The Darkest Destiny (Lords of the Underworld 15.50)

When her tears waned, she sagged against him once more, her eyelids sliding closed. Soon, her breathing evened out. He finished cleaning her, then shut off the water, dried her off and carried her to the bed, where he tucked her in. He should tell his brother and Farrow he’d found her, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. When she woke, he would be here.

Abandon her? Never again.

“Brochan?” she said, her voice slurred once more, fighting sleep.

“Yes, kitten?”

“You are in love with me.”

“I…might be,” he croaked.

“I must be pretty special then,” she said and exhaled slowly, drifting away at last.

He stripped out of his soaked clothing and climbed in beside her, careful of her injuries. Just as carefully, he repositioned her, molding his chest against her back and spreading a wing beneath her. Oh, the rightness of this… How perfectly she fit against him, her body molded to his.

If he had lost her—a roar of denial barreled down his tongue, but he clamped his teeth before the barest sound escaped. Startle her? No.

Fluffy jumped onto the bed and settled in on Viola’s other side.

Even in sleep, she sensed the pet’s nearness and mumbled nonsense while reaching for him. The way I want her to reach for me.

Brochan hadn’t slept since her disappearance, but he remained too keyed up to drift off.

He clung to his mate as if she were a lifeline. Perhaps she was. For the first time in his existence, satisfaction danced within his reach. He had his goddess in his arms…but she might demand to leave him when she awoke. Forsaken hunted her for a key she didn’t have, and the warriors would never believe the truth.

He must deal with the Forsaken as soon as possible, one way or another. He must win Viola, as well. Could he? Soon, she would give him the test.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Still his mind whirred. And what of Fluffy? The animal would require continued nourishment. He wished he could give the pet his immortality, charging him for the rest of eternity. Although…

An idea struck. What if there was a way? If it failed, Fluffy could die. But if it succeeded…

The beloved “fur-baby” might live forever, no other batteries necessary.

Whatever Brochan did, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—cut his brother from his life, and that was what Viola would ask of him. He knew it. She expected total adoration, nothing less.

So how could Brochan win her, keep his brother, and save Fluffy?

Chapter Thirteen

Warm and relaxed, Viola stretched. Lights in her mind gradually brightened, and she cracked open her eyelids. Hey! This wasn’t the land of the lost. Instead, the master bedroom she’d never thought to see again walled her in. She lay in a soft bed, surrounded by softer wings. Familiar wings. But…surely, he wasn’t…

She gulped. Maybe he had. Even breaths caught her attention.

Heart drumming, she craned her neck. Oh, yes. Brochan curled up behind her, one of his legs wedged between her knees. Her eyes widened. Had he ever looked so beautiful? The morning brightness highlighted everything she admired about him: long lashes, freckles, and those mouthwatering horns. They curled back, resting against messy dark hair. He had pointed ears! A delightful trait she hadn’t noticed before.

How had—? Memories of his rescue flooded in, and she gasped. Oh, my. How positively savage he’d been.

Movement drew her attention to Fluffy, who lay before her with his tummy exposed and all four legs extended in the air. Smiling, she kissed his precious face and maneuvered onto her other side, facing Brochan, only then realizing her hand had regrown.

Another smile broke free as she combed her fingers through her companion’s silken hair and toyed with the tip of his ear. He murmured something and leaned into her touch.

I’m winning him, body and soul. He believed he was falling in love with her.

Had he forgiven her for her crimes? Maybe? Possibly? If he could pardon her, when he had more reason than most to hate her, shouldn’t she pardon herself? She wasn’t the girl she used to be. She had confidence now—genuine confidence. The demon had played its best cards, but she’d come out on top.

I will find a way, it growled, its whisper thready.

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed, only to gasp as surprise popped like a balloon inside her head, raining confetti. The fiend was losing its grip on her, weakening while she remained strong.

What a heady realization! She’d have to be careful, though. From experience, she knew how easy it was to slip into old habits and patterns. Which meant she needed to be honest with herself every second of every day. Even the sweetest lie led to bitter regret. So. She would remain aware, always. Test her own motives and intentions. She wouldn’t lash out at others in order to feel more powerful. She wouldn’t exchange real confidence for the demon’s fabricated overconfidence.