The Darkest Pleasure (Lords of the Underworld #3)(85)

No response. Not even a nod, but Amun changed directions.

"Two minutes more," Strider said, "and then the real fun begins. I doubt Lucien and his crew can kill them all outside."

Sabin flicked him a glance. "Why two minutes? How do you know?"

"Internal radar."

Before the last word left Strider's mouth, the sound of glass breaking echoed through the house. Sabin and Strider shared a grin. "Your radar sucks. Begins now, I'm thinking." He palmed his other gun, the metal a welcome weight in his hand. "West hallway for you, my friend. I'll take east."

Strider nodded, turned on his heel.

"Be careful." Sabin rushed forward, steps eating up the distance. Another window shattered, this one just ahead of him. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Little late, Torin, he thought. A moment later, three men swinging from rappel wires sailed through the now paneless window on a gust of wind.

His hands whipped up, wrists crisscrossed, his fingers hammering at the triggers as his arms moved, left going right, right going left. Boom, boom, boom. The men jerked, screamed and then sagged onto the floor.

Seeing their dying bodies, a sense of satisfaction filled him. Yet blended with it was the impatient rumble of his demon. Doubt wanted in on the action.

"Have fun," he mumbled, and could almost picture the demon rubbing its gnarled hands together in glee.

His mind was ripped open as the spirit reached across the mental plane, searching for weak thoughts to pounce upon. Well used to the experience, Sabin didn't even grimace. Good thing. The distraction could have cost him.

Two other Hunters flew through the window. He shot them as quickly and as effortlessly as he had the others. This was his life - this had always been his life. Fighting, warring, killing. From his earliest memory, he'd known enemies were not to be tolerated. That's why he'd been created, after all: fighting, warring, killing. And that's damn sure how he would take his last breath when he finally reached the end of the line. Fighting, warring, killing.

A rustle sounded behind him.

Spinning, he fired in quick succession. Two more Hunters fell, collapsing forward, shouting in pain. One of their hands reached out and touched his boot. A grenade rolled from those now-lifeless fingers. The pin had already been pulled. Shit. Quick as a blink, Sabin grabbed it and hurled it out the window, praying he didn't hurt his friends. But better it detonate outside than in.

"Fire in the hole," he shouted.

Boom.

So much for preventing explosions. The foundation of the fortress shook. Fire and smoke, screams and the pound of footsteps erupted. A wave of heat billowed into the hallway, blistering his skin. Debris whipped inside, too, and a detached tree limb slapped his face before hitting the floor.

Sabin made to spring over the bodies, only then realizing that one of the Hunters hadn't yet died. The man managed to raise his gun, smiling as he muttered, "No mercy. Isn't that your creed?" He squeezed off a shot.

The bullet slammed into Sabin's thigh, stinging. "Motherf*cker!" Close-range shots were a bitch, and he knew immediately the muscle was blown to pieces. Grimacing, he unloaded a round into the Hunter's already broken body, the sound so loud Sabin's ears rang. "Yes," he spat. "That's my creed."

The man gasped his last breath a second later as blood trickled from his mouth.

You're too weak, Sabin heard Doubt whisper to one of the Hunters outside. The Lords will kill you. Most likely you won't survive to see another sunrise.

As clearly as if the Hunter were standing next to him, Sabin heard the man's reply. No. No. I'm strong. I'll kill them.

You're practically pissing your pants in fear. Fear they can sense. They'll attack you like an animal. What if they cut you up and mail your bones to your family?

Used to the stream of doubts, Sabin tuned out the whispers. His head turned left and right, left and right as he backed into the corner beside the broken window. A quick peek out the window - no Hunters about to swing inside. A glance down the hallway - no sign of Hunters there, either.

Sucking in a breath, he gazed down at his wound, his pants already glued to his skin, a bloody hole staring up at him. Fucking great. He reached down, probed the entrance and nearly screamed. It was worse than he'd thought. Twisting his wrist, reaching behind, he felt the back of his leg. There was another hole. Thankfully, the bullet had left him. Okay. Maybe not so bad, after all.

He ripped a strip of cloth from the hem of his shirt and tied it around his thigh, stanching the blood flow.

How are your men doing? Lucien's? You should hope no one dies. The Hunters outnumber you so it's possible -

"Shut up," he commanded the demon who was trying to turn the doubts on him.

Most of them have trained to keep their minds blank, Doubt whined. Only a few were open to me and they're now dead.

The demon needed to hear the thoughts of its victims before it could attack. "Poor baby," Sabin muttered. "But if you get me killed, you'll lose everything. Become crazed. Eventually be sucked back into the box."

The back of his skull rattled as the demon jolted in horror. No box. No box!

"Quiet down, then." Blessedly, the creature obeyed.

Outside, Sabin could hear the pop and whiz of gunfire, the pained gasps of humans. The slide of steel through skin and bone. He glanced into the night, remaining in the shadows as much as possible. He saw the glint of silver - blades, throwing stars - in the moonlight, arcing through the air before connecting with a target.