The Darkest Surrender. Gena Showalter

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СКАЧАТЬ the turmoil. What had the gorgeous troublemaker done?

      “Oh, and one other thing. Bianka thinks this is a trap.” Gwen angled Sabin’s head up and sank into his lap. Automatically the warrior wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “She thinks the Skyhawks, Kaia especially, will be targets, everyone out for revenge.”

      Kaia … a target for every Harpy with a grudge … Now his blood heated for a different reason, the need to rage an inferno inside him. “Men are allowed to go?”

      “Consorts and slaves, yes, and they’re more than allowed, they’re encouraged. Blood is medicine to Harpies, and those consorts and slaves help the injured participants heal.”

      “Does Kaia have a … slave?” He croaked the question. On one hand, he wanted her to have one, to be safe. On the other, he already wanted to murder the ugly prick.

      Defeat snarled, no trace of amusement in the sound. Or his usual fear.

      This isn’t a challenge, buddy. Or was his demon upset by the thought of someone besides Strider hurting Kaia?

      In a sick, twisted way, that kind of made sense. His sense of possessiveness was highly developed, with his enemies especially, but even with friends. Kaia was a bit of both.

      Thankfully, Defeat offered no reply. Strider didn’t need the added complication of fighting Kaia and/or anyone who challenged her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She wasn’t his problem.

      “No,” Gwen finally said, sadness creeping into her tone. “Kaia doesn’t have a slave.”

      Relief, so much relief. “We’ll find her one, then.” Fury, so much fury.

      “No.” Those strawberry-blond tresses slapped her face as she shook her head. “She thinks you are her consort.”

      Yeah, once upon a time Kaia had said something like that to him. He’d believed that she believed, but he’d also believed she was mistaken, that she was letting simple attraction confuse her. Not that there was anything simple about her attraction to him. She wanted the best of the best for herself, and he couldn’t blame—

      Ego check. He massaged the back of his neck with his free hand. Rephrasing: she wanted someone strong, capable and handsome. Shit. Ego check, he thought again. She’d wanted someone somewhat handsome.

      No. That didn’t work. When a fact was a fact, there was no getting around it. She’d wanted someone extremely handsome, and he fit the bill. But …

      Paris was handsomer.

      Handsomer wasn’t even a word, damn it. Was it? Yeah, it probably was, and had most likely been coined because of Paris. “So?” he said with more force than he’d intended.

      “So, she won’t take anyone else,” Sabin blurted. “Harpies are territorial, possessive and stubborn as hell. Meaning, they’re just like you and can’t compromise worth shit.”

      Gwen frowned. “Hey!”

      “Sorry, baby, but it’s true.” Then, “Kaia will take you or no one,” he said to Strider. “That’s just the way it’s sliced.”

      “Which is why …” Gwen inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, her gaze locking on Strider with menace. “You know I love you, right?”

      He gave a stiff nod. Shit, shit, shit. Him or no one. A blessing and a curse. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t spend any more time with her. Had already said goodbye to her.

      A goodbye that had come close to rousing his demon. With every step he’d taken from Kaia’s home, Defeat had prowled through his head, wanting to act, to pin her and take her—victory would be so damn sweet—but not allowing himself to do so. Loss would be so damn painful.

      Strider had never been happier that the demons of Pandora’s box were afraid of the Harpies. And with good reason. They were descendants of Lucifer, the master of all things demonic.

      Plus, Defeat had seen Kaia fight. No matter what weapon she used—gun, blade, claws, fangs—she blazed through her opponents faster than the eye could track. Nice qualities in a date, sure, and definite aphrodisiacs. If your very existence didn’t depend on your victories, as his did.

      Strider finished off the last of his candy, and chucked the empty box into the trash bin beside Sabin’s desk. Swish. Two points!

      Defeat purred his approval, little sparks of satisfaction shooting through Strider’s veins.

      “—listening to me?” Gwen asked.

      “Yeah, sure,” he lied, gaze quickly finding her. She was no longer perched on Sabin’s lap. Now she stood a few inches from Strider, her legs braced apart, her hands fisted at her sides. He recognized that pose. “But, uh, give me a refresher. You were saying …”

      She rolled her eyes. “I was telling you that you only have two days to take care of any pressing business you might have. Because even though I love you, I’m going to make sure you attend the games. Kaia needs you, and you will be there for her. Or else.”

      His attention flicked to Sabin, all what-are-you-going-to-do-about-this. Sympathy filled every curve and hollow of the man’s face, but there was no hint of determination or ire. Okay, so. His fearless leader would be doing nothing. Perfect.

      He glared at Gwen. “Don’t even think about challenging me,” he snapped. “I won’t hesitate to retaliate.” Of course, one little scratch on the girl and Sabin would attack him. He’d have to go berserker on his boss, but two victories for the price of one? Bring it.

      “As if I would ever use your demon against you,” she replied, startling him. “God, I can’t believe you think so little of me.” She truly sounded offended. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize to her, she said, “I’m only planning to beat the crap out of you, tie you up and have Lucien flash you to where the first meeting is being held. Jeez! Cut me some slack.”

      “Only” planning, she’d said. He pursed his lips. “You do realize that beating the crap out of me and tying me up would be, what? Using my demon against me. The loss would destroy me.”

      “Oh.” Her features fell. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Then she raised her chin, reminding him of Kaia all over again. “I’ll still do it, though. Just make this easier on yourself and agree to go with her. Please.”

      “Begging doesn’t work on me. Neither does crying, just so you know.” Once upon a time when he’d done the dating thing, he’d learned that begging and crying were forms of feminine warfare. Women wanted something, and they did anything to get it.

      Admirable, but it hadn’t taken him long to harden his heart against such wiles. Or to decide that long-term relationships simply weren’t for him. As easily as he’d learned about his partners’ ploys, they’d learned about his.

      He had to win, and they always tried to use that to their advantage. How many times had he heard some variation of, “Bet you can’t spend the whole day with me and like it?” Countless.

      “Well?” Gwen demanded. “Yes or no? Easy way or hard way?”

      “How СКАЧАТЬ