The Darkest Passion

As the All-Seeing Eye, Danika’s predictions were always accurate. Even the bad ones. But there was a silver lining: those visions could be used to elicit change. At least in theory.

“But what if?” Paris prompted when his silence dragged on too long.

“If Cronus answers my plea, I’ll enjoy the ride,” Aeron lied with a grin. “Now, enough about me. Let’s do what we came here to do.” He sat up and peered down at the street, scanning the thinning crowd.

To preserve the roads, cars weren’t allowed in this part of town, so everyone had to hoof it. That’s why he’d picked this location. Pulling a female out of a moving vehicle wasn’t something he enjoyed. This way, Paris had only to make his selection and Aeron would spread his wings and fly the warrior down. One glance at the gorgeous blue-eyed devil, and the chosen female would stop and gasp. Sometimes a smile was all that was needed to convince her to strip, right there in public, where anyone lurking in the alleyways could watch.

“You won’t find anyone,” Paris said. “I’ve already looked.”

“What about…her?” He pointed to a plump, scantily dressed blonde.

“No.” No hesitation. “Too…obvious.”

Here we go again, he thought with dread, but gestured to another woman. “And her?” This one was tall and perfectly curved with a short cap of red hair. And she was dressed conservatively.

“No. Too mannish.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That I don’t want her. Next.”

For the ensuing hour, Aeron pointed out potential bedmates and Paris shot them down for various—ridiculous—reasons. Too pristine, too rumpled, too tan, too pale. The only rejection that mattered was “I’ve had her before” and as many as Paris had had, Aeron heard that one a lot.

“You’re going to have to settle on one eventually. Why not save us both the hassle, close your eyes and point. Whoever you’re pointing at will be our winner.”

“I’ve played that game once before. Ended up—” Paris shuddered. “Never mind. It’s not good to wander down that particular memory trail. So no. Just no.”

“What about—” His words halted abruptly as the woman he’d been eyeballing disappeared in the shadows. She hadn’t faded from view, as was natural. Normal. She had simply ceased to exist, there one moment, gone the next, the shadows somehow tugged to her as if they’d been jerked on a leash.

Aeron jumped to his feet, wings automatically pushing from the slits in his bare back and expanding. “We have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” Paris, too, sprang to his feet. Even though he wavered slightly from the ambrosia, he was still a soldier and palmed a dagger.

“The dark-haired female. Did you see her?”

“Which one?”

That answered Aeron’s question. No, Paris hadn’t seen her. If he had, the warrior wouldn’t have needed to ask of whom Aeron spoke.

“Come on.” Aeron snaked his arms around his friend’s waist and leapt from the building. Wind blasted through Paris’s multicolored locks, whipping several strands against his face as the ground loomed closer…closer still…“Be on the lookout for a woman with shoulder-length black hair, straight as a pin, roughly five-ten, early twenties, black clothing. Most likely she’s more than human.”

“Kill?”

“Capture. I have questions for her.” Like how she’d disappeared like that. Like why she was here. Like who she worked for.

Immortals always had an agenda.

Just before they hit concrete and stone, Aeron flapped his wings. He slowed just enough to land upright with only a mild jarring. He released his charge, and they instantly branched in separate directions. After thousands of years of fighting together, they knew how to proceed without first outlining every move.

As Aeron sprinted down the alleyway to his left, the direction the woman had been heading, he folded his wings back under their slits. He spotted several people—a couple holding hands, a homeless male draining a bottle of whiskey, a man walking his dog—but no dark-haired female. He reached a brick wall and spun. Damn this. Was she like Lucien? Able to whisk herself to any location with only a thought?

Scowling, he kicked back into motion. He’d search every alley in the area if need be. Only, halfway down, the shadows around him thickened, consuming him, choking out the golden glow of the street lamps. Thousands of muted screams seemed to seep from the gloom. Tortured screams. Agonized screams.

He stopped, lest he slam into something—or someone—and palmed two blades. What the hell was—

A woman—the woman—stepped from the shadows, only a few feet away from him. She was the only light in that sudden, vast expanse of dark. Her eyes were as black as the gloom around her, her lips as red and moist as blood. She was pretty, in a feral kind of way.

Wrath hissed inside his head.

For a moment, Aeron feared Cronus had actually listened to him after all and sent a female to torment him. But as he stared over at her, there was no heat in his veins, no flutter in his heartbeat, as he’d heard the other Lords expound on whenever one found a female he just “had to have.” She was like any other to him: easily forgettable.

“Well, well, well. Aren’t I a lucky girl. You’re one of them, a Lord of the Underworld, and you came to me,” she said, her voice as raspy as smoke. “I didn’t even have to ask.”

“I am a Lord, yes.” There was no reason to deny it. The townspeople recognized him and the others on sight. Some even thought they were angels. Hunters recognized them on sight, as well, but were all too quick to renounce them as demons. Either way, the information could hardly be used against him. “And I did come looking for you.”

At his easy confirmation, her features revealed a hint of surprise. “A great honor, to be sure. Why were you looking?”

“I want to know who are you.” Better question—what was she?

“Maybe I’m not as lucky as I thought.” Those lush red lips dipped into a pout and she pretended to wipe away a tear. “If my own brother doesn’t recognize me.”

Well, he now had part of his answer: she was a liar. “I don’t have a sister.”

She arched a black brow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t been born to a mother and father; Zeus, King of the Greek gods, had simply spoken him into existence. Same with all the Lords.

“Stubborn.” She tsked, reminding him of Paris. “I should’ve known we’d be just alike. Anyway, it’s so nice to finally catch one of you alone. Who’d I get? Fury? Narcissism? I’m right, aren’t I? Admit it, you’re Narcissism. That’s why you plastered your body with tattoos of your own face. Nice. Can I call you Narci?”

Fury? Narcissism? None of his brothers carried those demons. Doubt, Disease, Misery and many others, yes, but not those. He shook his head—only to remember that other demon-possessed immortals were out there. Immortals he’d never met. Immortals he was supposed to find.

As he and his friends had been the ones to open Pandora’s box, they’d always assumed they were the only ones cursed to house its evil. But Cronus had recently corrected that false assumption, gifting the Lords with scrolls bearing the names of others like them. Apparently, there had been more demons than warriors, and with the box nowhere to be found, the Greeks—the gods in power at the time—had placed the remaining demons inside the immortal prisoners of Tartarus.

A discovery that did not bode well for the Lords. As Zeus’s former elite sentries, they’d locked many of those prisoners away—and criminals often lived only for vengeance. Something Wrath had taught him well.

“Hello,” the woman prompted. “Anyone home?”

He blinked down at her, cursing himself. He’d allowed himself to be distracted in the presence of a possible enemy. Fool. “Who I am is none of your concern.” That was information that could be used against him. Especially since lately, Wrath was so easily provoked the most innocent of statements could send it—and therefore Aeron—into that murderous craze, placing this town and all of its citizens in danger.

He blamed the angel stalking him.

Except he couldn’t blame the angel when Wrath began snarling inside his mind, clawing at his skull, desperate to act. To hurt. The demon’s keenest ability was, and had always been, sensing the sins of anyone nearby. And this woman’s, he suddenly realized, were vast.

“I’ll take your sudden black expression as a no. You’re not Narci, and no one’s home.”

“Stop…talking…” He gripped his temples, cool blades pressed against his skin, trying to stop the mental bombardment he knew was coming, another distraction he could ill afford. Useless. Her multitude of sins played through his head at once, like movies on split screens. She had recently tortured a man, had chained him to a chair and set him on fire. Before that, she had gutted a female. She had tricked, and she had stolen. Had abducted a child from his home. Had lured a male to her bed and sliced his throat. Violence…so much violence…so much terror and pain and darkness. He could hear the screams of her victims, could smell burnt flesh and taste blood.

Perhaps she’d had good reason for doing those things. Perhaps not. Either way, Wrath wanted to punish her, using her own crimes against her. First it would chain her, then gut her, then slice her throat and set her on fire.

That was the way of Aeron’s demon. It beat beaters, murdered murderers, as well as everything in between. So yes, at Wrath’s urging, Aeron had done those things. Many times. Now, he clenched every muscle in his body, locking his bones in place. Steady. Can’t lose control. Have to stay sane. But gods, the need to castigate…so strong…a need he liked more than he should have. As usual.

“Why are you here in Budapest, woman?” Good. That was good. Slowly he lowered his arms.

“Wow,” she said, ignoring his question. “That was quite a display of restraint.”

She’d known his demon wanted to hurt her?

“So let me guess.” She tapped a nail against her chin. “You’re not Narci, so you have to be…Chauvinist. Right again, aren’t I? You think a pretty little thing like me can’t handle the truth. Mistake. But no matter. Keep your secrets. You’ll learn, though. Oh, yes, you’ll learn.”

“Are you threatening me, female?”

Again she ignored him. “Word on the street is Cronus gave you the scrolls and you plan to use them to hunt us down. To use us. Perhaps even slay us.”

Aeron’s stomach bottomed out. One, she knew about the scrolls when he and his friends had only just learned of them. Two, she knew she was on that list. Which meant this woman was indeed an immortal—and a criminal—and if she was to be believed, she was also demon-possessed.

Aeron didn’t recognize her, which meant he and his friends hadn’t been the ones to imprison her. That meant she’d come before their time in the heavens. And that meant she was a Titan and a greater threat, for the Titans were far more savage than their Greek counterparts.

Worse, the now-freed Titans were currently in charge. She might have godly help.

“Which demon do you carry?” he demanded, not above using its weaknesses against her.

She offered a wicked grin, his hard tone clearly amusing her. “You didn’t share that information with me. Why should I share anything with you?”

Infuriating woman. “You said us.” He looked over her shoulder, half expecting someone to leap forward and attack him. All he saw was darkness…and all he heard were more of those muted screams. “Where are these others?”

“Hell if I know.” She splayed her arms, her hands out and empty, as if she didn’t think he warranted the use of a weapon. “I’m on my own, just like always, and that’s the way I like it.”

Probably another lie. What woman would approach a fearsome Lord of the Underworld without backup? He didn’t relax his guard as he met her gaze. “If you’re here to war with us, know that—”

“War?” She laughed. “When I could kill you all while you sleep? No, I’m just here to deliver a warning. Call off the dogs or I’ll wipe your presence from this world. And if anyone can do so, it’s me.”

After the things he’d seen in his mind, he believed her. She attacked in gloom, a phantom who delivered no warning. Without a doubt, there was no crime she found too vile. That didn’t mean he was going to heed her demands. “You might think yourself powerful, but you can’t defeat us all. War is what you’ll get if you continue to issue such warnings.”

“Whatever, warrior. I said what I wanted to say. You just better pray this is the last time you see me.” The shadows thickened again, enveloping her and leaving absolutely no sign of her presence. Until, right next to his ear, he heard, “Oh, and one last thing. This was my courtesy call. Next time, I won’t play nice.”

Then the world around him crashed back into focus: the buildings at his sides, the trash bags littering the concrete, the inebriated male now passed out cold. Finally, Wrath calmed.

Aeron remained on alert, eyes scanning, body ready. He listened, heard only the deliberate drags of his own breath, the patter of human footsteps beyond the alley and the song of night birds.

Once more his wings expanded and he shot into the air, determined to find Paris and return to their fortress. The other Lords had to be notified. Whoever the bloodthirsty female was, whatever else she could do, she needed to be dealt with. Soon.

CHAPTER TWO

“AERON! AERON!”

At the fortress, Aeron’s booted feet hit the balcony that led into his bedroom. Jolted by the unfamiliar female voice, he released Paris.

“Aeron!”

At that third ear-piercing feminine cry of terror and desperation, both he and Paris spun to face the hill below them. Thick trees knifed toward the sky, obscuring visibility, but there, amid the dappled greens and browns, he could just make out a figure draped in white.

A figure rushing toward their home.

“Shadow Girl?” Paris asked. “How the hell did she make it past our gate so quickly? And on foot, no less?”

Aeron had explained what happened with the woman from the alley along the way. “That’s not her.” This voice was higher, richer and far less confident. “The gate…I don’t know.”

Weeks ago, after he and Paris had recovered from battle wounds inflicted by Hunters, they had erected an iron gate around the fortress. That gate stretched fifteen feet tall, was wrapped with barbed wire and had tips sharp enough to cut glass. It also vibrated with enough electricity to send a human into cardiac arrest. Anyone who attempted to climb it wouldn’t live long enough to reach the other side.

“Think she’s Bait?” Paris tilted his head, his study of her intensifying. “She could have been dropped from a heli, I guess.”

Hunters had been known to use beautiful human females to lure the Lords out into the open, distract them and capture them for torture. This one certainly seemed to meet the criteria, possessing long wavy hair the color of chocolate, skin as pale as a cloud and a curved, ethereal body. Aeron couldn’t make out her facial features just yet, but he would bet they were exquisite.

His wings unfolded from their slits as he answered, “Maybe.” Damn Hunters and their perfect timing. Half his friends were gone. They’d traveled to Rome to search the Temple of the Unspoken Ones, ruins that had recently risen from the sea. They hoped to find anything that would lead them to missing godly artifacts. Four artifacts that, when used together, would then lead to the location of Pandora’s box.

Hunters hoped to use that box to lock the demons back inside, destroying the Lords since man could no longer live without demon. The Lords simply hoped to demolish it.

“There are trip wires out there.” The more Paris spoke, the more Aeron noticed a tremor in his tone. Because of Shadow Girl, as Paris had called her, there hadn’t been time for him to bed anyone in town, so his strength must be draining. “If she’s not careful…Even if she is Bait, she doesn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Aeron!”

Paris fisted the balcony railing and leaned down for a better look. “Why’s she calling for you?”

And why was she using his name with such familiarity? “If she’s Bait, Hunters are probably out there right now, lying in wait for me. I’ll try and help her and they’ll attack.”

Paris straightened, face suddenly bathed in moonlight. Bruises had formed under his eyes. “I’ll get the others, and we’ll take care of her. Of them.” He was off before Aeron could reply, striding out of the bedroom, boots thumping against the stone floor.

Aeron kept his focus on the girl. As she continued to race upward, closer and closer to him, he realized the white cloth draping her was actually a robe. And the back of it, which he hadn’t been able to see before, was bright red.

She wasn’t wearing shoes, and when her bare toe slammed into a rock, she fell, that mass of chocolate hair cascading around her face. There were flowers woven through the curls, some of the petals missing. There were also twigs, but he didn’t think she’d placed those there intentionally. Her hands were shaking as she reached up and pushed the strands away.

Finally, her features came into view and every muscle in his body jumped, tensed. She was exquisite, just as he’d supposed. Even splotchy and swollen from tears as she was. She had huge sky-blue eyes, a perfectly sloped nose, perfectly sculpted cheeks and jaw, both just a little rounded, and perfect lips that formed a lush heart.

He’d never met her before, he would have remembered, but suddenly there was something almost…familiar about her.

She lumbered to a stand, grimacing and groaning, then started forward. Once again, she fell. A pained sob escaped her, but still she persisted, rising, edging toward the fortress. Bait or not, such determination was admirable.

Somehow she managed to dodge all the traps, weaving around them as if she knew where they were, but when she hit another rock and tumbled to the ground for a third time, she stayed down, shuddering, crying.

His eyes widened as he studied her back. The red…Was that…blood? Fresh, still wet? The metallic tang of it drifted on the breeze and reached Aeron’s nostrils, confirming his suspicions. Oh, yes. It was.

Hers? Or someone else’s?

“Aeron.” No longer a scream, but a pathetic wail. “Help me.”

His wings expanded before he could think things through. Yes, Hunters would purposely injure Bait before sending her into the lions’ den, hoping to gain sympathy from the target. Yes, he’d probably end up with arrows and bullets in his back—again—but he wasn’t going to leave her out there, injured and vulnerable. Wasn’t going to allow his friends to risk their lives to save—or destroy—his little visitor.

Why me? he wondered as he shot from the balcony. Up, up he soared before falling toward her. He zigzagged to make himself less of a mark, but no arrows whizzed by and no gunshots sounded. Still, rather than land beside her, he increased his speed, reached out his arms and scooped her up without ever slowing his pace.

Perhaps she was afraid of heights and that was the reason for her sudden stiffening. Perhaps she’d expected him to be killed before ever reaching her and, when he’d actually managed to latch onto her, had stiffened from terror. Either way, he didn’t care. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He had her.

She began flailing weakly against his hold, grunting in shock and pain. “Don’t touch me! Let me go! Let me go, or I swear to—”

“Be still, or by the gods, I will drop you.” He had her by the stomach, her face aimed toward the ground. That way, she could see just how far she would fall.

“Aeron?” She craned her neck to see him. The moment their gazes connected, she relaxed. Even smiled slowly. “Aeron,” she repeated on a sigh of pleasure. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

That pleasure, undiluted and untouched by malice, surprised—and confused—him. Women never looked at him like that. “Your fear was misplaced. You should have feared I would come.”

Her smile faded.

Better. The only thing that disturbed him now was the radio silence from his demon. As with Shadow Girl, images and urges should have bombarded him by now. Worry about it later.

Continuing to zigzag, he flew into his bedroom, not stopping on the balcony as usual. He needed cover as quickly as possible. Just in case. Except, just as he was retracting his wings, they slammed into both sides of the doorway and fire rushed from the tips to the arches.

Aeron ignored the pain as he skidded to his feet. When he righted himself, he strode to the bed and gently laid his charge atop the mattress, facedown. He ran a fingertip along the ridge of her spine and her heart-shaped lips parted on an agonized groan. He’d hoped she’d been doused with someone else’s blood, but no. Her injuries were real.

The knowledge wouldn’t soften him. She’d probably inflicted the damage herself—or allowed the Hunters to do it—just for the sympathy it would evoke. No sympathy from me. Only irritation. As he stomped to his closet, he drew his wings into his back, but broken as they now were, they wouldn’t fit under their flaps. That only increased his irritation with her.

He didn’t have rope and didn’t want to leave the room to find some, so he grabbed two of the neckties Ashlyn had given him in case he ever wanted to “dress up.” He returned to the bed.

Her cheek pressed into the mattress, her gaze tracking his every move, as if she couldn’t help but peer at him—and not in revulsion as most females did. She watched him with something akin to desire.

An act, surely.

And yet, that desire…there was something familiar about it. Something unsettling. That’s what he’d noticed earlier, he thought. When she’d called his name, that same desire had been evident and deep down, he’d known he’d encountered it before. When? Where?

From her?

He continued to stare down at her, and Wrath—was still silent, he realized. This was (supposedly) the first time he’d ever been in her presence, yet his demon still wasn’t flashing her sins through his mind. That was odd. Had happened only once before. With Legion. Why, he’d never figured out. Gods knew his baby girl had sinned.

So why was it happening again? With possible Bait, no less?

This woman, had she never sinned? Had she never said an unkind word to another? Never purposely tripped someone or stolen something as simple as a piece of candy? Those pure, sky eyes said no. Or, like Legion, had she sinned but for whatever reason, flew under Wrath’s radar?

“Who are you?” His fingers wrapped around one of her fragile wrists—mmm, warm, smooth skin—and anchored it to a bedpost with the tie. He repeated the action with her other wrist.

Not once did she protest. It was as if she’d expected—and already accepted—that she would receive such treatment. “My name is Olivia.”

Olivia. A pretty name. Fitting. Delicate. Actually, the only thing that wasn’t delicate about her was her voice. Layer after layer of…what was that? The only word he could think to describe it was honesty, and so much drifted from her, he was knocked backward.

That voice had never told a lie, he would bet. It couldn’t have.

“What are you doing here, Olivia?”

“I’m here…I’m here for you.”

Again, that truth…it was a force that flowed into his ears, through his body, and sent him staggering. There wasn’t room for doubts. Not a single one. He was simply compelled to believe her.

Sabin, keeper of Doubt, would have loved her. Nothing pleased the warrior’s demon more than tearing down another’s confidence.

“Are you Bait?”

“No.”

Again, he believed her; he had no choice. “Are you here to kill me?” He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at her, waiting.

He knew how fierce he looked, but again, she didn’t react as females usually did: trembling, cowering, crying. She fluttered her long, black lashes at him, seemingly hurt that he’d maligned her character.