Group one—done.
Different sounds registered, making her ears twitch. Crackling flames, grunts and groans, roars, the snap of breaking bones, other howls. Where was Lazarus? She lumbered to her feet—
A hard weight slammed into her, pitching her across the garden.
She lost her breath, pinpricks of light winking through her vision, momentarily blinding her. A hard fist punched her injured cheek once, twice. A cold fist. Brass knuckles? Her jaw snapped out of place, and her brain banged against her skull. Blood leaked from the sides of her mouth as waves of blistering pain washed over her.
Don’t stop. Keep fighting. She stayed down and kicked up her legs. At the same time, the Harpy leaned down to deliver the next punch. Perfect. Cameo crisscrossed her thighs, locking onto the girl’s neck. She rolled to her stomach, forcing the Harpy facedown.
Crack! The Harpy’s forehead met a rock, and the rock won.
Though her opponent scratched at her legs in an attempt to rise, the blow had weakened her, allowing Cameo to stand and slam a boot into her once-pretty face.
Lights out, Harpy.
Dizzy, panting, she searched the battlefield. The sky serpents had thinned out the enemy herd while the Sent Ones had felled their fair share of Harpies—without actually killing the women. Bjorn and Xerxes were in the process of confining the injured females inside a cage camouflaged by stone.
Only Juliette remained on her feet. Well, not her feet. Not exactly. Lazarus had her by the throat, her legs flailing through the air. She clawed at him, desperate to win her freedom.
Crimson splattered him from head to toe, especially thick down the inseam of his pants. His shirt and a good portion of his skin had been shredded. Obvious strain tightened the skin around his eyes and mouth, Juliette’s weight seemingly more than he could tolerate. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a fierce scowl.
Was the Harpy’s bronzed flesh...turning gray?
Juliette’s wild gaze darted over her surroundings, probably seeking anything or anyone she could use against her tormentor. When she spotted Cameo, she gasped, “Box. Know...who...box.”
Only one box mattered to Cameo. Pandora’s. Did Juliette know who possessed it?
Heart slamming against her ribs, Cameo called, “Lazarus.” With her jaw still out of place, she slurred his name.
He gave no notice of her. Was his thirst for vengeance so great he’d lost track of everything else? Or did he simply not care what she had to say?
After everything they’d done in bed, the second possibility hurt worse than the beating she’d taken.
“Lazarus,” she repeated, springing forward. She tripped over a body, but remained upright and kept running. “Let her go. You have to let her go.” If Juliette knew who had the box, Cameo needed her alive. At least for a little while.
Yes, the Harpy had probably lied to save herself. And if so, her death would be a thousand times worse. But better safe than sorry when the lives of Cameo’s loved ones were at stake.
She crashed into Lazarus, expecting him to stumble; he toppled to the ground, instead, losing his grip on Juliette. The Harpy rolled and sprang to her feet.
Nooo! Cameo made a play for her, but even winded, Juliette managed to fake a left and then zoom right. She sprinted away, and Cameo gave chase. They neared the edge of the cloud. The Harpy would have to stop and—
Juliette dived, falling from view. Cameo skidded to a stop before she, too, plummeted to her death.
One of the griffins swooped underneath Juliette, catching the Harpy on his back, and relief showered Cameo. There would be another fight—another chance to get answers.
The remaining sky serpents hissed at her, reminding her an enemy still lurked nearby. Lazarus’s pets would love to punish her...and so would Lazarus.
He roared. “Why, Cameo? Tell me why!”
She closed her eyes and rested her jaw against her shoulder. With a shove, she forced her jaw into place—and nearly doubled her over with pain.
When she’d calmed, she said, “You heard her.” She pointed in the direction Juliette had flown. “Your consort might know where to find Pandora’s box.”
“She was never mine.” He reached Cameo’s side, his gaze spitting fire at her. “And she doesn’t know.”
“How can you be sure?”
His eyes filled with guilt and anger. Why guilt? “I just am.”
“Well, I want to talk to her before you kill her. Okay?”
A sky serpent landed behind him and squawked.
“No,” Lazarus shouted. His gaze remained on Cameo as he grated at the creature, “She isn’t to be harmed. Ever. Not by you.”
Not by you. And wasn’t that reassuring?
“I’m returning to Budapest,” she said. “You can come with me, or you can stay here. Right now I don’t exactly care. Actually, I do care. Stay here!” A mimic of his earlier command to her. How would a guy feel about reversed chauvinism? “When my wounds heal, I’m going to find Juliette and have a chat with her. And she had better be alive. The safety of my family is more important than your vengeance. Do you hear me?”
“I think everyone heard you,” he snapped.
Cameo stormed around him, first glaring at the sky serpent, then the Sent Ones. “Someone better volunteer to give me a ride home, or I’m going to start singing a lullaby.”
All three Sent Ones and their Berserker friend begged for the privilege. And, okay, wow, the sky serpent prostrated himself to allow easy access to his back.
Maybe the knock to her skull had destroyed her sense of self-preservation since she decided to go with the sky serpent. Sure, he’d like to rip her to shreds and suck the marrow from her bones, but so what? If he ate her, he ate her. If he dropped her midair, he dropped her. She’d either die or survive. Right now she wasn’t sure which one she most wanted to happen.
What the creature wouldn’t do? Lecture her.
Sky serpent for the win. All aboard the SS Express.
She approached him only to pause and glare at Lazarus. “Will humans see us and freak out?”
“No. He’ll camouflage himself.”
Camouflage? A puff of white smoke wafted from the sky serpent’s nostrils, covering and hiding him.
“Well. That explains how you’ve gone so long without detection,” she said, marching forward.
“Cameo.” Lazarus shouted her name, somehow turning three syllables into a harsh command.
“Nope. Our conversation is over.” She settled onto her transport.
“I will come for you,” he said. “I will always come for you.”
He’d said those words before. The first time, they’d been a promise, both sweet and reassuring. Today, they sounded like a warning.
20
“Never apologize. Always apologize, but only ever to your woman.”
—Becoming the Monster You Were Born to Be
—The Art of Keeping Your Female Happy
Three days. Three torturous days Lazarus remained parted from his Cameo. He’d reached his limit.
He gnashed his molars, his jaw aching in protest. He had yet to leave the guest room at Downfall. Because of Juliette, he wasn’t strong enough to rejoin his μονομανία. Toward the end of the battle, the Harpy had gotten her claws into his groin and, with a victory shout, removed one of his testicles. He’d been too slow to stop her.
He’d used his time to create a leather sheath for Pandora’s box, lining it with thin chain mail as an added layer of protection. The craftsmanship was flawless, and yet no match for Cameo’s.
Surprisingly, the separation from her had agonized him far more than the loss of his man-egg. He should have healed by now. No Cameo, no worsening. Yet he’d begun to regenerate only this morning.
Whatever the reason,
Juliette would pay for his imprisonment and the days apart from his woman. She would pay with her life, yes, but first she would bleed.
He missed Cameo. Missed her wit and ferocity. Craved her sweet kisses and decadent taste. Hungered for her seductive purrs of arousal. He yearned to have her nails in his back once again, her legs wrapped around his waist. Dreamed of the way she soaked her panties for him. Even the way she’d fought those Harpies...
Most of all, he needed to see her smile again, rare as it was. He was now a junkie in need of a fix, twitchy and trigger-happy, ready to rip to shreds anyone who dared get in his way.
He saw her for who she was—strong, intelligent, brave—all of this and more. She deserved to be his partner, not just a pretty decoration at his side.
He’d almost stepped into the shadows, his personal vendetta against Juliette and Hera forgotten, just to watch her. She’d wielded a sword as expertly as she’d made one from scrap metal, the weapon an extension of her arm. She had moved like ripples in water, so smooth she’d seemed harmless until far too late.
Yesterday he’d broken down and summoned the Sent One with rainbow-colored eyes. Bjorn. The oldest.
“Do I have your word this conversation will go no further?” Lazarus had asked.
“You do,” the Sent One had replied. Unable to lie, he’d effectively bound himself to silence on the subject.
Which was the only reason Lazarus had continued. “You’ve been alive a long time. As long as I have. What do you know of Hera? Of...my father?”
“Very little about your father. Hera and your mother, I knew. At one time, they were friends.”
Friends? The news had come as a shock. How could one friend mercilessly murder another? “When did they become enemies?”
“When your father abducted your mother.”
A simple case of jealousy? Had Hera wanted Typhon? Why?
He had turned the tide of the conversation, saying, “Do you know a way to remove Cameo’s demon and keep her alive?”
Bjorn had tapped his fingers to his chin. “An empty vessel withers. That’s why she will die when he is removed. If you managed to revive her afterward, which isn’t a guarantee, her spirit would have to be patched—or healed—and refilled. Love for hate. Joy for sadness.”
It made sense, but it was too risky. Neither he nor Cameo knew how to love. And had he ever known joy? True joy?
Lazarus paced through the bedroom he’d shared with Cameo and grimaced as tender, regenerating flesh rubbed against his leathers. He should let her go now rather than later. He should turn his efforts to building an army. Yes, he should. But staying away from the keeper of Misery was looking less and less like an option for him.
He’d told her he would help her control the demon. He’d told her he would protect her, even from herself.
Must protect her.
Fool!
He was thousands of years old. Had experienced the best and worst life had to offer, and yet he had no defenses against Cameo. Her mere existence made her enemy one. Without her, he would live. He would be strong, a leader among men. But without her, he would not live well.
I am my father’s son.
Never! He would never take Cameo against her will.
He would romance the hell out of her.
Damn it! Need for her threatened to supersede his will to survive. He’d craved her before; she’d been a temptation. Now she was a necessity, essential to his existence.
Was this how his father had felt about his mother? Crazed? Had this been the beginning of the end for Typhon?
Make or break time, Lazarus realized. He had to decide. Walk away from Cameo for good, or go all in. Accept the crystals, and the end result—a life in the shadows, unable to fight—or eschew the crystals and win his personal wars.
If he chose the first, there could be no half measures. He’d made that mistake before, demanding Cameo accept a one-night stand. As many times and as many ways as she’d been hurt, she needed security from her man. She deserved to know she was adored. Only then would he win her trust. Only then would she share her body...and choose to remember her smile.
In return, she could help Lazarus achieve his vengeance. What better warrior to have at his side? He could have it all, his woman and his vengeance, before the crystals overtook him.
But. Always there was a “but.” If Lazarus planned to spend what remained of his days with Cameo, he had to tell her about Pandora’s box. He had to tell her before she challenged Juliette for information the Harpy did not—could not—have.
What if she used the box to hurt herself?
He could destroy the box and simply show her the remains.
She would hate him.
And what about the Morning Star? The apple hung from his neck once again. He wrapped his hand around it and squeezed. If he destroyed Pandora’s box, he might destroy the Morning Star, as well. Or would the mysterious being finally go free?
Could the Morning Star save Cameo?
If there was even a chance, he couldn’t destroy the box. The risk outweighed the reward. That meant he couldn’t tell Cameo about it, no matter how much she deserved the truth.
Can’t jeopardize her well-being. Or her future. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about this anymore. He wouldn’t! She meant too much to him, and what he did, he did for her.
He protected her. End of story.
New plan, next move. He would kill Juliette before Cameo had a chance to chat her up. Then he would turn his attentions to Hera, beat his father’s location out of her and finally kill the woman who’d murdered his mother as well as the man who’d enslaved her. He would act fast. Then he would spend the rest of his days with Cameo, basking in the contentment only she could give him.
A sound plan.
“Hello, Lazarus.”
The familiar voice drifted from the space behind him, every muscle in his body knotting. Palming a dagger in each hand, he spun—
And came face-to-face with Hera.
Lazarus cast an illusion, hiding his fury behind a blank mask, erasing any sign of the apple underneath his shirt and the weapons strapped to his body. Let her believe he was unarmed.
The years had been kind to her, making her more beautiful than ever. Her hair resembled a fall of moss intermixed with lush pink flowers. Her eyes were, in essence, an aerial map of the Earth, blue with spots of green and brown. The perfect complement to the beautiful sienna hue of her skin.
She wore a gown made entirely of enchanted rose petals, the flowers’ sweet perfume wafting from her.
A bitch like her should smell like brimstone and sulfur!
He had not expected her to come to him. Hadn’t expected her to remember the little boy she’d orphaned. As Lazarus had grown into a man, he’d kept his intentions for her to himself.
“Hera. I have long dreamed of seeing you again.”
“You were beheaded. I find it difficult to believe you dream at all, let alone live,” she said conversationally.
“Haven’t you heard? I cannot be killed.”
“Makes sense, I suppose. You are, after all, your father’s son.” Her lips pursed. “Typhon. Such a slippery little pig who has managed to evade death...so far.”
Did she realize she’d just confirmed his father’s survival? “You killed my mother. Your friend,” he finished with bite. “Who’s the true pig in that picture?”
Rage darkened her features. Then he detected a crackle of power similar to his own—to his father’s—and her expression blanked. Did she have the ability to cast illusions, too?
“Do you know why I’m here?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. To die at my hands.”
“You have Pandora’s box. My box. You killed my slave.”
His illusion masked his shock. Hera the Cuckoldr
ess had been Hilda’s master.
“I know the box is nearby,” she said. “I can feel it. Don’t lie to me, Lazarus. You see, before being incarcerated in Tartarus, I spent my days killing the males who proved to be any kind of threat to the fairer sex. I was very good. Very good.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, playing innocent. “Hold your tongue and return the box to me now, or you shall join my list of undesirables.”
“You yourself said Death can’t get his grubby hands on me.” He kept his tone pleasant. “I’ll go with option C, and hack you to pieces.”
“Good luck with that.” She wandered about the bedroom with undisguised indifference, trailing one fingertip along the top of the antique dresser...the vanity...one of the posts on the massive bed, where the rumpled sheets still bore a faint trace of Cameo’s scent. Lazarus owned nothing here, and yet his sense of possession flared.
Vengeance demanded he slay his foe. Act now. But he remained in place. Never start a fight you cannot win. Weakened as he was—as powerful as she was—he had to proceed carefully...stealthily.
“What a hypocrite you’ve become in your old age, eh.” He allowed a cold smile to slip through his illusion, the truth in his bold stare an open taunt. “You, the avenger of the violated, known for punishing anyone who dared take something not freely offered—you stole Pandora’s box and prevented the demons from being put back inside. You unleashed those demons upon an unsuspecting world. For centuries, they’ve pillaged, plundered and destroyed the innocent.”
A bitter laugh filled the space between them. “You’re right. I’m a hypocrite. And I’m punished every day for my choices.”
Trying to turn the tables on him and earn his sympathy? Never! “I weep for you,” he told her, and flicked away an imaginary tear.
“I’m sure you do.” She met his stare with unflinching determination. “Where’s my box?”
“Where’s my father?”
She lifted a brow. “Do you wish to save him?”
“I wish to kill him.”
A pause laden with tension. Then, “Where’s my box, Lazarus?”
“Where’s my father?” he said, stepping toward her.
The Darkest Promise--A Dark, Demonic Paranormal Romance Page 23
