Page 11 of The Guardian (Dark-Hunter 20)
Chapter 4
Lydia walked a circle in the bedroom that she'd memorized every detail of, right down to the design of the cracks in the floor. She'd eaten and then started pacing for what had to be hours and hours ...
If not a whole day.
Frustration made a bitter lump in her throat. How could she-
The air stirred behind her.
She turned, ready to fight.
The demon was finally back. But something was wrong. The jackal in her could sense it even though he stood there as proud and fierce as he'd been before.
Tense and nervous, she waited for him to do or say something.
Like her, he didn't budge as they sized each other up. The weight of that frigid, frightening steel gaze sent a shiver over her ...
What was he going to do?
Seth held his breath as he silently debated what action to take. It was stupid to be here while wounded. He knew that.
His room had always been the one place in hell he could retreat to that was safe from everyone except Azura and Noir-there was no way to keep them out.
But with her here ...
What are you bitching about? You'll be abused regardless. At least she didn't have her powers. There was only so much pain she could give him.
With the others ...
It would be limitless, especially after his payback.
I have no place else to go.
He would have rather locked her up before he passed out, but Noir had drained him completely after he'd finally grown tired of beating him. Seth was so weak now. So sick. It was a wonder he'd made it back here at all.
Don't fall, damn you, you worthless piece of shit. Don't you dare show a weakness. He was steadfast in spirit. But his body refused to cooperate. Against his will, his legs gave out and he hit the floor so hard, he was surprised he didn't break the stone. He tried to stay conscious. To crawl toward his bed.
His body wouldn't even give him that much. It was too tired and too sore.
Against everything he tried, the darkness took him under.
Lydia stepped back as she watched him lying on the floor in a giant metal armor heap. Was it a trick?
Why would it be? What could he gain by falling down in front of her?
Still ... demons in Azmodea were treacherous. Evil. One never knew what viciousness they were capable of. Not until it was too late and they were on you.
Ever cautious and curious, she crept forward, ready to bolt if he grabbed her.
He didn't.
It wasn't until she knelt down that she saw the blood seeping into his like-colored hair, as well as on his armor and face. In several places, the blood ran from underneath the steel plates and dripped onto the stone floor.
He'd been beaten. Viciously. No, savagely. The blows had smeared the white paint and the red and black lines on his face, showing her that it was makeup after all and not his skin tone.
What do I do?
There was no one to call for help. And in the back of her mind was the fear that if he died, she'd die too. No one knew where she was. Probably not even Solin.
Crap.
Just how badly was he injured? The answer was obvious-bad enough that something as lethally ferocious as he, wasn't conscious. Given what she'd seen of him, that seemed to be an impossibility.
Yet here he lay as still as a dead man. And there was already a pool of blood forming underneath him.
She reached for the buckles on his armor and began removing the heavy pieces. And they were heavy-like lifting lead planks. How could he walk around in them and not fall over? No wonder he was so massively huge. He'd have to be to support it all.
Beneath the armor he wore a black, thinly quilted suit that must be padding to keep the metal from bruising his skin. Carefully, she peeled it back to examine his wounds.
As she exposed his neck, she made an unexpected discovery. There was a curious tattoo of a beautiful, multicolored swallow. The tail of it started at the hollow of his throat and swooped down along his collarbone with its wings spanning from just over his shoulder to right above his nipple. A nipple that had a vicious scar running through it as if someone had pierced it, then ripped the piercing out. She cringed at the very thought and compulsively reached for her own breast.
Gah, that had to hurt.
Trying not to think about it, she continued to study the tattoo. For the most part the swallow was blue, but the wings were also red, yellow, green, and white. The bird's tail was split, and in between the two streaming tail feathers was what appeared to be a broken, dark red heart.
How very strange. That whimsical bird didn't match his evil persona at all. It was something an optimist or dreamer might want.
Not the right hand of evil itself.
But she didn't have time to contemplate that now. As she kept going, she uncovered a well-muscled, tawny body whose absolute perfection was marred again and again by countless scars, cuts, and bruises. Bruises that lay over other bruises, and scars and injuries that bisected each other. There were also numerous bite marks where the biter had left a dental impression so clear a dentist would envy it. And by those, she could tell at least three different beings had attacked him.
Her stomach tightened at the physical manifestation of a lifetime of utter misery. Good grief, how many times would someone have to be beaten to carry this amount of damage?
Honestly, she couldn't choose between them as to which one would have caused him the most pain. Although the one under his chin did look particularly nasty.
