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

by Gena Showalter

“I tried to tell you. You said you didn’t care, remember?” A muscle ticked below his eye. “You should have told me anyway.” “While you had barbells within your reach? Please. I’m Disease, not Stupid.” This

“Don’t speak. Just enjoy.” For a moment, he didn’t reply. “You dare tell me to hush?” he said finally, angry surprise in his tone. “You’re still talking,”

“Relax.” He smiled a slow, seductive smile. Practiced, even to her untrained eye. “You have nothing to fear from me, gorgeous. I’m all about the pleasure.” Fury and fright, sorrow 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.

“Women do not hit me. Women love me.”

“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.”

“Pin his fucking legs.” “Can’t. Got his arms.” “Knock him out, Paris.” “Sure. Want me to spew diamonds from my ass while I’m at it?”

“Uh, I’m happy to sit close to you and everything, but I had no idea you would like it so much,” Paris muttered. For the first time in hundreds of years, Maddox felt a blush creep into his cheeks. “It’s not for you.” “Thank the gods,” was his friend’s reply.

“You are mine, woman, and I am yours. Until you, my life was desolate. I existed, but I didn’t truly live. Now I live, even in my death.”

“Ahem,” she said, drawing everyone’s attention. All of them paused, peered at her. A few narrowed their eyes. She lifted her chin. “I need to talk to you,” she said, aiming the words at Reyes and Lucien. Reyes went back to his punching bag. “If you’re going to try to talk us out of killing Maddox tonight, save your breath.” “I’ll listen to you, sweet,” the tallest of the group said. Paris was his name. Blue eyes, pale skin, brown and black hair. Pure sex, Maddox had said, and she believed him. The words had been delivered as a warning to stay away. “Quiet,” Lucien said. “If Maddox heard you, he’d go for your head.” A blue-haired man faced her. “Want me to kiss them for you?” Kiss them? She’d only seen him once before. In the foyer, right after the bombing, but he hadn’t struck her as a kisser. He looked as if he wanted to kill them. Reyes growled, “You shut up, too, Gideon. And don’t cozy up to her. She’s taken. I’ll have to hurt you.” “I’d hate to see you try,” the now-grinning man said. She blinked. How odd. His words said one thing, his tone quite another. Well, whatever. “You’re right,” she told Reyes. “I don’t want you to kill Maddox tonight. I want you to—” oh God, are you really going to say this? “—kill me instead.”

“Sometimes what we want isn’t what we need,”

“Listen, Maddox… Don’t blame anyone but me for this, okay. You’ve suffered enough, too much, and as the woman who loves you, it’s up to me to save you. Know that I do it willingly, because you mean more to me than my own life.” She kissed him again, briefly this time, and stood. She turned to Lucien and Reyes. “I’m ready.”