The Darkest Destiny (Lords of the Underworld 15.50)

He’d done it. He’d succumbed to temptation at long last, taking what his brother was soon to die for—this woman’s every touch.

He was a terrible sibling, and a worse father. He deserved a severe beating. What’s more, he’d taken what Viola wouldn’t have given him if other males had been present.

As she stirred beneath him, unveiling a satisfied smile, his chest clenched. His shame magnified when he spied streaks of white on her dress. And yet, already he hungered for her anew.

Though he crumbled on the inside, he hardened on the outside. How did she do this to him?

He whipped off his shirt, only then realizing he’d left it on, forgoing the pleasure of skin-to-skin contact. A mistake he wouldn’t make again. Or ever. Because he would not touch her a second time. Definitely not a third.

Tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, he wiped her dress before standing. He looked anywhere but at the goddess as he zipped up. “Fix your clothing.” Please. Before his mind short-circuited.

Sounding both sad and angry, she said, “You’re going to make me regret what happened here, aren’t you?” She eased into a seated position. “Well, no need to scold me for being so wanton with you. Narcissism has decided to punish me on your behalf.”

Confusion struck. What did she mean? Punish her? Punish her how? And why? She’d gotten everything she’d wanted—his total surrender.

Scowling, he reached out to offer her a hand. “We should head back to the palace.”

“Oh yes, you’re going to make me regret what happened,” she muttered, standing under her own steam.

He gave her dress time to fall into place before facing her.

The first thing he noticed? The flicker of pain flashing in her whiskey eyes. Then her lips parted, a moan slipping free. The color draining from her cheeks. Rubbing her temples, she lamented, “Not here. Not now.”

Her knees gave out, and she collapsed.

Brochan flapped his wings, catching her before she hit the ground. “What’s wrong?” Merely a trick? Or had he harmed her somehow? He swept her against his chest.

“They’re rising. All of them. Flooding me.” She pulled at hanks of her hair. “Make them stop!”

Concern swamped him. “Tell me what’s wrong, Viola. Now!” Before he razed the realm.

“Don’t you see? I’m unlovable,” she cried, sobbing. Anguished. “I’m so ugly inside. So so so so so so so so ugly. You should kill me, Brochan. Yes! Kill me.” Desperate, she sank her little claws into his pectorals, peering up at him through heartbreaking eyes. Tears poured down her cheeks. “I don’t deserve to live for what I did to McCadden. You want to do the deed, and you should. Please.”

Razors slashed at his insides. What was even happening right now? His mind could not process this. “Viola?”

“I’m as horrid as the demon. Worthy only of suffering. I promise I won’t fight you when you strike. Okay? All right? Just…swear you’ll make it hurt. For the sake of justice, I should perish screaming.” New sobs bubbled from her. “Please, Brochan. The truth has never been so clear.”

How earnest she appeared. How broken she sounded. Something cracked inside his chest, acid leaking out, spilling into his veins. He’d followed this female for months, yet he’d never witnessed anything like this, every ounce of her confidence stripped away. The demon—

Comprehension dawned, and he narrowed his eyes. The demon. Narcissism did this—with my help. The punishment she’d mentioned.

Great adoration equaled great self-love. Great disdain after great adoration meant greater self-hatred. No wonder she sought to prevent this, whatever lines she must cross. Who could endure it?

The acid scorched layer upon layer of his fury, leaving only raw instinct. He acted without thought. Nuzzling his scruffy cheek against her damp one, he said, “I think you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld. I have craved you since the moment I first spied you.”

She went still. “You have?” Her nose wrinkled, her brows drawing together. She opened and closed her mouth as if not sure how to reply.

Different emotions flared in her incredible eyes. Misery gave way to surprise, then uncertainty, which gradually dulled, revealing assurance.

“Brochan, that’s just so…shallow of you. I, at least, notice a person’s intelligence first.” She canted her head, pensive. “Although, I suppose I’ll have to forgive you. Because I have such a gracious heart and all. The most gracious!”

Relief poured through him, and he gripped her tighter. Gut-wrenching tension eased. Her confidence had returned, and he prayed it never faded again.

He had some thinking to do, he realized. Some new decisions to make.

“Oh, goodness.” With a tinkling laugh, she dabbed at her rosy skin. “I’m so glad I’m a pretty crier.”

“The prettiest,” they said in unison, and she lifted her chin higher.

“Let’s return to your story about first spying me.” She settled comfortably into the cradle of his arms, nestling against him. “Tell me every thought you entertained about my every feature. Start with my silken hair and hypnotizing eyes. Leave nothing out.”