The Darkest Promise--A Dark, Demonic Paranormal Romance

by Gena Showalter

  “True.” He spoke just as quietly. “Strip, and I’ll willingly drop to my knees.”

  He expected her to balk, curse, something. Instead, she whispered, “Thanks to you, I’m practically naked already. Go ahead and drop.” The words were a dare.

  His lips twitched at the corners. “Practically isn’t the same as definitely, now, is it?”

  “True. You’re definitely a pain in the ass.”

  He took a step toward her. “You like me this way.”

  Both the guards and Amazons watched him. Hands fisted, he forced his attention on the female warriors. “If your queen truly wished to create a union with me, she would have protected my people. Would have seen my forces as an extension of her own.”

  She bowed her head in shame. “The mistake is mine.”

  “If you wish a union,” Cameo muttered to him, “you’ll see her forces as an extension of your own and forgive her emissary’s oversight.”

  What, she wanted him to wed the queen now?

  Lazarus ran his tongue over his teeth and snapped his fingers. Limbs shook and leaves clapped as his men restrained the women and discarded their weapons. The Amazons remained subdued, putting up zero fight. Odd.

  Lazarus opened his mind...and snorted. Because they’d failed to override his forces, they planned to topple his household from within, using poison they’d acquired from Viola.

  Good luck with that.

  “They swallowed bags of poison,” he said. “Strings are attached to their teeth.”

  The Amazons gave a collective gasp of shock and horror.

  “Remove the bags as urgently as possible,” he added. “Take the Amazons to my dungeon. All but the leader.” To her, he said, “Tell Nethandra what transpired today. If her apology pleases me, I’ll allow her to live. If not...”

  He let his words trail off, knowing the imagination could be more frightening than a threat.

  “This is where we part.” Cameo took a step backward, widening the distance between them.

  Denial roared through his head. Not ready to lose her. Not yet.

  Tense, he motioned Cameo onward. “I’ll take you to the goddess...and the portal home.”

  Lazarus had passed through the portal only once. After Cameo returned home the first time, and his desire for her had overridden his common sense. He’d spent weeks trapped inside a dark, endless void. He’d had to fight his way free and ended up in a fiery spirit realm.

  “Thank you, but I’ll be fine on my own,” she said. “No need to spend time with someone you dislike.”

  Still smarting about that, was she? “To open the portal, blood must be spilled, a sacrifice made. Do you know what kind of sacrifice?” He shook his head. “No, sunshine. You won’t be fine on your own.”

  Her thoughts blasted into his awareness. No, no, had to be the demon’s thoughts.

  He never considered asking you to be his bride. You are no one’s prize.

  Cameo agreed with the fiend, and a muscle jumped beneath Lazarus’s eye. How dare anyone think poorly of his woman—even the woman herself! He’d seen her fight. Girl had skills. Enemies had best beware. And she was smart. No one got the upper hand with her. Not even Lazarus. She was beautiful. Exceptionally so. No one compared.

  Why would the demon push such a depressing conversation past Cameo’s mental shield?

  The answer came easily. To incite sorrow in Lazarus.

  Misery was worse than he’d realized, and this was just another reason to despise the fiend. Could kill him in seconds...

  The notion calmed Lazarus, even as it disconcerted him. He could kill Cameo in seconds, too. She wasn’t safe. He wanted her safe.

  Fool!

  Her head canted to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” Like you are the reason I breathe? “Like I’m hungry, and you are a smorgasbord of desserts?”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “Because you are a smorgasbord of desserts.” He chucked her under the chin. “You are a prize worthy of any man.”

  She shook a fist in his face, an action he adored. Her anger always thrilled him. “Stop reading my mind.”

  “Stop projecting.” He stalked down the cobblestone path, calling over his shoulder, “This way.”

  Cameo raced to catch up with him. They walked side by side, the close proximity an agony and a pleasure. Torches lined the path, soft golden lights painting her with irresistible radiance.

  Her eyes were molten, a sea of silvery fire. The night’s warmth brushed her cheeks with an exquisite pink flush. Her blood-red lips were lush and lickable, a temptation like no other and a special kind of torture. One kiss, they said. Satisfaction awaits.

  “Just so you know,” she grated, “I might have desired you before, but I resent you now.”

  “Might?” He laughed with smug assurance. “Your passion nearly burned me alive.”

  She sputtered, her memory loss making her unable to refute his claim.

  Hoping to encourage her irritation and displace what remained of the misery, he took the lead and pushed a flowering branch out of the way only to release the branch before she passed by. The soft flower petals slapped her in the chest.

  She glared at him. “You did that on purpose.”

  “No need to punish me. Your voice is punishment enough.”

  “That’s it!” She hooked her hands around his neck and jerked, using the full force of her body. A body she then coiled around him, as deft as a sky serpent. Her weight and momentum toppled him.

  The action was unexpected. The only reason it worked—of course.

  Upon impact, she maintained her hold and rolled, forcing him to his back. He had no time to react. She straddled his chest, unsheathed one of her diamond daggers and pressed the tip into his carotid.

  Instant hard-on. No one else had ever taken him to ground.

  Proof she would only ever weaken him?

  Instant soft-on.

  One of her midnight brows arched, her usual misery edged with smug satisfaction. “You were saying?”

  Such confidence. Such cunning. Was there any woman more beautiful?

  With her hands otherwise occupied, she wouldn’t be able to stop what he did with his own...

  He should resist. A man didn’t play with temptation; temptation played with him. Their association could not end well.

  In that moment, he simply didn’t care.

  Lazarus gripped her by the waist, grunting as skin met heated skin. “So soft,” he intoned. “So perfect.”

  A tremor rocked her against him. His hard-on returned with a vengeance.

  With a hiss, she pressed the tip of her dagger deeper, drawing a bead of blood. Her jaw dropped. “You’re bleeding. And your heart...I can feel its beat against my thigh. I don’t understand. You’re dead. You died. Didn’t you?”

  “I did. I’m not sure what sets me apart. I only know I’m not considered one of the living.” Otherwise he would have returned to the mortal world when he’d passed through the portal.

  As a child, he remembered his father telling him, “We are the last remaining descendants of Hydra. Our kind is not supposed to die. Not by fair means, and certainly not by foul.”

  Hydra was the first nine-headed water she-beast ever born, with venom so toxic her breath often proved lethal. She could regrow decapitated limbs, even her heads, in seconds.

  Why didn’t I?

  Lazarus caressed his thumbs up and down Cameo’s quivering belly and circled her navel. “I still bleed, yes,” he said. His voice dipped. “I’m capable of spilling another fluid, too.”

  “Stop,” she demanded, breathless.

  “Stop giving you pleasure?” He traced his fingertips up, up, and met the undersides of her br
easts.

  Beneath the fabric of her bra, her nipples hardened into tight little buds.

  “Yes. No.” She covered her breasts with her free arm. “Stop screwing with my mind.”

  “How about I just screw you?”

  One night. He wanted one night with her. His father had spent five years with his mother before the crystals slowed him in battle. Granted, Typhon had visited his μονομανία only when his body’s needs overpowered him. One night would cause little damage to Lazarus. Surely.

  In the morning, he would say goodbye.

  “No?” Cameo replied, a question when she’d probably intended to make a statement.

  Up...up... He slid his hands underneath her arm and cupped her breasts. “Exquisite.” His mind steamed with lust. “Look how responsive you are to me.” Only to me.

  Goose bumps broke out over her arms, and the flush in her cheeks deepened. The pressure of the blade eased. “Did you know twenty-one percent of women are unable to achieve an orgasm?”

  “Must be the twenty-one percent I haven’t slept with. I’m an orgasm donor.”

  “You admit to being a he-slut?”

  “I admit to a misspent youth, when anyone in a skirt...or pants...or shorts...or bare skin...would do the trick.”

  She licked her lips, the epitome of wanton. “And you pleased them all?”

  “Multiple times.”

  “You’re sure? Every single woman could have faked it.”

  “You forget, it’s impossible to hide the truth from me. I can read minds.” He arched his back, causing the blade to slice into his skin again. But he didn’t care, the motion causing her to slide down and straddle his hips. “Want to test me out, sunshine?”

  “I want...” She leaned down, and her breasts smashed against his chest, her nipples still hard little buds. Her heartbeat drummed against his in a too-fast rhythm.

  Life. She’s life.

  She’s my life.

  No! They would have one night. No more.

  Her lips hovered over his, and their breath mingled. He inhaled her essence as though she was his last hit of oxygen.

  “Lazarus,” she whispered.

  Molten desire blistered him. “I want Lazarus. That’s what you said. I’ll allow no take backs.”

  She shivered and then she stiffened. Even as her pupils spilled over her irises, reminding him of a storm being chased away by the sun, she said, “Take backs. I will never sleep with a man who dislikes me. I don’t need another reason to hate myself.”

  “Don’t sleep with me, then.” Not yet. “I can get you off with my fingers or my mouth. Lady’s choice.” He had to touch her impossibly soft skin, the need as necessary as breathing.

  Her expression pinched, and he didn’t have to read her mind to know why. The demon had protested. Loudly.

  “Focus on me,” Lazarus commanded softly. When her gaze met his once again, he framed her face and brushed his thumbs over the rise of her cheekbones. “Your circumstances will never be good enough for Misery. If you want to be happy, you have to purposely fight him. Victory won’t happen by accident.”

  She dropped the dagger and circled her fingers around his wrists. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t fought him every hour of every day for centuries?”

  “Want a different outcome, do something different.” So easy to say, so difficult to do.

  “What? What can I do?” she snapped.

  He...wasn’t sure.

  Fury crackled in her eyes, but it soon gave way to utter heartbreak. “If I sleep with you, I’ll forget you. Once again, you’ll know what I look, sound and feel like in the throes of a passion I’ve always longed to experience, while I’ll know nothing about you. I’ll lose another piece of myself. I’ll lose the kind of memory others take for granted. Thoughts to keep me warm on cold winter nights when I’m alone. Always alone.”

  A pang slicked through his heart. “Cameo—”

  In the distance, a twig snapped. Someone approached.

  Protective instincts surged, overriding his desire. He rolled his woman underneath him and prepared to attack and defend.

  7

  “Step four: Study the enemy. i.e., Study everyone.”

  —How to Achieve Victory

  Subtitle: Except with Lovers and Their Family

  Cameo burned. Every inch of her ached. Oh, how she ached! A delicious buzz vibrated in her cells.

  This was...arousal? True arousal, with no hint of Misery’s taint?

  Yes. Had to be. A true miracle, and a first for her.

  Need more of this. She had to have more. Now!

  Lazarus wanted to sleep with her. He’d cupped her breasts and thumbed her nipples. He’d looked at her with aggression, possession and brutal longing. But saying yes to the warrior was saying yes to Misery. After sex, Lazarus would send Cameo away, guaranteed.

  Discarded like trash.

  He’d made no promises about the future and hadn’t apologized for his “I dislike you” comment. The demon would wipe her memory once again, and she would lose another piece of herself.

  No, thanks.

  The heat and aches faded at last, leaving her cold and hollow.

  Lazarus’s desire must have died, as well. He’d rolled her over, his muscled body pinning her softer one to the moss-covered ground, his erection no longer prodding the notch between her legs.

  Do not cling to him. Fight the urge.

  “I need you to quiet down, sunshine.” Whispered words, but fierce with command.

  Confusion delivered a well-placed punch to her frontal lobe. He’d just told her to quiet down, even though she hadn’t spoken a word.

  “You’re thinking out loud,” he said, exasperation thick in his tone. “Now hush.”

  Ugh. How could she have forgotten his ability to read her mind?

  With a growl, she erected a mental block.

  In the distance, new twigs snapped. Her ears twitched while the rest of her stiffened.

  Feminine mumbles penetrated her awareness. Cameo swiped up the diamond dagger at the same time Lazarus palmed a spiked blade. His motion was barely perceptible. Had he not been on top of her, she would have missed the action.

  The mumbling grew louder, until Cameo could make out the words. “—so much trouble! I mean it. Auntie Vie has a good thing going here. Babysitting duty will screw everything up.”

  The familiar voice almost incited excitement. Almost.

  “Viola.” Cameo experienced a single beat of relief before Misery poured an all too familiar sorrow into her heart.

  Lazarus’s rigid posture softened. Sighing, he pushed to his feet and, with his fingers twined around hers, drew Cameo to a stand. The calluses on his palm created an undeniable zing of friction, a lance of pleasure shooting straight to her core. The heat returned. The aches reignited, and she trembled.

  Look away from him! A difficult feat, but one she managed to accomplish. Barely.

  Branches rattled and parted, revealing a five-foot-three pixie with long blond hair and cinnamon-colored eyes. As sexy as ever, she wore a black sequined dress. The center veed to a pierced navel and revealed the perfect swell of cleavage. The hem reached her knees, while a split on one side showcased a Kentucky bucket-load of thigh.

  Though Viola was the keeper of Narcissism, she’d had nothing to do with Pandora’s box. However, there’d been more demons than thieves who’d released them, and those demons had required containment.

  What better recipients for the leftovers than the immortals trapped in Tartarus? They couldn’t run, couldn’t hide.

  Why Viola was imprisoned, she hadn’t yet shared.

  The goddess spotted Cameo and stopped. Surprise never registered on her delicate features, only irritation. “A gir
l spends quality time building the perfect stay-away-from-me rep so losers will stop trying to steal her body, and this is her reward?” In each well-manicured hand, she clutched a dirt-caked child. “Look who dared show up at my door!”

  Cameo jolted as if she’d been punched. Those dirt-caked kids were Urban and Ever. Her twin godchildren. Their father was Maddox, the keeper of Violence. Their mother was Ashlyn, a newly minted immortal, thanks to her marriage bond to Maddox.

  Urban had his daddy’s black hair and startling violet eyes while Ever had her mother’s curling honey-colored hair and twinkling gaze to match. Both children possessed extraordinary powers, with some abilities yet to be tapped.

  Cameo rushed over and pulled the kids against her, hugging both. She opened her mouth to demand answers. What were they doing here? How had they gotten here? Last time she’d seen them, they’d been in Budapest with their parents. But she snapped her mouth closed and remained quiet. Sadly, even little ones cried at the sound of her voice.

  Frustration ate at her, making her miss Lazarus’s indifference.

  An unexpected savior, he sidled up to her to ask the questions she couldn’t. When neither child responded, Viola gave them both a little shake.

  “Start talking or I start spanking,” Viola said.

  “Do you know how many toy soldiers will fit into a toilet before it clogs?” Urban asked with attitude. “Twelve. The number is twelve.”

  Ever’s chin quavered as she peered down at her feet and kicked a pebble. “Mom and Dad are super worried about you, Aunt Cam. While they dealt with the great toilet crisis, we used the Paring Rod to check on you.”

  Touched, Cameo pressed a hand over her heart.

  Astonishment pulsed from Lazarus. “You’re children. Who taught you to use the Paring Rod?”

  Urban crossed his arms over his chest, looking far older than his years and just as stubborn as his mother. “I don’t know you, so I don’t have to tell you anything but get lost.”

  Viola pinched the bridge of her nose, as if she’d been pushed past the limits of her tolerance. “For disgusting little urchins, they’re extremely intelligent. They watched their aunts and uncles use the Paring Rod and ta-da. Here they are.”