She fought, but Paris held firm and dragged her from the room.
Maddox uttered an animalistic roar. Paris would seduce her. Strip her and taste her. She would not be able to resist; no woman could. “Let her go! Now!” He strained so fervently for freedom, a vessel burst in his forehead. His vision blackened completely.
“Get her out of here and keep her out.” Reyes stabbed Maddox once more, the fifth blow. “She’s making him more crazed than usual.”
Had to save her. Had to get to her. The sound of rattling chains blended with his panting as he struggled all the more.
“I’m sorry,” Reyes whispered again.
Finally, the sixth blow was delivered.
That’s when all of Maddox’s strength seeped from him. The spirit quieted, retreating to the back of his consciousness.
Done. It was done.
He lay on the bed, drenched in his own blood, unable to move or see. The pain didn’t leave him, nor did the burning. No, they intensified, more a part of him than his own skin. Warm liquid gurgled in his throat.
Lucien—he knew it was Lucien for he recognized the deceptively sweet scent of Death—knelt beside him and clasped his hand. That meant his demise was close, so torturously close.
But for Maddox, the true torment had yet to begin.
As part of his death-curse, he and Violence would spend the rest of the night burning in the pits of hell. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a cough emerged. More and more blood was rushing into his throat, choking him.
“In the morning, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do, my friend,” Lucien said, adding gently, “Die now. I’ll take your soul to hell, as required—but this time you might actually want to remain there, eh, rather than deal with the trouble you’ve brought into our home.”
“G-girl,” Maddox finally managed to say.
“Don’t worry,” Lucien said. Whatever questions he had, he kept to himself. “We won’t hurt her. She’ll be yours to deal with in the morning.”
“Untouched.” The request was odd, Maddox knew, because none of them had ever been possessive of a woman. Ashlyn, though… He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with her. He knew what he should do—and what he couldn’t. Both mattered little just then. Because, more than anything, he knew that he didn’t want to share.
“Untouched,” he insisted weakly when Lucien said nothing.
“Untouched,” Lucien agreed at last.
The scent of flowers intensified. A heartbeat of time passed, and then Maddox died.
CHAPTER FOUR
“WHO ARE YOU and how do you know Maddox?”
“Let me go!” Ashlyn wiggled and squirmed, trying to free herself from her captor’s iron grip. Her ankle throbbed, but she didn’t care. “They’re killing him in there.” Oh God. They were killing him, stabbing him over and over again. There’d been so much blood…such terrible screams. She gagged, remembering.
The voices might still be gone, but she felt more tormented than ever.
“Maddox will be fine,” the man told her. Maddox had broken his nose—she’d seen it—but it had snapped back into place almost immediately. There wasn’t even a trace of blood on his face. Now he removed one of his arms from her waist, only to caress her temple and gently brush aside a lock of hair. “You’ll see.”
“No, I won’t see,” she all but sobbed. “Let me go!”
“Much as I hate to deny you, I have to. You were causing him undue torment.”
“I was causing him undue torment? I wasn’t the one stabbing him. Now let me go!” Not knowing what else to do, she stilled and gazed up at him. “Please.” He had brilliant blue eyes and skin as pale as milk. His hair was a captivating blend of brown and black. He was handsome beyond anyone she’d ever seen before, too perfect to be real.
And all she wanted to do was escape him.
“Relax.” He smiled a slow, seductive smile. Practiced, even to her untrained eye. “You have nothing to fear from me, gorgeous. I’m all about the pleasure.”
Fury and fright, sorrow and frustration gave her strength and bravery; she slapped him. He’d just watched a man stab Maddox, and he’d done nothing to stop it. He’d just watched a man stab Maddox, and he dared to flirt with her. She had everything to fear from him.
He lost his grin and frowned down at her. “You hit me.” There was surprise in his tone.
She slapped him again. “Let. Me. Go!”
His frown deepened. He rubbed his cheek with one hand and held her still with the other. “Women do not hit me. Women love me.”
She raised her palm, ready to deliver another blow.
Sighing, he said, “Fine. Go. Maddox’s screams have stopped. I doubt you can upset him now, dead as he surely is.” His arm fell away from her.
Ashlyn didn’t give him time to change his mind. Suddenly free, she leapt into motion, racing down the hall despite the pain in her ankle. When she entered the room and saw the blood-soaked bed and motionless body, she skidded to an abrupt halt.
Dear God.
Maddox’s eyes were closed; his chest was utterly still.
A sob burst from her, and she covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Red-hot tears filled her eyes. “They killed you.” She raced to the bed and cupped Maddox’s jaw in her hands, tilting slowly. His eyelids didn’t flicker open. Breath didn’t seep from his nose. His skin was already cold and pale from loss of blood.
She was too late.
How could someone so strong and vital have been destroyed so callously?
“Who is she?” someone said.
Startled, she turned. Maddox’s murderers stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves. How could she have forgotten them? Every few seconds, they glanced in her direction. None of them spoke directly to her. They continued their conversation as if she didn’t matter. As if Maddox didn’t matter.
“We should take her to the city, but she’s seen too much,” a harsh voice said. The coldest, most uncaring voice she’d ever heard. “What was Maddox thinking?”
“All this time, I’ve lived with him and I never knew what he suffered,” an angelic-looking blond with green eyes said quietly. He was dressed entirely in black and wore gloves that stretched to his biceps. “Is it always like this?”
“Not always, no,” the one who had wielded the sword said. “He’s usually more accepting.” His black gaze was hard, his tone tormented. “The woman…”
Murderer! Ashlyn inwardly cried, wanting to attack him. All her life, her ability had revealed more bad than good, forcing her to listen to centuries of hateful accusations and even shrieks of terror. And the one man who’d given her any measure of peace, they’d brutally slain.
Do something, Darrow. She scrubbed her burning eyes with the back of her wrist and straightened to shaky legs. What could she do? They outnumbered her. They were stronger than she was.
An extremely tattooed man frowned over at her. He had military-cropped brown hair, two eyebrow rings and soft, full lips. He also had more muscles than a world champion power-lifter. He would have been handsome—in a serial-killer kind of way—if not for those tattoos. Even his cheeks were painted with violent images of war and weapons.
His eyes were the same shade of violet as Maddox’s,