The Darkest Seduction lotu-10 Page 7

  “I have tasted it already,” Zacharel said, his voice its usual monotone. The snowflakes began to fall in earnest, tiny at first, but growing in diameter. An arctic wind blustered around him. “It was a bit salty.”

  How the hell was a guy supposed to respond to that?

  Apparently William didn’t know, either, because he gaped at the angel. Then, “Maybe if you added a little pepper?”

  O-kay. It was official. William had an answer for everything.

  “Enough,” Paris said. Just then, he had his inner darkness on a leash. That could change at any moment. This was the closest he’d ever come to saving Sienna. To seeing her again, to touching her, and urgency had him in a vise grip. Which was stupid. He knew it was stupid.

  He didn’t know her, not really, had only interacted with her those two times, and yet, looking back, he was certain he’d never felt so connected to anyone in his life. He could still remember the delicate rasp of her voice. Soft and lyrical, washing over him, entrancing him. Could still smell her sweet wildflower scent. Could still feel her soft body pressed against his harder one.

  Now he wondered if he would even like her on any level but a sexual one. Would he find her annoying? And what about her—would she still view him as evil, even though she herself now carried a demon?

  “Let’s focus, ladies.” That includes you, he added for his own benefit. If he could bypass the outside line of the fortress’s defense completely, he’d be in perfect condition when he got inside. “Zacharel, you will flash me inside the castle.”

  “No, I will not.”

  He scowled but didn’t bother asking why. As always, his ears picked up the web of truth woven through the angel’s tone. Zacharel couldn’t or wouldn’t flash him; the reason didn’t matter. “William?”

  “I’ve only recently begun to flash myself, and yeah, I’m damn good for a beginner—not that I need to tell you that since anyone with eyes would have noticed—but I’m still honing my amazing skills. There’s no way I can cart your carcass anywhere.”

  Paris stifled a sigh. No flashing with William, either. “Is the water swimmable?”

  “Nope. Not only is the water poisonous, but the fiends inside it have a hankering for flesh.” William motioned to the dilapidated bridge leading to the front entrance, thick, arched double doors covered in spikes with a clear liquid dripping from their tips. “You have to use the drawbridge, and you have to let the guards carry you. There’s no other way.”

  “I have never battled a gargoyle before.” Zacharel shook his head, a dark lock of hair tumbling into one emerald eye. Damp from the melting snow, the hair stuck to his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. “But I am certain these will murder Paris before willingly carrying him inside.”

  As if he were the only intelligent life form left in existence, William splayed his arms. “And the problem with that? He’ll still be inside, exactly where he wants to be. And by the way,” he added, blinking at Paris with lashes so long they should have belonged to a girl. “Your new permanent eyeliner is very pretty. You’ll make a good-looking corpse.”

  Do not react. He did, and the teasing about his ash/ambrosia tattoos would never end. “Thanks.”

  “I prefer the lip liner, though. A nice little feminine touch that really makes your eyes pop.”

  “Again, thanks,” he gritted.

  He wants us!

  Stupid demon.

  William grinned. “Maybe we can make out later. I know you want me.”

  Tell him yes!

  Not another word out of you, or—

  “Paris? Warrior?” Zacharel said. “Are you listening to me?”

  “No.”

  Zach nodded, apparently not the least offended. “I enjoy your honesty, though I believe you suffer from what the humans call ADD.”

  “Oh, yeah. I definitely have attention deficient demon.”

  “Now, changing subjects, since I’m not listening to the angel, either,” William said. “Since we’re going with my diabolically genius plan, you’re gonna have to scale down the cliff and step onto the drawbridge.” He tented his hands and drummed his fingers, contemplating the bridge from every angle. “The moment you do, the gargoyles will come to life. They’ll attack you. Oh, and the more you fight them, the harder they’ll bite and claw you. So, if you remain relaxed, they’ll only hurt you a wee bit before they cart you inside to chain to a wall. In theory.”

  Wonderful. But this was what his woman had to deal with every day. He could do no less. And if the gargoyles had broken her…

  Broken… In, out, in, out, he breathed, oxygen scalding his throat, blistering his lungs. He twisted his head left then right to pop the bones in his neck. His fury bubbled to the surface, riding the waves in his veins. He would save Sienna and torch the castle to the ground—along with every living creature inside it.

  Zacharel folded his arms over his massive chest, the snow so thick now that none of the flakes had a chance to melt. His hair now boasted strands of glistening white. “How do you know so much about this place and its protectors, William of the Dark?”

  William of the Dark? That was new, yet fitting. “Yeah. How do you?” Paris studied the gargoyles in question. They were hideous. The big ones were winged, with ramlike horns, fangs as long as sabers and probably just as sharp, and daggers for nails—on both their hands and their feet. The small ones just looked hungry. Oh, and infected with rabies.

  Another piece of invisible lint was brushed from William’s shoulder. “Maybe I was once co-ruler of the underworld and sought out all the hideaways of Cronus and his followers, intending to blackmail them, and discovered this little love shack. Or maybe I see the future and knew we’d come here one day. Or maybe the gargoyles once served me, calling me Master Hotness.”

  Paris read between the lines. “Maybe you once nailed a gargoyle, and she had a big mouth.” If there was a bigger he-slut than Paris, it was William.

  William gave another shrug. “Or that.”

  White wings threaded in gold lifted, shook and returned to their place of rest against Zacharel’s back. “And what makes you so sure your Sienna is in there, demon?”

  Do not react. “I just am.” Arca, the goddess he had seduced in Cronus’s harem, the one he’d vowed to rescue after ensuring Sienna’s safety, had told him there were only two possible locations for her. If Sienna had been taken to the other, her soul would have withered within days. Therefore, she was here. End of story.

  “I’ll provoke the guards,” he said, thinking out loud, “but I won’t enrage them. They’ll cart me inside, planning to lock me up. I’ll free myself before they can, search for Sienna, find her and escape with her. Simple, easy.”

  Yeah. Right.

  “I’ll stay here and act as lookout.” William nodded, clearly satisfied with the idea. “If you don’t return in, say, the amount of time it takes my conditioner to penetrate my scalp, I’ll go for help.” He snickered. “I said penetrate.”

  For freakin’ real. “Knowing you, you’ll forget all about me and head to a salon for a mani-pedi.” More than that, Paris wasn’t sure Zach would have his back—or stab it. “So, guess what? You’re going in with me. Zach will act as lookout.”

  “Perhaps you’ve been living in Hungary for so long you’ve forgotten English and didn’t understand what I was saying.” First in French, then in Spanish, then in Russian, he said, “I’m staying here, and that’s final.” William tangled a hand through his indigo mane, frowned when he encountered a snag. Scowling, he whipped out his conditioner, squeezed a few drops onto his fingers and combed the creamy mixture through until he achieved the desired smoothness. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  “Guaranteed you stabbed your mother seconds after she birthed you. So do me a solid and strap on your big-girl panties because here’s the deal. If you walk away now, I will follow you for the rest of your days, seducing every woman you desire away from you.”

  A heavy pause, rife with fury as cold as the angel�
��s snow. “Fine,” William eventually muttered. “I’ll go with you, but only because I’m in need of a decent cardio workout.”

  Good. Paris had meant every word. He hadn’t come this far to welcome defeat. He would lie, cheat, destroy, whatever it took. Now, and until Sienna was safe.

  He did a quick pat down. All of his blades were in their sheaths. A visual check on his guns ensured the safeties were off.

  “Bullets won’t kill them, you know,” William said. “They’ll only cause hissy fits.”

  “Don’t care.” Bullets would buy him a few seconds, surely, and sometimes that’s all a guy needed to bring home the victory.

  William slapped him on the shoulder, sending Sex into rapturous convulsions. “Before we do this, I’ve got one question for you. And you can’t lie. This is too important.”

  A bit sick to his stomach at what such a debaucher could want to know, Paris cast his attention to the black-haired, blue-eyed he-devil. “Ask.”

  “Are you going to suggest I kiss you for good luck or strength or whatever it is your sex demon needs?”

  That earned the warrior a two-fingered salute.

  “So that’s a no?” William asked.

  Paris worked his jaw. “Here, let me help you off the cliff to the drawbridge.” With no more warning, he shoved William over the ledge. He thought he heard a fading, “So not cool,” from the bastard as he fell…fell…

  Splat.

  Sex gasped in outrage.

  “Not exactly a nice thing to do,” Zacharel said, but there was a gleam in his eyes, one Paris had never seen before. Something akin to amusement.

  “What’s your plan?” Paris asked him.

  “Only time will tell.”

  “You’ll wait here, right?”

  “Perhaps.”

  All righty, then. With the angel’s cryptic nonanswer ringing in his head, Paris snapped a blade between his teeth and scaled the jagged rocks, down, down, his hands rapidly torn to ribbons. Vines slithered from cracks, stroking over him, attempting to shackle his wrists and ankles. Dangling by one hand, he stopped long enough to slice through the nearest green stalk.

  Another soon came at him, and he sliced through it, too. But damn, they were everywhere. One wound around the arm he was using for balance. His heart tripped over itself with dread—and anticipation. He glanced down at the bridge. No other way.

  Paris carved into the vine holding him, kicked the rocks with his legs and fell. When he hit bottom, he really hit bottom, jarring the air from his lungs.

  Suddenly William loomed over him, scowling, snarling and bloody, his suit dirt-stained and ripped. “Do you know. How many strands. Of hair I lost. On my way down?”

  Whatever. “Math was never my thing, but I’m gonna say you lost…a lot.”

  Electric-blues glittered with menace. “You are a cruel, sadistic bastard. My hair needs TLC and you…you… Damn you! I’ve gutted men for less.”

  “I know. I’ve watched you.” Paris lumbered to his feet and scanned the rocky bank they stood upon, the crimson ocean lapping and bubbling in every direction. The drawbridge was only a fifty-yard dash away. “Don’t kill the messenger, but I’m thinking you should change your dating profile to balding.”

  Masculine cheeks went scarlet as the big bad warrior struggled for a comeback.

  No more playing. It’s D-Day. Soon, I’ll rescue Sienna, Paris thought. Maybe she would stay with him for a few days. If so, they could make love, over and over again, and for just a little while, he could pretend they had forever.

  Or maybe she would leave him immediately. They wouldn’t make love even once, and he would be forced to take someone else just as soon as the door shut behind her.

  Who was he kidding? She would definitely leave him. There were too many obstacles between them. His demon. Her demon. The fact that he’d slept with her and then countless others. The fact that he’d inadvertently used her body as a shield, saving himself. Her former occupation. The fact that she’d tricked him into lowering his guard so that she could drug him and allow the Hunters to capture him. The fact that she had watched as he was tortured. The fact that she hated him.

  And maybe, once he’d saved her, he would realize she was not the one for him. Maybe he would be the one to leave her. Maybe he would find that he truly couldn’t sleep with her again. That he’d made a mistake.

  Maybe. But he was still doing this.

  “One of these days you’re going to wake up,” William finally said, “and I will have shaved you. Everywhere.”

  “Won’t make a difference. Women will still want me. But you know what else? What I did to you wasn’t cruel, Willy.” He offered the warrior a white-flag grin. A trick. A lie. “This, however, is.”

  He grabbed William by the wrist, swung the man around and around before at last releasing him and hurling his body directly onto the bridge. Frayed rope whined, and boards broke beneath his muscled weight.

  William lay there, trying to catch his breath and glaring daggers at Paris. On the castle parapets, the gargoyles unleashed a chorus of battle cries.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHOULD SHE OR SHOULDN’T SHE? Hours had passed since Cronus’s ultimatum and departure, but the same question still rolled through Sienna’s mind. Should she give herself to Galen, perhaps saving her sister, perhaps succumbing to her captor’s deception, or should she continue to resist, possibly causing her sister’s continued torture?

  Another question, one far more important: If there was a chance she could save Skye, even the most minute chance, shouldn’t she take it? She’d vowed to do anything, everything, and Galen fell into the category of anything, didn’t he.

  Well, hell. There it was, laid bare, with no sugar-coating. The answer was a resounding yes. She’d spent her life searching for Skye. If necessary, she would spend her death searching, too. At least now the blinders were off, and she knew the monster she was to seduce.

  In bed. With Galen. She tried not to vomit.

  She wished she were stronger, more capable, the outcome assured. She wished the battle for Skye could be waged on her terms, without Cronus there to pull her puppet strings.

  And maybe…maybe she could arrange that. If she escaped this hellhole before the king’s return, she could go to the keeper of Hope, torture him for the information she wanted and then kill him, without screwing him.

  In theory, that was easy. In reality, it was probably impossible. A bitter laugh—the only kind she had stored inside her lately—escaped, mimicking the sudden chill in the air. She shivered. She’d tried to escape this castle time and time again. While she could open doors and windows that led outside, she couldn’t step or crawl beyond them. Her entire body would shake, pain would lance through her, a thousand needles pricking at her, and she would collapse, pass out.

  The pain she didn’t care about. She could endure. But the passing-out thing? There was no way to combat that.

  She was curious to know whether or not someone else could pass through. And the good news was, there were three candidates upstairs who could put that question to the test. All she had to do was free them.

  Time to pay them another visit, she thought with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. And what had caused such a huge drop in the temperature?

  Her wings scraped the scarred marble floor as she lumbered down a hall, around a corner and into the wide, spacious ballroom. Her heart sank when the walls fell away and the memories Cronus had plucked from her mind began to play out. At her left, a young Skye began screaming for help. At her right, a horde of Gargl, as she’d heard Cronus call the gargoyles that served as sentries here, dragged a slumped-over but very much awake Paris.

  Sienna stopped, a sudden lump growing in her throat. Paris. Her body went hot and cold at the same time, goose bumps spreading over her skin, embers igniting in her veins. Cronus certainly knew how to torment her, didn’t he? He knew exactly what images would drive her mad.

  And this one…whoever created him had
outdone himself. How hauntingly lovely Paris was. No mortal could ever hope to compare to him. No other immortal or mythical god could ever measure up. He possessed a face designed for the luxuries of the bedroom as well as the savagery of the battlefield. Eyes of vivid blue seductively lined with kohl she’d never before seen him wear, and hair a concerto of colors. Black, brown, even a few strands of flax. A tall body, muscled in the most delicious way.

  He was perfection personified, and he was nothing more than a mirage. Still, she wanted to run to him so badly, to smother him with kisses as she begged for his forgiveness.

  Forgiveness she did not deserve.

  At least he wasn’t injured in this memory. A small comfort, but she had to take them where she could find them.

  Another vision unfolded behind Paris, a second horde of Gargl carrying a second dark-haired warrior. This man was just as tall as Paris, just as muscled and, miracle of miracles, almost as lovely, but he was definitely injured. Bite marks covered his arms, and horn punctures created a canvas of pain on his chest. Odd. She’d never had a vision of him before. Didn’t even recall meeting him.

  Her gaze returned to Paris. Two of the Gargl were…humping him? Yes. Their tongues were hanging out, their lower bodies gyrating against him. Why would Cronus show her something like that? To make her jealous? Of the Gargl?

  Something was…off about this, she thought.

  Before she could puzzle it out, Wrath slammed against her skull, again and again, distracting her. Her temples throbbed in tune with his motions even as the heat cranked up inside her, defeating the cold, leaving her sweating and flushed. Any time a memory of Paris materialized, both the demon and her body reacted this way.

  Heaven…hell… Always when they saw flashes of Paris, Wrath uttered those two words. He can help us.

  “I know he can,” she whispered, no longer surprised when she found herself talking to the beast. “And he is certainly our heaven, isn’t he?” Her only ray of hope.