Lord of the Vampires and The Darkest Angel and The Amazon's Curse and The Darkest Prison

by Gena Showalter

  He jumped to his feet. “I do,” he said. “I love her.” He wanted to throw his arms around her. Wanted to shout to all the world that she belonged to him. That she had chosen him as her man.

  His shoulders slumped. Chosen. Key word. Past tense. She would not choose him again. She did not give second chances, she’d said.

  She often lies…

  For the first time, the thought that his woman liked to lie caused him to smile. Perhaps she had lied about that. Perhaps she would give him a second chance. A chance to prove his love.

  If he had to grovel, he would. She was his temptation, but that did not have to be a bad thing. That could be his salvation. After all, his life would mean nothing without her. Same for her. She had told him that he was her own temptation. He could be her salvation.

  “Thank you,” he told Olivia. “Thank you for showing me the truth.”

  “Always my pleasure.”

  How should he approach Bianka? When? Urgency flooded him. He wanted to do so now. As a warrior, though, he knew some battles required planning. And as this was the most important battle of his existence, plan his attack he would.

  If she forgave him and decided to be with him, they would still have a tough road ahead. Where would they live? His duties were in the heavens. She thrived on earth, with her family nearby. Plus, Olivia was destined to kill Aeron, who would essentially be Bianka’s brother-in-law after tomorrow. And if Olivia decided not to, another angel would be chosen to do the job.

  Most likely, that would be Lysander.

  One thing his Deity had taught him, however, was that love truly could conquer all. Nothing was stronger. They could make this work.

  “I’ve lost you again,” Olivia said with a laugh. “Before you rush off, you must tell me why you summoned me. What Raphael said to you.”

  Some of his good mood evaporated. While Olivia had just given him hope and helped him find the right path, he was about to dash any hopes of a happily-ever-after for her.

  “Raphael came to me,” he repeated. Just do it; just say it. “He told me of the council’s unhappiness with you. He told me they grow weary of your continued defiance.”

  Her smile fell away. “I know,” she whispered. “I just…I haven’t been able to bring myself to hurt him. Watching him gives me joy. And I deserve to experience joy after so many centuries of devoted service, do I not?”

  “Of course.”

  “And if he is dead, I will never be able to do the things I now dream about.”

  His brow furrowed. “What things?”

  “Touching him. Curling into his arms.” A pause. “Kissing him.”

  Dangerous desires indeed. Oh, did he know their power. “If you never experience them,” he offered, “they are easier to resist.” But he hated to think of this wonderful female being without something she wanted.

  He could petition the council for Aeron’s forgiveness, but that would do no good. A decree was a decree. A law had been broken and someone had to pay. “Very soon, the council will be forced to offer you a choice. Your duty or your downfall.”

  She gazed down at her hands, once again twisting the fabric of her robe. “I know. I don’t know why I hesitate. He would never desire me, anyway. The women here, they are exciting, dangerous. As fierce as he is. And I am—”

  “Precious,” he said. “You are precious. Never think otherwise.”

  She offered him a shaky smile.

  “I have always loved you, Olivia. I would hate to see you give up everything you are for a man who has threatened to kill you. You do know what you would be losing, yes?”

  That smile fell away as she nodded.

  “You would fall straight into hell. The demons there will go for your wings. They always go for the wings first. No longer will you be impervious to pain. You will hurt, yet you will have to dig your way free of the underground—or die there. Your strength will be depleted. Your body will not regenerate on its own. You will be more fragile than a human because you were not raised among them.”

  While he thought he could survive such a thing, he did not think Olivia would. She was too delicate. Too…sheltered. Until this point, every facet of her life had dealt with joy and happiness. She had known nothing else.

  The demons of hell would be crueler to her than they would be even to him, the man they feared more than any other. She was all they despised. Wholly good. Destroying such innocence and purity would delight them.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Her voice trembled. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

  “Because I do not want you to make the wrong decision. Because I want you to know what you’re up against.”

  A moment passed in silence, then she jumped up and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, you know.”

  He squeezed her tightly, sensing that this was her way of saying goodbye. Sensing that this would be the last time they were offered such a reprieve. But he would not stop her, whatever path she chose.

  She pulled back and smoothed her trembling hands down her glistening white robe. “You have given me much to consider. So now I will leave you to your female. May love always follow you, Lysander.” As she spoke, her wings expanded. Up, up she flew, misting through the ceiling—and Bianka’s flowers—before disappearing.

  He hoped she’d choose her faith, her immortality, over the keeper of Wrath, but feared she would not. His gaze strayed to Bianka, now walking down the aisle toward the exit. She paused at his row, frowned, before shaking her head and leaving. If he’d been forced to pick between her and his reputation and lifestyle, he would have picked her, he realized.

  And now it was time to prove it to her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I’VE GOT TO PULL MYSELF from this funk, Bianka thought. This was her youngest sister’s wedding day. She should be happy. Delighted. If she were honest, though, she was a tiny bit—aka a lot—jealous. Gwen’s man, a demon, loved her. Was proud of her.

  Lysander considered Bianka unworthy.

  She’d thought about proving herself to him, but had quickly discarded the idea. Proving herself worthy—his idea of worthy, that is—would entail nothing more than a lie. And Lysander hated lies. So, according to him, she would never be good enough for him. Which meant he was stupid, and she didn’t date stupid men. Plus, he didn’t deserve her.

  He deserved to rot in his unhappiness. And that’s what he’d be without her. Unhappy. Or so she hoped.

  “So much for our plan to go naked,” Kaia muttered beside her. “Gwen saw me leave my room that way and almost sliced my throat.”

  “Did not,” the bride in question said from behind them.

  They turned in unison. Bianka’s breath caught as it had every time she’d seen her youngest sister in her gown. It was a princess cut, which was fitting, the straps thin, the beautiful white lace cinching just under her breasts before flowing to her ankles. The material covering her legs was sheer, allowing glimpses of thigh and those gorgeous red heels.

  Her strawberry curls were half up, half down, diamonds glittering through the strands. There was so much love and excitement in her gold-gray eyes it was almost blinding.

  “I almost pushed you out a window,” Gwen added.

  They laughed. Even stoic Taliyah, their oldest sister, who had her arm wrapped through Gwen’s. Since it turned out Gwen’s father was the Lords’ greatest enemy, and Gwen’s mom had disowned her years ago, Taliyah was escorting Gwen down the aisle.

  “Hence the reason I’m now wearing this.” Kaia motioned to her own gown, an exact match to Bianka’s. A buttercup-yellow creation with more ribbons, bows and sequined rose appliqués than anyone should wear in an entire lifetime. They even wore hats with orange streamers.

  Gwen shrugged, unrepentant. “I didn’t want you looking prettier than me, so sue me.”

  “Weddings suck,” Bianka said. “You should have just had Sabin tattoo your name on his ass and called it good.” That’s what she would have done. Not that Lysander ever woul
d have agreed to such a thing. Whether they were together or not.

  Which they never would be. Bastard.

  “I did. Have him tattoo my name on his ass,” Gwen said. “And his arm. And his chest. And his back. But then I casually mentioned how much I’d always wanted a big wedding, and well, he told me I had four weeks to plan it or he’d take over and do it himself. And everyone knows men can’t plan shit. So…” She shrugged again, though the excitement and love on her face had intensified. “Are they ready for us yet?”

  Bianka and Kaia turned back to the chapel, peeking through the crack in the closed doors.

  “Not yet,” Bianka said. “Paris is missing.”

  Paris, who had gotten ordained over the internet, would be presiding over the nuptials.

  “He better hurry,” she added grumpily. “Or I’ll find a way to make him oil-wrestle again.”

  “You’ve been so depressed lately. Missing your angel?” Kaia asked her, pinkie-waving to Amun, who stood in the line of groomsmen beside Sabin at the altar.

  Amun shouldn’t have been able to see her, but somehow he did. He nodded, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

  “Of course not. I hate him.” A lie. She hadn’t told her sisters why she and Lysander had parted, only that they had. Forever. If they knew the truth, they’d want to kill him. And as all but Gwen were paid killers, immensely good at their job, she’d find herself the proud owner of Lysander’s head.

  Which she didn’t want.

  She just wanted him. Stupid girl.

  “I only would have teased you for a few years, you know,” Kaia said. “You should have kept him around. It might have been fun to corrupt him.”

  He didn’t want to be corrupted any more than she wanted to be purified. They were too different. Could never make anything work. Their separation was for the best. So why couldn’t she get over it? Why did she feel his gaze on her, every minute of every day? Even now, when she looked like a Southern belle on crack?

  “So Sabin doesn’t have a last name,” she said to Gwen, drawing attention away from herself. “Are you going to call yourself Gwen Sabin?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m going to call myself Gwen Lord.”

  “What’s Anya plan to call herself? Anya Underworld?” Kaia asked with a laugh.

  “Knowing our goddess, she’ll demand Lucien take her last name. Trouble. Or is that her middle name?”

  “I here, I here,” a voice suddenly screeched. Legion pushed her way in front of Bianka and Kaia. She was wearing a yellow dress, as well. Only hers had more ribbons, bows and sequins. A basket of flowers was clutched in her hands, her too-long nails curling around the handle. Best of all, she wore a tiara. Because she didn’t have hair, it had had to be glued to her scaled head. “We begin now.”

  She didn’t wait for permission but shouldered her way through the door. The crowd—which consisted of the Lords of the Underworld, their companions and some gods and goddesses Anya knew—turned and gasped when they saw her. Well, except for Gideon. He’d recently been captured and tortured by Hunters, the Lords’ nemeses, and was currently missing his hands. (His feet weren’t in the best of shape, either.) Because of his injuries, he was beyond weak, so he lay in his gurney, barely conscious. He’d insisted on coming, though.

  From his pew, Aeron smiled indulgently as Legion tossed pink petals in every direction. Just as she reached the front, Paris raced to the podium. He looked harried, pale, and Sabin punched him in the shoulder.

  Sabin looked amazing. He wore a black tux, his hair slicked back, and when he turned to face the door, watching for Gwen, his entire face lit. With love. With pride. Bianka’s jealousy increased. She wanted that. Wanted her man to find her perfect in every way.

  Was that too much to ask?

  Apparently so. Stupid Lysander.

  “Go, go, go,” Gwen ordered, giving them a little push.

  Bianka kicked into motion, heading toward Strider, her appointed groomsman. He smiled at her when she reached him. He would be proud to call her his woman, she thought. She tried to make herself return the gesture, but her eyes were too busy filling with tears. She looked around, trying to distract herself.

  The chapel really was beautiful. The glittery white flowers she’d hung from the ceiling were thick and lush and offered a canopy, a haven. They were the best part of the decor, if you asked her. Candles flickered with golden light, twining with shadows.

  Kaia approached her side, and everyone except for Gideon stood. The music changed, slowing down to the bridal march. Gwen and Taliyah appeared. Sabin’s breath caught. Yes, that was the way a man should react to the sight of his woman.

  What makes you think you were ever Lysander’s woman?

  Because she was his one temptation. Because of the reverent way he had touched her. Because she liked how he made her feel. Because they balanced each other. Because he completed her in a way she hadn’t known she needed. He was the light to her darkness.

  He was willing to show you that light. Over and over again.

  Perhaps she should have fought for him. That’s what she was, after all. A fighter. Yet she’d given in as if he meant nothing to her when he had somehow become the most important thing in her life.

  Bianka didn’t mean to, but she tuned out as Paris gave his speech and the happy couple recited their vows, her thoughts remaining focused on Lysander. Should she try and fight for him now? If so, how would she go about it?

  Only when the crowd cheered did she snap out of her haze, watching as Sabin and Gwen kissed. Then they were marching down the aisle and out the doors together. The rest of the bridal party made their way out, as well.

  “Shall we?” Strider asked, holding out his arm for her.

  “She can’t.” Paris grabbed her arm. “You’re needed in that room.” With his free hand, he pointed.

  “Why?” Was he planning revenge against her for forcing him to oil-wrestle Lysander? He hadn’t mentioned it in the days since her return to Buda, but he couldn’t be happy with her. He should be thanking her, for gods’ sake. He’d gotten to touch all of Lysander’s hawtness.

  Paris rolled his eyes. “Just go before your boyfriend decides he’s tired of waiting and comes out here.”

  Her boyfriend. Lysander? Couldn’t be. Could it? But why would he have come? Heart drumming in her chest, she walked forward. She didn’t allow herself to run, though she wanted to soooo badly. She reached the door. Her hand shook as she turned the knob.

  Hinges creaked. Then she was staring into—an empty room. Her teeth ground together. Paris’s revenge, just as she’d figured. Of course. That rat bastard piece of shit was going to pay. She wasn’t just going to make him oil-wrestle. She was going to—

  “Hello, Bianka.”

  Lysander.

  Gasping, she whipped around. Her eyes widened. In an instant, the chapel had been transformed. No longer were her sisters and friends inside. Lysander and his kind occupied every spare inch. Angels were everywhere, light surrounding them and putting Gwen’s candles to shame.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, not daring to hope.

  “I came to beg your forgiveness.” His arms spread. “I came to tell you that I am proud to be your man. I brought my friends and brethren to bear witness to my proclamation.”

  She swallowed, still not letting hope take over. “But I’m evil and that’s not going to change. I’m your temptation. You could, I don’t know, lose everything by being with me.” The thought hit her, and she wanted to wilt. He could lose everything. No wonder he had wanted to destroy her. No wonder he had wanted to hide her.

  “No, you are not evil. And I don’t want you to change. You are beautiful and intelligent and brave. But more than that, you are my everything. I am nothing without you. Not good, not right, not complete. And do not worry. I will not lose everything as you said. You have not committed an unpardonable sin.”

  She gulped. “And if I do?”

  “I will fall.”
/>
  Okay. A small kernel of hope managed to seep inside her. But no way would she let him fall. Ever. He loved being an angel. “What brought this on?”

  “I finally pulled my head out of my ass,” he said dryly.

  He’d said ass. Lysander had just said the word ass. More hope beat its way inside and she had to press her lips together to keep from smiling. And crying! Tears were springing in her eyes, burning.

  Could they actually make their relationship work? Just a little bit ago, she’d been grateful—or pretending to be grateful—that they were apart, since so many obstacles existed.

  “I only hope you can love so foolish a man. I am willing to live wherever you desire. I am willing to do anything you need to win you back.” He dropped to his knees. “I love you, Bianka Skyhawk. I would be proud to be yours.”

  He was proud of her. He wanted her. He loved her. It was everything she’d secretly dreamed about this past week. Yes, they could make this work. They would be together, and that was the most important thing. But she told him none of that.

  “Now?” she screeched instead. “You decided to introduce me to your friends now? When I look like this?” Scowling, she peeked over his shoulder at them and saw their stunned expressions. “I usually look better than this, you know. You should have seen me the other day. When I was naked.”

  Lysander stood. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

  She focused back on him. His eyes were as wide as hers had been, his arms crossed over his middle. “No. There’s more,” she grumbled. “But I will never live this yellow gown thing down, you know.”

  “Bianka.”

  “Yes, I love you, too. But if you ever decide I’m unworthy again, I’ll show you just how demonic I can be.”

  “Deal. But you don’t have to worry, love,” he said, a slow smile lifting those delectable lips. “It is I who am unworthy. I only pray you never learn of this.”

  “Oh, I know it already,” she said, and his grin spread. “Now c’mere, you.” She cupped the back of his neck and jerked him down for a kiss.