The Darkest Torment. Gena Showalter
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remaining on his feet.
I like this man...kind of. Hurting him hurts me.
A glimmer of rational thought. Baden dropped his arm to his side and gripped his camo pants. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he rasped.
“Why?” William’s teeth were smeared with crimson. “Did you soil your panties while you were giving me those love taps?”
Humor. He wasn’t in the mood. “Walk away. Before you have to crawl.”
Already the beast pawed at Baden’s gray matter, ravenous for round two.
“Don’t be silly.” William waved his fingers. “Hit me again. Only this time, try to do some real damage.”
The warrior didn’t understand...wouldn’t understand until too late. “Go! I’m losing control.”
“Then we’re making progress.” William jabbed Baden’s shoulder. “Hit me.”
“Do you want to die?”
“Hit.” Jab. “Me.” Jab.
The beast snarled, and Baden...
Baden detonated like a bomb, whaling on William, who made no effort to block or dodge the barrage of blows.
“Fight back!” Baden shouted.
“Since you suggested it...” William threw a punch of his own, a crack so powerful Baden reeled backward and slammed into the dresser.
Books and decorations the female residents had given him rattled before toppling to the floor. Everything made of glass shattered at his feet. William stalked forward and, without a pause in his step, bent down to swipe up one of the books. He struck, pummeling Baden’s throat into his spine.
Pain. His body bowed as the warrior slammed the book into his side. Once. Twice. More pain. His kidney was puréed.
Opponent...even stronger than expected...cannot be allowed to live.
Before William could deliver another blow, Baden jerked up a knee. The book flew across the room. He punched William in the jaw. As the warrior stumbled, Baden picked up a shard of glass.
By the time he straightened, William had recovered. That fast. The warrior crushed a vase into the side of his head, new shards raining.
Different voices suddenly penetrated his awareness.
“Is that Baden? Duuude! That can’t be Baden. He’s three times his usual size!”
“He’s going to make a retainer out of Willy’s teeth!”
“I call dibs! On Baden, not the retainer. If my man ever kicks it, I get to hook up with Hulk-smash first!”
In the back of his mind, he knew his friends and their mates had heard the commotion and come running, intending to break up the fight. To help him. The beast didn’t care.
Kill...kill them all...they’re too strong, too much of a risk.
Evil like the beast had no friends, only enemies.
The group is dangerous to the rest of the world, but not to me. Never to me. These people would die for me.
Die...yes, they must die...
William kicked the door closed, blocking the others from Baden’s view. “You focus on me, Red. Understood? I’m the biggest threat, so do us both a favor, take your arthritis medication and hit me.”
Yes. Biggest threat. Hit. Rage gave him added strength as he unleashed a new stream of punches. William blocked the first few, but couldn’t dodge the others. Baden failed to dodge his retaliation.
The brutal fight propelled them around the room, bouncing off walls and furniture as if they were animals in the wild, vying for position of King of the Jungle.
Pick up another piece of glass. Cut through the warrior’s ribs.
Yes. The perfect finish. But as Baden swooped down, William flashed behind him—moving to a new location with only a thought—and punched him. He twisted as he stumbled, capturing the male’s hand when he attempted to deliver another strike.
Baden purposely dropped, sinking to the floor, taking William with him. Midway down, he wound his legs around the bastard’s neck, applying enough pressure to choke a rhino. The moment they crash-landed, Baden tossed William over his head.
Thud. His opponent smashed face-first into the pile of glass shards. He grinned and drew himself up to straddle Willy’s back.
Punch. Punch. William’s skull cracked—and cracked Baden’s knuckles. Before he could deliver his next blow, the low-down-dirty-sneak flashed again—but it was too late to halt his fist. Punch. A wood panel on the floor splintered. Pain vibrated up his arm and pooled in his shoulder.
William laughed with delight and, as if the sound opened a magical portal to calm, the beast quieted.
“There.” Willy ruffled Baden’s hair. “You feel better now.” A kind statement rather than a smug question.
He performed a danger-check, just to be sure, and nodded. “I do.” Even his throat had healed.
“Now we can have a conversation without you eyeing my trachea like it’s a gummy worm.”
“Conversation can wait.” He stood, grimacing as he noted the condition of his room. Holes in the wall, broken glass on the floor, furniture overturned and missing pieces. “I’ve got some cleaning to do.”
“You’d choose a broom over information?”
“Depends on the information being offered.”
“If I said the serpentine wreaths and their side effects...?”
“I’d turn your pretty face to pulp.” Baden loved the wreaths, but he also hated them. They were a gift from Hades, ancient and mystical, and they were responsible for his corporeal form.
Hades and Keeley—the mate of Baden’s friend Torin—had come to him in what he’d thought was a dream. Through some kind of supernatural power, they’d removed the bands Lucifer, his jailer at the time, had forced on him and replaced them with bands that belonged to Hades.
As long as you wear my wreaths, Hades had said, you will be seen...touched.
The friendly gesture of an ally he supported in the war of the underworlds? He’d thought so in the beginning. Now he wondered... The trick of an underhanded foe?
Soon after Baden had donned the gift, William had looked at him with pity and said, “Have you seen Pet Sematary? Sometimes dead is better.”
William wasn’t wrong.
By that point, Baden had already begun to change. Not physically—maybe physically—but definitely mentally. Once even-tempered, he struggled for control, and he despised anyone who might be stronger than him. As proved. Memories plagued him, but they weren’t his own. They couldn’t be. He’d never been a child, had been created fully formed, an immortal soldier tasked with protecting Zeus, and yet he clearly remembered being around ten years old, running through an ambrosia field set aflame, thick smoke choking him.
A pack of hellhounds tracked him, fed on him and dragged him into a cold, dank dungeon, where he’d suffered, alone and starved, for centuries.
With the first memory, a horrifying truth had struck Baden. The wreaths weren’t just an object, but a being. The beast. Not a demon, but worse. An immortal who’d once lived and now expected to continue living through Baden. A monster who always teetered on the brink of rage, violence and distrust.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Baden.
“Well.” William pretended to be offended. “Try to do a man a favor.”
Concentrate! “Yesterday you said you knew nothing about the wreaths.”
A hike of