The Lords of the Underworld are the epitome of evil, Dean Stefano, the modern-day version of the Bad Man, the first Hunter she’d ever encountered, had always said. As right-hand man to Galen, who rarely made an appearance, he was currently in charge of the troops. They must be eradicated before their poison spreads. To you, to your loved ones. How many of your mothers have died of cancer? How many of your teenage daughters have been violated? How many of your spouses have betrayed you?
When someone had balked about killing another living being, Stefano had added stiffly, Killing a demon isn’t murder. Demons are animals, and those animals would slaughter your entire family without a single pang of remorse. Like a starving lion or bear. They attack and ravage thoughtlessly. Never forget that fact.
Wasted breath, she’d thought every time she’d heard that speech. Haidee hadn’t needed convincing. A demon had slaughtered her entire family. Not just once, but twice.
She’d always blamed the entire lot of them because, to her, a demon was a demon and evil was evil. Now, with the proud, compassionate Amun so close to her, she at last saw the flaw in her logic. Evil destroyed. These men hadn’t destroyed her when given the chance, yet destruction had always been her ultimate goal.
How many times had she tried to eradicate the Lords? Had she even cared about the methods used? No.
A wail of regret suddenly caught in her throat. What if she was the evil one?
A firm arm slid under her knees and another wrapped around her waist. A moment later she was being lifted and lowered. After that, she was leaning against Amun’s massive chest, her cheek pressed into the hollow of his neck. Gently he caressed her hair as if she was beloved rather than despised, as if her emotional state mattered.
What are you, Haidee? he asked again, voice as gentle as his touch.
She’d never discussed her…infection with another living being. Ever. Not even Micah. But this was Amun. Her Amun. As tears burned her eyes, she relaxed against him, flattening her palm against the heart beating so swiftly in his chest. He’d saved her; he deserved to know the truth.
“I’m not exactly sure,” she whispered. “Human, I know that much, but something else, too. I can be killed just like anyone else. Bleeding out, disease, starvation. But each time I’m killed, I come back, exactly as I am now.”
You’ve died before? I mean, I know you died that once, but you’ve actually died several times? His tender stroking never ceased.
“Yes. More than several, though. I lost count a long time ago. Still, no matter how long I manage to stay alive in one incarnation, I never age past this point. I guess my age just kind of froze after the very first death.”
So what happens after you die?
She shuddered. “It’s horrible. You’d think the pain of dying would be the worst, but no. The pain of rebirth, or whatever it is, is devastating. I’ll feel my life slipping away, float in darkness for what seems an eternity, but then, when the light comes…” She shuddered again. “The light swallows me, burns me to my soul, but not with fire, with ice, and my body will begin to rejuvenate. I’m like a mother giving birth—to myself. My bones feel like they’re being injected with acid, every muscle spasms and my skin feels like it’s being poured back on.”
Those warm fingers curled around her nape, the caress becoming a massage. Again, his touch was tender, and yet, as aware of him as she was, her sensitive flesh prickled, her nipples beaded, and an ache bloomed between her legs. How she wanted this man.
She had always assumed discussing the past would be difficult. And never had she imagined doing so with one of the demon-possessed warriors she’d fought so diligently to obliterate. The words flowed smoothly, however. “When the pain finally leaves, I always find myself in the same location. Greece, in a cave next to the water. I won’t remember any of the good things that happened to me, yet I’m aware that the memories were taken. Not that that makes any sense. I’ll know who I am, every terrible thing that’s ever been done to me, every terrible thing I’ve done, and the hate… God, Amun, I’m always filled with so much hate. For the first few years of a new life, that hate is the only thing that drives me.”
He rested his chin on top of her head, his warm breath ruffling strands of her hair, tickling. How long have you been alive this time?
“About eleven years.”
Why have you never come after us before?
She should lie. The truth would destroy the tranquility of this moment. He deserved the truth, though. After everything, he deserved the truth.
“I have come after you,” she admitted. “A few years ago, some of you were in New York. I helped burn down your home. And then, a few months ago, in Budapest, there was a shootout. I was there.”
No, I mean, in one of your other lives. I’ve been around a long time, yet this is the first time since ancient Greece that I’ve encountered you.
He wasn’t going to take issue with her confession. He wasn’t even going to acknowledge it as the travesty it was. The realization was staggering. “I always remain in seclusion until I’ve got the hate under control. And even then, I have to wait until I can pass myself off as someone else before I can rejoin society and the Hunters, which means waiting until the people who might have known me are dead.”
How do you know who they are, if most of your memories are taken? And how you are Haidee now, if you’ve changed your identity?
“I’ve come back so many times, and with so many years apart, I’m often able to reuse the same name. As for the rest, I keep records inside my cave, files detailing everything I’ve been through in one lifetime. I also send newspaper clippings, photos, that sort of thing, to a mailbox nearby.”
That’s smart. His sincerity warmed her as surely as his touch.
“Thank you.” She lifted her arm, drawing his attention to her tattoos. She’d never done this before, either. Never explained what the etchings meant. If she and Amun were ever going to make a relationship work, though—you want a full-blown relationship now?—one of them had to take that first, trusting step.
“See this?” she asked, ignoring her question to herself. With her free hand, she traced a circle around the only address amid the faces, phrases and dates.
His fingers curled around her wrist, slowly turning her arm, allowing him to study each of the surrounding tattoos. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over Micah’s name, as if he could wipe it away. Just then, she wished he could.
Yes, he said. I see.
“That’s where my mailbox is.”
At first, he didn’t respond. Then his breath emerged raggedly and he stiffened. Don’t tell me anything else about how you survive. Okay?
“O-okay,” she said, confused. “Why?” Because he’d feel obligated to tell his friends, but didn’t actually want them to know? Yes, she realized a moment later. That was exactly why.
The thought of possible betrayal should have sent her leaping out of his lap. Instead, she cuddled closer. He was still trying to take care of her.
Who’s the Bad Man? he asked, changing the subject.
Hearing a nickname she’d only ever thought jolted her. “How did you know about him?”
His thumb brushed the side of her jaw, and she shivered. I had a vision of you. Like the one we saw together, of you on the veranda. Except in this one, you were a little girl. Everyone else, I can read their minds, but you…I have only ever seen snatches of your life.