The Darkest Promise--A Dark, Demonic Paranormal Romance

by Gena Showalter

  Exactly!

  “I plan to marry a woman I do not love because her army will merge with mine, and together we will mete out vengeance when my enemies enter the realm of the dead.”

  “Vengeance matters more than pleasure?”

  He could have insisted on taking his turn but, over the candlelight, he reflected her somberness back at her. “For me, vengeance is the ultimate pleasure.” The hardness of his tone transformed the words into a vow.

  One she had best heed.

  Her shoulders rolled in, pushed by the heaviness of disappointment. Perhaps she’d begun to hope. Perhaps she’d thought he would be the one to help her, maybe even save her. He could tolerate her voice, after all, and he found her attractive. Lazarus for the win!

  But he would never choose her, would he? She would always be a conquest, unimportant, easily forgotten. As if she had any right to judge. But. He wouldn’t fight for her if—when—she forgot him.

  Who would? Misery asked.

  “You’re not going to score tonight,” she told him softly. “In fact, you need to leave.” Before she started to cry.

  * * *

  Viola, goddess of the Afterlife, secret love child of parents she refused to name, and an all-round badass, crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at Urban and Ever. The pair had seriously interfered with her plans to hide from the monster on her tail, steal powerful artifacts lost throughout the ages, and unite the different spirit realms. Her birthright!

  What good was a queen without a queendom?

  “Stop looking at us like that,” Ever snapped.

  “Like what? Like you’re nasty little creatures? Well, news flash. You are nasty little creatures.” Viola shuddered. Despite her lack of experience with the care and feeding of anyone under the age of two hundred, she was certain she had this babysitting gig nailed.

  Children were drawn to her, whether they appeared to be drawn to her or not. They couldn’t help themselves. No one could. Why, she could have bagged and tagged the deliciously gorgeous Lazarus if she’d wanted him. But what woman in her right mind wanted a man who peered at another female as if she were the only portal to heaven?

  Not me.

  Been there, done that, suffered for it.

  Ever, the little snot, said, “You’re a horrible person. I hate you and want my momma!”

  Beneath the armor of self-love Narcissism had erected, Viola screamed, I know I’m horrible! Run from me. Run now. Run far. Never look back. I’m your worst nightmare, sweetheart.

  “Go—” she pursed her lips and waved her fingers “—see how many toy soldiers are needed to clog the toilets here. Auntie Vie has important duties to attend to. And yes, there’s a hidden message in my words. You aren’t important to me.” You can’t be.

  As soon as she cared about people, animals, places or things, she lost them. Princess Fluffikans was the sole exception, and only because a piece of her heart beat inside his chest. Literally! Loving him was the equivalent of loving herself.

  Ever, the grubby little urchin, anchored her hands on her hips. “We’re more important than anything. Momma always says so.”

  Narcissism kicked against Viola’s skull, a sure sign she approached the danger zone. Measures had to be taken immediately.

  She bent to Ever’s level and braced her palms on her knees. “I’m not comfortable speaking for all mothers everywhere, but I’m absolutely certain all mothers everywhere have to tell their kids they’re important. It’s a law. But—and this might be hard for you to accept—those mothers are lying. Until you’re able to protect Auntie Vie from her legion of admirers, you are merely a nuisance.”

  Urban tilted his head to the side, as calm as a summer morning and as serious as a heart attack. “I can burn you to death.”

  “Wrong. All you can do is set me on fire.” She wagged a finger in his face. “Unfortunately for you, all I’d do is thank you for the helping me warm up on a chilly day.”

  “You aren’t impervious to my flames. No one is.”

  She patted the top of his head. “Look who’s using his big boy words.”

  He snapped his teeth at her, his ferocity a rival to his father’s.

  “Careful,” she told him. “Break my finger, and you buy it.”

  “What does that even mean?” Ever stomped her foot, the ice in her veins rising to the surface of her skin. “You speak nonsense.”

  Why do you even try to relate to inferior beings? Narcissism offered the thought with a hum of displeasure.

  Even closer to the danger zone... “You know what’s nonsense? This conversation,” Viola said. “Now. Are you two going to go destroy something or not?”

  The little girl tossed her arms up, exasperated. “Of course we are.”

  Urban peered at Viola with...affection? “You enjoy destruction?”

  And another one falls for my awesome awesomeness.

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Viola gently chucked him under the chin.

  “No,” he replied. “I like you.”

  “Of course you do. You and everyone else I’ve ever met. Probably people I’ve never met, too.”

  “You can’t like her.” Ever scowled at her brother. “You don’t like anyone but me, and sometimes Momma and Daddy.”

  “Well, now I like her.” He faced Viola and said, “You will like me, too.”

  “No, thanks, kid.” She didn’t just lose the people, animals, places and things she liked; she witnessed their destruction. Narcissism insisted she cater to him and no other, and punished anyone he deemed competition. So. To save the boy’s life, she added breezily, “You’re an infant. I’m into men.”

  Ever punched her brother in the shoulder, leaving ice crystals on his shirt. Viola hid a smile behind her hand. The little rug rat had a temper.

  She almost pitied the man Ever fell in love with. He’d not only have to survive the girl’s brother, father, uncles and aunts, but also Ever herself.

  No doubt the man would consider the opportunity an honor. Ever would grow up to be an incomparable beauty, desired by all who gazed upon her.

  With a roar of displeasure, Narcissism kicked at Viola’s skull. I am incomparable. Me! No one else.

  The heat drained from her cheeks. “If you’re going to hang with me, you’re going to have to get used to being stuck in the shadows of my astonishing allure,” she said to Ever. “I’m irresistible, darling. Always have been, always will be. Age doesn’t matter.”

  The demon purred his approval, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Now.” She tapped the razor-sharp tips of her nails against her chin. “What was I saying before you so rudely interrupted me?”

  “That you’re the most wonderful person in the history of ever,” Ever replied, her derision clear.

  Right. “I am.” She paused to admire the bejeweled ring on her thumb. The previous owner had put up quite a fight when Viola had stolen it from him. Until Fluffy had snacked on his internal organs.

  The ring had the power to transport her from one spirit realm to another, without the Paring Rod. The perfect getaway tool.

  A gasp of shock and horror ripped Viola from her thoughts. Both Ever and Urban were staring at a window, their tiny bodies exuding great strain. She threw herself in front of them, facing the threat, whatever it happened to be, and mentally calculated the reward she would demand from Maddox and Ashlyn for such a deed.

  A gasp of shock and horror escaped her.

  The massive glass panes had been opened, and between them loomed a man. A winged man. A grotesque and yet somehow exquisite winged man. His facial features were too sharp but strong and rugged and framed by long black hair that billowed in a wind she couldn’t feel. His eyes were pale blue, almost white. His muscles were so big, so well defined, they bulged. His skin was
a darker blue than his eyes but still pale, like that of an ice demon, and she wavered between disliking...and liking.

  His wings appeared infected by evil. The ends were stained black, the thick veins snaking from top to bottom as hard as stone.

  He pointed a curling black nail in her direction and spoke a single word. “Forsaken.” His voice was rough and sharp, just like his features.

  Her heart sped into a faster rhythm. Narcissism remained shockingly quiet. From awe? Or disgust? Perhaps fear?

  The intruder wore a loincloth, nothing more, his sculpted body on perfect display. His feet were bare, his toenails as black as the tips of his feathers.

  “Um, I’m going to pass,” Viola told him. “In other words, thanks but no thanks.”

  “Forsaken,” he repeated. A second later, he launched into the air and vanished in the darkened skyline.

  Fluffy dived through the window, his teeth bared as he unleashed an otherworldly snarl. He’d intended to bite the...fallen Sent One? Sent Ones were demon assassins. Perhaps he’d come here to murder Viola? Instead, Fluffy skidded across the floor and slammed into the wall.

  “My baby!” She rushed over and gathered him close. Throughout the centuries, he’d become her best friend. The only living being she trusted. “You chased the bad guy as he chased me. Then you saved the day!”

  “What,” Urban said, punctuating the word as he pointed to the window, “was that?”

  As she nuzzled Fluffy’s fur, she waved a dismissive hand. “Only another admirer, I’m sure.” But even as she spoke, a tidal wave of foreboding overtook her.

  As the goddess of the Afterlife, she sometimes had premonitions about other people’s pain and death. She had one now—about herself! That man...whoever he was, whatever he was, he was part of her future, and he would hurt her worse than anyone ever had.

  * * *

  Siobhan, goddess of Many Futures, watched Cameo through the glass prison that had served as her home for far too long. The magic mirror, some called it. Many had slaughtered entire villages for a chance to gaze upon it.

  And she was considered the evil one? Because she’d caused twelve little wars? Hypocrites!

  Well, the past was the past, and the future awaited. Another war brewed in the immortal realms. The under-realms, to be exact. Hades versus Lucifer. Even Siobhan would have to pick a side.

  Who was she kidding? She’d already picked a side. As a young child, she’d taken one look at the beautiful but reviled Hades, fallen in love, certain he was simply misunderstood and she could save him, and asked him for his hand in marriage. He’d been a big, bad warrior, even then, but he’d said, “Sure thing, kid. We’ll set the date for four thousand years from now.”

  Over the next decade, her love for him had only magnified. He was such a strong, capable male and, if she were being honest, his dark side had thrilled a secret part of her.

  Finally she could wait no longer. As a teenager, she’d returned to him, certain she was old enough to be with him. Just as certain he would accept her.

  Instead, he and his current lover had laughed at her pathetic attempt at seduction. Humiliated and angry, Siobhan had kinda sorta ripped out the woman’s heart.

  Oops. My bad. Accidents happened.

  At Hades’s command, a powerful witch then cursed her to live inside the mirror.

  Siobhan had spent the last four millennia trapped behind the glass, growing from teenager to woman alone, denied the touch of another.

  Only by manipulating those who’d gazed upon her glass had she managed to escape the underworld. But as the centuries passed, she’d dreamed of returning, of ruining Hades’s life.

  Once again she’d had to scheme and manipulate, until she’d finally ended up in the Realm of Grimm and Fantica, a land ruled by a known associate of Hades’s.

  Would the king of the underworld visit? Would he remember her? Perhaps sense her behind the glass?

  She didn’t blame the witch for her predicament; the woman had simply followed her master’s orders. It was Hades who deserved to know the pain of imprisonment and the horror of watching the world live on without him.

  He deserved to switch places with Siobhan.

  Vengeance, she knew, corrupted in the worst of ways. In fact, one of the ends she foresaw for Lazarus and his quest to destroy Hera and Juliette was the destruction of everyone and thing he loved. Only poisonous fruit could grow from a poisonous tree, and in all honesty, there were no greater poisons than bitterness, hatred and sorrow.

  Deprived of contact, comfort or camaraderie, those tainted fruits had grown inside Siobhan, anyway.

  Her motto? Strategize. Lead. Strike.

  I’m ready to strike!

  Problem: she could foresee the paths others could, should and would take, and the ultimate results of their choices...but she couldn’t foresee her own possibilities.

  However, she didn’t require a magical gift to know she needed to gain her freedom. To do so, she had to help other people fall in love. Every time she succeeded, a hundred years was subtracted from her sentence. But every time she tried and failed, a hundred years was added to her sentence.

  You think you understand matters of the heart, Hades had said. Prove it.

  Should she attempt to help Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual? As stubborn as he was, Siobhan had crossed him off the list of potentials the first time she met him. With Cameo here, she reconsidered.

  Cameo had many choices and many possible outcomes.

  Death...so much death. Betrayal. Sadness. Rage.

  Happiness...a glimpse, only a glimpse. Quickly stolen away.

  Victory, defeat.

  Darkness, light. Tears. Laughter. A field of vibrant butterflies.

  Everything jumbled together. Siobhan’s head ached, and she forced her mind to blank, the images to clear.

  Would Cameo ultimately choose to be with Lazarus? Would she do whatever proved necessary to save their relationship?

  Siobhan focused on the warrior woman who hurried around her bedroom, readying tools she’d demanded the guards bring her after Lazarus had exited—two chisels, anvils, a rasp and a file. She loved her friends, would die to protect them; she sought joy.

  Reminds me of the girl I used to be.

  Once Siobhan would have done absolutely anything to win Hades. If she and Cameo were alike...

  Decision made. New plans forged. Yes, I will aid her.

  9

  “Step six: Slaughter your enemy, as well as everyone he loves—then celebrate your triumph.”

  —How to Achieve Victory

  Subtitle: Except with Lovers and Their Family

  Lazarus endured a torturous night. Perhaps the worst of his life. Definitely worse than the time a female had fed him a poisoned kiss, weakening him. She’d restrained him while he couldn’t fight back and gloatingly hacked off all his limbs.

  Look at the mighty Lazarus now.

  Turned out, she was an assassin sent by one of his father’s old enemies.

  She would have succeeded in killing the Monster’s son, if not for two fatal mistakes. The As and Bs of defeat. (A) she’d believed him helpless without his arms and legs, and (B) she’d taunted him with a second kiss. A goodbye.

  Pride—believing lies about oneself to inflate self-worth—often heralded a nasty fall.

  As the female had lifted her head, ending the kiss with a smirk, Lazarus had ripped out her trachea with his teeth. She had bled to death, and he had lived. Afterward, he’d poisoned himself over and over again until he’d developed an immunity.

  Why had Cameo kicked Lazarus out of her room? How could she be so blind to the truth? He could enjoy a night with her and achieve his vengeance against Hera and Juliette. One did not negate the other.

  With a curse, he stalked from bed. A f
ly buzzed around him, but no matter how swiftly he swatted, the pesky insect eluded him. Irritated, he escaped into the bathroom, where he showered and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and battle leathers. As usual, he would be sleeping fully clothed.

  The pants covered the crystals that wound through his legs from thigh to calf. The shirtsleeves hid the crystals now intersecting his biceps.

  The weakness had spread.

  Fury burned through him. He strode into the bedroom, crossing over the unicorn-skin rug that had been prized by the former king. His pace was slower than usual. Did he have a limp? He better not have a limp!

  His metamorphosis hadn’t just spread, it had sped up. He was changing faster than his father.

  Lazarus pounded his fists into the punching bag hanging in the corner. His knuckles cracked and blood welled, but he continued to whale on the bag until it exploded, sand spilling everywhere.

  Did he want Cameo more than his father had wanted his mother? Was that the problem?

  He couldn’t be sure. His mind refused to analyze anything but the woman’s bra size—perfect. His every thought revolved around a single question. How do I get her into bed? Ragged hunger gnawed and clawed at his insides, insatiable. Obsession ruled him.

  He had to have her. Once, only once. Then he could let her go, his body safe from further harm.

  He stuffed the diamond knuckles and dagger pendant in his pocket and moved to the window to peer down at the Garden of Perpetual Horror. Dawn approached.

  A three-day journey loomed, each one a compendium of minutes and seconds he had to use to his advantage. Surely he could win his prize. He’d started and ended wars in less time.

  The fly returned, buzzing around him. He remained still, listening, his ear twitching—Whack!

  Damn it! He’d missed.

  Lazarus combed a hand through his hair, the muscles in his shoulders knotted and strained. She had two objections to him. One, he put vengeance before pleasure and two, she would forget him.

  The first he could easily assuage. For their night together, he would concern himself only with her pleasure. The second was the problem.