The Darkest Passion. Gena Showalter
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be grateful I haven’t killed you. You caused me untold grief this past month. I had no idea who followed me or why. My loyal companion couldn’t remain with me and had to return to a place she loathes.”
A place she deserved to be, despite Aeron’s earlier assertion, but whatever, as some of the Lords were fond of saying. “I’m sorry.” Despite everything, she really was. Soon, he would lose all he valued and there would be nothing either of them could do to stop it from happening.
Don’t think like that or you’ll start crying again.
He sighed. “I accept your apology, but that doesn’t change anything. You aren’t welcome here.”
He forgave her? Finally, a step in the right direction. “But—”
“You are fallen, but you’re still immortal. Yes?” He didn’t give her time to reply. Her clothing had healed itself, so in his mind it probably stood to reason that she would, too. “You’ll be fine by morning. And then I’ll want you out of this fortress.”
CHAPTER FOUR
AERON PACED THE LENGTH of the hallway. He’d been at it for hours, but saw no reprieve in his immediate future. Someone had to guard the angel. Not from intruders but from her intrusion, just in case she was here to sneak about and listen to things she shouldn’t.
A rationalization that didn’t make a lot of sense, but one he would stick with. Yes, she could have listened to things she shouldn’t have as an angel, invisible and protected, but she was vulnerable now, and she could one day be captured by the Hunters and used to hurt his friends.
His hands fisted, and he forced his mind to retreat from thoughts of her torture and their deaths before he punched a wall. Or a friend.
Besides, when Olivia was well enough, which should be any time now, part of him expected her to try and escape his room to hunt for Legion. Even though Legion was absent, that wasn’t something Aeron would allow. Not that Olivia, fallen as she now was, could do much damage during her search.
Still. She could reveal her findings to another angel, the one she predicted would come, and that angel could attempt to see the deed done.
Not on my watch, he thought.
His friends had already had their meeting—he’d heard their mutterings, then their laughter, then their footsteps as they parted—but he had no idea what had been decided. No one had visited him. Were they going to pursue the odd female he’d met in that alley? Had Lucien found any sign of Hunters on the hill?
Aeron hadn’t changed his mind; he didn’t believe Olivia was involved with them. But they could have followed her here. Sneak attacks were their specialty, after all.
And really, an invasion would be the perfect end to this terrible night.
Half an hour ago, he’d called for Legion to warn her about what was happening. Usually, no matter the distance between them, she heard his cry and came to him. Not this time. Like Lucien, she could flash from one location to another with only a thought, but she hadn’t appeared.
Was she hurt? Bound? He was tempted to formally summon her, just as she’d taught him—though until Olivia’s explanation, he hadn’t understood what she meant—for that wasn’t something she could ignore. The more he’d considered the possibility, the more he’d thought it likely that the angel—fallen or not—had to be out of the fortress before Legion would feel comfortable enough to return. He remembered her fear, the way she’d trembled even uttering the word angel.
He could have asked Olivia to stop doing whatever she was doing that pained the little demon and not him. Or his friends, for that matter. They’d never sensed Olivia, not in any way. But he hadn’t asked. She was healing, and he didn’t want to disturb her.
Especially when she’d done so much for him already. No softening.
So he’d left Legion alone, as well. For now.
Not that he could imagine the fragile Olivia hurting anyone. Even at full strength—whatever that was. Should it come to a fight, Legion would have the angel pinned, those poisoned fangs deep inside Olivia’s vein, in seconds.
That’s my girl, he thought, grinning. Only, his grin didn’t last. The thought of Olivia dying didn’t sit well. She hadn’t killed him as she’d been ordered. Not that she could have, but she hadn’t even tried to do so. Nor had she harmed Legion, as she’d probably wished to. She wanted only to experience the joys of life she’d clearly been denied.
She didn’t deserve to die.
For a moment, only a moment, he thought about keeping her. As calm as Wrath was around her, not demanding he punish her for some crime she’d committed twenty years ago, a day ago, a minute ago, she would be the perfect companion for him. She could see to his needs, as Paris had said.
Needs he’d claimed not to have. But he couldn’t deny that while he’d been crouched beside her, something had stirred inside him. Something hot and dangerous. She’d smelled of sunshine and earth, and her eyes, as blue and clear as the morning sky, had regarded him with trust and hope. As if he were a savior rather than a destroyer. And he’d liked it.
Idiot! A demon, keeping an angel? Hardly. Besides, she’s here to have fun and you, my friend, are as far from fun as a man can be.
“Aeron.”
Finally. News. Relieved to push Olivia from his thoughts, Aeron whipped around and saw Torin leaning one shoulder against the wall, gloved arms crossed over his chest and an irreverent smile curling his mouth.
As keeper of Disease, Torin couldn’t touch another being skin to skin without beginning a plague. The gloves protected them all.
“Once again, a Lord of the Underworld has a woman locked in his chambers while he tries to figure out what to do with her.” Torin chuckled.
Before Aeron could reply, images began flashing through his head. Images of Torin lifting a blade, expression intent, determined. That blade descended…nailed its target in the heart…and emerged wet and red.
The man who’d been stabbed, a human, collapsed into a heap on the ground. Dead. There was a figure eight tattooed on his wrist, the symbol of infinity and the mark of a Hunter. He hadn’t hurt Torin, hadn’t even threatened to do so. The two had simply passed each other on the street, some four hundred years ago, when the warrior had left the fortress to finally be with the woman he’d fallen for, but had first spied the brand and attacked.
To Wrath, the act was malicious and without provocation. To Wrath, the act deserved punishment.
Aeron had seen this particular event many times already, and each time he’d had to suppress the urge to act. Now was no different. He actually felt his fingers curling around the hilt of his dagger, the need to stab Torin as Torin had stabbed the Hunter strong.
I would have done the same thing, he mentally shouted at the demon. I would have killed that Hunter, maliciously and without provocation. Torin doesn’t deserve castigation.
Wrath growled.
Calm. Aeron’s arm fell to his side, his hand empty.
“Demon wanting a go at me?” Torin asked matter-of-factly.
His friends knew him very well. “Yes, but no worries. I’ve got the bastard under control.”
He thought he heard the demon snort.
The more he denied Wrath, the more its desire to penalize would grow—until the need overtook Aeron so completely, he would snap. That was when he’d fly into town, no one safe, the slightest sins met with absolute cruelty and ruthlessness.
Those vengeance sprees were the reason Aeron had tattooed himself as he had. As he was immortal and prone to heal quickly, he’d had to mix dried ambrosia into the ink to be permanently marked and it had been like injecting