Strider liked the man, even though, as Lucien had said, he looked out only for himself. Even though he could turn on you in a heartbeat, stabbing you in the back—or rather, the stomach—as Lucien had experienced firsthand.
My kinda guy, Strider mused. And since William wasn’t wanted here, maybe he’d want to leave with Strider. Strider made a mental note to text him before taking off. Never hurt to vacation with a friend.
So. Who did that leave to guard the fortress and those inside? “Kane and Cameo,” he said with a nod. Disaster and Misery. “Since Amun’s better, they can return from wherever they are.”
Lucien pondered for a moment, then nodded in turn. “All right, then. It’s settled.”
“One more thing. Tomorrow I need you to contact Sabin.” Strider planned to be too wasted to be coherent. “He needs to return, too, and meet the female Hunter up close and personal. But don’t call him until tomorrow, okay?”
While Torin had apparently been texting, Strider had been calling both Lucien and Sabin every day, giving them updates on Amun’s health. Only thing he hadn’t told them—yet—was Haidee’s identity. He didn’t know why. He’d certainly meant to share, but every time he’d tried, the words had congealed in his throat.
All he knew was that he still wasn’t going to tell them. Like him, they’d find out the truth as soon as they talked to her. And when they did, Strider wouldn’t have betrayed Amun’s trust, but would still have done all he could to safeguard his friend from the murdering bitch’s influence.
Shit. He was getting worked up again, fighting a need to stomp back to Amun’s room and do some damage.
Win? Defeat asked.
Oh, no. We’re not going there.
“Consider it done,” Lucien said.
“Good,” he replied, tangling a hand in his hair. “’Cause I really need this break.”
Once again Lucien asked no questions. He merely straightened and gave another nod. “Pack while I hunt down the lucky twosome and bring them home.”
“No need to pack.” He had his weapons. That’s all he needed.
For the first time during their conversation, Lucien’s lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. “Twice you’ve said you need a break. We both know nothing will change in a day or two. You’ll still be stressed, on edge. So I want you gone for at least two weeks, and that’s a nonnegotiable requirement if you expect transport. Pack.”
Death didn’t wait for Strider’s reply. He simply disappeared.
Strider packed.
WILLIAM THE EVER RANDY, as the shitheads here had started calling him, lay propped on his bed, a mountain of pillows behind him. His covers were tucked around his waist and legs, cocooning him in a way he despised but refused to complain about because his Gillian Shaw—nicknamed Gilly, also nicknamed Little Gilly Gumdrop, though only he was allowed to call the seventeen-year-old human that last one—was responsible. She had a huge crush on him, and she had thought “tucking him in” would soothe him.
Unlike the tucking in, he’d done everything he could to discourage the crush. She’d told him she wanted to date a nonsmoker, so he’d immediately taken up the habit. Was even now sucking a disgusting cloud of ash into his mouth and blowing smoke in her too-appealing, perfectly sun-kissed face.
She gave a delicate cough.
Tragically, the smoke failed to diminish the loveliness of her features. Big, wide eyes of the purest chocolate. Sharp cheekbones that hinted at the passion she would one day be capable of giving. A pixie nose, slightly uptilted at the end. Lush pink lips. And framing all that beauty was a cascade of midnight hair.
With a sigh, he smashed the cigarette butt into the ashtray beside him. Maybe it was time he took up drinking.
“Liam,” she said softly. Her nickname for him. A name he would kill anyone else for using. Maybe because it was hers and hers alone. She sat beside him, her hip pressed against his, warm and soft and completely feminine. “I have a question for you.”
“Ask.” He could deny her nothing—except a romantic relationship. Not only because she was too young, but because he…well, he liked her. Yeah, shocking. William the Perfect—a much more suitable name for him—friends with a female other than Anya. The world should have ended.
But, in many ways, Gilly truly was his best friend. When he’d returned from hell, unable to care for himself, she had done so. She had fetched his food, endured his dark moods as the pain became too much, and washed his sweat-soaked brow when necessary.
If, when she reached maturity, he was foolish enough to touch her, their easy camaraderie would be ruined. She would be forever disillusioned about the kind of man he was. He didn’t want to disillusion her.
She deserved a man who would give her the world. All William would give her was pain.
So, become involved? Hell, no. Not now, not later. He wouldn’t allow himself to hurt her. Ever. He was many things—a womanizer, a killer. Callous, sometimes cruel, always selfish and dark in a way no one inside this fortress knew. But this tiny little beauty had been through enough in her short life. Physical abuse, and so much worse. She’d run away from home, had lived on the streets, taking care of herself when loved ones should have ensured her safety.
After Danika and Reyes, the keeper of Pain, had hooked up, Danika had brought her here. William had taken an instant liking to her. She’d needed someone to look out for her, and William had decided to be that someone. For now. That meant destroying those who had destroyed her innocence and later helping her find a man worthy of her love. That meant resisting her.
Lids heavy over those exotic eyes and lashes so thick and curling they seemed to be reaching for her brows, she traced some sort of design on the covers beside him. At last she found the courage to ask her question. “You’re cursed by the gods, but I don’t know how you’re cursed. I mean, I tried to read your book. Anya let me borrow it, I hope you don’t mind, but the pages were weird.”
The subject he hated more than any other. His curse. The only person he’d ever discussed the particulars with was Anya, and then only because they’d been cell neighbors inside Tartarus, and he’d needed something to do while the centuries ticked by. When they’d later escaped, he’d made the mistake of showing her the book that detailed everything he’d told her, as well as his only chance for salvation.
He shouldn’t have been surprised when the naughty goddess had stolen that book—and now threatened to rip the pages out every time he pissed her off. Nor should he have been surprised that she’d given Gilly a peek. Anya had taken over the girl’s care, too, and knew how the sweet little human felt about him. But damn it, his secrets were his own.
“Liam?”
Resisting was pointless. And gods, he was pathetic. To not even put up a fight? Sickening. “The book is written in code,” he explained. A roundabout fuck-you from Zeus, he mused. A “here’s your salvation—not.” He had yet to find the key to unlocking that code. He knew it was out there, though. It had to be out there. He couldn’t believe otherwise. Even though he was afraid to find the key, afraid to know more about his curse.
“Yes, but how are you cursed?” she repeated.
He shouldn’t tell her. He knew what she was doing. Trying to find a way to save him. Still. She needed to know the truth. Maybe then her crush would at last crash and burn. “All I know is that the woman I fall in love with will unleash—” He pressed his lips together. The woman he fell in love with would unleash every evil being he had ever created. And he had created some monsters. That, he wouldn’t tell her. “She will kill me,” he finished. That, too, was the truth.