"Didn't think so," she said with a smugness that irritated him.
Strider popped his jaw. What? She didn't think he was good-looking enough to catch a female? She didn't think anyone could tolerate him for long periods of time? Well, she was mistaken. He didn't have a girlfriend because he didn't want one. His demon fed off the challenge of winning their hearts, but once that was accomplished, the demon's attraction was gone.
And then, of course, the females would try and challenge him in other ways. Ways he hated. Bet you can't spend the entire day with me and enjoy yourself. Bet you won't call me every night for the next week. It was just better for everyone involved if he kept things temporary.
"So," he said. "How long have you been dating your man?"
"Seven months."
Seven months? In human years—something akin to dog years—that was a very long time. "So why haven't you guys gotten married?"
She shrugged as she stuffed the last piece of jerky into her mouth.
"Let me guess. You wanted to, but he didn't?"
"Actually," she said stiffly, "he wanted to, but I didn't."
Interesting, and unexpected. "Why didn't you? Just using him for sex?"
The flush returned to her cheeks, softening her features, making her more than beautiful. Making her appear vulnerable...sweet. "Something like that," she muttered.
There was a tightening in his chest. One he didn't understand and didn't want to contemplate. You aren't attracted to this woman.
"Not to change the subject—and by that I mean I'm ready to change the subject. Do you remember killing me?" she asked.
"Yes." All those centuries ago, he'd slammed his blade into her stomach, raging over what she'd done to Baden. Then, when she'd doubled over, he'd taken her head. "Mind telling me how you're alive?"
She ignored him. "No guilt for your actions?"
"Hell, no. Do you feel guilty for what you did to my best friend?"
"Hell, no."
He hadn't thought so. And that...bothered him. It shouldn't have bothered him. He knew who and what she was—for the most part. Snuffing out evil was her ultimate goal, and she'd considered Baden evil. Would it have killed her to pretend remorse, though?
Frowning, he zipped up his bag and stood. "Time in. Again," he barked. Then cringed. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh.
Ex didn't rush to obey. In fact, she stared up at him for a long while, hands rubbing up and down her calves.
"Up," he said more gently, tugging at the rope. But there was too much give in that rope. Somehow she had managed to cut it, even though he'd never seen her fingers near it. And she certainly hadn't been gripping a knife. Not one that he'd been able to see, at least.
"Time out." Grinning, she kicked out her leg with more force than someone her size should have been capable of, swiping his ankles together and knocking him to the ground. Like a bolt of lightning, she streaked off.
Catch, catch. Win, win, Defeat shouted as Strider leaped to his feet and darted after her. You're losing. You must win.
As he sprinted, he reached for the Cloak he'd strapped to his chest, hiding it there because he'd known the last thing Ex would want to do was feel him up. Only, it wasn't there.
That...bitch! Somehow, she'd stolen it. Just like with the rope, he had no idea how she'd done it. He only knew he had to catch her. Before she reached her boyfriend.
SO LOUD...so terrible. Amun was somehow on his feet, gripping a blade. William and Aeron were on each of his sides, pinning him in to protect him. A new horde of demons surrounded them—they'd already fought the first and second lines of defense—some small, some big, but all of them determined. Their thoughts...totally focused on blood and pain and death.
Taste, they thought. Hurt. Kill. They swiped at the warriors with their claws, biting at them with poisoned fangs, kicking and hitting, laughing and taunting.
The battle itself had been raging for hours. Maybe days. Perhaps years. Each man was exhausted, cut, bleeding, shaking, at the edge, probably in agonizing pain, and every time they killed a demon, three more took its place. But they refused to give up.
Amun tried to help them, but every time he moved, every time he reached out to slash one of the creatures, a new voice entered his mind and grew in volume, new images flashing inside his head—rapes, more tortures, more killings—nearly driving him to his knees.
Through it all, Lucifer sat upon his throne, watching, grinning, Legion at his feet. Every so often, he would pet her head as if she were a favored dog. And when she would try and rise, desperate to help Aeron, the prince of darkness would dig his claws into her scalp and hold her down until she whimpered her surrender, blood trekking down her temples.
"I don't know how much more I can take," Aeron gritted out.
"Arm...hanging...by...thread," William replied. He wasn't exaggerating, either.
Must help them, Amun thought. The air was hot, draining what little remained of his strength. And the smoke...gods, all he wanted to do was cough. Cough until he finally hacked up enough intestine to die.
Although, that might not be necessary. The scent of death clung to every inhalation, stinging his nostrils, promising a reckoning. Very, very soon.
Push through. Ignore the voice, the images. Only reason the two warriors were still standing, despite the poison probably working through them from those demon bites, was that they'd drunk the rest of the Water of Life.
If this didn't end soon, the water would lose its potency and nothing would save them.
Can't let them die. Him, yeah. He welcomed an end. But not his friends. Never his friends. With a roar, Amun raised his arm, blade at the ready. And yes, the voices and images grew in intensity, but he didn't let either stop him this time. He plowed forward, out of the protective embrace of his friends, and slashed. Slashed and slashed and slashed. Demon after demon fell, grunting, groaning, bleeding at his feet.
By the time he reached the center of them, he was dripping with their fluids, his eyes burning, his mouth filled with the taste of rot, but still he didn't stop. And soon, he didn't want to stop. The images...yes, he wanted to kill. He wanted to maim.
He cut off a demon's arm and grinned. He snapped a demon's leg in two and laughed. He removed eyeballs, tongues, even private parts, and laughed all the harder. This. Was. Fun.
Fear sparked in their crimson eyes, and they were soon backing away from him. But he was having none of that. Needed more. Was excited. Was imagining all the things he could do to them. They'd scream, they'd beg, they'd bleed. Yes. Fun.
"Stop him!" Lucifer shouted, no longer relaxed. "Take his head."
"How about we take your head instead?" a new voice proclaimed. "It will look very nice in my trophy case."
Amun recognized that voice, knew it belonged to someone he admired, but didn't take time to look at the speaker. So many targets, just waiting for his blade. He sliced a throat, stabbed a heart, felt a warm splatter on his face and licked it away. Delicious.
"Lysander," Lucifer hissed.
"Oh, Aeron," a female shouted. "My poor darling. You're falling apart."
"Olivia! Get out of here. Go! You shouldn't see this."
"Not without you. And if you had any idea what I had to do to convince the Heavenly High Council to send an army down here, you would be begging my forgiveness for leaving me behind and then thanking me profusely for coming to your aid."
The angels had arrived, Amun thought distantly. He probably should have been happy about that, but the demons around him flew from the chamber, screaming, leaving him with no one else to kill. Or take. That was not fun.
Scowling, he whipped around. Saw the army of white-robed angels forming a half circle around Lucifer. Saw the prince of darkness hissing at them as he, too, tried to flee. One of those angels held a sobbing Legion, one a nearly unconscious William, and Olivia had her arms wrapped around a trembling Aeron.