The Darkest Promise

The reason Blondie hadn’t felt the need to engage the lock became very clear a second later. Two armed males stood sentry in the hallway.

Both males gazed up at the ceiling, as if afraid to look at her.

“Milady—” the tallest said.

“Cameo,” she corrected without thought. Titles had never been her bag.

Both males flinched. One teared up. She gnashed her back teeth.

“If you won’t return to your room,” Crier began.

“I won’t,” she interjected.

Fat teardrops slid down his cheek. “Then I will be your shadow.”

The tall one sprinted away, as if he couldn’t bear her presence a minute more.

Misery cackled with glee, and a familiar wrath boiled inside Cameo. Hate the demon!

“What if I don’t want a shadow?” she demanded.

Crier gulped. “The king’s orders.”

What, did Lazarus think she would steal the silver? Run away? And did he really think a single guard could stop her if she decided to go?

Why not make use of him?

“I’m to protect you with my life,” he added.

Oh. Well. “Take me to the exit. Also, I need a map of the forest. I’m visiting my friend. The woman with the pet Tasmanian devil.” Cameo wasn’t looking forward to seeing Fluffy again. The rat-like beast was the size of a small dog, had sharp teeth, spiked black fur and a hair-trigger temper. He emitted a noxious odor when he was stressed.

The guard tried to hide a second flinch. What sweet progress, she thought drily.

“I know of whom you speak. Horrid pair. Are you sure—never mind. There’s no need to respond. I’ll take you to her abode.” He strode in front of her, careful not to brush against her, and led her downstairs and out the back door.

The backyard took her breath away. Moonlight blended with multiple rows of torchlight, illuminating the rainbow-colored river winding through a spectacular rose garden.

Between the bushes were life-size statues, both male and female, each depicting different degrees of terror and regret. Some of the statues were missing limbs. Others were posed in defensive positions.

The artist had done a remarkable job, ensuring every creation captured the full range of human expression. From the crinkle at the corner of an eye to the shadow of every individual lash. The statues even had fingerprints, and on one of the females, Cameo noticed a chip.

Never, in all her days, had she seen such detailed work. Had Lazarus inherited the garden from the former king? Or had he collected the pieces for his own enjoyment?

When she noticed countless butterflies swooping down to land on one of the statues, she froze. Her heart sped up, slamming against her ribs.

I get it. Danger is coming. Leave me alone!

“So many,” the guard said, his awe unmistakable. “So beautiful.”

In an effort to distract herself, she said, “A group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope.” A group of men is called a migraine.

He cringed, making her feel worse. She rushed ahead to escape the area—again she froze. This time, her stomach churned.

Up ahead, two pikes waved proudly in the wind. Atop each pike rested a severed head. Not stone, but flesh. Rotting flesh.

Lazarus’s doing?

Of course! Who else would have dared?

What had the victims done to earn such a gruesome punishment?

Although, Lazarus could have done a lot worse. She and her demon-possessed brothers by circumstance had done worse.

Their motto: the enemy who fears you is less likely to attack you.

What would Lazarus do to her if she inadvertently harmed someone in his kingdom?

She wanted to ask the guard about his king’s motives, but remained silent. Whether she intended it or not, the question was an admission Lazarus hadn’t trusted her with his reasons. Also, the question disrespected Lazarus, reducing his choices to fodder for gossip.

Over the centuries she’d learned a warrior’s pride needed care and tending. Males spooked easily, so it was always best to handle one in private.

Not that she would be seeing Lazarus again.

“If you want to reach the witch by nightfall, we had best continue on,” Crier said, and motored forward.

She followed, soon reaching a gaggle of females who were pruning the rosebushes and wearing the same bra and butt-crack shorts as Cameo. When they spotted the guard, they accidentally on purpose dropped their tools and bent over to retrieve the items, revealing a hidden slit in the center.

Well. The Bend-over Babes certainly gave new meaning to the term come and get it. Were they here in porno land for Lazarus’s personal enjoyment? Did he sample their pleasures regularly?

The guard couldn’t hide his new pant-tent.

“Chop, chop. Night is coming,” Cameo said, and his tent instantly collapsed. “Free lesson of the day. Distractions can get you killed.”

He leaped into action, desperate to escape her. They cleared the garden a mile or so later, only then slowing. They reached a golden wall. He opened the only gate, stepped through and unsheathed his sword.

Sensing a threat, Cameo palmed the diamond daggers.

Too late. An arrow sliced through the guard’s temple.

Her first thought: see! Distraction kills. Her second: stupid butterflies!

As he crumpled onto the twig-laden ground, she ducked.

A war cry sounded. A tribe of Amazon warriors stepped from behind the trees—their narrowed gazes locked on Cameo.

6

“Step three: Prove your strength. The more vicious the act the better.”

—How to Achieve Victory

Subtitle: Except with Lovers

Lazarus raced through the Garden of Perpetual Horror, a contingent of soldiers close on his heels. Butterflies led the charge. His own personal yellow brick road.

He was grateful for their unsolicited aid. The sense of disconcertment had returned with a vengeance.

One of the guards he’d left with Cameo had sent word of her departure and her intent to begin her search for Viola, the bane of his realm. Leaving without saying goodbye? No!

For weeks the demon-possessed goddess had plowed through his territories, stealing armor, artifacts and anything else she fancied. Not once had he retaliated. He hadn’t even attempted to stop her, too afraid he would inadvertently harm her and devastate Cameo.

She owed him, and she would pay. Then they would part.

His ears twitched as a war cry pierced the air. With the kris firm in his grip, Lazarus quickened his pace. Tree limbs shrank backward, afraid to touch him. Carnivorous insects hid.

Feminine wails rang out as he soared through the gate.

He lowered his mental guards to gauge the situation ahead. Amazon warriors had launched a sneak attack, killing his soldier. Cameo remained unharmed.

Relief poured through him.

He reached the group and halted. She was surrounded by the enemy, but the Amazons were on their knees, their hands pressed over their ears. And damn, his woman looked good enough to eat. The tiny top and a transparent wrap that revealed the world’s smallest shorts paid proper homage to pert little breasts and a nipped waist. She was a sex dream come to startling life.

“—a seventy-nine percent chance you’ll be stabbed at some point in your life. Or your death. Whatever,” she was saying. Sorrow wafted from her, creating a cloying perfume. Though she clutched two diamond daggers, she looked depressed enough to kill her opponents...or herself. “Except when you challenge me, of course. Then the odds increase to one hundred percent.”

Moonlight spilled over her, caressing flawless skin; she glowed, her beauty unnatural, ethereal. Her raven braid added a new level of delicacy to her features.

Staggering desire and savage hunger gnawed at him. Give me. If the earth began to crumble, he wouldn’t care. He would die with a smile. And a hard-on.

Now isn’t the time. He attempted to read Cameo’s mind, only to curse when her shield held firm.

“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” she said.

The Amazons wailed with more gusto, not realizing Lazarus’s soldiers were taking up posts around them, even though those soldiers moaned and groaned just as loudly.

“You’re right, sunshine,” he announced. “The Amazons will die. Badly.”

Not only had they killed a male under his protection, they’d threatened his woman. If he failed to deliver a proper punishment, he would only invite others to break his rules.

Cameo whipped around to face him. “Lazarus.”

Her liquid silver irises mesmerized him, holding him captive more surely than Juliette’s forced bond. The hunger sharpened its teeth, devouring his resolve to let her go.

Keep her. Take your pleasure again and again...

His mind rebelled—his body ached. He wanted to hate this woman. If he failed to let her go, she would destroy him the way his mother had destroyed his father. Even now, the veins in his legs tingled and warmed.

Weakness was an insidious beast he could not ignore. Typhon had ignored it, and look where he’d ended up. Bested by his worst enemy, now a cautionary tale.

“At least you remember me this time.” Oops. His bitterness was showing again. Better moderate his tone. “We’re making progress.”

Her eyelids narrowed to tiny slits, the thick fan of her lashes making her appear coy and innocent rather than perturbed. “You can leave. The situation is h-handled.”

Her eyes watered, and her chin trembled.

Was she about to...cry?

Will murder that demon.

Can’t. He couldn’t kill the demon without killing Cameo.

He should act, anyway. No Cameo, no weakness.

His fingers twitched on the hilt of the kris.

Never again experience the bliss of her scent, her kiss? Never again delight in her touch? The prospect horrified him.

He tore his gaze from her and focused on the Amazons. “Why are you here, inciting my wrath?”

A black beauty calmed enough to reply, “Queen Nethandra...your marriage proposal...”

His rage sparked anew.

“Hold up.” Cameo approached him, her hips swaying. A mating dance. While his men and the Amazons cried out, the sweet muskiness of his woman’s scent enveloped him, testing the bounds of his control. “You proposed to this woman’s queen? When? Tell me! If you got freaky with me while you were engaged to someone else...”

Was his little ray of sunshine jealous?

Primal possessiveness nearly burned his control to ash. “I have no betrothed. I merely sent an envoy to inquire of Nethandra’s willingness to join her house to mine.”

For a split second, relief stamped out her ever-present sorrow, and he had to fight the urge to pound his chest in triumph.

“Good,” she said with a faux-causal air. “If you’d made me a cheater, I would have had to disembowel you.”

Adorable. “You think you can defeat me?”

Her shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “My usual method clearly wouldn’t work on you,” she said, quiet so no one else would hear her, “but there are more ways to take down a man.”

“True.” He spoke just as quietly. “Strip, and I’ll willingly drop to my knees.”

He expected her to balk, curse, something. Instead, she whispered, “Thanks to you, I’m practically naked already. Go ahead and drop.” The words were a dare.

His lips twitched at the corners. “Practically isn’t the same as definitely, now, is it?”

“True. You’re definitely a pain in the ass.”

He took a step toward her. “You like me this way.”

Both the guards and Amazons watched him. Hands fisted, he forced his attention on the female warriors. “If your queen truly wished to create a union with me, she would have protected my people. Would have seen my forces as an extension of her own.”

She bowed her head in shame. “The mistake is mine.”

“If you wish a union,” Cameo muttered to him, “you’ll see her forces as an extension of your own and forgive her emissary’s oversight.”

What, she wanted him to wed the queen now?

Lazarus ran his tongue over his teeth and snapped his fingers. Limbs shook and leaves clapped as his men restrained the women and discarded their weapons. The Amazons remained subdued, putting up zero fight. Odd.

Lazarus opened his mind...and snorted. Because they’d failed to override his forces, they planned to topple his household from within, using poison they’d acquired from Viola.

Good luck with that.

“They swallowed bags of poison,” he said. “Strings are attached to their teeth.”

The Amazons gave a collective gasp of shock and horror.

“Remove the bags as urgently as possible,” he added. “Take the Amazons to my dungeon. All but the leader.” To her, he said, “Tell Nethandra what transpired today. If her apology pleases me, I’ll allow her to live. If not...”

He let his words trail off, knowing the imagination could be more frightening than a threat.

“This is where we part.” Cameo took a step backward, widening the distance between them.

Denial roared through his head. Not ready to lose her. Not yet.

Tense, he motioned Cameo onward. “I’ll take you to the goddess...and the portal home.”

Lazarus had passed through the portal only once. After Cameo returned home the first time, and his desire for her had overridden his common sense. He’d spent weeks trapped inside a dark, endless void. He’d had to fight his way free and ended up in a fiery spirit realm.

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine on my own,” she said. “No need to spend time with someone you dislike.”

Still smarting about that, was she? “To open the portal, blood must be spilled, a sacrifice made. Do you know what kind of sacrifice?” He shook his head. “No, sunshine. You won’t be fine on your own.”

Her thoughts blasted into his awareness. No, no, had to be the demon’s thoughts.

He never considered asking you to be his bride. You are no one’s prize.

Cameo agreed with the fiend, and a muscle jumped beneath Lazarus’s eye. How dare anyone think poorly of his woman—even the woman herself! He’d seen her fight. Girl had skills. Enemies had best beware. And she was smart. No one got the upper hand with her. Not even Lazarus. She was beautiful. Exceptionally so. No one compared.

Why would the demon push such a depressing conversation past Cameo’s mental shield?

The answer came easily. To incite sorrow in Lazarus.

Misery was worse than he’d realized, and this was just another reason to despise the fiend. Could kill him in seconds...

The notion calmed Lazarus, even as it disconcerted him. He could kill Cameo in seconds, too. She wasn’t safe. He wanted her safe.

Fool!

Her head canted to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Like you are the reason I breathe? “Like I’m hungry, and you are a smorgasbord of desserts?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Because you are a smorgasbord of desserts.” He chucked her under the chin. “You are a prize worthy of any man.”

She shook a fist in his face, an action he adored. Her anger always thrilled him. “Stop reading my mind.”

“Stop projecting.” He stalked down the cobblestone path, calling over his shoulder, “This way.”

Cameo raced to catch up with him. They walked side by side, the close proximity an agony and a pleasure. Torches lined the path, soft golden lights painting her with irresistible radiance.

Her eyes were molten, a sea of silvery fire. The night’s warmth brushed her cheeks with an exquisite pink flush. Her blood-red lips were lush and lickable, a temptation like no other and a special kind of torture. One kiss, they said. Satisfaction awaits.

“Just so you know,” she grated, “I might have desired you before, but I resent you now.”

“Might?” He laughed with smug assurance. “Your passion nearly burned me alive.”

She sputtered, her memory loss making her unable to refute his claim.

Hoping to encourage her irritation and displace what remained of the misery, he took the lead and pushed a flowering branch out of the way only to release the branch before she passed by. The soft flower petals slapped her in the chest.

She glared at him. “You did that on purpose.”

“No need to punish me. Your voice is punishment enough.”

“That’s it!” She hooked her hands around his neck and jerked, using the full force of her body. A body she then coiled around him, as deft as a sky serpent. Her weight and momentum toppled him.

The action was unexpected. The only reason it worked—of course.

Upon impact, she maintained her hold and rolled, forcing him to his back. He had no time to react. She straddled his chest, unsheathed one of her diamond daggers and pressed the tip into his carotid.

Instant hard-on. No one else had ever taken him to ground.

Proof she would only ever weaken him?

Instant soft-on.

One of her midnight brows arched, her usual misery edged with smug satisfaction. “You were saying?”

Such confidence. Such cunning. Was there any woman more beautiful?

With her hands otherwise occupied, she wouldn’t be able to stop what he did with his own...

He should resist. A man didn’t play with temptation; temptation played with him. Their association could not end well.

In that moment, he simply didn’t care.

Lazarus gripped her by the waist, grunting as skin met heated skin. “So soft,” he intoned. “So perfect.”

A tremor rocked her against him. His hard-on returned with a vengeance.

With a hiss, she pressed the tip of her dagger deeper, drawing a bead of blood. Her jaw dropped. “You’re bleeding. And your heart...I can feel its beat against my thigh. I don’t understand. You’re dead. You died. Didn’t you?”

“I did. I’m not sure what sets me apart. I only know I’m not considered one of the living.” Otherwise he would have returned to the mortal world when he’d passed through the portal.

As a child, he remembered his father telling him, “We are the last remaining descendants of Hydra. Our kind is not supposed to die. Not by fair means, and certainly not by foul.”

Hydra was the first nine-headed water she-beast ever born, with venom so toxic her breath often proved lethal. She could regrow decapitated limbs, even her heads, in seconds.

Why didn’t I?

Lazarus caressed his thumbs up and down Cameo’s quivering belly and circled her navel. “I still bleed, yes,” he said. His voice dipped. “I’m capable of spilling another fluid, too.”

“Stop,” she demanded, breathless.

“Stop giving you pleasure?” He traced his fingertips up, up, and met the undersides of her breasts.

Beneath the fabric of her bra, her nipples hardened into tight little buds.

“Yes. No.” She covered her breasts with her free arm. “Stop screwing with my mind.”

“How about I just screw you?”

One night. He wanted one night with her. His father had spent five years with his mother before the crystals slowed him in battle. Granted, Typhon had visited his μονομανία only when his body’s needs overpowered him. One night would cause little damage to Lazarus. Surely.

In the morning, he would say goodbye.

“No?” Cameo replied, a question when she’d probably intended to make a statement.

Up...up... He slid his hands underneath her arm and cupped her breasts. “Exquisite.” His mind steamed with lust. “Look how responsive you are to me.” Only to me.

Goose bumps broke out over her arms, and the flush in her cheeks deepened. The pressure of the blade eased. “Did you know twenty-one percent of women are unable to achieve an orgasm?”

“Must be the twenty-one percent I haven’t slept with. I’m an orgasm donor.”

“You admit to being a he-slut?”

“I admit to a misspent youth, when anyone in a skirt...or pants...or shorts...or bare skin...would do the trick.”

She licked her lips, the epitome of wanton. “And you pleased them all?”

“Multiple times.”

“You’re sure? Every single woman could have faked it.”

“You forget, it’s impossible to hide the truth from me. I can read minds.” He arched his back, causing the blade to slice into his skin again. But he didn’t care, the motion causing her to slide down and straddle his hips. “Want to test me out, sunshine?”

“I want...” She leaned down, and her breasts smashed against his chest, her nipples still hard little buds. Her heartbeat drummed against his in a too-fast rhythm.

Life. She’s life.

She’s my life.

No! They would have one night. No more.

Her lips hovered over his, and their breath mingled. He inhaled her essence as though she was his last hit of oxygen.

“Lazarus,” she whispered.

Molten desire blistered him. “I want Lazarus. That’s what you said. I’ll allow no take backs.”

She shivered and then she stiffened. Even as her pupils spilled over her irises, reminding him of a storm being chased away by the sun, she said, “Take backs. I will never sleep with a man who dislikes me. I don’t need another reason to hate myself.”

“Don’t sleep with me, then.” Not yet. “I can get you off with my fingers or my mouth. Lady’s choice.” He had to touch her impossibly soft skin, the need as necessary as breathing.

Her expression pinched, and he didn’t have to read her mind to know why. The demon had protested. Loudly.

“Focus on me,” Lazarus commanded softly. When her gaze met his once again, he framed her face and brushed his thumbs over the rise of her cheekbones. “Your circumstances will never be good enough for Misery. If you want to be happy, you have to purposely fight him. Victory won’t happen by accident.”

She dropped the dagger and circled her fingers around his wrists. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t fought him every hour of every day for centuries?”

“Want a different outcome, do something different.” So easy to say, so difficult to do.

“What? What can I do?” she snapped.

He...wasn’t sure.

Fury crackled in her eyes, but it soon gave way to utter heartbreak. “If I sleep with you, I’ll forget you. Once again, you’ll know what I look, sound and feel like in the throes of a passion I’ve always longed to experience, while I’ll know nothing about you. I’ll lose another piece of myself. I’ll lose the kind of memory others take for granted. Thoughts to keep me warm on cold winter nights when I’m alone. Always alone.”

A pang slicked through his heart. “Cameo—”

In the distance, a twig snapped. Someone approached.

Protective instincts surged, overriding his desire. He rolled his woman underneath him and prepared to attack and defend.

7

“Step four: Study the enemy. i.e., Study everyone.”

—How to Achieve Victory

Subtitle: Except with Lovers and Their Family

Cameo burned. Every inch of her ached. Oh, how she ached! A delicious buzz vibrated in her cells.

This was...arousal? True arousal, with no hint of Misery’s taint?

Yes. Had to be. A true miracle, and a first for her.

Need more of this. She had to have more. Now!

Lazarus wanted to sleep with her. He’d cupped her breasts and thumbed her nipples. He’d looked at her with aggression, possession and brutal longing. But saying yes to the warrior was saying yes to Misery. After sex, Lazarus would send Cameo away, guaranteed.

Discarded like trash.

He’d made no promises about the future and hadn’t apologized for his “I dislike you” comment. The demon would wipe her memory once again, and she would lose another piece of herself.

No, thanks.

The heat and aches faded at last, leaving her cold and hollow.

Lazarus’s desire must have died, as well. He’d rolled her over, his muscled body pinning her softer one to the moss-covered ground, his erection no longer prodding the notch between her legs.