The Darkest Captive (Lords of the Underworld 14.5)
Come on…take another peek… This time, try not to scratch my priceless exterior. Kidding, only kidding. I want you to scratch my exterior—mostly my posterior—I just don’t want you to rip out my engine with your bare claws.
I promise I will never hurt you. I will only hurt other people…a lot of other people…like, countless other people, but NEVER you. So, what do you say? Will you go on the best date of your life with me?
Yours,
Galen the Eager
PS: I know I’m giving you the hard sell here, but I’m certain you’ll thank me later.
* * * *
My dearest Honey,
What can I do to prove myself to you? Or at least get a response? I’d be happy with a single word on the dusty window. Wait. Shit! You weren’t taught to read or write when you lived in hell, were you?
Well. That sucks donkey balls. How am I supposed to let you know there’s no line I won’t cross for you, no deed too dark?
At least you don’t have to hear today’s tone: humiliatingly earnest.
Whatever. I’m still going to finish this letter just in case I’m wrong.
The war raging between Hades and Lucifer is spreading through different realms in the underworld and even spilling into the mortal world. Every day the battles grow more violent. I know you consider Hades a friend, and think he’s protecting you and all—and he is, for the moment—but sooner or later, the violence WILL reach your door, and you’ll be on your own.
I don’t want you on your own.
If you leave with me, you’ll get 24/7 care, and a huge benefits package. I can’t oversell that benefits package. Your safety, well-being, and satisfaction in a job well done will be my top priorities, I swear it.
I want to protect you. I NEED to protect you. Please, let me.
If you’re afraid of me…please, don’t be afraid of me. I’m a changed man. Well, maybe not changed, per se. “Changed” suggests there was something wrong with the old, perfect me. But. I’m considering the possibility of maybe thinking about becoming a tweaked man. You know, being even more perfect.
I’m not asking for a chance this time. I’m begging for one.
Yours,
Galen the Desperate
PS: If you think I’m hot, charming, and a treasure worth fighting for, do NOT reply to this message.
Chapter One
Possessed by the two worst demons imaginable. Villain extraordinaire. Lover of cheap wines and expensive women. Angel impersonator. Immortal assassin. Absentee dad to a twenty-something Harpy who hated his guts for a thousand different reasons. Galen was all of those things, and more.
Most people had a demon on one shoulder and a cherub on the other. He had two demons—False Hope and Jealousy. In other words, he had a corruptionscience rather than a conscience. The fiends fed on destruction, and they were always ravenous.
Throughout the endless eons of his existence, he’d lied to friends and enemies alike, cheated without a second thought, stolen whatever he desired, and killed with wild abandon. Play by the rules, and lose to a rule breaker.
He broke the rules better than anyone.
He would do anything to protect what he valued. Maybe because there were so few things he actually valued? At the top of the short list was his friend and adopted daughter Fox, who was—ironically enough—the keeper of Distrust yet the only person he trusted. In second place, his many homes. In the final slot, Legion. If she’d given him any encouragement, she would have moved to #2. But nooooo. Persistently stubborn, she continued to deny their connection. Plus, she distracted the shit out of him.
In a way, she reminded him of his demons. Which made sense. Once upon a time, Legion had been a daughter of hell—a literal demon—working 9 to 5 torturing souls. A true cutthroat business. To become human and retain her immortality, she’d made a deal with Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness.
Galen suspected the deal had somehow included the loss of his sanity.
From the beginning, his obsession with Legion had proved baffling. Always before, he’d gravitated to bad girls who pretended to be good. Maybe because he’d pretended to be a good guy for centuries—a literal angel—and he’d seen himself in his lovers.
So, basically, he’d dated himself?
Yeah, the logic checked out 100%. What wasn’t to love about a supervillain willing to do anything to accomplish a task or crush a goal?
Legion was the exact opposite: a good girl pretending to be bad. But even still, this particular pretender had two superpowers no one else had ever possessed. 1) the ability to make Galen focus on the future, his shitshow of past and present inconsequential. 2) the ability to strip away layers of hard won sophistication, leaving a primitive caveman desperate for sex.
How did she do it?
Like you don’t know. If ever Galen had created a woman from scratch, he would have used Legion as the template. She had the dangerous curves of a femme fatale, topped off with a silky waterfall of dark blonde curls his hands itched to fist. Black spiky lashes framed eyes the color of whiskey—eyes just as intoxicating. Lush red lips tempted all who gazed upon them, silently promising to escort sinners to heaven.
Her personality only added to her appeal. With a tantalizing vicious streak, an affinity for anything princess, surprising strengths, and agonizing vulnerabilities, she suited needs Galen had never known he’d had.
He needed to get her into his bed. Gentleman extraordinaire, he would only keep her there a few months. Maybe a few years. A mere blip when you were immortal. After he’d touched and tasted every inch of her, taken her in every position imaginable, and brought her to climax, oh, about a thousand times, her effect on him would be neutralized, probably, and he could focus his energy on war. So simple. So easy.
But first, he had to save her life.
Earlier tonight, one of Galen’s enemies had sent an army to abduct Fox. An attempt to hobble him, since she was more than a friend; she was his right-hand woman. The list of potential suspects contained only two names.
--Lucifer, prick to the max
--Cronus, former Titan king who’d died…kind of
The attempt hadn’t ended as the bastard had hoped. Whichever bastard happened to be responsible. Fox had gotten away with only minor wear and tear. Galen remained irked. Because, as an encore, his enemy decided to abduct Legion, a fragile flower who withered at the first hint of violence. Not counting the time she’d tried to murder Galen, of course.
A god or king going to all this effort, simply to strike at big, bad Galen? Or maybe the culprit wanted to force his hand. A do this or the girl dies kind of thing.
Hey, asshole. Galen from Ancient Greece called. He wants his plan back.
Galen would find and behead the POS. After he slaughtered the horde of immortal soldiers marching toward Legion’s cabin. Priorities.
Your efforts are in vain. You can’t save her. The soldiers will find her first. She’ll die cursing your name…
He ground his teeth. Hate False Hope! The fiend perverted true hope, inciting fear—a twisted hope for the worst to happen. I will do anything, cross any line, to reach Legion before the soldiers.
Determined, he rushed around gnarled trees, pushed past tangled limbs, and jumped over massive buttress roots. Sweat trickled from his temples, beaded on the back of his neck, and ran in rivulets down the muscles in his torso. The scent of pine and jasmine clung to his skin while leaves and insects burrowed in his wings.
Wings, man. The snow white, feathery monstrosities were both a blessing and a curse. His appearance said, Come closer, touch… The moment someone complied—boom! Galen would strike. Very few people knew he’d only grown the wings after his demon-possession. A gift from False Hope.
Re-gift, anyone?
Though Galen had exceptional night vision honed from centuries of training, he could not see through the thick, pervasive darkness that currently cloaked the realm. If not for the crimson laser shooting from the eyes of his robo guide pigeon, he would
have been blinded. Soon, the sun would rise and the soldiers would have the advantage.
Faster! He’d been sprinting for hours. Now, extreme exhaustion plagued him. His lungs burned as if he inhaled acid rather than oxygen, and his limbs trembled so fervently, his bones felt like tuning forks. Blisters had formed and burst on his feet, filling his combat boots with blood. His heart hammered against his ribs at warp-speed, setting the pace for his legs. Almost there.
The closer he got to Legion, the better he scented her. Wildflowers and temptation.
He could reach her quicker if he could fly, but air-piranha greeted anyone who dared soar above the treetops. Beasts able to eat a man’s flesh and muscle in seconds, leaving only bones and death. Galen knew because he’d once tossed a man up there. My bad.
Flashing—moving from one place to another with only a thought—wasn’t an option, either. The moment you materialized in another location, the air-piranha materialized around you.