The Darkest Lie. Gena Showalter

trying another strategy. Gideon could dig. He felt just as guilty about leaving his boys behind as he did about leaving Scarlet in this cell. They needed him, and if they were hurt while he was gone, he would completely flip his lid.

      “I’m not thinking five now,” he compromised.

      “Four.”

      “No deal.”

      Grinning, Strider nodded. “Good.”

      So. He had four days to soften Scarlet. He’d fought more difficult battles in less time, he was sure. Funny that he couldn’t recall them at the moment, though.

      Hell, maybe he just suffered from selective memory loss. Maybe fights and Scarlet—whom he’d probably fought with a lot, since she was opinionated, bossy and mouthy as shit—were the biggest casualties of that loss.

      He would’ve liked to remember the sex, though. Mind-blowing. He just knew it.

      “I’ll inform the others,” Strider said. “But in the meantime, I’ll drive you to wherever you want to take her.”

      “Sure thing.” Gideon finally inserted the key and unlocked Scarlet’s cell, the door swinging open with a whine. “I’m not gonna drive her myself. I want everyone to know where we’re going.”

      Strider gave another growl, this one just as frustrated but now laced with anger. “Stubborn jackass. I have to know you made it safely to wherever you’re going or I won’t be able to concentrate enough to kill anyone. And you know I’m on a strict, at-least-one-Hunter-a-day diet.”

      “That’s why you won’t be getting a phone call from me.” Gideon approached Scarlet’s still-sleeping form. She no longer surrounded herself in that impermeable darkness while she slept. As if she wanted Gideon to always be able to see her. As if she trusted him not to hurt her.

      At least, that’s what he told himself.

      “Gods. I can’t believe you talked me into this. Did I tell you already that you’re a shithead?”

      “Nope.” Gently he scooped Scarlet into his arms.

      Sighing, she rubbed her cheek against his heart. A heart that was now beating against his ribs like a sledgehammer. She must have liked the erratic rhythm, because she cuddled closer. Nice.

      She was five-nine to his six-three, slender, but leanly muscled. She had refused the clothes he’d offered her, so she wore the T-shirt and jeans Aeron had found her in.

      Gideon inhaled deeply again, but this time there was no guilt. She smelled of floral-scented soap, and it consumed him. What had she smelled like all those years ago, when they’d supposedly been married? Flowers, like now? Or something else? Something more exotic? Something as dark and sensual as she was? Something he would have enjoyed sucking into his mouth as he tongued her from head to toe?

      Head out of gutter. Now wasn’t the time to indulge such thoughts.

      He turned with her clutched tightly to his chest, a treasure he would protect while they were outside the fortress walls. Even from his friends. He knew he was contradicting himself, thinking of her in such romantic terms and so ferociously, when his intentions were neither pure nor honorable, but he couldn’t help himself. Stupid lust.

      Strider’s expression was wary, but accepting, silently telling him no defensive moves would be necessary. “Go. And be careful.”

      Gods, he loved his friends. They supported him no matter what. They always had.

      “By the way. You look like you’re a cat, and you just found a bowl of cream,” Strider said with a shake of his head. “That’s not comforting. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, do you?”

      Maybe not. Because he hadn’t looked forward to something this intensely in a long time, and he probably should’ve been wary. Having his idiocy pointed out, though…“I’m not showing you a finger in my mind. Do you know that?”

      “Yeah, I know. It’s your index finger and you’re telling me I’m number one.”

      He laughed. Something like that.

      “Four days,” his friend reminded him. “Or I come find you.”

      Gideon blew him a kiss.

      Strider rolled his eyes. “You wish. But listen. I’ll be praying for you to return to us alive. And with the girl. And that she’s alive, too. Oh, and that you’re satisfied with what you learn. And that she satisfied you in other ways, so you’ll forget about her like you’ve done all the other women in your life.”

      Okay. That was a lot of prayers. “Thanks. A lot. I really mean that. So when didn’t you become a priest? And when did the gods decide they liked answering us?” Strider had never wasted his time on prayers before, and the gods actually adored ignoring their requests.

      No, not true, he corrected himself. Cronus, the newly crowned Titan king, now liked to visit the fortress without an invite and make all kinds of shitty demands Gideon and the others were forced to obey.

      Like killing innocent humans. Like choosing to save either your woman or your friend. Like begging to be told where your friend’s spirit had been sent when the friend in question had had his head cleaved from his body. Yeah, that had happened. Aeron had lost his head to a warrior angel and at Cronus’s behest, Gideon had begged (in his way) to know where the man’s spirit resided, tears streaming down his face. Actually, all of them had begged and sobbed like babies.

      But in the end, Cronus had still refused to tell them. Because they’d needed a lesson in humility, the bastard had said.

      Then, of course, Aeron had returned on his own. Or rather, with his sweet Olivia’s help. He’d been restored to his body, minus his demon, and once again lived here in the fortress. But Gideon had yet to forgive Cronus for his disregard, so prayers weren’t something he would be offering anytime soon.

      “Priest.” Strider’s head slanted thoughtfully. Of course, he ignored Gideon’s questions. Him, though, Gideon easily forgave. “I like it. I mean, it’s practically true. I have sent many women through the gates of heaven.”

      Hadn’t they all?

      And Scarlet would be no different, he assured himself.

      Grinning now, Gideon carried his woman away.

      Chapter Two

      SCARLET AWOKE with a jolt. But then, she always did. The moment her demon’s required time in dreamland ended, awareness would slam into her brain, as if she’d been hooked to a generator and the switch had been flipped.

      Panting, sweating, she sat up, wild gaze roving though not really seeing. Yet. The screams she and her demon had garnered from their victims were already fading, but the images they’d projected into those sleeping minds remained in hers. Crackling flames, melting flesh, black ash wafting and dancing in the breeze.

      The night’s terror du jour had been fire.

      She couldn’t control the demon while she slept, as he searched out anyone he could find, wreaking what havoc he could. She could, however, make suggestions, urging him to attack certain people in certain ways. And he usually rushed to do so. Not that she’d made any suggestions lately.

      Ever since the Lords of the Underworld had captured her, she’d been operating on autopilot, her thoughts consumed with one warrior in particular. The blue-haired, gorgeous, utterly frustrating Gideon.

      Why didn’t he remember her?

      As always, recalling his selective amnesia had every muscle in her body tensing on bone. Her hands fisted; her teeth gnashed together, little pains shooting through her jaw. But most of all, a savage need to kill someone, anyone, consumed her.

       Anger isn’t good for those around you. Calm down. Think of something else.

      She