The Darkest Promise--A Dark, Demonic Paranormal Romance Page 19

  Narcissism began to wonder if making such a powerful creature fall in love with her would prove to be his greatest accomplishment. The first sparks of panic bloomed in Viola’s chest.

  Brochan extended a clawed finger, pointing at her. “Forsaken.”

  McCadden grabbed his brother by the shoulder, but Brochan easily shook him off and moved toward her.

  Heart hammering against her ribs, Viola scooped Fluffy into her arms and flashed away. Retreating. Something she’d told herself she wouldn’t do.

  But she needed time. Time to plan her next move.

  * * *

  Lazarus struggled to control blistering rage, staggering shock and searing arousal.

  Cameo was here, finally within reach, and yet another man had dared to put his arms around her. Possessiveness consumed him, and Lazarus’s veins burned as new crystals formed.

  He decided to deal with the shock first, wanting no obstacles to his prize. His woman, and the death of the Sent One holding her.

  He’d done it. He’d actually entered the mortal world.

  Upon stepping into the portal, he’d experienced total sensory deprivation. He’d thought he’d taken a gamble and lost. The knowledge had awakened his inner monster, his fangs and claws returning, the crystals in his veins throbbing. But as they’d throbbed, lights had begun to pulse and blur. Seconds later, he’d fallen down, down, down, landing in an open field of wildflowers. No one had been around. Not spirit, not human, not immortal.

  Cautious, uncertain but not daring to hope, he’d flashed to a home he’d built and hidden centuries ago. It resided in one of the lands that formed an archipelago of New Zealand Subantarctic Islands. A place he’d been unable to reach inside the spirit realms.

  Seeing his cabin had driven him to his knees. Yes, the wood had rotted, and yes, weather and wildlife had left their mark, but what did that matter? Lazarus lived. Lived! After being beheaded.

  His father was right. He would live forever. He wasn’t sure how or why, exactly, but he now suspected the crystals were the catalyst. The way they’d throbbed...

  Impossible. The crystals were his downfall. They didn’t strengthen him; they weakened him, and a feeble man survived nothing. Lazarus’s movements were already slower than usual, his range of motion more limited.

  He’d thought, Find and seduce Cameo. Kill Juliette and Hera before it’s too late.

  He’d cloaked himself in an illusion of invisibility and flashed to Budapest. He’d swept through Cameo’s home, a veritable fortress, remaining unseen to the occupants. After reading a mind or twelve, he discovered she’d left earlier that morning. He’d hidden the magic mirror in her bedroom, happy the glass had survived the journey, and set off on a hunt of his own.

  Murmurs filled his head, yanking him into the present.

  “Is that Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual?”

  “Dude! Didn’t I hear he’d gotten his neck trimmed?”

  Lazarus breathed deep, the scents stronger here than in the spirit realm. He detected notes of alcohol and ambrosia, a cloying mix of immortal perfumes, the wood, steel and mortar used to build the club, and a deluge of too many other things to pinpoint. No, not too many others—three stood out above all the rest. Roses, bergamot and neroli.

  He hardened, his erection straining against the fly of his leathers.

  His gaze met Cameo’s, and the rest of the world disappeared. There she stood, the μονομανία responsible for his pain...and his pleasure. Only days had passed, but her beauty struck him anew, as if he were seeing it for the first time. Her raven locks were anchored in a high ponytail swinging back and forth. Her liquid silver eyes smoldered with sorrow, yes, but also heat.

  She drew him, but he drew her, as well. At least they were in this mess together.

  Her ruby-red lips softened, as if preparing for his kiss. Rest assured, I’ll be kissing you as soon as we’re alone, sunshine. And then I’ll be collecting my reward...

  As his body thrummed with need, he opened his mind to her, barring everyone else. Too many thoughts at once could incapacitate him. Her shield was in place.

  Had Misery wiped her memory?

  Ready for war, Lazarus stepped forward. Two bear shifters reacted to the aggression he radiated, stepped into his path and growled. Lazarus grabbed one by the wrist and yanked before the punch could land, turning the brute so that his back pressed against Lazarus’s chest, creating a shield. The other twin ended up punching his brother.

  As the one in his arms fell, unconscious, Lazarus hammered at the brother’s jaw. When he fell, Lazarus stepped over him, once again on a path toward his woman.

  The Sent One released Cameo. Without hesitation, she raced through the part in the crowd—and a group of Harpies—to stand before him.

  She remembered. Relief showered over him.

  “You’re here, and you’re alive,” she whispered. She reached out with a trembling hand to brush her fingertips across his jaw.

  The simple touch threatened to unman him, the sensations far more intense now that he had a physical body. The heat of her skin, the incomparable softness, the friction caused by the small callus on her palm...

  Can’t ever let her go.

  Must!

  “You’re tangible to me in the mortal realm and—” With a gasp, she jumped away from him. “Filled with electricity? You are literally sending tingles through every inch of me.”

  Electricity? “Animal magnetism is strong in this one.” He forcibly disregarded the urge to shout, Touch me again. Never stop. “Did anyone hurt you?”

  “No, I was doing the hurting until the Get Bent Ones stopped the festivities.”

  She spoke so quietly, he had to strain to hear. Someone—probably multiple someones—had made her feel bad about her voice. Did no one have balls anymore?

  He clasped her hand, all but shuddering with pleasure. The rightness of their connection...

  Once again she jumped away from him. Frowning, she rubbed her palm, as if he’d burned her.

  The tingles pained her?

  What the hell would—

  Pandora’s box. Pandora’s box hung around his neck, hidden by his shirt and pressed against his skin. How could he have forgotten? Did the box’s power use him as a conduit?

  Guilt slithered through him. This woman—his woman—had searched for Pandora’s box for centuries. He’d planned to use it to draw her to his realm, but he’d never intended to give it to her. Too many risks involved.

  Her friends wanted it destroyed. Part of Cameo probably wanted it destroyed, too. What would happen when—if—the Morning Star escaped? Would someone else harness the being’s power, perhaps even use that power against Cameo? What if the Lords decided to hide the box, and Misery later convinced Cameo to end her life as well as the lives of her loved ones?

  Oh, yes. Too many risks. And too many unknowns. Lazarus would not be mentioning the box to her. Would not gamble on her reaction.

  He should have left it with the mirror, and would have if he hadn’t feared the Lords would sense its presence in the fortress, fail to realize what it was and open it.

  Must protect her. He created an illusion. Anyone looking his way would see a man and woman standing a few inches apart, their heads bent together as they talked. In reality, he ripped the hem off Cameo’s shirt.

  “Uh, what are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’ll explain later.” Some watered-down version of the truth, anyway. He pulled an apple pendant from beneath his shirt and tied the strip of material around it before hiding it once again, preventing any contact with his skin.

  “Pretty,” she said. “I would never have pegged you for an apple guy.”

  “Why? It’s the forbidden fruit. The original sin.” He steeled himself and offered his hand to her. A slight hesita
tion before she accepted. An-n-nd she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Better,” she said with a nod.

  A sigh of relief escaped him. He dropped the illusion and led her right back to the Sent One. The male needed to understand the error of his ways—and the consequences he would face. “You do not touch her. Ever. Understood?”

  The red-eyed, white-haired male looked him up and down and smiled without humor. “Careful, warrior. My dance card is currently full, but I don’t mind penciling in your name.”

  Cameo moved between them to act as a buffer. “I appreciate the macho-man routine, darkpit, but you need to know something. Juliette was here.” The people within hearing distance flinched, and yet she continued. “Thane flew away with her. If we hurry, we can follow.”

  Juliette. Nearby. Vengeance at last. Sooner rather than later. Red dots winked through his vision, his rage resurfacing. Time to create a new Garden of Perpetual Horror. Juliette Eagleshield could have the honor of the first spot. Follow. Now!

  No. First things first. He’d come here for Cameo, defying time, space and death to be with her. Vengeance had once been his number one priority, but here, now, his woman’s pleasure mattered more than anything else.

  He would stick to his original plan. He would have his night with her, then hunt Juliette.

  First, he needed a room. He blasted through the Sent One’s mental blocks. The name Xerxes hit him before countless images of the abuse and torture he’d endured in his too-long life. Lazarus gritted his teeth and pushed on until found the schematics of the club.

  The bastard sensed his intrusion and shoved him out with a strength rivaled only by Rathbone.

  “Do not ever—” Xerxes grated.

  “Consider the sixth guest room in the west wing occupied for the rest of the night.” Lazarus squeezed Cameo’s hand and led her away from the crowd.

  When they exited the public areas, it became clear the entire building was designed to confuse intruders. Armed guards paced in certain hallways and in front of specific doors, but no one made a move against him. Sent Ones could communicate telepathically, and Xerxes must have voiced his blessing. Probably because they were allies with Hades and therefore each other.

  When Lazarus reached his destination, he opened the door and waved Cameo inside. She passed him, leaving a sweet-scented cloud in her wake, and he followed her in, his mouth watering.

  The door closed with an ominous click.

  He took in their surrounding with a swift scan. The room was small but elaborate, every piece of furniture finely made...and intended for lovers. Mirrors decorated the ceiling, and the covers on the bed were scattered with fresh rose petals.

  “Hold up.” Cameo stretched out her arm to hold him at bay. “What about Juliette?”

  “She can wait. You and I cannot.” He gently pushed her hand aside, consumed her personal space...and kissed her.

  She welcomed him eagerly, returned his embrace passionately, with no hint of sorrow. She wasn’t just sweet; she was his favorite candy. She wasn’t just intoxicating; she was all-consuming. She wasn’t merely his μονομανία; just then, she was his everything.

  He cupped her nape, locks of silken hair weaving through his fingers. Little mewling sounds drifted from her, and he growled in approval. His senses were heightened as her breath mingled with his, becoming necessary for his survival. His lifeline.

  Arousal blistered his insides. Need clawed at him. Waves of sensation pulsed over and through him. The crystals ached, perhaps even spread, but he didn’t care.

  He devoured her with abandon, afraid he would never get his fill, terrified his thirst would never be quenched, and he would only ever want more. Need more.

  In so many ways, she owned him. He was more a slave to her than he’d ever been to Juliette.

  The thought should have panicked him. Did panic him. And yet he stayed put, unwilling to let her go. Mine!

  Panting, she lifted her head and traced a fingertip over her sexy red lips. “You found me,” she rasped.

  He almost roared a denial, almost grabbed her and pulled her back for another blistering kiss. Can’t push for too much too fast. Misery would use the opportunity to strike.

  “I will always find you, sunshine.”

  “Because you want to have sex with me.” A trace of bitterness...a wealth of arousal.

  “I do. So let’s get to it, shall we?”

  17

  “Always err on the side of killing.”

  —Eternal Truths for Every Man

  —Eternal Truths for Men Without a Woman

  Shivers racked Cameo, and warm honey seemed to flow over her from head to toe. In an instant, the yearning she had fought so diligently to impede resurged with undeniable force. She trembled. Her blood heated to the boiling point. Her belly clenched. Between her legs, she ached.

  Misery hissed, acting like a petulant child. He kicked at her skull again and again, causing a strange tingle to tease the corners of her mind.

  I’m going to do this. I’m going to roll the dice. Going to sleep with Lazarus, and pray I retain my memory. Pray he wants me afterward.

  If she lost a single memory of him...the way he’d looked at her during their reunion, as if she were everything right in a world gone wrong, the feel of his hands on her sensitive flesh, tangled in her hair, the way his lips had forced hers to mold to his...no, she would rather die.

  “Take off your shirt,” she croaked. Let me see what I’m risking my sanity—my life—for.

  A muscle clenched and unclenched in his jaw. “My clothes stay on. Yours come off.”

  Was he kidding? He had to be kidding. But...

  The mirror predicted this. As many times as they’d made love within the vision, he’d remained fully clothed.

  “No way,” she said. “Strip.”

  “Ladies first...gentlemen never.” He reached for the shirt he’d ripped, but she batted his hands away.

  “Tit for tat,” she insisted.

  “I prefer tit.”

  “Too bad.” She held her ground. “You want to see mine, you’ve got to show me yours.”

  “Fine.” He yanked his shirt over his head and stood perfectly still as she examined him, not even daring to breathe.

  Why such resistance? He was magnificent. Rows of muscles rose high enough in places across his arms and chest and abs that they created softly shadowed valleys that mesmerized her. Tempted her. Fueled a craving in her to touch and taste and explore. From the neck down, a cornucopia of gorgeous tattoos covered every inch of skin. Thorny roses and skulls paired masterfully with creepy insects and, yes, even butterflies. Both of his nipples were pierced, and he had a dark trail of hair under his navel that ended below the waist of his leathers.

  Pure masculine perfection.

  Her brain melted. Her ovaries exploded.

  Beneath the tattoos, shimmery lines crept over and around his biceps. Wounds, he’d once called them. They were thicker now, longer too.

  As she considered them, he reached up to cover the lines with his hand. He was that self-conscious? Or did he fear being hurt worse?

  “I’ll be careful with your wounds,” she assured him quietly. But, as an act of mercy, she turned her attention to the necklaces hanging between his pecs. Viola’s ring and the apple pendant Lazarus had covered with the strip of material from her shirt.

  Cameo reached out...another strange pulse of power brushed over her skin, and her heart rate increased, going from sixty to six hundred in a blink.

  Whatever the sensation was, it antagonized Misery. His hisses became curses.

  “Why did you cover the pendant?” she asked.

  His gaze veered away from hers. “It’s an ancient artifact. Dangerous.”

  And he wanted to protect her from it? “Wha
t kind of artifact?” To her knowledge, the only mythical apple belonged to Snow White, whose story was a lot more complicated than humans realized...and a lot more true. “Is it not dangerous to you?”

  “A life and death artifact,” he said. “And yes, it is, but I happen to enjoy danger.”

  “Did you use it to return to the mortal world?” She licked her lips—and still tasted the essence of him. “Are you now Lazarus 2.0?”

  “I’m the original. Lazarus 1.0, somehow made corporeal to all realms. Why mess with perfection?”

  Why indeed? “I’m struggling to believe you’re real, and that you’re actually here. I mean, you were dead. And if you are here, should you be classified as a zombie?”

  “Maybe I am a zombie.” He stared at her chest and grunted. “Breastsssssss.”

  A chuckle—nope. Thanks to Misery, the chuckle died in the back of her throat. Stupid demon!

  Disappointment glimmered in Lazarus’s eyes, but it receded as he continued to peer at her breasts. When her nipples stood at attention for him, a predatory glint appeared.

  “Don’t worry.” The tenor of his voice dropped to a husky rasp. “I’ll get you there.”

  “So certain. You, Lazarus, are a lothario.”

  “Unrepentantly so.” He brushed his knuckle against her nipple, sending ripples of pleasure straight to her core. Her wet core. “This lothario is done talking. Kiss me,” he commanded. “Don’t be gentle. Be rough. Hold nothing back.”

  “Your wounds...”

  “Kiss. Me.”

  Yes... Light-headed with want, she lifted to her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around him. Their lips met in a frenzied rush, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, tasting her, relearning her, delivering a new punch of passion...devouring her. The sweetness of him thrilled her. The chocolate she so loved mixed with a fiery heat she would forever crave.