The Darkest Seduction

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

GALEN, KEEPER OF HOPE, leader of the Hunters, leisurely explored the rooms inside his enemy’s fortress. He’d only recently healed from battle wounds he’d received courtesy of the Lords of the Underworld. Now it was time for payback.

The blade he held was new and had never seen a single moment of action. Today, that would change.

“—shut that damn thing up,” Cameo, keeper of Misery, was saying as she snaked around the corner and stomped past him. Draped as he was by the Cloak of Invisibility, she failed to spot him.

He studied her as she passed. In all the centuries since their creation, she hadn’t changed. She had long, dark hair made for fisting, and the slim body of a dancer made for screwing. Her eyes were liquid silver—and made for dangling from his necklace. “If you don’t, I will stab both of you. And let me tell you, one-point-eight people die every second. I never mind adding to the tally.”

Maybe she had changed. The low, raspy resonance of her voice carried the heavy burden of a world’s worth of sorrows. Enough to spring an ache in his chest, one that promptly seeped outward, invading more and more of him. In the heavens, her voice had brought only pleasure.

Scowling, Galen tucked the length of his wings into his sides and pressed against the wall. The action caused a white feather to loosen and drift to the floor, no longer hidden by the Cloak. He bent to pick it up, stopped.

A short, curvy blonde clutching a black dog…thing darted after Cameo. “All’s I’m saying is that with a little makeup you could look like my country cousin rather than my undernourished uncle. Maybe no one’s told you this, but bags are meant to be carried in your hands, not under your eyes.”

The—mutant dog’s?—head twisted, twisted, its beady eyes locked on Galen. A lethal growl rent the air, fangs spearing its lower lip. Evidently the Cloak’s magic did not work on all creatures. (What was that thing?) He flipped it off, and it yipped.

“Hush, princess. Mama’s teaching Beauty 101 to the clueless. Besides, we don’t want the silly Lords upset with you again, do we?”

Galen didn’t recognize the blonde or her ugly “princess.” What he did know? The Lords welcomed only a select few into their exalted midst. That meant she was either a new addition to the Lords’ army or a warrior’s girlfriend. Pitiful how many of the once-stalwart men had fallen in lurrrve recently.

Whatever or whoever she was, she would die like the others.

The duo and their not-quite-canine companion stormed into one of the bedrooms. A door slammed. No alarm was sounded.

His scowl melted into a grin. They couldn’t see him, but they could have sensed him. That they hadn’t meant this would be easier than he’d thought.

Strider, the idiot, had given the Cloak of Invisibility to the Unspoken Ones, beings so vicious, so evil, even Hercules would have trembled in fear at the slightest mention of them. Cronus had enslaved them before his own imprisonment, had once thought to control them. In turn, they wanted him dead. Now they were trapped on their private island in Rome and reduced to bargaining.

A point in Galen’s favor. They knew he was destined to remove the Titan king’s head, and so when he visited their island, they sought his support. Their first gesture, giving him the Cloak. Their second, teaching him exactly how to use it. He’d assumed it was a shield against prying eyes, but he’d assumed wrong. The Cloak was also a weapon. A very effective one at that.

He needed every advantage he could get, even if that meant aligning himself with the worst creatures ever to roam this earth. His men were disappearing right off the streets, never to be heard from again. His queen had disappeared, as well. He’d had no contact with her for weeks.

She knew him well enough to know he looked out for Number One. He would betray anyone to get what he wanted, and if she’d decided to walk away, to betray him as he’d betrayed so many others, that was her problem. He would go after her the same way he continued to go after her husband. With everything he had.

Galen planned to rule the heavens. And I’ll succeed this time. He knew it, but then, he always “knew” his plans would work. His demon could convince anyone to do anything—and Galen was included in that number. Hope built up everyone’s dreams, then laughed when those dreams came crashing down.

But it wasn’t Hope driving him this day. It was Jealousy. His other demon.

Oh, yes. His former friends might not have been bright enough to figure this out yet, but Galen was possessed by two of Pandora’s demons.

Because he had convinced his fellow warriors to steal her box, because he’d then betrayed them, thinking to become leader of the Elite Guard himself, taking Lucien’s place, he’d committed two crimes. Therefore, he deserved two punishments. Or so Zeus had said when he’d set about pairing each Lord with their demon and restoring order to the heavens.

He despised having two demons. Hope built him up only to tear him down, then Jealousy would rile him back up, whispering things like, That male has a female, yet we are far better. Why don’t we take her from him? Hope would then fill him with an urge to do just that, to take, the need becoming a living thing inside him, every ounce of his being certain he would succeed—but somehow always falling short of victory.

Well, today he would not fail.

Today he landed a stunning blow to his enemy.

He would steal away Legion, the devil-woman they’d once sent to kill him. The she-cat who had seduced him. The innocent virgin who’d been living inside a porn star’s skin. She’d screwed him within an inch of his immortal life before biting him with her poisoned fangs. While he had writhed in pain, she had left him to die, only to be carted into hell thanks to a deal with her maker gone bad.

Galen had hunted her, but the Lords had found her first. They’d brought her here, and Galen wanted her back. Wanted to have her again. Wanted to punish her. To kill her and cut the tether she seemed to hold him on.

He was sick of wondering about her, sick of thinking about her.

How many warriors had she given herself to since her return?

Yeah, like that. He was sick of imagining her with a thousand others, sick of the constant rage of jealousy concerning her.

He would discover the answer, though, and if any of the Lords had enjoyed her luscious body, they would pay a higher toll than their friends. Oh, each and every one of them would die, but some would scream for months before he took their heads.

Except…he searched the fortress from top to bottom, looked in every chamber, accounted for every warrior still in residence—and not even Torin, who monitored the place, noticed him—but there was no sign of the girl.

Very well. He’d go with Plan B. He would take a page from the Unspoken Ones’ book and “bargain” before he struck.

Despising the delay, he stalked to Maddox and Ashlyn’s bedroom and ghosted through the wood. He wasn’t just invisible, he was insubstantial. Maddox, keeper of Violence, was no longer inside. His very pregnant female reclined on their bed, reading a book to her unborn babe. A babe Maddox would be desperate to save.

Ashlyn was a pretty thing, with hair, skin and eyes the color of a honeycomb. Truly, she was as golden as the moon on the brightest of nights, and she was delicate and fragile as only a human could be. Her voice was soft, lilting, and filled with love.

No question, Maddox would move heaven and earth to get her back.

Galen padded to the side of the bed and pushed the Cloak from one shoulder. As he materialized, another grin quirked the corners of his mouth. Ashlyn noticed him and quieted, her entire body jolting with fright.

“Galen,” she gasped out.

“Scream for me, little Ashlyn,” he said, reaching for her. And she did.

WILLIAM KIND OF EXPECTED to be pulverized the moment Paris emerged from the bedroom. Fists hammering at his face, teeth ripping at his jugular, something menacing like that since he’d dared to interrupt the happy reunion. After all, madness and mayhem were a Paris Lord staple. What William hadn’t expected was a half grateful, half thunderous stare, but that’s exactly what he got.

“What did you want to show me?” the Lord of Sex snapped.

Paris had moved mountains to get here. Had done things that made a reprobate like William look like a choirboy, all to save the girl he currently had tucked into his side. And that he was holding her hand as if she were a life raft and the flood had come, rather than swinging at the man who had just cock-blocked him…well, that was just weird.

It could mean one of two things. Paris had already had sex with her, so there’d been nothing to block. Yet only an hour had passed since their parting. So that would mean Paris was quick on the climax trigger and, as many ladies as he’d nailed, William would bet the guy could go all night and then some.

Option two was slightly more likely, but still improbable. Paris hadn’t known what to do with the girl and had wanted to bail.

But why would he want to bail? For that matter, why, with every second that passed, did he appear more pissed than ever? Had Sienna turned him down flat?

Impossible, William thought next. She was clutching Paris’s hand as desperately as he clutched hers.

William raked his gaze over her. She was pale, her freckles stark in contrast, and she was a bit shaky on her feet. Hmm. Studying her like this, he wondered what Paris saw in her.

At first glance, and hell, maybe even at second, she appeared plain. He looked deeper, though, and that’s when the delicacy of her bone structure became evident. What’s more, those hazel eyes were large and unbelievably lovely, the perfect blend of emerald and copper. Her hair was a waterfall of mahogany, cascading around her. And her lips…yeah, he would have committed a few crimes himself to have those fit around his shaft.

She was on the slender side, small-breasted and even underweight, but damn if she didn’t call on every protective instinct a man possessed.

“Are you just going to stare at her?” Once again Paris snapped the words. This time, menace poured from him, the threat of attack very real.

Now William doubted his face would be the only thing rearranged. His favorite appendage would be on the receiving end of a nice little slice and dice. Sooo. The biggest he-slut ever created was possessive as hell over a woman who’d once wanted to kill him. Talk about comeuppance. But then, wasn’t that what Wrath specialized in?

Paris took a step toward him, the menace intensifying. “I asked you a question.”

William cut off a grin and held his hands up, palms out, questions rolling through his mind. How much did Paris really want the girl? Did he regret coming here? How much influence could she wield over his emotions? Was the plan still to get in, get out and get rid of her? Only one way to find out.

“Answer me,” Paris snapped.

“Nope,” William said. “I don’t just plan to stare.”

A growl erupted from the warrior. They both knew he’d just implied he meant to do more.

Good. Maybe William would survive what came next, maybe he wouldn’t. “I like your shirt,” he said, directing the compliment to Sienna. “I really like your pants.” She wore a plain white T-shirt, dirt-smudged and torn, and baggy cargo pants. Her tennis shoes were missing laces.

“I… Thanks?” Her brows knit with her confusion.

“May I make a wardrobe suggestion, though?”

Another growl sounded from Paris before she could reply, a hand darting out and wrapping around William’s windpipe. Pinpricks of red glowed inside those ocean-blues. No, Paris’s irises were no longer blue. They were black, no difference between pupils and the rest. “Are you now implying her clothes will look better on your bedroom floor?”

So. Much. Fun. “Who, me?” He couldn’t breathe, so the words squeaked out. No, Paris did not regret coming here.

“Paris,” Sienna said, utterly calm. “I know I have no right to ask this, but will you please not kill him? I’m not a fan of the rotting body scent.”

Tighter…tighter…then the pressure eased, fell away. “Show us what you found.”

Interesting. She wielded a lot of influence. He wondered if Paris realized how much—and exactly what the warrior thought of the development. But no matter what, William assumed the plan was still of the get-rid variety. No relationship lasted without trust, and these two had not a spark of it between them. Even as Paris eyed William like a slab of beef to carve for dinner, he kept Sienna in his crosshairs, as if afraid she’d bolt, or even do a little carving of her own.

“Come on, or you’ll be ticked I didn’t show you sooner.” William turned on his heel and marched down the hallway and up another flight of stairs to the third floor. He didn’t have to look back to know the couple followed him. Paris’s booted footfalls reminded him of stampeding buffalo.

He slowed his pace and Paris came up beside him. At some point, the warrior had picked Sienna up. She was cradled in his arms, her wings tucked around her, her head resting in the hollow of his neck. Even more interesting was the fact that she hadn’t uttered a complaint.

Her gaze met William’s, steady as a rock. She frowned. “Wrath goes silent around you. He doesn’t show me any of your perceived sins. Why is that?”

Oh, no. He wasn’t veering down that conversation path. Not with a former Hunter and a dead, though brought back to life, newly possessed whatever the hell she was. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“I did.”

He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “And?”

“And he offered no response, so I decided it’s because you have to live with yourself, a punishment worse than anything Wrath could mete out.”

Miracle of miracles. The demon wasn’t tattling on him. “The answer will just have to remain a mystery, then. Oh, and a word of warning. Smart mouths really crank my chain. Keep talking dirty to me, baby.”

She rolled her eyes.

Paris inserted himself into the conversation with a hesitant, “Did he show you mine?” That he didn’t threaten William proved the depths of his uncertainty about what Wrath might have broadcast.

William had seen Paris aroused (not on purpose), playful, pissed off, blood-soaked, stubborn, drugged out, relaxed, stressed and everything in between. But he had never seen the warrior frightened. Just then, Paris was frightened, his expression haunted, his muscles knotted over bone.

“Yes,” she replied so quietly he had to strain to hear.

A taut beat of silence. “Do you want me to put you down?”

“No!” Color flooded her cheeks when she realized just how loudly she’d shouted the word. “No. I like where I am.”

From a mouse to a lioness. Adorable really, and William thought he might make a pass at her when Paris finished with her. Because, even as fierce as Paris was about her, he would let her go. Resolve had bled into the fear. Even though Paris had suspected she would not want to be touched by a man who had done the things he’d done, even though she had proven him wrong and that had to be a relief, he was determined to live without her.

“I just meant that, uh, my back hurts,” she added. “I need your support.”

“Like a good jockstrap,” William said, patting his boy on the shoulder. “But then, that’s Paris for you.”

Even with Sienna in his arms, Paris managed to give him a two-fingered salute. Mentally, of course, but William saw it all the same.

“I should have asked him to finish you off, rather than to let you go,” she muttered. Then, “Are we heading to the fifth floor?”

Ah. So she knew what was up there. “Yes.”

“Why?” Paris asked.

“You’ll see,” William replied.

Sienna opted to ruin the surprise. “Other demon-possessed immortals are up there.”

“Other demon…” Paris increased his speed, leaving William eating his dust. “Are they armed?”

“No,” she said, “but they’re trapped.”

“Show me.”

“That’s what I was trying to do,” William muttered as he chased after them. One day it would be nice for someone to place him first. Not a lover, though, and not the girl who haunted his dreams. The girl he would protect with his life now and always. She wasn’t meant for him.

His one true love would die—or kill him. It had already been foretold, and there was no other option.