The Darkest Lie

CHAPTER FIVE

HOURS PASSED in silence. Well, not silence. The radio continued to blast Scarlet's favorite heart-pounding rock. Gods, she missed her iPod. With the buds in her ears, she could have closed her eyes and pretended she was at home. Not that she had a permanent home, but anyplace was better than such close quarters with the man she'd both loved and hated for centuries. A man she still craved with such intense longing she couldn't deny it anymore.

Almost didn't want to deny it. But she would. No way would she give him another chance to shatter her so completely. To pleasure her and forget her. Shamefully, she had almost caved, though.

He'd given her a gift. The most beautiful butterfly necklace she'd ever seen, and one that matched his own. When she'd first reached into his pocket, she'd been disappointed that he hadn't really wanted her to fist his cock. Then she'd seen the necklace, and well, she'd wanted to leap into his lap and kiss every inch of his beautiful face. She'd wanted to lick each of his piercings and thrust her tongue against his. Wanted to feel his arms wrap around her and hold her tight. As if she meant something to him again. Wanted to hear him gasp his version of her name.

But he'd seemed almost...uncomfortable about the whole thing. Guilty, even. Why? Only reason she could think of was that he hadn't wanted her to read too much into the gesture. Hadn't wanted her to leap into his lap and kiss every inch of his beautiful face.

That seemed likely. Especially since the bastard hadn't tried to turn down the music and talk to her again. Maybe he was even relieved that she'd closed their channels of communication. Which was dumb. He'd sprung her from prison to talk to her, hadn't he? He should try harder. Not that she'd cooperate. The moment she did, he'd try to take her back to the dungeon and she'd have to ditch him as planned.

Actually, she'd do that tomorrow. His friends would probably be pissed that he'd lost her, but that wasn't her problem. He'd also have to make it back to a city littered with Hunters without her aid, but again, that wasn't her problem.

She had enough problems to deal with.

One of which was fast approaching.

Gideon was still driving when the sun began to rise. She stiffened in her seat, dreading what came next but helpless to stop it. First, lethargy beat through her, draining her strength, making her limbs feel heavy and her head loll. Then her eyelids closed of their own accord, her lashes seemingly glued together. Then darkness wove through her mind, an incessant spiderweb—spiders, Gideon hated spiders, funny that she thought of them now—followed quickly by dissonant screams that overshadowed all else.

Her demon took over from there.

Laughing gleefully, Nightmares propelled her into a dark, misty realm where human and inhuman minds were like doorways. When a door was open, that meant the person was asleep and the demon could enter at will. Location didn't matter. Distance didn't matter. Time zone didn't matter. Adults, children, male, female, that didn't matter, either. Nothing mattered to the demon but feeding on terror.

With only a glance, she and the demon would know who each doorway belonged to, what kind of person they were and what they feared most. Like with Gideon and his silly fear of spiders, she thought, smiling again. He was a big, bad warrior who had killed thousands of people without a jump in his heart rate. But he almost peed his pants when an insect scampered toward him.

She supposed she couldn't blame him. She hated the creepy little bugs. They'd constantly invaded her cell in Tartarus, crawling from every shadow and wall crack. And every time she'd awoken from her impenetrable sleep, she would find herself covered with bite marks.

Not to mention the bruises her cellmates had left behind. Until she'd started invading their dreams.

Whatever she'd done to them in this dark realm, real life had parroted, and they'd awoken in puddles of their own blood, often missing limbs. Some had never awakened at all.

Who do we want? the demon asked her. The most frequently asked question between them.

Over the years, they'd learned to work together. They even liked each other, relied on each other. At times, the demon had been her only friend.

"A Hunter would be nice," she replied. Maybe they could scare the guy to death. That always put Nightmares in a stellar mood. Besides, she owed the Hunters. Not because she cared that they wanted to hurt Gideon, but because they'd ruined a perfectly good meal for her.

This will be fun. More gleeful laughter as the demon whisked them forward, the doorways blurring at her side.

When they stopped, they stood in front of an open doorway that was far larger than any she'd seen before. Moans of pleasure echoed from inside, a decadent mix of male and female. There was a slap of flesh against flesh. Murmurs of "more" and "please."

An erotic dream, then.

"Who is this?"

Galen. Leader of Hunters. Keeper of Hope.

Galen. She scowled. The warrior had led his army against the Lords because they were demon-possessed, and yet Galen himself carried a demon. The contradiction was baffling, but it didn't surprise her.

Galen had always struck her as more snake than man. A few times, he'd helped Gideon bring a prisoner into Tartarus, and he'd been all smiles while Gideon faced him, but the moment Gideon had turned away, Galen's glower had bored into his back.

When Gideon had told her that he'd found a way to curry the gods' favor thanks to his pal Galen, and that for his reward, he would request her freedom, she had begged him not to do it, whatever he planned. Of course, he hadn't listened. He'd been too assured, too hopeful, of his success.

She'd wanted to "thank" Galen for his part in Gideon's failure for a long, long time, but hadn't allowed herself to do so. That would have helped Gideon, and she hadn't wanted to do that, either.

Now, however, with that necklace burning against her chest, she no longer minded the prospect quite so much.

Ready?

Slowly she grinned. "Let's do this."

They stepped through the entrance, a phantom unseen by the dreamer, and suddenly Scarlet was viewing the evidence of what she'd heard. Galen was tall and muscled, with blond hair and blue eyes. Eyes that were peering down at a beautiful, pale-haired female. A female he had anchored against a bathroom sink, his majestic white wings outstretched, enclosing her in a feathered haven.

The woman's shirt was pushed to her chin, bearing her large—really large—breasts. He feasted on them eagerly. Her pants were around her ankles as Galen pounded inside her, hips shifting to produce maximum pleasure.

His pants were merely opened at the waist, so Scarlet saw very little of him. Too bad. She could have taunted Gideon with the size of his enemy's cock and the hardness of his ass.

So many fears, Nightmares said with awe.

"Tell me." She spoke aloud, knowing dream Galen couldn't hear her unless she wanted him to.

Being alone. Being defeated. Helpless. Ineffective. Overlooked. Forgotten. Dead.

Weird. He carried the demon of Hope. Shouldn't he be more optimistic? No matter. Scarlet walked through the dream bathroom, Galen as oblivious to her presence as he was to her voice, and allowed Nightmares to re-paint the scene.

"Make him sorry he was ever created."

My pleasure.

Suddenly, the writhing, moaning girl became a man. A human.

Galen stopped pounding. Even yelped and jumped away, wings shuddering with the movement.

Scarlet laughed. Oh, this was going to be fun. "More."

The bathroom was replaced by a long, dark tunnel, and the human disappeared. Galen spun, wild gaze searching his new surroundings, the tips of those wings grazing the walls and scratching.

"What's going on?" he rasped. "Where am I?"

His words echoed, but that was it, the only sound. Desperate for answers, he kicked into gear, racing forward. The tunnel stretched forever, no end in sight. His panic doubled, tripled, hot breath rasping from him and sweat pouring from his body.

Delicious. Nightmares laughed. Tastes so good.

"More," she said again.

Do you want the honors?

Sharing was caring, she thought. "Yes. Please."

Lead him to the edge, and I'll show him what might one day happen to him. Oh, his fear...none of the others will compare.

Scarlet allowed herself to materialize, though she didn't show the formidable warrior what she truly looked like. The image she projected was one of a little girl she'd met inside Tartarus. For the single day the child had been allowed inside a cell. A little girl named Fate.

Everyone had been frightened of her, because everything Fate had spoken had come true. Everything. That's why the Greeks had so quickly put her to death, the poor thing.

But for that one day, she had been Scarlet's friend.

"If you believe what you see, you'll lose your husband," Fate had told her during their only conversation.

Of course Scarlet had believed what she'd seen—Gideon's absence—so of course Scarlet had lost him.

Many, many years had passed. Perhaps Galen would recognize Fate, perhaps not. Either way...let the games begin.

As Fate, Scarlet wore a robe streaked with dirt, had big blue eyes, so innocent, and a mouth forever dipped in sadness. Red hair hung in tangles all the way to her ankles.

She appeared a few feet in front of him. "Come," she said gently, and held out her small, mud-caked hand. "You must see what awaits you."

He tripped over his own feet but stopped before he hit her, still panting, still sweating. "Who are you?"

As forgetful as Gideon, then. But sometimes ignorance served her best. What people imagined was often far worse than anything she could tell them.

"Come," she repeated. "You must see."

"I— Yes. All right." Galen shakily placed his palm against hers.

Down the corridor she ushered him, Nightmares practically jumping around in her head. Finally, because she willed it, a light appeared, and the significance of that light was not lost on him. Once again, his fear spiked.

He even tried to pull away from her, but she tightened her grip, stronger than she appeared. "You must see," she told him. "You must know."

They reached the light, which just happened to be a cliff ledge that overlooked a battlefield. On that battlefield was man after man, woman after woman, an ocean of death and destruction, for each body was bloody, motionless. And on each of their wrists was a tattoo of infinity. The mark of the Hunter.

There, in the center, was Galen. He was still standing, though he, too, was bloody and wounded. His white-feathered wings were outstretched but clearly broken. His strength was drained, his knocking knees threatening to give out.

"No. No!" Beside her, a shaking dream Galen did drop to his knees, dust pluming around him.

On the battlefield, Gideon strode toward him, as menacing as ever. His blue hair danced around his face in the strong wind, and his piercings gleamed in the sunlight. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth where his lip ring had been ripped out. In one hand, he gripped a long, sharp sword. In the other, he clutched a gun.

Laughing, he pointed the latter at Galen and fired. The leader of the Hunters flew backward, landing on his ass, unable to rise as Gideon continued to bear down on him.

"No!" the Galen beside her shouted again. "Stand up. Fight him! I didn't survive that demon girl's poisonous bite only to die at the hands of my enemy."

He didn't, allowing Gideon to raise his sword and strike. Galen's head detached, leaving his body behind. "No! No!" Sky-blue eyes found her, a well of despair. His face was pale, the blue veins underneath his skin arrestingly evident. "Tell me I can change this. Tell me this isn't my fate."

"You wish me to lie?" she said in that sweet little-girl voice.

His hands fisted at his sides, useless weapons against what awaited him. "Why did you show me this, then? Why?"

"Because—"

Scarlet came awake with a jolt, sitting up, panting as Galen had done in the dream realm. Damn it. She hadn't finished with him, but her time there had ended. And there would be no going back for twelve hours.

At least Nightmares was satisfied. The demon had fed on Galen's terror, terror so much more intense than what humans experienced, and now retreated to the back of her mind.

"Not good. You're asleep."

Gideon.

His voice floated over her, into her, burning her up. With anger, with lust. Goodbye fun dream world, hello hated reality.

"Where are we?" she demanded, studying her new surroundings. She'd fallen asleep in his presence—again—and he'd clearly taken full advantage of the situation. "Someplace shitty."

Rather than a hotel room, she found herself in a forest, the sun setting in a violet sky. She rested atop a cool bed of moss, and there was a natural, bubbling spring beside her. She still wore the dress he'd given her, but at least he'd removed the cuffs.

Before she'd jacked up the music in the car, he'd tried to ask her what she found most romantic. She hadn't replied, so he'd obviously taken a guess. And to her consternation, the bastard had guessed correctly. This was amazing. Night birds were chirping, the scent of wildflowers saturated the air and Gideon was gloriously bathed in that violet-tinted light.

Right now, he was sitting in front of her, only a few inches away, leaning against a tree trunk. A lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead, and just as before, she had to curb the urge to brush the strands back in place. His baby blues were all over her, perusing, lingering, savoring. Trying to remember?

His hands were fisted on his lap. Was he trying to stop himself from reaching for her?

Gods help her, but she knew exactly what this man could do to her body. With his hands, his tongue. He could have her writhing, begging, in seconds.

Fight his appeal. "You might as well let me go." Or you yourself could, I don't know, finally ditch him. "You're not going to find any pleasure with me."

"I'm sure you're right."

Sweet heaven. He truly thought to bed her. Was utterly confident in her capitulation. Why, oh, why was that so damn sexy?

She narrowed her eyes, lest he see the desire surely banked there. "You sprang me for answers, so why are you trying so hard to soften me romantically? You'd have better luck working me over with your fists." Good. She'd sounded angry rather than breathless.

"Didn't think about that already."

He'd thought about hitting her? That—that—

"And I could absolutely bring myself to do it." Sweetheart.

Gods, she really was an idiot, melting like butter because he'd decided not to beat her up. Next she'd be hearing angels sing because he decided not to fork her jugular. "No matter what you do, you're going to fail." Fingers crossed that wasn't a bluff.

"Even if all I want us to do is relearn each other?"

Yes. No. Argh.

Hey. No more softening. "Nothing wrong with forgetting each other, either."

He was grinding his teeth as he moved his legs, trapping her knees with his ankles and placing her feet dangerously close to his—hard, growing—penis. Tragically—er, thankfully—his pants prevented her from experiencing skin-to-skin contact. Therefore she despised—loved, damn it—those low-slung jeans.

"So who aren't you today?" he asked, wisely changing the subject.

Hurt him. Make him stop this slow seduction. "Scarlet...Reynolds." She shivered as if the thought delighted her. "Yes. I'm in the mood for a little Rye-Rye today."

Gideon popped his jaw, teeth bared for a second. "Are we not married?"

"Sure we are," she said. "But in my mind I'm cheating on you with Ryan."

Now the pink tip of his tongue peeked out from his lip, as if he meant to chew it off. "You're so freaking funny."

"Who said I was joking?"

Before she could blink, he was on her, pushing her into the moss, his chest pressed against hers, his weight pinning her. "You do not annoy the shit out of me."

A tremor skipped down her spine, her nipples straining against her dress, trying to reach him. She could have knocked him off; she was strong enough, skilled enough, but she didn't. She fisted the collar of his shirt, holding him in place. Craving... "Well, if you hadn't guessed, you do annoy the shit out of me."

In and out he breathed, nostrils flaring. "Keep talking, I don't dare you."

Shut up, he meant. "Or what?" He smelled so damn good, like musk and alluring spice. Warmth radiated from him and enveloped her, slinking around her in a sly embrace.

"Or..." His gaze dropped to her lips. The anger seemed to drain from him, something hotter, sultrier taking its place. Those rasping pants never slowed, and in between them, he said, "You're so unbelievably...ugly." The last was offered hesitantly, as if he feared she wouldn't understand what he was trying to tell her. "You don't make me ache. You don't make me hunger for so many things. Dirty things. Wicked things."

Kiss him.

No, don't you dare.

A war raged between body and mind. If she kissed him, she wouldn't be able to halt what was sure to follow. Once his lips met hers, she would be lost. His taste drugged her, his body addicted her. That's the way it had always been with him.

And now, she would want but she couldn't have. Not truly. But for one blissful night, she would belong to him again. Any price was worth that. Added bonus: she could forget her troubles, forget the lonely future that awaited her.

Forget. Wrong word. She stiffened, no longer having to talk herself into resisting. "Get off me."

"I want to hurt you," he whispered, heated breath dragging over her skin. "Tell me to stop."

Meaning, he wanted to pleasure her and all she had to do was give him the go-ahead. She shook her head in a desperate attempt to prevent what she still wanted, needed, but could never afford. "No. I won't."

Wait. No, she wouldn't tell him to stop? Argh!

Slowly he smiled—so wicked—as if that's exactly what he'd hoped she would say, no matter her meaning. "Too bad," he said. And then he fed a sizzling kiss straight into her mouth.