He would have taken her home. He would have pampered her. At least, that’s what he told himself now. He wouldn’t contemplate what he would have done to her before the pampering commenced. Wouldn’t think about the interrogation he’d planned or the chains he’d imagined buying for her.
“I’m having trouble… I can’t… The fall must have hurt worse than I realized.” Her voice had thinned to a mere wisp of sound, barely audible. “So…sorry…” Her hands fell away from him, and she slumped forward, her slight weight resting on his chest.
“Sienna?” he demanded, but there was no response. Anyone who could see and touch her could injure her spirit form; he knew that. And the gargoyles had certainly been able to see and touch her. But without a heartbeat or need to breathe, she should rebound quickly. Right? Except, the bloodstains around her mouth…how had she bled? he wondered now.
“Must have fainted from the sight of my beauty,” William remarked with a sigh. “There goes the tickle fight I had planned.”
Ignoring him, Paris yanked one of his arms, ripping the chain from the wall. He wrapped that arm around Sienna’s waist, holding her against him, keeping her steady.
She fit him perfectly.
After he ripped the other arm free, he eased her to her back and peered down at her, his heart causing a riot of sensation in his chest.
Her head lolled to the side, and she was pale, paler than before. Another rip, followed by another, and his ankles were free. Then he jerked at the cuffs themselves until they fell away. Then he did what he’d wanted to do since the first moment he’d seen her. He touched her, smoothing the hair from her brow. Her skin was as soft as it appeared, and warm, so wonderfully warm. He’d craved a moment like this so desperately, had dreamed of it over and over again, and had nearly killed himself a hundred times over to have it. To his delight, reality was so much better than the dream. More than feeling her heat, he smelled her scent all around him, enveloping him. The wildflowers, the coconut sweetness of ambrosia, both creating a heady musk of arousal.
Why ambrosia? He couldn’t get past that. Was she a user? If so, he’d bet someone, like, say, Cronus, had forced her to become one. She wasn’t the type to willingly fall into drugs. From what little he knew about her, she liked order and craved control.
I’ll protect her from further abuse, he thought next. She was his. For just a little while, she was his.
Sex jumped up and down. Take her, take her, take her.
Instinct demanded he obey. Still he resisted. Not like this. Not while she’s out.
A sigh of frustration, maybe even a muttered you’re no fun as Paris looked her over, shielding her from William’s gaze as he moved her clothing out of the way to check for injuries. Every newly revealed inch of skin acted as a lick of flame to Sex, causing the demon to hiss and shake. Or maybe you are fun.
Though Paris admired the body beneath him just as fervently as his dark companion, he hissed and shook for a different reason. Another rise of darkness, another increase of boiling rage. Beneath fading bruises, his woman was as fang-and-claw-mark-ridden as he was, blood oozing from her in tiny rivers of pain.
His next mission crystallized. Finding out how to hurt the gargoyles and then making them pay for every mark.
Really making them pay, he decided when he spied a deep, angry gouge in her side. He sucked in a breath to try and calm himself down, but he inhaled so sharply his lungs felt like mini-vacuums, drawing the air in with commando force. His muscles tensed, his head fogged all over again and his mouth watered. He could actually taste the ambrosia in the air. Frowning, he bent down and sniffed along the line of her neck. The closer he was to her, the stronger the scent became.
“Kinky,” William said.
“Can you be serious?”
“I was being serious. I always figured you for the in and out type. Kinda stealthy, leaving the girl wondering whether you’d even been there or not. But I didn’t know you were quite this stealthy.”
“Nice to know you’ve considered my sex life,” he grumbled.
“Hasn’t everyone?”
“Screw you.”
“Again, hasn’t everyone?”
“This is pointless.” Another sniff. The fog thickened, Paris’s brain practically swimming through it. Could the fragrance originate in Sienna’s blood? Yet another sniff, another infusion of that ever-thickening fog. Yeah, it was definitely in her blood—and a lot of it. More than even an addict could handle. Her scent was as strong as if she were actually growing in an ambrosia field.
Which should be impossible. Right? Ambrosia was harvested in special meadows elsewhere in the heavens, as far from this dark realm as the moon was from the earth. Lavender petals were plucked from the foliage, the clear, intoxicating liquid squeezed out before those petals were dried and turned into powder. No one could handle the liquid, not even immortals, and humans certainly couldn’t handle even the powder.
But Sienna wasn’t human anymore, was she.
He was ashamed to admit he was tempted to bite her, to drink her down and savor every drop. He’d walked the path of addiction, sprinted it, really, but he had somehow managed to skirt the edge of need during his journey here, knowing his wits were required to succeed. If only that would lessen the sweet, tantalizing lure of her right now…but no.
“As interesting as this is, and honestly, I don’t mean to interrupt your seductive process,” William said, air-quoting the last two words, “but are you gonna get to the good stuff or what?”
“I thought I told you to shut it.”
“No, you told me to screw you, and that was five minutes ago. A lot’s changed since then. Like, I’m currently bored.”
Biting his tongue until he tasted copper, Paris finished his search for injuries. And shit, there was another shot of desire—his own rather than his demon’s. He shouldn’t notice those lovely pink nipples, shouldn’t notice the soft dip of her belly or the trim length of her legs. Shouldn’t be counting her freckles, already planning his tongue’s attack. (He would start with the darker ones on her stomach, and work his way to the lighter ones on her thighs.) He was a bastard. He was sick, disgusting. He should be whipped.
When she woke up, she’d take care of that for him, he would bet.
Hate myself. “She’s already dead,” he gritted out. He noticed her right wrist no longer bore the tattoo of infinity, a symbol the Hunters used. “Why is she bleeding? Shouldn’t she heal as quickly as we do?”
“Oh, now you want to talk to me?” the warrior quipped.
“Just answer the question before I cut out your tongue and nail it to the wall.”
“You’ve really lost your sense of humor, you know that? But okay. Fine. I’ll play along. She’s dead, yes, but she’s also possessed by a demon that is very much alive. His heart beats for her. His blood fills her veins. I shouldn’t have to explain demon physiology to you. And what the hell is that smell? It’s mouthwatering. A real party for my—”
“Stop breathing!” Paris didn’t want anyone else breathing her in.
“O-kay. Possessive much?”
“Let’s get back to the subject that won’t get you maimed. She’s possessed by a demon, yes, but she’s also a dead human spirit. So…”
“So, you’re still able to touch her.”
To borrow the bastard’s phrasing: Obvious much? “What I’m asking is, will she heal?”
“Yeah, because her demon will heal. And here’s a little tip for the next person held captive by your stunning conversation. You should have started with that and saved us time and trouble.”
Okay. Okay, then. Good. She would heal. Paris scooped her up in his arms—pissed all over again with the gargoyles. What they’d left on him…was now on his woman.
Sex adored the contact and purred his approval.
“I’m taking her upstairs, looking for a bedroom.” Paris would clean and bandage her. If she didn’t wake up and demand he leave her the hell alone first. “You’re not invited.”
As much as he wanted her awake, looking at him, talking to him, he hoped she slept through the cleaning. He was desperate to get his hands on her, really on her. Yeah, he was a sick, sick bastard. But that wasn’t the main reason, he told himself. He didn’t want her to feel any pain while he doctored her.
He studied the chains for a split second, thinking it might be a good idea to tie Sienna to a bed while he had the chance. That way, she couldn’t run until after they’d discussed a few things. But he hadn’t come all this way, done all those things, only to enslave her himself. His goal was, and had always been, her freedom.
And shit. She might not run from him. Earlier she had ignored him, had watched as he’d passed her, but a few minutes later, she had rushed to his rescue. Whatever the reason for the change, she hadn’t sought to get rid of him.
He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, luxuriating in the feel of her silky hair before carrying her out of the cell. The gargoyles hadn’t bothered shutting the iron bars that would have kept him and William inside. At least until they’d picked the lock, that is.
“You’re such a wuss,” William said, pacing beside him. “I hope you know that.”
“Really? I’m not the one carrying conditioner around.”
“Maybe that’s why your hair has so many split ends.”
“Tell me about your hair one more time. You’ll wake up bald.”
“That’s a ridiculous thing to say. We both know I’d have your guts spilled before you ever got the razor near me.” William raised his chin. “By the way, only a real man can accept his feminine side.”
“I don’t know who fed you that line of garbage, but I can promise she’s laughing at you right now.”
“Surprise! It was your mom—after I boned her.”
A mom joke. How original.
The gargoyles were no longer in the ballroom. Paris hadn’t noticed the interior before; he’d been a little too busy getting his ass kicked. Now he had a look around. It was dark, crumbling like the rest of the place, with blood dried on the walls and bones tossed about haphazardly.
Up the stairs they climbed, the carpet threadbare in multiple places. On the new rise were statues, a lot of damn statues. Male, female, old, young. Only thing they had in common were their expressions of horror.
“I take it you’re gonna be busy for a few hours, since I suspect that’s how long she’ll be out and you can do your thing.” William brushed his fingers over a large pair of alabaster breasts. “I mean, that’s the reason I’m not invited to join you, right?”
“You better shut your mouth while you still have a head.” Even as irritated as he was with William’s suggestion, pulses of desire shot through Paris at the thought of being alone with Sienna and touching her as easily as William had touched the statue—little flames he wasn’t sure whether to douse or welcome.
“Shout if you need me. Like, if she’s too much for you.”
“That day will never come.” Paris veered left as the warrior veered right. “By the way, if you knock on my door, you better be dying. ’Cause if you’re not, you soon will be.” He shouldered his way into the first room he came across. His luck was holding, because it was a furnished bedroom. All he had to do was remove the thick layers of dust and the tarp draping everything.
Or maybe he should leave the tarp. Because when Sienna woke up, this might become a war zone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
KANE, KEEPER OF THE DEMON of Disaster, could not believe his luck. Usually his life took the express train to hell, whether he’d purchased a ticket or not, with rocks falling on his head, lightbulbs shorting out and holes opening up at his feet. Stuff like that could really mess with a guy’s mind, so over the years he’d developed a philosophy that had saved his life: bad shit happened, but whatever, he would deal and move on.
Now he was actually in hell, but he wasn’t being tortured. He wasn’t being questioned, and catastrophes weren’t occurring. He was being worshipped. By demon minions, sure, but worship was worship, right? Their scaled, clawed hands caressed him, their horned heads rubbed against him gently, and the rest of their bodies…he wouldn’t think about.
Mine, Disaster whispered inside his head, pride bubbling to the surface and washing through Kane’s entire body.
Yeah, Kane knew these minions belonged solely to Disaster. Long ago, the High Lord had lived in this section of hell, had ruled here, and then had chosen to leave it all behind and escape. And even though thousands of years had passed since that time, the connection hadn’t faded. The minions, or lesser demons, had sensed their leader inside of Kane and rescued him from his attackers.
Currently Kane was perched on a throne of the freshly…excavated bones. Okay, okay. That was a nice way of saying the bones used to belong to the Hunters who’d thought to hurt Kane, and only a few days ago they’d been plucked out. And, when you considered the fact that Kane’s shirt and pants were made from the tanned and leathered skins—because of the heat, the process had been swift—well, a chair of femurs? No biggie.
They were gifts, the minions had said. And like he could really say, “Thanks, but I’d rather have a toaster.” In return, all they wanted was his sperm.
Yeah. That’s right. His baby juice.
Seemed his demon had once possessed a jealous streak and, true to his name, had caused a disaster that wiped his male minions from existence. Only females remained and they were desperate to procreate with their favorite Evil Overlord.
Kane hadn’t had sex in centuries; the act was simply too risky for his partners. So yeah, his body was primed and ready. Gnarled the demon hands might be, but they still stroked and gripped just fine. His mind, however, was so not on board.
“Back up, ladies,” he commanded. He could have been nice about it, sure, but something he’d learned was that demons only responded to strength. Nice wouldn’t get him crap.
Still, he expected a fight. Instead, moans of disappointment echoed and contact ceased. They obeyed him, inching backward. But they lingered nearby, prostrate, still reaching for him, clearly hoping he’d change his mind.
Inside his head, Disaster prowled with purpose, unhappy with the distance. The females belonged to him, they were his right, and he wanted to mate with them. Take, he said.
No. Kane wasn’t the type of guy who could walk away from his kids, even half-demon ones, and that’s what he’d have to do in this situation.
Take!
I said no. He’d rather find a way out of here. But every time he stood, and no matter what he said while he was standing, within seconds the females would swarm him, pushing his pants around his ankles. He wasn’t sure whether Disaster had trained them to react so swiftly, or if Kane was just special.
Two things he was certain about. His friends were worried about him, and they were searching for him. He didn’t want them coming down here, risking their lives when his was no longer in danger.
Take one, then. Just one.
Ah, so they were supposed to negotiate now, were they? Well, the answer was still a resounding hell no. But…maybe he could pretend, Kane thought. Maybe if he picked one of the females, got her alone, he’d have a better chance of sneaking out of the cavern.
His gaze skated over the kneeling, writhing bodies. Some had horns protruding from their spines, some had pointed wings. Some had red scales, some had green. Beyond them was the cavern, blood caked on the jagged rocks, fires blazing in every corner, and screams of the damned floating on the hot, sulfur-scented air. When he found a smaller body with no horns or wings, her scales on the lighter side of jade, he pointed.
“You.” If for once in his eternal life, his good luck held, she would be a weak link.
Gasps of surprise. Hisses of jealousy.
“I want you,” he reiterated.
His chosen stood. Her legs were twisted, facing the wrong way. Her feet were hoofed, and when she smiled, he saw a mouthful of bloodstained fangs. Disaster slammed against his skull, bang, bang, desp
erate to leave him, to touch her, to pound inside her.
Mine. She’s mine!
And just how would the bastard react when—hypothetically—Kane nailed her? Murder Kane, the same way he’d once murdered his own people? Probably. Because if he managed to end Kane’s life, he could remain here, a place he’d once fought to escape but now realized he missed. Sure, if that happened, Disaster would be crazed from the loss of his human host, but the demon would be free to screw whoever he desired, all by himself.
Talk about a messed-up sitch.
Demon Girl limped to the throne, and the wanton gleam in her eyes suggested she intended to climb Kane like a carnival pony the second she reached him, while everyone watched.
Bang, bang. Disaster was on board with that.
Kane shook his head and extended a hand, palm up, to stop her progress. “Nope, sorry. Don’t come any closer.”
A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth as she obeyed.
“Privacy,” he said. Bang, bang. Harder, faster. “I want to…take you in a tent.” He wasn’t sure what verbiage these demons would understand.
“Massster?” Her forked tongue swiped over too-thin lips.
“I will not take you out here.” Or anywhere. Bang, bang. Damn it. His demon needed to settle the hell down. “So, build me a tent.” Bang. “All of you.” Bang. And hell, maybe, with his present run of good luck, he wouldn’t have to wait for its completion. Maybe the females would be so distracted during the building of the tent, he could stomp out of the cavern while yelling, whistling, whatever, and they wouldn’t notice.
“Tent?” she asked, still so clearly confused.
“Yes. I want one. Build the tent now, and you can have babies later.” With someone else.
Bang! Bang!
Most of the minions rushed away to gather the necessary supplies, shoving each other out of the way, but a few stragglers remained behind, staring at him. And by a few, he meant a little over one hundred. He sighed. So, there’d be no stomping, yelling or whistling his way out.
The Darkest Seduction lotu-10 Page 10
