The Darkest Seduction lotu-10

by Gena Showalter

  Sienna met Paris’s eyes, and he nodded. Flying was important. Flying could one day save her soul. Because yes, as the shadows had proven, even souls could be ravaged.

  Gulping, she brushed past him. The moment her fingers trailed over his, he grabbed on to them, linked their hands and decided to walk with her. Her trembling increased with every step.

  “Afraid of heights, baby?” he asked, when they reached the flat edge.

  “I shouldn’t be, but that’s a long way down.”

  “S’all good. We won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

  “Step back,” Zacharel commanded, and though reluctant to sever contact, Paris obeyed. “Now stretch your wings,” the angel said to Sienna.

  Those black gossamer wings extended to their full length, lovely in a way he’d never before noticed. A deep, rich purple veined the black, swirled in the center and stretched to the tips.

  “Excellent. Now, try not to let this next part frighten you.” Without any further warning, Zacharel pushed her off the ledge.

  She gave a horrified gasp as she tumbled from the roof, heading down…down…

  “Noooo!” Paris’s stomach bottomed out as he launched forward, meaning to dive off after her.

  The angel stopped him with a right uppercut to the jaw, sending him propelling backward. Sex whimpered at the pain exploding through his head, but refused to retreat, refused to hide.

  “You said she wouldn’t fall!” Paris shouted as he stood, intending to try again. He was going after her, and that was that.

  “She didn’t fall. I pushed her.”

  “If she’s hurt—”

  Zacharel vanished, reappearing a second later with Sienna at his side. There was a green tint to her skin, and when she realized solid ground held her up, she hunched over, gagging, trembling uncontrollably.

  “You…bastard…” she got out.

  “This is the only way to learn.” No emotion layered Zacharel’s voice. Just a whole lot of what’d-I-do-wrong. “This is how we are taught. Besides, you are a soul. Had you made contact with the ground, I doubt you would have burst open like a melon.”

  “You doubt!”

  “Find your brave core, demon girl. Step back up and we will try again.”

  Paris delivered an uppercut of his own. The angel’s head whipped to the side, blood leaking from the gash in his bottom lip, but he merely straightened and blinked in confusion.

  “You do anything like that again, and I will end you.” Paris didn’t wait for a reply, but gathered Sienna in his arms and carried her to their room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  “WHY DON’T you take a shower and relax, baby?” Paris said as he set Sienna down on their bed. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  She had no idea what he was planning or where he was going, but she nodded. She could use a little alone time. Her heartbeat was currently engaged in a world-record race.

  He kissed her forehead and was off, shutting her inside. Shower, yes, that’s what she needed. After all, she had just plunged toward certain death, unable to force her wings to work, and the only reason she had survived was that the angel who’d tried to off her had caught her seconds before the splat.

  Punish, Wrath said.

  The first time he’d ever wanted to hurt an angel. Either he’d taken the shove personally or his hunger had returned.

  On her stumble into the bathroom, she noticed that Viola had come through for her. A ring rested on the nightstand, its only stone a huge amethyst in the center. Good. Yeah. Good. Not heartbreaking.

  The warm water relaxed her somewhat, but she had no desire to linger. Just shampooed, soaped up, rinsed off and towel-dried. About five minutes had elapsed. What a day. And yet, despite the near-death experience, she had a feeling that, when she looked back, this would be her favorite day of all time. Paris had said he loved her.

  Not saying it back had nearly destroyed her, especially as he’d worked her over, his hands sliding along her wings, caressing yet firm, as he taught her what he knew about flying. But she was leaving him tomorrow, never to return, never to see him again, and well, yeah. Not going there.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her, his elbows resting on his knees. He wore an expression she’d never seen on him before, one of such glowing tenderness her knees almost buckled.

  “Come here,” he said.

  Dropping the towel, naked and glistening, she obeyed without hesitation, stopping between his spread legs. His big hands settled on her hips, his thumbs lightly rasping over the flare of her waist. She shivered.

  “Where did you go?” She tunneled her fingers through his hair, adoring the soft strands as they lifted and fell.

  “Just out in the hall. I was going to lose it, and I didn’t want you to see. Punched a few holes in the wall. Now I just want to hold you for a minute. Okay?”

  Always. “Yes.”

  He tugged her closer, his arms tightening around her, and then he laid his head just over her breast, his warm breath trekking over her skin, his ear pressed into her heartbeat. They stayed like that for a long while, until she was shaking with the need to touch him, to be with him fully.

  He must have sensed her desire because he urged her forward, taking more of her weight, more, until he lay flat and she was on top of him. Then he turned both their bodies sideways, rolled her and settled her in front of him, so that he cradled her. His chest to her spine, his erection pressing between her cheeks.

  “Let me love you,” he whispered. “I want to fill you and move in you and come in you. I want to be so deep in you, baby. So damn deep.” His hand moved between her breasts, angled, and kneaded the upper, rubbing against her nipple, creating the most delicious friction.

  “Yes,” she repeated. Her brain was fogging, her every thought belonging to him, to what he was doing.

  His other hand moved between her legs and found the center of her desire. “All this honey. All mine.” One finger burrowed into the gap her legs created and penetrated her, then another.

  She rocked with his inward strokes, arching into him. “I love the way you work me.”

  He nibbled on her ear. Slid a third finger home. Moan after moan cut through her throat, booming through the room.

  “Get me all wet, baby. I want you all over me, coating me, drenching me.”

  She continued to rock…rock against him, losing herself, happy to lose herself, never wanting to be found, desperate to remain here, with him, always, lost, so lost.

  “So perfect. More.”

  She squeezed her eyelids shut, her ears picking up sounds she’d previously missed. The hard rasp of his breath, coming faster and faster. The shift of his hips against the sheets, the slow grind of flesh against flesh. “Paris.”

  “I’m going to do you so good.” His voice was guttural, almost totally animal. “I’m going to be in you, and I’m going to have you down my throat, your taste in my mouth. You’re going to welcome me inside, aren’t you.”

  “Oh, yes. Please, yes.”

  He removed his fingers, and she cried out, her desperation for him cranking out of control. How he’d get everything he wanted, she didn’t know, but at least she wasn’t empty for long. He clutched her upper knee and parted her legs, and without a pause in the glide of his hips, he slid as deep as he’d promised. She cried out again, this time in relief, stretched and filled and nearly insane with her need for more.

  He moved in her, even as he traced her lips with his wet fingers—wet with her—and slid two digits inside her mouth. “Suck them.”

  She did, oh, she did, tasting herself, the erotic act new for her, but so damn arousing. She rolled those fingers around, sucked on them as commanded, bit down on them. Then his fingers were gone and he was angling her face, and his mouth was pressing against hers, his tongue darting inside, taking the taste of her into himself. All the while he moved in her, so, so deep, then almost all the way out, then so, sooooo deep.
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  This was more than sex, some distant instinct told her; this was a bonding, a mating. He was all over her, in her, and she was all over him, in him. This man…oh, this man. She couldn’t get enough, would never get enough.

  “Where am I?” he suddenly demanded. His thrusts were becoming jerkier, slamming inside harder, harsher.

  “Here.” A moan of passion. “With me.”

  “Where am I?”

  “All over me. In me.”

  “Yeah. That’s right. All over you. In you. I’m yours, and you are mine.” He dove back in for another soul-stealing kiss, shattering her, claiming her. “You like this.”

  Not a question, but she answered anyway. “Love. This.” As many times as they’d been together, he’d never been this intense, this focused on ownership. And hell, she wanted to own him, too. She reached up and back and fisted his hair, holding on tight, not caring when the strands pulled.

  He hissed in a breath.

  Her hips arched back, with force this time, slamming into him. Both of them groaned at the bliss. She edged ever closer to release, and he was right there with her.

  “Take me, baby. Take all of me. Yeah. That’s it. You know the way.”

  Pressure, building and building, consuming. Just a little more… “Paris!” One more hard slam and she was shooting into the stars, pleasure flooding her in a rush, a storm. Her inner walls clutched at him, grabbing on to him, letting him know he was where he belonged, that this was right, that they were right.

  He rolled her all the way to her stomach, pressing her face into the pillows, and hammered harder, faster. A roar ripped out of him, as rough as his thrusts, and he filled her up, coming and coming and coming some more. She was right there with him, launching into a second orgasm, one that snuck up on her, but took her ever higher.

  When she came back to earth, she blinked open her eyes. Had she passed out? She must have, because Paris was on his side, and she was on her side, and they were facing each other, but she didn’t recall moving. His breathing was a little off, so she didn’t think very much time had passed. He’d drawn the sheet over their bodies and was peering over at her, as if memorizing her features.

  “I want to leave with you,” he said. “Go somewhere Cronus can’t find you. Where no one can hurt you.”

  Her heart lurched. No one—meaning his friends. “I told you. I don’t want you to be mad at anyone on my behalf.”

  “They disrespected you.”

  “And I deserved it.”

  “No!” He threw a punch, his fist going through the headboard, wood shards raining. “I told you not to talk like that. And the next time you do, I’m putting you over my knee. They aren’t perfect, not a single one of them. We’ve all done things. Things that would shame hardened criminals.”

  “Well, they’re reformed.”

  “So are you. I’m not saying I want to leave them forever. I love them. Need them. I just want to give them time to accept you. And just so you know, if I ever treated their women the way they’ve treated you, they would retaliate.”

  She had to change the subject. Had. To. He was melting her resolve. Being what she needed, saying such wonderful things. And he meant them. His tone was all about the serious.

  “Hiding from Cronus,” she said. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  Gradually he relaxed. “There are medallions. Whoever wears them is hidden from him and all his followers. He gave them to us once, then took them away. I can steal one.”

  And enrage the beast, placing himself in eternal danger? “No. I have to do this, Paris. I have to go to Galen, and Cronus is going to take me. I just have to,” she finished lamely. For you, for me.

  “That’s it?” Anger returned to those electric eyes. “You’re not even going to think about it? When the very idea of my enemy breathing the same air as you drives me to commit murder?”

  Her own anger sparked. “When it comes to putting you in danger? When it comes to making sure you survive? There isn’t anything to think about.”

  He softened, but only slightly. “Same with me. I don’t want you in danger. Ever. And you think about this. I will waste away without you. Yeah, I know I’m the king of manipulation, playing on your emotions, but I will do anything to keep you. I will kill. I will lie. I will betray and cheat and steal. I will topple mountains.”

  “Paris, I—”

  He wasn’t done. “All my life I have fought and I have fucked, and I thought I was happy until you pissed me off and woke me up and I realized I’d simply existed and accepted. And you might have gotten my attention through my demon, but you kept it because of you. I could have anyone right now, and no, that isn’t ego or a front, it’s just me telling you that now that Sex knows I’m committed, he’s making me hard for every damn female in the place, or he was, and he can again, but I don’t want them and I won’t take them.”

  Careful, girl. This man, this man she loved, could talk her into anything. There could be no spending the rest of the night with him. She had to leave. And she had to leave now.

  The knowledge shattered her.

  “Sienna, baby. I know I’m coming on strong. I know I’m pushing for a lot. Just…give me some time, okay? We’ll figure this out. There’s a solution, there has to be. Trust me.”

  So many pieces of her, scattered and broken, never to be fitted back together. “I do,” she croaked. “I trust you.” The truth, but it wouldn’t stop her.

  “Good.” He must have assumed she’d agreed to give him time.

  She didn’t correct the mistake.

  “Now, I want you to listen to me. Do you remember when I told you not to let anyone smell your blood, to always clean yourself up if you are injured?” He waited for her nod before he went on. “That’s because Cronus has made you into an ambrosia spout. Your blood is a drug for immortals and highly addictive.”

  “That’s not—” Yeah, no reason to finish that sentence. Anything was possible. She was living—er, undead—proof of that. Bitterness rose, joining the anger and the hopelessness. “How did he do it? Why would he?” Even as she spoke, she knew the answer to the latter.

  Why—so that she could more easily “seduce” and control Galen. That’s how she would keep his interest. How dare he do this! she seethed. How dare he turn her into a…a…walking narcotic!

  Punish…PUNISH.

  Yes. She would punish. Would that stop her from doing what needed doing? No. Not when Paris’s life was at stake. But, oh, she and Cronus would have a reckoning one day.

  Wrath grunted his approval.

  Gruff, Paris said, “I’m sorry about what happened, baby. I wish I could go back, stop him.”

  Melting… “Is there a way to fix me?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  She leaned into Paris, pressing her lips into his. He wanted to continue the conversation, she could tell, but he was into the kiss and accepted her tongue, taking it as his right—and it was. While he was distracted, she reached for the ring Viola had left her. Slid the metal onto her middle finger.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Do it.

  “Sienna,” Paris said. He cupped her jaw as he liked to do, as gentle as if she were a precious treasure he couldn’t bear to bruise. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. Please.”

  Do it. Do it! First, one more kiss, just one more. She dove back in, filling her mouth with his special taste. All that heat and chocolate. What lay ahead of her was an eternity of misery, but then, that was her punishment, wasn’t it. For what she’d done to him before. Part of her even thought Wrath approved, for the demon was now purring in the back of her mind, as he’d done for Olivia, feeding off Sienna’s sorrow.

  Do. It. Still she hesitated. Was she going to talk herself out of this? No, oh, no. She was talking herself into it, she realized when her next thought hit. Paris had to fall out of love with her. He just had to. He had to forget the vow he’d made her, and live. Live happily.

  And so she did it. She did
the one thing guaranteed to make him hate her.

  She positioned her ringed finger at his throat, just as she’d done once before, that day they’d first met. His pulse was erratic, a drunken drumbeat.

  DO IT. A tragic “I’m sorry” left her as she struck. She shouldn’t have said that. Should have been cold, heartless.

  His eyes flared wide. “What the—” Comprehension bled into his irises, even as they glazed. The liquid had broken the blood/brain barrier instantly. Rather than shout at her, curse at her, he slurred out, “Don’t leave me. Don’t…leave… Stay…mine…please…”

  Though he fought the effects, he couldn’t stop them, and his eyelids drifted shut. His arms plopped to his sides. He was very still, his chest rising and falling evenly. Took everything she had to climb out of the bed. To dress in clothing Cronus had provided for her, choosing a long-sleeved T-shirt that fit around her wings, black leather pants and combat boots. She quaked the entire time, tears pouring down her cheeks.

  She claimed two daggers, and neither of them were crystal. Those she left on the nightstand, resting next to each other. They were his. He would need them. She strapped the weapons on her wrists, hilts down. A shake of her arms, and those blades would slide right into her palms.

  For a moment, she closed her eyes. Had to be done, had to be done, she chanted. Didn’t make her ache any less, or feel any better. Or any less guilty. Why couldn’t Paris have looked at her with anger there at the end? Why’d he have to be so understanding?

  She refused to delude herself. He would come after her.

  She had to stop him.

  Though she almost broke down and sobbed when she exited the bedroom, she somehow managed to pick herself up and scour the castle. She found Lucien down the hall, in the room he’d claimed for his own. He sat in a velvet-lined chair, a glass of something amber in one hand, the other wrapped around Anya, who perched in his lap.

  He sensed the intrusion immediately, his gaze arrowing straight for Sienna. He set his glass on the floor.

  “What’s wrong?” Anya demanded. “You tensed.”