New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter returns with a sizzling Lords of the Underworld story about an iron-willed sovereign and the somber beauty who melts him with a glance...

Possessed by the demon of Misery, Cameo isn’t allowed to experience joy. If she dares, her memory is wiped clean. With no other recourse, she sneaks into a land more fantastical than any fairy tale, determined to find the one man with the key to her redemption.

Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual rules his kingdom with a single unwavering focus: to build his army and annihilate his enemies. Nothing distracts him—until Cameo. He is relentless in his quest to make her smile...and seduce her into his bed.

As dark forces conspire against them, threatening to destroy the fragile bond they’ve forged, the once-calm Lazarus grows crazed. Every heart-stopping kiss and wicked touch causes Cameo to teeter on the brink of happiness. But if she falls, she risks forgetting him forever...

The Darkest Promise

Gena Showalter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07078-2

THE DARKEST PROMISE

© 2017 Gena Showalter

Published in Great Britain 2017

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2018-10-02

Shackled by despair.

Freed by desire.

“One of the premier authors of paranormal romance. Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spell-binding story!”

—Kresley Cole, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Gena Showalter never fails to dazzle.”

—Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author

“Showalter...rocks me every time!”

—Sylvia Day, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Showalter writes fun, sexy characters you fall in love with!”

—Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author

“Showalter makes romance sizzle on every page!”

—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author

“A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and non-stop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest.”

—New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning

“Gena Showalter is a romantic genius.”

—San Francisco Book Review

GENA SHOWALTER is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of the spellbinding Lords of the Underworld series, two young adult series—Everlife and the White Rabbit Chronicles—and the highly addictive Original Heartbreakers series. She’s hard at work on her next novel, a tale featuring an alpha male with a dark side and the strong woman who brings him to his knees. You can learn more about Gena, her menagerie of rescue dogs and all her upcoming books at genashowalter.com or Facebook.com/genashowalterfans.

Table of Contents

The Darkest Promise

Lords of the Underworld: Insider’s Guide

Glossary of Terms and Players

Bonus Scene

Excerpt from Can’t Hardly Breathe by Gena Showalter

To Jill Monroe—Best friend, confidante, idea bouncer-offer!

To Naomi at French n Bookish—A treasure!

To Denise Tompkins—A sister of the heart! Thank you for being you!

To Shane Tolbert, Shonna Hurt and Michelle Quine—My biggest cheerleaders!

To Crystal Lepinsk, Penny Beerling, Sananda Davalillo, Sarah Hutchinson, Sarah McAdorey and Jennifer Forist—For helping me name a character (in this book and perhaps books to come).

The Darkest Promise

Contents

Underworld Abridged Dictionary

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Underworld Abridged Dictionary, 6th Edition

Definition: The demon High Lord of Misery ensures his immortal host remains in a constant state of mental, emotional and physical anguish; through his host, he is able to harm others.

Example: The demon flooded Cameo with sorrow, and when she cried out, her misery-soaked voice broke the heart of everyone around her.

Symptoms: Angst, anxiety, chronic RBF—resting bitch face—dejection, depression, desolation, despair, despondency, distress, gloom, grief, heartache, heartbreak, melancholy, pain, sadness, sorrow, stress, suffering, torment, unhappiness, woe, wretchedness.

Cure: Death (not currently doctor recommended).

1

“Don’t try to stay ten moves ahead of your opponent. Stay behind him with a knife.”

—Excerpted from Becoming the King You Are Meant to Be, a work in progress by Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual

Like Alice on her way to Wonderland, Cameo, host to the demon of Misery, tumbled end over end down a long, dark cavern. When the bottom finally appeared, she braced for impact...only to slip through a glistening portal. The cavern walls vanished, and she spilled from a midnight sky—straight into a new realm.

Never should have touched the Paring Rod. One brush of her fingertips against the pretty glass bulb that tipped its handle, and the ancient artifact had opened a door between the physical and spirit world. Voilà! In a blink, her descent had begun.

As she plunged toward a flat clearing, she braced for impact...

Cameo smacked into the ground. A scream split her lips, her brain banging against her skull, her lungs emptying and multiple bones shattering all at once.

Agony seared her, black dots weaving through her vision. Warmth drained from her hands and feet, collecting in her torso. Her body was in shock.

Hours passed before she gained the strength to roll to her side, her wrecked heart tap-dancing a wild rhythm against broken ribs. Her head swam but thankfully her pain ebbed. Able to breathe again, she noted the sweet scent of ambrosia—the drug of choice for immortals—hung heavy in the air. She almost laughed. For once, lady luck had been on her side. If you had to crash-land, what better place than an ambrosia field?

She drifted in and out of consciousness, the passage of time evidenced by the healing of her injuries and the shift from dark to light. When a beam of sun stroked her, blistering her pale skin, she finally woke for good.

Her nose crinkled as she inhaled. The scent of ambrosia had been replaced by burnt foliage. Where had she landed? Hell? The sun blazed so hot it had scorched sections of land.

Cameo crawled into a shadowed haven, exhaling with relief when her skin cooled. She scanned the lavender sky with its pale green clouds, then looked over an unfamiliar forest filled with towering pink trees and plots of azure grass.

Oookay. This is new. A forest fit for a storybook princess. Too bad Cameo was the villain of the tale. Browniebitch and the Twelve Immortals. For her and her family of demon-possessed warriors, nothing had ever been just right.

Cold fingers of dread crept down her spine as a butterfly the size of her fist fluttered past her. Over the centuries, the wretched insects had become an omen. Death and destruction await...

The heavy weight of depression settled on her shoulders, and she wallowed about the travesty of her life.

Lost so much already. All because she’d made one teeny tiny mistake when she’d lived in Mount Olympus.

That mistake? Helping her friends steal and open Pandora’s box. An appropriate punishment would have been a hand amputation or two. Maybe a few hundred years in the slammer. Instead, she was forced to play host to the demon of Misery for eternity, free will a thing of the past.

To commemorate the occasion, a butterfly tattoo had appeared on her lower back.

The beginning of the end.

Misery had quickly peeled away the layers of her humanity, hope and happiness. Again and again he’d wiped her mind of any joyous memories.

The bastard still wiped her mind of any joyous memories. Every day he breathed his poison into her thoughts, hurt others through her voice and ruined whatever relationships she managed to forge. He’d reduced her life to one horror after another.

If only she could control him. But Misery was a separate entity with his own motivations and goals. A dark presence she’d never been able to drown out. A prison she had never been able to escape.

Right now, he’s not my biggest problem. The butterfly...

Disaster was imminent.

Cameo searched for a way out of the forest. At one side, a breathtaking river with rainbow-colored water trickled into a rocky crag. Some type of fish broke the surface. A water unicorn? A long, ivory horn stretched from between his eyes and—

She gasped. Another water unicorn had jumped up and thrust his horn into the belly of the first. Blood spurted, creating a crimson waterfall. Countless other fish converged on the injured one, sharp teeth ripping into scales and organs until not even bones remained.

Mental note: no baths in the wild, ever.

At her other side, a field of ambrosia flourished, unaffected by the over-hot sun. Thick emerald stalks dripped with countless violet flowers, the petals drawn together to avoid the worst of the heat.

The field might be her only viable—

A thorny limb snatched the jumbo-size butterfly from the air. Her ears twitched, the soft breeze carrying the faint sounds of screaming.

Viable path or not, it was time to go.

Cameo lumbered to shaky legs, wincing as twigs sliced her heel. Her brow wrinkled. Her feet were bare, her combat boots gone.

Someone had stolen her shoes?

A quick scan proved her tank top and battle leathers were torn and stained with dried blood, but still in place. However, the daggers she’d made over two hundred years ago were missing.

Someone had robbed her while she’d drifted out of consciousness.

Someone would pay!

This villain had come here to find a formidable immortal named Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual, and she would destroy anyone who hindered her.

According to her friends, she had interacted with Lazarus twice before. Thanks to Misery, she remembered nothing about either encounter. Or did she? On the fringe of her mind was a suggestive montage of images that might or might not have happened.

Flicker: Cameo performed a striptease for a faceless, muscled man, a sultry half smile playing at the corners of her mouth, her silvery eyes smoky with desire.

Flicker: Cameo crawled toward the same faceless, muscled man, clearly intent on his seduction.

Flicker: Cameo sprawled beneath the faceless, muscled man, one of his big, callused hands on her breast, the other between her legs as he drove her closer and closer to orgasm. Her spine was arched, her head thrown back, her expression taut with a sublime mix of agony and pleasure.

Was the faceless man Lazarus? How had he tempted her into his bed?

She wanted so badly to remember.

Sex wasn’t something she enjoyed or usually even risked. Not anymore. She had a Sexually Transmitted Demon, and almost everyone she dated ended up depressed at some point.

Guilt flared, adding to her all-consuming misery. And yet...

Every time she imagined her faceless lover, languid heat wrapped loving arms around her. Blood rushed through her veins with new purpose, molten shivers cascading through her, every inch of her tingling.

Did he miss her? Or did he rejoice, thinking he would never see her again?

Her heart seemed to crack open and seep acid. Memories were as necessary for survival as oxygen or water; without hers, she was incomplete. Weakened, even.

Would Lazarus tell her what had happened between them? If there was even a chance, she had to find him.

Problem was, she and the rest of the world knew very little about him. His past was shrouded in mystery. What she had managed to glean: her friend Strider, the keeper of Defeat, had beheaded him not too long ago. Lazarus’s spirit had traveled through the Paring Rod and entered one of thousands of realms in the afterlife. Perhaps this one, a strange and predatory world.

Soon after Lazarus’s death, her semifriend Viola, the keeper of Narcissism, had accidentally followed him through—while still alive. Also alive, Cameo had followed her, intent on rescuing her.

Cue her adventures with the mysterious warrior.

If her brothers-by-circumstance hadn’t launched a rescue mission of their own, would she have chosen to stay with Lazarus?

Going by the tidbits she’d revealed before Misery had cleaned her mind with mental Windex, she and Lazarus had partnered up to find Viola and Pandora’s box—aka dimOuniak—both supposedly hidden inside one of the realms.

Why he’d agreed to partner with her when he had no stake in the outcome, she wasn’t sure.

Unless he wanted the box? DimOuniak was just as powerful as the Paring Rod—no, more so—and could be used to instantly kill anyone, everyone, who was demon possessed. Or so rumors claimed.

Had Lazarus planned to harm her all along?

See? Loss of memory left her vulnerable in the worst of ways.

So. She would find Lazarus. Hopefully he liked her and wanted only to help her. After he filled in her mental blanks, maybe they could renew their quest for the box and he could make her happy? At least for a little while. What good was a life without happiness?

Going to forget him again. Why bother?

Because...just because! A girl without hope might as well curl up and die.

Maybe he was her faceless lover. Maybe he would help her find Viola as well as the box. The goddess of the Afterlife had been rescued, yes, but she’d purposely used the Paring Rod a second time. No one knew why, and no one had heard from her since.

Resolute, Cameo motored forward. Twigs sliced her feet, but she maintained a steady pace, maneuvering through the thicket of trees. At least the temperature had cooled.

Seventy-two percent of men have cheated on their significant other. The demon’s voice whispered through her mind in an attempt to immobilize her. Twenty-four percent are actively cheating right this second. Forty-eight percent are smug rather than remorseful. How long do you think you’ll intrigue Lazarus? If you ever intrigued him at all.

Horrid demon! Always lobbing H-bombs of gloom. Was Lazarus her faceless lover or not?

Misery smoothly added, If he is, you should run. Considering what happened with Alex...

“Shut up,” she muttered, but the damage was done. He’d hit his target, reopening internal wounds.

Alex, a human who had lived in ancient Greece, had been her first and only love.

At the age of eight, a terrible sickness had rendered him deaf and, apparently, unworthy of his wealthy family’s love. He was cast out of the only home he’d ever known. After months of starvation, a “protector” saved him from the slums. A blacksmith with a sickening taste for children.

Apprentice by day, slave by night. A heartbreaking existence.

When Alex reached his teens, the blacksmith dubbed him too old and kicked him out. Alex snapped, introducing the blacksmith’s heart to his handmade dagger. Then he claimed the business as his due.

He poured his time and energy into metalwork, his talent indisputable. He’d been the only person Cameo trusted to make her weapons. The only male unaffected by the sorrow in her voice.

They fell in love, and for just a little while, she had verged on the edge of happiness. She’d craved more...but all the while, a shadow of foreboding had cloaked her like a second skin.

With every new dawn, she’d wondered why she remembered him. Why the demon hadn’t yet stolen her memory of him.

The answer had proved more atrocious than she’d ever dreamed.

In a vulnerable moment, she’d told Alex about her demonic companion. He’d decided she was worse than the blacksmith and arranged for Hunters, a cult of self-appointed slayers of immortals, to capture and torture her in the worst of ways.

Razor-winged butterflies took flight in her stomach. Did Lazarus know the truth about her? Did he care?

He must know. He was an immortal living among other immortal spirits. And he shouldn’t care. He was called cruel and unusual. He had a dark side of his own. Very dark. Pitch-black without any hint of light.

A sequence of high-pitched squawks rang out as a flock of birds leaped from treetops and scattered across the skyline, soon vanishing behind a wall of clouds.

Whoosh! Thud!

The ground shook. Cameo tumbled to her knees. Wheezing, fighting for oxygen, she reached for her daggers. Her missing daggers.

Damn it! She darted behind one of the bigger pink trees, shadows enveloping her. Adrenaline surged, strong and sure, but it couldn’t mask the sting of bark scraping through her shirt.

Another whoosh. Another thud. The shaking only worsened, trees toppling, the surrounding shrubs falling like dominoes.

Across the distance, a path cleared, and two flying beasts appeared. Some sort of dragon hybrid, maybe? They had red eyes, elongated snouts and teeth better qualified as short swords. Their bodies were long and coiled, but without arms or legs while their tails were thrice barbed. Resplendent scales reflected in the sunlight.

So...the two were flying snakes? Dragon snakes?

They soared above the remaining canopy of trees, their multipointed wings clipping branches and slicing through bark as if it were butter. One creature pursued the other. When he caught his prey, the two wrestled...playfully?

“Does the pretty miss require aid?”

The unfamiliar voice somehow turned the innocent question into a sexual promise. She glanced up—and had to swallow a yelp. A two-hundred-plus pound leopard perched on the limb directly above her, his neon-green eyes steady on her. His mangled tail wagged back and forth. One of his ears looked as if it had been chewed off, and his matted fur sported several bald patches.

Misery took an instant dislike to the animal and snarled.

The cat offered her a slow, toothy grin and batted a meaty paw at a fly. He actually speared the insect on the end of a claw. “I’m Rathbone, and I’m at your service...for a small fee.”

He could talk. He was a cat, and he could talk. And with that voice, he could make millions as a phone sex operator.

Had the Paring Rod transported her into a fairy tale, after all? The porn version? Browniebitch Does Twelve Immortals.

Was Rathbone a shape-shifter? No, impossible. Shape-shifters didn’t retain the ability to speak while in animal form. Although there were exceptions to every rule, right?

“I can save myself, but thanks for the offer.” Having lived over four millennia, she’d waged world wars, fought countless battles against immortal predators, humans with a grudge and monsters of myth and legend. Sometimes she’d lost, but mostly she’d won.

The leopard flinched. Hardly a surprise. Everyone always flinched. Some even cried. If anyone had actually liked her voice, she couldn’t remember.

Her hands curled into fists. Another memory Misery had stolen?

The dragon-snakes resumed their chase, nearly causing a full-blown earthquake this time, and she grabbed a branch to steady herself. Nope, not a branch, but Rathbone’s tail.

He wiggled his brows. “I’ve got something firmer you can hold on to.”

Surely he wasn’t referring to his...

He contorted to lick a massive set of balls.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

She released him and peeked around the trunk. The creatures approached at breakneck speed...only to pass her. She began to relax. A mistake. Of course. When had anything ever gone her way? Both dragon-snakes came to an abrupt stop before slowly pivoting.

Two sets of red eyes locked on her. Long, thin tongues swiped over saber-teeth, and drool dripped from the corners of their mouths. Drool...or accelerant? The pungent stench of something akin to gasoline stung her nostrils.

Well. She’d just been placed on the day’s menu.

In unison, the “chefs” hissed and bowed their spines, the scales around their necks flaring.

You have an eighty-seven percent chance of being deep-fried, never seeing your friends again and never finding Lazarus or the box.

No. She would fight, and she would win. If she died, Misery would be loosed upon an unsuspecting world; he would find new prey, devour sweet dreams, beloved hopes and any glimmer of happiness. He—

Had merely distracted her, the bastard.

Dual streams of fire spewed in her direction. Attuned to battle now, Cameo dived out of the way. Upon landing, she rolled and swiped up two petrified branches. As she stood, she swung at the nearer beast.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Rathbone began, reminding her of his presence. The pointed tips moved across her opponent’s chest, and the cat sighed. “Congrats. You just made everything worse.”

Argh! The branches hadn’t penetrated a single scale. In fact, the branches hadn’t scratched a single scale.

Enraged now, the dragon-snake roared.

All right. Their scales were impenetrable. Got it. Only two other options remained. Go for the eyes or go for the mouth. Easy, not a problem, if she could hop aboard the dragon-snake express and hitch a ride.

“Ssss.”

“Ssss.”

Two new streams of fire spewed in her direction, the heat level jacked to instant BBQ with a side of ash. Again she scrambled out of the way, but really, she had nowhere to go. The beasts circled her, working in tandem to trap her inside a ringed inferno. Smoke thickened the air.

A tickle irritated the back of her throat, making her cough—at the same time, a wing arced in her direction. She managed to jump backward, barely avoiding being sliced in two.

“Want my help now?” Rathbone remained secure on his perch, his smile as innocuous as a fistful of daisies. “I’ll give you a discounted rate.”

Ignoring him, she sprinted across the white-hot path of soot and char. As another wing swung at her, she used the branches she still held to bat it out of the way. Momentum spun her around, and she dodged another stream of fire. Next, a barbed tail lashed at her, but she jumped over it and motored on, increasing her pace. Almost within range...

There’s no way you’ll succeed, the demon told her, his sadness seeping into her. You’re going to die.

No! She would win, and she would live. She would!

The moment of truth arrived.

Her heartbeat a wild thing her ribs might not be able to cage, she vaulted up, up. One dragon-snake vaulted with her—or rather, at her—clearly intending to snag her midair. The closer he came, the more he snapped his teeth at her. His mistake. She shoved a branch into his mouth.

The limb—as thick as her biceps, the length of her forearm and harder than stone—remained vertical, one end digging into the roof of his mouth, the other pinning his tongue to the bottom. Meanwhile, Cameo tightened her grip on the branch’s center, swung around and straddled his neck.

He thrashed, the jerky movements impeding the glide of his wings, sending him plummeting back to earth.

Yee-haw!

Just before her second crash landing of the day, she jabbed the second branch into his eye. He screeched as thick black blood splattered over her hand and blistered her skin.

Boom!

The dragon-snake absorbed the worst of the impact, Cameo bouncing off him. As he screeched and thrashed, she lumbered to her feet, intending to run. Sharp agony seared her ankle when a hard yank dropped her flat on her face and wrenched her backward.

Her nails left grooves in the dirt. Trying not to panic, she glanced over her shoulder. Nooo! The other dragon-snake had snagged her foot between his teeth.

He began to chew, saliva penetrating her wound. A scream split her lips, her entire leg burning and blistering. She curled into a ball to swing at him.

Damn it! Her hands were empty of branches.

He dragged her over rocks and gargantuan roots, ripping her shirt. Her flesh, too. Her head swam again, oblivion beckoning. She reached for another branch, any branch. There!

He straightened, lifting her off the ground foot-first. Dangling upside down only magnified her pain.

Remember, pain is weakness leaving the body.

She could do this. No, she would do this.

Cameo contorted and strained her body in order to swing forward...back...forward again, faster and faster, coming closer and closer to her enemy’s torso.

He flapped his wings as he soared higher into the sky—and provided a new lesson about pain.

Not sure how much more I can take.

Sweat drenched her and nausea boiled in her stomach, but still she continued swinging. Finally, blessedly, she was able to thrust the branch through the underside of his jaw, where no scales protected him, the end slamming into the back of his throat.

He jerked and roared, releasing her. Down, down she fell. She braced—her lungs emptied once again, the chambers in her bursting like a balloon.

Her pain was so strong, so shrill she could almost understand a man’s suffering when he had a cold.

She remained sprawled across the ground, praying for a quick recovery. Or death. Yeah, probably death. Her mutilated ankle throbbed in time to her distorted heartbeat as the organ regenerated. From her kneecap to her toes, she felt as if her skin had been baked like cheese on a pizza.

Though the dragon-snake tried, he failed to remove the branch; his wings refused to bend as needed. In the end, he could only return to his companion, drill his fangs into the beast’s chest and fly them both away.

She’d...done it? She’d won?

You’ll probably never walk again, Misery told her.

Wah, wah, wah.

“I’ll walk again,” she grated. Over the centuries, she’d had limbs severed and her tongue cut out. Her ankle would heal...eventually. The demon only sought to depress her.

Rathbone prowled from the tree and sashayed toward her. “Ask nicely, and I’ll let you ride me free of charge.”

“No, thanks.” Too fatigued to care if he hoped to lure her into a false state of calm simply to attack her, she said, “Where are we?”

His flinch was more pronounced this time. “We’re in the Realm of Grimm and Fantica, ruled by King Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual, the only son of the Monster.”

Lazarus. Her Lazarus. He was here. And he was king.

Go ahead. Find him. I want you to spend time with the male known as the Cruel and Unusual. Misery laughed his most vindictive laugh. I bet he hurts you in ways I’ve never managed.

The demon lied. Or maybe he’d spoken true. With him, she never knew what to believe.

Maybe she should return to Budapest.

Did Lazarus even miss her? she wondered again. What if they’d parted as adversaries?

Well, so what if they had? Everyone deserved a second chance. Besides, she had no idea how to return. And really, what did his “Cruel and Unusual” moniker matter? Many immortals referred to her as the Mother of Melancholy. Names were just that—names.

“Where is the king?” she asked, her bland tone maybe, hopefully masking her eagerness. Reveal nothing, hide everything.

The leopard traced his tongue over his lips, as if he’d just spotted breakfast. “Do I detect excitement?”

Ugh. Was he planning to charge her for info if he did? “You’d be the first to do so.” How true. And how sad.

“Now I detect desolation.” A calculated glint appeared in his neon eyes. “The plot thickens.”

“Why do my emotions matter to you, anyway?”

“Mysteries and puzzles intrigue me. Come. I’ll escort you to Lazarus. However, I’m no longer willing to help for free.”

Knew it.

“You will pay me a small escort fee,” he said. “But be warned, my pretty. People enter his territory...and they never leave.”

2

“Life is a game, and everyone you meet is an opponent.”

—Becoming the King You Are Meant to Be

—The Fine Art of Decapitation

Between one second and the next, a sense of disconcertment enveloped Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual. He frowned. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the sensation, but he wasn’t well versed, either.

Bottom line, it could mean nothing...or everything.

With a weary sigh, he detangled from two sleeping, clinging forest nymphs and rose from the bed and fastened the pants he’d refused to remove. His legs were not for public viewing. Ever.

Anyone who had the misfortune to glimpse him bare, well, he turned the culprit into stone.

No matter where Lazarus had resided in his life or in death, he’d created a Garden of Perpetual Horror. His own personal stone army. A little like the terra-cotta armies of Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China.

The newest garden currently had twenty-three statues, and they were a truly magnificent sight to behold. Each conveyed a different level of pain and panic.

His favorite? The king he’d defeated when he’d seized the Realm of Grimm and Fantica. The male was forever frozen in a position known as the blood-eagle, his body prone, his ribs cut from his spine and snapped backward to resemble wings.

Cruel and unusual. My specialty. Stand in the way of what Lazarus wanted, and suffer.

Cool air stroked him as he donned his shirt. He strapped on the weapons he’d discarded only an hour before. The daggers clinked together, reminding him of the day he allowed a demon-possessed warrior to behead him. The day he escaped the shackles of the sadistic Harpy who’d enslaved him.

The day his life with the dead began.

To be honest, the physical and spirit worlds remained indistinguishable to him. He still breathed, still thirsted and hungered. Still craved the touch of a woman. He could do everything he’d done before...except return to the human world. The same was true for everyone else in the realm.

In fact, there was only one difference between Lazarus and the other dead: a heart still beat inside his chest. He wasn’t sure why he was the sole exception.

On the bed, the nymphs stretched and sat up. Plump breasts bounced, and tousled hair tumbled into place, sunny smiles blooming.

“If you can walk, we obviously need another go at you,” the blonde said with a silky purr.

The redhead beckoned him with a crook of her finger. “How about I pretend you’re a lollipop?”

They had no idea he’d found nothing but disappointment in their arms.

“I have duties,” he replied. Lately, no one could satisfy him. Climaxing had become a frustrating impossibility, even on his own.

At least he never had to wonder why.

He’d found his μονομανία. His obsession. Or, to be more literal, his own personal kink. Long ago his father, Typhon, had warned him about her, whoever she was.

Somewhere out there is a female capable of weakening you. You will crave her with the whole of your being...but every second in her presence will lead you closer to destruction. Kill her. Do not make my mistake and allow your μονομανία to live. Save yourself.

Young Lazarus had listened, rapt, for Typhon had once been the most feared immortal on Earth. With good reason. He’d murdered anyone who’d opposed, offended or questioned him.

Typhon’s μονομανία had been Echidna, a Gorgon. Also Lazarus’s mother.

The Gorgons were a vicious race known for venomous snakes that grew from their scalps and an ability to turn anyone into stone with a simple meeting of eyes. An ability Lazarus had inherited...somewhat. He created his statues through touch.

Echidna had been Sovereign of the Sky Serpents, appropriately dubbed “Sss,” the sound an opponent heard just before he died bloodily. She’d been an aberration among her tribe. Kind, sweet and endearingly shy—with everyone except Typhon. She’d hated him with every fiber of her being. He’d abducted her, continually raped her, and kept her from her only child.

Typhon had hated her right back, but he’d refused to let her go, his sick desire for her overpowering all else.

He’d gotten his in the end, though. Every time he’d neared her, a small portion of his flesh had crystalized. Eventually the crystallization spread to muscles and joints, limiting his range of motion, slowing and weakening him.

Hera the Cuckoldress, queen of the Greeks, had despised Typhon for reasons Lazarus had never learned. When she’d discovered his poor condition, she’d struck at him through his wife, hacking Echidna to pieces as a helpless Typhon was only able to watch.

Young Lazarus had been there, too. Despite his best efforts, he had failed to save his mother. Then Hera had vanished with Typhon and the warrior hadn’t been seen since.

Lazarus curled his fingers around the hilt of the kris. The only dagger he refused to sheathe with leather, preferring to cover the blade with the blood of his enemies. Small barbs lined both sides; after piercing a body, they expanded into hooks, making it impossible to extract the weapon without removing a few organs, too.

One day, Hera would become intimately acquainted with the kris.

Soon after her crimes, she’d been locked inside Tartarus, the immortal prison. One day she would be free, and she would be killed, and she would end up in a spirit realm.

I will find her. His father, too. No longer a child awed by a parent, Lazarus reviled the male. Typhon had committed many crimes against his mother, but rape was a line no one should ever cross.

The pair would join the Garden of Perpetual Horror.

One of the forest nymphs leaned forward to rake her nails down Lazarus’s chest. “Word has spread throughout the kingdom, you seek a bride. Is this true?”

“Very.” He’d found his μονομανία, yes, but soon afterward he’d lost her. Desire for her still boiled in his blood and blistered his bones, and yet he’d made no effort to find her. The last time they were together...

His chest tightened with something akin to fear. The last time they were together, she’d begun to weaken him.

He rubbed a hand against his thigh, caught the motion and inwardly cursed. Along the surface of his skin branched thin, crystalized rivers. Poisoned veins. The beginning of his downfall.

He’d collected ancient texts to research the legends about his father’s familial line, hoping to find a way to save himself. A fruitless task. Anyone who’d ever developed crystal veins—if anyone ever had—had kept quiet, just like Lazarus and Typhon.

Broadcast your weaknesses today, lose your life tomorrow.

So. He would fortify his defenses, instead. He would wed a vicious, bloodthirsty woman with a large army at her disposal. She would strengthen him, never weaken him. And he would ignore his burning desire for his μονομανία all his days, lest he track her down and attempt to convince her to return to his kingdom.

His μονομανία would spell the end of him.

“Come back to bed, and I’ll show you why I’m your best choice,” the nymph offered with a coy smile.

Mind reading was another ability Lazarus possessed, thanks to his mother. His head filled with the other nymph’s thoughts as she considered ways to kill her friend and hide the body.

“I’ll show you better,” she rasped, batting her lashes at him. “Pick me.”

The females tended the roses in the Garden of Perpetual Horror. They were lovers, not fighters, and lacked the necessary malice to be his wife.

He had to be ready for war. One day Hera and his father would end up in the afterlife. Everyone did. The Harpy who’d imprisoned him would end up here as well, and he’d have all of his enemies in one place.

Fighting rage, he gnashed his teeth until he tasted blood. The Harpy. Juliette the Eradicator. A bitch without equal.

“Return to your duties,” he said, and the nymphs pouted.

His stride long and sure, miraculously unimpeded by the damage his μονομανία had done, he opened his mind to search for any hidden dangers that might be awaiting him in the hall as he exited the room.

Two of his soldiers leaped from their posts to follow him.

Lazarus hadn’t learned their names. He preferred to maintain emotional distance and considered affection another form of weakness.

The moment you decide to trust another being, you lose the battle.

He turned the corner and said, “Have any disturbances been reported in the village?” The sense of disconcertment remained. If someone had hurt a person under his care...

No. Wouldn’t happen. No one would dare to raise a hand against one of his people. The consequences were too great. There was no trial, only punishment.

“No, sir.”

“And the sky serpents?” Upon his arrival to the spirit realms, the creatures scented him, abandoned their homes and entered what was—at the time—enemy territory, determined to serve him as they’d once served his mother.

Like him, they dreamed of killing his father.

Rumors claimed Typhon slept the sleep of the dead, but the truth was more complicated. He was entombed by the same crystals now growing inside Lazarus. He wasn’t dead or asleep, but immobile and aware.

“Two of your sky serpents were spotted in the forest a few miles away,” a guard said. “They were playing chase.”

“I wish to speak with them. I want a contingent of soldiers mounted and ready to leave in ten minutes.” Whatever the problem, he would find it. And he would end it.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” The speaker rushed off.

Lazarus soared inside his private bedchamber, leaving the second soldier in the hall. He stripped, showered off the scent of frustration and sex and dressed for war, donning a shirt made of thin, lightweight metal links and black leather pants. The weapons he returned to their rightful places, anchoring semiautomatics under his arms, short swords at his back and daggers at his waist and ankles.

Every piece, including the kris, bore his personal seal—a sky serpent eating its own tail, forming a never-ending circle. An outward sign of his possession and, he supposed, a sign of his station.

A king by force. A drug dealer by choice. A lover by necessity.

Ambrosia grew in the realm, and he used it to his advantage. Since the purple flowers were the only substance capable of intoxicating an immortal, he oh, so generously gifted the rulers of surrounding kingdoms with a weekly shipment, ensuring their dependence—on him.

The women he bedded kept his mind off everything he didn’t have. Revenge, life...his μονομανία.

Lazarus opened a dresser drawer and traced his fingertips over the diamond knuckles and dagger pendant he’d procured for her. A wasted effort, considering he would never see her again.

He remembered the first time he’d seen her. An immortal walks into a bar...

Long raven hair had tumbled down an elegant back, curling at her hips. Eyes of liquid silver had peered at the world with innate sadness, and delicate features had appeared as breakable as glass.

There’d been no lightning bolt to proclaim, Her, she’s the one. Instead, she’d intrigued and interested him. But at only five foot seven, she was too little and delicate for him. He was over seven feet and weighted down with solid muscle.

He’d thought, With a single touch, I can damage her irreparably.

He’d left without saying a word to her.

The second sighting occurred at the Harpy Games, a type of Olympics for the bloodthirstiest women on the planet. His μονομανία had been a spectator, perched in the stands, cheering for a friend. Once again sadness had clung to her like a second skin.

A spark of longing had heated his chest, and he’d thought, I’d like to see her smile. No, I’d like to make her smile.

A strange desire to entertain. Other people had cringed and cried anytime she’d spoken. Why had he come alive? Why had compassion roused inside him for the very first time?

Again he’d walked away without saying a word, and in the ensuing weeks his obsession with her had grown, until the mere thought of her awoke every cell in his body with lust. Even now he hardened painfully, savage need clawing at his insides.

The third and final sighting occurred when she’d used the Paring Rod to enter the spirit realms. Then. That moment. He experienced the lightning strike of primal aggression and possession.

He’d thought, I will have her, whatever the cost.

Her name was Cameo, and she was the keeper of Misery. She was an infamous Lord of the Underworld. One of thirteen warriors who’d stolen Pandora’s box. Or rather, she was a glorious Lady of the Underworld.

A memory teased him, and he couldn’t resist seeing her, even in the fabric of his mind.

“Do you ever laugh?” he’d asked her as they’d headed to his kingdom...where he’d planned to taste every inch of her...feel her wrapped around him, hear her moaning his name.

He’d burned for her. He’d ached.

“I’ve been told I have,” she’d replied, her tragic voice as addictive as any drug.

“You don’t remember?”

“No. Joy isn’t something that sticks.”

He’d wanted to stoke her joy as much as her passions. At the time, he hadn’t cared about the tiny shards of crystal growing over his thighs. Nothing had mattered more than toppling her defenses, getting her inside his home—and him inside her.

Now he cared.

Lazarus’s mind jumped to another conversation they’d had, when he’d begun to make progress with her at long last.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he’d asked.

Those liquid silver eyes had filled with wry humor. The first sign of amusement she’d ever displayed, and he’d rejoiced. I’m getting to her. “I’m thousands of years old,” she’d replied. “What do you think?”

He’d decided to tease her, knowing the expansion of her good humor would displace more of the sorrow. “I think you’re a spinster virgin starving for a little man-meat.”

She’d gone from wry to angry in a split second, all hint of sorrow gone. “I’ve had several boyfriends, and I’m no virgin. And if you call me a slut, I will cut out your tongue.”

“No, you won’t. You want my tongue where it is. Trust me.” Please. A woman’s trust had never been so important to him. “But I’m curious. How many boyfriends?” How many men would he turn to stone for daring to touch what belonged to him?

She’d stiffened. “None of your business.”

Craving another outburst of anger, hoping it would lead to passion of a different sort, he’d said, “Too many to count. Noted. What are you like in bed?”

She’d scowled, revealing her perfect white teeth, and he’d actually trembled as if he were a young lad with his first female. “You will never know.”

He’d never stopped burning for Cameo. Never stopped aching. But now that they were separated by life, death and a thousand different realms, he had new perspective. He’d been a fool, allowing sexual desire to dictate his actions. Nothing mattered more than strength.

A harried knock sounded at the door, breaking into his thoughts. His mind beat him to the exit, ensuring he wasn’t walking into an ambush.

The guard wrung his hands, unwilling to meet Lazarus’s gaze. “The sky serpents... Majesty, we just received word. Someone...” Gulp. “Someone not only injured the two...but came close to killing...”

Rage exploded inside him, but when next he spoke, his voice conveyed only calm. “Where are they?”

“The garden, Majesty. The healer has been summoned.”

Lazarus could have flashed to the garden—moving from one place to another with only a thought—but he liked walking. Liked his ability to move about unimpeded by crystals.

He stalked through the palace, the opulence of stolen treasures and the luxury of hand-carved furnishings whizzing past him. The ceiling was high and tiered, embellished with a frieze that arced across two marble fireplaces. Colorful stained glass glinted in the windows, and elaborate mosaics decorated the floor.

Outside, waning sunlight cast golden rays over a hilly terrain that overflowed with flowers.

What would Cameo think of such lush beauty? Would she smile at last?

Desire joined his rage, seething inside him.

“Majesty.” One of his advisers raced to his side, short legs working overtime to keep up with Lazarus’s swift pace. “Lucifer sent another emissary, demanding an answer to his query.”

Lucifer the Destroyer, known for deriving pleasure from the torment of others, was one of the nine kings of the underworld. He ruled over demons and Greek gods, and he was currently at war with his father, Hades, another king of the underworld.

Weeks ago, Lucifer invited Lazarus to join his alliance. In exchange, he’d vowed to return Cameo to the Realm of Grimm and Fantica.

Lazarus had toyed with the idea of accepting. Cameo...once again within reach...driving him insane with desire...

Weakening me. “Have the emissary escorted to the dungeon. I’ll slay him at my earliest convenience.” Tempt him and suffer.

“Yes, Majesty. Of course.” The adviser raced away.

A family of butterflies joined Lazarus, fluttering overhead. Along with the sky serpents, butterflies had come to the realm in droves, as drawn to him in death as they’d always been in life. He’d never known why.

An older woman—the healer—joined him, as well. She carried a basket of salves and bandages.

Together they topped the hill, the injured sky serpents coming into view at last. One was splayed on the ground, black blood streaming from his left eye. The other writhed in pain, a petrified branch holding open his jaw.

The rage inside Lazarus darkened. Sky serpents were extremely loyal but equally predatory, with the instincts of a sociopath. But they were his sociopaths, the equivalent of a cowboy’s prized horse. They fought for him without hesitation.

He worked the branch free and, alongside the healer, patched up both creatures. Within a few days, the two would be as good as new. In the meantime, they would suffer as torn muscle and flesh wove back together.

“Whoever did this will pay. You have my word.” Finding the culprit would be easy. Sky serpent blood always left blisters behind.

The pair mewled in thanks.

Determined, Lazarus left them in the hands of the healer and headed to the stables to join the contingent of soldiers he’d instructed to arm up.

The hunt was on.

3

“The opponent you allow to live is the opponent who will stab you in the back.”

—The Fine Art of Decapitation

Cameo limped through a crowded village fair as the vendors hawked different wares, a gaggle of voices producing a jumbled sound track. The scent of spicy meats and candied sweets filled the air.

She stopped abruptly. There, on a table shaded by an azure fruit tree, rested her boots. And her weapons!

With an angry huff, she approached the seller, a tall man with a long, gray beard. The pain in her ankle flared, and the blisters on her hands stung.

He spotted her and proudly waved his hand over her belongings. “See something you want?”

“Yes. Your heart on a platter.”

Tears welled in his eyes. And thanks to Misery, the influx of sorrow blinded him to her threat. “Today only, I’m offering each item for the bargain price of...of...” He quieted, his body suddenly vibrating with eagerness. “You live. You are living. Your body is alive!”

Surprise danced hand in hand with her own ever-present sorrow. How did he know she’d passed through the Paring Rod without experiencing death?

He attempted to mask his excitement with a faux aura of boredom. “I’ll buy the body from you. What would you like in exchange? The daggers? You’ll never find a better made pair.”

“I know. Because I made them,” she grated.

He flinched, the tears coming faster. “You want them, you have to buy them. I must recoup my losses, considering your friend charged me an arm and a leg. My servant won’t regrow the limbs for another month, which means I have to do all the heavy lifting myself.”

Her friend? The only person she’d spoken to was—She hissed at Rathbone. “You stole my stuff?”

The mangy feline who’d escorted her into town prowled around her ankles. “Meow?”

Cameo bent down to grab him by the scruff, but he darted out of range. “You left me defenseless, you miserable excuse for a cat. I had to fight with sticks. Sticks! I will not pay your escort fee.” Wait. That sounded wrong. “I owe you nothing for your aid.” Not that the prick had aided her.

“What can I say? Even I have to pay to play.”

As a woman who’d been created fully formed by a king who’d demanded her service—Kill for me or be killed by me—she’d encountered many perverted immortals. Rathbone had to be the worst.

“You.” Staring at the blisters now marring her hands, the vendor stumbled backward. “You’re the one. You harmed the sky serpents.”

Gasps of dismay erupted from the crowd, buyers and other vendors moving to form a wall around her.

As she scanned the masses, confused, Misery cackled with glee. Ten out of ten people agree. You’re a horrible person, and the world will be a better place without you.

Depression oozed over her like boiling tar, adhering to her soul. A sensation manufactured by the demon. He wanted to control her.

Calm. Steady.

The click-clack of horse hooves hit her awareness, a welcome distraction. The crowd parted down the center, revealing an army of scowling soldiers.

Everyone knelt and pointed at her. Accusing voices rang out.

“Her!”

“She did it!”

“She’s the one you seek!”

Cameo lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “You don’t want to fight me. I’m a highly respected friend of your king.” At least, she hoped they’d parted as friends. “Also, if you attack me, I will kill you.”

Finding Lazarus had become her reason for breathing. Basically, he was the equivalent of an organ donor. If he shed light on specific memories Misery had stolen, he would give her a new heart.

The warriors flinched as if they’d been punched. Scowls gave way to tear-glazed eyes and trembling lips. From the crowd, a chorus of sobs rang out.

Only one soldier rode closer to her. Fading sunlight shone at his back and bathed his face in shadows.

When he stopped to dismount a rare Pegasus—a winged warhorse—those shadows vanished, and bolts of electricity arced through her.

He was utterly magnificent, the most beautiful male she’d ever seen. He radiated raw masculinity and sexual arrogance.

His mass of jet-black hair spiked in wind-blown tangles. His eyes were dark, fathomless, with tiny pinpricks of light. Like stars! His features could have been chiseled from stone. He had a proud, blade-sharp nose, prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw darkened by stubble. His unnatural but oh, so delicious height was perfectly balanced by an abundance of muscle and sinew.

Underneath the collar of his shirt, a wealth of tattoos peeked out. Roses with bloody thorns, a snake eating its own tail, a skull—several skulls—butterflies. On one hand, he had the word LOVE tattooed over his knuckles. On the other hand, he had the word HATE.

Unease prickled at the back of her neck.

His gaze raked over her, slowly, almost brutally, devouring her. As if she were a last meal and his only means of salvation. She shivered even as her blood heated.

Misery hissed and kicked at her skull. Run! Run now!

Afraid, demon? What an interesting development.

Did the man possess power over evil? Or over Cameo specifically? Could he be the one she sought?

Better question: Did she want him to be?

“At last.” Ferocious tension and undiluted aggression radiated from him, making the most feminine parts of her soften. “We meet again.”

Another shiver, courtesy of his voice. The husky timbre was as carnal as the rest of him. She licked her lips. “Again?”

Unlike the leopard, the vendor, and everyone around them, the brute merely arched a brow at the sound of her voice. “Are you going to pretend we’re strangers?”

“I wish I were pretending.” Her heart fluttered, and her knees trembled. “Who are you?”

His study of her intensified, his dark eyes mesmerizing her so thoroughly she almost missed the phantom fingers brushing across her mind. Almost. She recognized the sensation and frowned. Was he attempting to read her thoughts?

Anger sparked. Must protect my secrets.

The few times she’d encountered an immortal with such an intrusive and dangerous ability, she’d slayed first and asked questions later.

With a concentrated effort, she gave a mental push. The second he was out, she erected a mental shield.

“You truly don’t remember me.” Steps clipped, he closed the distance...and oh, wow, he smelled good. Like expensive champagne and honey-glazed chocolate.

She grew light-headed. When he cupped her face with big, callused hands and forced her gaze upon his, the sensation worsened, the simple touch searing her.

“I am the one you seek,” he rasped. “I am Lazarus.”

Confirmation shook her to the bone. She waited for a spark of recognition, prayed for it, but her mind remained a dark abyss of sadness, sorrow and...arousal? Her nipples puckered, her belly quavered and warmth pooled between her legs.

Misery killed the wanton feelings in a hurry, leaving her bereft.

Satisfaction teased Lazarus’s features...and Cameo. “Your body remembers me, at least,” he said.

Electric currents charged through her, sizzling in her marrow.

This time Misery flooded her with a boiling ooze of depression, and her shoulders slumped.

“Well.” Lazarus sneered. “You’re still a bitter crone, I see.”

A crone? Her hands fisted. The need to find Lazarus had plagued her, a sickness...a fever...and all along he’d thought the worst of her. “You’re a bastard, I see.”

Gasps and wails rose from the crowd.

He smiled slowly, wickedly. “That’s right. But I’m your bastard, sunshine.”

Sunshine? Her? She nearly choked. “I’m only using you for your brain. Tell me about our time together.” Please!

“Answer a question for me first.”

She gave a clipped nod.

“What would you do if a man kissed you? Asking for a friend.”

He dared to tease her, and she dared to like it. Desire suddenly overshadowed her curiosity. Does he want to kiss me?

Before Cameo had returned to this realm in search of Lazarus, her friend Anya had said, “We don’t chase men, we erase. Fine, you can make this one the exception. Just remember to hide your beef. Why buy the cow when you can steal it and eat for free?”

Cameo had replied, “You mean, why buy the pig when you’re only going to get a little sausage?”

“Your hands,” Lazarus said, drawing her back into the present. Eyes narrowed, body stiff as a board, he clasped her wrists and lifted her hands into the light to study her multitude of blisters. “You fought the sky serpents.”

She jerked from his grip. “I protected myself from becoming an all-you-can-eat dinner buffet, if that’s what you mean.”

Those dark eyes narrowed further. “I vowed to make the person who injured my pets pay a terrible price.”

His pets? “You may try.” He would soon learn she could take a licking and keep on ticking.

A new chorus of gasps and wails rose from the crowd.

“I don’t try, sunshine, I do, and I always keep my word. I said the culprit would pay...but I didn’t say how the culprit would pay.” He toyed with the ends of her hair. “Since you are my friend, I’ll have to think of an appropriate punishment.”

She sputtered. “You lay a hand on me, and I’ll—”

“Come. I know.”

What!

Misery gave her skull another kick. A sharp pain lanced her temple.

Lazarus angled his body, his muscles bunching under his shirt. His eyelids hooded over irises blazing with savage heat, his ferocity sharpening into a double-edged sword. He was almost...intimidating. Scratch that. He was intimidating. Only a true warrior could pull off mesh and leather.

“Sunshine, I know what you sound like, look and feel like when you’re experiencing the ultimate pleasure.”

Her breath caught, steaming up in her lungs. Her bones softened, and her knees wobbled. Not just pleasure—he’d said ultimate pleasure.

He was lying. He had to be lying. No one had ever given her the slightest bit of pleasure. Unless...

Misery had wiped her memory of the first orgasm she hadn’t faked.

The thought destroyed her. Such a loss would be a violation, a rape of her mind.

Lazarus’s angry countenance returned in a blink. “What are you doing here, Cameo? Why did you return to the land of the dead?”

Whatever had transpired between them, whatever pleasure she had experienced, the end had clearly been tumultuous.

Should have stayed in Budapest with my friends.

As she backed away from him, Misery lapped up her dismay and whispered conversations drifted from the crowd.

“I bet he kills her...with pleasure.”

“How do I sign up for that death?”

Gaze remaining on Cameo, Lazarus said, “Leave us. Now.”

It was a softly spoken command, and yet the crowd dispersed in seconds, tables and wares abandoned without question. Soldiers and horses trotted away.

Lazarus was king, his word law and his power unquestioned. He was a god among men. Did he know about Misery? she wondered again. He must, considering he’d read a portion of her mind. Did he want her dead, the way Alex had?

She’d never blamed Alex for his betrayal of her. No, she’d blamed fear.

When she’d escaped the Hunters, she’d gone back to Alex and, while on her knees in supplication, her body bloody and broken, she’d told him about the box. He’d dropped his sword, joined her on the floor, and wrapped his arms around her. She thought he’d begun to understand.

Evil such as yours has to be extinguished, he’d said. Then he’d shouted for the Hunters again. Only then had she accepted the truth. Misery had infected him, and Cameo was to blame.

As she’d fought her way free a second time, a Hunter had stepped forward and said, Come with us willingly or Alexander dies.

Alex had died.

Even now, guilt prodded her, her sense of misery no longer manufactured by the demon. I am no man’s prize.

No, you are every man’s downfall, Misery said.

She took another step back, her bruised heel landing on a sharp rock. She winced.

Lazarus’s gaze dropped to her feet, a scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Your feet. Your feet are bloody. You’ve been hurt.”

The word hurt on his lips was a vile curse. A promise of violence.

“The doing of sky serpents?” he demanded.

Would he punish his pets if it were? “Blame the trek here, and the piece of shit shape-shifter who stole my shoes.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. Planning to harm Rathbone?

Why did he care who did what to her when he clearly hated her?

“Harsh words, darling. Harsh.” Rathbone appeared in the distance, prowling around a table. “And after I saved you from a tragic end.”

Liar! “I saved myself.” She waved a fist at him.

The leopard tsk-tsked, as if she were too stupid to know the difference between salvation and danger.

Lazarus curled a hand around the hilt of a dagger.

Rathbone began to backtrack. “You’re clearly in the middle of your lady time. Both of you. I’ll return later.” In a blink, he was gone.

Cameo envied the ability to flash. Get what you want, and go. “You asked me a question,” she said to Lazarus. “Now I’ll answer. I’m here because I want answers. I want to know everything that happened between us.”

Silent, he bent at the knees and gently but firmly pushed his shoulder into her stomach.

“What—” she began.

He straightened, lifting her, ensuring she remained draped over him.

She was too stunned to protest. The fearsome keeper of Misery was being carted like a sack of potatoes? This was happening? Truly?

“We’ll continue our conversation,” he said. “Later.”

“What are we doing now?” she asked, curious but not frightened.

A pause. Then, “We’re picking up where we left off.”

As he spoke, a butterfly with wings of scarlet landed on the table with her daggers, and she groaned. Here was another sign of impending doom.

Her relationship with Lazarus wasn’t going to end well, was it?

4

“How to win a war in six easy steps. One: Taunt.”

—The Fine Art of Decapitation

—How to Achieve Victory

Lazarus marched through the towering front doors opened by the guards he’d stationed there, a shockingly docile Cameo hanging over his shoulder. The last time she’d entered the spirit realms, he’d sensed her and caught her as she’d hurtled to the ground. Why hadn’t he sensed her today?

“Did you fall through a portal?” he asked. “Or did you enter the realm another way?”

“The portal,” she grumbled. “Landing sucked.”

Had he somehow blocked her from his mind, the way she’d blocked him from hers? Or had she blocked him from the start?

Well, he wasn’t blocking her now. He could think of nothing and no one but Cameo.

In the spacious entryway, servants stopped cleaning to bow to him...and watch him with wonder. He’d never handled a female so publicly before.

Cameo was more beautiful than he remembered. Silken ebony locks, sterling-silver eyes, ruby-red lips. Her eyes said come closer while her demon said that’s close enough. She was his own personal temptress. She enchanted him, and she had no right!

Even now, his legs tingled and burned, the first sign the crystals were expanding.

Did she know how terribly she affected him? Or how greatly she could weaken him, making him easy prey for his enemies? Did she care?

He opened his mind to hers only to bump against her shield. His questions remained unanswered, a familiar frustration seething inside him. Frustration, rage and that ever-present desire.

His hunger for this woman was insatiable, but he couldn’t have her. Unless, of course, he abandoned his vengeance against those who had viciously wronged him and accepted an eternity entombed in indestructible crystal.

Never! Why not kill her, here and now? Removing her head would be an act of self-defense.

With the thought, Lazarus physically recoiled.

Damn her!

“Whoa, big guy.” Cameo patted his ass, calm when she should have been hysterical. “Is one hundred and fifteen pounds too much for you?”

Smart-mouthed female.

Was there any better kind?

Patch her up and send her home without ravishing her beautiful body. “Someone is suffering from another convenient bout of memory loss, isn’t she?” The words left him with more force than he’d intended. Perhaps he was a wee bit bitter? “She’s forgetting about an extra five pounds.”

The little she-devil beat her fists into his lower back. “You might or might not have intimate knowledge of my body. You definitely know things I’ve said and done. The good, bad and ugly. You know if we parted as friends or foes. You know where we left off. I don’t. That isn’t a convenience for me but a nightmare.”

Her fury doused his own, the need to comfort her rising. Memories offered a form of protection; they told you whom to trust and whom to revile, saved you from repeated mistakes, and created a clear path for your future.

Compassion bloomed, and he cursed. Another weakness, thanks to this woman.

Beyond them, servants sobbed. He glared at the sorry bunch. He might have to invest in earplugs for his entire staff—or slay them all.

“Back to work,” he snapped.

A flurry of motion erupted as everyone obeyed.

He pounded up a flight of stairs, his hand flush against Cameo’s ass as he maneuvered through different hallways. He couldn’t wait to see her surrounded by his things, knew he would enjoy having her luscious scent—a mix of bergamot, rose and neroli—infuse his sheets... He would take great pleasure in presenting her with the gifts he’d collected for her. Would her face light up with delight? Or would she frown at him, all the world’s sadness in her gaze?

Did it matter? After she departed, he had to do everything in his power to end his body’s obsession with her. That meant erasing every trace of her from his home.

Can’t share my bedroom with her. Not now, not ever.

He entered the room beside his. One he’d saved for—

A guest. Any guest.

With a swift kick, he shut the door behind him. He tossed his beautiful bundle onto the bed. Look away! The sight of Cameo splayed atop a mattress, any mattress, would only damage his defenses against her.

Lazarus focused on the bed itself. Each of the four posters had been uprooted from the forest and potted. Lush red leaves thrived, forming a canopy above. The comforter was made from flower petals imbued with summer Fae dust; those petals were softer than silk yet far more durable.

Cameo scrambled to an upright position and scanned the room.

He knew she’d cataloged every exit as well as everything she could use as a weapon, and he did the same. There was only one exit—the one he’d shut. At the hearth, a marble sky serpent stood sentry at each side, heat wafting from their open mouths. Weapons—the pokers balanced between their claws.

The dresser had been cut from an amethyst geode. Pieces could be chipped off and used to cut through vulnerable flesh.

The vanity had a solid gold top, too heavy for her to lift. The legs had been hand-carved to resemble sky serpents. Rubies lent an unnatural life to their eyes, while their tails curled into glimmering diamond points. The jewels could be removed with little effort.

The gilt mirror had once belonged to Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures and supposedly the most vicious of the Erinyes. Lazarus had been told simply peering into the glass would reveal the different paths to finding true love. So far he’d seen nothing but his reflection.

If Cameo desired weapons, she would have weapons. He would never interfere with her efforts to protect herself.

When her gaze landed on Lazarus, a flush painted her cheeks. He knew just how hot her flawless skin could burn, and his fingers itched to touch.

Resist! “You want a memory, sunshine. Here you go. Last time we were together, we kissed.”

No, kissed was too mild a word. She’d been fire in his arms, with no hint of sadness or sorrow. She’d sucked on his tongue as if it were her favorite candy, had breathed his breath as if she’d needed him to survive, as if she would always need him. She’d been a live wire of passion.

She’d forgotten him so easily while his remembrance of her had the power to scorch him.

She stared at his lips and whispered, “We kissed. Nothing more?”

That voice! A burst of sorrow accompanied every word.

He comprehended the reason other people flinched and cried. They’d never experienced such a fervent punch of undiluted sadness. Lazarus had. Many times. First, after the brutal loss of Echidna. Then his inability to find and kill his father for the crimes committed against his mother. Then his centuries-long enslavement. Cameo’s voice simply couldn’t compare.

“We stripped and rolled around like two teenagers in an empty house.” He hid the intensity of his desire for her behind a glib tone. “You writhed against me, begging for more, but I stopped before penetration.” He’d had to work, trick and cajole to get her that far, and the wait was torturous...but the agony was worth every second of ecstasy.

He’d stopped because two of his men had burst into his room. And because she’d learned the truth—she hadn’t been captured by an enemy intent on selling her goods and services, as he’d led her to believe; she had been tucked safely inside Lazarus’s very own kingdom.

Breath hitched in her throat as her pulse raced. She desires me still... Lust threatened to raze his good intentions...until the tingling in his legs magnified.

Leave! Now!

Concern for her rooted him in place. Her wounds needed tending. Would his control snap when he got his hands on her?

“Why did you stop?” she rasped.

“We were—are—enemies,” he croaked. Kick me out.

Her eyes widened. “Enemies. Because you hate me...hate what I am?”

“I don’t hate you.” He feared her and the power she wielded over him. He hungered for her like a man who’d been denied proper sustenance for years. “But I don’t like you, either.”

He expected her to recoil with hurt. Instead, she exuded acceptance.

His black heart shattered. How many times had this woman faced rejection?

My μονομανία will be respected at all times!

He cursed his growing sense of possession. This woman would never belong to him. He would always choose strength over weakness.

“Why are we enemies?” she insisted.

“I want you too much,” he admitted with a snarl.

She gaped at him. Then she pressed her lips together. A habit he’d noticed before. And he got it, he really did. People despised her voice, and she despised their reaction to it.

“Use your words like a big girl,” he said, purposely taunting her. He believed in the law of displacement. Like a glass set underneath a dripping faucet. Eventually it would fill up, and the liquid would spill out, leaving the container empty...and ready for something new. It had worked in the past, allowing him to manipulate her mood. Misery for anger, anger for passion. “Little girls get spanked.”

She reached for a dagger no longer in her possession, then shook her empty fist at him. “Try and lose a hand.”

“Only one?” He tsk-tsked. “Someone is practically begging to get spanked.”

“Someone is wondering why she thought it would be a good idea to spend time with you.”

“That’s easy. You are addicted to my massive...”

She bowed up, preparing to attack.

“Wit,” he finished, trying not to smile. Teasing her had always been a source of delight. For him.

With calculated grace, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “No worries, warrior. I can get wit anywhere.”

An-n-nd he lost the desire to smile. Any male who dared wit her would be met by Lazarus’s—

Handshake and hero’s send-off. I will let her go.

Determined, he focused on the worst of her injuries. “You have multiple wounds, but I’ll ensure you heal before you go. You’ll have no scars, or what I like to call love buttons.” There would be nothing to remind her of their newest interaction. If the demon decided to wipe her memory clean once again.

Now hurt twisted her expression, and the sight was nearly his undoing. Did she want to stay with him?

She rebounded quickly and buffed her nails. “Don’t bother with patch work. I refer to bandages as sissy support.”

“I’ll bother. Otherwise you won’t heal.” He strode into the en suite, where he found the salve made with winter Fae ice.

He hadn’t saved it for Cameo. Of course he hadn’t. Helping the only female capable of hurting him? No! Such an action would have been foolish.

What are you doing now?

Ensuring she lived long enough to travel home. Nothing more.

He swallowed a growl and returned to the room to crouch before the dark-haired beauty. Her intoxicating scent enveloped him, his mouth watering for a taste. Perhaps he’d steal a kiss, a single kiss, before he began his “patch work.” He’d promised to pick up where they’d left off, and he always kept his promises...

The rest of the world faded as he leaned into her...

Her breath hitched, maddening him further, but also returning him to reality.

Damn her appeal!

With his attention fixed anywhere but her too lovely face...and perfectly rounded hips...and the long, lean legs she’d once wrapped around his waist...he cleaned her wounds and applied the salve.

“Must get you home,” he grated.

“When we part,” she said softly, “I’m not going home. Not until I find the goddess of the Afterlife and—” She pressed her lips together.

And...what? Or who? If she sought another man, Lazarus would—

Nothing.

“Your moods change lightning fast,” she said. “Are you manstruating?”

He suppressed a laugh. Then he probed the outer recesses of her mind a final time, nearly grunting with relief and triumph when he realized she had inadvertently lowered the shield.

She also searched for Pandora’s box.

He experienced a flare of guilt. Should he admit she’d come close to finding it? The last time they were together, the artifact had been inches away.

He’d stopped her from making a play for it, and in the process stopped its guardian from awakening, and Cameo from dying, her spirit forever stuck in the phantom realms.

Lazarus would have been stuck with the key to his downfall.

So he’d led her away from the box, knowing he could return for it at any time. He’d even played with the idea once or twice. But why mess with a working system?

He ignored the guilt, remained silent and dug deeper into her mind. Well, well. She had secrets of her own. The little minx hadn’t mentioned the box because she didn’t trust him and she didn’t know how he would react to Misery. She actually believed he would seek her destruction.

Deeper still. She—

Screeched with fury and horror and shoved him out of her thoughts. Then she erected the shield.

She raised her fist, as if to hit him. Their gazes collided as he clasped her wrist. The delicacy of her bones, so different from his, the warmth and softness of her skin. The feel of her wild pulse hammering against him...

“I know you’re demon possessed,” he told her. “I’ve always known, and I don’t care. I’m not a human with limited views. I’m the Cruel and Unusual.”

The tension drained from her, leaving a gale-force of surprise.

Surprise would taste delicious on her lips.

The tingling in his legs worsened, grounding him. With this woman, pleasure and doom would forever walk hand in hand.

He released her and stood. “Stay here. I’ll send a servant to help you.” Every time she moved, the rips in her shirt gaped, coming dangerously close to revealing her breasts.

I want her breasts in my hands. Her nipples in my mouth...

“I’ll gather your daggers and boots and take you to your friend.” His voice was a silken rasp.

“She’s here?”

“She is.” Get out while you can. He exited in a hurry, slamming the door behind him.

Two males stood sentry. “No one enters the room, and no one touches the girl. If she leaves, one of you will follow her, the other will summon me.”

“Yes, sire.”

He continued on. The first female servant he happened upon, he sent to Cameo’s room, with explicit instructions. He wanted her wounds tended, and specific scents placed in her bath.

As he turned a corner, he opened his mind, sending his awareness through the entire palace...finally bumping against the object of his search. Rathbone the Only.

The bastard waited in the throne room.

Once inside, he dismissed every guard with a wave of his hand. Booted footsteps rang out. The doors shut, one after the other, sealing him inside. He saw no hint of the leopard who’d stolen Cameo’s belongings, but the dark presence remained, a thorn inside his mind.

Like Cameo, Rathbone had erected a shield, hiding his thoughts.

“Show yourself. I know who and what you are.” He’d realized the truth at first glance.

The leopard appeared in a puff of smoke, a wide grin revealing razor-sharp teeth. He approached Lazarus slowly but methodically, his form shifting into a very tall, very muscled man with long black hair, eyes like diamonds and skin as dark and red as blood.

He wore no shirt, but black leather pants sheathed his legs. He had thousands of tattoos, even more than Lazarus, who was covered. While Lazarus had thorny roses to represent the ones found in the Garden of Perpetual Horror, skulls to represent the enemies he’d slain—and would slay—as well as butterflies and sky serpents to represent his followers, every image on Rathbone was the same. A closed human eye.

An odd choice. A distinctive choice. Lazarus had guessed correctly. This was Rathbone the Only, one of nine kings of the underworld. He’d earned his moniker by being the last man standing in every battle he’d ever fought. He could shape-shift into any form, no matter how big or small. Animal, human and even inanimate objects.

Lazarus had heard the male once shifted into another man’s wrist cuff, forcing him to beat his entire family before beating himself.

“You have much to answer for, warrior.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“That’s Majesty to you.” A careless shrug. “I always have much to answer for.”

“Cameo’s weapons and boots. Give them to me. Now.”

“And cheat the vendor who bought them from me? For shame.”

“You’d rather cheat my woman?”

When the words escaped, he cursed. My woman. He’d just struck a powerful verbal claim and offered sufficient ammunition for any enemy intent on overseeing his destruction. He’d also proved he’d done a deplorable job of resisting Cameo’s carnal appeal.

Perhaps the bastard wouldn’t notice.

Rathbone’s smile widened. Oh, he’d noticed. He wisely chose to remain quiet on the subject.

“I know why you’re in my realm.” Lazarus traced his fingertips over the hilt of the kris.

“Do tell.”

“The war between Hades and Lucifer brews hotter.”

The very reason Lucifer continued to send emissaries. Every leader of every immortal army had to pick a side. “Who do you fight for?”

“With. I fight with Hades. And so do the Lords of the Underworld.”

Meaning Cameo fought for Hades. Meaning, siding with Lucifer would make his μονομανία his enemy.

Isn’t she already?

Lazarus stalked a circle around Rathbone, a predator deciding the fate of his prey. The male remained in place, never turning. But then, he had no need to turn. Those eyes were tattooed all over his back as well, and as Lazarus moved behind him, the lids flipped open, the irises following his every movement.

A stab of envy. Such a singular power...

“Let Hades know I’ll render my decision by the end of the week.” All personal feelings aside, only one question mattered. Who would get him closer to his vengeance?

Rathbone inclined his head in agreement. “Very well.”

“And now that that’s settled.” Lazarus tossed the kris without any warning. The blade cut through the male’s torso and came out the other side—with his liver. “I vowed to Cameo I would punish the one who hurt her. Now my vow is complete.”

Rathbone winced before a new smile bloomed. “The first organ is free. The next one will cost you. Dearly.”

“So you understand there will be a next. Excellent. We’re on the same page.”

A bark of laughter echoed from the walls. Used to intimidating his foes, Lazarus had no idea how to proceed with this one.

“I think I like you,” Rathbone said. “I think we’ll be great friends.”

“I have no need of friends.” Though he did sometimes yearn for someone to trust, to guard his back and back his cause. “I don’t dislike you, but I’ll remove the rest of your organs, one at a time, if you steal from Cameo again.”

“I now know I like you. If ever you need me—”

“I need no one.” The statement rushed from him. A reassurance for himself as well as the underworld’s shape-shifter king.

“But if ever you do—”

“I won’t.”

“—say my name.” A second later, Rathbone vanished.

Lazarus stood in place, his hands curled into fists. Breathing became a little more difficult as he struggled to rein in his temper...and his lust.

With the king gone, he had no distraction from Cameo’s magnetic allure. She was here. In his home. The woman against whom he would forever measure all others. The fever in his flesh, the ache in his bones.

The weakness he had to excise, one way or another.

5

“Step two: Threaten...and follow through.”

—How to Achieve Victory

Subtitle: Except with Lovers

Cameo remained seated on the bed as an unfamiliar female bustled about in the bathroom. Rejection still rattled inside her brain like a barbed metal ball.

I don’t hate you. But I don’t like you, either.

Lazarus had told her what had transpired between them, but instead of setting her free of Misery’s shackles, he’d wrapped a new chain around her neck. The man had kissed and touched her...had given her pleasure. To her knowledge, he was the first. Also, he had no issues with Misery. And yet he couldn’t get rid of Cameo fast enough.

Destined to be alone with me. Misery’s poison dripped from every word, searing hidden corners of her mind.

Fate would not be so cruel. Fate—

Could be far crueler. Her shoulders rolled in, her head bowing. A small flame of hope snuffed out, and a drop of wax seemed to splash onto her heart, burning a hole in the center. No matter how horrid her life, things could always get worse.

At least her wounds had stopped stinging when Lazarus applied salve. Torn flesh had even woven together. He was right; no love buttons for Cameo.

Of course, when he applied the salve, her pride had started stinging. His touch had been impersonal and rough, his expression twisted with repugnance.

A sniffle wafted from the bathroom. Cameo stiffened. Never fails. Not a single word had left her mouth, and yet Misery had managed to infect the other woman.

Poor servant girl, the demon said, his voice soft and sad. Your presence is torture for her.

Wah, wah, wah. Cameo would not accept guilt for this. She wouldn’t! She wasn’t responsible for anyone else’s feelings.

Aren’t you? You brought me into this realm...

Fine. She wasn’t responsible for anyone else’s reaction to their feelings. But...

Maybe she should go. There was no reason to await Lazarus’s return. She could find Viola without his help, thanks.

No, she needed to stay. Her clothes were hanging on by a thread and a prayer, and the dirt caking her shirt itched.

A new plan formed. Bath, change into clean clothes. Won’t let the door hit me on the way out.

Most important, she would stay away from Lazarus.

He knew so much about Cameo while she knew so little about him, and the imbalance chafed.

What kind of ruler was he? Harsh? Or fair? How did he treat his people? Like chattel? Or prizes? Did he currently have a girlfriend? Or maybe girlfriends?

Her nails dug into the mattress. Did he enjoy monogamy or have a fear of commitment?

The pale-haired servant appeared in front of her. “The water is ready, miss. If you wish to bathe...please, this way.”

First, Cameo gathered a handful of objects she could use as weapons.

Weapons were a girl’s best friend.

She selected a fire poker, and plucked the diamond tails—or rather, the perfect daggers—from the hand-carved sky serpents. For her troubles, she awarded herself both sets of ruby eyes.

Ready for anything, she entered a spacious bathroom that was bigger than her bedroom at home. The walls of the shower stall were made of glistening crystals. Pillars braced the entrance of a large alcove, where a small, winding staircase led to a bubbling hot spring. Steam curled from the water’s surface, fragrant with the scents of rose, bergamot and neroli—

Cameo blinked with surprise. Rose, bergamot and neroli. The essential oils used in her favorite soap. Coincidence?

Had to be. No way Lazarus had noticed her preferred scents. Really no way he had purposely re-created the mix.

I don’t hate you. But I don’t like you, either.

Her nails scraped the fire poker as she continued her study of the bathroom. Find your exits long before it’s time to leave. A crystal chandelier hung above the hot spring. Grab, swing, drop. In a second crystal stall, she found a 24 karat gold toilet and bidet.

Blondie attempted to remove Cameo’s shirt. With a snarl, Cameo leaped out of reach. No offense, but enough was enough. Until she wanted to be stabbed in the back or decapitated, she would not allow a stranger to stand behind her.

Take me unawares once, my bad. Take me unawares twice, you die.

Correction. Take me unawares once, you die.

Cameo motioned for Blondie to leave. Unfortunately the servant missed the action, remaining in place, her head bowed.

Rather than speak, Cameo gave Blondie a gentle push...she stumbled but quickly dug in her heels.

Had Lazarus ordered her to spy? Fear of his wrath must be great.

Fine. Whatever. Keeping Blondie within sight, Cameo stripped. A miraculous feat, considering she retained her hold on the weapons. After walking up the stairs backward, she entered the welcoming water and placed the weapons around the rim of the tub.

With a sigh akin to contentment, she eased onto a waiting bench, where multiple jets massaged sore muscles.

Blondie sniffled again, ruining the moment.

Misery kicked against Cameo’s skull, a flash of memory consuming her mind.

“Maybe I’ll kill you and gift her with your head,” Cameo had said. She sat in the thick of a forest, glaring up at the warrior.

She’d threatened him? Why? Damn it. Did the demon hope to taint her feelings for Lazarus?

And what had she meant? Gift her. Her who?

Juliette, Misery said. The Harpy who once enslaved him.

The demon loved to parse out the details he’d stolen from her, giving just enough info to send her imagination into a tailspin.

“Maybe I’ll cut out your tongue and do the world a favor,” Lazarus had replied. He sat at her side, a tower of menace and strength, sexy beyond imagining.

Whoa. He had dared to threaten Cameo?

Obviously. At least she’d gritted her teeth in irritation instead of fear and said, “Maybe I’ll gut you just for giggles.”

“Maybe I’ll stab the life out of you and do myself a favor.”

Oh, yes. He’d dared. But he’d been amused rather than enraged.

Cameo had jumped to her feet and motioned him closer. “You want to do this, warrior? Because I’m ready. Anytime. Anyplace.”

His big body had unfolded as he’d stood, the movement graceful, his strength on display...and fascinating. “You don’t want to take me on, little girl. You’ll lose.”

Little girl? She would hack him into a thousand pieces.

“I think differently,” she’d said, surprising her present self. Stop baiting him and start attacking! Maybe take him on the worst date of his life...to a karaoke bar. “On both counts.”

She hadn’t attacked. She’d pressed her chest against his and reveled in his hardness.

Well. Attraction had clearly addled her brain. Despite everything, she’d wanted his strong arms wrapped around her, his warm breath on her nape.

“Do your worst, then,” he had said. “But have no doubts, I’ll then do mine.”

The memory began to dwindle. Nooo! Cameo scrambled to keep the playback front and center. She had to know more! What was his worst? What had followed his newest threat? Had they apologized to each other? Or had they split up?

Her mind blanked. With a frustrated shriek, she slammed her fist into the rim of the tub.

Blondie heaved a great sob.

Fighting the crush of defeat, Cameo slunk deeper into the water. Not knowing the minute details of her life killed her. Especially because the tricky demon only ever unveiled bits and pieces of her past, and always completely out of context, forcing her to speculate about why, what and how.

Cameo washed from head to toe, and wondered about Lazarus. He claimed she’d writhed in his arms and begged for more. If anyone could rock her world, it was that male. Beauty and strength wrapped in smoldering sensuality, sprinkled with ferocity.

Finished, she gathered her weapons and descended the stairs. Blondie rushed over to dry her, but she snatched the towel to dry herself. The material wasn’t cotton or silk, but something a thousand times softer.

Blondie gathered clean clothing, and Cameo dressed without complaint while cringing inside. A diamond-encrusted bra and blink-and-you’ll-miss-them bottoms? Really?

Brow arched, she pointed to the gossamer cloth.

“Shorts,” Blondie said and hid a chuckle behind her hand.

Silly me for not knowing. Call her old-fashioned, but Cameo believed her shorts should be longer than her butt crack.

Whatever. She secured the weapons and headed for the door. Blondie raced in front of her to motion to the vanity. Wanted to brush and style her hair, did she? Deep down, Cameo wanted to say yes, despite the foolishness of the act. She wanted Lazarus to take one look at her and basically shit himself. Don’t like me? Fine. But you’ll wish I liked you!

Problem: Blondie would have to stand at Cameo’s back to—

Oh, who cared? What kind of warrior couldn’t protect herself from a single person?

Cameo placed a dagger on the vanity—in plain sight—and eased onto the chair.

Blondie trembled as she lifted a brush. One minute bled into another, zero attacks launched, and Cameo began to relax...until the mirror in front of her moved.

With a yelp, she jumped to her feet. Blondie stumbled back, confused.

Cameo pointed to the liquefied glass, and waves rippled over the surface.

“The mirror once belonged to the goddess of Many Futures,” Blondie said softly. “Its power fuels legends...and nightmares.”

Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures. The youngest of the Erinyes, or Furies.

As a Greek, she’d fallen under the leadership of Zeus. Rumors claimed the goddess had been cursed soon after her sixteenth birthday, forced to spend the rest of her days trapped inside a glass prison.

Cameo had encountered the teenage girl only once before her curse. Siobhan had been a beauty with hair as white as snow and skin as dark as night. She’d looked Cameo up and down, and said, “Must you always frown? Laughter is the best medicine. Unless you have diarrhea.”

A wave of trepidation swept through Cameo as she returned to the chair—from the demon, or from her own sense of self-preservation, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she refrained from peering into the glass a second time.

Glass prison...mirror...if the goddess were trapped inside...

I don’t want to know what fresh misery awaits me.

Over the next half hour, Cameo’s hair was brushed, dried and fashioned in a complicated half braid she would never be able to replicate. Her face was sprinkled with something sparkly.

“This is stardust,” Blondie said. “It is very expensive.”

Who, exactly, had Lazarus spent his big bucks on? A favorite mistress? Was Cameo receiving her leftovers?

A tendril of jealousy surprised her. She had no future with the man, so there was no need to waste emotion on him.

“A witch sells the dust in town,” Blondie continued. Babbling to distract herself from the sadness Cameo exuded? “She’s a crazy one. Does nothing but compliment herself. And she has a devil for a pet. The creature—”

Cameo grabbed the edge of the vanity. Nothing but compliment herself...devil for a pet... No help for it, she had to speak. “Do you know where I can find Viola, keeper of Narcissism, and Princess Fluffikans?”

Blondie burst into tears.

Cameo jumped up and took the woman by the shoulders, shaking her. “Concentrate. Look past the despondency and tell me what I want to know.”

An-n-nd Blondie hunched over, sobbing and dry-heaving. When she calmed, she rattled off coordinates beyond the forest.

“Is there another part to this outfit?” she asked, not waiting for an answer but rushing to the dresser.

Blondie burst into a fresh round of sobs.

“Go.” Exasperated, Cameo waved toward the door. “Leave me.”

The woman didn’t have to be told twice. She beat feet, gone in a blink.

Story of my life. Always better off alone.

She searched through every drawer, at last finding a wraparound skirt that tied at the waist. If someone mistook her for a lady of the evening, well, someone would die.

She exited the room, stunned to find Blondie hadn’t locked her in. Not that a locked door would have mattered. Cameo could pick any lock anytime. A skill she’d honed as a better-safe-than-sorry measure against Hunters.

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.

Do not cling to him. Fight the urge.

“I need you to quiet down, sunshine.” Whispered words, but fierce with command.

Confusion delivered a well-placed punch to her frontal lobe. He’d just told her to quiet down, even though she hadn’t spoken a word.

“You’re thinking out loud,” he said, exasperation thick in his tone. “Now hush.”

Ugh. How could she have forgotten his ability to read her mind?

With a growl, she erected a mental block.

In the distance, new twigs snapped. Her ears twitched while the rest of her stiffened.

Feminine mumbles penetrated her awareness. Cameo swiped up the diamond dagger at the same time Lazarus palmed a spiked blade. His motion was barely perceptible. Had he not been on top of her, she would have missed the action.

The mumbling grew louder, until Cameo could make out the words. “—so much trouble! I mean it. Auntie Vie has a good thing going here. Babysitting duty will screw everything up.”

The familiar voice almost incited excitement. Almost.

“Viola.” Cameo experienced a single beat of relief before Misery poured an all too familiar sorrow into her heart.

Lazarus’s rigid posture softened. Sighing, he pushed to his feet and, with his fingers twined around hers, drew Cameo to a stand. The calluses on his palm created an undeniable zing of friction, a lance of pleasure shooting straight to her core. The heat returned. The aches reignited, and she trembled.

Look away from him! A difficult feat, but one she managed to accomplish. Barely.

Branches rattled and parted, revealing a five-foot-three pixie with long blond hair and cinnamon-colored eyes. As sexy as ever, she wore a black sequined dress. The center veed to a pierced navel and revealed the perfect swell of cleavage. The hem reached her knees, while a split on one side showcased a Kentucky bucket-load of thigh.

Though Viola was the keeper of Narcissism, she’d had nothing to do with Pandora’s box. However, there’d been more demons than thieves who’d released them, and those demons had required containment.

What better recipients for the leftovers than the immortals trapped in Tartarus? They couldn’t run, couldn’t hide.

Why Viola was imprisoned, she hadn’t yet shared.

The goddess spotted Cameo and stopped. Surprise never registered on her delicate features, only irritation. “A girl spends quality time building the perfect stay-away-from-me rep so losers will stop trying to steal her body, and this is her reward?” In each well-manicured hand, she clutched a dirt-caked child. “Look who dared show up at my door!”

Cameo jolted as if she’d been punched. Those dirt-caked kids were Urban and Ever. Her twin godchildren. Their father was Maddox, the keeper of Violence. Their mother was Ashlyn, a newly minted immortal, thanks to her marriage bond to Maddox.

Urban had his daddy’s black hair and startling violet eyes while Ever had her mother’s curling honey-colored hair and twinkling gaze to match. Both children possessed extraordinary powers, with some abilities yet to be tapped.

Cameo rushed over and pulled the kids against her, hugging both. She opened her mouth to demand answers. What were they doing here? How had they gotten here? Last time she’d seen them, they’d been in Budapest with their parents. But she snapped her mouth closed and remained quiet. Sadly, even little ones cried at the sound of her voice.

Frustration ate at her, making her miss Lazarus’s indifference.

An unexpected savior, he sidled up to her to ask the questions she couldn’t. When neither child responded, Viola gave them both a little shake.

“Start talking or I start spanking,” Viola said.

“Do you know how many toy soldiers will fit into a toilet before it clogs?” Urban asked with attitude. “Twelve. The number is twelve.”

Ever’s chin quavered as she peered down at her feet and kicked a pebble. “Mom and Dad are super worried about you, Aunt Cam. While they dealt with the great toilet crisis, we used the Paring Rod to check on you.”

Touched, Cameo pressed a hand over her heart.

Astonishment pulsed from Lazarus. “You’re children. Who taught you to use the Paring Rod?”

Urban crossed his arms over his chest, looking far older than his years and just as stubborn as his mother. “I don’t know you, so I don’t have to tell you anything but get lost.”

Viola pinched the bridge of her nose, as if she’d been pushed past the limits of her tolerance. “For disgusting little urchins, they’re extremely intelligent. They watched their aunts and uncles use the Paring Rod and ta-da. Here they are.”

Well. The kids needed to learn a hard lesson, and if Cameo had to make them sob in the process, so be it. “Coming here was irresponsible. Your parents are probably worried sick. And what if they followed you through the Paring Rod? What if they ended up in a different realm? They could be injured. Or worse!”

Ever hunched over and vomited the contents of her stomach.

Shit! Puking was a little too hard a lesson.

Tears poured down Urban’s cheeks as he wrapped an arm around his sister’s shoulders.

“Ouch,” Lazarus muttered, his lips twitching at the corners. “Aunt Cam is a hard-ass.”

She ignored the guilt...and the urge to lean against him, to bury her head in the hollow of his neck.

Viola fluffed her hair, her eyes dry. Like Lazarus, she didn’t react to Cameo. Either overwhelming sorrow already brewed inside her or she hid her sadness behind a veil of self-love. Either way, Cameo made a quality decision. She’s my new best friend.

“Mom and Dad don’t know we used the Paring Rod,” Urban said through his sniffles. “I hid our actions, even from Uncle Torin.”

Torin, keeper of Disease and one of Cameo’s old boyfriends, monitored the comings and goings of the entire fortress in Buda. Hiding anything from him required skill.

“You can’t know—” she began.

“I do know. Besides,” the little boy added, “you’re being a hypocrite. You came here. You worried my parents.”

Oookay. She couldn’t ignore the guilt any longer. She’d known her friends would worry, but she’d sought out Lazarus, anyway, desperate to regain her memory...secretly hoping to create new ones.

All for nothing! He dislikes me.

Great! Bitterness frothed alongside the guilt.

“I told the little monsters they’re fools,” Viola said. “Because I’m smart. The smartest one here, no question.”

Urban flipped her off.

“Oh, how sweet. You’re my number one fan.” The goddess patted the top of his head. “That’s not exactly a shocker, kid. I’m everyone’s favorite.”

The self-love sprang from the demon, so Cameo wouldn’t castigate her.

She motioned for the children to cover their ears. As soon as they obeyed, she said, “Where have you been? One day you were safe at home, the next you were gone, a note on your pillow. Don’t wait up.” She notched a fist on her hip. “Why did you return to the spirit realms?”

“Maybe I get better cell service here.” Viola gave her hair another fluff, a silver ring glinting on her finger. “Maybe my real friends are here.”

“I decided we’re besties. Deal with it.”

Viola waved a hand in front of Cameo’s face. “You really know how to bring down the vibe, don’t you?”

She nodded. Truth was truth.

Lazarus stepped between them, a muscle jumping beneath his eye. “A ball gag would make an excellent lip gloss for you, goddess.” Fury crackled in his tone.

Uh, what had gotten him so worked up?

Viola wiggled her perfectly plucked brows. “Is that an invitation, warrior? Because I accept.”

Oh, no she didn’t.

A dark, gnarled limb sprouted through the chambers inside Cameo’s heart, growing from a root of envy. Despite the presence of Narcissism, Viola exuded a normal woman’s sensuality. She could flirt and charm with abandon and happiness was hers for the taking—and the giving! She could give a fierce man like Lazarus what Cameo could not—untainted pleasure.

Rethinking our friendship...

Ever heaved a disgruntled sigh. “Earmuffing is getting old.”

Urban tapped his foot, impatient.

Cameo held up her index finger, requesting another minute. Glaring at Lazarus, she asked, “Is Viola in the running for your wife?”

Viola said, “Yes. Of course. I’m in everyone’s running.”

He snorted. “Say the word, and I’ll gladly introduce her to the end of my sword. And before your raging jealousy decides I’m bluffing in an effort to hide my desire for her, know that I burn for one woman, only one, and she is a black haired, silver-eyed vixen.”

The limb in Cameo’s heart shrank, the root catching flame. Her knees trembled. Lazarus might not like her, but he desired her. No, he burned for her.

Breathless, she said, “We need to get the children to the portal.” The sooner the better. Maddox and Ashlyn had to be agonized by the loss of their children. “How far must we travel?”

“Three days in the opposite direction. We’ll return to the palace and head out at first light.”

“But—”

“You don’t want the munchkins in the forest at night,” Viola interjected. “Trust me. I’m surprised the plants haven’t tried to eat us already.”

Lazarus’s chest puffed up with pride. “The plants fear me. With good reason.”

Gorgeous warrior. His strength tantalized and tempted her. I burn for him right back.

I’m doomed, remember? He’s not for me.

As their group motored forward, Lazarus said to Viola, “Where’s your pet?” His gaze slid to Cameo. “Princess Fluffy—whatever gnawed off my hand at our first encounter.”

“Did you retaliate?” she asked.

Urban and Ever burst into tears, and Cameo withered. Right. The two were no longer covering their ears. Better zip her lips.

Lazarus flicked the children an irritated glance. As if he were protective of Cameo’s feelings. Had to be a misinterpretation on her part.

“I could have retaliated,” he said. “Quite easily. Instead, I chose to forgive the slight.”

Her brow knit with confusion. “Why?” Forgiveness clearly wasn’t his thing.

“My reasons are my own.”

“And probably manillogical. Meaning ridiculous,” Viola said. “As for Fluffy, he’s chasing a hideous beast who’s been following me for weeks. A fun game of hide-and-seek.”

The children decided to play a game themselves, throwing and catching a small rock. Urban threw it first, flames erupting from the ends of his fingers.

Ever possessed the opposite ability. She sprouted ice, dousing the flames.

They were opposites in many other ways, but they were also two halves of a whole, complete only with each other.

Oh, to have a devoted partner in crime.

Cameo’s gaze slid to Lazarus, and lingered on the bulge of his biceps. One small vein glinted silvery white in the moonlight. The desire to touch registered a split second after she’d already reached out.

Without turning in her direction, he captured her wrist, his long, strong fingers forming a hot brand and unbreakable shackle. As electricity arched between them, her heart galloped, a racehorse headed for an invisible finish line.

A low growl rose from his chest, echoing through the trees. Birds took flight, squawking in protest, and leaves wrinkled as they drew back.

“No touching in public.” Lazarus released her.

“Why?” Minutes ago, he’d said he wanted her. Now she wasn’t allowed to caress him in front of other people?

He’s embarrassed of you. Misery cast a dark shadow over her thoughts and wrapped her in sorrow.

The tears she’d so often caused in others welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back.

His spine rigid and his stride long, Lazarus moved ahead to claim the lead. Cameo and the others followed him through the rose garden, past the statues she’d admired earlier and into the palace. The children stopped playing, stopped laughing.

Her misery was already spreading, affecting those around her. The knowledge only added to her sorrows.

Viola threw open her arms and shouted, “I’m here at last. Drink me in.”

Lazarus escorted her and the children to a spacious room. “Rest,” he said. “Food will be brought to you.”

He shut the door before the trio could protest. As two guards raced from the shadows to stand sentry at the door, he strode down the hall, turned a corner and stopped at Cameo’s door.

Tension radiated from him and thickened the air, air sweet with his scent and sultry with his delicious heat. Breathing became more difficult, as if she were trying to inhale molasses.

“Invite me in,” he rasped.

The change in him devastated her senses. She licked suddenly dry lips. “Why? Minutes ago, you couldn’t stand my touch.”

“Untrue. We were in public, and you were about to touch a...wound.”

He’s not embarrassed of me. “I’m sorry, Lazarus. I didn’t know.”

He took a step toward her, invading her personal space. “I want a night with you, sunshine. From sundown to sunrise, I want to make you scream with pleasure.”

The blatant sexuality of his claim nearly knocked her off her feet. He’d meant what he said and would do as he’d promised; she had zero doubts about that. His dark eyes sizzled with lust and challenge.

Must decline. But why?

His dislike. Her memory loss.

Um, surely she had more than two reasons?

Only need one. “No,” she croaked.

Without missing a beat, Lazarus took her by the hips, swung her around and pressed her against the door. “Have dinner with me, then. Give me a chance to sway you.”

Misery hissed.

Cameo chewed on her bottom lip. “Why do you want me?” Why not go for Viola, the surer thing?

“Desire is a beast more insidious than your demon.”

In other words, he didn’t want to want her. And she couldn’t blame him!

She should lock herself in her room, end the madness. Problem was, she would only buy herself an hour, maybe two. He was a warrior, and walking away from him would incite him to battle. He would only come after her with greater fervor.

What harm could food, conversation and a little innocent flirting do? He would never breach her resolve. She, too, was a warrior. Yes?

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll have dinner with you.”

8

“Step five: Plan an attack. Trash it and plan another. Trash that one, and act without planning. If you surprise yourself, you’ll surprise your enemy.”

—How to Achieve Victory

Subtitle: Except with Lovers and Their Family

Cameo’s heart thundered against her ribs as Lazarus led her into the bedroom. She stopped short, dumbfounded.

Damn him. He’d planned ahead.

Servants were lighting candles here, there, everywhere. A small, round table had been brought into the room and covered with dishes. The scent of sweetmeats and candied treats teased her, and her mouth watered.

Misery had curtailed her appetite for years, and yet her stomach rumbled, a sign of hunger she wasn’t used to feeling. Usually, when she spent time away from her friends, she had to set an alert on her phone to let her know mealtime arrived.

Never breach my resolve? I’m an idiot.

“You are not an—” Lazarus began.

Erecting a mental shield, she pressed a finger against his lips. “If you respond to my thoughts one more time, I’ll insist on eating alone.”

He nipped at her fingertip, his straight white teeth sinking into her tender flesh. She barely noticed the sting...but gasped as he licked the same spot, her cells buzzing. Languid heat consumed her.

“Out,” he barked, never looking away from her.

The servants dashed from the room. The males wore T-shirts and jeans while the females wore cashmere sweaters and lightweight pants. I call foul! Lazarus only dressed his pretties scantily while everyone else got to wear whatever the hell they wanted?

“You are no longer in charge of my wardrobe,” Cameo informed him. “Sexable women aren’t your personal Barbie dolls. Some of us prefer to wear something other than sequined bandages.”

“A simple thank you would suffice. And I like the word sexable. You offering?”

“What! No!” Right?

Right.

With a smirk, Lazarus snaked an arm around her waist and led her to the table. He pulled out her chair, ever the gentleman. “Please, have a seat on the quitter bench.”

Muscles contracted at both corners of her mouth as if...as if... Nope. The sensation eased, and disappointment flared. Sighing, she sat down.

He eased into the chair across from hers, light and shadows flickering over his rugged features. Taking turns caressing him? Lucky lights. Lucky shadows.

He smiled as he filled her plate with flaky crab meat in a butter cream sauce, mixed vegetables steamed to perfection, and a casserole that smelled suspiciously like...

“Doritos?” she asked.

“At the Harpy Games, you ate a bag of the cheese-flavored chips while cheering for your friend, so I had a special dish prepared.” He hiked a shoulder in a casual shrug. “One of the newly deceased members of my staff had a recipe.” His dark eyes twinkled at her. “Are you impressed?”

She sooo did not want to admit the truth, but unlike Gideon, the keeper of Lies, deceit wasn’t her thing and it would only fuel Misery’s power over her. “Yes,” she grumbled, and toasted him with her glass of wine. “I am.”

He’d noticed her before she’d even met him. How sweet was that?

She toasted him with a glass of red wine and added, “Here’s hoping you disappoint me the rest of the evening.”

“Alas. Your hopes are for naught. Disappointment is a feat I’ve never managed.”

“I’m sure,” she grumbled.

“You sound jealous. Are you jealous?”

“You sound hopeful. Are you hopeful?”

His husky chuckle proved headier than the cabernet. “For dessert, we’re having chocolate cake. I’m told mortals think this one is better than sex.”

Hmm, chocolate. Despite her lack of appetite, she sometimes craved chocolate as if it were the only path to happiness. “Well. Meet your competition. I’m tempted to spend the night with the cake.”

“In that case...” He lifted a round lid, revealing the chocolate cake in question. With his free hand, he stabbed his knife into the center. “Unfortunately, this cake has been murdered.”

She snickered—no, Misery swallowed the sound before it had a chance to escape, leaving her deflated.

“When first I arrived in your realm,” she said, jumping from pleasure to business for the sake of her sanity, “a man noticed I’m living rather than dead. How?”

He rolled with the punches, not missing a beat. “When a living being passes through the Paring Rod, their body becomes a type of suit. It’s there, the dead can see it, but the spirit shimmers through it.”

Interesting. “How many living—”

“Nope. My turn to ask a question.” He leaned back in his seat and regarded her intently. “You’ve mentioned your desire to find Pandora’s box. What are your plans for it?”

“I’m...undecided,” she admitted. No option struck her as “the one.”

She could destroy the box and sentence herself to an eternity with Misery and without hope. She could open the box and remove Misery, but she would kill herself and all of her friends.

Rumors stated anyone demon possessed would die when the box was opened, the demons sucked out of their bodies. Because evil had become an organ over the centuries. A cancerous but necessary organ. Without it, a gaping wound remained. She and the others would hemorrhage.

Kane, the former keeper of Disaster, had proved the demon possessed could survive the wound...if love replaced the evil. A transplant, of sorts.

Love conquered all.

But who could love a woman like Cameo?

“I’m surprised you haven’t worked up a disposal plan.” Lazarus glared at her. “The box can be used as a weapon against you and everyone you love.”

How to explain her selfish desire to be rid of Misery without coming across as, well, selfish? “Keeley, the girlfriend of Torin—”

“The keeper of Disease, whom you used to date. Yes.” He gave a clipped nod. “I know of them both.”

Was he jealous? No, no. He couldn’t be. No man had ever envied another’s affiliation with her. Especially a man who only wanted one night in her bed, planning to bail in the morning.

Only because he can’t tolerate another minute in your presence...

Only. Stupid demon!

“Continue,” Lazarus said through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” she said. “I dated him. We didn’t last long, and he’s now with the love of his life. Anyway. She’s the most powerful immortal I’ve ever known. More powerful than you, I’d bet.”

“I wouldn’t put money on that. You haven’t seen me in action.”

Shivers as delicious as his touch, heat burning through her veins. In battle, he would be a magnificent sight, his sword in hand, the blood of his enemies splattered over his skin.

“Anyway,” she said with a sigh, “Keeley told me there’s another being inside the box.”

Lazarus drained his wine and nodded. “Yes. The Morning Star.”

Eyes widening, she dropped her fork. “What do you know?” Keeley claimed the Morning Star could provide a lifeline for every Lord. A type of Hail Mary.

Lazarus buffed his nails, doing a poor job of hiding his smug grin. “Would you like to buy the information from me?”

With her body? “You think I’ll be okay with whoring for you?”

“Of course,” he said, unrepentant. “Role-playing is fun.”

Dirty-minded bastard. Why was he sexier right now? “No? I mean, no.” If he knew about the Morning Star, others knew. Cameo could ask around. “Now it’s my turn. Why do you plan to marry a woman you may not love?”

He pretended to stab himself in the heart. “Way to kill the mood.”

Exactly!

“I plan to marry a woman I do not love because her army will merge with mine, and together we will mete out vengeance when my enemies enter the realm of the dead.”

“Vengeance matters more than pleasure?”

He could have insisted on taking his turn but, over the candlelight, he reflected her somberness back at her. “For me, vengeance is the ultimate pleasure.” The hardness of his tone transformed the words into a vow.

One she had best heed.

Her shoulders rolled in, pushed by the heaviness of disappointment. Perhaps she’d begun to hope. Perhaps she’d thought he would be the one to help her, maybe even save her. He could tolerate her voice, after all, and he found her attractive. Lazarus for the win!

But he would never choose her, would he? She would always be a conquest, unimportant, easily forgotten. As if she had any right to judge. But. He wouldn’t fight for her if—when—she forgot him.

Who would? Misery asked.

“You’re not going to score tonight,” she told him softly. “In fact, you need to leave.” Before she started to cry.

* * *

Viola, goddess of the Afterlife, secret love child of parents she refused to name, and an all-round badass, crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at Urban and Ever. The pair had seriously interfered with her plans to hide from the monster on her tail, steal powerful artifacts lost throughout the ages, and unite the different spirit realms. Her birthright!

What good was a queen without a queendom?

“Stop looking at us like that,” Ever snapped.

“Like what? Like you’re nasty little creatures? Well, news flash. You are nasty little creatures.” Viola shuddered. Despite her lack of experience with the care and feeding of anyone under the age of two hundred, she was certain she had this babysitting gig nailed.

Children were drawn to her, whether they appeared to be drawn to her or not. They couldn’t help themselves. No one could. Why, she could have bagged and tagged the deliciously gorgeous Lazarus if she’d wanted him. But what woman in her right mind wanted a man who peered at another female as if she were the only portal to heaven?

Not me.

Been there, done that, suffered for it.

Ever, the little snot, said, “You’re a horrible person. I hate you and want my momma!”

Beneath the armor of self-love Narcissism had erected, Viola screamed, I know I’m horrible! Run from me. Run now. Run far. Never look back. I’m your worst nightmare, sweetheart.

“Go—” she pursed her lips and waved her fingers “—see how many toy soldiers are needed to clog the toilets here. Auntie Vie has important duties to attend to. And yes, there’s a hidden message in my words. You aren’t important to me.” You can’t be.

As soon as she cared about people, animals, places or things, she lost them. Princess Fluffikans was the sole exception, and only because a piece of her heart beat inside his chest. Literally! Loving him was the equivalent of loving herself.

Ever, the grubby little urchin, anchored her hands on her hips. “We’re more important than anything. Momma always says so.”

Narcissism kicked against Viola’s skull, a sure sign she approached the danger zone. Measures had to be taken immediately.

She bent to Ever’s level and braced her palms on her knees. “I’m not comfortable speaking for all mothers everywhere, but I’m absolutely certain all mothers everywhere have to tell their kids they’re important. It’s a law. But—and this might be hard for you to accept—those mothers are lying. Until you’re able to protect Auntie Vie from her legion of admirers, you are merely a nuisance.”

Urban tilted his head to the side, as calm as a summer morning and as serious as a heart attack. “I can burn you to death.”

“Wrong. All you can do is set me on fire.” She wagged a finger in his face. “Unfortunately for you, all I’d do is thank you for helping me warm up on a chilly day.”

“You aren’t impervious to my flames. No one is.”

She patted the top of his head. “Look who’s using his big boy words.”

He snapped his teeth at her, his ferocity a rival to his father’s.

“Careful,” she told him. “Break my finger, and you buy it.”

“What does that even mean?” Ever stomped her foot, the ice in her veins rising to the surface of her skin. “You speak nonsense.”

Why do you even try to relate to inferior beings? Narcissism offered the thought with a hum of displeasure.

Even closer to the danger zone... “You know what’s nonsense? This conversation,” Viola said. “Now. Are you two going to go destroy something or not?”

The little girl tossed her arms up, exasperated. “Of course we are.”

Urban peered at Viola with...affection? “You enjoy destruction?”

And another one falls for my awesome awesomeness.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Viola gently chucked him under the chin.

“No,” he replied. “I like you.”

“Of course you do. You and everyone else I’ve ever met. Probably people I’ve never met, too.”

“You can’t like her.” Ever scowled at her brother. “You don’t like anyone but me, and sometimes Momma and Daddy.”

“Well, now I like her.” He faced Viola and said, “You will like me, too.”

“No, thanks, kid.” She didn’t just lose the people, animals, places and things she liked; she witnessed their destruction. Narcissism insisted she cater to him and no other, and punished anyone he deemed competition. So. To save the boy’s life, she added breezily, “You’re an infant. I’m into men.”

Ever punched her brother in the shoulder, leaving ice crystals on his shirt. Viola hid a smile behind her hand. The little rug rat had a temper.

She almost pitied the man Ever fell in love with. He’d not only have to survive the girl’s brother, father, uncles and aunts, but also Ever herself.

No doubt the man would consider the opportunity an honor. Ever would grow up to be an incomparable beauty, desired by all who gazed upon her.

With a roar of displeasure, Narcissism kicked at Viola’s skull. I am incomparable. Me! No one else.

The heat drained from her cheeks. “If you’re going to hang with me, you’re going to have to get used to being stuck in the shadows of my astonishing allure,” she said to Ever. “I’m irresistible, darling. Always have been, always will be. Age doesn’t matter.”

The demon purred his approval, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now.” She tapped the razor-sharp tips of her nails against her chin. “What was I saying before you so rudely interrupted me?”

“That you’re the most wonderful person in the history of ever,” Ever replied, her derision clear.

Right. “I am.” She paused to admire the bejeweled ring on her thumb. The previous owner had put up quite a fight when Viola had stolen it from him. Until Fluffy had snacked on his internal organs.

The ring had the power to transport her from one spirit realm to another, without the Paring Rod. The perfect getaway tool.

A gasp of shock and horror ripped Viola from her thoughts. Both Ever and Urban were staring at a window, their tiny bodies exuding great strain. She threw herself in front of them, facing the threat, whatever it happened to be, and mentally calculated the reward she would demand from Maddox and Ashlyn for such a deed.

A gasp of shock and horror escaped her.

The massive glass panes had been opened, and between them loomed a man. A winged man. A grotesque and yet somehow exquisite winged man. His facial features were too sharp but strong and rugged and framed by long black hair that billowed in a wind she couldn’t feel. His eyes were pale blue, almost white. His muscles were so big, so well defined, they bulged. His skin was a darker blue than his eyes but still pale, like that of an ice demon, and she wavered between disliking...and liking.

His wings appeared infected by evil. The ends were stained black, the thick veins snaking from top to bottom as hard as stone.

He pointed a curling black nail in her direction and spoke a single word. “Forsaken.” His voice was rough and sharp, just like his features.

Her heart sped into a faster rhythm. Narcissism remained shockingly quiet. From awe? Or disgust? Perhaps fear?

The intruder wore a loincloth, nothing more, his sculpted body on perfect display. His feet were bare, his toenails as black as the tips of his feathers.

“Um, I’m going to pass,” Viola told him. “In other words, thanks but no thanks.”

“Forsaken,” he repeated. A second later, he launched into the air and vanished in the darkened skyline.

Fluffy dived through the window, his teeth bared as he unleashed an otherworldly snarl. He’d intended to bite the...fallen Sent One? Sent Ones were demon assassins. Perhaps he’d come here to murder Viola? Instead, Fluffy skidded across the floor and slammed into the wall.

“My baby!” She rushed over and gathered him close. Throughout the centuries, he’d become her best friend. The only living being she trusted. “You chased the bad guy as he chased me. Then you saved the day!”

“What,” Urban said, punctuating the word as he pointed to the window, “was that?”

As she nuzzled Fluffy’s fur, she waved a dismissive hand. “Only another admirer, I’m sure.” But even as she spoke, a tidal wave of foreboding overtook her.

As the goddess of the Afterlife, she sometimes had premonitions about other people’s pain and death. She had one now—about herself! That man...whoever he was, whatever he was, he was part of her future, and he would hurt her worse than anyone ever had.

* * *

Siobhan, goddess of Many Futures, watched Cameo through the glass prison that had served as her home for far too long. The magic mirror, some called it. Many had slaughtered entire villages for a chance to gaze upon it.

And she was considered the evil one? Because she’d caused twelve little wars? Hypocrites!

Well, the past was the past, and the future awaited. Another war brewed in the immortal realms. The under-realms, to be exact. Hades versus Lucifer. Even Siobhan would have to pick a side.

Who was she kidding? She’d already picked a side. As a young child, she’d taken one look at the beautiful but reviled Hades, fallen in love, certain he was simply misunderstood and she could save him, and asked him for his hand in marriage. He’d been a big, bad warrior, even then, but he’d said, “Sure thing, kid. We’ll set the date for four thousand years from now.”

Over the next decade, her love for him had only magnified. He was such a strong, capable male and, if she were being honest, his dark side had thrilled a secret part of her.

Finally she could wait no longer. As a teenager, she’d returned to him, certain she was old enough to be with him. Just as certain he would accept her.

Instead, he and his current lover had laughed at her pathetic attempt at seduction. Humiliated and angry, Siobhan had kinda sorta ripped out the woman’s heart.

Oops. My bad. Accidents happened.

At Hades’s command, a powerful witch then cursed her to live inside the mirror.

Siobhan had spent the last four millennia trapped behind the glass, growing from teenager to woman alone, denied the touch of another.

Only by manipulating those who’d gazed upon her glass had she managed to escape the underworld. But as the centuries passed, she’d dreamed of returning, of ruining Hades’s life.

Once again she’d had to scheme and manipulate, until she’d finally ended up in the Realm of Grimm and Fantica, a land ruled by a known associate of Hades’s.

Would the king of the underworld visit? Would he remember her? Perhaps sense her behind the glass?

She didn’t blame the witch for her predicament; the woman had simply followed her master’s orders. It was Hades who deserved to know the pain of imprisonment and the horror of watching the world live on without him.

He deserved to switch places with Siobhan.

Vengeance, she knew, corrupted in the worst of ways. In fact, one of the ends she foresaw for Lazarus and his quest to destroy Hera and Juliette was the destruction of everyone and thing he loved. Only poisonous fruit could grow from a poisonous tree, and in all honesty, there were no greater poisons than bitterness, hatred and sorrow.

Deprived of contact, comfort or camaraderie, those tainted fruits had grown inside Siobhan, anyway.

Her motto? Strategize. Lead. Strike.

I’m ready to strike!

Problem: she could foresee the paths others could, should and would take, and the ultimate results of their choices...but she couldn’t foresee her own possibilities.

However, she didn’t require a magical gift to know she needed to gain her freedom. To do so, she had to help other people fall in love. Every time she succeeded, a hundred years was subtracted from her sentence. But every time she tried and failed, a hundred years was added to her sentence.

You think you understand matters of the heart, Hades had said. Prove it.

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