The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(21)

"Your Maddox?" Something fiery flickered in his eyes. "Yours?"

She lifted her chin, refusing to answer.

Lips inching into what might have been a smile, he held out one arm and beckoned her over. "Come. We will clean you up, warm you and feed you. Then I will...explain."

That hesitation made it clear he wouldn't be explaining anything. He had something else in mind and his tone suggested that something would be intense. She remained in place, scared to the core. "Let me see your stomach," she said, stalling for time.

His fingers gave a swift jerk. "Come."

A part of her wanted to go to him, to follow wherever he would lead. Because he did look like Maddox, and whatever else Maddox was, he'd still been the best thing to ever happen to her. But once again she held her ground. "No."

"Come."

She shook her head. "I'm staying here until you show me your stomach."

"I won't hurt you, Ashlyn." The words not yet echoed from the walls - unsaid, but there all the same. Even more unnerving, the sound of her name on his tongue was decadent, as if he couldn't help but savor it. And desire another taste. "Ashlyn," he repeated.

Another shiver raked her and she frowned. He shouldn't desire her, and she damn sure shouldn't desire him. "You can't be my Maddox. You just can't."

That intense, fiery something flashed over his face again. "That's twice now you've claimed me as yours."

"I-I'm sorry." She didn't know what else to say. Maddox had saved her from the voices, for a little while at least. She had watched him die. They were connected. He was hers.

"Don't be sorry." He sounded almost tender just then. "I am Maddox," he insisted. "Now come."

"No."

Tired of her refusal, the man closed the rest of the distance between them. He smelled of wanton heat and primitive rituals performed in the moonlight. "I'll carry you over my shoulder if I must, just as I did last night. If I'm forced to do it, however, I cannot guarantee you'll make it out of this cell with your clothes on. Understand?"

Oddly, his words were heady when they should have been frightening. Comforting when they should have been intimidating. Only Maddox knew the way she'd been carted. He'd switched her to his arms before entering the chateau and yelling at his murderers.

"Please," she found herself saying. "Just show me your stomach." The more she demanded to see it, the more she wanted to. Would she find stitched wounds? Smooth skin?

Would there be any indication that this man had been stabbed over and over again?

At first he gave no reaction to her request. Then, finally, he sighed. "It appears I am the one who will not make it out of here with my clothes on." He reached for the hem of his black tee and slowly... slowly... raised it.

Despite her insistence, Ashlyn couldn't yet work up the courage to tear her attention from his intense violet gaze. She told herself it was because his eyes were so beautiful, so mesmerizing that she was lost in them, drowning. But she knew that was only half the truth. If he was stitched, was scabbed... if this was Maddox...

"You wanted to look. So look," the man commanded, both impatient and resigned.

Do it. Look. Inch by inch, her gaze lowered. She saw a corded neck and a wildly ticking pulse. A collarbone mostly covered by black cloth. She saw one of his thick hands fisting that cloth right above his heart. His nipples were tiny, brown and hard. His skin was that otherworldly bronze she'd admired in the forest, and he was stacked with rope after rope of muscle.

And then she saw them. Six scabbed-over wounds. Not stitched, but red and angry. Painful.

She sucked in a shocked breath. Almost in a trance, she reached out. Her fingertip brushed the scab that slashed through his navel. The healing sore was rough and warm and abraded her palm. Electric tingles rushed up her arm.

"Maddox," she gasped out.

"Finally," he muttered, backing away as if she were a bomb, detonation imminent. He dropped the shirt, blocking the injuries from her view. "Are you satisfied now? I'm here, and I'm very real."

He - no, not "he." Maddox. Not his twin, not a dream. Not a trick. He'd been stabbed; the evidence was there, those six hellish wounds. He'd had no heartbeat, no breath. And now he stood before her.

"How?" she asked, needing to hear him say it. "You're not an angel. Does that mean you're a demon? That's what some people have said about you and your friends."

"The more you speak, the more you hang yourself. Will you follow me now?"

Would she? Should she? After that "hang yourself" remark..."Maddox, I - " What?

"I showed you my stomach. In return, you said you would come with me."

Did she really have any other choice? "Fine. I'll follow you."

"Do not try to run. You will not like what happens." Motions fluid, he wheeled around and marched out of the cell.

Ashlyn paused only a moment before limping after him, doing her best to stay close on his heels. Her hands itched to touch him again, to feel the life pulsing beneath his skin. "You never answered my question," she said. The farther they walked from the cell, the more the cold air gave way to warmth. "If you are a demon, I can take it. Really. I won't be grossed out or anything." She hoped. "I just have to know so I can prepare myself."