The Darkest Promise--A Dark, Demonic Paranormal Romance

by Gena Showalter

  In the end, Lazarus snapped Maddox’s neck—a fact that sent the other warriors in residence over the edge. Aeron and the newly returned Paris rushed into the room.

  “What the—”

  “You had no right!”

  Another fight broke out.

  Lazarus won that battle, too, though not as quickly or as easily. His motions had slowed as if he’d been weakened. Maybe he had. Those crystals...

  Going to lose him one way or another.

  The rest of her family raced into her bedroom, spotted Maddox, Aeron and Paris unconscious on her floor—and gales of laughter soon rang out. Funny thing. The laughter only darkened her mood.

  No fair! They do what I can’t.

  What you will never do, Misery vowed.

  Lucien, keeper of Death, patted Lazarus on the shoulder. At some point, he, too, must have returned from the underworld. “I like you. I like you a lot.”

  Galen leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, I don’t think he likes you.”

  Lazarus pointed an accusing finger at the warrior. “Your Hunters once cut out Cameo’s tongue.”

  “I know.” The handsome blond spread his arms. “You’re welcome.”

  A ferocious growl echoed throughout the room, the promise of a bad, bad death. The most feminine part of her responded to the sound, and she thought, hoped, she would pull herself from the depths of sorrow...but she failed.

  “Hey,” Galen added. “She is who she is because of her past. Do you like who she is or not?”

  Her ears perked as she waited for the answer.

  “I...do,” Lazarus admitted grudgingly.

  He likes me! Again she tried to pull herself up, but again she failed.

  “Wow. Galen isn’t wrong.” Anya leveled a disgusted look at Lucien, her fiancé. “Does this mean I have to forgive the bastard for letting his people spear me to a wall?”

  “No,” Lucien said. At the same time, Galen said, “Yes!”

  Torin, who used to remain inside his own room no matter what happened, stood in the midst of the crowd. Since he’d learned his blood contained the antidote to his demon’s disease, he’d become a lot more social.

  Removing his leather gloves, he moved toward Galen. Then, with a wicked smile, he patted the winged man on the cheek.

  Galen reared back.

  Torin darted out of the room, calling, “Good luck getting a dose of my blood, sucker.”

  Galen cursed and chased after him.

  A spark of irritation heated Cameo’s chest. The teasing was worse than the laughter. They were having fun, playing, while she suffered horribly.

  As if sensing her change in mood, Lazarus eased onto the mattress, sitting beside her, and linked their fingers. He rubbed his thumb over her bruised knuckles. “Come back to me.”

  She tried. She tried so hard, desperate to do this for him. But the sorrow remained, clawing and ripping at her, leaving her insides bloody. Tears filled her eyes, and her chin trembled.

  He opened his mouth to say more, but Sabin stepped forward and clapped once, twice. “All right. The party is over. We’re all part of the same team, and we’ve got things to discuss.” He was the original warmonger, always putting business before pleasure. “Over the past week, two new battles have waged between Hades and Lucifer. Hades won the first round, thanks to Katarina’s hellhounds. They enjoyed a sweet little game called Fetch the Femur, ripping through enemy ranks to collect their prizes. The second round was a draw with massive losses on both sides.”

  Murmurs and speculations arose. How to ambush Lucifer, leader of the Harbingers—those who granted foreknowledge. How to achieve maximum results. The interaction only saddened Cameo further.

  These men and women were a unit. Part of the same team, as Sabin had said. Cameo had forever been on the fringes.

  “Out,” Lazarus bellowed, his hard voice echoing from the walls. “Now. Everyone.”

  Protests erupted. When he leaped to his feet, those protests ended and footsteps sounded.

  Ashlyn alone remained. Well, Ashlyn and the unconscious men on the floor. No one had bothered to drag them out. The woman took Lazarus’s place on the bed.

  He stared at her, doing his best to intimidate her, but she remained far from cowed.

  “My husband is napping a few feet away. I’m staying, and I’m going to help my friend,” she said. “Try to stop me. Dare you.”

  She had a gift. When she stepped into a room, she could hear every conversation that had ever taken place inside it. Considering she’d just used Lazarus’s own words against him, she must have heard some of the things the warrior had said to Cameo.

  “Fine,” he grumbled.

  “So gracious.” For over an hour, Ashlyn read from the pages of a romance novel. Fairy tales for adults, she’d once called them. Oh, to be part of a fairy tale with Lazarus, destined to have a happily-ever-after.

  Impossible. This is it, Misery said. The best you’re ever going to get.

  Cameo believed him.

  * * *

  The next day, Lazarus fed and bathed her, as usual, remaining impersonal and personal at the same time. He touched her without any outward sign of emotion, but his fingers lingered on her breasts and between her legs. At first, she experienced a tingle of arousal. With arousal came hope.

  The demon whispered, He’s going to die. I wonder if you are the reason.

  She cried. Lazarus dried her off and carried her back to bed.

  How much longer would he live? How much longer would he put up with her?

  Viola visited her and minded her manners, stretching out beside Cameo to tell her all about the armor she had designed, intending to keep herself and her pet safe from a winged beast with death on his mind. All she needed Cameo to do was make it.

  Cameo drifted into a light doze, waking when she heard Lazarus’s voice. He spoke in Typhonish, and he sounded angry. Through the shadows in the room, she glimpsed him standing on her balcony, wind whipping his hair as a storm raged. No sign of Viola or anyone else. Until lightning struck the sky. For a split second, she saw a sky serpent perched on the railing, his claws wrapped around the iron bar.

  Her heart fluttered and—

  Nothing. She closed her eyes. When next she woke, the storm had stopped.

  Lazarus opened the bedroom door and a laughing Urban and Ever rushed inside. The little boy jumped on the end of the bed. When Cameo failed to react, he set her covers on fire. Ever doused the flames with a glaze of ice.

  Life continues without me.

  Cameo sighed, and the twins stopped laughing. Ever sobbed, and Urban teared up.

  With a sigh of his own, Lazarus rushed the children into the hall and shouted for their parents.

  What kind of monster are you, making those sweet babies cry? Misery asked.

  Claw, rip. The sorrow sharpened, and her internal wounds hemorrhaged.

  Lazarus returned to her side and smoothed away the hair that clung to her dampened cheek. “What am I going to do with you, sunshine?”

  The demon had a million answers, none of them good.

  Cameo’s mind played a word-association game, making the leap from “none of them good” to “nothing good can happen” to “remember he’s destined to die,” to “everyone’s going to die at some point” to “Pandora’s box will kill us all.” Juliette had said Lazarus already possessed the box. Had she spoken true, or had she sought to drive a wedge between her consort and his new slice?

  Definitely a wedge. No way would Lazarus keep such a huge secret. He knew how much Cameo wanted—needed—that box. How the very survival of her loved ones depended on it.

  Why would he want Pandora’s box, anyway?

  Well, that question was easy to answer. The Mor
ning Star.

  But if Lazarus had the box and wanted the Morning Star, why not open the box and take it?

  Another easy answer. He feared killing Cameo the instant he lifted the lid.

  He should kill me. I’m better off dead. Everyone will be better off.

  “Enough,” Lazarus said, the fury in his voice unmistakable. “Do not ever think like that again. No one is better off without you. Understand?”

  With his words, something inside Cameo broke. His gaze had so often smoldered at her, promising her untold delights. His hands and body had touched her naked curves on more than one occasion, willing to dish those delights. Now all she could do was pray for death?

  Cameo curled into her pillow and sobbed until she had no more tears to give. “My pleasure-feeling days are over.” It was the first time she’d spoken in days—weeks?—and her raw throat protested.

  “They are only beginning. You know this.” Soft fingers combed through her hair, traced down the ridges of her spine before forcing her to roll to her side and gaze up at him. “This isn’t you, sunshine.” He cuddled behind her and kissed her nape. “Fight the demon. Fight for me.”

  What good had fighting ever done her? Always she ended up in this condition. “Go away. Please. Just go away.”

  For the first time in their acquaintance, he cringed at the sound of her voice.

  No, not the first time. After the battle with Juliette, she’d seen the blood dripping from his ears. Like the Harpy, he’d stabbed himself to escape Cameo’s voice.

  He said nothing more.

  Ensuring you won’t utter another response.

  “That’s a lie of the demon,” he grated. “I hate seeing you this way.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll grow tired of this—of me—soon enough. Then you’ll leave, and you won’t have to see me at all.” Though she thought her tear ducts dry, a new rain poured down her cheeks, scalding her skin.

  The bed bounced, signaling Lazarus had risen. Footsteps pounded, creating an ominous sound track. Lights deluged the bedroom, chasing away precious shadows.

  She cringed, blinking rapidly to soothe the burn in her tired eyes. “Off,” she commanded.

  “You want them off, you get your ass up and turn them off. I’ve coddled you long enough.” With a dark scowl, he stomped to the bed.

  The sight of him and his crackling fury cowed Misery, the demon hiding in the back of her mind, the cloud of oppression lifting... But he’d tasted the sweet reins of control and refused to relinquish them so easily. He hissed and clawed, and doom’s tempestuous storm rolled back in.

  Lazarus ripped the covers from her, cool air suddenly enveloping her. After the last shower, he’d dressed her in a tank top and a pair of panties. Motions firm and without a care for her tender flesh, he picked her up and draped her over his shoulder in a fireman carry. His stride long and without grace, he made his way to the door and threw it open.

  One by one, her friends exited their rooms.

  He growled, “This is happening. Don’t try to stop me.”

  “Stop you? I’m too busy cheering you.” Maddox, who had recovered from his broken spine, sounded downright friendly just then. “You should have done this days ago.”

  Lazarus smacked Cameo on the butt. Right there. In front of everyone. The sharp sting made her gasp.

  “Can I keep him, Lucien?” Anya clapped. “Pretty please with a cherry on top of me. For the last five seconds, I’ve always wanted one!”

  “Only if I can keep him, too,” Lucien replied. “Although there’s still something off about him. Death goes crazy every time he’s near.”

  “Lies doesn’t.” The denial came from Gideon.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Strider said. “Or you would have, if you’d told the truth and mentioned Defeat. So what’s the problem? How do you provoke the demons, dead man?”

  Her friends sensed the box, too?

  Lazarus ignored the question and gave Cameo’s butt another smack. Her back teeth ground together.

  “What did you do with her the last time she got like this?” Lazarus asked no one in particular.

  “We waited,” Sabin said. “Everything we tried made her worse.”

  “Well, I’m done waiting.” Lazarus bypassed the group and pounded down the stairs.

  To her annoyance, everyone followed him, eager to discover what he’d do next. Kane, the newly crowned king of the Fae, was among them. When had he returned from the underworld? Even Torin tagged along, the traitor!

  Why had he dated her, anyway? What an ill-matched pair they’d been, unable to touch. Or rather, unwilling to touch, because she could have touched him; she wouldn’t have gotten sick—probably—but she would have become a carrier, like him. They hadn’t known about his cure back then.

  They’d pleasured themselves while the other watched. Well, she’d pretended to pleasure herself. She’d faked every orgasm. Should she tell him? He would return to his room in a huff, and she’d have one less spectator.

  “Don’t worry, sunshine,” Lazarus said. “I’ll make sure he knows by the end of the day.”

  Her teeth ground together with a little more force. She erected the shield around her mind. “Unlike Misery, I find no enjoyment in hurting others. Don’t say a word to him.”

  Groans swept through the crowd, but this time Lazarus gave no notice of her voice.

  The demon prowled from the shadows, desperate to recover every inch of ground he’d lost. Couldn’t keep Kane, couldn’t keep Torin, won’t keep Lazarus.

  She whimpered. Lazarus gave her butt another smack.

  Now she huffed and puffed. How dare he! “If you liked and respected me at all, you wouldn’t treat me this way.”

  “It’s because I like and respect you that I’m treating you this way.” And just to be contrary, she was sure, he gave her another smack. He used more force, most definitely leaving a palm print.

  Anger sparked. Why was he doing this? Where was he taking her?

  He kicked open the front door and strode outside. Sunlight seeped into her skin, warming the bone-deep chill she hadn’t realized she had felt. He stopped somewhere in the front yard and dropped her.

  Splat! Thick, gooey mud bespattered her from head to toe, droplets snagging in her hair and even her eyelashes.

  How dare he! A prolonged lack of mobility had left her weak, and her legs trembled as she stood. Mud oozed from her hands.

  Lazarus poked a finger into her chest, and her feet slipped out from under her. She fell, and this time she stayed down, glaring up at him.

  “Is this supposed to send me into a fury?” she demanded. Because it’s working!

  “Don’t be silly.” He removed his shirt, baring his tattooed chest...all those glorious ropes of muscle. “What happens next is supposed to send you into a fury.”

  24

  “With an enemy, death should always come before surrender With your woman, your surrender will happen one way or another. Why fight it?”

  —The Art of Keeping Your Female Happy

  —The Secret to My Success

  Viola couldn’t believe the turn of events. She whistled and cheered. The guys clapped.

  “Take it all off!” Anya cheered.

  “What happens next?” Cameo asked Lazarus.

  A slow smile overtook his gorgeous face, and he cracked his knuckles. “I’d rather show you.”

  Viola watched as he pelted the keeper of Misery with one mud ball after another, envy creating a vise grip around her heart. I want this...this...fun. This acceptance.

  As Cameo ducked and dodged the missiles, sputtering with indignation and spitting out dirt, Lazarus barked out a laugh.

  The rusty sound enchanted everyone around him. The women preened as if he’d just morph
ed into the fairy-tale prince of their dreams. The men simply stared.

  For the first time since her return from the Alaskan wilderness, a cloud of darkness lifted from Cameo. “Darkpit,” she said, “you’re going to pay for this.”

  A miracle happened. No one flinched or cried at the sound of her voice. Not that Cameo or Lazarus seemed to notice. They were too absorbed in each other.

  “If you’d like this savage attack to end, you’re going to have to stop me,” Lazarus said. “I respond only to kisses.”

  The onlookers waited with bated breath for her response.

  “Don’t you dare—” she began. A mud ball splattered in her face. “You’re going to regret—” More mud in her face.

  Lazarus’s smile was smug. “I regret nothing.”

  Cameo’s screech of fury caused everyone to cheer. Then the dark-haired beauty hurled a mud ball at her man. The ooey-gooey substance drenched his shirt, and a wicked light glowed in his eyes, mixing with relief.

  He truly cared about Cameo’s well-being, Viola realized. Those two crazy kids just might go the distance.

  Lazarus knocked Cameo into the puddle, dirty water splashing around them. They struggled and strained together, vying for supremacy, doing their best to pin the other down. They were acting like children and—dude! So were the others.

  Maddox, Sabin, the Harpies and everyone else who’d followed the unlikely pair outside rushed into the pond to launch their own missiles.

  Viola, the sole holdout, remained in place. She practiced decorum in all situations. When you think class and sophistication, you think goddess of the Afterlife and her pet Tasmanian devil. Every freaking time.

  Urban, the rat, threw mud at her, but she performed an expert duck and slide.

  Even Strider, keeper of Defeat, joined the festivities. How foolish! If he lost a single challenge, even one as innocent as this, he would suffer unimaginable pain. Why risk it? And yet, he laughed as he pinioned his consort to the ground and stuffed her pants with mud.