The Darkest Seduction lotu-10

by Gena Showalter

  “That goshdarn mothertrucking a-hole cut my woman up, ripped the babies out and sewed her back together.” Maddox’s nostrils flared, so heavily did he breathe. “Without anesthesia.”

  William popped his jaw. “There wasn’t time. They were clawing their way out, and waiting any longer would have killed your Ashlyn for sure. And better a dagger slice, which is smooth, than the savage tearing that comes with claws. And by the way, you’re welcome. They’re all alive.”

  Well, all right, then. Like a coward, Paris abandoned ship, leaving William to endure Maddox’s wrath on his own. He made his way to the gym on the bottom floor. Strider was there, as promised, running the treadmill like a man possessed. Which he was.

  Blond hair was plastered to his scalp, and rivers of sweat ran down his deeply tanned skin.

  The white-haired Torin was at the far side of the room, bench-pressing enough weight to have fractured the marble floor. Shock rooted him in place for a moment. Torin never approached the masses, too afraid of someone accidentally touching him.

  How’d he get here, anyway? Last Paris had heard, Disease had turned down Lucien’s offer for air travel. And when the hell had Torin gotten so ripped? He usually holed up in his room, covered from neck to foot in black. Now, without a shirt, Paris saw the guy had the chiseled body of someone who could kick his ass.

  Both men stopped what they were doing when they realized he’d entered. Paris whipped off his shirt, his gun holster and his blades, stored them on a bench and moved to the treadmill beside Strider.

  “What’d you want to talk to me about?” He hit a few buttons, and then the thing was lifting and moving, giving him a grueling incline and a sprinting pace that felt unbelievably good. He hadn’t exercised like this in a long time.

  “What’s this I hear about you having an invisible Hunter on the premises?” Strider asked, catching a towel Torin had thrown at him. He wiped his face, his gaze remaining on Paris. “The Hunter possessed by Wrath, I might add.”

  Shoulda known. “She’s not a Hunter, not anymore, and she’s not up for discussion.”

  “Like hell she isn’t. My woman is here.”

  “Yeah, and your woman can take care of herself.”

  Pride flickered in Strider’s navy eyes. “True enough. Fact remains, though, that an unseen enemy is the most dangerous. Your girl can do all kinds of damage to everyone here.”

  He cranked the speed up another thousand notches, until his boots were hammering into the base and rattling the entire machine. “She’s not out to hurt us.”

  “Yeah, so, I’ve got some wiring to do,” Torin said from behind them. “You boys have at each other.” Footsteps, and then it was just the two of them.

  “You’re telling me the girl who drugged you, who watched your torture, is no longer a threat to you or anyone?” Strider asked skeptically. “Please.”

  “We worked it out.” Sweat beaded on his skin, too, dripping, dripping. His muscles burned just right, soaking up the strain, loving it.

  “In the sheets, no doubt, but all that means is that you’re thinking with something other than your brain. You gotta know that.”

  Don’t challenge him, don’t challenge him, don’t you dare challenge him. You had to be careful around Strider. His demon took exception to any hint of confrontation, and then Strider had to battle it out, doing everything in his power to knock you senseless, or he’d suffer for days as punishment.

  “Everyone accepted Haidee,” Paris reminded him, “and she was a Hunter.”

  “Now she’s the living embodiment of Love. It’s kinda hard not to like and trust her. Your girl, we can’t see or hear her. Can’t judge her actions and her words for ourselves. Can’t see how she is with you. And do you really need another you’re thinking with your man junk speech?”

  Darkness…rising… “I’m asking you to step off,” Paris said, “before things get nasty and we have to work this out the hard way.” If he had to go the challenge route to stop his friend from verbally slamming his woman, he would.

  Silence. Then, a grisly, “I feel—”

  “A burning sensation when you pee?” Now you’re just being mean.

  “Real mature,” Strider said, but he calmed down a notch. “Me and you, we got history. More than the others know, more than the two of us ever want to acknowledge. But we both know it’s one of the reasons we went our separate ways when the two groups split for while, me with Sabin and you with Lucien.”

  Heat seared Paris’s cheeks, and it had nothing to do with physical strain. “We said we’d never talk or think about it.” And he’d always kept up his end of that agreement.

  “Apparently, times change. You were weak, dying. There were no humans around, and you refused to let any of us help you.”

  “Shut up.” His happy day was going down the drain fast. “Just shut up.”

  “So, my demon took up the challenge, and I took care of you. Now I’m asking you to take care of your friends in turn. Get rid of the girl,” Strider went on, ignoring the demand. “We lack one artifact, just one, and once we get it back we can start searching for Pandora’s box. We can finally save ourselves. Not only can she spy on us, steal from us and hurt our more vulnerable members, she could ruin our future. Just think about it. For me.”

  Strider threw his towel in the hamper and stomped from the room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  FOR SIENNA, THE NEXT few days passed in a blissful haze punctuated by moments of mourning. Except for two things, all was right in her world. But she wasn’t going to think about those two things. She would erupt into one of her rare and shocking rages, and rip the entire castle apart.

  Instead, she would think about the fact that Paris adored her. She would think about all the times she and Paris had made love, and how each time he had been more frantic to get inside her than the last. He’d taken her in ways that scandalized, delighted and thrilled, and in the quiet afterglow, they had talked.

  No subject had been off-limits. They discussed the Hunters—where certain facilities were, the names of some of the higher officers, the location of the cavern where Galen supposedly met with Rhea and the pair performed rituals for “the greater good.” Then they’d talked about themselves, about where they would travel and what they’d do if there hadn’t been a war to fight.

  Paris picked the mountains, with the cold and the snow and a soft rug in front of a fireplace. She picked the beach, wanting to watch him rise from the water, glittering droplets sliding along the ropes of his stomach and catching in her new favorite place on his body—because the waves would have stolen his swimsuit.

  Of course, earlier this morning he’d strode out of the shower, dripping wet, no towel in sight, with a wicked smile on his face, and she’d laughed at his antics (after she caught her breath). She was desperately trying to guard her heart against him despite his demand that they stay together, because she knew she still had to leave him for Galen, that she had to stop Rhea from taking the Titan throne, that she couldn’t kill her greatest enemy because doing so would kill Cronus, and as he’d said, if he died, chaos would reign and Paris would die.

  The only way to save him was to control Galen, and thereby Rhea. Not the best revenge, but it was all she could allow herself.

  She wished Skye could have met Paris, wished the girl could have seen the good in him, that man and demon were not truly one and the same, that the demon was dark and dangerous, destructive, but the man was fun and caring, worthy of respect. Just like Sienna was not the sum total of Wrath’s deeds, but a woman who fought for what was right.

  Once upon a time, Sienna had considered giving the demon back to Aeron. But if she did, she would die—for real and forever—and she would be unable to avenge her sister, even in the smallest way. Plus, she needed him. He still hadn’t figured out what was “wrong” with Skye’s death.

  Don’t cry, Enna. Boys are stupid, Mama said so, and if that fathead Todd doesn’t want to go to the dance with you, he’s the stup
idest ever!

  I miss you so much, Skye. Sienna turned the corner—and barreled into a speeding golf cart. After crash-landing on her butt, she saw the cart was blue with orange flames painted on the sides, and the minor goddess of the Afterlife/keeper of Narcissism was at the wheel.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry.” Most times Sienna didn’t bother watching where she was going, because only Paris, Viola and Lucien could see and touch her. Everyone and everything else she ghosted through and no one ever even knew. But because the cart belonged to Viola, Sienna could feel the metal that had just flattened her lungs.

  “I’m late,” Viola said, waving a piece of paper in the air. “You, too? Do you need a ride?”

  As always, Wrath shot Sienna’s mind full of images. Viola, breaking hearts. Viola, double-crossing others to save herself. Viola, unconcerned by the pain she left in her wake.

  Punish…

  A whisper rather than an urge. For some reason, Wrath had been on his best behavior lately, never trying to overtake her, his hunger under control though she’d done nothing to feed him.

  “Sienna. Female…ghost person. Do you need a ride? Time is a serious issue right now.”

  “I would love a ride.” She needed a few minutes alone with the woman, so this was actually perfect. “I’ve been looking for you.” No longer did she bear any ill will toward the woman. After all, Sienna had watched Paris interact with her, and the guy could barely mask his impatience to escape.

  But having done all of that watching, Sienna now knew how to deal with the goddess. She also knew Viola was one of the few people who wouldn’t curse her outright, who would hear her out.

  “Well, hop on and stop standing there all lost in your thoughts. I don’t want to miss the good part.”

  Sienna didn’t ask what “the good part” was, because the woman would have explained in minute detail about how everything pertained to her. She simply unfolded from the floor and slid into the plush leather seat, careful of her wings.

  “Well?” the goddess prompted, stomping on the pedal. They jolted into motion, cutting corners, honking at nothing, flashing their lights. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  To begin: flattery. “As intelligent and powerful as you are, you’re the only one capable of helping me.”

  “Well, of course I am. Here’s a well-known fact. I’m more than made of awesome. I am the original awesome.” From behind the wheel, Viola flicked her pale hair over her shoulder. She wore a gown of shimmery gold, the material cinched just under her breasts and flaring at her hips. Red-carpet worthy, for sure. “Soooo?”

  “I’m trying to figure out how best to ask for what I need.”

  “Try opening your mouth and forming words. That’s what I do, and I can assure you my methods are always stellar.”

  Sienna ran her tongue over her teeth, not allowing herself to issue a snappy retort. She didn’t think Viola meant to be so haughty, but hello, a girl could only take so much. “Well, I’m running out of time.”

  And there was the main reason for her recent string of temper tantrums. Her time here was ticking, ticking away. Soon she would have to leave. Not just because she had heard some of Paris’s friends plotting her downfall, and not just because those same friends hated her guts and would never trust or forgive her, but because she really was going to Galen, keeping him away from Cronus, so that Cronus could keep Rhea away from his throne, no matter how sickening the tasks she had to perform.

  “Do you want me to buy you more time?” Viola asked, as if such a thing were possible. They reached the stairs. Without pause, she took them. Bounce, bounce, bounce. “You’d have to pay me back. I mean, with two-hundred-percent interest, but—”

  “No, I…well, when I leave, Paris will weaken.” Her head slammed into the roof of the vehicle. Oh, please, please don’t let my next death be in a tragic golf cart accident. “I don’t know if you know this, but he has to have sex every day or his body shuts down. His demon is…needy, you know.”

  “Yada, yada, boring.” Landing smoothly, the cart erupted into full speed. (Twenty-five miles per hour.)

  She bit her tongue to hold in her retort. “When I leave I want you to make sure Paris sleeps with the women Lucien brings him, and that he keeps sleeping with them.”

  And there was the second reason for her temper tantrums. Due to pressure from Sienna’s staunchest haters, Lucien kept disappearing and reappearing with a new woman in the hope that one would entice Paris away from her.

  While Paris could easily ignore his friends, the persistent and determined Viola would find a way to get her way. Otherwise, she would be a failure, and the goddess would never allow herself to be a failure.

  “What I’m hearing is, I’m the only thing standing between your man and his certain death,” Viola said. “So what’s in it for me if I save him?”

  For a moment, Sienna couldn’t reply; there was a giant lump in her throat. This was killing her. She wanted Paris all to herself, now and always, and oh, she really did love the man, didn’t she? Body, heart and soul, she loved him. She’d been falling slow and steady, but now she was flat on her face, nothing but a puddle of love.

  He was everything to her. Her light when things became too dark. When she cried, he comforted her. When she laughed, he laughed with her. He treated her as if she were a special treasure. He protected her, cared about every ache and pain she might experience.

  She would tear the world apart to keep him safe. She would willingly suffer without him, as long as she knew he was out there, alive.

  “What would you like from me?” Sienna wasn’t going to quibble. What the goddess wanted, she would give. It was as simple as that.

  “You’re Wrath, right? Well, when I call on you to slay one of my enemies, you have to slay him. No questions, no hesitation.”

  “As long as the enemy in question isn’t someone Paris or his friends know and like. Or want alive.”

  The goddess thought for a moment, nodded. “We have ourselves a deal.”

  “Good. Now, I have one other request for you.” She outlined what she wanted.

  Viola shot her a sly smile. “Wicked, and quite shocking coming from you. I had no idea you were into that. You look so mousy. But it’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?”

  “Will you do it?”

  “You’ll owe me two slayings, same conditions.”

  “Done.” It was done.

  “Now, hold on tight because I’m cranking this baby up. I’m just certain they won’t start without me, but these Lords sometimes defy logic, so you never know.”

  “Oh, good.” A woman with curly dark hair, a face as innocent as a cherub’s and wings of the purest white appeared just in front of them. “I found you.”

  Viola slammed on the breaks, and the cart skidded to a stop mere inches from crushing the newcomer under the tires. “What’s with all the ladies jumping in front of me and keeping me from where I want to go? Jealous much?”

  “I seek Sienna.”

  “Me?” Sienna’s heart suddenly felt as if it had been injected with adrenaline. That had been a close call, sure, but that wasn’t why she was palpitating. “Heaven,” she whispered, the reverent yearning in her voice flowing straight from her demon.

  “Yes, you. I’m Olivia,” the angel said with a sweet smile. A white robe draped her from shoulders to ankles, making her look as if she’d just stepped from a dream.

  Viola jumped out of the cart and hurried past Olivia. “Have fun girls, I’m needed elsewhere.” Pale hair streaming behind her, she disappeared into the ballroom about a yard ahead.

  “I recognize you,” Sienna said, even though the two of them had never met. She stood on shaky legs, closed the distance—heaven, my heaven—and reached out, pinching a strand of those curls between her fingers. Soft, silky. “Wrath loves you, I think.”

  Olivia’s smile went full-on sunshine as she scratched Sienna behind her ear. “How’s my darling boy doing?”

  Wrath purred like
a kitten.

  “He’s, uh, good.”

  “I’m glad. He really is a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

  Wrath?

  The demon rolled to his back, kicked up his legs and shook as great tides of rapture swept over him.

  “Let’s you and me chat later, all right?” Olivia said, arm dropping to her side. While Wrath pouted like a toddler, the angel added, “Aeron sent me to find you. He wanted to speak to you himself, but he can’t see you and conversing with the woman who has his Wrath through a third party would be a little too painful. Maybe one day. But I digress. He’s ready to leave this castle and hunt for Legion, but won’t because Paris is about to have an aneurism. At least, that’s what Aeron said, and he thinks you’re the only one who can calm his boy down.”

  Paris. Worry instantly flooded her, her demon’s preoccupation with the angel overshadowed. “Where is he?”

  “Just follow the trail Viola blazed.” Stepping to the side, Olivia motioned toward the ballroom.

  Sienna darted into motion, flying through the open doorway and once again stopping dead in her tracks. A group of the warriors and their mates stood under a banner that said only INTERVENTION in big block letters. They each held a piece of paper. Viola had taken her place in the center, shifting eagerly, ready to say her piece.

  Sienna’s gaze locked on the warrior named Aeron, the man who’d once hosted Wrath. He had closely cropped dark hair, beautiful violet eyes, and his body, which had once been covered in the tattooed images of the victims of his blood rages, was now slowly being covered with tattoos of his angel.

  Seeing him, Wrath went crazy inside Sienna’s head, wanting to reach out, to touch the warrior. Friend. My friend.

  I know, but now’s not the time to catch up with him. Honestly? She wasn’t sure any time would be right. The guy scared her. He looked like he ate kittens for breakfast and thumb tacks for lunch. His dinner wasn’t something she dared contemplate. Organs might be involved.

  Wrath pouted. The demon had wanted back inside of Aeron as much as Sienna had wanted to get rid of him. But she had changed her mind, and she hoped Wrath had, too. He wasn’t begging to escape her. For all she knew, he was as addicted to Paris as she was.