HOME,get home. Maddox chanted the command in his mind, trying to distract himself from the pain. Trying to dampen the urge to do violence…an urge that was building steadily. The woman—Ashlyn—bounced on his shoulder, an unwelcome reminder that he could break at any moment and slaughter everything around him. Her, especially.

You wanted to drown in a woman, the spirit taunted. Here’s your chance. Drown in her blood.

His hands curled into fists. He needed to think, but couldn’t do so over the pain. She had mentioned a power, asked for his help. Hadn’t she? Some of what she had said was lost amidst the roar in his head. All he knew for certain was that he should have left her behind as he’d intended.

But he had heard her cry out, a tortured sound—the sort of crazed groan Maddox himself had often wanted to release. Something inside him had reacted deeply, and he’d been filled with a need to help her, a need to touch her soft skin just one more time. A need that had somehow proven stronger than Violence. An amazing, unbelievable feat.

And so he’d returned to her, even though he’d known she was in more danger with him than she was alone in the forest. Even though he’d known she had most likely been sent to distract him and help Hunters gain access to the fortress.

Fool. Now she was draped over him, her feminine scent teasing his nose, her soft curves his to explore.

Or slice, the demon goaded.

Hauntingly beautiful as she was, it was easy to understand why the Hunters had sent her. Who would want to mar such lush femininity? Who would turn such blatant sensuality away? Not him, it seemed.

Fool, he inwardly cursed again. Hunters! They truly were in Budapest, their tattoos a grim reminder of those dark, dark days in Greece. Clearly they were once more out for blood, for each of the four men following Ashlyn had carried a gun and silencer. For mortals, they’d fought with expert skill.

Maddox had emerged the victor in that bloody tête-à-tête, but he had not emerged unscathed. His lower leg had been sliced, and one of his ribs was surely cracked.

Time, it seemed, had only honed their skills.

He wondered how Ashlyn would react when she found out they were gone. Would she cry? Scream? Rail? Would she attack him in a grief-stricken rage?

Did any others wait in town?

At the moment, he couldn’t seem to make himself care. Holding Ashlyn in his arms, he was transported, the hell that was his life momentarily receding, leaving only…something he didn’t think he could rightly name. Desire, perhaps. No. He discarded the word instantly. It failed to explain the intensity of the rush, the heat.

Instant obsession, maybe.

Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. It was more powerful than anything he’d experienced before, threatening to control him. Maddox did not need another force trying to pull his strings.

She was just so…lovely. So lovely it almost hurt to gaze upon her. Her skin was smooth and supple, like cinnamon dipped in a honey pot then churned into lickable cream. Her eyes were that same honey shade and so haunted they made his chest hurt. He’d never seen a mortal look so tormented and felt a strange kind of kinship with her.

While strands of long, silky hair, also the color of honey yet veined with copper and quartz, had wisped around her delicate features, he’d ached. He’d wanted. Wanted to touch, to taste. Wanted to devour. Consume. But he hadn’t wanted to hurt. The knowledge still amazed him.

Ashlyn… Her name whispered through his mind, as delicate as the woman herself. Taking her to the fortress was against the rules, a threat to their most guarded secrets. He should be ashamed of himself for carrying her forward rather than away, and she should be crying in terror.

Apparently should did not mean anything to either of them.

Why wasn’t she crying? More importantly, why hadn’t she cried? When he’d first pounced on her, clearly splattered with the blood of her allies, a delicious smile had lit her face, her plump lips showcasing perfect white teeth.

Remembering that smile, Maddox experienced a jolt of blistering arousal. Underneath it, however, confusion still lingered. Though it had been an eternity since he’d last dealt with Bait, he could not recall the Hunters’ decoys ever being so transparent in their satisfaction.

Not even Hadiee, the Bait who had helped bring Baden, keeper of Distrust, to his knees. Hadiee had played the abused, frightened soul to perfection. Seeing her, Baden had decided to act without suspicion for the first time since his demon had been placed inside him. Or maybe not. Maddox had always wondered if the man had wanted to die. If so, he’d gotten his wish. He’d been stabbed in the throat moments after opening his spiti to Hadiee—who in turn allowed armed Hunters inside.

Most likely, the stabbing alone would not have killed Baden. The Hunters, however, then proceeded to decapitate him. Baden hadn’t stood a chance. Not even an immortal could recover from that.

He’d been a good man, a fine warrior, and hadn’t deserved such a bloody demise. Maddox, however…

My murder would be justified.

The Bait before Hadiee had seduced Paris. Not that such a thing required much effort. During the act, Hunters had crept inside the woman’s bedroom and stabbed the warrior in the back, attempting to weaken him before going for his head.

Paris, though, was strengthened by sex. Even injured, he’d managed to fight his way free and kill everyone around him.

Maddox couldn’t imagine the woman in his arms being cowardly enough to strike from behind. She had faced him and hadn’t backed down, even when the spirit inside of him clamored for release. Perhaps Ashlyn was innocent. He hadn’t found cameras or dynamite on the trees where she’d lingered. Perhaps—

“Perhaps you are more a fool than you realize,” he muttered.

“What?”

He ignored her, knowing it was safer that way. Her voice was soft and lilting and prodded at the spirit, mocking in its gentleness. Best to keep her silent.

Finally he spotted the dark, crumbling stone of the fortress. None too soon. An excruciating pain ripped through his stomach, almost knocking him to the ground. Violence poured through his veins and shimmered in his blood. Kill. Hurt. Maim.

“No.”

Kill, hurt, maim.

“No!”

Killhurtmaim.

“Maddox?”

The spirit roared, desperate, so desperate for release. Fight it, he commanded himself. Remain calm. He drew air into his lungs, held it, slowly released it. Killhurtmaim, killhurtmaim. “I will resist. I am not a monster.”

We shall see.…

His nails elongated, itching with that inexorable urge to strike. If he didn’t compose himself, he would soon assault anything and everything within his reach. He would kill, without mercy, without hesitation. He would destroy this home stone by stone, kicking and clawing. Raging. He would destroy everyone inside of it. And he would rather burn in hell for all eternity than do such a thing.

“Maddox?” Ashlyn said again. Her sweet voice drifted to his ears, an entreaty that was part soothing balm, part kindling. “What’s—”

“Silence.” He skimmed her off his shoulder, still holding her tight, and burst through the front door, nearly ripping the wood from its hinges. Angry voices greeted him. Torin, Lucien and Reyes stood in the foyer, arguing.

“You never should have let him leave,” Lucien said. “He becomes an animal, Torin, annihilating—”

“Stop!” Maddox shouted. “Help!”

All three men spun, facing him.