The Darkest Torment (Lords of the Underworld 12)

“Eyes up here, lass.”

Cheeks heating, she looked up—and gasped. He had the most mesmerizing face, a rival to William. He had dark skin and dark eyes, an aquiline nose and blade-thin lips. His hair was long and black with razors woven through the strands. And he had horns! Small and curved, but definitely there. They rose from the crown of his head. Wide shoulders led to strong arms and clawed hands.

Claws... Monster!

Can’t be real, can’t be real. A hallucination?

“I was told I could aid you,” he said. “That we could aid each other. I wasn’t told you belonged to William of the Dark, or that you were sick. And human.” He sneered the last, as if there was something wrong with her race. “What are you doing with a male of his...reputation?”

“Wh-who are you?” she asked.

He frowned and reached for a lock of her hair. She cringed, and his frown deepened. Still, no emotion touched his eyes as he dropped his arm to his side.

“I’m Pukinn.”

Puck-en. Never heard of him.

“You may call me Puck. I’m the keeper of Indifference.”

So. He was one of the demon-possessed warriors, but not one of the ones she’d met. He hadn’t stolen and opened Pandora’s box. He’d... She racked her brain and dug up a vague memory about the leftover demons being given to the prisoners of Tartarus, a prison for immortals.

Her mind played a little word-association game: prison...criminal...dangerous...no moral compass—and the panic kicked into high gear.

The man sighed again, as if disappointed with her. “I’m not sure you can aid me, but I think I’ll allow you to try. I’ll return after you’ve gotten used to the idea.” With that, he stalked to the balcony, climbed the rail and jumped.

Gillian sagged against the mattress, a fine sheen of sweat covering her skin. Gradually, though, her heartbeat slowed and the sweat cooled.

By the time William returned to check on her, she felt normal again. Well, as normal as could be, considering she was dying. He paused halfway to the bed, sniffed the air and frowned, then looked her over.

She opened her mouth to tell him all about her visitor, only to change her mind. The guy—Puck—hadn’t hurt her and if she mentioned him, William would hunt him down. Maybe kill him. Definitely torture him. She’d heard stories about William’s expert torture techniques and absolute love for the task.

Which made her comfortableness with him even stranger.

“You up for seeing another doctor, poppet?”

“My lord...sir,” an unfamiliar voice said. Only then did Gilly notice a short, rounded man with scales instead of skin standing beside him. “I’ve spoken to my colleagues, and we agree. She has morte ad vitam and as you know, there’s no cure.”

* * *

“Remember. Come on! Remember.” Cameo, keeper of Misery, pulled at her hair, banged her fists into her temples and when that failed, banged her forehead into the wall. No matter what she did, her mind remained a blank slate.

Frustration ate at what little control she had left. Ever since her possession, she’d experienced memory loss whenever she stumbled upon a road that would lead to her happiness. A few weeks ago, ancient artifacts had sucked her into a different realm. Apparently. She couldn’t remember, which meant someone she’d met or something there had the power to change her life for the better.

The guys told her she’d mentioned a name upon her return home. Lazarus.

Lazarus, Lazarus, Lazarus.

Still no memory, only a vague craving for chocolate...

Were the two linked?

Of course, the answer eluded her.

With a screech, she picked up the biggest vase on her dresser and threw the stupid thing across her bedroom. Glass shattered, pieces tinkling to the floor. One taste of happiness she could stroke like a lover deep into the night, that’s all she wanted. But noooo. It wasn’t even possible in her imagination.

There had to be a way to remember Lazarus. Whoever he was. Was he the road to her happiness?

Her bedroom door burst open, the hinges shattering just as surely as the vase. Maddox stalked inside, a dagger palmed and at the ready. His violet gaze scanned every shadow in the room in a single second, and she knew he’d already cataloged every bit of damage.

“I’m fine,” she said, and he cringed. Everyone always cringed.

Had Lazarus?

Don’t think about him.

Rather than saying anything else, she shooed Maddox away with her hands.

He stood his ground. “You don’t look like you’re fine.”