The Darkest Seduction lotu-10

by Gena Showalter

  Well, today he would not fail.

  Today he landed a stunning blow to his enemy.

  He would steal away Legion, the devil-woman they’d once sent to kill him. The she-cat who had seduced him. The innocent virgin who’d been living inside a porn star’s skin. She’d screwed him within an inch of his immortal life before biting him with her poisoned fangs. While he had writhed in pain, she had left him to die, only to be carted into hell thanks to a deal with her maker gone bad.

  Galen had hunted her, but the Lords had found her first. They’d brought her here, and Galen wanted her back. Wanted to have her again. Wanted to punish her. To kill her and cut the tether she seemed to hold him on.

  He was sick of wondering about her, sick of thinking about her.

  How many warriors had she given herself to since her return?

  Yeah, like that. He was sick of imagining her with a thousand others, sick of the constant rage of jealousy concerning her.

  He would discover the answer, though, and if any of the Lords had enjoyed her luscious body, they would pay a higher toll than their friends. Oh, each and every one of them would die, but some would scream for months before he took their heads.

  Except…he searched the fortress from top to bottom, looked in every chamber, accounted for every warrior still in residence—and not even Torin, who monitored the place, noticed him—but there was no sign of the girl.

  Very well. He’d go with Plan B. He would take a page from the Unspoken Ones’ book and “bargain” before he struck.

  Despising the delay, he stalked to Maddox and Ashlyn’s bedroom and ghosted through the wood. He wasn’t just invisible, he was insubstantial. Maddox, keeper of Violence, was no longer inside. His very pregnant female reclined on their bed, reading a book to her unborn babe. A babe Maddox would be desperate to save.

  Ashlyn was a pretty thing, with hair, skin and eyes the color of a honeycomb. Truly, she was as golden as the moon on the brightest of nights, and she was delicate and fragile as only a human could be. Her voice was soft, lilting, and filled with love.

  No question, Maddox would move heaven and earth to get her back.

  Galen padded to the side of the bed and pushed the Cloak from one shoulder. As he materialized, another grin quirked the corners of his mouth. Ashlyn noticed him and quieted, her entire body jolting with fright.

  “Galen,” she gasped out.

  “Scream for me, little Ashlyn,” he said, reaching for her. And she did.

  WILLIAM KIND OF EXPECTED to be pulverized the moment Paris emerged from the bedroom. Fists hammering at his face, teeth ripping at his jugular, something menacing like that since he’d dared to interrupt the happy reunion. After all, madness and mayhem were a Paris Lord staple. What William hadn’t expected was a half grateful, half thunderous stare, but that’s exactly what he got.

  “What did you want to show me?” the Lord of Sex snapped.

  Paris had moved mountains to get here. Had done things that made a reprobate like William look like a choirboy, all to save the girl he currently had tucked into his side. And that he was holding her hand as if she were a life raft and the flood had come, rather than swinging at the man who had just cock-blocked him…well, that was just weird.

  It could mean one of two things. Paris had already had sex with her, so there’d been nothing to block. Yet only an hour had passed since their parting. So that would mean Paris was quick on the climax trigger and, as many ladies as he’d nailed, William would bet the guy could go all night and then some.

  Option two was slightly more likely, but still improbable. Paris hadn’t known what to do with the girl and had wanted to bail.

  But why would he want to bail? For that matter, why, with every second that passed, did he appear more pissed than ever? Had Sienna turned him down flat?

  Impossible, William thought next. She was clutching Paris’s hand as desperately as he clutched hers.

  William raked his gaze over her. She was pale, her freckles stark in contrast, and she was a bit shaky on her feet. Hmm. Studying her like this, he wondered what Paris saw in her.

  At first glance, and hell, maybe even at second, she appeared plain. He looked deeper, though, and that’s when the delicacy of her bone structure became evident. What’s more, those hazel eyes were large and unbelievably lovely, the perfect blend of emerald and copper. Her hair was a waterfall of mahogany, cascading around her. And her lips…yeah, he would have committed a few crimes himself to have those fit around his shaft.

  She was on the slender side, small-breasted and even underweight, but damn if she didn’t call on every protective instinct a man possessed.

  “Are you just going to stare at her?” Once again Paris snapped the words. This time, menace poured from him, the threat of attack very real.

  Now William doubted his face would be the only thing rearranged. His favorite appendage would be on the receiving end of a nice little slice and dice. Sooo. The biggest he-slut ever created was possessive as hell over a woman who’d once wanted to kill him. Talk about comeuppance. But then, wasn’t that what Wrath specialized in?

  Paris took a step toward him, the menace intensifying. “I asked you a question.”

  William cut off a grin and held his hands up, palms out, questions rolling through his mind. How much did Paris really want the girl? Did he regret coming here? How much influence could she wield over his emotions? Was the plan still to get in, get out and get rid of her? Only one way to find out.

  “Answer me,” Paris snapped.

  “Nope,” William said. “I don’t just plan to stare.”

  A growl erupted from the warrior. They both knew he’d just implied he meant to do more.

  Good. Maybe William would survive what came next, maybe he wouldn’t. “I like your shirt,” he said, directing the compliment to Sienna. “I really like your pants.” She wore a plain white T-shirt, dirt-smudged and torn, and baggy cargo pants. Her tennis shoes were missing laces.

  “I… Thanks?” Her brows knit with her confusion.

  “May I make a wardrobe suggestion, though?”

  Another growl sounded from Paris before she could reply, a hand darting out and wrapping around William’s windpipe. Pinpricks of red glowed inside those ocean-blues. No, Paris’s irises were no longer blue. They were black, no difference between pupils and the rest. “Are you now implying her clothes will look better on your bedroom floor?”

  So. Much. Fun. “Who, me?” He couldn’t breathe, so the words squeaked out. No, Paris did not regret coming here.

  “Paris,” Sienna said, utterly calm. “I know I have no right to ask this, but will you please not kill him? I’m not a fan of the rotting body scent.”

  Tighter…tighter…then the pressure eased, fell away. “Show us what you found.”

  Interesting. She wielded a lot of influence. He wondered if Paris realized how much—and exactly what the warrior thought of the development. But no matter what, William assumed the plan was still of the get-rid variety. No relationship lasted without trust, and these two had not a spark of it between them. Even as Paris eyed William like a slab of beef to carve for dinner, he kept Sienna in his crosshairs, as if afraid she’d bolt, or even do a little carving of her own.

  “Come on, or you’ll be ticked I didn’t show you sooner.” William turned on his heel and marched down the hallway and up another flight of stairs to the third floor. He didn’t have to look back to know the couple followed him. Paris’s booted footfalls reminded him of stampeding buffalo.

  He slowed his pace and Paris came up beside him. At some point, the warrior had picked Sienna up. She was cradled in his arms, her wings tucked around her, her head resting in the hollow of his neck. Even more interesting was the fact that she hadn’t uttered a complaint.

  Her gaze met William’s, steady as a rock. She frowned. “Wrath goes silent around you. He doesn’t show me any of your perceived sins. Why is that?”

  Oh, no. He wasn’t veering down that conversation
path. Not with a former Hunter and a dead, though brought back to life, newly possessed whatever the hell she was. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “I did.”

  He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “And?”

  “And he offered no response, so I decided it’s because you have to live with yourself, a punishment worse than anything Wrath could mete out.”

  Miracle of miracles. The demon wasn’t tattling on him. “The answer will just have to remain a mystery, then. Oh, and a word of warning. Smart mouths really crank my chain. Keep talking dirty to me, baby.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Paris inserted himself into the conversation with a hesitant, “Did he show you mine?” That he didn’t threaten William proved the depths of his uncertainty about what Wrath might have broadcast.

  William had seen Paris aroused (not on purpose), playful, pissed off, blood-soaked, stubborn, drugged out, relaxed, stressed and everything in between. But he had never seen the warrior frightened. Just then, Paris was frightened, his expression haunted, his muscles knotted over bone.

  “Yes,” she replied so quietly he had to strain to hear.

  A taut beat of silence. “Do you want me to put you down?”

  “No!” Color flooded her cheeks when she realized just how loudly she’d shouted the word. “No. I like where I am.”

  From a mouse to a lioness. Adorable really, and William thought he might make a pass at her when Paris finished with her. Because, even as fierce as Paris was about her, he would let her go. Resolve had bled into the fear. Even though Paris had suspected she would not want to be touched by a man who had done the things he’d done, even though she had proven him wrong and that had to be a relief, he was determined to live without her.

  “I just meant that, uh, my back hurts,” she added. “I need your support.”

  “Like a good jockstrap,” William said, patting his boy on the shoulder. “But then, that’s Paris for you.”

  Even with Sienna in his arms, Paris managed to give him a two-fingered salute. Mentally, of course, but William saw it all the same.

  “I should have asked him to finish you off, rather than to let you go,” she muttered. Then, “Are we heading to the fifth floor?”

  Ah. So she knew what was up there. “Yes.”

  “Why?” Paris asked.

  “You’ll see,” William replied.

  Sienna opted to ruin the surprise. “Other demon-possessed immortals are up there.”

  “Other demon…” Paris increased his speed, leaving William eating his dust. “Are they armed?”

  “No,” she said, “but they’re trapped.”

  “Show me.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do,” William muttered as he chased after them. One day it would be nice for someone to place him first. Not a lover, though, and not the girl who haunted his dreams. The girl he would protect with his life now and always. She wasn’t meant for him.

  His one true love would die—or kill him. It had already been foretold, and there was no other option.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CAREFUL TO KEEP HIS MIND on the situation at hand, rather than on his aching, needy body, Paris stopped in the center of the fifth-floor hallway. He was shocked by what he found. Only Sienna’s slight weight in his arms, her tropical, feminine scent in his nose, her silky hair brushing against his skin, grounded him.

  Funny, that. The magnification of her drugging scent should have sent him flying straight into a round of withdrawal—or chewing at her neck. Instead, the need to protect her, even from himself, beat everything else.

  There were three immortals up here, a female and two males. They stood at the back of their rooms, staring at him, making no moves toward him. He’d never met them, which meant he hadn’t locked them in Tartarus before his possession. Still, they were glaring at him. Did they know who he was? What he was?

  I want them, Sex said.

  Wow. What a shock.

  A whiny I’m becoming weaker by the minute followed.

  Believe me, I know. How he longed for the days when Sex retreated into the land of silence and led him simply through urges. Now, do me a solid and stuff it.

  That’s what I’m trying to do!

  Crude bastard.

  Like Paris was really any better. Over the years Paris had slept with thousands of different people for thousands of different reasons, and not all of them had been about passion. He truly needed to take a woman, like, yesterday, and that’s one of the reasons he was here, to be with Sienna again. But he hadn’t so much as kissed her, even though he was desperate to do so, because he didn’t want to be with her for any reason but passion.

  Mutual desire mattered.

  She desired him, yes. At least, he was pretty sure he’d caught the scent of her arousal while she’d offered to “service” him, but he’d treated her shabbily. She’d looked at him with those sad, watery eyes, hopeful for forgiveness, and he’d snapped at her.

  Damn it, he didn’t want her apology or her gratitude. Didn’t want her pity, and certainly didn’t want her to want him because of his demon’s pheromones. Had he taken her up on her offer, gratitude and pity would have been in that bed with them, as well as anger, distrust and regret. He hadn’t done the ménage thing for a long time.

  Maybe he should have taken what he could get, though. Waiting was kind of stupid. Case in point—his current weakness. More than that, Sienna might not give him a second chance. She might run, as he’d feared. It was just, she wasn’t like any of the other women he’d been with, and he didn’t want to treat her as if she were.

  What makes her different from the others?

  The question sprang from deep within him, throwing him. She was gutsy, but so were others. She was witty, but so were others. She was sometimes sweet and sometimes spicy, but again, so were others.

  Mmm, spicy.

  Stupid Sex. Anyway. Sienna was also guarded, yet vulnerable. Determined, yet kind. She was willing to go to any lengths to see a mission through to the very end. Just like him. She had seen visions of his past, yet had thrown no judgment his way.

  Once, Paris had asked Aeron exactly what the demon revealed in regards to him. The reply had been brutal: all the hearts you’ve broken, all the tears you’ve caused. That’s what Sienna had seen and forgiven. So, yes, she was different, and he liked those differences.

  She stiffened when Paris returned to the first door from the landing. That suggested there’d been conflict between her and the man inside. So, of course, Paris studied the guy intently. He was tall, muscled and glaring more fiercely than the others, as if Paris were already tagged and under a microscope. Handsome, if you were into deeply tanned skin and freaky bicolored eyes. Not that Paris was jealous or anything.

  But just how much time had the guy spent with Sienna?

  “That’s Cameron. He’s the keeper of Obsession,” she said with a tremble.

  A tremble born of fear…or desire? I won’t ask. I won’t. With the way they’d left things in the room, and hell, with the things Paris had done since their first parting, the answer wasn’t his business.

  “Has he ever touched you?” Damn. He’d asked, and with a whole lot of force.

  She looked surprised. “No. The same invisible doors that keep me inside the castle keep them imprisoned in their rooms.”

  Her voice. Would he ever get enough of it? His ears hummed with sensation every time she spoke. “Did you want him to touch you?” He had to stop this.

  “Never!”

  A beautiful reprieve. “Then he can live,” Paris muttered. He repositioned her in his arms, reached out and, yep, sure enough, there was an invisible block preventing him from entering the room.

  “So you’re not going to murder him? That’s quite generous of you,” she said dryly.

  Irreverent humor from her, with him, was a shocker every time. In each instance they’d been together—and granted, there weren’t many—things had been serious between them
, gravely so. He liked that she now felt comfortable enough to tease him.

  “I try.” He stopped at the second doorway.

  “This is Púkinn, aka Irish. He’s bonded with Indifference,” she informed him.

  Indifference was half man, half animal. Horned, clawed and furred. Something out of a nightmare. For real. The man beast just looked Paris up and down and turned away, as if Paris were of no importance.

  At the third door, Sienna twirled the ends of her hair around her finger. “Here we have Selfishness,” she said with a hint of…anger? Or the same stinging jealousy he (hadn’t) felt?

  “She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Sienna asked.

  “Yes.” The female had the same bicolored eyes as the first male, the same deeply tanned skin. She was attractive, there was no denying that, but he hungered only for the woman in his arms.

  “Her name is Winter.”

  “That’s great. How long have you been here?” Paris asked, looking down at Sienna instead of the immortal. Her lids were downcast, her lashes causing shadows to tumble over her cheeks. “How long have they been here?”

  “I’ve lost track.” The pink tip of her tongue slid over her mouth, leaving a glistening sheen of moisture. “They were here first, though.”

  I want to taste her. I will taste her.

  His blood heated another degree. Get in line.

  With all of Paris’s experience, he was clueless when it came to this woman. What would soften her toward him totally and completely? Not just light a fire under her sympathies, but truly seduce her? She had changed since they’d last met in Rome, but she was still just as much of a mystery to him.

  That she’d cried, that she’d apologized, that she’d sounded sincere, all were far more than he’d ever unexpected from her. Try hell had just frozen over shocking. But she had, on all three counts, and she’d looked at him like she’d never looked at him before. As if he were a man worthy of affection and attention. As if he weren’t some dirty, disgusting thing on the bottom of her shoe. As if she wanted to protect him.