The Darkest Seduction lotu-10 Page 11

  He wished he were more like Paris. Wished he could plow through them—in bed and out—and be stronger for it while remaining emotionally distanced and unconcerned with the consequences.

  Of course, then he’d also be a drug addict obsessed with finding the woman who’d tried to kill him, but at the moment, drugs and obsession seemed like a nice change of pace. And damn. When Kane got home, he was gonna be teased mercilessly about his precious seed, his needy harem girls, and his refusal to fertilize their petunia patches.

  Bring it, boys. At least he’d be home.

  Home… The word echoed through his mind, a wave of foreboding slamming through him.

  Something was about to happen, he realized with a twist of sickness. Something terrible was about to happen. A disaster…a tragedy of the worst sort…inside the fortress in Buda, where all the Lords and their significant others lived. His fortress. His demon knew it, sensed it, and in turn, so did Kane.

  He was on his feet and running for the exit, not slowing even when multiple females latched on to him and held on for the ride.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  VIOLA TRAILED AFTER the gorgeous warrior named Maddox as he carried his very pregnant wife, Ashlyn, up the stairs, past naked portraits of his friends holding rainbow-colored ribbons and stuffed teddy bears. This was the fourth time one of the Budapest residents had foisted her off on someone else, and she couldn’t understand why no one wanted to spend more time with her.

  From Lucien to Anya, whom she’d met in Tartarus centuries ago. They’d been cell-block-B mates. Anya had always been jealous of her, of course. Who hadn’t—and wasn’t? Earlier today the minor goddess had pretended not to recognize her, but Viola had taken the lie for what it was. A plea to hear all about Viola’s magnificent life.

  An hour later, Anya had handed her off to Reyes and his Danika. Viola was still puzzling over Anya’s parting words to the couple. “Here you go. Take her. And you’re welcome. You won’t need to stab yourself to please your demon for at least a year, Reyes.”

  Just how was Viola supposed to have pleased an anguish-happy fiend like Reyes? He was possessed by the demon of Pain, yet she was perfectly…perfect, a joy to look upon and listen to, a veritable fount of shiny, priceless pearls of wisdom, with a keen sense of fashion and a knack for home decorating.

  Speaking of those little life skills, she’d already decided to put them to good use. From now on she would be dressing everyone here, as well as redesigning their mansion’s interior and exterior. And she wasn’t even going to charge them—more than a few hundred thou.

  Her eyes filled with tears as her hand fluttered to her heart. She was such a giver.

  At one time, centuries ago, she’d done something not so giving and sent herself catapulting into a shame spiral, but she couldn’t recall what that something was. She never did. Her demon stored negative memories away, hiding them from her. Anything to continue her love affair with herself. As if she would ever end it.

  Anyway. An hour into their conversation, Reyes had handed her off to Aeron’s angel, Olivia. And fifteen minutes after that, Olivia had sweetly suggested that Viola shouldn’t deny Maddox the pleasure of her company. Five glorious (for him) minutes later, Maddox had stomped away, muttering something about finding his wife and Viola could join him if she insisted. So, here they were, headed to the couple’s bedroom.

  “I’m sure I could whip up some kind of mechanical chair that would cart your wife around,” Viola told the warrior. He was shirtless, and the crimson butterfly tattoo stretching across his shoulder blades—the mark of his demon—seemed to be scowling at her. “I’m handy with tools, as you probably guessed, and your back is probably strained from her massive weight.”

  Ashlyn smothered a laugh with one hand, but she failed to smother Maddox’s snarl with the other.

  “She is light as a feather,” he snarled. “I enjoy carrying her. I also enjoy having her all to myself.”

  “Okay, but it’s your back’s funeral. In a few years, you’ll probably need a brace.” Oh, yes. His tattoo was indeed scowling at her. A gnarled, skeletal face had formed between the wings, fangs extending from a tiny mouth. The edges of the wings sharpened into daggerlike points, curling toward her.

  Cool, but in no way comparable to hers. The front of her butterfly stretched along her chest, stomach and legs. The back of her butterfly stretched along her shoulders, thighs and calves. A total body tat that glimmered with the radiance of crushed pink diamonds.

  Ashlyn’s honey-colored eyes found her over Maddox’s muscled shoulder. “He’s not trying to get rid of you—”

  “Yes, I am,” Maddox said.

  “—he’s just cranky,” the human finished.

  Viola’s brow wrinkled as she attempted to figure out how the poor, addled pregnant woman could have come up with such a preposterous idea. Get rid of her? Please. Men, women and children, mortals and immortals, fought to keep her by their sides. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” she said. Wasn’t that what humans said to one another to prove they weren’t offended by stupid ideas? “I’m sure he’s simply overwhelmed by my magnificence.”

  Maddox was the one to scowl this time, tossing the dark expression at her before stopping in front of a closed door. But then Ashlyn giggled and his gaze shot to her face. His entire body softened, melting like an ice cube in the summer heat.

  A pang throbbed in Viola’s chest. She thought back, but couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at her like that, as if she were the morning sun, the midnight moon, and every star perched in the endless sky. Even though she’d had thousands—no, bazillions!—of admirers.

  “Where’s your dog?” Ashlyn asked.

  “Princess Fluffikans is exploring these new surroundings without any hindrance from mommy.”

  “That explains the screaming downstairs,” Maddox muttered.

  Ashlyn kissed her husband on the lips, then reached out to twist the knob. The door creaked open, and Maddox carried her inside. Fresh, clean air wafted to Viola. Out of habit, she scouted every inch in a single sweep, searching out all the mirrors and reflective surfaces. To the left was a vanity, and she made a mental note to avoid it, even as her demon urged her to close the distance…to take a teeny-tiny peek…just one, just for a second, because she would look so very beautiful....

  She gritted her teeth. Dewy flowers spilled from colorful vases balanced on every piece of furniture in the room except the bed. Flowers had been woven in the wrought-iron bedposts, though, twining and clinging like ivy.

  A portrait hung in the center of the far wall. And sweet heavens. Viola approached the thing slowly. The attention to detail was stunning. She could only take in a little at a time, studying one small section, looking away, then turning back to study another, repeating the process again and again until she’d gone over every inch.

  In it, Ashlyn lounged in a lush, jewel-toned garden, flower petals in her hair, draping her body and dripping all around her. But the petals were not actually petals; they were faces. So many faces. The warriors here, their women, faces Viola didn’t recognize and others she did—including her own. She quickly looked away from her own image, deciding to ponder its presence at a safer time.

  One of Ashlyn’s arms was bare, her skin tattooed to her elbow. Flames and snowflakes twisted together, and while the flames should have melted the flakes and the flakes should have doused the flames, the two somehow fed off each other, growing in color and intensity the higher up her arm they moved.

  There was a reflective pool in front of her, and Maddox peered at her from its murky depths. Ashlyn reached for him with that tattooed arm, a silver ring winding along her index finger, glowing majestically.

  Viola’s nerve endings tingled. She’d seen paintings like this one before, but couldn’t recall where or when. What she did know: every color, every face, every inch meant something. For real. This was symbolism at its finest. Only she didn’t know how to decipher it.

  “Who pain
ted this?” she asked, her awe unmistakable. She straightened, turned away from the portrait before she lost hours of her life puzzling over the thing. Same as she lost hours every time she caught sight of her own image.

  “Danika, Reyes’s woman,” Maddox muttered.

  Danika. Hmm. Now that the painting was behind her, Viola allowed herself to question her inclusion in it. She’d met Danika for the first time this morning. The female appeared human, but after seeing this, she knew there had to be more to her. “It’s an exquisite piece.”

  “Her work always is,” Ashlyn said proudly.

  “She sees into the future?”

  “We will not discuss that,” Maddox said.

  So yes, she did. “She’ll want to paint one of me all by myself, of course. I’ll have to check my schedule and make sure I have the time to pose for her.” If not, I’ll make time. Must question her. Must learn more about myself.

  Another giggle from Ashlyn. Another scowl from Maddox.

  He’d placed his female on the bed and tucked the covers around her. Now he smoothed the hair from her brow, as gently as if he were caring for a fragile infant. “What do you need, sweetheart? Name it, and it’s yours.”

  Dainty fingers rubbed at that swollen belly even as a soft smile played at her plump lips. “I would really, really love an orange. Just one this time, though. Last time this particular craving hit, you brought me the entire grove.”

  “I will bring you the best, most succulent orange you have ever tasted.” He caressed her cheek for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to look away from her. Then he forced himself to do so and shot Viola a threatening glare.

  “You will guard her with your life. And if you hurt her, even accidentally…” His hands fisted at his sides.

  “Can’t think of anything vile enough?” Viola thought for a moment. “May I suggest disembowelment? You can hang me from the ceiling with my own intestines. That would be really gruesome.”

  He gaped at her.

  “Word of warning, though. Intestines are pink and pink is my best color. Wait. Who am I kidding? All colors are my best color. So, if you go that route, be ready to fall in love with me all over again.”

  His mouth snapped shut, a grimace contorting his lips. “That’s it. I’m staying. Viola, you go find the orange.”

  “No way. Unless we go together and you carry me.” All that walking had caused her feet to throb.

  He looked at the door, then Viola, then the door, then Viola again.

  Oh, come on. “Your resident angel already told you that I’m pure of heart, can be trusted, blah, blah, blah.” That had surprised Viola, because she wasn’t sure she’d ever been pure of heart. The fact that the warriors believed the dark-haired girl without a moment’s hesitation had really surprised her. Supposedly, they were the most suspicious beings on earth. “Oh, and bring me an orange, too, but put it beside a hamburger and fries. I skipped lunch.”

  After issuing a few more threats to her life, he finally stalked from the room.

  “Overprotective momma grisly,” she muttered. “Geez.”

  “Have you never been in love?” Ashlyn asked.

  “Hello. I’m not a fool.”

  “Is that a yes, then?”

  “Um, yeah, that’s a no.”

  A serene smile met her vehemence. “Why so much horror at the prospect?”

  The ache in her chest returned. She rubbed and rubbed, nearly peeling off her shirt and the skin underneath, but the damn ache persisted. “I don’t know.” Time to change the subject. “I’m thinking about planning a singles’ night here at my new home—fingers crossed it’s forever—and letting the unattached warriors court me.” She strolled to the bed and eased onto the edge. “Maybe a speed-dating-type thing, since I usually can’t stand a man for more than a few minutes at a time. Afterward, I’ll give the ones I like a rose and the others will have to pack their bags and leave the fortress permanently.”

  “Hmm. Well.” Ashlyn tapped a finger against her chin, the corners of her lips twitching as if she were fighting another laugh. “Believe it or not, there are only a few singles left.”

  “Like who?”

  “Well, let’s see. There’s Torin.”

  His image rose in Viola’s mind. White hair, black brows, brilliant green eyes. Gorgeous face and muscled body. “He’ll do. You may continue.”

  “Well, not that he’s not wonderful, but I should warn you there’s a potential drawback to dating him. He’s the keeper of Disease, and he can’t touch another living creature skin-to-skin without causing a plague. You wouldn’t get sick from him because you’re immortal, but in turn you also wouldn’t be able to touch another living creature without passing on the illness. Besides him, that is.”

  Viola rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You’re right. I wouldn’t get sick if I touched him. I’m sure you noticed how killer my immune system is. But even still, I’m not sure I want someone so flawed worshipping at my temple. Who else is there?”

  “There’s Kane, but he’s…” Sadness dulled Ashlyn’s amber eyes. “He doesn’t date. Says it’s not worth the hardship.”

  “He’d change his mind for me, of course, but that’s not why you’re sad, right? I believe I heard something about him being missing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry. As soon as he finds out I’m here, he’ll find his way back. Even if he’s dead. I don’t like to brag, but that’s happened a few times before. I’ll just shoot out a quick little Screech, and boom. The race to reach me will begin.”

  Rather than cheer the girl up, her reassurances tossed worry into that storm of sadness. “Uh, you’re not supposed to Screech,” Ashlyn said. “Remember?”

  Viola’s shoulders slumped. That’s right. Within five minutes of arriving here, Lucien had dragged her to the luscious Torin’s bedroom and told the guy to check out her blog and website—evidently he was the resident computer guru. Afterward, both men had issued the same warning. Screech or post anything online about her location or her new BFFs and she would never be allowed back.

  “Who else?” she asked.

  Ashlyn nibbled on her bottom lip. “There’s Cameo, but I’m pretty sure she likes men.”

  Viola shook her head. “I could change her mind, no problem, but I’m so over that stage of my life. Who else?”

  “There’s William the Ever Randy. He’s not a demon keeper, but he’s some kind of immortal.”

  William the Naughty Boy Toy. Oh, yes, she knew him. Like Anya, Viola had met him in Tartarus. “He’s more than immortal, but whatever.” He was also arrogant, conceited and highly annoying. “I’ll put him in the maybe category.”

  “More than immortal? What does that mean? He’s claimed to be some kind of god a few times, but I always assumed he was bragging, padding the truth. Which is—”

  “Enough about him. We’re talking about me. Who else can I date?”

  Annnd a return of the nibbling. “There’s Paris, but he’s kind of obsessed with another woman right now.”

  “The dead one. Yeah. I know. I could still change his mind, but I don’t think I want to, because…” There was a reason, wasn’t there? As Viola pondered the answer, she clinked her teeth together.

  Paris had asked her how to see the dead, and she had told him. Then he’d asked her something else, but Lucien arrived and ended their conversation. What had he asked? She tuned her mind’s radio in to their past conversation, and her eyes widened as the answer at last slammed into place.

  Consequences. He’d wanted to know if there would be consequences for tattooing himself with Sienna’s ashes. Oops. She’d let him get away without telling him that yes, there would be.

  Oh, well. It wasn’t her problem. It was his.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DAZED, SIENNA WALKED down a long hallway. Just as her past had played along the walls of the castle, Paris’s past played here, a concerto of colors, faces, voices…limbs. On both sides of her, above and belo
w her, women writhed, so many women. At first, she saw them smiling, heard them laughing, each one eager for what he offered, quickly falling for his charming facade.

  Why wouldn’t they? Whatever they wanted, he gave them. A touch, a kiss, a lick. A gentle ride. A rough pounding. He made love to all of them, knew exactly where to stroke and taste for maximum pleasure. He knew precisely the right amount of pressure to use as he kneaded their breasts, their thighs. Soft for some, firm for others.

  He knew what position to place them in. On their backs, their hands and knees, right side up, upside down. Knew some wanted slow, and some wanted fast. They loved him for it, their pleasure unparalleled.

  Then he left them and they cried with gut-wrenching sobs, their bodies heaving, their hearts breaking as the grief overcame them. Interspersed throughout the females were males. Paris had been with men, too, and he’d left them in the same condition as the women. They wanted him, and though they were not his preference, he took them so that he might survive. Afterward, they asked him to stay and he bailed.

  One woman, Susan, was a beauty he’d truly cared for. He’d tried to make a relationship with her work, but Paris, being Paris, had hurt her in the worst way, choosing survival, as always, over her heart.

  When Sienna caught an image of herself, she stopped, gasped. There, practically overshadowed by the other images, Paris was strapped to her boss’s table, naked, the lights dim, and she was on top of him. She didn’t need the vision to serve as a reminder. She would never forget.

  She had been unable to see him, needing the darkness to relax, and he had alternated between snapping at her, hating her, hating himself, and aiding her, moving his hips to increase her pleasure. Now, however, she saw into his mind. Part of him had hoped to punish her afterward. Part of him—the deepest, most secret part—had wanted to hold on to her and never let go. To him, she had been a balm unlike any other.