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“Wait.” She moaned. Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Wait. Please.”
    Her foot tangled with a broken limb and she toppled again to the ground. A sharp ache tore through her ankle. Whimpering, she dragged herself to her hands and knees and crawled.
    Ate ìtéleted let minket veszejbe.
    Couldn’t stop. Had to reach him. Wind beat against her, as sharp as the daggers Maddox carried.
    On and on the voices clamored.
    “Please,” she cried. “Please.”
    A fierce roar split the night, shaking the ground, rattling the trees.
    Suddenly Maddox was beside her again, drowning out the voices. “Foolish Bait,” he spat. More to himself, he added, “Foolish warrior.”
    Crying out in relief, she threw her arms around him. Holding tight. Never wanting to let go—even if he did still wear that eerie skeletal mask. Tears streamed down her cheeks, crystallizing on her skin. “Thank you. Thank you for coming back. Thank you.” She buried her head in the hollow of his neck, exactly as she’d wanted to do earlier. When her cheek brushed his bare skin, she shivered, those warm tingles rushing through her once more.
    “You’ll come to regret this,” he said, sweeping her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
    She didn’t care. She was with him, the voices gone, and that was all that mattered.
    Maddox sped into motion, maneuvering around those ghostly trees. Every so often, he grunted as if in pain. Snarled as if in a rage. Ashlyn begged him to set her down so that she could spare him the burden of her weight, but he squeezed the inside of her thigh, a silent command for her to shut the hell up. Finally she relaxed against him and simply enjoyed the ride.
    If only that joy could have lasted.

CHAPTER THREE
    G ET HOME, GET HOME , get home. Maddox chanted the command in his mind, trying to distract himself from the pain. Trying to dampen the urge to do violence…an urge that was building steadily. The woman—Ashlyn—bounced on his shoulder, an unwelcome reminder that he could break at any moment and slaughter everything around him. Her, especially.
    You wanted to drown in a woman, the spirit taunted. Here’s your chance. Drown in her blood.
    His hands curled into fists. He needed to think, but couldn’t do so over the pain. She had mentioned a power, asked for his help. Hadn’t she? Some of what she had said was lost amidst the roar in his head. All he knew for certain was that he should have left her behind as he’d intended.
    But he had heard her cry out, a tortured sound—the sort of crazed groan Maddox himself had often wanted to release. Something inside him had reacted deeply, and he’d been filled with a need to help her, a need to touch her soft skin just one more time. A need that had somehow proven stronger than Violence. An amazing, unbelievable feat.
    And so he’d returned to her, even though he’d known she was in more danger with him than she was alone in the forest. Even though he’d known she had most likely been sent to distract him and help Hunters gain access to the fortress.
    Fool. Now she was draped over him, her feminine scent teasing his nose, her soft curves his to explore.
    Or slice, the demon goaded.
    Hauntingly beautiful as she was, it was easy to understand why the Hunters had sent her. Who would want to mar such lush femininity? Who would turn such blatant sensuality away? Not him, it seemed.
    Fool, he inwardly cursed again. Hunters! They truly were in Budapest, their tattoos a grim reminder of those dark, dark days in Greece. Clearly they were once more out for blood, for each of the four men following Ashlyn had carried a gun and silencer. For mortals, they’d fought with expert skill.
    Maddox had emerged the victor in that bloody tête-à-tête, but he had not emerged unscathed. His lower leg had been sliced, and one of his ribs was surely cracked.
    Time, it seemed, had only honed their skills.
    He wondered how Ashlyn would react when she found out they were gone. Would she cry?