I don’t know.
Before she could respond, Hate’s growl sharpened like the deadliest of blades. “I want what’s mine, and you will give it to me.”
Amun’s arm stretched out, a hard block that prevented her from moving forward—or Hate from launching at her directly. She almost pushed that arm aside, but remembered his command not to touch him. Damn it. She wanted to save him, not offer him up as a replacement dinner.
“Do you have no response, little Haidee? Dead Haidee?”
Even as Amun warned her to keep quiet, she said, “What if I decide to keep it?” She didn’t want the bastard’s attention riveted on her man. Hate could move too quickly, kill before his victim could even blink. Hell, Hate could walk through walls, as he’d already proven, and simply attack Amun from behind. “Forever.”
Damn it, Amun cursed. Are you trying to ring the starting bell? I just need a little more time. I’m having trouble reading him.
Clawed hands curled into fists, peeking out of the long sleeves of that dark robe. “You will give me what’s mine. Give it now.”
“No,” she said with false calm, “I don’t think I will.”
The wind whipped up, agitating the hem of his robe. “I’ll make you.”
“Will you really? Then why haven’t you already?”
Wind, wind, so much wind.
If she wasn’t careful, the bastard would attack no matter what she did or said. “Will I die if I do give you what you want?” she asked, pretending she was thinking it over.
Good. That’s good.
“Give. Me.”
He hadn’t answered her question, she noticed. “You know what? If you want that piece of the demon back so badly, you come over here and take it.”
What? Amun shouted, the wind rocking through the entire cavern.
Like I said, he can’t do it on his own or he would have already. He has to have my cooperation. I’m just reminding him of that.
Dark tension pulsed from that floating body. “Now, Haidee. Is that any way to speak to your lover?” For the first time in their sporadic, centuries-long acquaintance, Hate flipped back the hood of his robe, freeing his features from those too-thick shadows.
She gaped, horrified. He was grotesque. His skin was rotted, pitted, and most of his hair was missing. The few patches there were were thin and coarse, frizzed. Rather than eyes, he watched her through two black holes of despair.
“You have never been my lover,” she spat.
“Are you sure?” Before her eyes, his skin smoothed out, darkened. His hair grew, thick and black, glossy like silk. Beautiful brown eyes appeared in those fathomless holes.
Soon, beautiful Micah stood before her. Nearly identical to Amun, but without the sizzle of awareness.
“No,” she said, shaking her head violently. “No!” She would have known. Would have sensed. There would have been a clue. Something, anything. Right? Like the fact that he’d gotten it wrong. She and Micah had never been lovers. Not really.
He wasn’t the Micah you were with, sweetheart. Amun’s voice soothed her rising disgust.
“Yes,” Hate said. “I know you better than you know yourself, and knew you wanted this face. Therefore I gave you this face.”
He’s lying, I swear to you. But keep him talking. My demon is still rooting through his head and we’re close, so close to discovering how to defeat him.
“How did you find me?” she growled.
Hate glared at her, but he said, “The phone call, how else? Once I locked onto your voice, it was only a matter of hours before I found you, wherever you happened to be. I admit, I didn’t expect to find you here, reeking of another demon.”
“So how do you have Micah’s face? How long have you been Micah? Where is the real Micah?”
Familiar lips curled into a smile. “Perhaps I was your Micah all along.”
No, Amun said. He became Micah a few days after Strider grabbed you.
Was Secrets revealing the truth to him? Because she believed Amun. Always. Which meant she hadn’t kissed this creature, hadn’t completed missions with this creature. Only Micah. Her relief was palpable. “And now the human is…?”
“Dead? Yes. I killed him. And do you know what? While he lay dying, I showed him your face.” For a split second, she saw her own face staring over at her. Then he returned to Micah’s image. “I told him how much you despised him.”
That is the truth. I’m sorry.
Dead. Micah was dead. And he’d been killed so cruelly, thinking she loathed him. Even though she had never truly loved Micah, she found that she mourned his loss. He’d had many flaws, but he had fought for what he’d believed in.
“Have you nothing more to say, dead Haidee, before I kill this warrior, too? And I will, you know. I will force you to watch—unless you give me what I seek. Now, now, now.”
He would, too, which meant they’d run out of time. Her gaze shot to Amun. Have you learned the way to kill him without fighting him yet? Please, please, please.
A muscle jumped in Amun’s jaw, and several seconds ticked away. No.
That hesitation… He was lying. And suddenly, even without touching him, she knew what he was keeping from her, what he’d tried so hard to prevent, so desperate to find another way. And she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. Removing his demon completely will kill him the same way it would kill you. Won’t it?
His head whipped in her direction, his eyes giving the briefest flare before he refocused on Hate. Haidee. You cannot do that. Because there are only two possible outcomes. You’ll be stuck with all of Hate, perhaps losing yourself to him, or, when Hate is finally put back together, you’ll expunge him and die.
I don’t care. If I die, I’ll come back.
And I don’t want your hands on him.
She didn’t want her hands on him, either. Didn’t want to touch the being that had slaughtered her family. For Amun, though…anything.
“All right. I’m willing to give you what you want,” she said to Hate.
Haidee, Amun warned.
She continued anyway. “For me to return your demon to you, you’ll have to let me touch you. And as you know, I can’t touch you without hurting you. That tiny piece of the demon hurt you coming out, right, so it stands to reason it’ll hurt going back into you. So don’t fight me, okay?” Because she wasn’t going to give him the demon. She was going to take it. All of it.
No matter the consequences to herself.
A long while passed in silence, Hate rigid as he pondered whether or not to trust her. Finally, perhaps realizing he could not have what he wanted any other way, he nodded. “I will let you touch me.”
She experienced another beat of hope. Until—
“After I ensure your cooperation,” he finished. “Betray me, and your warrior dies. See?”
Hope, completely dashed. And there was no more time to think, to prepare. One second Hate was in front of them, the next he was behind them, just as she’d feared. He shoved her out of the way, careful not to connect with her skin, and slammed a mighty fist into Amun’s head. Her warrior stumbled to the side but was quick to right himself—and just as quick to spin, blade slashing out.
Hate anticipated the move and dematerialized, reappearing behind Amun. Again. The creature had no weapons, but then, he’d never needed them before, so why would he now? He always used his claws. He slashed those claws at Amun, scraping the back of the warrior’s neck.
Amun howled inside his head, no sound escaping his lips. He spun, launched himself at Hate a second time. That black robe swished as the creature danced out of the way, and an eerie laugh filled the cave.