“Pain. Death. The usual suspects. And now, I’m sorry to say, I must continue distracting you.”
Strider cocked a brow. “You’re sorry to say?”
A confident nod. “You’re not really a bad sort and I actually like the redhead. She’s feisty.”
“She’s mine.”
A grin as slow and thick as dripping honey. “You have to survive first.” That was the only warning Strider had. Lazarus sprinted forward, a blur the naked eye couldn’t see.
Fists once again hammered into him, the impact throwing him in a tailspin of pain. He rotated when he hit, uncaring that he could no longer breathe as long as he could protect his face.
Win!
At least the demon wasn’t screaming anymore. Strider scanned the snow and bodies for weapons, darting left and right as he did so, moving around the Harpies, hoping the warrior wouldn’t punch them just to reach him. Dude reminded Strider of Sabin, who thought men and women were equals in battle and didn’t discriminate when it came to killing. But Juliette was his mistress and she’d probably forbidden him from hurting her sisters.
Finally. He spotted broadswords. Not his own, but a Harpy’s. He slid them from their sheathes at her back.
“Hey,” she squawked when she realized what he’d done.
He darted away before she could claw him for the theft. His boots slipped on the ice. Finding his balance proved difficult, but he kept moving, listening for any telltale sounds that might give away Lazarus’s location.
Feminine huffs—directly behind him. That meant Harpies were being shoved aside, rather than danced around. Such an obvious mistake, he thought. Lazarus was too good a fighter for that. Did he want to lose?
Damn it, Strider didn’t want to like him.
Spinning when he reached an unoccupied stretch, Strider went low. He stretched out his arms, the blades extended. Contact. Lazarus jumped, but he was too late. The metal sliced into his ankles, hobbling him. He fell and fell hard, the ice offering no cushion from impact.
With Defeat cheering inside Strider’s head—won, won, won—he pinned the warrior exactly as he had been pinned, knees to shoulders. Lazarus didn’t resist.
“That hurt.”
“Sorry.” Strider slammed the sword tips beside the man’s temples. “And thank you,” he said, fighting the wave of pleasure victory had brought. It would distract him.
Eyes bright with surprise peered up at him.
“What, you didn’t think I’d realize you’d thrown the fight? Give me some credit, at least.” Once again, he used the ancient language of the gods.
Then that wave of winning-induced pleasure blasted free of his restraints. He couldn’t hold it back a second longer. He shivered and moaned right along with Defeat.
Sparks of ecstasy ignited in his veins, heating him up. Not to the same degree that making love with Kaia had, but enough to cause him to spring instant, embarrassing, wood.
Before Lazarus could reply, the man’s surprise gave way to amusement and the warrior winged a brow in question.
“Not for you,” Strider said, flushing.
“Thank the gods for that.”
“So.” Let’s get the rest of this over with. “You heal quickly?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry for this, but I need five minutes alone and I can’t have you coming after me.” He reclaimed the swords, jerked them from the ice, then slammed them into Lazarus’s shoulders. “Do me a solid and stay down.”
A grunt, a stiffening of that big body. Boos all around him.
Strider pushed to his feet and moved out of striking distance, already scanning the vista. Harpies gaped at him, even backed away. A few of the braver ones offered him pinkie waves and seductive grins, open invitations to bed them.
He caught Sabin’s gaze. Lysander was beside him, golden wings arching over his shoulders. Despite the cold, the two were sweating. They must have heard the commotion and rushed here.
He motioned to the mountain at his left with a tilt of his chin and they nodded. While Lazarus had been pounding his face in, he’d kept an eye on Kaia. She’d climbed that mountain and disappeared inside a cavern.
He stalked forward, determined. Within a few steps, the consorts were flanking his sides. Along the way, he thought he smelled smoke. And burning flesh. Panic suddenly infused him and he looked up. The panic mixed with dread. Dark smoke wafted from the cavern.
Shit! No time to climb. “Get me up there,” he demanded. “Now.”
Lysander caught his urgency. He gripped Strider under the arms, wings extending, legs bending to push. They shot into the air and the angel dropped him onto the ledge before heading down to repeat the process with Sabin.
“Kaia!” Strider rushed inside, coughing as the smoke thickened and burned his throat. He waved his hand in front of his stinging eyes, trying to see. Then he was in the center of the destruction, and there was no reason to wave away the darkness. He could see just fine.
At least twenty-five bodies were on fire, flames still crackling from them, illuminating the area. They were so charred, he couldn’t tell if they were male or female. His heart nearly burst from his chest, his blood heating with more of that panic. She couldn’t be one of the dead. She just couldn’t.
He would have failed her. He couldn’t have failed her. He needed her. Loved her. “Kaia,” he said past the lump growing in his throat. “Kaia, baby doll. Where are you, love?”
“What the hell?” Sabin demanded behind him.
“Great Deity,” Lysander breathed.
Strider ignored them, bending to study the bodies closest to him. He was shaking as he reached out and removed the dagger clutched in that blackened hand. The hilt was so hot his skin immediately blistered, but he didn’t release it. He didn’t recognize it, either. Okay. Okay, then. This one wasn’t her.
A whimper echoed a few feet ahead of him. Female. Pain-filled. Familiar. No sweeter sound. He was on his feet in an instant, racing toward it. Then he saw her, and ground to an abrupt halt. His stomach twisted into a hundred sharp knots, each one cutting at him.
They’d staked her to the wall.
As relieved as he was that she lived, he wanted to die. Swords were anchored into her shoulders, pinning her to the rocky wall. Blood dripped down her naked body, covering her with crimson streaks of pain. If they had raped her…
With only the thought, Strider felt ready to open himself up to his demon completely, to let his wicked half reign, to beat every citizen in the world to pulp.
Rage later. See to her now. One stomping step, two.
Flames crackled on his shirt, burning the material, singeing his skin. He stopped and patted himself down. When that didn’t help, he ripped the fabric over his head and tossed it aside. Only then did the fire die.
“What happened—”
“Get out,” Strider growled, and Sabin shut his mouth. “Both of you. Now.” She would not want anyone to see her like this.
Silence. Reluctant footsteps. Strider studied his woman all the while. Her eyes were black, the whites completely gone, but interspersed throughout that midnight canvas were the same flames that had singed him. They crackled angrily.
“Kaia,” he said gently.
She struggled against the swords, gave another whimper.
“Be still, baby doll. Okay?” He dared another step closer. A mistake. His jeans caught fire next. Again he stopped. This time he didn’t bother patting himself down, he just cut the offending material from his body, leaving him in underwear and boots.
“Baby doll, listen to me. Okay?” he said, trying again. He dropped the blade, lest she think he meant to hurt her. “Please listen to me. I want to help you. I’m going to help you, whether you want me to or not. Please don’t kill me until I get you out of here.”
He expected Defeat to kick up a few protests about that litany of “pleases.” Maybe consider it a challenge. The demon remained silent, however. Still afraid of Kaia? Or mourning what had been done to her after the pleasure they’d experienced in her arms?