Amun noticed his friend didn’t have to ask who “she” was. He followed that tilt with his gaze, and hissed in an agonized breath. She was on her knees, her arms chained above her head. That chain was anchored to his ceiling, offering just enough slack to keep her spine erect. Her head lolled forward, her chin pressed into her collarbone.
The length of her blond-and-pink hair shielded most of her dirt-smudged face, but he could see that her eyes were closed, her long, curling lashes fanning down.
His lips parted in a silent roar as he at last pushed to a stand. She is not fine! His knees almost gave out, his stomach almost rebelled, but fury and reckless determination gave him strength.
“I drugged her,” Strider said as if to soothe him from a violent temper. “She’ll recover.”
That didn’t fucking matter! What mattered was that something had been done to her. How long had she been tethered like that? Unconscious? Helpless? Amun stalked to his friend, stumbling twice, and held out his hand, palm up. Secrets began prowling restlessly. Because they were closer to the girl?
Strider knew what he wanted and shook his head. “She’s a Hunter, Amun. She’s dangerous.”
He waved his fingers, insisting. He would challenge Strider if necessary. Would do anything for what he wanted.
“Damn it! Do you care nothing for your own safety?”
Again he waved his fingers.
“Fine. You can deal with the consequences on your own.” Scowling, but perhaps sensing the depths of Amun’s resolve, Strider reached inside his pocket and withdrew a key. He slapped the metal into Amun’s still open palm.
Immediately Amun spun and stomped to Haidee. He tripped twice more along the way, but not even that slowed him. Secrets, he noted, had ceased prowling, was utterly still and completely silent now.
Only those years of blunting the fiercest edges of his emotions kept his ire inside as he twisted the key into the lock. The metal unsnapped, freeing her. She sagged forward without a sound, arms falling heavily to her sides. She would have kissed the floor if Amun hadn’t caught her. His arms despised him, sharp pains still shooting through him, but he didn’t care. At the moment of contact, the screams inside his head—muted though they’d been—quieted altogether, the demons determined to hide from her, as if they feared the pulling would start up again.
Gently, so gently, he fit her against his chest and lifted her into his arms. The chill of her skin delighted him anew, and he couldn’t help but remember the glide of that skin against his, caressing, stroking, the friction unbearably sweet.
Raw desire, brutal in its intensity, suddenly consumed every inch of him. He fought past that clawing need and carried her to the bed. He eased her down, then fit the covers around her slight frame and peered down at her. How fragile she looked, her cheeks a bit hollowed, her lips chapped, her skin pallid. How vulnerable she was, unable to defend herself from any type of attack.
She would hate that vulnerability, he thought, not needing his demon’s help to recall the way she’d constantly scanned her surroundings, how she’d vigilantly searched for a weapon. How she had defended him with her very life.
Because she thought you were her human boyfriend, he recalled next. He despised the reminder. Did she know the truth now? Would she fight him when she woke up? He thought he would prefer that. Better her loathing than her acceptance of him as another man.
He would be liked for himself or not at all.
Amun stilled as he realized where his thoughts were headed. Permanency. Keeping her. The moisture in his mouth dried, and he felt like he was swallowing cotton mixed with Haidee’s glass shards. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, keep her.
When his friends learned what she’d done, that she was the one who had helped kill Baden, they would demand her head. He could try to talk them out of it, but they wouldn’t be denied. He knew that beyond any doubt. And if he chose her, placed her needs over theirs, they would never forgive him. Hell, he would never forgive himself. Baden deserved better. They deserved better.
Don’t think about that now. Head spinning with the tide of conflicting emotions and urges flooding him, he climbed into bed beside her, fit her against him, and faced Strider with narrowed eyes. The warrior was watching him, blue eyes ablaze.
She’s more than a Hunter, Strider thought, clearly knowing Amun would hear. She’s responsible for Baden’s killer.
Amun knew the warrior wanted to keep that particular revelation just between them—strange that he hadn’t spoken aloud, considering no one else was in the room—but he was glad. The fewer people who knew about her, the safer she would be, and this way, no one would overhear. Then Secrets informed him that Torin knew, also. That Strider simply hadn’t realized. Amun was shocked to his soul that neither man had killed her already. Shock that nearly burned him alive, chasing away the sweetest kiss of her chilled skin. Because she lived, Amun had assumed he was the only one who had figured out her past misdeed.
“Well?” Strider demanded
In reply to his previous statement, Amun merely nodded.
The warrior’s nostrils flared with outrage. “You knew?”
He gave a second nod.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. You always know everything. But fuck, man! You’re still treating her like a goddamn treasure.” The words were gritted as he tunneled a hand through his hair and paced. “You picked her over me, damn it.”
There was no response that could exonerate him, even another apology, so he offered none. And in the silence, Amun began to hear more of Strider’s thoughts. Thoughts the warrior couldn’t snuff out quickly enough.
She’s mine. To kiss, to kill. Whatever I decide. Damn her, how has she tied me in knots like this? I despise her.
Amun’s hands curled into fists. Mine, he wanted to shout. He didn’t. Such a confession would only dig his hole of guilt and shame deeper, so he kept his lips pressed into a tight line.
Why haven’t you harmed her? he signed stiffly. Because Strider desired her, too? Such desire was completely unlike the war-hungry man, though. Only Sabin, their leader and keeper of the demon of Doubt, was better able to place the campaign against the Hunters over his personal needs and wants. So Strider’s hesitation to strike had to stem from something else. Or rather, it had better stem from something else.
Amun had never felt more capable of murder than he did at that moment, thinking of another man putting his hands on Haidee.
Guilt…shame…he fell into the hole anyway.
His friend plopped back into the chair, gaze never leaving him. “We don’t know how, but she calms you, clears your mind, even makes the demons cower.”
So. As he’d suspected, Haidee was responsible for his recovery. The knowledge was as upsetting as it was welcome.
“She has to be near you, in the same room, for…whatever she does to work,” Strider went on. “We still don’t know how she’s doing it, but we’ve carried her in and out of this room several times to test the limits of her ability. Once she reaches the hallway, your torment begins all over again.”
“Experiments” suddenly made sense. Was her ability the reason he felt bound to her? Because she somehow did what he couldn’t, frightening the demons into submission? Was that how she affected him so strongly, his body a slave to desires he didn’t want to feel?
That question led to another, one far more distressing than any that had come before. Was this how Baden had felt when he’d opened his door one moonlit night and found Haidee outside, begging for help?
The memory opened up in Amun’s mind, courtesy of Haidee, he was sure.