First, he could read all minds but hers? That was kind of…disappointing. She wished he could see all of her, know all of her. If anyone could help her sift through her confused emotions and conflicting desires, it was this man. “The Bad Man was the first Hunter I ever met. He found me after my parents were killed.”
Blood, a river between her mother and her father. Both helpless…dead.
Oh, no. No way in hell would she allow that hated memory to resurface now. “He saved my life after…someone like you tried to kill me. He thought I’d come in handy.” She laughed bitterly. “He was right, he just didn’t know it. I was nearly a teenager when he sold me in the slave market after failing to train me. But after I died the first time, I remembered his lessons and that’s how I later hooked up with the Hunters.”
And that’s when you helped kill Baden? Simply asked, with no hint of his emotions.
Goodbye, sweet, stolen moment. If any topic could ruin their ease with each other, it was that one. Still. She nodded, tears once again burning her eyes.
Who did we take from you that drove you to hate us so deeply?
Again, there was no emotion in his voice. Not anger, not condemnation. Far more stunning, his question offered her absolution. A justifiable reason for her actions. He would never know what that meant to her, how profoundly that affected her.
She couldn’t help herself. She pressed a kiss on the pulse thumping at the base of his neck. “My parents. My sister. My…husband.”
Husband?
“Yes.”
His arms tightened around her. Before, you mentioned only one of us had done the deed. Do you know…do you know which of us it was?
That hesitancy…he feared he was the culprit, she realized. “I did not see the face of the one who killed my parents and sister, but I do know it wasn’t you or any of your friends. He was a demon-possessed warrior, though. As for my husband…” She sighed. “I’m not sure exactly who was responsible, but I do remember seeing your friends the night of his death.”
He tipped up her chin and met her gaze, his black eyes deep pools of regret. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. Earlier he had offered her absolution, and with her silence, she now did the same for him.
He nodded in understanding, in thanks, and released her chin. His hand slid into her hair, his fingers combing through the strands. Do you know the story of how I came to be demon-possessed?
“I think so. You and the others stole and opened Pandora’s box, unleashing the demons that were trapped inside. The gods decided to punish you, and rightly so,” she couldn’t help but add, “by bonding each of you with a demon of your own.”
That’s right.
“Why’d you steal the box, anyway?”
Zeus asked Pandora to guard it rather than asking us, and we were…upset.
“Insulted, you mean.” Men and their pride, sometimes the reason nations fell.
Yes. We wanted to teach the god king a lesson, show him our worth.
“And did you?”
Hardly. We showed him exactly how stupid we were.
She fought a grin. At least he saw and accepted the truth.
He lifted a lock of her hair to his nose and breathed deeply, a moan of satisfaction drifting through her mind. The reason I brought up the box was to tell you that there were more demons locked inside than there were warriors to punish for unleashing the evil. Those that remained were placed in the prisoners of Tartarus. An immortal prison, he explained.
Ah. She knew where he was going with this. “So the man who killed my parents and sister might have been released from that prison.”
Or escaped. Yes.
“And whoever killed my husband could have escaped, as well?”
That, I don’t know. I wish otherwise, but… If you saw us that night, I’d say there’s a ninety-nine percent chance we were responsible.
No excuses, just brutal honestly. With countless lifetimes steeped in mystery, she appreciated such unvarnished probabilities. She kissed his pulse a second time, letting him know the admission hadn’t propelled her into a rage. His sandalwood scent consumed her senses, reminding her of their shower. Which reminded her of their almost-kiss. Which reminded her she was in his arms and had only to stretch up to press their lips together.
Have you seen the man who—have you seen him since?
She blinked. Concentrate. While she’d been opening the doors to her body’s desires, Amun had been focused on the being responsible for her family’s demise, still determined to look out for her. “A few times,” she hedged. More like a hundred.
When? Where?
“Each time, just before I die,” she admitted. Always a prelude to the end of her current existence, as if he poisoned whatever life she’d managed to build for herself. But as many times as she’d seen him, she’d never fought him. And she’d wanted to fight him, so badly. He would simply reveal himself, that dark robe dancing around his ankles, his feet not quite touching the floor. He would watch her, hate dripping from him. He would curse at her. But he would never touch her or allow her to touch him. Then, he would disappear.
I need to think on this, Amun said.
Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Once again Amun lifted her up, but this time he placed her on that bed of petals. Instantly she mourned the loss of his arms, his heat. I need to find you something to eat. I was afraid the snakes would harm you, even in their deaths, so I brought none of their meat with us.
Always taking care of her, her Amun. “I wish that stupid angel had packed a few protein bars and bottles of water,” she said, snappier than she’d intended.
Beside her, the pack in question plumped up with a whoosh. She and Amun shared a confused glance. Frowning, he leaned over, unzipped the panels and reached inside. He withdrew a handful of protein bars.
His frown deepened as he upended the bag and dumped out the contents: more protein bars, followed by bottles of water. Just like that, his frown softened with hints of relief and wonder.
Ask for something else, he commanded.
Haidee lumbered to her knees, not daring to hope. “I wish the pack had sandwiches and fruit.”
The sides of the pack expanded a second time before sandwich after sandwich fell on top of the bars, each encased in a clear plastic wrapper. And when those stopped raining down, apples and oranges began to drop and roll. Haidee’s mouth watered.
“I want wet wipes and a change of clothes. I want weapons and toothpaste and a toothbrush—” they’d left those behind “—and a first aid kit for Amun’s wounds.” As she spoke, each of the requested items joined the pile.
Giddy, she sorted through the food, picking out what she wanted to eat. Once she had a ham sandwich and apple in hand, she practically inhaled them. Then another sandwich, then an orange. She drained two bottles of water. Every bite, every drop was heaven. And when she finally finished, too full to shovel in another crumb, she cleaned herself as best she could with the wipes, brushed her teeth—God, that felt good—and finally allowed herself to glance over at Amun. Breath caught in her throat.
The firelight caressed him lovingly, bestowing a golden tint on his dark skin. A tint she hadn’t noticed before. He was watching her, a strange, bemused expression on his beautiful face, and a half-eaten apple in his hand. Obviously he’d cleaned up, too, since his face was no longer streaked with dirt.
“Let me bandage your wounds,” she said quietly.