The Darkest Night

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Maddox held Ashlyn for several hours as she napped, hopefully reviving body and soul. Time was his enemy, midnight fast sneaking up on him, but he didn't wake her. Not even when he stripped her of her shoes and sweater, revealing delicate feet and a T-shirt that clung to her round breasts, his blood burning with arousal.

Lunch had long since come and gone. He was hungry, but he wanted Ashlyn more than he wanted food. Holding her…hearing her melodious, sleep-rumbling sighs… heaven.

Her breasts, smashed against his side, were unbelievably soft. One of her arms was draped over his stomach, cleaving to him in a tight embrace, as if she feared, even in sleep, that he might slip away.

More at peace than he had been in centuries, he was not surprised when his eyelids began to grow heavy and his mind began to drift.

Awaken, warrior. I have returned, a voice said in his mind. An all-too-familiar voice. Now this surprised him.

Maddox stiffened, eyelids springing open as fury speared him, completely chasing away the sleep-fog. Gaze sharp, he quickly searched the room. He saw no one lurking about, no suspicious shadow.

He would rather deal with an intruder, a Hunter, than this Titan who had promised to help Ashlyn and then had abandoned her. Would the being now attempt to rip her from his arms?

Where is my thanks, warrior?

He felt a slight hum of power, the air thickening, twisting. Ashlyn released a breathy sigh and he forced himself to relax. He wanted her to wake up, but not until the god was gone. If she were to anger the being, even unintentionally, she could be hurt.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

I shouldn't have to tell you, was the annoyed reply.

Maddox popped his jaw, doing his best to remain at peace. No violence, no raging. How cruel the Titan was to make him guess. "What do you want from me… great one?"

You promised me anything. Everything.

"I promised you anything you wanted if you saved the girl. You did not save her," he said, even as his mind screamed, Do not provoke the god! "We did."

And yet she is alive.

"But you did nothing." He pressed his lips together. Antagonizing a god was not wise. But he feared what he would be asked to do if he agreed with the being, knowing it would be payment for aid that had not been given.

Are you sure? The voice was silky now, daring him to contradict.

Was he sure? Danika had helped with her strange pounding on Ashlyn's chest, then by breathing life into her lungs. Reyes and Aeron, too, had done their part. Maddox had held her, cleaned her and comforted her.

What could this being have done? Does it matter? he thought then. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, resigned.

There was a satisfied purr. Tell your friends to visit Kerepesi Cemetery at midnight. They are to take no weapons. They are to tell no one what they are doing. They are to come alone, and I will visit them. I will show them exactly who I am.

"At midnight, we will be otherwise occupied."

Your death-curse. Yes, I know. Lucien and Reyes have my permission to arrive late.

"But—"

No buts. Midnight. Unarmed.

Maddox blinked. That did not make sense. Why demand the men arrive unarmed? A god could crush them no matter how many weapons were strapped to their bodies.

Will you tell them?

His eyes narrowed. Either this was not a god or the being meant to lead them into an ambush. He already thought the Titans cruel, so he would not doubt that they were capable of such an act. But either way, he was damned. If this was a god, Maddox would be punished, for he could not bring himself to ask his friends to approach a potentially dangerous situation weaponless. And if this wasn't a god, that meant someone else—something else—had the power to infiltrate his thoughts.

At his side, Ashlyn smacked her lips and rolled to her back. One hand was draped over her brow and the other was curled on her stomach. Close to waking up, he realized, but fighting it.

Will you tell them? the voice demanded again, too eager now, too uncertain.

In that moment, Maddox knew. This wasn't a god. Couldn't be. An all-powerful being could simply whisk the Lords to the cemetery. An all-powerful being wouldn't betray a single shred of doubt. He ground his teeth together.

Do not make me ask again.

"Of course I will tell them," he said, and it wasn't a lie. He would tell them—just not what the being wanted him to tell.

Until tonight, then, the voice said, practically humming with satisfaction.

Until we learn the truth. Of course, Maddox did not voice the thought aloud. When there was no response, no reaction, he grinned slowly. The being could push its words into his mind, but could not hear his thoughts. Good. Very, very good.

The current of power suddenly vanished from the air.

Probabilities spun in Maddox's mind. Perhaps the being could hear dialogue from a distance. Perhaps, like Maddox and the others, the speaker was an immortal with special abilities.

An immortal Hunter?

Careful not to disturb Ashlyn, Maddox crept from the bed and made his way through the stronghold until he found Lucien. The warrior sat on the couch in the entertainment room, alone, silent, a glass of scotch in his hand.

Maddox told his friend what had happened and Lucien paled, even his scars blanching. "Hunters. Titans. Women. Now unnamed beings with unidentified powers? When does it end?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Every minute that ticks by, it seems something new arises." And to think, only yesterday Maddox had complained about the monotony of life.

"We have several hours, at least, to decide what to do about this. I need to think before we tell the others. Too much is happening at once, too many changes "

Maddox nodded. "You know where to find me when you need me." He returned to his room, glad for the reprieve. He wasn't ready to leave Ashlyn.

She lay exactly as he'd left her, a vision in his barren chamber. He climbed in beside her, accidentally jostling the mattress.

"Maddox," she murmured.

The single word was sleep-rich, a rumbling moan that fired his blood as surely as a caress from her delicate fingers would. With his renewed desire, Violence once again made itself known, its mood dark and hungry. Needing… something. Blood? Pain? Screams? He did not know, couldn't tell. I will control myself. I will not harm this woman.

Ashlyn rubbed her cheek against his side and purred like a contented kitten. "Maddox?"

Violence purred in response.

He gripped the sheets, the cool material shredding under his ministrations. What was Violence trying to force him to do? Its desires were hazy. Sweat beaded over Maddox's skin. His jaw clenched so tightly he felt the tendons in his neck strain.

"Maddox?" Ashlyn repeated. This time, she sounded concerned. She eased up, those glorious honey tresses cascading down her shoulders. Rays of sunlight streamed in from the window and bathed her in a bright amber halo. Her eyes swept over him. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't answer, couldn't speak past the knot in his throat.

Concern visibly intensifying, she leaned over and reached under his shirt, running her palms over his bare chest. The touch was exhilarating, consuming. Always there was that energy between them. He'd never felt anything like it.

But the spirit liked it too, he realized. It roared; not with fury but with arousal. More… The hazy needs of before built again, finally making themselves known. Pleasure and passion. Ecstasy and exquisite longing.

"How are you feeling?" Maddox asked, the lump receding. Amazing, to crave something, someone, without feeling a deeper urge to hurt.

"Better."

"I am glad." He remained in place for a long while, letting Ashlyn pet his chest and reveling in the sensations. Soft, sweet, an erotic dream he never wanted to end. He vibrated, or maybe the spirit did. Dangerous. He'd strip her and take her in a matter of minutes if he didn't stop her.

"Your face looks better," she said. "Not as battered."

"I heal quickly. Come." He rolled from the bed and held out one hand.

Her tawny gaze traveled from his face to his hand, then back to his face, searching for some sort of answer. "You change moods faster than anyone I've ever met," she grumbled, but she tentatively reached out, as if she couldn't stop herself. Their fingers intertwined.

Another sizzle.

She obviously felt it, as well, gasping at first contact.

Shaking with the need to claim her, he tugged her to her feet. She swayed and tightened her grip on him. "Where are we going?"

To Paradise, if he had his way. "Shower." He didn't wait for her response, but shepherded her toward the bathroom.

Surprisingly, she didn't protest. "I must look terrible." She smoothed a hand down her hair and grimaced. "Ugh. Bedhead."

"You could never look terrible."

Her cheeks flushed to a rosy pink. "Yes, I could. Just…I don't know. Avert your eyes until I'm clean or something."

"I've tried to keep my gaze from you. Believe me." But his eyes always sought her of their own accord, pulled by a force far greater than himself.

They reached the bathroom and he released her. An acute sense of loss filled him. Almost time. Just a little longer.

His back to her, he twisted the knobs in the tub. Water burst from the nozzle, cold at first, but gradually heating. Soon steam drifted through the bathroom, curling toward the ceiling, condensing, then falling like tiny drops of rain.

Steeling himself, he faced Ashlyn.

"I'm sorry about your room. I'll, uh, clean it later," she said, gazing down at her bare feet. The nails weren't polished, but the toes were charming, square-tipped.

"I'll clean it," he told her gruffly.

Her gaze snapped to his. "No. I'd rather you didn't. I'm embarrassed enough. I mean, I threw up in front of you. Several times. Maybe even on you. Anything that—oh God, this is mortifying. Anything that landed on the floor is my responsibility."

"My fault. My room. I will clean." He didn't like the image of her doing manual labor. He wanted her in bed, resting. And naked. Yes, naked. Perhaps not resting, then, but licking and biting him.

His cock jumped in response.

"Take off your clothes." His voice was huskier than he'd intended.

She blinked up at him, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. "Wh-what?"

"Take off your clothes."

"Right now?" she squeaked.

His brow furrowed. "Do you normally shower with them on?"

"No, but I normally shower alone."

"Not today." He felt as if he'd waited forever for this moment. Ashlyn. Naked. His to do with as he pleased, her curves begging to be explored.

"Why not today?" she asked, the words cracked and pleading.

"Because." Stubborn, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Maddox—"

"Ashlyn. Take off your clothes. They are dirty."

Behind him, the water continued to beat against the white tile. In front of him, Ashlyn continued to stare, as though flummoxed. "No," she said. She backed away toward the exit. One step, two.

He leaned forward, his nose inching toward hers. He didn't kiss her, though. Didn't touch her. He simply reached behind her and flicked the door shut, blocking her escape.

The soft clink echoed off the walls, and she gulped. Paled.

He sighed. He didn't want her scared, he wanted her aroused. "Do not be frightened."

"I—I'm not."

He didn't believe her, didn't know what thoughts spun inside her mind. Didn't know why she resisted something she'd seemed to want only minutes ago. So he said, "How do you feel? Were you lying when you told me you were better?"

To lie or not to lie, Ashlyn thought. If she told him she was still sick, she knew he'd leave and allow her to shower alone. If she told him she really was healed, he'd insist on watching her strip. Something she'd never done for any man, much less a stranger. An immortal one, at that.

He's not really a stranger anymore. He's held you and slept beside you, cared for you and cleaned you. All of that was true, but she didn't know the little things about him. His likes and dislikes or his relationship history, which must be pretty extensive, old as he was. She didn't know if he simply wanted today with her, or something more.

So many times, in dozens of languages, she'd heard men tell a woman what she wanted to hear, then abandon her later. She'd heard them cheat, unconcerned about the partner waiting for them at home. She'd heard pretty lies and even blatant force.

How would Maddox, a self-professed demon, treat her body? How would he treat her once the loving was done?

As scary as the prospect of being with him was, however, she had to admit it was also exciting. Thrilling. There was intent desire in Maddox's eyes, a violet fire as fierce as it was hot.

No one had ever looked at her like that.

She was the weird girl, the freak. The crazy girl who couldn't have a normal conversation because she was too busy listening to other people talk. Take a chance, Darrow. Dare to live for once. You know you want to.

She gazed up at Maddox. Steam swirled around him, giving him a dreamlike, ghostly aura. His face was ruthless but sexy, his hair cut in choppy black ribbons that fell to his chin. She'd always wanted to have a man, a relationship. She'd always been curious about the passion she'd heard so much about. But she'd also always wanted a man who would love her, who wouldn't leave her when the passion-fire burned out.

"How do you feel, Ashlyn?" he repeated.

Every nerve ending in her body reached for him, pleading for attention. "Fine," she finally admitted. "I feel fine. I didn't lie."

"Then why are you standing there? Strip."

"Do not order me." If she allowed him to walk on her now, he would always walk on her. Always? How long are you staying?

He was silent for a moment. "Please."

Are you really going to do this?

Yes. She was. He didn't love her, and she wasn't sure how he'd treat her afterward, but she was going to do it. She wanted him and had from the first.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the zipper of her pink jacket. But she found that she wasn't wearing the jacket anymore. Or her sweater. He must have removed them while she slept. Cheeks heating, she curled her fingers around the hem of her plain T-shirt. She lifted the material over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her in a white tank, bra and jeans.

Maddox nodded his approval. "So many layers. Remove more. Please."

She rested her hands on the bottom of the tank. Paused. "I'm nervous," she confessed.

One of his black eyebrows arched as his head tilted to the side. "Why?"

"What if—what if you don't like what you see?"

"I'll like," he said huskily.

That primitive tone… She shivered. It had scared her in the forest. Now it fanned the flames of her desire. "How can you be sure?"

His gaze raked over her in a heated perusal. "I like what I see right now. What's underneath will be even better."

Ashlyn wasn't so sure about that. She didn't work out; she didn't diet. There had never really been a need. When she wasn't traveling with the Institute, she was content to stay home, watching TV, reading magazines and playing on the Internet. Not the things that gave a woman the type of body men talked about wanting.

Her thighs were a little wider than most said they liked, her stomach a little rounder. What kind of woman was Maddox used to? He was immortal, after all, and had probably been with thousands of beautiful females.

Her hands fisted. Irrational though it was, the thought of him with someone else really pissed her off.

"Ashlyn," Maddox said, snapping her from her musings.

"What?"

"Mind on the task at hand," he said dryly.

Her lips inched into a smile. "Sorry. I got distracted." She'd have to learn to control her own thoughts, now that silence was a part of her life.

"Let me help you. Please."

Every time he uttered the word please she melted, wanting to give him all that he desired and more. She nodded.

His hands closed over hers, and there was that thrilling shock that always followed his touch. She'd expected it this time, but was still unprepared for its ripple effect. Pearled nipples, a warm rush between her legs.

He didn't wait for permission but gripped the tank and lifted.

"Wait," she said.

Instantly, he ceased moving.

"I need to prepare you." He was about to see her underwear—another embarrassing topic. They were plain white cotton. Granny gear, she'd once heard a man say. She never wore sexy clothing, even underclothing, while on the job. It just wasn't practical. "I do own sexy underwear, I promise, but I'm not wearing it right now."

"That is supposed to disgust me?" Maddox asked, sounding genuinely confused. "That you aren't wearing sexy underwear?"

"I don't know." She chewed on her lower lip. "Maybe. Does it?"

"Ashlyn, whatever you're wearing will not matter to me. You will not be wearing it for long. Ready now?" he asked.

Swallowing, she nodded.

He tugged the tank over her head and tossed it on the floor beside her T-shirt. She shivered. "W-well?"

"Well?"

"Ugly?" she asked.

"Lovely," Maddox replied. He sucked in a—reverent?—breath and her blood caught fire. He reached out with a shaky hand and traced the plain cotton that shielded her nipples. Though already hard, they strained toward him.

Ashlyn moaned at the decadence.

He trailed his fingers down her stomach and gripped the waist of her jeans. A twist of his wrist, and they were unsnapped. She could feel the heat of his skin all the way to her bones.

He slid the jeans over her hips, past her knees and to the floor. "Step out of them."

Legs shaky, she did as commanded. His gaze locked on her white cotton panties. She fought the urge to cover them, wishing again that he could see her in something sexy. "I know men like to role-play," she told him, nervously trying to fill the silence. How many times had she heard them brag about it to their friends? "At home I have a cop outfit, a harem girl costume and a Playboy Bunny teddy." Not that she'd ever gotten to use them. But she loved owning them, just in case.

"That's nice." Maddox sounded unimpressed.

"Maybe I can, I don't know, show you sometime."

"Take the bra and panties off." His expression was disappointingly blank as he straightened.

Maybe he didn't care what she wore.

As he waited for her to obey, he reached behind him and jerked his T-shirt over his head. She gasped in surprise, in delight, and forgot about how ugly her panties were—but she still didn't remove them. Or the bra. She was too busy staring.

Maddox was absolutely magnificent. The scabs had already disappeared, leaving only faint red lines. Rope after rope of bronzed muscle offered a feast for her eyes. He had an innie bellybutton and a faint dusting of black hair that led straight into the waist of his pants.

Never taking his eyes from her face, he unfastened his pants and shoved them down the long, solid length of his legs until they, too, pooled on the floor.

He wasn't wearing any underwear.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dried. He was huge. Long and thick and sublimely aroused. She'd seen the male penis in books, on Web sites she shouldn't have visited and movies she shouldn't have watched, but never in person. Never like this. His testicles were drawn up tight and surrounded by coarse dark hair.

"I believe I gave you a specific task," he said, his pointed gaze between her legs making her quake deliciously.

Need flooded her, more intense than ever before. The need to touch and be touched, to taste and be tasted, consumed her. A sharp ache pounded through her. "Are we really going to have sex?" she asked breathlessly, hopefully.

"Oh, yes," he replied, stalking toward her. "Oh, yes, beauty, we really are."