The Darkest Passion

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

AERON LAID OLIVIA ON HIS BED as gently as possible. The swelling was gone, her cuts and bones healed, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Legion was absent, and he was glad for that. He didn’t know where she was; all he knew was that he couldn’t deal with her right now. His darling Olivia…when he’d found her…

His hands fisted. Wrath screamed for vengeance, and Aeron wanted to give it to him. Now. No waiting. He wanted Lucien to flash him to wherever Olivia had been held and just start killing. Actually, the “want” was more of a need, like breathing and eating. But the cowards had already run away, the warehouse empty. That much Lucien had told him before carting him into that alley. Not that that mattered to his demon.

Clearly Olivia had been beaten, tormented. Lucien had told him her energy had been bright red with pain and fear. Aeron didn’t care what he had to do to find Galen. He was going to do it and finally kill the bastard.

Slow and painful, Wrath said.

Slow and painful, he agreed. First, though, he would battle past those dark urges and have his promised chat with Olivia. Her comfort, her needs, came before everything. And also, he couldn’t punish Galen properly until he knew exactly what the asshole had done to his woman.

He was going to punish him properly.

Relax. For Olivia. Aeron crouched beside the bed and Olivia rolled to her side, maintaining eye contact. “I would’ve understood if you’d gone…home during Galen’s interrogation,” he said. In fact, he would have preferred it if she had. He would rather have lost her forevermore than know that she’d suffered.

“I didn’t want to leave. Yet. I had to make sure you got this.” She lifted a small piece of folded gray material. “It’s the Cloak of Invisibility.”

For a moment, he could only blink in astonishment. Then he shook his head and laughed. His first in forever, it seemed. This tiny woman, this fallen angel, had done what an army of immortals had not been able to do. She’d stolen the third artifact from under the Hunters’ noses—and she’d trounced Galen in the process. Pride swelled his chest.

Reward.

First the demon had wanted to chastise Legion, now Wrath wanted to give Olivia a prize. We’re on the same page, demon. “Thank you. Not that those two little words express the depths of my gratitude, but thank you all the same.”

“You’re welcome. So, what do you think of it? The artifact, I mean.”

“Looks so small.” He studied it from every angle. So innocuous, too. “How does it—”

“Cover an entire body? It expands as you unfold it.”

He didn’t want to leave her, even for a second, but he had to ensure the Cloak’s protection. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, and she nodded.

He kissed her forehead, then stood reluctantly, practically sprinting from the room. The first warrior he ran into was—Strider. Again. Aeron shoved the material into his hands and said, “Cloak of Invisibility. Give it to Torin for safekeeping. Thanks.” There. Done. Not his problem anymore. And then he was off, heading back to his room.

Strider caught up to him just before he reached the door, grabbing his arm and jerking him to a stop. “How did you get this?”

“Later.”

“Fine. Deets about the Cloak are on hold. We’ve got more important things to discuss, anyway.”

“Later.” He only had five days left with Olivia—if he could convince her to stay for the rest of that time. If not… Hell, no. He would. He was a warrior. He would act like one. Victory, at any cost.

Heaven. Any cost.

Two against one. He liked his odds. Then, when their time was up, then he’d finally have his vengeance.

“This can’t wait,” Strider insisted.

“Too bad.” His fingers curled around the knob.

His friend gave another jerk.

Aeron swung around, scowling. “Let go of me, man. I’m busy.”

“For news like I’ve got, you need to make time for me. ’Cause, here we go. You’re about to lose your head. Literally. I wanted to break it to you gently, but you were too much of an ass.”

He froze. “What do you mean, lose my head? How do you know?”

“Danika painted a new picture. In it, your head was detached from your body.”

He was going to die? So far, Danika’s paintings had never been proven wrong. The Lords hoped they could change some of their outcomes, sure, but had never really learned whether they could or not. Which meant it was more than likely that he was going to die.

He waited for rage to fill him. It didn’t. He waited for sadness to overwhelm him. It didn’t. He waited for the urge to drop to his knees and cry and beg for more time to claim him. Again, it didn’t.

He’d lived for thousands of years. And now, having met Olivia, he’d led a full and glorious life. Because he’d loved. His friends, definitely. His surrogate daughter, Legion, despite her recent actions. But mostly Olivia. He loved her. He could deny the emotion no longer. She was his. She was Wrath’s. Their reason for being. The source of their happiness. Their obsession.

Their heaven.

He would have chased her all over the world, just for a few more minutes of her time. Minutes. Perhaps all they had left now, he mused, rather than the days he’d thought to fight for. She was his everything, and he wasn’t going to waste any more of their remaining time away from her.

Finally, he understood the humans. They didn’t beg for more time because they wanted to spend what they had left enjoying each other. Not wishing for what could have been.

Wrath must have understood, as well. The demon wasn’t crying, wasn’t urging him to change his course. Without the angel, they had nothing. And as long as they completed their mission—Galen’s destruction—they could die happy.

“Aeron,” Strider prompted.

He forced himself back to the present. “Who takes my head?” He would still have to be with Legion. That couldn’t change. He wouldn’t allow his friends to deal with a mess of his creation without him, but he would take care of that once Olivia was gone and avenged. And then, then he could die in peace. It would be better that way, anyway. He didn’t want to live without his Olivia.

Now he wouldn’t have to.

“Lysander. I think. Cronus and Rhea are there. I’ve talked to the others and we decided—”

“Later,” he said. What the others speculated didn’t matter right now. If they didn’t have facts, they didn’t have anything he needed. “Tell me later. I appreciate the warning, but like I said, I’m busy now.” He pushed his way back into his bedroom and shut the door, his gaze remaining on Strider until the wood blocked them.

Any other time, the confusion and concern on Strider’s face would have made him laugh.

There was a knock. “Aeron. Come on, man.”

“Go away or I swear to the gods I’ll cut out your tongue and nail it to my wall.”

That earned a growl. “Shut your mouth, Wrath. I’m trying to ignore the challenge in your tone, but it’s not working. Now listen. We can’t lose you. We can’t go through something like that again. We just can’t.” As he spoke, Strider pounded at the wood. “You remember how it was after Baden.”

Not going there. Aeron opened the door, punched his friend in the face and shut it again.

Only a heartbeat later, Strider opened the door himself, punched Aeron twice, smiled sweetly, although a bit sadly, and replaced the block between them. “I won. As for the other thing, you’ve got thirty minutes, and then every single one of us will be inside that room to talk to you. Understand?”

“Yes.” Unfortunately.

Footsteps echoed.

Behind him, Aeron heard Olivia sit up. “What’s he talking about? Losing you? And why were you punching each other?”

At the sound of her voice, Wrath uttered a sigh of contentment.

Slowly Aeron turned and faced her. Having her worry wasn’t something he would allow, so he offered her a grin, one he hoped conveyed everything he felt for her. Perhaps it did. Her eyes widened, and she nervously licked her lips.

“Ignore him. I think he’s suffering from brain damage.” Which wasn’t necessarily a lie. Aeron had always considered the warrior a bit deranged. “Besides, we have unfinished business. I’ve never had you in a bed, and I really want you in a bed.”

Yes!

At first, she gave no reaction. Then, before panic could bloom inside him at the thought of a rejection—no!—she reached up to the collar of her robe and pulled. The material parted, revealing those beautiful breasts with their pink, pearled nipples, that smooth stomach and those long, perfect legs.

“I would like that.”

Yes, yes.

A tremor traveled the length of him, his shaft filling, hardening. He stalked toward her, stripping along the way. A process that included kicking off his boots and stumbling over himself because he refused to stop, even for a second. Skin to skin. That’s what he needed. When he reached her, he was as naked as she was. He crawled up her luscious body, settling some of his weight atop her.

Perfect. Heat, so much heat. They both hissed in a breath. She closed her eyes and arched against him, even as her hands clutched at his back. Her neck was exposed, her pulse hammering wildly. Her lips were parted, and her hair in tangles around her shoulders.

Passion had never looked more exquisite.

He should have spent every minute of their half hour pleasuring her senseless. Licking her, tasting her, sucking her. He should have started at her toes and worked his way to her mouth. He should have lingered over her thighs and her breasts. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had to be inside her, couldn’t go another minute without being joined, totally and completely, with her.

“Lock your ankles on my back,” he commanded.

She didn’t hesitate. Obeyed instantly.

The moment she was opened up to him, he was shoving inside. Deep, so deep. As deep as he could go. A moan left her, because it wasn’t the easiest of fits. His second thrust was a little smoother, though, and his third a rapturous glide.

“Aeron,” she gasped out.

Mine.

Ours. Learn to share, Wrath. I’ve had to. He braced his hands at her temples and rose, just a little, drinking her in while he moved in and out, in and out. He couldn’t have stilled had Galen burst into the room and placed a gun to his head. This woman delighted him, frustrated him, enraptured him, angered him…belonged to him. As he belonged to her. He wanted to brand her, so that she’d never forget him. He wanted to erase himself from her memory, so that she’d never remember him.

He didn’t want her to suffer when they parted. He wanted her to find someone else—just as much as he wanted to kill that someone else. But mostly, he wanted her to be happy. To smile. To have her fun.

Fun. Yes. That’s what he’d give her this day. Fun.

“Did I ever tell you why it’s bad to be a penis?” he asked, slowing his thrusts.

Her eyes blinked open. Passion still glowed in those sky-blue depths, but mixed with it was sudden confusion. “Wh-what?”

Paris had told him a lot of jokes over the years, but he only recalled this one. He’d never been able to scrub the thing from his mind. “Why it’s bad to be a penis.” He twisted his hips on the inward glide, hitting her in a new spot.

A cry of delight parted her lips. “No. No, but it doesn’t matter right now, I want you to—”

“It’s bad to be a penis because there’s a hole in your head.”

Her lips twitched as she clutched at him. “I never thought of it like that.”

“Well, it gets worse. Your owner is always strangling you.”

The twitching became a half smile. Her knees tightened at his hips, and she bit her bottom lip. “What else?”

“You shrink in cold water.”

There was a strangled chuckle.

“And you’re forced to hang around with two nuts.”

The chuckle became a full-fledged laugh. Gods, he loved the sound of her laughter. It was pure and magical, washing over him like a caress, dessert for his ears. He felt like a king, that he had been the one to cause that reaction in her.

“Well, your penis can hang out with me anytime he wants.”

Now he chuckled. He wished. Oh, how he wished. “Baby, sweet baby,” he said. “My baby.”

Ours. Learn to share.

He twisted his hips again, and she again closed her eyes and cried out. She reached for the headboard, meshing her breasts into his chest, and met him thrust for thrust. Common sense slipped away, the need for completion taking over. Yes, yes, so good.

Her body squeezed at him, wet and warm and silky smooth. Faster and faster he pumped inside her, unable to slow, unable to savor. He had to hear her cries of abandon. Had to spurt his seed inside her. Had to brand her, just as he’d wanted.

Soon she was thrashing beneath him. Soon she was calling his name over and over. She was all he could see, all he could hear, all he could smell, and he wanted that to last forever. But the more he pounded into her, the closer he came to the end. His muscles tensed, his blood heated to boiling, burning him up, ruining him for anything else. Anyone else. This was it. All he existed for. All his demon craved.

“I love you,” he roared, pushed over the edge.

Just like that, she climaxed as well, spasming around his shaft, hands back on him, nails digging deep. She even leaned up and bit the cord of his neck. Perhaps she drew blood. He didn’t know, didn’t care. Only knew that his body continued to rock into her, spurting and clenching and burning some more, his demon humming, purring, as lost as he was.

And when Olivia finally settled, when he finally caught his breath, he collapsed atop her before rolling to the side. Immediately she burrowed against him, several minutes passing in silence. Never had an orgasm been so intense, so consuming.

He’d wanted to brand her, but he was the one who’d been branded. She was all over him, inside him, his everything. His every breath. With her, he was calm, the demon was calm, and life was everything he’d ever dreamed.

“That was…that was…” She sighed with contentment. One of her fingertips traced a heart on his chest.

“Amazing,” he said. “You are amazing.”

“Thank you. You are, too. But…but…did you mean what you said?”

Tread carefully. If he told her the truth, she might decide to stay, even though he had to be with Legion, even though his end was near, forcing her to witness both his betrayal and his death. Forcing her to live without him if—when—Danika’s vision proved true.

“Yes,” he said, then cursed under his breath. Still, regret wouldn’t come. She deserved to know. She was more to him than sex. She was more to him than, well, anything. “I love you.”

“Oh, Aeron. I love—”

“Do not say another word, Olivia,” a male growled from the center of the room.

At the interruption, Wrath snarled in fury.

Aeron stiffened, already reaching for the blades resting on his nightstand. He didn’t relax when he spotted Lysander, gold wings outstretched, white robe glowing in the moonlight. The man’s eyes were narrowed with fury.

Who takes my head? he’d asked Strider.

Lysander. I think.

“Lysander,” Olivia gasped out, holding the bedsheet to her chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Silence,” he commanded.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Aeron stood, jerked on a pair of pants, and said, “Tell us what you want and leave.” Don’t be here for the reason I think you’re here. I’m not ready yet.

Lysander met his stare and uttered the words Aeron dreaded hearing. “I want your head. And I won’t leave until I’ve taken it.”