Gena Showalter - [Lords of the Underworld 13]

by The Darkest Craving

  Part of him wanted her to hesitate.

  He’d never thought to experience sexual desire again—not true desire—and yet, when he’d tackled her, her softness beneath him, and he’d had her scent in his nose, and her panting breaths in his ears, he’d yearned to strip her, to see her, all of her, and take everything she had to give.

  She might have let him. But just how would his body, and his mind, have reacted?

  Now, the need for her was still there, a thorn in his side. He didn’t like it, had to get rid of it.

  A frowning William returned—without the girl.

  Kane growled low in his throat. “What happened?”

  “There was no sign of her,” the warrior said. “And don’t get your panties in a twist, but, uh, there was evidence of a struggle.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Realm of Blood and Shadows

  LONG AGO, CAMEO had been cursed to host the demon of Misery and oh, the creature’s presence had never been more apparent than now. A deep sense of sorrow pressed heavily against her. Despair burned the center of her chest. Corrosive whispers drifted through her mind.

  There’s no hope...

  Life will never get better.

  You’ll never succeed at anything. Might as well give up now.

  She hated the demon of Misery with every fiber of her being. He was the essence of evil, darkness without any hint of light, yet she couldn’t survive without him. Problem was, she knew she couldn’t survive with him, either.

  But what could she do?

  Nothing, that’s what. Always nothing. Forever nothing.

  And so, for the rest of her existence, tears would always burn at the backs of her eyes. If ever she laughed, she wouldn’t remember it. Her friends claimed she had, upon occasion, smiled, but she couldn’t recall a single instance—and never would.

  But. Yes, but. While she couldn’t make her life better, she could make Kane’s better. Surely. Hopefully.

  A few days ago, she’d visited him in his room. He’d worn anguish like a second skin, though he’d tried to mask it. He probably would have succeeded with anyone but Cameo. The misery of others delighted her demon.

  For a moment, only a moment, she had felt better. Lighter. Finally free. Then, she had felt a thousand times worse as her own misery had merged with Kane’s.

  Kane hadn’t seemed to notice. Distracted, he had played with the ends of her hair, the dark strands pretty against the bronze of his skin. “Silver Eyes,” he’d said, using his favorite nickname for her. “I missed you more than I can say.”

  Lovely words. True words. They always missed each other when they were parted. But then he’d stood, not giving her a chance to reply, and padded to the bathroom, shutting himself inside. He hadn’t looked back.

  He always looked back when he walked away from her.

  He always winked at her.

  She always blew him a kiss. Sometimes, when she was mad at him, with bite. He always chuckled.

  Then, he’d left the fortress without saying goodbye to her. He always said goodbye.

  They’d fought together for centuries, and never once had they deviated from their traditions. Traditions that had started because, after they’d first met, they had briefly dated. But his demon, Disaster, and her demon, Misery, had caused far too many problems and they’d eventually broken up. He’d become her best friend. Her confidant. Their traditions were all they had.

  Since his return, something had changed.

  He had changed.

  She should have expected it. He’d spent several weeks in hell, bound and chained and tortured. He hadn’t spilled the details, and she hadn’t needed them. She could guess—and knew the worst of her imaginings wouldn’t even come close to what he’d suffered. She’d wanted only to make him feel better, at least for a little while.

  As if you can do anything to help anyone.

  Gritting her teeth, she blocked her mind to the demon’s manipulations. I can help him, and I will.

  Cameo stood in the center of a bedroom emptied of all furniture. The walls were made of crumbling stone, and peppered with cameras. Torin was fierce about security. The marble floor was cracked—Kane had been here, and recently. The air was cool, but dry, and coated with dust.

  She studied the four artifacts in front of her. Wars had been fought for them. People had killed to find them, to protect them, to steal them. She and her friends had done all of that and more to obtain them.

  Somehow, some way, these seemingly useless things would lead the way to Pandora’s box. To the Lords’ freedom. And their ultimate doom.

  The Cage of Compulsion was a rusted four-by-four cell. However, when trapped inside, a person was compelled to do whatever the owner commanded.

  Then there was the Cloak of Invisibility. A simple piece of fabric. However, when a person draped the material over their shoulders, no one could see them.

  Then there was the Paring Rod, a long, thin spear with a glittering crystal rounding out the top end. When touched, it could steal a spirit from a body, leaving only an empty shell.

  Finally, there was a painting from the All-Seeing Eye, given to Cameo only this morning.

  Danika, the Eye, could sometimes see into the skies and sometimes the abyss. Sometimes the past. Sometimes, as a gift from the Most High, the future. In this painting, Danika had obviously seen into a man’s office—in the present? At the far right wall, there were treasures locked inside a glass case, and one of those treasures was a small box made of bones.

  Could it be Pandora’s box? A container hidden for centuries. A dangerous weapon supposedly constructed from the bones of the female incarnation of oppression. When opened, the box would suck the demons from Cameo and the other Lords, trapping the evil inside.

  Ending their lives.

  Cameo had sensed Kane’s hatred for Disaster. She had sensed his desire to rid himself of the creature’s influence, in any way necessary—she had sensed, because it was a mirror of her own yearnings. If he couldn’t find a way, he might decide to hunt down the box and use it.

  She couldn’t let him die.

  So, she would just have to eliminate this method of deliverance. She nodded. Yes. That’s how she would help him.

  But...how was she supposed to put each of the artifacts to use at the same time? Because that was the key to finding the box. Should she climb into the cage while wearing the Cloak and holding the painting and the Rod?

  “What’cha doing?”

  The voice came from beside her. Cameo cut off a groan as she turned to face Viola, the keeper of Narcissism and the newest bane of her existence. Seriously. Dealing with a pack of rabid wolves on a steady diet of dark-haired, silver-eyed females would have been way easier.

  Curling blond hair cascaded over Viola’s dainty shoulder, and eyes the color of cinnamon twinkled. She wore a skimpy, skintight dress with enough ruffles and bows to put Christmas morning to shame, and she held her pet Tasmanian devil in her arms. Princess Fluffy...something was his name.

  Yes. The princess was a he.

  “I’m spending time alone,” Cameo finally replied. Hint, hint.

  “Well, I hate being the bearer of bad news almost as much as I love it, but spending time alone isn’t a good look for you. Your face is all scrunchy. It’s quite frightening. You should try to be more like me and look good no matter who you’re with. Or not with.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “I know! I’m so smart it should be criminal.”

  Gotta find that box. Cameo wouldn’t destroy it right away. She would run a test, just one, and shove Viola near it. Then, she would find out exactly what happened when a demon-possessed immortal approached it. Maybe Viola would survive. Fingers crossed she wouldn’t.

  As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, Princess Fluffywhatever lunged out and sank his fangs into Cameo’s wrist, a quick in-and-out job that left her bleeding. Viola continued chatting about nothing, unconcerned.

  Cameo bent down, do
ing as Super Nanny had taught her, and as she’d often had to do with the men in her life, looking the little cretin in the eye. “If you do that again, I’m going to have he-princess for breakfast. I doubt you’ll taste very good, you’re too bitter, but that’s what mustard is for.”

  The devil-dog yelped, jumped from his mistress’s arms, and raced out of the room.

  “I wonder what’s wrong with him,” Viola said.

  Talk about having a megawatt attention filter. If something didn’t revolve around Viola, the female never noticed.

  “Do you recognize any of these artifacts?” Cameo asked her. Might as well make use of her while she was here.

  “Of course I do. I can recognize anything. I’m quite gifted.”

  Gotta find it real soon. “Tell me what you know.”

  Viola puffed up, saying, “Well, the pieces are quite old. And ugly. Except for the painting. It’s new and ugly.” She traced a fingertip along the canvas and her expression of self-love melted away. “Be very careful.” How serious she suddenly sounded. How dire. “If you fail to use each artifact properly, you’ll find yourself trapped. Forever.” Then she traced her finger over the Cloak, grimaced, and returned to her old, annoying self. “It’s not very soft, is it? I prefer soft. My skin is very delicate. And perfect.”

  “How do I use each artifact properly?” Cameo insisted.

  “What are you talking about? How should I know? I’ve never used them. And besides, while I know everything, I sometimes like to be appreciated for more than my magnificent brain.” As she spoke, she bent down to peer into the crystal at the end of the Rod. “Oh, a pretty,” she breathed, appearing entranced by her own reflection.

  She reached out. Made contact.

  One second she stood beside Cameo, the next she was gone.

  Silence filled the room.

  “Viola,” Cameo said, spinning, but there was no sign of the girl.

  Heartbeat picking up speed, Cameo focused on the camera in the far right corner. “Did you see that? Did what I think just happened really happen?”

  There was a crackle of static before Torin’s voice flowed from strategically placed speakers. “Yeah. The moment she made contact with the Rod, she was adiosed.”

  “What should I do?” she demanded.

  “Nothing. I’m going to do a search for info and see what I can find.”

  No. She wasn’t content to do nothing. Besides, he’d been searching for info since they’d gotten the thing, and hadn’t found anything.

  Moving swiftly, Cameo unfolded the Cloak.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Torin demanded. “Stop that right now.”

  “Make me.” He was the keeper of Disease. One touch of his skin against another’s and a plague would start. The poor guy spent most of his time alone in his bedroom, watching the world from a distance.

  In a moment of weakness, they had begun a hands-off relationship, but just like with Kane, the sparks had quickly fizzled and they’d realized they were better off as friends.

  “Cameo. Don’t.”

  He was concerned for her. She knew that. She also knew he liked to think before acting. To plan. To test. Most of the warriors living in the fortress were like that. Not Cameo. The longer she waited to do something, the more useless she became, the demon’s misery filling her, consuming her.

  More than that, Viola could be in pain. Cameo didn’t like the girl, but she wasn’t going to let her suffer—no matter what she’d planned to do to her. She had to try to extract her.

  Cameo reached out with a shaky hand.

  “Don’t you dare do what she did,” Torin shouted over the speakers.

  She paused. Maybe there was another way. Maybe—

  “Maddox!” Torin’s voice boomed. “You’re needed in the artifact room. Now! Reyes, you, too. Anyone. Cameo’s about to make a huge and possibly fatal mistake.”

  No time to reason things out.

  Trembling, Cameo set the painting in the cage, grabbed the Cloak, and entered. She shut the door, and the lock automatically engaged. The moment she heard the soft click, she felt as though a heavy ring of metal had wrapped around her neck, wrists and ankles. But when she looked, she saw only the tan of her skin.

  “I’m commanding you to stop, Cameo,” Torin said.

  The Cage clearly didn’t consider him its owner, because she felt no compulsion to obey him.

  She wrapped the Cloak around her shoulders and reached through the bars, intending to latch onto the Rod. Just before contact, her gaze locked on the painting. She froze. In an instant, insignificant details were wiped away. She saw the box, and in the shadows behind it, a man. He was of average height, with a thin build.

  She couldn’t make out his features, could only see the red glow of his eyes. Who was he? What was he? Would he be friend or foe? Was he guarding Pandora’s box? Trying to prevent her from destroying it?

  With so little muscle mass, he’d never stand a chance.

  Find Viola. Find him.

  Footsteps echoed inside the room. Hinges on the door creaked.

  Maddox stormed inside, violent anger radiating from him. “Don’t you dare—”

  She grabbed the Rod before he could finish his sentence, just in case, and felt the coldness of the crystal against her skin.

  And then she knew nothing more.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Séduire

  CURRENTLY, JOSEPHINA WAS the ketchup in a beefcake sandwich. Two palace guards held her in a viselike grip, preventing her from running away. They were beautiful men, tall and strong—though not as tall and strong as Kane—with looks typical of the Fae. Each had white hair, blue eyes, pale skin and red lips. They wore fitted violet overcoats, and had several medals pinned along their shoulders. Their pants were white, without a speck of dirt, and practically painted on. Black boots stretched to their knees.

  Oh, yes. They were beautiful men, but they were the proud owners of cold, dead hearts. They knew what would happen to her, but wouldn’t let her go. They held her all the tighter.

  So close to freedom, she thought, fighting a wave of despair. And yet here I am.

  At least the hatred and evil she’d borrowed from Kane had left her and returned to him.

  The royal dais loomed in front of her. King Tiberius sat upon a lavish throne carved from a single block of the purest gold, his hand curled around the center of a bejeweled scepter. On his right was a smaller throne, and perched there was the elegant Queen Penelope. On his left was yet another throne, this one for the flawless Princess Synda.

  Behind the trio was a higher tier. Higher, yet still it seemed the area was nothing more than an afterthought. There sat Prince Leopold. Even as much as he claimed to want her, he’d wasted no time escorting Josephina to the guards and abandoning her to their “care.”

  The Opulens stood behind her. Dressed in their finest, they had gathered here to watch her newest chastisement. The women wore elaborate gowns with fitted bodices and wide, flaring skirts. Bold makeup decorated their faces, the colors dusted with diamond powder. Their hair was partially hidden by large, bejeweled headdresses that fanned out to form half-moons. Metal necklaces circled their throats and dripped beads down their shoulders and cleavage.

  The men wore velvet jackets in every color imaginable, metal pieces sewn into the shoulders, elbows and hem. Their trousers were looser than what the guards wore, but still managed to mold to hard-won strength.

  In Séduire, beauty mattered more than brains and clothing mattered more than food. Political intrigues were always in full swing. An open mouth was a lying mouth. Power was just as valuable as cash. Lust, greed and torture were always on the menu.

  Josephina hated it here.

  Every Fae wielded some type of extraordinary ability—though she actually wielded two—but some were better than others. The king was doubly gifted, like Josephina, able to bequeath abilities to others, as well as form a protective shield around his body. The queen had the power to touch an object a
nd know its complete history. Leopold could cause pain in others with a single spoken word.

  Any ability Synda possessed had been buried when she’d obtained the demon. Josephina had heard stories, though, and thought her half sister had once been able to turn any inanimate object into gold.

  The king looked Josephina over with those eyes of crystal blue. Oh, how she despised the color. She much preferred Kane’s eyes, jade and amber—and she had to stop thinking about him, didn’t she? Their association was over. She wouldn’t be seeing him again. He wouldn’t want to see her. Not after what she’d done to him.

  Regret clawed at her. Already she mourned the loss of him. The strong, beautiful warrior who’d come to save her.

  A small cry parted her lips.

  “Have you nothing to say for yourself, Servant Josephina?” King Tiberius demanded. “You caused us all kinds of trouble.”

  “Yes, you should be on your knees right now,” Queen Penelope said, flicking an invisible piece of lint from the skirt of her dress. “Begging for our forgiveness.”

  Ignoring the burn of rejection accompanying those words, Josephina kept her gaze on her father. Though he was hundreds of years old, he looked almost as young as she was. He had silver-white hair, unblemished skin, and enough muscle to snap the bones of any man.

  “I’m angry with you, girl. You didn’t return on your own. You had to be hunted, wasting time, energy and resources.”

  “I was being chased by demons.” It was the truth.

  He flicked his tongue over an incisor. “Excuses aren’t to be tolerated.”

  She gulped, and wisely kept her mouth shut.

  “However, I am feeling benevolent, and will not punish you. This time. But if you ever again try to deprive my precious daughter of her blood rights, whatever the reason, I’ll be forced to hobble you for the rest of your life.”

  I’m your precious daughter, too, her heart cried. The only difference was, the queen wasn’t her mother.

  Murmurs of excitement erupted behind her. The people wanted to see her hobbled.

  The queen petted the ribbon of fur hanging from the collar of her gown. “We sent guards to await you at the exit to hell. Did you kill them?”