The Darkest Craving
“I will. I’ll take care of your problems. That way, you’ll want to live.”
Every ounce of the hope withered. He had no idea what he was saying, or how impossible such a task would be.
“Where have you been?” she asked, ignoring his offer. Had he gone home to a girlfriend? The last story she’d read about him had claimed he was single, but a year had passed since then. Or, in her case, a thousand and one years. Had he pampered this nameless, faceless female?
I’m the one who saved him. I deserve to be pampered.
“Respond to my promise,” he growled.
She sighed. “Why do you want to help me, Kane?” Beautiful Kane, with his rainbow of colors.
“I can’t not help you.”
“But … why?”
“You’re min—” A muscle ticked below his eye. “I owe you.”
He’d only get himself killed, and she didn’t want that. “Well, I release you from your debt. How’s that?”
He shook his head. “I’m your new constant companion, Tinker Bell. It’ll be better for both of us if you get used to the idea.”
Kane … with her every second …
A blessing and a curse, just like her strength-stealing ability. “Either kill me, get me out of the forest, or get lost. Those are your three choices.”
“I’ll get you out of the forest,” he said, standing, circling her with all the predatory intent of a ravenous beast, “and while I’m doing it, you’ll tell me how many people I need to kill to make you feel like your life is worth saving.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle lest she be tempted to reach out again. “Too many.”
“So the problem is people.” He stopped in front of her.
“Yes, but did you hear me? There are too many of them.”
“Too many is my specialty.” Hesitant, he held out his hand to help her up.
More contact? Freely offered this time?
She licked her lips and stretched out her hand.
He recoiled, as though startled, even though he’d been the instigator, and his arm dropped to his side. He made a fist, a dark, frightening need springing to life in his eyes. But … a need for what?
Trembling, she labored to her feet under her own steam. Which, to be honest, wasn’t much. Her adrenaline must have crashed. Her knees knocked together, struggling to hold her up.
“I’m sorry,” Kane said, his voice low and quiet, yet somehow far more undisciplined than she knew him to be. “I should have helped you.”
Clearly, he hadn’t gotten over his aversion to touch. Especially hers. “Yes, well, I’m not going with you, and I don’t want my problems murdered. An attempt would only create more problems.”
“I’m afraid your days of making your own decisions are over. I’ve got problems of my own, and I can’t see to them until I’ve seen to yours.”
She backed away from him.
He shook his head. “Don’t you dare run, Tinker Bell. I’m strong enough to chase, and I don’t think you’ll like the results.”
Her stupid body tingled, a clear disagreement. Did he wield some strange ability she’d never before encountered?
Stop thinking and move! She faked a pass to the right. He followed, and she darted to the left. Then, she ran at full steam.
He slammed into her, knocking her down. He wasn’t even winded when he said, “Consider this your final warning,” his warm breath caressing the back of her neck.
Oh my…. His weight was as heavy as before, pressing her into the ground, but this time, because she knew the culprit, she didn’t feel threatened. She felt … achy, her nerve endings sizzling with undeniable awareness.
“Let me go. I’ll hurt you if you don’t.”
He stood, dragging her with him. He held on tightly, surprising her, his arms steel bands she couldn’t break—didn’t want to break. But he was still shaking, as if touching her was somehow more painful to him than he’d claimed her nearness was. It shouldn’t be. Not yet.
“Kane,” she said. “I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Sweetheart,” he replied, practically breaking her heart with the sudden thread of gentle kindness in his tone, “this is for your own good. I promise.”
No, it wasn’t. He simply didn’t understand. She tugged off one of her gloves. Her hands were her only weapons; he would hate her for what she was about to do to him, would never again come near her, but he’d left her with no other option. “Last chance.”
“I told you. I’m not letting you go.” He hefted her over his shoulder and trudged forward, shouldering his way through tree limbs determined to slap him. “I’m saving you.”
“You can’t save me.” Fighting wave after wave of guilt, Josephina reached out and gripped his forearm. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“And just what is it you think you’re doing, hmm?”
Leaving you helpless. Tears welled in her eyes. No other choice. She tightened her grip on him. Instantly, her pores became tiny vacuums, sucking the strength out of him and into her.
He stilled, gasping. “What are you doing, Tinker Bell? Stop that.”
“I’m sorry.” Warmth flooded her; warmth and the fizz of energy … so much energy, lighting her up. No, not lighting, she realized a second later, but darkening. Then, utter blackness gobbled up the light, cloaking her, sending her tumbling straight into a spiraling pit of despair.
Kane set her on her feet.
A terrible scream cut its way through her throat. Her knees buckled, but he was no longer able to hold her up. She slammed into the ground, contact finally severed. What was happening? What was wrong with her? And the screams—hers, and someone else’s, someone sinister—argh! Growing louder and louder.
And yet, through it all, a single whisper managed to claim her attention. I hate you. Hate you so much. Want to kill you. Will kill you. Soon, soon, so very soon.
I don’t understand, she thought, panicked.
You deserve pain, and I’ll make sure you get it if you go near him again. He’s mine. Mine. I won’t share him with you. Never you.
Nearing hysteria, she drew on every reservoir of strength she possessed, lumbered to her knees and crawled forward, away from Kane. Yes, she had to escape Kane. All of this had come from him. Belonged to him. The more distance, the better. Please.
Rocks sliced at her palms and knees, but she didn’t care. In the distance, she heard the snap of breaking wood. The whoosh of air. Something hard slammed into her, knocking her feet out from under her and planting her face first in the dirt.
When the daze cleared, she realized the culprit wasn’t Kane this time, but a tree.
She fought her way free, tears streaming down her cheeks, and continued her journey forward.
“Josephina,” Kane called. “Tinker Bell … what did … you do? To me?” His voice was weak, rasping.
A spark of light dashed across her small line of vision, followed by another. Soon, colors formed, taking shape. Bushes, tree roots and trunks, piles of leaves, a coyote stalking past—only to stop and bare its teeth, as if preparing to attack her. But another tree fell, slamming against her and scaring the animal away.
Hate you. Hate you, hate you, hate you.
Pain momentarily stunned her, her abused back threatening to shatter.
Before she could fight her way free, a pair of boots appeared in front of her. Boots she recognized.
Josephina swallowed a groan. No. No! Anyone but him.
“Well, well,” the owner of those boots said. “What do we have here?”
She recognized the voice, as well. Leopold, her half brother, had found her. He would ensure she returned home … back to her own personal hell.
KANE HEARD TINKER Bell screaming, and battled a rage unlike any other.
Mine, he thought. No one was allowed to hurt her, not even him, not even as angry as he was with her for what she’d done to him.
What had she done to him?
He wanted to stand and help her, whatever was wrong with her. He did. Yet, his body was too weak.
He’d vowed never to be weak again. Or, barring that, to kill the cause.
Tinker Bell was the cause, somehow, but he wouldn’t be killing her. He would be … he wasn’t sure, and didn’t like that he couldn’t decide.
One second he’d been as normal as a man like him could be, carrying her over his shoulder. The next, he’d felt warm silk pressed against his arm, and he’d begun to weaken. He’d set her down as his limbs began to tremble. Then, he’d crumbled.
But then, so had she.
The darkness he’d carried for so long had thinned, but instead of strength taking its place, he’d experienced extreme fatigue.
He’d watched, helpless, as Tinker Bell curled into herself. Her skin had gone pallid, and horror had consumed her features. She’d looked … haunted. He’d reached for her, but she’d managed to crawl away. He hadn’t managed to follow. Soon she’d disappeared beyond the line of trees.
Must help her.
“So, it’s safe to say this night isn’t going according to plan.”
William’s voice hit him, and he struggled to sit up.
“The girl.”
“Escaped. Burned me, too, the little—”
“Not the Phoenix. The Fae. Go get her.”
“I’m too hungry to run.”
Rage gave him enough strength to hurl a rock at the warrior’s fat, ugly head. “Go!”
“Fine.” Footsteps echoed. “But you’ll owe me.” Swaying limbs, swishing leaves, then … nothing.
In and out Kane breathed. There was something else happening inside him, something stranger than the sudden weakness, and he needed to figure out what it was. And it should be easy. For the first time in centuries, his mind was silent. Thoughts were easy, without any kind of dark filter. Emotions were pure, without any kind of terrible guidance. He was—
Alone, he realized.
Realization knocked him flat on his back. In that moment, there was no hint of the demon’s presence. No sickness in the pit of his stomach. No icy fingers of dread crawling all over his skin. No terrible whispers in the back of his mind.
But … how could that be? Kane was alive. And if he was alive, the demon was with him. Right?
Or, had the Greeks lied to him and his friends the first day of their possession, as he’d hoped? Gideon had once survived several minutes without his demon. Of course, the creature had still been tethered to him, and had returned.
Kane thought back. He’d never actually seen a possessed warrior killed simply because the demon had left his body. His friend Baden had died from a beheading. Cronus and Rhea, former king and queen of the Titans, had been demon possessed and had died from a beheading, too.
What if Disaster was gone? Permanently? But where could the demon have gone? With Tinker Bell?
Was Disaster the reason she’d screamed?
Or had she somehow killed the creature?
Had Kane finally experienced something good?
He rolled his shoulders, the muscles knotted and protesting as if he’d never really used them. He and Tinker Bell were going to have a long talk. He would ask questions and she would supply answers. If she hesitated, he would spank her. Yes. That’s what he’d do to her, he decided.
Part of him wanted her to hesitate.
He’d never thought to experience sexual desire again—not true desire—and yet, when he’d tackled her, her softness beneath him, and he’d had her scent in his nose, and her panting breaths in his ears, he’d yearned to strip her, to see her, all of her, and take everything she had to give.
She might have let him. But just how would his body, and his mind, have reacted?
Now, the need for her was still there, a thorn in his side. He didn’t like it, had to get rid of it.
A frowning William returned—without the girl.
Kane growled low in his throat. “What happened?”
“There was no sign of her,” the warrior said. “And don’t get your panties in a twist, but, uh, there was evidence of a struggle.”
CHAPTER SIX
The Realm of Blood and Shadows
LONG AGO, CAMEO had been cursed to host the demon of Misery and oh, the creature’s presence had never been more apparent than now. A deep sense of sorrow pressed heavily against her. Despair burned the center of her chest. Corrosive whispers drifted through her mind.
There’s no hope …
Life will never get better.
You’ll never succeed at anything. Might as well give up now.
She hated the demon of Misery with every fiber of her being. He was the essence of evil, darkness without any hint of light, yet she couldn’t survive without him. Problem was, she knew she couldn’t survive with him, either.
But what could she do?
Nothing, that’s what. Always nothing. Forever nothing.
And so, for the rest of her existence, tears would always burn at the backs of her eyes. If ever she laughed, she wouldn’t remember it. Her friends claimed she had, upon occasion, smiled, but she couldn’t recall a single instance—and never would.
But. Yes, but. While she couldn’t make her life better, she could make Kane’s better. Surely. Hopefully.
A few days ago, she’d visited him in his room. He’d worn anguish like a second skin, though he’d tried to mask it. He probably would have succeeded with anyone but Cameo. The misery of others delighted her demon.
For a moment, only a moment, she had felt better. Lighter. Finally free. Then, she had felt a thousand times worse as her own misery had merged with Kane’s.
Kane hadn’t seemed to notice. Distracted, he had played with the ends of her hair, the dark strands pretty against the bronze of his skin. “Silver Eyes,” he’d said, using his favorite nickname for her. “I missed you more than I can say.”
Lovely words. True words. They always missed each other when they were parted. But then he’d stood, not giving her a chance to reply, and padded to the bathroom, shutting himself inside. He hadn’t looked back.
He always looked back when he walked away from her.
He always winked at her.
She always blew him a kiss. Sometimes, when she was mad at him, with bite. He always chuckled.
Then, he’d left the fortress without saying goodbye to her. He always said goodbye.
They’d fought together for centuries, and never once had they deviated from their traditions. Traditions that had started because, after they’d first met, they had briefly dated. But his demon, Disaster, and her demon, Misery, had caused far too many problems and they’d eventually broken up. He’d become her best friend. Her confidant. Their traditions were all they had.
Since his return, something had changed.
He had changed.
She should have expected it. He’d spent several weeks in hell, bound and chained and tortured. He hadn’t spilled the details, and she hadn’t needed them. She could guess—and knew the worst of her imaginings wouldn’t even come close to what he’d suffered. She’d wanted only to make him feel better, at least for a little while.
As if you can do anything to help anyone.
Gritting her teeth, she blocked her mind to the demon’s manipulations. I can help him, and I will.
Cameo stood in the center of a bedroom emptied of all furniture. The walls were made of crumbling stone, and peppered with cameras. Torin was fierce about security. The marble floor was cracked—Kane had been here, and recently. The air was cool, but dry, and coated with dust.
She studied the four artifacts in front of her. Wars had been fought for them. People had killed to find them, to protect them, to steal them. She and her friends had done all of that and more to obtain them.
Somehow, some way, these seemingly useless things would lead the way to Pandora’s box. To the Lords’ freedom. And their ultimate doom.
The Cage of Compulsion was a rusted four-by-four cell. However, when trapped inside, a person was compelled to do whatever the owner commanded.
Then there was the Cloak of Invisibility. A simple piece of fabric. However, when a person draped the material over their shoulders, no one could see them.
Then there was the Paring Rod, a long, thin spear with a glittering crystal rounding out the top end. When touched, it could steal a spirit from a body, leaving only an empty shell.
Finally, there was a painting from the All-Seeing Eye, given to Cameo only this morning.
Danika, the Eye, could sometimes see into the skies and sometimes the abyss. Sometimes the past. Sometimes, as a gift from the Most High, the future. In this painting, Danika had obviously seen into a man’s office—in the present? At the far right wall, there were treasures locked inside a glass case, and one of those treasures was a small box made of bones.
Could it be Pandora’s box? A container hidden for centuries. A dangerous weapon supposedly constructed from the bones of the female incarnation of oppression. When opened, the box would suck the demons from Cameo and the other Lords, trapping the evil inside.
Ending their lives.
Cameo had sensed Kane’s hatred for Disaster. She had sensed his desire to rid himself of the creature’s influence, in any way necessary—she had sensed, because it was a mirror of her own yearnings. If he couldn’t find a way, he might decide to hunt down the box and use it.
She couldn’t let him die.
So, she would just have to eliminate this method of deliverance. She nodded. Yes. That’s how she would help him.
But … how was she supposed to put each of the artifacts to use at the same time? Because that was the key to finding the box. Should she climb into the cage while wearing the Cloak and holding the painting and the Rod?
“What’cha doing?”
The voice came from beside her. Cameo cut off a groan as she turned to face Viola, the keeper of Narcissism and the newest bane of her existence. Seriously. Dealing with a pack of rabid wolves on a steady diet of dark-haired, silver-eyed females would have been way easier.
Curling blond hair cascaded over Viola’s dainty shoulder, and eyes the color of cinnamon twinkled. She wore a skimpy, skintight dress with enough ruffles and bows to put Christmas morning to shame, and she held her pet Tasmanian devil in her arms. Princess Fluffy … something was his name.
Yes. The princess was a he.
“I’m spending time alone,” Cameo finally replied. Hint, hint.
“Well, I hate being the bearer of bad news almost as much as I love it, but spending time alone isn’t a good look for you. Your face is all scrunchy. It’s quite frightening. You should try to be more like me and look good no matter who you’re with. Or not with.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“I know! I’m so smart it should be criminal.”
Gotta find that box. Cameo wouldn’t destroy it right away. She would run a test, just one, and shove Viola near it. Then, she would find out exactly what happened when a demon-possessed immortal approached it. Maybe Viola would survive. Fingers crossed she wouldn’t.
As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, Princess Fluffy whatever lunged out and sank his fangs into Cameo’s wrist, a quick in-and-out job that left her bleeding. Viola continued chatting about nothing, unconcerned.
Cameo bent down, doing as Super Nanny had taught her, and as she’d often had to do with the men in her life, looking the little cretin in the eye. “If you do that again, I’m going to have he-princess for breakfast. I doubt you’ll taste very good, you’re too bitter, but that’s what mustard is for.”
The devil-dog yelped, jumped from his mistress’s arms, and raced out of the room.
“I wonder what’s wrong with him,” Viola said.
Talk about having a megawatt attention filter. If something didn’t revolve around Viola, the female never noticed.
“Do you recognize any of these artifacts?” Cameo asked her. Might as well make use of her while she was here.
“Of course I do. I can recognize anything. I’m quite gifted.”
Gotta find it real soon. “Tell me what you know.”
Viola puffed up, saying, “Well, the pieces are quite old. And ugly. Except for the painting. It’s new and ugly.” She traced a fingertip along the canvas and her expression of self-love melted away. “Be very careful.” How serious she suddenly sounded. How dire. “If you fail to use each artifact properly, you’ll find yourself trapped. Forever.” Then she traced her finger over the Cloak, grimaced, and returned to her old, annoying self. “It’s not very soft, is it? I prefer soft. My skin is very delicate. And perfect.”
“How do I use each artifact properly?” Cameo insisted.
“What are you talking about? How should I know? I’ve never used them. And besides, while I know everything, I sometimes like to be appreciated for more than my magnificent brain.” As she spoke, she bent down to peer into the crystal at the end of the Rod. “Oh, a pretty,” she breathed, appearing entranced by her own reflection.
She reached out. Made contact.
One second she stood beside Cameo, the next she was gone.
Silence filled the room.
“Viola,” Cameo said, spinning, but there was no sign of the girl.
Heartbeat picking up speed, Cameo focused on the camera in the far right corner. “Did you see that? Did what I think just happened really happen?”
There was a crackle of static before Torin’s voice flowed from strategically placed speakers. “Yeah. The moment she made contact with the Rod, she was adiosed.”
“What should I do?” she demanded.
“Nothing. I’m going to do a search for info and see what I can find.”
No. She wasn’t content to do nothing. Besides, he’d been searching for info since they’d gotten the thing, and hadn’t found anything.
Moving swiftly, Cameo unfolded the Cloak.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Torin demanded. “Stop that right now.”
“Make me.” He was the keeper of Disease. One touch of his skin against another’s and a plague would start. The poor guy spent most of his time alone in his bedroom, watching the world from a distance.
In a moment of weakness, they had begun a handsoff relationship, but just like with Kane, the sparks had quickly fizzled and they’d realized they were better off as friends.
“Cameo. Don’t.”
He was concerned for her. She knew that. She also knew he liked to think before acting. To plan. To test. Most of the warriors living in the fortress were like that. Not Cameo. The longer she waited to do something, the more useless she became, the demon’s misery filling her, consuming her.
More than that, Viola could be in pain. Cameo didn’t like the girl, but she wasn’t going to let her suffer—no matter what she’d planned to do to her. She had to try to extract her.
Cameo reached out with a shaky hand.
“Don’t you dare do what she did,” Torin shouted over the speakers.
She paused. Maybe there was another way. Maybe—
“Maddox!” Torin’s voice boomed. “You’re needed in the artifact room. Now! Reyes, you, too. Anyone. Cameo’s about to make a huge and possibly fatal mistake.”
No time to reason things out.
Trembling, Cameo set the painting in the cage, grabbed the Cloak, and entered. She shut the door, and the lock automatically engaged. The moment she heard the soft click, she felt as though a heavy ring of metal had wrapped around her neck, wrists and ankles. But when she looked, she saw only the tan of her skin.
“I’m commanding you to stop, Cameo,” Torin said.
The Cage clearly didn’t consider him its owner, because she felt no compulsion to obey him.
She wrapped the Cloak around her shoulders and reached through the bars, intending to latch onto the Rod. Just before contact, her gaze locked on the painting. She froze. In an instant, insignificant details were wiped away. She saw the box, and in the shadows behind it, a man. He was of average height, with a thin build.