The Darkest Night by Gena Showalter Page A

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, but they lacked any hint of warmth or emotion. Blood dripped down his nose as he rubbed his chin with two fingers. “We have to do something with the girl.” That cold, emotionless voice again. “I don’t like her being here.”
    “Even so, Aeron, we aren’t to touch her.” This speaker had inky hair that was like a dark halo around his head and different-colored eyes—one brown, one blue. His face was a mass of scars. At first glance, he was hideous. At second, there was an almost hypnotic quality to him, enhanced by the scent of roses drifting from him. “Tomorrow morning she’ll be in the same condition she is now. Breathing and clothed.”
    “Just like Maddox, taking away our fun.”
    The wry voice came from behind her and she yelped,