Читать книгу The Darkest Promise - Gena Showalter - Страница 15

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“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.”

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.