The Darkest Promise--A Dark, Demonic Paranormal Romance

by Gena Showalter

  Whoa. He had dared to threaten Cameo?

  Obviously. At least she’d gritted her teeth in irritation instead of fear and said, “Maybe I’ll gut you just for giggles.”

  “Maybe I’ll stab the life out of you and do myself a favor.”

  Oh, yes. He’d dared. But he’d been amused rather than enraged.

  Cameo had jumped to her feet and motioned him closer. “You want to do this, warrior? Because I’m ready. Anytime. Anyplace.”

  His big body had unfolded as he’d stood, the movement graceful, his strength on display...and fascinating. “You don’t want to take me on, little girl. You’ll lose.”

  Little girl? She would hack him into a thousand pieces.

  “I think differently,” she’d said, surprising her present self. Stop baiting him and start attacking! Maybe take him on the worst date of his life...to a karaoke bar. “On both counts.”

  She hadn’t attacked. She’d pressed her chest against his and reveled in his hardness.

  Well. Attraction had clearly addled her brain. Despite everything, she’d wanted his strong arms wrapped around her, his warm breath on her nape.

  “Do your worst, then,” he had said. “But have no doubts, I’ll then do mine.”

  The memory began to dwindle. Nooo! Cameo scrambled to keep the playback front and center. She had to know more! What was his worst? What had followed his newest threat? Had they apologized to each other? Or had they split up?

  Her mind blanked. With a frustrated shriek, she slammed her fist into the rim of the tub.

  Blondie heaved a great sob.

  Fighting the crush of defeat, Cameo slunk deeper into the water. Not knowing the minute details of her life killed her. Especially because the tricky demon only ever unveiled bits and pieces of her past, and always completely out of context, forcing her to speculate about why, what and how.

  Cameo washed from head to toe, and wondered about Lazarus. He claimed she’d writhed in his arms and begged for more. If anyone could rock her world, it was that male. Beauty and strength wrapped in smoldering sensuality, sprinkled with ferocity.

  Finished, she gathered her weapons and descended the stairs. Blondie rushed over to dry her, but she snatched the towel to dry herself. The material wasn’t cotton or silk, but something a thousand times softer.

  Blondie gathered clean clothing, and Cameo dressed without complaint while cringing inside. A diamond-encrusted bra and blink-and-you’ll-miss-them bottoms? Really?

  Brow arched, she pointed to the gossamer cloth.

  “Shorts,” Blondie said and hid a chuckle behind her hand.

  Silly me for not knowing. Call her old-fashioned, but Cameo believed her shorts should be longer than her butt crack.

  Whatever. She secured the weapons and headed for the door. Blondie raced in front of her to motion to the vanity. Wanted to brush and style her hair, did she? Deep down, Cameo wanted to say yes, despite the foolishness of the act. She wanted Lazarus to take one look at her and basically shit himself. Don’t like me? Fine. But you’ll wish I liked you!

  Problem: Blondie would have to stand at Cameo’s back to—

  Oh, who cared? What kind of warrior couldn’t protect herself from a single person?

  Cameo placed a dagger on the vanity—in plain sight—and eased onto the chair.

  Blondie trembled as she lifted a brush. One minute bled into another, zero attacks launched, and Cameo began to relax...until the mirror in front of her moved.

  With a yelp, she jumped to her feet. Blondie stumbled back, confused.

  Cameo pointed to the liquefied glass, and waves rippled over the surface.

  “The mirror once belonged to the goddess of Many Futures,” Blondie said softly. “Its power fuels legends...and nightmares.”

  Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures. The youngest of the Erinyes, or Furies.

  As a Greek, she’d fallen under the leadership of Zeus. Rumors claimed the goddess had been cursed soon after her sixteenth birthday, forced to spend the rest of her days trapped inside a glass prison.

  Cameo had encountered the teenage girl only once before her curse. Siobhan had been a beauty with hair as white as snow and skin as dark as night. She’d looked Cameo up and down, and said, “Must you always frown? Laughter is the best medicine. Unless you have diarrhea.”

  A wave of trepidation swept through Cameo as she returned to the chair—from the demon, or from her own sense of self-preservation, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she refrained from peering into the glass a second time.

  Glass prison...mirror...if the goddess were trapped inside...

  I don’t want to know what fresh misery awaits me.

  Over the next half hour, Cameo’s hair was brushed, dried and fashioned in a complicated half braid she would never be able to replicate. Her face was sprinkled with something sparkly.

  “This is stardust,” Blondie said. “It is very expensive.”

  Who, exactly, had Lazarus spent his big bucks on? A favorite mistress? Was Cameo receiving her leftovers?

  A tendril of jealousy surprised her. She had no future with the man, so there was no need to waste emotion on him.

  “A witch sells the dust in town,” Blondie continued. Babbling to distract herself from the sadness Cameo exuded? “She’s a crazy one. Does nothing but compliment herself. And she has a devil for a pet. The creature—”

  Cameo grabbed the edge of the vanity. Nothing but compliment herself...devil for a pet... No help for it, she had to speak. “Do you know where I can find Viola, keeper of Narcissism, and Princess Fluffikans?”

  Blondie burst into tears.

  Cameo jumped up and took the woman by the shoulders, shaking her. “Concentrate. Look past the despondency and tell me what I want to know.”

  An-n-nd Blondie hunched over, sobbing and dry-heaving. When she calmed, she rattled off coordinates beyond the forest.

  “Is there another part to this outfit?” she asked, not waiting for an answer but rushing to the dresser.

  Blondie burst into a fresh round of sobs.

  “Go.” Exasperated, Cameo waved toward the door. “Leave me.”

  The woman didn’t have to be told twice. She beat feet, gone in a blink.

  Story of my life. Always better off alone.

  She searched through every drawer, at last finding a wraparound skirt that tied at the waist. If someone mistook her for a lady of the evening, well, someone would die.

  She exited the room, stunned to find Blondie hadn’t locked her in. Not that a locked door would have mattered. Cameo could pick any lock anytime. A skill she’d honed as a better-safe-than-sorry measure against Hunters.

  The reason Blondie hadn’t felt the need to engage the lock became very clear a second later. Two armed males stood sentry in the hallway.

  Both males gazed up at the ceiling, as if afraid to look at her.

  “Milady—” the tallest said.

  “Cameo,” she corrected without thought. Titles had never been her bag.

  Both males flinched. One teared up. She gnashed her back teeth.

  “If you won’t return to your room,” Crier began.

  “I won’t,” she interjected.

  Fat teardrops slid down his cheek. “Then I will be your shadow.”

  The tall one sprinted away, as if he couldn’t bear her presence a minute more.

  Misery cackled with glee, and a familiar wrath boiled inside Cameo. Hate the demon!

  “What if I don’t want a shadow?” she demanded.

  Crier gulped. “The king’s orders.”

  What, did Lazarus think she would steal the silver? Run away? And did he really think a single guard could stop her if she decided to go?

  Why not make use of him?

  “I�
�m to protect you with my life,” he added.

  Oh. Well. “Take me to the exit. Also, I need a map of the forest. I’m visiting my friend. The woman with the pet Tasmanian devil.” Cameo wasn’t looking forward to seeing Fluffy again. The rat-like beast was the size of a small dog, had sharp teeth, spiked black fur and a hair-trigger temper. He emitted a noxious odor when he was stressed.

  The guard tried to hide a second flinch. What sweet progress, she thought drily.

  “I know of whom you speak. Horrid pair. Are you sure—never mind. There’s no need to respond. I’ll take you to her abode.” He strode in front of her, careful not to brush against her, and led her downstairs and out the back door.

  The backyard took her breath away. Moonlight blended with multiple rows of torchlight, illuminating the rainbow-colored river winding through a spectacular rose garden.

  Between the bushes were life-size statues, both male and female, each depicting different degrees of terror and regret. Some of the statues were missing limbs. Others were posed in defensive positions.

  The artist had done a remarkable job, ensuring every creation captured the full range of human expression. From the crinkle at the corner of an eye to the shadow of every individual lash. The statues even had fingerprints, and on one of the females, Cameo noticed a chip.

  Never, in all her days, had she seen such detailed work. Had Lazarus inherited the garden from the former king? Or had he collected the pieces for his own enjoyment?

  When she noticed countless butterflies swooping down to land on one of the statues, she froze. Her heart sped up, slamming against her ribs.

  I get it. Danger is coming. Leave me alone!

  “So many,” the guard said, his awe unmistakable. “So beautiful.”

  In an effort to distract herself, she said, “A group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope.” A group of men is called a migraine.

  He cringed, making her feel worse. She rushed ahead to escape the area—again she froze. This time, her stomach churned.

  Up ahead, two pikes waved proudly in the wind. Atop each pike rested a severed head. Not stone, but flesh. Rotting flesh.

  Lazarus’s doing?

  Of course! Who else would have dared?

  What had the victims done to earn such a gruesome punishment?

  Although, Lazarus could have done a lot worse. She and her demon-possessed brothers by circumstance had done worse.

  Their motto: the enemy who fears you is less likely to attack you.

  What would Lazarus do to her if she inadvertently harmed someone in his kingdom?

  She wanted to ask the guard about his king’s motives, but remained silent. Whether she intended it or not, the question was an admission Lazarus hadn’t trusted her with his reasons. Also, the question disrespected Lazarus, reducing his choices to fodder for gossip.

  Over the centuries she’d learned a warrior’s pride needed care and tending. Males spooked easily, so it was always best to handle one in private.

  Not that she would be seeing Lazarus again.

  “If you want to reach the witch by nightfall, we had best continue on,” Crier said, and motored forward.

  She followed, soon reaching a gaggle of females who were pruning the rosebushes and wearing the same bra and butt-crack shorts as Cameo. When they spotted the guard, they accidentally on purpose dropped their tools and bent over to retrieve the items, revealing a hidden slit in the center.

  Well. The Bend-over Babes certainly gave new meaning to the term come and get it. Were they here in porno land for Lazarus’s personal enjoyment? Did he sample their pleasures regularly?

  The guard couldn’t hide his new pant-tent.

  “Chop, chop. Night is coming,” Cameo said, and his tent instantly collapsed. “Free lesson of the day. Distractions can get you killed.”

  He leaped into action, desperate to escape her. They cleared the garden a mile or so later, only then slowing. They reached a golden wall. He opened the only gate, stepped through and unsheathed his sword.

  Sensing a threat, Cameo palmed the diamond daggers.

  Too late. An arrow sliced through the guard’s temple.

  Her first thought: see! Distraction kills. Her second: stupid butterflies!

  As he crumpled onto the twig-laden ground, she ducked.

  A war cry sounded. A tribe of Amazon warriors stepped from behind the trees—their narrowed gazes locked on Cameo.

  6

  “Step three: Prove your strength. The more vicious the act the better.”

  —How to Achieve Victory

  Subtitle: Except with Lovers

  Lazarus raced through the Garden of Perpetual Horror, a contingent of soldiers close on his heels. Butterflies led the charge. His own personal yellow brick road.

  He was grateful for their unsolicited aid. The sense of disconcertment had returned with a vengeance.

  One of the guards he’d left with Cameo had sent word of her departure and her intent to begin her search for Viola, the bane of his realm. Leaving without saying goodbye? No!

  For weeks the demon-possessed goddess had plowed through his territories, stealing armor, artifacts and anything else she fancied. Not once had he retaliated. He hadn’t even attempted to stop her, too afraid he would inadvertently harm her and devastate Cameo.

  She owed him, and she would pay. Then they would part.

  His ears twitched as a war cry pierced the air. With the kris firm in his grip, Lazarus quickened his pace. Tree limbs shrank backward, afraid to touch him. Carnivorous insects hid.

  Feminine wails rang out as he soared through the gate.

  He lowered his mental guards to gauge the situation ahead. Amazon warriors had launched a sneak attack, killing his soldier. Cameo remained unharmed.

  Relief poured through him.

  He reached the group and halted. She was surrounded by the enemy, but the Amazons were on their knees, their hands pressed over their ears. And damn, his woman looked good enough to eat. The tiny top and a transparent wrap that revealed the world’s smallest shorts paid proper homage to pert little breasts and a nipped waist. She was a sex dream come to startling life.

  “—a seventy-nine percent chance you’ll be stabbed at some point in your life. Or your death. Whatever,” she was saying. Sorrow wafted from her, creating a cloying perfume. Though she clutched two diamond daggers, she looked depressed enough to kill her opponents...or herself. “Except when you challenge me, of course. Then the odds increase to one hundred percent.”

  Moonlight spilled over her, caressing flawless skin; she glowed, her beauty unnatural, ethereal. Her raven braid added a new level of delicacy to her features.

  Staggering desire and savage hunger gnawed at him. Give me. If the earth began to crumble, he wouldn’t care. He would die with a smile. And a hard-on.

  Now isn’t the time. He attempted to read Cameo’s mind, only to curse when her shield held firm.

  “Live by the sword, die by the sword,” she said.

  The Amazons wailed with more gusto, not realizing Lazarus’s soldiers were taking up posts around them, even though those soldiers moaned and groaned just as loudly.

  “You’re right, sunshine,” he announced. “The Amazons will die. Badly.”

  Not only had they killed a male under his protection, they’d threatened his woman. If he failed to deliver a proper punishment, he would only invite others to break his rules.

  Cameo whipped around to face him. “Lazarus.”

  Her liquid silver irises mesmerized him, holding him captive more surely than Juliette’s forced bond. The hunger sharpened its teeth, devouring his resolve to let her go.

  Keep her. Take your pleasure again and again...

  His mind rebelled—his body ached. He wanted to hate this woman. If he failed to
let her go, she would destroy him the way his mother had destroyed his father. Even now, the veins in his legs tingled and warmed.

  Weakness was an insidious beast he could not ignore. Typhon had ignored it, and look where he’d ended up. Bested by his worst enemy, now a cautionary tale.

  “At least you remember me this time.” Oops. His bitterness was showing again. Better moderate his tone. “We’re making progress.”

  Her eyelids narrowed to tiny slits, the thick fan of her lashes making her appear coy and innocent rather than perturbed. “You can leave. The situation is h-handled.”

  Her eyes watered, and her chin trembled.

  Was she about to...cry?

  Will murder that demon.

  Can’t. He couldn’t kill the demon without killing Cameo.

  He should act, anyway. No Cameo, no weakness.

  His fingers twitched on the hilt of the kris.

  Never again experience the bliss of her scent, her kiss? Never again delight in her touch? The prospect horrified him.

  He tore his gaze from her and focused on the Amazons. “Why are you here, inciting my wrath?”

  A black beauty calmed enough to reply, “Queen Nethandra...your marriage proposal...”

  His rage sparked anew.

  “Hold up.” Cameo approached him, her hips swaying. A mating dance. While his men and the Amazons cried out, the sweet muskiness of his woman’s scent enveloped him, testing the bounds of his control. “You proposed to this woman’s queen? When? Tell me! If you got freaky with me while you were engaged to someone else...”

  Was his little ray of sunshine jealous?

  Primal possessiveness nearly burned his control to ash. “I have no betrothed. I merely sent an envoy to inquire of Nethandra’s willingness to join her house to mine.”

  For a split second, relief stamped out her ever-present sorrow, and he had to fight the urge to pound his chest in triumph.

  “Good,” she said with a faux-causal air. “If you’d made me a cheater, I would have had to disembowel you.”

  Adorable. “You think you can defeat me?”

  Her shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “My usual method clearly wouldn’t work on you,” she said, quiet so no one else would hear her, “but there are more ways to take down a man.”