The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld 13)

The little she-devil beat her fists into his lower back. "You might or might not have intimate knowledge of my body. You definitely know things I've said and done. The good, bad and ugly. You know if we parted as friends or foes. You know where we left off. I don't. That isn't a convenience for me but a nightmare."

Her fury doused his own, the need to comfort her rising. Memories offered a form of protection; they told you whom to trust and whom to revile, saved you from repeated mistakes, and created a clear path for your future.

Compassion bloomed, and he cursed. Another weakness, thanks to this woman.

Beyond them, servants sobbed. He glared at the sorry bunch. He might have to invest in earplugs for his entire staff--or slay them all.

"Back to work," he snapped.

A flurry of motion erupted as everyone obeyed.

He pounded up a flight of stairs, his hand flush against Cameo's ass as he maneuvered through different hallways. He couldn't wait to see her surrounded by his things, knew he would enjoy having her luscious scent--a mix of bergamot, rose and neroli--infuse his sheets... He would take great pleasure in presenting her with the gifts he'd collected for her. Would her face light up with delight? Or would she frown at him, all the world's sadness in her gaze?

Did it matter? After she departed, he had to do everything in his power to end his body's obsession with her. That meant erasing every trace of her from his home.

Can't share my bedroom with her. Not now, not ever.

He entered the room beside his. One he'd saved for--

A guest. Any guest.

With a swift kick, he shut the door behind him. He tossed his beautiful bundle onto the bed. Look away! The sight of Cameo splayed atop a mattress, any mattress, would only damage his defenses against her.

Lazarus focused on the bed itself. Each of the four posters had been uprooted from the forest and potted. Lush red leaves thrived, forming a canopy above. The comforter was made from flower petals imbued with summer Fae dust; those petals were softer than silk yet far more durable.

Cameo scrambled to an upright position and scanned the room.

He knew she'd cataloged every exit as well as everything she could use as a weapon, and he did the same. There was only one exit--the one he'd shut. At the hearth, a marble sky serpent stood sentry at each side, heat wafting from their open mouths. Weapons--the pokers balanced between their claws.

The dresser had been cut from an amethyst geode. Pieces could be chipped off and used to cut through vulnerable flesh.

The vanity had a solid gold top, too heavy for her to lift. The legs had been hand-carved to resemble sky serpents. Rubies lent an unnatural life to their eyes, while their tails curled into glimmering diamond points. The jewels could be removed with little effort.

The gilt mirror had once belonged to Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures and supposedly the most vicious of the Erinyes. Lazarus had been told simply peering into the glass would reveal the different paths to finding true love. So far he'd seen nothing but his reflection.

If Cameo desired weapons, she would have weapons. He would never interfere with her efforts to protect herself.

When her gaze landed on Lazarus, a flush painted her cheeks. He knew just how hot her flawless skin could burn, and his fingers itched to touch.

Resist! "You want a memory, sunshine. Here you go. Last time we were together, we kissed."

No, kissed was too mild a word. She'd been fire in his arms, with no hint of sadness or sorrow. She'd sucked on his tongue as if it were her favorite candy, had breathed his breath as if she'd needed him to survive, as if she would always need him. She'd been a live wire of passion.

She'd forgotten him so easily while his remembrance of her had the power to scorch him.

She stared at his lips and whispered, "We kissed. Nothing more?"

That voice! A burst of sorrow accompanied every word.

He comprehended the reason other people flinched and cried. They'd never experienced such a fervent punch of undiluted sadness. Lazarus had. Many times. First, after the brutal loss of Echidna. Then his inability to find and kill his father for the crimes committed against his mother. Then his centuries-long enslavement. Cameo's voice simply couldn't compare.

"We stripped and rolled around like two teenagers in an empty house." He hid the intensity of his desire for her behind a glib tone. "You writhed against me, begging for more, but I stopped before penetration." He'd had to work, trick and cajole to get her that far, and the wait was torturous...but the agony was worth every second of ecstasy.

He'd stopped because two of his men had burst into his room. And because she'd learned the truth--she hadn't been captured by an enemy intent on selling her goods and services, as he'd led her to believe; she had been tucked safely inside Lazarus's very own kingdom.

Breath hitched in her throat as her pulse raced. She desires me still... Lust threatened to raze his good intentions...until the tingling in his legs magnified.

Leave! Now!

Concern for her rooted him in place. Her wounds needed tending. Would his control snap when he got his hands on her?

"Why did you stop?" she rasped.

"We were--are--enemies," he croaked. Kick me out.

Her eyes widened. "Enemies. Because you hate me...hate what I am?"

"I don't hate you." He feared her and the power she wielded over him. He hungered for her like a man who'd been denied proper sustenance for years. "But I don't like you, either."

He expected her to recoil with hurt. Instead, she exuded acceptance.

His black heart shattered. How many times had this woman faced rejection?

My monomania will be respected at all times!

He cursed his growing sense of possession. This woman would never belong to him. He would always choose strength over weakness.

"Why are we enemies?" she insisted.

"I want you too much," he admitted with a snarl.

She gaped at him. Then she pressed her lips together. A habit he'd noticed before. And he got it, he really did. People despised her voice, and she despised their reaction to it.

"Use your words like a big girl," he said, purposely taunting her. He believed in the law of displacement. Like a glass set underneath a dripping faucet. Eventually it would fill up, and the liquid would spill out, leaving the container empty...and ready for something new. It had worked in the past, allowing him to manipulate her mood. Misery for anger, anger for passion. "Little girls get spanked."

She reached for a dagger no longer in her possession, then shook her empty fist at him. "Try and lose a hand."

"Only one?" He tsk-tsked. "Someone is practically begging to get spanked."

"Someone is wondering why she thought it would be a good idea to spend time with you."

"That's easy. You are addicted to my massive..."

She bowed up, preparing to attack.

"Wit," he finished, trying not to smile. Teasing her had always been a source of delight. For him.

With calculated grace, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "No worries, warrior. I can get wit anywhere."

An-n-nd he lost the desire to smile. Any male who dared wit her would be met by Lazarus's--

Handshake and hero's send-off. I will let her go.

Determined, he focused on the worst of her injuries. "You have multiple wounds, but I'll ensure you heal before you go. You'll have no scars, or what I like to call love buttons." There w

ould be nothing to remind her of their newest interaction. If the demon decided to wipe her memory clean once again.

Now hurt twisted her expression, and the sight was nearly his undoing. Did she want to stay with him?

She rebounded quickly and buffed her nails. "Don't bother with patch work. I refer to bandages as sissy support."

"I'll bother. Otherwise you won't heal." He strode into the en suite, where he found the salve made with winter Fae ice.

He hadn't saved it for Cameo. Of course he hadn't. Helping the only female capable of hurting him? No! Such an action would have been foolish.

What are you doing now?

Ensuring she lived long enough to travel home. Nothing more.

He swallowed a growl and returned to the room to crouch before the dark-haired beauty. Her intoxicating scent enveloped him, his mouth watering for a taste. Perhaps he'd steal a kiss, a single kiss, before he began his "patch work." He'd promised to pick up where they'd left off, and he always kept his promises...

The rest of the world faded as he leaned into her...

Her breath hitched, maddening him further, but also returning him to reality.

Damn her appeal!

With his attention fixed anywhere but her too lovely face...and perfectly rounded hips...and the long, lean legs she'd once wrapped around his waist...he cleaned her wounds and applied the salve.

"Must get you home," he grated.

"When we part," she said softly, "I'm not going home. Not until I find the goddess of the Afterlife and--" She pressed her lips together.

And...what? Or who? If she sought another man, Lazarus would--

Nothing.

"Your moods change lightning fast," she said. "Are you manstruating?"

He suppressed a laugh. Then he probed the outer recesses of her mind a final time, nearly grunting with relief and triumph when he realized she had inadvertently lowered the shield.

She also searched for Pandora's box.

He experienced a flare of guilt. Should he admit she'd come close to finding it? The last time they were together, the artifact had been inches away.

He'd stopped her from making a play for it, and in the process stopped its guardian from awakening, and Cameo from dying, her spirit forever stuck in the phantom realms.

Lazarus would have been stuck with the key to his downfall.

So he'd led her away from the box, knowing he could return for it at any time. He'd even played with the idea once or twice. But why mess with a working system?

He ignored the guilt, remained silent and dug deeper into her mind. Well, well. She had secrets of her own. The little minx hadn't mentioned the box because she didn't trust him and she didn't know how he would react to Misery. She actually believed he would seek her destruction.