The Darkest King (Lords of the Underworld 15)

More screams erupted, each one shriller than the last. More and more barbarians crumpled. Thud, thud, thud. Like music to my ears. A decapitated head tumbled past Scum’s feet, followed by another and another. He inhaled as deeply as his mutilated lungs allowed, satisfaction fizzing in his veins.

Finally, Scum was the last male standing. And yet, the smoke did not strike at him. No, it circled him. Taking his measure? He crouched and raised his chin. He wanted this. What did he have to live for?

The smoke thinned, and a tall, muscular man appeared. He held a scythe and looked like Death, with tanned skin, black hair and blacker eyes. A never-ending abyss. He wore leather pants, but no shirt, displaying an array of piercings and tattoos on his bare chest. Blood splattered his face and torso, and dripped from his weapon.

Beside him stood an equally blood-splattered teenager with golden skin, a mop of pale curls and blue eyes. His son?

Death raised the scythe, preparing to deliver the final blow. Yes. Yes! But their gazes met and held, and Death paused, his expression a tapestry of emotion: determination, fury, dismay, regret, even guilt.

“You have his eyes,” Death stated baldly, his voice rumbly and rough.

“His?” The barest flicker of hope sparked in Scum’s chest. Was he to learn about his family mere seconds before he died? “You know my father?”

“I do...and I do not.”

“What does that mean?” he snapped, out of patience.

“Exactly what I said. No one truly knows your father.” Death continued to raise the scythe...only to lower it, without striking.

What? No, no, no. “Go on. Do it!”

With a tone as harsh as Claw’s beating, Death said, “You dare to command me?”

“Yes! So kill me already.”

Those dark abyss eyes narrowed. “Do you know who I am, child?”

“You are Death.” Why deny it? “You are as evil as the ones you killed.”

“I am nothing like them. I’m worse.” He leaned forward, as if he had a secret to impart. “However, Death is one of my designations.”

Designations?

“You may call me Hades,” the male continued. “I am the underworld king of kings, and I’ve searched the worlds for you.”

Scum tapped his bruised chest, the chains rattling. “Me? Why?” Had they met before? What did he know about Hades?

To his shock, details sprang from the deepest recesses of his mind. One of twelve kings of the underworld. Known for his coldness and cruelty. He killed without hesitation or mercy, and dealt ruthlessly with anyone who broke his only rule—obey him at all times, in all ways. He possessed no moral compass, and had no concerns with right and wrong.

“My reasons are my own and always subject to change,” Hades replied. “This is my adopted son, Prince Lucifer.” He patted the top of the teenager’s head, his many rings glittering in the firelight. “Do you know who you are?”

The boy did not like the pat. The corners of his eyes twitched, the beginning of a scowl. But, in a blink, his expression blanked.

“I do...not,” Scum admitted, glancing between father and son. Jealousy flared. Oh, to have a family. Someone who would love him unconditionally, adore and protect him.

“Your name is William. It means determined protector,” Hades said, a note of relish in his tone. “I have decided to make you my son, just as I did with Lucifer. You will be my protector. My hand of vengeance.”

William... A real name, and a purpose. Both resonated with him, sparking... What was that? His first taste of happiness?

The king added, “You will learn the intricacies of magic, and how to fight to win, no matter the odds stacked against you. I will ensure you become your own rescuer.”

Yes, yes. He wanted those things. But... “Why do you wish to make me your son? Sons are prized.” According to Claw, Scum—William—had no worth outside of his regeneration.

Hades crouched a few inches away, the sweet fragrance of roses emanating from him. “Do you know what you are, William?”

He gave his head another shake, his too-long, dirt-clumped hair slapping his cheeks. “I only know I’m not human.” Sometimes, when rage overtook him, ambrosia-scented smoke wafted from his back, and flashes of lightning streaked below the surface of his skin.

Smoke... His heart raced. Could Hades be his true father?

“You are right,” Hades said. “You are not human. You are so much better, so much stronger. And one day, all the worlds will quake before you.”

Prologue

Part Two

The Realm of Maradelle

Sixteen years later

Beams of golden light spilled from a blazing firepit, chasing away night’s shadows. Tendrils of sandalwood-scented smoke curled up, up, creating a dreamlike haze as witches wearing see-through scarves danced around the flames, tempting and luring the audience. Warlocks pounded on drums, creating a sensual beat.

The entire village considered the sons of Hades gods of the underworld. And they weren’t wrong. Though a more accurate title for William might be “god killer” and “goddess seducer.” Over the years, he’d become Hades’s go-to assassin and spy.

The bulk of William’s targets were Wrathlings, a horde of different species working together to rid the worlds of demons, dragons-shifters, vampires and witches. The supposedly evil races.

“Which one do you want? Her, her or her?” Lucifer nudged William’s shoulder with his own. They sat with the husbands of the dancers, forming a circle around the firepit. “Or do you want to bed them one after the other, assembly line–style?”

The same way they liked to kill their enemies.

William pursed his lips. Anytime they visited, they had their pick of females. Anyone they’d like. Married or single, it mattered not.

“You take half, and I’ll take half,” Lucifer added.

“Tsk-tsk. Shouldn’t you abstain?” Tomorrow Lucifer would be wedding their princess, Evelina Maradelle. The only child of a dragon-shifter empress and the warlock lord who ruled this realm.

From birth, Evelina had been kept under lock and key. Not even Lucifer had seen her. Only her parents had the honor. And Hades, of course, who had arranged the union, claiming the girl was beautiful beyond imagining, kind despite a violent temper and incomparably powerful.

Lucifer tried to pull off a scowl, but a snicker got the better of him. William snickered, too. The marriage would change nothing. Why should it? Most people treated their vows as a suggestion.

Most? Try all. He’d never met anyone willing to remain true to their spouse.

If a married woman doesn’t wish to honor her union, why should I?

“The princess won’t affect my life,” Lucifer said. “Nothing will. Nothing should.”

“Agreed. Why mess with perfection?” And life as a twentysomething-year-old immortal prince was perfect.

William had a father he loved more than life, and a brother he appreciated. Each morning, he trained with the pair, as well as survivalists, honing his combat skills and learning to overcome the worst situations. At night, he indulged his every carnal desire, pleasure at his disposal.

So his birth family hadn’t wanted him. So they thought the world would be better off without him. So what? He ignored the tightening in his chest. His new family enjoyed his company, and his lovers couldn’t get enough of him. They plied him with affection and acceptance. The true gifts of life.

Who am I kidding? I’m a true gift of life. What? It wasn’t bragging if it was true. He had wealth, beauty and an array of memories no one could ever take from him. He wielded magic more powerful than any warlock here and possessed supernatural powers others envied. He could flash or portal anywhere in any world, control demons and spark fear and loathing in enemies and allies alike. When enraged, he produced wings of smoke. Soon, he would rule his own principalit

y—a kingdom within Hades’s territory—just like Lucifer. What more did he need? What could be better?

So why am I still unhappy? Why couldn’t he let go of a past he couldn’t remember, or forget the past he despised?

Only twice had he questioned Hades about the boy from his first memory. Both times, he’d received the same response. Trust me. You’re better off not knowing.

Though he craved answers the same way a drowning man craved air, he couldn’t bring himself to push for more. Not after everything Hades had done for him.

Lucifer passed him a carafe of ambrosia-laced whiskey, saying, “The blonde can’t take her eyes off you, brother.”