The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(90)

Reyes held up the walkie-talkie. They listened to it for several long, agonizing moments, but it offered nothing except static - even when they requested an audience.

"Damn this! I don't want to return to the fortress empty-handed, but I don't know what else to do." Reyes sounded tortured by the thought. "Midnight approaches."

All Maddox knew was that he needed Ashlyn safe and whole and in his arms. Gaze still on the heavens, he splayed his arms wide. "Help us," he and the spirit shouted as one. "Help us. Please."

Nothing. The heavens did not open up and pour out a tide of rain. Lightning did not strike. All remained as it was. The stars twinkled from their inky perches. His eyes narrowed. When this was over, he and those uncaring, selfish gods were going to have a reckoning. Whatever had been done to Ashlyn, he would mete out to them. A thousandfold. "Let us circle the area one last time."

Reyes nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, Reyes and Maddox were exiting a chapel they had quietly searched when they spotted an old man across the street. He was dirty, unkempt, wearing only a thin, hole-infested coat. And he was coughing. A bone-deep, spit-up-a-lung cough.

Maddox recalled the night Torin had come into this very city - a city much different than it was today. Huts rather than buildings. Mud streets rather than cobblestone. The people had been the same, though. Fragile, weak, unsuspecting.

Torin had removed his glove and caressed the cheek of a woman begging for his touch. A woman he had longed for from afar for years. His resistance had crumbled and he'd hoped, just once, that someone would survive. That love would conquer all.

An hour later, the woman had started coughing. Just like the old man was now.

An hour after that, the rest of the village had followed suit. In the days that followed, most of the townspeople had died terrible deaths, their skin pockmarked and every orifice of their bodies bleeding.

Maddox cursed under his breath. Ashlyn was out there somewhere, with the very Hunters who had caused this new epidemic - for that's what it would be. An epidemic.

Violence sank fully into the shadows of his mind, as if it respected that Maddox needed to take charge. He and Reyes crossed the street with heavy footfalls, closing the distance between themselves and the old man.

Most of the area was still deserted, people tucked safely in their homes. Tomorrow, they would not be safe even there. "I need to speak with you," Maddox called to the old man.

Coughing, he stopped. His eyes were fevered as he gazed up at Maddox. When he saw the warrior, he gave a start. "You're one of them." He doubled over from another cough. "The angyals. My parents told me bedtime stories about you. I've wanted to meet you my entire life."

Maddox barely heard him. "You might have been in contact with a group of men. Strangers to the city. They might have been in a hurry and would have had tattoos on their wrists. They might have had five women with them." He tried to temper his voice, to keep his fury and concern and desperation to a minimum. It would not do to scare the old man into a heart attack.

Although, that might be merciful. The death that would soon claim him would not be a kind one. Yes, Lucien was going to be a busy man.

Reyes described the Hunters he had seen at the club, then described the women.

"Saw the little blonde you're talking about," the man said. Cough. "There were three women with her, but I don't recall what they looked like."

Danika, then. But who had been with her? Her family, most likely. That meant Ashlyn was... no. No! She was alive. She was fine. "Where did they go?" he gritted out, unable to temper his reaction this time. Urgency rushed through him. "Tell me. Please."

Confusion flitted over the man's weathered face and he wobbled, nearly falling. Coughed. "Were running down that street, chased by someone tall. A man." He pointed, coughed. "Nearly toppled me over."

"Which direction did they travel?" Reyes demanded.

"North."

"Thank you," Reyes said. "Thank you."

The old man coughed and collapsed to the ground. Though loath to lose any more time, Maddox crouched beside him. "Sleep. We... bless you."

The human died with a smile, as Maddox never had. Ashlyn, he silently called. I am coming for you.

Ashlyn awoke with a gasp, ice-cold water dripping from her face. A moment passed, her ragged breaths the only sound, before she oriented herself. Her shirt was plastered to her skin, nearly ice. Her watery gaze was hazy at first, but the room soon came into view. Stone walls, dark, scuffed. Bars on one side that looked into a narrow stone hallway. Chains hung in the far corner.

Don't panic, don't panic. Next she saw a familiar thinly lined face. At one time, McIntosh would have been a welcome sight. Now, she felt hate pour through her.

Tossing the now-empty bucket aside, he sat on a wooden stool in front of her. She was cuffed to a chair, arms stretched behind her, she realized, and tried to pull free. The cold metal dug into her skin, but the cuffs didn't open.

"Where am I?" she demanded.

"Halal Foghaz." His voice was rougher than usual. Scratchy.

Prison of the Dead.

"Some of the worst criminals in Budapest's history were kept here until they revolted and slaughtered their guards. The place was closed down. Until a few weeks ago."

Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

"Relax," he told her. He was pale, his eyes rimmed with red. He coughed. "I'm not the dragon you always feared when I read you those fairy tales."