The Darkest Promise
Weakening me. “Have the emissary escorted to the dungeon. I’ll slay him at my earliest convenience.” Tempt him and suffer.
“Yes, Majesty. Of course.” The adviser raced away.
A family of butterflies joined Lazarus, fluttering overhead. Along with the sky serpents, butterflies had come to the realm in droves, as drawn to him in death as they’d always been in life. He’d never known why.
An older woman—the healer—joined him, as well. She carried a basket of salves and bandages.
Together they topped the hill, the injured sky serpents coming into view at last. One was splayed on the ground, black blood streaming from his left eye. The other writhed in pain, a petrified branch holding open his jaw.
The rage inside Lazarus darkened. Sky serpents were extremely loyal but equally predatory, with the instincts of a sociopath. But they were his sociopaths, the equivalent of a cowboy’s prized horse. They fought for him without hesitation.
He worked the branch free and, alongside the healer, patched up both creatures. Within a few days, the two would be as good as new. In the meantime, they would suffer as torn muscle and flesh wove back together.
“Whoever did this will pay. You have my word.” Finding the culprit would be easy. Sky serpent blood always left blisters behind.
The pair mewled in thanks.
Determined, Lazarus left them in the hands of the healer and headed to the stables to join the contingent of soldiers he’d instructed to arm up.
The hunt was on.
3
“The opponent you allow to live is the opponent who will stab you in the back.”
—The Fine Art of Decapitation
Cameo limped through a crowded village fair as the vendors hawked different wares, a gaggle of voices producing a jumbled sound track. The scent of spicy meats and candied sweets filled the air.
She stopped abruptly. There, on a table shaded by an azure fruit tree, rested her boots. And her weapons!
With an angry huff, she approached the seller, a tall man with a long, gray beard. The pain in her ankle flared, and the blisters on her hands stung.
He spotted her and proudly waved his hand over her belongings. “See something you want?”
“Yes. Your heart on a platter.”
Tears welled in his eyes. And thanks to Misery, the influx of sorrow blinded him to her threat. “Today only, I’m offering each item for the bargain price of...of...” He quieted, his body suddenly vibrating with eagerness. “You live. You are living. Your body is alive!”
Surprise danced hand in hand with her own ever-present sorrow. How did he know she’d passed through the Paring Rod without experiencing death?
He attempted to mask his excitement with a faux aura of boredom. “I’ll buy the body from you. What would you like in exchange? The daggers? You’ll never find a better made pair.”
“I know. Because I made them,” she grated.
He flinched, the tears coming faster. “You want them, you have to buy them. I must recoup my losses, considering your friend charged me an arm and a leg. My servant won’t regrow the limbs for another month, which means I have to do all the heavy lifting myself.”
Her friend? The only person she’d spoken to was—She hissed at Rathbone. “You stole my stuff?”
The mangy feline who’d escorted her into town prowled around her ankles. “Meow?”
Cameo bent down to grab him by the scruff, but he darted out of range. “You left me defenseless, you miserable excuse for a cat. I had to fight with sticks. Sticks! I will not pay your escort fee.” Wait. That sounded wrong. “I owe you nothing for your aid.” Not that the prick had aided her.
“What can I say? Even I have to pay to play.”
As a woman who’d been created fully formed by a king who’d demanded her service—Kill for me or be killed by me—she’d encountered many perverted immortals. Rathbone had to be the worst.
“You.” Staring at the blisters now marring her hands, the vendor stumbled backward. “You’re the one. You harmed the sky serpents.”
Gasps of dismay erupted from the crowd, buyers and other vendors moving to form a wall around her.
As she scanned the masses, confused, Misery cackled with glee. Ten out of ten people agree. You’re a horrible person, and the world will be a better place without you.
Depression oozed over her like boiling tar, adhering to her soul. A sensation manufactured by the demon. He wanted to control her.
Calm. Steady.
The click-clack of horse hooves hit her awareness, a welcome distraction. The crowd parted down the center, revealing an army of scowling soldiers.
Everyone knelt and pointed at her. Accusing voices rang out.
“Her!”
“She did it!”
“She’s the one you seek!”
Cameo lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “You don’t want to fight me. I’m a highly respected friend of your king.” At least, she hoped they’d parted as friends. “Also, if you attack me, I will kill you.”
Finding Lazarus had become her reason for breathing. Basically, he was the equivalent of an organ donor. If he shed light on specific memories Misery had stolen, he would give her a new heart.
The warriors flinched as if they’d been punched. Scowls gave way to tear-glazed eyes and trembling lips. From the crowd, a chorus of sobs rang out.
Only one soldier rode closer to her. Fading sunlight shone at his back and bathed his face in shadows.
When he stopped to dismount a rare Pegasus—a winged warhorse—those shadows vanished, and bolts of electricity arced through her.
He was utterly magnificent, the most beautiful male she’d ever seen. He radiated raw masculinity and sexual arrogance.
His mass of jet-black hair spiked in wind-blown tangles. His eyes were dark, fathomless, with tiny pinpricks of light. Like stars! His features could have been chiseled from stone. He had a proud, blade-sharp nose, prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw darkened by stubble. His unnatural but oh, so delicious height was perfectly balanced by an abundance of muscle and sinew.
Underneath the collar of his shirt, a wealth of tattoos peeked out. Roses with bloody thorns, a snake eating its own tail, a skull—several skulls—butterflies. On one hand, he had the word LOVE tattooed over his knuckles. On the other hand, he had the word HATE.
Unease prickled at the back of her neck.
His gaze raked over her, slowly, almost brutally, devouring her. As if she were a last meal and his only means of salvation. She shivered even as her blood heated.
Misery hissed and kicked at her skull. Run! Run now!
Afraid, demon? What an interesting development.
Did the man possess power over evil? Or over Cameo specifically? Could he be the one she sought?
Better question: Did she want him to be?
“At last.” Ferocious tension and undiluted aggression radiated from him, making the most feminine parts of her soften. “We meet again.”
Another shiver, courtesy of his voice. The husky timbre was as carnal as the rest of him. She licked her lips. “Again?”
Unlike the leopard, the vendor, and everyone around them, the brute merely arched a brow at the sound of her voice. “Are you going to pretend we’re strangers?”
“I wish I were pretending.” Her heart fluttered, and her knees trembled. “Who are you?”
His study of her intensified, his dark eyes mesmerizing her so thoroughly she almost missed the phantom fingers brushing across her mind. Almost. She recognized the sensation and frowned. Was he attempting to read her thoughts?
Anger sparked. Must protect my secrets.
The few times she’d encountered an immortal with such an intrusive and dangerous ability, she’d slayed first and asked questions later.
With a concentrated effort, she gave a mental push. The second he was out, she erected a mental shield.
“You truly don’t remember me.” Steps clipped, he closed the distance...and oh, wow, he smelled good. Like expensive champagne and honey-glazed chocolate.
She grew light-headed. When he cupped her face with big, callused hands and forced her gaze upon his, the sensation worsened, the simple touch searing her.
“I am the one you seek,” he rasped. “I am Lazarus.”
Confirmation shook her to the bone. She waited for a spark of recognition, prayed for it, but her mind remained a dark abyss of sadness, sorrow and...arousal? Her nipples puckered, her belly quavered and warmth pooled between her legs.
Misery killed the wanton feelings in a hurry, leaving her bereft.
Satisfaction teased Lazarus’s features...and Cameo. “Your body remembers me, at least,” he said.
Electric currents charged through her, sizzling in her marrow.
This time Misery flooded her with a boiling ooze of depression, and her shoulders slumped.
“Well.” Lazarus sneered. “You’re still a bitter crone, I see.”
A crone? Her hands fisted. The need to find Lazarus had plagued her, a sickness...a fever...and all along he’d thought the worst of her. “You’re a bastard, I see.”
Gasps and wails rose from the crowd.
He smiled slowly, wickedly. “That’s right. But I’m your bastard, sunshine.”
Sunshine? Her? She nearly choked. “I’m only using you for your brain. Tell me about our time together.” Please!
“Answer a question for me first.”
She gave a clipped nod.
“What would you do if a man kissed you? Asking for a friend.”
He dared to tease her, and she dared to like it. Desire suddenly overshadowed her curiosity. Does he want to kiss me?
Before Cameo had returned to this realm in search of Lazarus, her friend Anya had said, “We don’t chase men, we erase. Fine, you can make this one the exception. Just remember to hide your beef. Why buy the cow when you can steal it and eat for free?”
Cameo had replied, “You mean, why buy the pig when you’re only going to get a little sausage?”
“Your hands,” Lazarus said, drawing her back into the present. Eyes narrowed, body stiff as a board, he clasped her wrists and lifted her hands into the light to study her multitude of blisters. “You fought the sky serpents.”
She jerked from his grip. “I protected myself from becoming an all-you-can-eat dinner buffet, if that’s what you mean.”
Those dark eyes narrowed further. “I vowed to make the person who injured my pets pay a terrible price.”
His pets? “You may try.” He would soon learn she could take a licking and keep on ticking.
A new chorus of gasps and wails rose from the crowd.
“I don’t try, sunshine, I do, and I always keep my word. I said the culprit would pay...but I didn’t say how the culprit would pay.” He toyed with the ends of her hair. “Since you are my friend, I’ll have to think of an appropriate punishment.”
She sputtered. “You lay a hand on me, and I’ll—”
“Come. I know.”
What!
Misery gave her skull another kick. A sharp pain lanced her temple.
Lazarus angled his body, his muscles bunching under his shirt. His eyelids hooded over irises blazing with savage heat, his ferocity sharpening into a double-edged sword. He was almost...intimidating. Scratch that. He was intimidating. Only a true warrior could pull off mesh and leather.
“Sunshine, I know what you sound like, look and feel like when you’re experiencing the ultimate pleasure.”
Her breath caught, steaming up in her lungs. Her bones softened, and her knees wobbled. Not just pleasure—he’d said ultimate pleasure.
He was lying. He had to be lying. No one had ever given her the slightest bit of pleasure. Unless...
Misery had wiped her memory of the first orgasm she hadn’t faked.
The thought destroyed her. Such a loss would be a violation, a rape of her mind.
Lazarus’s angry countenance returned in a blink. “What are you doing here, Cameo? Why did you return to the land of the dead?”
Whatever had transpired between them, whatever pleasure she had experienced, the end had clearly been tumultuous.
Should have stayed in Budapest with my friends.
As she backed away from him, Misery lapped up her dismay and whispered conversations drifted from the crowd.
“I bet he kills her...with pleasure.”
“How do I sign up for that death?”
Gaze remaining on Cameo, Lazarus said, “Leave us. Now.”
It was a softly spoken command, and yet the crowd dispersed in seconds, tables and wares abandoned without question. Soldiers and horses trotted away.
Lazarus was king, his word law and his power unquestioned. He was a god among men. Did he know about Misery? she wondered again. He must, considering he’d read a portion of her mind. Did he want her dead, the way Alex had?
She’d never blamed Alex for his betrayal of her. No, she’d blamed fear.
When she’d escaped the Hunters, she’d gone back to Alex and, while on her knees in supplication, her body bloody and broken, she’d told him about the box. He’d dropped his sword, joined her on the floor, and wrapped his arms around her. She thought he’d begun to understand.
Evil such as yours has to be extinguished, he’d said. Then he’d shouted for the Hunters again. Only then had she accepted the truth. Misery had infected him, and Cameo was to blame.
As she’d fought her way free a second time, a Hunter had stepped forward and said, Come with us willingly or Alexander dies.
Alex had died.
Even now, guilt prodded her, her sense of misery no longer manufactured by the demon. I am no man’s prize.
No, you are every man’s downfall, Misery said.
She took another step back, her bruised heel landing on a sharp rock. She winced.
Lazarus’s gaze dropped to her feet, a scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Your feet. Your feet are bloody. You’ve been hurt.”
The word hurt on his lips was a vile curse. A promise of violence.
“The doing of sky serpents?” he demanded.
Would he punish his pets if it were? “Blame the trek here, and the piece of shit shape-shifter who stole my shoes.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. Planning to harm Rathbone?
Why did he care who did what to her when he clearly hated her?
“Harsh words, darling. Harsh.” Rathbone appeared in the distance, prowling around a table. “And after I saved you from a tragic end.”
Liar! “I saved myself.” She waved a fist at him.
The leopard tsk-tsked, as if she were too stupid to know the difference between salvation and danger.
Lazarus curled a hand around the hilt of a dagger.
Rathbone began to backtrack. “You’re clearly in the middle of your lady time. Both of you. I’ll return later.” In a blink, he was gone.
Cameo envied the ability to flash. Get what you want, and go. “You asked me a question,” she said to Lazarus. “Now I’ll answer. I’m here because I want answers. I want to know everything that happened between us.”
Silent, he bent at the knees and gently but firmly pushed his shoulder into her stomach.
“What—” she began.
He straightened, lifting her, ensuring she remained draped over him.
She was too stunned to protest. The fearsome keeper of Misery was being carted like a sack of potatoes? This was happening? Truly?
“We’ll continue our conversation,” he said. “Later.”
“What are we doing now?” she asked, curious but not frightened.
A pause. Then, “We’re picking up where we left off.”
As he spoke, a butterfly with wings of scarlet landed on the table with her daggers, and she groaned. Here was another sign of impending doom.
Her relationship with Lazarus wasn’t going to end well, was it?
4
“How to win a war in six easy steps. One: Taunt.”
—The Fine Art of Decapitation
—How to Achieve Victory
Lazarus marched through the towering front doors opened by the guards he’d stationed there, a shockingly docile Cameo hanging over his shoulder. The last time she’d entered the spirit realms, he’d sensed her and caught her as she’d hurtled to the ground. Why hadn’t he sensed her today?
“Did you fall through a portal?” he asked. “Or did you enter the realm another way?”
“The portal,” she grumbled. “Landing sucked.”
Had he somehow blocked her from his mind, the way she’d blocked him from hers? Or had she blocked him from the start?
Well, he wasn’t blocking her now. He could think of nothing and no one but Cameo.
In the spacious entryway, servants stopped cleaning to bow to him...and watch him with wonder. He’d never handled a female so publicly before.
Cameo was more beautiful than he remembered. Silken ebony locks, sterling-silver eyes, ruby-red lips. Her eyes said come closer while her demon said that’s close enough. She was his own personal temptress. She enchanted him, and she had no right!
Even now, his legs tingled and burned, the first sign the crystals were expanding.
Did she know how terribly she affected him? Or how greatly she could weaken him, making him easy prey for his enemies? Did she care?
He opened his mind to hers only to bump against her shield. His questions remained unanswered, a familiar frustration seething inside him. Frustration, rage and that ever-present desire.
His hunger for this woman was insatiable, but he couldn’t have her. Unless, of course, he abandoned his vengeance against those who had viciously wronged him and accepted an eternity entombed in indestructible crystal.
Never! Why not kill her, here and now? Removing her head would be an act of self-defense.
With the thought, Lazarus physically recoiled.
Damn her!
“Whoa, big guy.” Cameo patted his ass, calm when she should have been hysterical. “Is one hundred and fifteen pounds too much for you?”
Smart-mouthed female.
Was there any better kind?
Patch her up and send her home without ravishing her beautiful body. “Someone is suffering from another convenient bout of memory loss, isn’t she?” The words left him with more force than he’d intended. Perhaps he was a wee bit bitter? “She’s forgetting about an extra five pounds.”
The little she-devil beat her fists into his lower back. “You might or might not have intimate knowledge of my body. You definitely know things I’ve said and done. The good, bad and ugly. You know if we parted as friends or foes. You know where we left off. I don’t. That isn’t a convenience for me but a nightmare.”
Her fury doused his own, the need to comfort her rising. Memories offered a form of protection; they told you whom to trust and whom to revile, saved you from repeated mistakes, and created a clear path for your future.
Compassion bloomed, and he cursed. Another weakness, thanks to this woman.
Beyond them, servants sobbed. He glared at the sorry bunch. He might have to invest in earplugs for his entire staff—or slay them all.
“Back to work,” he snapped.
A flurry of motion erupted as everyone obeyed.
He pounded up a flight of stairs, his hand flush against Cameo’s ass as he maneuvered through different hallways. He couldn’t wait to see her surrounded by his things, knew he would enjoy having her luscious scent—a mix of bergamot, rose and neroli—infuse his sheets... He would take great pleasure in presenting her with the gifts he’d collected for her. Would her face light up with delight? Or would she frown at him, all the world’s sadness in her gaze?
Did it matter? After she departed, he had to do everything in his power to end his body’s obsession with her. That meant erasing every trace of her from his home.
Can’t share my bedroom with her. Not now, not ever.
He entered the room beside his. One he’d saved for—
A guest. Any guest.
With a swift kick, he shut the door behind him. He tossed his beautiful bundle onto the bed. Look away! The sight of Cameo splayed atop a mattress, any mattress, would only damage his defenses against her.
Lazarus focused on the bed itself. Each of the four posters had been uprooted from the forest and potted. Lush red leaves thrived, forming a canopy above. The comforter was made from flower petals imbued with summer Fae dust; those petals were softer than silk yet far more durable.
Cameo scrambled to an upright position and scanned the room.
He knew she’d cataloged every exit as well as everything she could use as a weapon, and he did the same. There was only one exit—the one he’d shut. At the hearth, a marble sky serpent stood sentry at each side, heat wafting from their open mouths. Weapons—the pokers balanced between their claws.
The dresser had been cut from an amethyst geode. Pieces could be chipped off and used to cut through vulnerable flesh.
The vanity had a solid gold top, too heavy for her to lift. The legs had been hand-carved to resemble sky serpents. Rubies lent an unnatural life to their eyes, while their tails curled into glimmering diamond points. The jewels could be removed with little effort.
The gilt mirror had once belonged to Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures and supposedly the most vicious of the Erinyes. Lazarus had been told simply peering into the glass would reveal the different paths to finding true love. So far he’d seen nothing but his reflection.
If Cameo desired weapons, she would have weapons. He would never interfere with her efforts to protect herself.
When her gaze landed on Lazarus, a flush painted her cheeks. He knew just how hot her flawless skin could burn, and his fingers itched to touch.
Resist! “You want a memory, sunshine. Here you go. Last time we were together, we kissed.”
No, kissed was too mild a word. She’d been fire in his arms, with no hint of sadness or sorrow. She’d sucked on his tongue as if it were her favorite candy, had breathed his breath as if she’d needed him to survive, as if she would always need him. She’d been a live wire of passion.
She’d forgotten him so easily while his remembrance of her had the power to scorch him.
She stared at his lips and whispered, “We kissed. Nothing more?”
That voice! A burst of sorrow accompanied every word.
He comprehended the reason other people flinched and cried. They’d never experienced such a fervent punch of undiluted sadness. Lazarus had. Many times. First, after the brutal loss of Echidna. Then his inability to find and kill his father for the crimes committed against his mother. Then his centuries-long enslavement. Cameo’s voice simply couldn’t compare.
“We stripped and rolled around like two teenagers in an empty house.” He hid the intensity of his desire for her behind a glib tone. “You writhed against me, begging for more, but I stopped before penetration.” He’d had to work, trick and cajole to get her that far, and the wait was torturous...but the agony was worth every second of ecstasy.
He’d stopped because two of his men had burst into his room. And because she’d learned the truth—she hadn’t been captured by an enemy intent on selling her goods and services, as he’d led her to believe; she had been tucked safely inside Lazarus’s very own kingdom.
Breath hitched in her throat as her pulse raced. She desires me still... Lust threatened to raze his good intentions...until the tingling in his legs magnified.
Leave! Now!
Concern for her rooted him in place. Her wounds needed tending. Would his control snap when he got his hands on her?
“Why did you stop?” she rasped.
“We were—are—enemies,” he croaked. Kick me out.
Her eyes widened. “Enemies. Because you hate me...hate what I am?”
“I don’t hate you.” He feared her and the power she wielded over him. He hungered for her like a man who’d been denied proper sustenance for years. “But I don’t like you, either.”