17
“Always err on the side of killing.”
—Eternal Truths for Every Man
—Eternal Truths for Men Without a Woman
Shivers racked Cameo, and warm honey seemed to flow over her from head to toe. In an instant, the yearning she had fought so diligently to impede resurged with undeniable force. She trembled. Her blood heated to the boiling point. Her belly clenched. Between her legs, she ached.
Misery hissed, acting like a petulant child. He kicked at her skull again and again, causing a strange tingle to tease the corners of her mind.
I’m going to do this. I’m going to roll the dice. Going to sleep with Lazarus, and pray I retain my memory. Pray he wants me afterward.
If she lost a single memory of him...the way he’d looked at her during their reunion, as if she were everything right in a world gone wrong, the feel of his hands on her sensitive flesh, tangled in her hair, the way his lips had forced hers to mold to his...no, she would rather die.
“Take off your shirt,” she croaked. Let me see what I’m risking my sanity—my life—for.
A muscle clenched and unclenched in his jaw. “My clothes stay on. Yours come off.”
Was he kidding? He had to be kidding. But...
The mirror predicted this. As many times as they’d made love within the vision, he’d remained fully clothed.
“No way,” she said. “Strip.”
“Ladies first...gentlemen never.” He reached for the shirt he’d ripped, but she batted his hands away.
“Tit for tat,” she insisted.
“I prefer tit.”
“Too bad.” She held her ground. “You want to see mine, you’ve got to show me yours.”
“Fine.” He yanked his shirt over his head and stood perfectly still as she examined him, not even daring to breathe.
Why such resistance? He was magnificent. Rows of muscles rose high enough in places across his arms and chest and abs that they created softly shadowed valleys that mesmerized her. Tempted her. Fueled a craving in her to touch and taste and explore. From the neck down, a cornucopia of gorgeous tattoos covered every inch of skin. Thorny roses and skulls paired masterfully with creepy insects and, yes, even butterflies. Both of his nipples were pierced, and he had a dark trail of hair under his navel that ended below the waist of his leathers.
Pure masculine perfection.
Her brain melted. Her ovaries exploded.
Beneath the tattoos, shimmery lines crept over and around his biceps. Wounds, he’d once called them. They were thicker now, longer too.
As she considered them, he reached up to cover the lines with his hand. He was that self-conscious? Or did he fear being hurt worse?
“I’ll be careful with your wounds,” she assured him quietly. But, as an act of mercy, she turned her attention to the necklaces hanging between his pecs. Viola’s ring and the apple pendant Lazarus had covered with the strip of material from her shirt.
Cameo reached out...another strange pulse of power brushed over her skin, and her heart rate increased, going from sixty to six hundred in a blink.
Whatever the sensation was, it antagonized Misery. His hisses became curses.
“Why did you cover the pendant?” she asked.
His gaze veered away from hers. “It’s an ancient artifact. Dangerous.”
And he wanted to protect her from it? “What kind of artifact?” To her knowledge, the only mythical apple belonged to Snow White, whose story was a lot more complicated than humans realized...and a lot more true. “Is it not dangerous to you?”
“A life and death artifact,” he said. “And yes, it is, but I happen to enjoy danger.”
“Did you use it to return to the mortal world?” She licked her lips—and still tasted the essence of him. “Are you now Lazarus 2.0?”
“I’m the original. Lazarus 1.0, somehow made corporeal to all realms. Why mess with perfection?”
Why indeed? “I’m struggling to believe you’re real, and that you’re actually here. I mean, you were dead. And if you are here, should you be classified as a zombie?”
“Maybe I am a zombie.” He stared at her chest and grunted. “Breastsssssss.”
A chuckle—nope. Thanks to Misery, the chuckle died in the back of her throat. Stupid demon!
Disappointment glimmered in Lazarus’s eyes, but it receded as he continued to peer at her breasts. When her nipples stood at attention for him, a predatory glint appeared.
“Don’t worry.” The tenor of his voice dropped to a husky rasp. “I’ll get you there.”
“So certain. You, Lazarus, are a lothario.”
“Unrepentantly so.” He brushed his knuckle against her nipple, sending ripples of pleasure straight to her core. Her wet core. “This lothario is done talking. Kiss me,” he commanded. “Don’t be gentle. Be rough. Hold nothing back.”
“Your wounds...”
“Kiss. Me.”
Yes... Light-headed with want, she lifted to her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around him. Their lips met in a frenzied rush, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, tasting her, relearning her, delivering a new punch of passion...devouring her. The sweetness of him thrilled her. The chocolate she so loved mixed with a fiery heat she would forever crave.
“Don’t want to stop with a kiss and a few touches this time,” he rasped. “Want to do more. So much more.”
The moment of truth had arrived. If she said no, he would stop. He would probably leave altogether. No one-night stand, perhaps no future, either. Roll those dice, baby.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”
Triumph flared over his expression as he walked her backward. Her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she tumbled onto the mattress. She kept her nails deep in his shoulders, so he had no choice but to follow her down.
She’d never liked being pinned by a male’s heavy weight; too often she felt trapped and vulnerable. But with Lazarus, the epitome of raw masculinity, savage strength and aggression, she’d never felt safer.
“Shirt. Off. Now,” he commanded.
The wrapped pendant grazed her collarbone, pure energy zinging her. She jolted while Misery bellowed.
“Seriously. What is that thing?” she asked. He’d said “a life and death artifact,” but what did that mean, exactly?
Lazarus paled. “It’s—gone. See?” He removed the necklaces and stuffed them inside his pants pocket. “Now. Shirt off, sunshine. Show me what I’ve been missing. I’m eager for a taste.”
A refusal to answer. A change of subject. Again.
A topic for another day, then. One she would not let go next time.
Today was a different story, entirely. Dedicated to rapture.
Cameo pulled off her torn shirt and ripped the center clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts. Cool air caressed her nipples, and they stood taller. Lazarus braced his weight on his knees, liberating his hands...he cupped and kneaded her, and worked the hardened buds between his fingers.
“Lazarus...”
“Such perfect little morsels,” he praised.
Shock waves of pleasure left her trembling, and those tremors only intensified when he bent his head to suck on her nipples.
“I haven’t forgotten my reward.” He kissed and licked his way to her navel, her belly clenching. “You’ll please me, but only after I’ve made you come. Twice.”
Twice! Once would be a dream, but twice? Yes, please. Now I’m getting greedy.
She combed her fingers through his velvet-soft hair, scraping his scalp, urging him on or silently commanding him to taste her somewhere else, she wasn’t sure. The sensations he roused in her... Too much, far too much, but she suspected she would internally combust if he walked away now.
The hot stroke of his tongue moved across the waist of her pants, leaving fire and quivers in its wake. He looked up at her through thick black lashes, his eyes twin midnight skies with a million stars on brilliant display. “I want to be with you, Cameo. All the way, nothing held back. Say yes.”
Her bones liquefied. Yes! Please! The cry of her heart. And yet, she hesitated. What if he failed to please her during the act? What if Misery erased her memory before he climaxed? What if she slept with him, and he walked away afterward? More than ever, she wanted time with him, a real relationship, not just a fling.
She managed to croak, “No. No sex. We can do anything else. I want to do everything else.”
He’d become her only life raft in a terrible storm. She couldn’t let him go. Not yet.
“Why?” He plucked the button on her pants. “Still don’t think you’ll like it?”
“Yes.” No. Maybe. What if she simply hated sex? A dead fish. An ice queen. All hope would be lost.
Okay, let’s break this down. Say he did make her climax. Great. Wonderful. What if she couldn’t make him climax?
As soon as her pleasure ebbed, Misery would fight to overtake her. Cameo would become nothing but a cold, dry body Lazarus rutted upon. He would be disgusted with her.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
As he laved her navel, his fingers traveled down her legs, behind her knees, caressing the pulse there. Against her moist flesh, he rasped, “Don’t apologize, sunshine. You want what you want, and I’ll take what I can get.” His hand slid up, up and squeezed the globe of her ass. “Do let me know if you become too sad to continue, all right?”
He unfastened her leather pants and drew the material down with his teeth. Teeth that grazed her soaked panties...
Her liquefied bones caught flame. “Lazario!” The nickname gasped from her, her blissful mind somehow morphing his name with lothario.
“There’s nothing sweeter than my sunshine. I think you’re going to like what comes next.” He didn’t bother removing her pants, didn’t push them to her ankles or even maneuver her panties out of the way. As if he’d been drugged and needed another hit now, now, now, he licked and sucked on her through the flimsy lace.
Her back arched of its own accord, a moan bursting from her. Afraid she would yank out his hair in her excitement, she reached overhead and clung to the headboard. All the while he continued to lick. Suck. Liiick. Suuuck. Unable to stop herself, she writhed against him, her hips rolling.
“Lazarus, I—”
“Lazario. Like having a special nickname. Yours alone.”
“Yes. Yes!” This was all so new to her. So surreal and perfect and wondrous. It was...undiluted, unpolluted pleasure, something she’d never thought to experience. “Don’t stop. Please, please, don’t stop.”
Of course, Lazarus, being Lazarus, ended the sweet torment before she could ride his mouth all the way to completion.
Argh! “I curse your name and the day you were born, you climax-blocking bastard!”
He smiled up at her, wicked and brutal at once, and so astonishingly sexy she suspected—prayed—this image would be forever branded into her mind, and there would be nothing, absolutely nothing, Misery could do to erase it.
“You’ll thank me soon enough...Cami.”
Mmm. She liked having another special nickname.
He unfastened his leathers and drew down the zipper releasing his massive erection from its cage. Gaze white-hot on her, he stroked himself up, down. “Do you trust me?”
She licked her lips, nodded. “I do.”
“Then trust me not to take more than you’ve offered me...no matter how much you might beg me otherwise.” He bent down slowly, catching his weight with one hand—a hand he rested next to her waist. He used his other hand to...
She moaned before panting with shock and rapture. He’d wrapped his shaft around the crotch of her panties, the most intimate part of him pressing against the most intimate part of her. The rest of him was coiled around the thin—and now drenched—fabric. He hadn’t entered her, and yet he’d managed to wedge himself against her aching core.
He cupped her ass to lift her...then, oh, then, he rubbed against her. A long, firm stroke. He rubbed again and again, coating his length with her arousal. Another moan burst from her, this one broken at the edges. The intensity of the pleasure! Nothing could compare.
Rub, rub...she chanted his name... he hit the spot where she ached most, stoking her need higher.
“Feels so good, sunshine. You feel good. Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”
She wanted to offer an intelligent reply, but couldn’t quite catch her breath. Besides, her mind had fogged, her thoughts had fragmented.
“You like this?” he asked.
Incoherent words spilled from her, and she wasn’t sure if she was begging him to stop...no, no, never stop...or to move faster...yes, yes, faster! The pleasure continued to build, creating pressure, scorching pressure that demanded she arch her hips and grind on him.
Inside her, a maddened frenzy escalated. A wild craze, the sensations so intense she feared passing out and missing the best part. Need pulsated from head to toe, even created a song of passion. Touch him...taste him...devour him.
This was...life. The life she’d always dreamed of having. As new moans rose from her, she fought the urge to do what he’d suspected and plead with him to take her. To give her more, to give her everything. Never had she felt so empty. He had to fill her up...please...please!
“Lazario...I can’t... I need...”
“This is what you’ll have with me, my Cami. Ecstasy. Every—time.”
“Every time?” Had he just offered her the relationship she desired? Should never trust a man lost in the throes of passion. “As in, more than once?”
“More than many. With me.” Faster...faster... “Only ever me.”
He had!
“Tonight,” he said, bending down to run the lobe of her ear between his teeth, “I’ll make you come a thousand times, in a thousand different ways.” The veins in his arms stood out as he used more of his incredible strength to—
Whoa. Tonight, he’d said. The word echoed in her mind, her hopes plummeting. And yet somehow her physical bliss continued to magnify; it was great and terrible, exquisite and excruciating; she was going to explode, and only pieces of her would remain.
Desperate for relief, she cupped her breasts, pinched her nipples. Think I’m losing my mind!
She traced the plane of her stomach, circled her navel...and stroked his erection’s wet tip. He sucked in a breath.
“Love the feel of you. Hard, hot steel.”
A new growl rumbled deep in his chest. “Look at my woman as she takes what she wants. Owning her pleasure. Owning mine.”
How proud he sounded.
How intoxicated.
He was just as snared by pleasure as she was, and the knowledge felled her, destroying what little remained of her control. The pressure inside her finally burst. She screamed as satisfaction arced through each of her limbs and coalesced in her center. Aftershocks jolted her. Tremors reduced her to a limp rag doll.
That was... She... Shit! That was... Wow.
How had she ever lived without it?
She drank in the sight of her gorgeous, lust-consumed Lazario. His features were pulled taut, his teeth bared. The corners of her lips lifted...continued to lift...until she thought she might be...smiling at him.
His gaze met hers. A second later, he threw back his head and roared at the ceiling.
* * *
Siobhan studied her new surroundings, a bedroom both feminine and masculine. The king-size bed had navy blue sheets, a brown comforter, but a single strip of cream-colored lace graced the edges. Different weapons hung on the walls, some modern, some ancient. A vanity was scattered with even more weapons rather than toiletries.
Cameo’s personal chamber, Siobhan suspected.
Lazarus had deposited her here and vanished. He’d had no idea two Amazons were following him. Word of his last deed as king of Grimm and Fantica had spread throughout the tribes, among the living and the dead. He’d turned a contingent of Amazons to stone, and now he was marked for death. Again.
He would learn of the intended hit soon enough. And he had better destroy his new enemies. If the Amazons succeeded and he died before committing to Cameo, Siobhan would be forced to spend another hundred years in captivity. All because she’d decided to help the couple, and showed Cameo two possible futures. There was no going back.
The curse demanded she bring couples together, and if she failed, she suffered.
Denial screamed inside her head. How could she help Cameo?
Use her visions to convince someone to redecorate the room, make it more romantic? No one loved romance more than Siobhan. Perhaps she would convince someone to redecorate the room to her tastes. There would be a velvet sofa—purple! Dressers and other pieces would be made of pure ebony. The chandelier would drip with gold-set diamonds. A Gothic-style canopy bed with a separate chandelier that hung from the center would replace the sleigh monstrosity she now rested upon. The closet would overflow with the finest gowns from the finest seamstresses in the world.
Her favorite knickknacks would decorate the dresser. An hourglass held by her sister’s severed hands. A case filled with poisons and an assortment of crowns.
The door suddenly burst open, and her breath caught in her throat. A visitor!
A black-haired, blue-eyed warrior stumbled inside, and heavens above, he was beautiful beyond compare, despite the hollows in his cheeks and the week’s worth of stubble on his jaw. Despite, even, the disheveled clothes he wore, the material ripped and stained with dried blood.
“Cameo,” he said. Or rather, slurred. “I came to hear your apology.”
Images of the warrior’s future played through her mind, teaching her much about him. He was William of the Dark, though his friends referred to him as the Ever Randy. His conquests were legendary. He’d bedded queens and goddesses, and he’d killed kings and gods.
He was the adopted son of Hades—
She huffed with indignation. Hades adopted a son? When? Why?
Siobhan scoured the visions for information about the mother...a petite blonde whom William seemed to be meeting for the first time in...she wasn’t sure when, the days, months and years blurring together.
A thousand new images poured into her mind, and she cringed. Every path led this man to the same end: death.
Like her, he bore the heavy burden of a curse. Unlike her, he owned a book written in code. He’d been told the code would free him. He had hope.
If I save him from certain death and help him fall in love, I could shave another hundred years off my sentence. Then...finally, blessedly, she would be free.
The prospect tantalized her. But...
Help Hades’s beloved son? Never!
Although...for freedom, she would do much, much worse.
Fine! She would aid him. But how? Before Lazarus had left, he surrounded her with an impenetrable illusion. William couldn’t see her...could he?
Peering at her, he dropped to his knees at the side of the bed. The bottle of whiskey rolled from his grip, what little liquid remained spilling across the floor. Torment and hope battled for dominance, tightening his features.
He knows what—who—I am, Siobhan realized with no small amount of surprise. Few ever did.
“There’s a girl. Her name is Gillian. She’s—” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “She was too young for me. Was. Now she’s not. She was abused by men who were supposed to protect her, has only seen the worst in us, and I want to show her the best. When she needed me most, I refused to bond with her. I didn’t want to risk being made human or watching her love for me turn to hate. That’s the only reason she would try to kill me as the curse predicts, yes? Because she hates me? Then another man came along, took one look at her and saw what I had seen from the beginning. A treasure worth waiting for. He did what I wouldn’t and now she’s bound to him, body and soul. I long to kill him but hurting him will hurt her. I can’t hurt her. Show me my end,” he croaked. “Show me who kills me. If I know...”
He assumed knowing would allow him to let Gillian go. He also assumed Gillian was the only one for him. And she was...if he made certain choices. If he made other choices, there was another woman...
If he knew about the other woman, he would kill her soon after Siobhan revealed her identity. Because, at this time, the woman was a stranger to him. She meant nothing to him. Was nothing—no, not true. In his mind, she was worse than nothing; she was an obstacle to a happily-ever-after with Gillian.
What to do, what to do. If Siobhan helped him and failed...
When the glass remained clear, William cursed and labored to a stand.
“Hades.” A softly spoken word, and yet, Siobhan reacted as if she’d been punched in the gut.
Would the king of the underworld come? Would she face her enemy at last?
Yes! He appeared in a haze of shadows, sending her heart into overdrive.
He was more beautiful than ever, and he had no right. Taller and more leanly muscled, with inky hair and matching eyes. Eyes so black they were endless pools. He wore a pin-striped suit, the perfect fit for his powerful frame, the only signs of his uncivilized nature the stars tattooed on each of his knuckles.
She beat against her prison wall—bang, bang, bang—desperate to reach him, to claw out his eyes.
“Like me, you have the power to see past any illusion, yes?” William asked his father.
“Oh, yes. The blow-up doll is a nice touch, though.”
“Cameo is unable to cast illusions.” William sniffed the air. “I scent Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual...and aren’t the Lords of the Underworld going to love their girl’s choice of dates.”
Hades continued to stare at her. “You are correct on both counts.”
“I know the mirror is what I think it is. I can see the power radiating from it. What I don’t know is how to activate it.”
“Her, not it. She decides who sees and who doesn’t.” Hades flashed, appearing directly in front of her, crouched atop the mattress. “The goddess of Many Futures is still trapped inside. I can feel her.”
She banged the glass harder. His hand shot out, touching where she touched, and she gasped. A stream of heat penetrated her ice-cold prison. As shudders racked her, the pane rippled.
Hades’s pupils expanded with excitement.
Bang, bang, bang. How she would love to replace his excitement with pain.
“Are you kidding me?” William tossed his arms up. “You’re getting a hard-on for a mirror? I doubt Taliyah would approve.”
Taliyah the Cold-Hearted? The vicious Harpy Siobhan had seen move in and out of William’s possible futures, because of his friendship with the Lords of the Underworld? Hades was dating her?
He deserves to suffer!
“Taliyah hasn’t spoken to me in weeks,” Hades said, his tone cutting.
Good girl.
Once again Siobhan opened her mind to the days and years to come, but this time, no matter how intently she probed, she saw...nothing. Not a single path, and she cursed. Hades’s future must be so intertwined with hers she couldn’t see anything that happened to him.
Well, well. Looked like her luck was finally turning.
“How did Lazarus acquire the mirror?” William asked.
Hades tensed, his spine snapping ramrod straight. “I’ll find out.”
“She’s our ally. We can’t steal from her without jeopardizing her allegiance and the allegiance of the other Lords.”
Hades rubbed two fingers against his clean-shaven jawline. “Perhaps we’ll offer a trade.”
Yes, please do. Did he know how much Siobhan hated him? Did he suspect she would only ever plot his downfall?
A sudden commotion in the hallway jolted both males. The pitter-patter of running children and the pounding footsteps of chasing parents.
“Do not stick another toy soldier in the toilet, Urban,” a woman shouted. “I mean it!”
Hades and William shared a look of determination before flashing away, leaving Siobhan alone...but she didn’t have to be the goddess of Many Futures to know she would see the father-son duo again...and very, very soon.