The Darkest Promise
He expected her to recoil with hurt. Instead, she exuded acceptance.
His black heart shattered. How many times had this woman faced rejection?
My μονομανία will be respected at all times!
He cursed his growing sense of possession. This woman would never belong to him. He would always choose strength over weakness.
“Why are we enemies?” she insisted.
“I want you too much,” he admitted with a snarl.
She gaped at him. Then she pressed her lips together. A habit he’d noticed before. And he got it, he really did. People despised her voice, and she despised their reaction to it.
“Use your words like a big girl,” he said, purposely taunting her. He believed in the law of displacement. Like a glass set underneath a dripping faucet. Eventually it would fill up, and the liquid would spill out, leaving the container empty...and ready for something new. It had worked in the past, allowing him to manipulate her mood. Misery for anger, anger for passion. “Little girls get spanked.”
She reached for a dagger no longer in her possession, then shook her empty fist at him. “Try and lose a hand.”
“Only one?” He tsk-tsked. “Someone is practically begging to get spanked.”
“Someone is wondering why she thought it would be a good idea to spend time with you.”
“That’s easy. You are addicted to my massive...”
She bowed up, preparing to attack.
“Wit,” he finished, trying not to smile. Teasing her had always been a source of delight. For him.
With calculated grace, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “No worries, warrior. I can get wit anywhere.”
An-n-nd he lost the desire to smile. Any male who dared wit her would be met by Lazarus’s—
Handshake and hero’s send-off. I will let her go.
Determined, he focused on the worst of her injuries. “You have multiple wounds, but I’ll ensure you heal before you go. You’ll have no scars, or what I like to call love buttons.” There would be nothing to remind her of their newest interaction. If the demon decided to wipe her memory clean once again.
Now hurt twisted her expression, and the sight was nearly his undoing. Did she want to stay with him?
She rebounded quickly and buffed her nails. “Don’t bother with patch work. I refer to bandages as sissy support.”
“I’ll bother. Otherwise you won’t heal.” He strode into the en suite, where he found the salve made with winter Fae ice.
He hadn’t saved it for Cameo. Of course he hadn’t. Helping the only female capable of hurting him? No! Such an action would have been foolish.
What are you doing now?
Ensuring she lived long enough to travel home. Nothing more.
He swallowed a growl and returned to the room to crouch before the dark-haired beauty. Her intoxicating scent enveloped him, his mouth watering for a taste. Perhaps he’d steal a kiss, a single kiss, before he began his “patch work.” He’d promised to pick up where they’d left off, and he always kept his promises...
The rest of the world faded as he leaned into her...
Her breath hitched, maddening him further, but also returning him to reality.
Damn her appeal!
With his attention fixed anywhere but her too lovely face...and perfectly rounded hips...and the long, lean legs she’d once wrapped around his waist...he cleaned her wounds and applied the salve.
“Must get you home,” he grated.
“When we part,” she said softly, “I’m not going home. Not until I find the goddess of the Afterlife and—” She pressed her lips together.
And...what? Or who? If she sought another man, Lazarus would—
Nothing.
“Your moods change lightning fast,” she said. “Are you manstruating?”
He suppressed a laugh. Then he probed the outer recesses of her mind a final time, nearly grunting with relief and triumph when he realized she had inadvertently lowered the shield.
She also searched for Pandora’s box.
He experienced a flare of guilt. Should he admit she’d come close to finding it? The last time they were together, the artifact had been inches away.
He’d stopped her from making a play for it, and in the process stopped its guardian from awakening, and Cameo from dying, her spirit forever stuck in the phantom realms.
Lazarus would have been stuck with the key to his downfall.
So he’d led her away from the box, knowing he could return for it at any time. He’d even played with the idea once or twice. But why mess with a working system?
He ignored the guilt, remained silent and dug deeper into her mind. Well, well. She had secrets of her own. The little minx hadn’t mentioned the box because she didn’t trust him and she didn’t know how he would react to Misery. She actually believed he would seek her destruction.
Deeper still. She—
Screeched with fury and horror and shoved him out of her thoughts. Then she erected the shield.
She raised her fist, as if to hit him. Their gazes collided as he clasped her wrist. The delicacy of her bones, so different from his, the warmth and softness of her skin. The feel of her wild pulse hammering against him...
“I know you’re demon possessed,” he told her. “I’ve always known, and I don’t care. I’m not a human with limited views. I’m the Cruel and Unusual.”
The tension drained from her, leaving a gale-force of surprise.
Surprise would taste delicious on her lips.
The tingling in his legs worsened, grounding him. With this woman, pleasure and doom would forever walk hand in hand.
He released her and stood. “Stay here. I’ll send a servant to help you.” Every time she moved, the rips in her shirt gaped, coming dangerously close to revealing her breasts.
I want her breasts in my hands. Her nipples in my mouth...
“I’ll gather your daggers and boots and take you to your friend.” His voice was a silken rasp.
“She’s here?”
“She is.” Get out while you can. He exited in a hurry, slamming the door behind him.
Two males stood sentry. “No one enters the room, and no one touches the girl. If she leaves, one of you will follow her, the other will summon me.”
“Yes, sire.”
He continued on. The first female servant he happened upon, he sent to Cameo’s room, with explicit instructions. He wanted her wounds tended, and specific scents placed in her bath.
As he turned a corner, he opened his mind, sending his awareness through the entire palace...finally bumping against the object of his search. Rathbone the Only.
The bastard waited in the throne room.
Once inside, he dismissed every guard with a wave of his hand. Booted footsteps rang out. The doors shut, one after the other, sealing him inside. He saw no hint of the leopard who’d stolen Cameo’s belongings, but the dark presence remained, a thorn inside his mind.
Like Cameo, Rathbone had erected a shield, hiding his thoughts.
“Show yourself. I know who and what you are.” He’d realized the truth at first glance.
The leopard appeared in a puff of smoke, a wide grin revealing razor-sharp teeth. He approached Lazarus slowly but methodically, his form shifting into a very tall, very muscled man with long black hair, eyes like diamonds and skin as dark and red as blood.
He wore no shirt, but black leather pants sheathed his legs. He had thousands of tattoos, even more than Lazarus, who was covered. While Lazarus had thorny roses to represent the ones found in the Garden of Perpetual Horror, skulls to represent the enemies he’d slain—and would slay—as well as butterflies and sky serpents to represent his followers, every image on Rathbone was the same. A closed human eye.
An odd choice. A distinctive choice. Lazarus had guessed correctly. This was Rathbone the Only, one of nine kings of the underworld. He’d earned his moniker by being the last man standing in every battle he’d ever fought. He could shape-shift into any form, no matter how big or small. Animal, human and even inanimate objects.
Lazarus had heard the male once shifted into another man’s wrist cuff, forcing him to beat his entire family before beating himself.
“You have much to answer for, warrior.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s Majesty to you.” A careless shrug. “I always have much to answer for.”
“Cameo’s weapons and boots. Give them to me. Now.”
“And cheat the vendor who bought them from me? For shame.”
“You’d rather cheat my woman?”
When the words escaped, he cursed. My woman. He’d just struck a powerful verbal claim and offered sufficient ammunition for any enemy intent on overseeing his destruction. He’d also proved he’d done a deplorable job of resisting Cameo’s carnal appeal.
Perhaps the bastard wouldn’t notice.
Rathbone’s smile widened. Oh, he’d noticed. He wisely chose to remain quiet on the subject.
“I know why you’re in my realm.” Lazarus traced his fingertips over the hilt of the kris.
“Do tell.”
“The war between Hades and Lucifer brews hotter.”
The very reason Lucifer continued to send emissaries. Every leader of every immortal army had to pick a side. “Who do you fight for?”
“With. I fight with Hades. And so do the Lords of the Underworld.”
Meaning Cameo fought for Hades. Meaning, siding with Lucifer would make his μονομανία his enemy.
Isn’t she already?
Lazarus stalked a circle around Rathbone, a predator deciding the fate of his prey. The male remained in place, never turning. But then, he had no need to turn. Those eyes were tattooed all over his back as well, and as Lazarus moved behind him, the lids flipped open, the irises following his every movement.
A stab of envy. Such a singular power...
“Let Hades know I’ll render my decision by the end of the week.” All personal feelings aside, only one question mattered. Who would get him closer to his vengeance?
Rathbone inclined his head in agreement. “Very well.”
“And now that that’s settled.” Lazarus tossed the kris without any warning. The blade cut through the male’s torso and came out the other side—with his liver. “I vowed to Cameo I would punish the one who hurt her. Now my vow is complete.”
Rathbone winced before a new smile bloomed. “The first organ is free. The next one will cost you. Dearly.”
“So you understand there will be a next. Excellent. We’re on the same page.”
A bark of laughter echoed from the walls. Used to intimidating his foes, Lazarus had no idea how to proceed with this one.
“I think I like you,” Rathbone said. “I think we’ll be great friends.”
“I have no need of friends.” Though he did sometimes yearn for someone to trust, to guard his back and back his cause. “I don’t dislike you, but I’ll remove the rest of your organs, one at a time, if you steal from Cameo again.”
“I now know I like you. If ever you need me—”
“I need no one.” The statement rushed from him. A reassurance for himself as well as the underworld’s shape-shifter king.
“But if ever you do—”
“I won’t.”
“—say my name.” A second later, Rathbone vanished.
Lazarus stood in place, his hands curled into fists. Breathing became a little more difficult as he struggled to rein in his temper...and his lust.
With the king gone, he had no distraction from Cameo’s magnetic allure. She was here. In his home. The woman against whom he would forever measure all others. The fever in his flesh, the ache in his bones.
The weakness he had to excise, one way or another.
5
“Step two: Threaten...and follow through.”
—How to Achieve Victory
Subtitle: Except with Lovers
Cameo remained seated on the bed as an unfamiliar female bustled about in the bathroom. Rejection still rattled inside her brain like a barbed metal ball.
I don’t hate you. But I don’t like you, either.
Lazarus had told her what had transpired between them, but instead of setting her free of Misery’s shackles, he’d wrapped a new chain around her neck. The man had kissed and touched her...had given her pleasure. To her knowledge, he was the first. Also, he had no issues with Misery. And yet he couldn’t get rid of Cameo fast enough.
Destined to be alone with me. Misery’s poison dripped from every word, searing hidden corners of her mind.
Fate would not be so cruel. Fate—
Could be far crueler. Her shoulders rolled in, her head bowing. A small flame of hope snuffed out, and a drop of wax seemed to splash onto her heart, burning a hole in the center. No matter how horrid her life, things could always get worse.
At least her wounds had stopped stinging when Lazarus applied salve. Torn flesh had even woven together. He was right; no love buttons for Cameo.
Of course, when he applied the salve, her pride had started stinging. His touch had been impersonal and rough, his expression twisted with repugnance.
A sniffle wafted from the bathroom. Cameo stiffened. Never fails. Not a single word had left her mouth, and yet Misery had managed to infect the other woman.
Poor servant girl, the demon said, his voice soft and sad. Your presence is torture for her.
Wah, wah, wah. Cameo would not accept guilt for this. She wouldn’t! She wasn’t responsible for anyone else’s feelings.
Aren’t you? You brought me into this realm...
Fine. She wasn’t responsible for anyone else’s reaction to their feelings. But...
Maybe she should go. There was no reason to await Lazarus’s return. She could find Viola without his help, thanks.
No, she needed to stay. Her clothes were hanging on by a thread and a prayer, and the dirt caking her shirt itched.
A new plan formed. Bath, change into clean clothes. Won’t let the door hit me on the way out.
Most important, she would stay away from Lazarus.
He knew so much about Cameo while she knew so little about him, and the imbalance chafed.
What kind of ruler was he? Harsh? Or fair? How did he treat his people? Like chattel? Or prizes? Did he currently have a girlfriend? Or maybe girlfriends?
Her nails dug into the mattress. Did he enjoy monogamy or have a fear of commitment?
The pale-haired servant appeared in front of her. “The water is ready, miss. If you wish to bathe...please, this way.”
First, Cameo gathered a handful of objects she could use as weapons.
Weapons were a girl’s best friend.
She selected a fire poker, and plucked the diamond tails—or rather, the perfect daggers—from the hand-carved sky serpents. For her troubles, she awarded herself both sets of ruby eyes.
Ready for anything, she entered a spacious bathroom that was bigger than her bedroom at home. The walls of the shower stall were made of glistening crystals. Pillars braced the entrance of a large alcove, where a small, winding staircase led to a bubbling hot spring. Steam curled from the water’s surface, fragrant with the scents of rose, bergamot and neroli—
Cameo blinked with surprise. Rose, bergamot and neroli. The essential oils used in her favorite soap. Coincidence?
Had to be. No way Lazarus had noticed her preferred scents. Really no way he had purposely re-created the mix.
I don’t hate you. But I don’t like you, either.
Her nails scraped the fire poker as she continued her study of the bathroom. Find your exits long before it’s time to leave. A crystal chandelier hung above the hot spring. Grab, swing, drop. In a second crystal stall, she found a 24 karat gold toilet and bidet.
Blondie attempted to remove Cameo’s shirt. With a snarl, Cameo leaped out of reach. No offense, but enough was enough. Until she wanted to be stabbed in the back or decapitated, she would not allow a stranger to stand behind her.
Take me unawares once, my bad. Take me unawares twice, you die.
Correction. Take me unawares once, you die.
Cameo motioned for Blondie to leave. Unfortunately the servant missed the action, remaining in place, her head bowed.
Rather than speak, Cameo gave Blondie a gentle push...she stumbled but quickly dug in her heels.
Had Lazarus ordered her to spy? Fear of his wrath must be great.
Fine. Whatever. Keeping Blondie within sight, Cameo stripped. A miraculous feat, considering she retained her hold on the weapons. After walking up the stairs backward, she entered the welcoming water and placed the weapons around the rim of the tub.
With a sigh akin to contentment, she eased onto a waiting bench, where multiple jets massaged sore muscles.
Blondie sniffled again, ruining the moment.
Misery kicked against Cameo’s skull, a flash of memory consuming her mind.
“Maybe I’ll kill you and gift her with your head,” Cameo had said. She sat in the thick of a forest, glaring up at the warrior.
She’d threatened him? Why? Damn it. Did the demon hope to taint her feelings for Lazarus?
And what had she meant? Gift her. Her who?
Juliette, Misery said. The Harpy who once enslaved him.
The demon loved to parse out the details he’d stolen from her, giving just enough info to send her imagination into a tailspin.
“Maybe I’ll cut out your tongue and do the world a favor,” Lazarus had replied. He sat at her side, a tower of menace and strength, sexy beyond imagining.
Whoa. He had dared to threaten Cameo?
Obviously. At least she’d gritted her teeth in irritation instead of fear and said, “Maybe I’ll gut you just for giggles.”
“Maybe I’ll stab the life out of you and do myself a favor.”
Oh, yes. He’d dared. But he’d been amused rather than enraged.
Cameo had jumped to her feet and motioned him closer. “You want to do this, warrior? Because I’m ready. Anytime. Anyplace.”
His big body had unfolded as he’d stood, the movement graceful, his strength on display...and fascinating. “You don’t want to take me on, little girl. You’ll lose.”
Little girl? She would hack him into a thousand pieces.
“I think differently,” she’d said, surprising her present self. Stop baiting him and start attacking! Maybe take him on the worst date of his life...to a karaoke bar. “On both counts.”
She hadn’t attacked. She’d pressed her chest against his and reveled in his hardness.
Well. Attraction had clearly addled her brain. Despite everything, she’d wanted his strong arms wrapped around her, his warm breath on her nape.
“Do your worst, then,” he had said. “But have no doubts, I’ll then do mine.”
The memory began to dwindle. Nooo! Cameo scrambled to keep the playback front and center. She had to know more! What was his worst? What had followed his newest threat? Had they apologized to each other? Or had they split up?
Her mind blanked. With a frustrated shriek, she slammed her fist into the rim of the tub.
Blondie heaved a great sob.
Fighting the crush of defeat, Cameo slunk deeper into the water. Not knowing the minute details of her life killed her. Especially because the tricky demon only ever unveiled bits and pieces of her past, and always completely out of context, forcing her to speculate about why, what and how.
Cameo washed from head to toe, and wondered about Lazarus. He claimed she’d writhed in his arms and begged for more. If anyone could rock her world, it was that male. Beauty and strength wrapped in smoldering sensuality, sprinkled with ferocity.
Finished, she gathered her weapons and descended the stairs. Blondie rushed over to dry her, but she snatched the towel to dry herself. The material wasn’t cotton or silk, but something a thousand times softer.
Blondie gathered clean clothing, and Cameo dressed without complaint while cringing inside. A diamond-encrusted bra and blink-and-you’ll-miss-them bottoms? Really?
Brow arched, she pointed to the gossamer cloth.
“Shorts,” Blondie said and hid a chuckle behind her hand.
Silly me for not knowing. Call her old-fashioned, but Cameo believed her shorts should be longer than her butt crack.
Whatever. She secured the weapons and headed for the door. Blondie raced in front of her to motion to the vanity. Wanted to brush and style her hair, did she? Deep down, Cameo wanted to say yes, despite the foolishness of the act. She wanted Lazarus to take one look at her and basically shit himself. Don’t like me? Fine. But you’ll wish I liked you!
Problem: Blondie would have to stand at Cameo’s back to—
Oh, who cared? What kind of warrior couldn’t protect herself from a single person?
Cameo placed a dagger on the vanity—in plain sight—and eased onto the chair.
Blondie trembled as she lifted a brush. One minute bled into another, zero attacks launched, and Cameo began to relax...until the mirror in front of her moved.
With a yelp, she jumped to her feet. Blondie stumbled back, confused.
Cameo pointed to the liquefied glass, and waves rippled over the surface.
“The mirror once belonged to the goddess of Many Futures,” Blondie said softly. “Its power fuels legends...and nightmares.”
Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures. The youngest of the Erinyes, or Furies.
As a Greek, she’d fallen under the leadership of Zeus. Rumors claimed the goddess had been cursed soon after her sixteenth birthday, forced to spend the rest of her days trapped inside a glass prison.
Cameo had encountered the teenage girl only once before her curse. Siobhan had been a beauty with hair as white as snow and skin as dark as night. She’d looked Cameo up and down, and said, “Must you always frown? Laughter is the best medicine. Unless you have diarrhea.”
A wave of trepidation swept through Cameo as she returned to the chair—from the demon, or from her own sense of self-preservation, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she refrained from peering into the glass a second time.
Glass prison...mirror...if the goddess were trapped inside...
I don’t want to know what fresh misery awaits me.
Over the next half hour, Cameo’s hair was brushed, dried and fashioned in a complicated half braid she would never be able to replicate. Her face was sprinkled with something sparkly.
“This is stardust,” Blondie said. “It is very expensive.”
Who, exactly, had Lazarus spent his big bucks on? A favorite mistress? Was Cameo receiving her leftovers?
A tendril of jealousy surprised her. She had no future with the man, so there was no need to waste emotion on him.
“A witch sells the dust in town,” Blondie continued. Babbling to distract herself from the sadness Cameo exuded? “She’s a crazy one. Does nothing but compliment herself. And she has a devil for a pet. The creature—”
Cameo grabbed the edge of the vanity. Nothing but compliment herself...devil for a pet... No help for it, she had to speak. “Do you know where I can find Viola, keeper of Narcissism, and Princess Fluffikans?”
Blondie burst into tears.
Cameo jumped up and took the woman by the shoulders, shaking her. “Concentrate. Look past the despondency and tell me what I want to know.”
An-n-nd Blondie hunched over, sobbing and dry-heaving. When she calmed, she rattled off coordinates beyond the forest.
“Is there another part to this outfit?” she asked, not waiting for an answer but rushing to the dresser.
Blondie burst into a fresh round of sobs.
“Go.” Exasperated, Cameo waved toward the door. “Leave me.”
The woman didn’t have to be told twice. She beat feet, gone in a blink.
Story of my life. Always better off alone.
She searched through every drawer, at last finding a wraparound skirt that tied at the waist. If someone mistook her for a lady of the evening, well, someone would die.
She exited the room, stunned to find Blondie hadn’t locked her in. Not that a locked door would have mattered. Cameo could pick any lock anytime. A skill she’d honed as a better-safe-than-sorry measure against Hunters.