Gena Showalter - [Lords of the Underworld 13]

by The Darkest Craving

  When she reached the darkened dome, she removed her gloves and reached out. Lightning jolted through her, startling her. Her bones throbbed, and her blood fizzed, but she pushed through. The darkness soon cleared, and she realized she was standing in the midst of a raging battle. Blood was splattered across the floor. And Kane’s opponents...they’d become monsters.

  One had horns. Or rather, what should have been horns. They were shredded and bleeding.

  One had wings. Or rather, what used to be wings. They were misshapen and bleeding.

  One had scales. Or rather, what were probably scales. They were ripped out in patches and bleeding.

  All had fangs and claws.

  What...how...

  Kane stood in place, wielding two daggers with perfect precision. He contorted his body left and right, forward and backward, avoiding impact with his enemies. He was...winning, despite the cloud and...and...despite the fact that the floor was cracking beneath his feet?

  The demon was acting up again. Why? So he’d lose?

  Oh, yes. Defeat would be considered a disaster, after all.

  Thank goodness Kane knew what he was doing. When his feet caught on one of the cracks, he tilted forward, going with it, rolling into the motion, allowing his weapons to slash against his opponents with more force.

  Relief speared her. She backed away.

  He must have sensed her, though, because his gaze found her across the distance. His eyes widened, and a roar split his lips. He gave up his offensive stance to stalk toward her. A mistake. One of the monsters nailed him in the chin, a brutal slash of claws, slicing his skin and leaving him bleeding.

  Josephina didn’t think about her next actions. She launched into motion, throwing herself into the monster closest to her. He went down with a moan the moment she touched him. A shocking amount of strength poured through her, more than her little body had ever had to hold, but she twisted to reach the second one...the third one...

  On the heels of the strength came darkness, such terrible darkness. Worse than what had come with Kane. Then silence. Josephina stumbled. What’s happening? She was falling...falling... No, no, no! I’m back inside the Never-ending.

  A sharp pain tore through her head before blackness took over.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TORIN, KEEPER OF Disease, paced the floor of the room where he’d last seen Cameo. Days had passed since she’d vanished, leaving all of the artifacts behind, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened here. Her gaze had locked with Maddox’s. She had reached out. Then, she had been gone, with no trace of her remaining. Where was she? What had happened?

  The other warriors had come and gone, inspecting the room before stalking out to hunt down anyone who might know how to save a woman Torin loved with all of his heart. Not as a lover, though they had once tried to go that route, but as his best friend.

  If he would die for his friends, he would kill for his best friend.

  And yet, Torin was stuck here. He could do nothing but wait. He’d already checked online, but the information he desired wasn’t out there. Or, if it was, he hadn’t yet found it.

  He couldn’t leave the fortress, because he couldn’t risk touching anyone. Were his skin to accidentally brush against the skin of another immortal, that immortal would then carry the taint of Torin’s curse, infecting anyone they touched with disease. Were his skin to brush against the skin of a human, that human would sicken and die—but not before passing the disease on to others. A plague would erupt. Again.

  Yeah. He’d once lusted after a woman he hadn’t been meant to have. He’d rescued her from the hands of his enemy—they’d noticed his interest in her. Then, he’d removed his gloves and touched her, desperate for contact. Skin-to-skin. Warmth to warmth. He’d thought she would be the exception, that his yearning for her would somehow overcome his handicap.

  Her eyes had closed, and her lips had curled into a small grin, and pleasure had overwhelmed him. But then she’d sickened. Then her family and friends had sickened. Then they had all died—along with thousands of others.

  Now, when Cameo needed him...

  He was worse than useless. He was a failure. He hadn’t gotten here soon enough to save her, and he couldn’t race to her rescue. Frustration and fury burned in his chest, a toxic combination adding to the poison in his blood.

  He stopped in front of the Cage of Compulsion. Two of the artifacts were inside, exactly where they’d fallen when Cameo vanished. The Rod was propped outside, against the corner. If he did what Cameo had done, could he get to where she was? To where Viola was?

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  Worth the risk, he thought.

  He stepped forward and curled his fingers over the edge of the cage.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” a voice said from behind him.

  He stiffened. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  Anya, the incarnation of Anarchy and girlfriend of the keeper of Death, leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed over her middle. She was tall and blonde and one of the most beautiful females ever created; she was also one of the most troublesome, preferring chaos over calm. Today she wore a skintight blue minidress that looked—wait, it was painted on.

  Sweet heaven.

  “Better question. Are you going to tell Lucien?”

  “When he took off this morning to escort a few souls to the hereafter, he failed to wake me with a kiss and tell me he loved me. Therefore, I’m currently giving him the silent treatment.”

  And Lucien was probably loving it. Not that Torin would ever say such a thing aloud.

  He changed the subject, saying, “New look?”

  “New form of torture for Lucien. He’ll never not kiss me again!”

  “He probably thought you’d demand more than a kiss from him, when he wouldn’t have the time to give it to you.”

  “There’s always time to give it to me.”

  He wanted to smile, and the thread of humor, even as small as it was, surprised him. But then, Anya had that effect on people. “Want to try and talk me out of this?” he said, motioning to the artifacts.

  “Nah. I want Cameo brought back as much as you do. But if you die, well, I call dibs on your room. I’m thinking about getting a pet that will eat Viola’s devil, and my baby will need a place all her own.”

  “It’s yours.”

  She nodded, as if she’d expected nothing less. “Just know that I’ve always enjoyed looking at you. I’ll miss your sexy face.”

  The smile bloomed to full wattage, unstoppable. “I’ve always enjoyed looking at you, too.”

  She blew him a kiss.

  Because he carried the All-key inside his body, he was able to unlock anything with only a touch. The cage was no exception. He entered. The door slammed shut behind him.

  “I feel like this is the perfect time to admit I’m the Cage’s owner,” Anya said, tapping her chin and eyeing him thoughtfully. “Cronus gave it to me. I could command you to strip and you’d have to obey.”

  Torin ignored her, looking over the painting. A man’s office. A glass display case. Artifacts. One of them was a small box made of bones. Pandora’s box? Maybe. Why had he not noticed it before? He picked up the Cloak and draped the material over his shoulders, just as he’d watched Cameo do. Then, he took off his glove, reached out and gripped the Rod. But...

  Nothing happened.

  “Well, that wasn’t disappointing,” Anya said drily. “See you later, Disease.”

  She left him alone in the room, and he cursed. “You don’t want my disease inside you?” he growled at the Rod. “Huh? Is that it? Do you get to pick and choose the ones you accept?”

  He tossed the artifact on the floor, exited the Cage, and, disgusted, followed the path Anya had taken.

  * * *

  CAMEO FELT AS though she was trapped inside a washing machine, being swirled and churned this way and that, round and round, never pausing. How many days...months...y
ears...had passed since she’d climbed inside the Cage of Compulsion and touched the Paring Rod? She wasn’t sure. Time had ceased to exit.

  “Viola!” she shouted.

  She bumped into something solid—something that grunted and cursed. Definitely not Viola. Someone other than the goddess was with her in this dark, winding pit?

  Hard bands shackled her waist, jerking her against a male...yes...and he had to be eight feet tall, and as wide as a building. He surrounded her with his heat and his scent...sandalwood and peat smoke...and even stopped her from spinning.

  “Who are you?” he demanded in a deep, rumbling voice she didn’t recognize.

  “Cameo,” she managed to grit out. She wished she could see him, but was kind of glad she couldn’t. He couldn’t see her, either, so he couldn’t know how close she was to vomiting. Her stomach hurt. “You?”

  “Lazarus.” Warm breath caressed the top of her head, ruffling strands of her hair.

  “Where?”

  He knew what she meant. “The Paring Rod. We’re trapped inside it. You were hurtling through it—and you’re still being pulled toward something.” His tone was strained, as if all of his strength was needed to hold on to her. “I’m trying to keep you in place, and believe me, I’m as tough as they come, but whatever’s got you wants you desperately, because I’m being dragged with you.”

  “Well, then, let go.” Translation: save yourself.

  “Uh, that would be a no. If you’re being pulled out, I’d kill my own kin to go with you.”

  “Could be...dangerous,” she said. Breathe. Just breathe.

  “There are hundreds of people trapped in here and no one has ever escaped. If there’s a chance that is what’s happening with you, I’m going to take it.”

  No. Not yet. She hadn’t had a chance to search. “I can’t leave without a little blonde who’s in love with herself.”

  “Sorry, female, but you don’t get a choice in the matter.”

  “But—”

  He tightened his hold, practically flattening her lungs.

  “Air...need...”

  “That’s not me,” he gritted, sounding just as winded as she was. “Walls...closing in.”

  Suddenly, the pressure eased. Cameo slammed into something solid—a floor, maybe...yes, a floor, she thought, patting the area around her. It was cold, solid.

  “The bottom of the Rod?” she panted. That would mean the Rod had shrunk her to thimble size, and she wasn’t okay with that.

  Lazarus released her and rolled away. “I’ve been all over the confines of the Rod, and this isn’t part of it. I think we did the impossible and escaped.”

  His excitement was contagious. Maybe Viola had escaped, too.

  Blinking to clear her line of vision, Cameo clambered to her hands and knees. With the action, the urge to vomit increased, the dizziness careened out of control annnd—yes, she spewed the contents of her stomach all over the man’s shoes.

  “Nice,” she thought she heard him say.

  At least he hadn’t batted her away.

  “I need you to move now,” he said. “I want these shoes off.”

  Inhale. Good. Now exhale. Several minutes passed before she was able to lift her head enough to see what was around her. An office. The one from the painting, she realized. There was a desk piled high with papers. There was a glass display case brimming with artifacts. And there was Pandora’s box.

  So close.

  For the moment, Viola was forgotten. Cameo pushed to a stand and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “How did the Rod send us here?” She took a step forward. And where was here, exactly?

  Lazarus chucked his shoes. He moved beside her and latched onto her arm, his grip strong, unbreakable. She turned to face him—and gaped. He wasn’t as tall as she’d imagined, but he was still a giant. He had a muscle mass even the biggest of her friends had yet to achieve. But it was his face that truly arrested her attention.

  He. Was. Gorgeous. He wouldn’t have to speak to a woman to gain her interest. He’d just have to look at her. He had black hair, black eyes. Fathomless eyes, really. A proud nose, a stubbornly square chin. Lips the color of rubies, and the perfect contrast to all that dark. His skin was bronzed to perfection.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.” You’re a warrior. Act like one. She tugged from his hold, and the only reason she succeeded was because he let her; she knew it. “I’ve seen you before.”

  Strider was dating, or whatever, Kaia the Wing Shredder, and Strider had beheaded Lazarus to protect her. He was the consort of another Harpy, one even more annoying than Kaia, who was desperate to avenge his death.

  “How are you alive?” she demanded.

  “My body was destroyed, but not my spirit. It was trapped inside the Rod all this time.”

  Trapped. Past tense. They’d really gotten out? “If your body was destroyed, why are you solid to me?”

  “Your body was destroyed as well, the moment you entered the Rod.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry. I can make us both another one, just as soon as I get home.”

  She wouldn’t panic. She would believe him. She didn’t like the alternative.

  “You have a weapon?” he asked.

  Did she? She patted herself down and came up with...nothing. Silent, refusing to admit the lack, she raised her chin. “You want to fight me or something? Before you answer that, you should probably know I lack any sort of softer emotions and I’ll do things to you that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.”

  “Yes, I want to fight, but you’re not the opponent I’m jonesing for—even though I’m intrigued by the things you say you can do. I want to fight him.” Lazarus nodded to a place behind her. “We’ll need to work together to defeat him. I’m good, probably the best and strongest warrior you’ll never have the pleasure to meet, but we just happen to be in the same room as the only male ever to beat me.”

  Him, he’d said. The skinny red-eyed male she’d seen after draping the Cloak over her head and peering at the painting? And the guy had once beaten Lazarus? He must have powers the painting hadn’t revealed. Dread washed through her as she turned, but...she couldn’t see him.

  “He’s here?” she demanded. “Who is he?”

  “You can’t see him?”

  She licked her lips, once again refusing to admit to a lack.

  “He has the ability to reveal himself—or not. He must have decided you’re not worth playing with.” He sighed angrily. “I guess it’s up to me to save the day, then.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DISASTER LAUGHED WITH diabolical glee. Laughed harder than he’d laughed when Kane had been tied down, raped, beaten and humiliated. All because Tink had collapsed to the floor, her body contorting into the most painful positions, her features screwing up tight. Moan after moan escaped her. The kind he’d only ever heard in battle, after the last sword had been swung, the only enemy left standing finally defeated.

  Red wheeled away from her, the horns on his head shrinking...vanishing. “What’s happened to me? I’m so weak, and yet...yet...”

  Black dropped to his knees, his wings snapping into his back and vanishing.

  “Weak yet...at peace.”

  Green stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock, the scales falling from his skin.

  The cloak of mist surrounding them split at the sides, like a veil torn asunder. Suddenly Kane could see William, Synda and White, and when the three spotted the remnants of the battle scene, they stood in unison, chairs skidding backward.

  “I told her not to do it,” William said, hands going up in a display of innocence.

  “Are you ready to leave now?” Synda asked, studying her nails. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

  White nodded with satisfaction—until she saw the state of her brothers. Angry eyes locked on Tink’s writhing body. “What did she do?”

  Ignoring everyone, Kane rushed over to Tink and scooped her
up in his arms. Her presence barely registered, she was so light, but her scent was there, sweet and strong, wonderfully familiar, and he found comfort in it. He had her close. She would be okay. He would make sure she was okay.

  “She draws other people’s abilities inside herself.” The secret was out now. He needed answers. “What’d she get from your boys?” he demanded of William. “They’re not demons.”

  There was a heavy pause, then a shrug. “No, they’re not, but as you know, they carry the essence of war, famine and death. She’s probably swarming with all three.”

  His heart slammed against his ribs. “Get the princess to the palace.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but raced from the bar. The sun had dimmed, casting an eerie sort of darkness over the land. How long had he been fighting? The princess’s carriage was gone, probably driving around the area to keep people from knowing exactly where the princess was and what she was doing. Taking the time to look for it wasn’t an option.

  People now littered the sidewalks. Men in suits. Women in fancy dresses. Every eye found him and remained locked on him. Hands brushed against him, pulled at his clothing.

  “Come home with me,” a woman said.

  “I want to have your baby,” another intoned. “Please, Lord Kane!”

  He shoved his way through the crowd. He had to get Tink to the palace as quickly as possible. Had to summon the best physician in the realm. And he wasn’t moving fast enough, he thought, his jaw locked in irritation and frustration. He scanned the area. There was a carriage winding down the street at a slow pace—slow, but unencumbered.

  Kane picked up speed. Though Tink was cradled in his arms, her head tucked securely in the hollow of his neck, her arms and legs flopped with the force of his motions. Finally he caught up to the carriage and jumped through the opening in the side.

  Two females were seated inside; they gasped at his sudden appearance. Both women wore the same type of ruffled, lacy gown as Synda, taking up too much space, so he knew they were part of the upper class.