The Darkest Secret. Gena Showalter

tight.

      “Maybe we should break her hands, too,” Torin suggested, shocking the sweet loving hell out of Strider.

      He was usually the voice of semi-reason. “I don’t want her able to snap his neck or pluck his eyes while he’s defenseless.”

      Zacharel shrugged, drawing attention to the breadth of his shoulders—and making Strider grit his teeth in annoyance that he’d noticed. What was wrong with him? Men were not his personal preference. “She didn’t before,” the angel remarked.

      “That doesn’t mean she’ll be a tame house cat next time,” Torin repeated, mimicking Strider’s earlier you’re-a-moron tone.

      “That’s when she thought she could escape with him,” Strider forced himself to say. Because deep down, he still didn’t like the thought of hurting her. He lost more IQ points every day, he decided. “This time, she’ll know there’s no way she can free herself. She’ll know she’s helpless and needs to curry our favor.”

      Torin’s eyes widened. “You’re actually voting to leave her be? A Hunter? What’d she stab you with? A magic wand laced with Prozac?”

      “No, I’m not voting to leave her be.” Damn it! He had. “Fine. We’ll break her hands.” He wasn’t going to argue about her treatment. She deserved what she got, and he would just have to pacify himself with that knowledge.

      “One other thing to consider,” Zacharel said. “Amun fought to reach her, and all of my warriors were needed to subdue him. If you hurt her, I think he will object. And if he objects, I think many in this household will be injured. But again, I give the choice to you.”

      How magnanimous of him, Strider thought dryly. Zacharel had a gift for ripping your rationale apart with only a few words. But … Torin couldn’t force the issue now.

      Still. Prick that he was, Strider wasn’t exactly ready to back down yet, no matter that he was getting what he’d originally wanted. Zacharel irritated him, and part of him hoped to irritate the guy right back. At least garner some kind of reaction.

      “If we decided we wanted it done, would you be the one to do the breaking? “

      “Of course,” Zacharel said easily.

      Strider blinked at him. Not the answer he’d expected. Feet shuffling, maybe. A little waffling, for sure. “But you’re an angel. Aren’t you supposed to be defenders of humanity or something?”

      “She is not exactly human.”

      “Then what is she?” The question whipped from him, his eagerness to know unparalleled.

      “I do not have permission to tell you.”

      The eagerness deflated like a balloon, and Strider gnawed the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snarling. When Lysander finally crawled his way out of wild Bianka’s bed, Strider was going to have a long chat with him. He suspected daggers would be used between every word.

      “We won’t damage her,” Strider finally said. “And I have a few conditions. I have to be the one to escort her to Amun.” Just as soon as he could walk. He didn’t like the thought of anyone else putting their hands on her. She was—not his. “Also, I want a camera in the room.” The words emerged harder, harsher. “We’ll monitor what goes on twenty-five, eight.”

      Torin nodded, his expression half satisfied, half steeped in guilt. “I’ll have them placed and recording within the hour.”

      There were cameras strategically hidden throughout the entire fortress just in case Hunters snuck past their gate and traps, but not in any of the bedrooms. They’d all agreed. If the enemy could bypass everything else and enter one of the rooms, the Lords deserved to die. Privacy was that important.

      If Amun ever regained his senses completely, he’d be pissed as hell about the new cameras. But better his fury than his murder.

      Zacharel straightened from the post. “I’ll inform my men of what is to transpire.” With that, he turned with the fluid grace of a dancer and strode from the room.