16
“If you make something easy for yourself, you make it easy for your enemy. Therefore, make it difficult. Better yet, make it hard. Very hard.”
—Eternal Truths for Every Man
The man holding Viola handed her to a fallen Sent One named McCadden as if she were a bag of panties. The tattooed bartender with pink hair clutched her close and, in an effort to escape the chaos that had erupted at the appearance of Lazarus, sprinted from the room.
Without wings, he couldn’t leave the building. He would need help. Unless he possessed the ability to flash?
Just before McCadden rounded the corner leading into a hallway of offices, Viola’s gaze caught on Cameo’s. The beautiful wench had stopped staring at her man with awe in order to search for Viola. Surely a feat of unimaginable strength, considering the gorgeous Lazarus had been beheaded and now walked among the living. Did the dark-haired beauty intend to launch a rescue for her? How sweet.
I’ve made a true friend?
Viola shook her head, silently telling Cameo to back down. She would be fine. She owed McCadden, and for once, she would pay her debt. She would face his wrath rather than use her ability to vanish in a blink. Because...just because!
Cameo nodded in understanding.
Fluffy nipped at McCadden’s heels, refusing to allow his momma out of his sight.
The fallen Sent One whisked her into a luxurious office with enough space between every piece of furniture to welcome the easy glide of wings. He kicked the door shut, sealing her inside with him. Alone. A soft snick echoed between them, an ominous warning.
Viola wrenched from his embrace, found her feet and turned her back on him, something she normally wouldn’t have done. Trust no one but myself. Well, and Fluffy. But this man wouldn’t hurt her; she knew it with every fiber of her being.
Besides, Fluffy stood guard over her. He perched at her feet, his fangs bared in warning.
“Do you know who I am, goddess?” McCadden asked softly.
“I...” Narcissism used to wipe her memory the way Misery so often wiped Cameo’s. Only, he hadn’t wiped away the good times in an effort to keep her mired in regret. He’d only erased the things she’d done to ruin her high opinion of herself, all in an effort to keep her prideful. A condition she’d once lauded. I’m wonderful. Why fight it?
Sooner or later, pride always led to a very hard fall.
One day, Narcissism had realized Viola’s happiness tainted his own. He strengthened only when he tore others down. Including his host. He enjoyed his power only when he purposely weakened others. Again, including his host. He felt in control only when he caused others to lose theirs. Yep, including his host.
That was the nature of a demon. Of all demons. The fiends weren’t something you could accept and placate. They weren’t cuddly teddy bears who just needed the love of a good woman. They weren’t an evil that could be used to your advantage. They destroyed. Always. They ravaged, plain and simple. And they only ever craved more destruction, more ravaging.
Sometimes, when the last of Viola’s pride burned to ash, Narcissism weakened and retired to the back of her mind, his presence barely discernible. She would remember the things she’d done and said and her heart would shatter. She would fall to her knees and sob, forced to acknowledge that, by yielding to evil, she had become evil.
But the demon always rebounded, and the cycle always began all over again. Build her up, tear others down. Tear her down. Heartache to rival Cameo’s. A resurgence of pride.
This was a time she wanted to fall to her knees and sob. Not that she would ever do so in front of an audience, especially an audience that included McCadden. The foolish male would do everything in his power to comfort her.
She deserved no comforting.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
“I’m glad.”
“Don’t be.” She wrapped her arms around her middle to mask her trembling. She had picked up the pieces of her shattered heart countless times, and she could do it again. “I’ve already proved I’m your downfall.”
When he offered no response, she padded through the office. The spacious enclosure had a high, domed ceiling, bookshelves framed in gold and columns carved to resemble specific immortals. She recognized Thane, Bjorn and Xerxes, but not the female who appeared to be engulfed by flames.
Obviously a Phoenix...Thane’s wife? Yes, yes, of course. According to gossip, the most angelic-looking of the Sent Ones was utterly besotted with his fiery Elin. Why wouldn’t he erect a statue in her image?
Oh, to be loved in such a way.
I love you, the demon said.
Liar!
“You were already my downfall,” McCadden said, his voice soft.
The words ripped her from her momentary reprieve.
He’d meant what he’d said literally. He’d given up his place among the Sent Ones, allowing his wings to be cut from his back, his position in the armies to be stripped, and his home to be given to another, simply for the chance to be with her.
Narcissism had fed off his adoration. Sent Ones were his favorite snack, after all. Maybe because Sent Ones carried a piece of Love in their hearts, a gift of their exalted bloodline. They were children of the One True Deity, who was more powerful than the Greeks, the Titans and any other race of immortals. Demons despised the One True Deity and his followers, and took great glee in meting their destruction.
Narcissism used Viola to do his dirty work.
As the goddess of the Afterlife, she could siphon someone’s—anyone’s—life force. She simply needed permission, whether that permission came wittingly or unwittingly.
The night she’d met McCadden, she’d sensed an easy target. Rejected by his family for...a reason she’d chosen not to hear, he’d been desperate for affection. She’d smiled and turned on the charm, and in only a few weeks he’d handed over his life force on a silver platter, allowing her to feed Fluffy, keeping her beloved pet alive another century or two.
Won’t feel guilty, won’t feel guilty, damn it, I won’t feel guilty.
Afterward she’d walked away from McCadden, leaving him to his doomed fate, certain she would never speak to him again.
How can he look at me with such kindness?
She wanted him to rail and scream at her.
“I love you still,” he said.
She shook her head, adamant. “You can’t. I sentenced you to hell.”
He pounded a fist against his chest, unyielding. “I know what I feel.”
Burning behind her eyes. No crying. Not here. “Feelings change,” she whispered. “Besides, look where yours got you.”
A thousand screams erupted inside her head—and they were all her own. She wanted to shout at him, You’re a fool! Protect yourself from further harm! She would only ever do what proved best for herself and her pet, and therefore the demon.
She’d catered to the fiend so long, he’d gained a stronghold inside her. Had shackled her with invisible chains. Now he owned her.
But that was how evil worked, wasn’t it.
At first, the demon’s darkness had been nothing but a tiny seed. The more attention she’d paid it, the more she’d watered it, the bigger and stronger it had grown. Until its roots had anchored deep, deep inside her, its branches and leaves shielding her from any hint of light.
“My brother has vowed to find you and take back what you stole from me,” he said.
“There’s nothing left to reclaim.” It was the truth. Soon the mortal Fluffy would need another infusion of power, and Viola would hunt for another Sent One. Any immortal would do, but hey, why not kill two birds with one stone? Save Fluffy, placate Narcissism.
Besides, Sent Ones had the purest life forces. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if your brother picks a fight with me, I will do to him what I did to you.”
Cannot lose my baby. Just can’t. He’d become her best friend, her only source of comfort...her family. Her fanged, rage-happy, overprotective family.
She would hate herself for hurting another immortal, and probably cry, but she would do what needed doing without hesitation.
McCadden clenched his fists, and she noted the small claws protruding from his nail beds. He’d begun his transformation, then. So often fallen Sent Ones became look-alikes for the demons they had once hunted.
“My brother’s name is Brochan,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “He is—was—the best demon slayer ever born. He’s cut through hordes like butter.”
“His name is Broken? Seriously?” Poor guy had been shafted from day one.
McCadden continued. “Spelled B-R-O-C-H-A-N. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He’s fallen but still winged. He escaped to the skies before the appendages could be removed.” Envy now layered his tone. He missed his wings, then, and she wouldn’t feel guilty—she couldn’t let herself. “Evil has infected him, twisted him...made him into a monster.”
Fallen...winged...twisted...
Monster.
Had to be her shadow. The one who’d called her “forsaken.”
For several seconds, her heart forgot how to beat. Now, at least, she knew what the blue-skinned, silvery-eyed beast had planned for her.
He planned to destroy her. To punish her for her crimes against his brother.
But why hadn’t he struck already? He’d had multiple opportunities, and yet he’d only ever warned her.
Perhaps he sought to lure her into a false sense of trust? Perhaps he planned to do to her what she’d done to his brother, willingly ceding her heart to him, leaving her with nothing?
She should have dreaded the coming battle, but it was anticipation she experienced.
“If you stay here,” McCadden said, “I’ll protect you from my brother. The others will protect you, too. They’ve vowed it.”
Break him once and for all. Finish him off, so he’ll stop looking out for me and start looking out for himself.
“The others are fools,” she told him. At last she met his gaze, allowing her features to harden right before his eyes. “But you are worse. You seek to protect the one who harmed you—the one who will harm you again—and you’ve asked your friends to do the same.”
Cruel to be kind. A motto as deceptive as the demon, but one she clung to, lest she finally break down.
Devastation darkened his eyes annnnd yes, fangs extended from his gums. Becoming the demons he’d once slain.
“You don’t mean those words.” For the first time, he’d slurred.
Cruel. To. Be. Kind. She twirled a lock of pale hair around her finger and offered her most self-loving smile. “You aren’t the first male to fall for me, and you won’t be the last. At least the others had the balls to hate me afterward. I suggest you do the same before I take more than your manhood.”
His body trembled...or vibrated with growing rage. As he took an aggressive step toward her, the doors burst open and the beast—Brochan—swooped into the room. He landed between Viola and McCadden, his gaze on Viola.
Fluffy snarled, his little body vibrating with fury.
She’d never been this close to her stalker, had only ever seen him from a distance, at different heights. On level ground, he towered over her, a fortress of muscle and hostility. His wings flared, stretching from wall to wall, the black tips reeking of blood and ash. His face...before she’d thought he somehow straddled the line between grotesque and exquisite. Now she knew. He was magnificent. He had lashes so long they curled at the ends. And freckles! He had three freckles underneath his left eye. His chin had an adorable cleft, basically a sign that said Lick here.
Narcissism began to wonder if making such a powerful creature fall in love with her would prove to be his greatest accomplishment. The first sparks of panic bloomed in Viola’s chest.
Brochan extended a clawed finger, pointing at her. “Forsaken.”
McCadden grabbed his brother by the shoulder, but Brochan easily shook him off and moved toward her.
Heart hammering against her ribs, Viola scooped Fluffy into her arms and flashed away. Retreating. Something she’d told herself she wouldn’t do.
But she needed time. Time to plan her next move.
* * *
Lazarus struggled to control blistering rage, staggering shock and searing arousal.
Cameo was here, finally within reach, and yet another man had dared to put his arms around her. Possessiveness consumed him, and Lazarus’s veins burned as new crystals formed.
He decided to deal with the shock first, wanting no obstacles to his prize. His woman, and the death of the Sent One holding her.
He’d done it. He’d actually entered the mortal world.
Upon stepping into the portal, he’d experienced total sensory deprivation. He’d thought he’d taken a gamble and lost. The knowledge had awakened his inner monster, his fangs and claws returning, the crystals in his veins throbbing. But as they’d throbbed, lights had begun to pulse and blur. Seconds later, he’d fallen down, down, down, landing in an open field of wildflowers. No one had been around. Not spirit, not human, not immortal.
Cautious, uncertain but not daring to hope, he’d flashed to a home he’d built and hidden centuries ago. It resided in one of the lands that formed an archipelago of New Zealand Subantarctic Islands. A place he’d been unable to reach inside the spirit realms.
Seeing his cabin had driven him to his knees. Yes, the wood had rotted, and yes, weather and wildlife had left their mark, but what did that matter? Lazarus lived. Lived! After being beheaded.
His father was right. He would live forever. He wasn’t sure how or why, exactly, but he now suspected the crystals were the catalyst. The way they’d throbbed...
Impossible. The crystals were his downfall. They didn’t strengthen him; they weakened him, and a feeble man survived nothing. Lazarus’s movements were already slower than usual, his range of motion more limited.
He’d thought, Find and seduce Cameo. Kill Juliette and Hera before it’s too late.
He’d cloaked himself in an illusion of invisibility and flashed to Budapest. He’d swept through Cameo’s home, a veritable fortress, remaining unseen to the occupants. After reading a mind or twelve, he discovered she’d left earlier that morning. He’d hidden the magic mirror in her bedroom, happy the glass had survived the journey, and set off on a hunt of his own.
Murmurs filled his head, yanking him into the present.
“Is that Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual?”
“Dude! Didn’t I hear he’d gotten his neck trimmed?”
Lazarus breathed deep, the scents stronger here than in the spirit realm. He detected notes of alcohol and ambrosia, a cloying mix of immortal perfumes, the wood, steel and mortar used to build the club, and a deluge of too many other things to pinpoint. No, not too many others—three stood out above all the rest. Roses, bergamot and neroli.
He hardened, his erection straining against the fly of his leathers.
His gaze met Cameo’s, and the rest of the world disappeared. There she stood, the μονομανία responsible for his pain...and his pleasure. Only days had passed, but her beauty struck him anew, as if he were seeing it for the first time. Her raven locks were anchored in a high ponytail swinging back and forth. Her liquid silver eyes smoldered with sorrow, yes, but also heat.
She drew him, but he drew her, as well. At least they were in this mess together.
Her ruby-red lips softened, as if preparing for his kiss. Rest assured, I’ll be kissing you as soon as we’re alone, sunshine. And then I’ll be collecting my reward...
As his body thrummed with need, he opened his mind to her, barring everyone else. Too many thoughts at once could incapacitate him. Her shield was in place.
Had Misery wiped her memory?
Ready for war, Lazarus stepped forward. Two bear shifters reacted to the aggression he radiated, stepped into his path and growled. Lazarus grabbed one by the wrist and yanked before the punch could land, turning the brute so that his back pressed against Lazarus’s chest, creating a shield. The other twin ended up punching his brother.
As the one in his arms fell, unconscious, Lazarus hammered at the brother’s jaw. When he fell, Lazarus stepped over him, once again on a path toward his woman.
The Sent One released Cameo. Without hesitation, she raced through the part in the crowd—and a group of Harpies—to stand before him.
She remembered. Relief showered over him.
“You’re here, and you’re alive,” she whispered. She reached out with a trembling hand to brush her fingertips across his jaw.
The simple touch threatened to unman him, the sensations far more intense now that he had a physical body. The heat of her skin, the incomparable softness, the friction caused by the small callus on her palm...
Can’t ever let her go.
Must!
“You’re tangible to me in the mortal realm and—” With a gasp, she jumped away from him. “Filled with electricity? You are literally sending tingles through every inch of me.”
Electricity? “Animal magnetism is strong in this one.” He forcibly disregarded the urge to shout, Touch me again. Never stop. “Did anyone hurt you?”
“No, I was doing the hurting until the Get Bent Ones stopped the festivities.”
She spoke so quietly, he had to strain to hear. Someone—probably multiple someones—had made her feel bad about her voice. Did no one have balls anymore?
He clasped her hand, all but shuddering with pleasure. The rightness of their connection...
Once again she jumped away from him. Frowning, she rubbed her palm, as if he’d burned her.
The tingles pained her?
What the hell would—
Pandora’s box. Pandora’s box hung around his neck, hidden by his shirt and pressed against his skin. How could he have forgotten? Did the box’s power use him as a conduit?
Guilt slithered through him. This woman—his woman—had searched for Pandora’s box for centuries. He’d planned to use it to draw her to his realm, but he’d never intended to give it to her. Too many risks involved.
Her friends wanted it destroyed. Part of Cameo probably wanted it destroyed, too. What would happen when—if—the Morning Star escaped? Would someone else harness the being’s power, perhaps even use that power against Cameo? What if the Lords decided to hide the box, and Misery later convinced Cameo to end her life as well as the lives of her loved ones?
Oh, yes. Too many risks. And too many unknowns. Lazarus would not be mentioning the box to her. Would not gamble on her reaction.
He should have left it with the mirror, and would have if he hadn’t feared the Lords would sense its presence in the fortress, fail to realize what it was and open it.
Must protect her. He created an illusion. Anyone looking his way would see a man and woman standing a few inches apart, their heads bent together as they talked. In reality, he ripped the hem off Cameo’s shirt.
“Uh, what are you doing?” she asked.
“I’ll explain later.” Some watered-down version of the truth, anyway. He pulled an apple pendant from beneath his shirt and tied the strip of material around it before hiding it once again, preventing any contact with his skin.
“Pretty,” she said. “I would never have pegged you for an apple guy.”
“Why? It’s the forbidden fruit. The original sin.” He steeled himself and offered his hand to her. A slight hesitation before she accepted. An-n-nd she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Better,” she said with a nod.
A sigh of relief escaped him. He dropped the illusion and led her right back to the Sent One. The male needed to understand the error of his ways—and the consequences he would face. “You do not touch her. Ever. Understood?”
The red-eyed, white-haired male looked him up and down and smiled without humor. “Careful, warrior. My dance card is currently full, but I don’t mind penciling in your name.”
Cameo moved between them to act as a buffer. “I appreciate the macho-man routine, darkpit, but you need to know something. Juliette was here.” The people within hearing distance flinched, and yet she continued. “Thane flew away with her. If we hurry, we can follow.”
Juliette. Nearby. Vengeance at last. Sooner rather than later. Red dots winked through his vision, his rage resurfacing. Time to create a new Garden of Perpetual Horror. Juliette Eagleshield could have the honor of the first spot. Follow. Now!
No. First things first. He’d come here for Cameo, defying time, space and death to be with her. Vengeance had once been his number one priority, but here, now, his woman’s pleasure mattered more than anything else.
He would stick to his original plan. He would have his night with her, then hunt Juliette.
First, he needed a room. He blasted through the Sent One’s mental blocks. The name Xerxes hit him before countless images of the abuse and torture he’d endured in his too-long life. Lazarus gritted his teeth and pushed on until found the schematics of the club.
The bastard sensed his intrusion and shoved him out with a strength rivaled only by Rathbone.
“Do not ever—” Xerxes grated.
“Consider the sixth guest room in the west wing occupied for the rest of the night.” Lazarus squeezed Cameo’s hand and led her away from the crowd.
When they exited the public areas, it became clear the entire building was designed to confuse intruders. Armed guards paced in certain hallways and in front of specific doors, but no one made a move against him. Sent Ones could communicate telepathically, and Xerxes must have voiced his blessing. Probably because they were allies with Hades and therefore each other.
When Lazarus reached his destination, he opened the door and waved Cameo inside. She passed him, leaving a sweet-scented cloud in her wake, and he followed her in, his mouth watering.
The door closed with an ominous click.
He took in their surrounding with a swift scan. The room was small but elaborate, every piece of furniture finely made...and intended for lovers. Mirrors decorated the ceiling, and the covers on the bed were scattered with fresh rose petals.
“Hold up.” Cameo stretched out her arm to hold him at bay. “What about Juliette?”
“She can wait. You and I cannot.” He gently pushed her hand aside, consumed her personal space...and kissed her.
She welcomed him eagerly, returned his embrace passionately, with no hint of sorrow. She wasn’t just sweet; she was his favorite candy. She wasn’t just intoxicating; she was all-consuming. She wasn’t merely his μονομανία; just then, she was his everything.
He cupped her nape, locks of silken hair weaving through his fingers. Little mewling sounds drifted from her, and he growled in approval. His senses were heightened as her breath mingled with his, becoming necessary for his survival. His lifeline.
Arousal blistered his insides. Need clawed at him. Waves of sensation pulsed over and through him. The crystals ached, perhaps even spread, but he didn’t care.
He devoured her with abandon, afraid he would never get his fill, terrified his thirst would never be quenched, and he would only ever want more. Need more.
In so many ways, she owned him. He was more a slave to her than he’d ever been to Juliette.
The thought should have panicked him. Did panic him. And yet he stayed put, unwilling to let her go. Mine!
Panting, she lifted her head and traced a fingertip over her sexy red lips. “You found me,” she rasped.
He almost roared a denial, almost grabbed her and pulled her back for another blistering kiss. Can’t push for too much too fast. Misery would use the opportunity to strike.
“I will always find you, sunshine.”
“Because you want to have sex with me.” A trace of bitterness...a wealth of arousal.
“I do. So let’s get to it, shall we?”