The Darkest Destiny (Lords of the Underworld 15.50)

The mutated Fallen One stood across the room, his gaze remaining fixed on her. A maniacal glint lit his silver irises, his grim expression bordering on homicidal. He might have shown her mercy before, but he wouldn’t do so again. The promise of agony emanated from him, his muscles hardening.

“I’ve decided what I will do with you,” he proclaimed for one and all to hear.

His deep, husky timbre roused a wealth of goose bumps. She faked a yawn. “You’re planning to give me a front massage, aren’t you?”

He blinked and growled. “Not a massage. But hands will be involved.”

The second he stepped forward, the shifters flew into motion, pouncing on him. Brochan went high and then low, left then right, remaining in a constant state of motion as he made his way toward her. No one felled him. A few wolves clawed his arms and torso, but they didn’t slow him, and they suffered greatly for their efforts. In retaliation, Brochan tore off their limbs. Like, all of them. Arms and legs. His claws were much bigger and far sharper.

Viola watched, mesmerized. In battle, he was magnificent, full stop. Fierce and unrelenting. Utterly savage. Such strength! He was determined to reach her, whatever the cost. Did he even know how sexy that was? Her heart fluttered, and her palms dampened. He remained pitiless against anyone foolish enough to approach him. Wreaking havoc, he spun, flaring and retracting his wings as necessary. His opponents dropped, groups at a time, unable to stand. Or breathe.

But even as Brochan killed, he kept his gaze on Viola’s companion. When the male eased closer, the beast flared his horns and swung his claws with more force.

She inched away from the shifter, increasing the distance between them, and Brochan returned to a normal speed.

Okay. All right. Her nearness might get Fluffy’s meal axed sooner rather than later.

Confidence cracking, Narcissism retaliated against her, releasing a kernel of fear. Vines slithered from it, one after the other, each tipped by a memory. Growing stronger. Stronger.

She had battle skill, grit and wiles, but she might not have enough skill, grit and wiles to defeat this male. But retreat? Never! Still, a timeout could help matters. A few months, years, or centuries to really think things through before she hunted him down and continued their war, soundly defeating him. Of course. Later today, once her chosen target had escaped the bar, she’d find him and reintroduce herself.

Yes. Perfect plan. No flaws, as usual. Fate must agree. The shifter’s aura hadn’t changed, so, he wouldn’t be dying via Brochan’s rage.

“Go home,” she told the male. “We’ll chat later. I promise.” Viola flashed to a remote island in the mortal realm, leaving the shifters to deal with the beast. My gift to you.

Waves lapped at glistening white sands, instantly soothing her nerves. The scent of coconut and salt saturated over-warm air. Breathing deeply, she dropped into the gritty warmth, hitting her knees and—

“No!”

Brochan appeared a few yards in front of her, bathed in sunlight. But, but… How had he found her so swiftly?

Heart thudding, she rocketed to her feet and yanked off her bracelet. The same one she’d used to remove his head. With a flick of her wrist, the jewelry locked into a sword, and she squared off with him. Why, why, why didn’t he have an aura? Was he death itself or something?

“How are you alive?” she demanded.

He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing has the power to kill me, goddess. Especially not you.”

Oh, that cut. She could do anything. “I bet I’ll find a way.” In fact, an idea already percolated…

“You cannot escape me. Not now, not ever. No matter how many times I die, I’ll always come back for you.” He took a single step closer, nothing but aggression and menace. “I’ll just be angrier.”

Shivers of dread slipped down her spine. Definitely dread. Not excitement.

“You ensured my brother’s end, and you took my life,” he continued. “From this moment forward, I own yours.”

She inched backward. Not because she was cowed but because she had a brain. Common sense said: Stay away from the murdering monster.

Her core offered multiple objections. Get closer…

Raising the sword, she grated, “I can strike at you in ways others cannot.”

He remained unperturbed. “Strike at me all you wish. Before, you caught me off guard. This time, I’m prepared.”

Not exaggeration but the unvarnished truth. Anyone who fought an entire pack of wolfshifters without breaking a sweat wielded a skill set far beyond hers. Again, she inched backward. “I won’t hand over the key to Nevaeh.” She couldn’t. But, if he persisted in assuming she owned it, well, he would fight to keep her safe, even from himself.

Gorgeous bombshell—brilliant mastermind.

“You will hand it over, goddess. That, I promise you.” All that gravel in his voice had taken on a guttural edge. “Until you do, you’ll live in my home. If you run, I’ll drag you back. If you ambush me, I’ll punish you. If you disobey me, even once, I’ll punish you worse.”