20
“Never apologize. Always apologize, but only ever to your woman.”
—Becoming the Monster You Were Born to Be
—The Art of Keeping Your Female Happy
Three days. Three torturous days Lazarus remained parted from his Cameo. He’d reached his limit.
He gnashed his molars, his jaw aching in protest. He had yet to leave the guest room at Downfall. Because of Juliette, he wasn’t strong enough to rejoin his μονομανία. Toward the end of the battle, the Harpy had gotten her claws into his groin and, with a victory shout, removed one of his testicles. He’d been too slow to stop her.
He’d used his time to create a leather sheath for Pandora’s box, lining it with thin chain mail as an added layer of protection. The craftsmanship was flawless, and yet no match for Cameo’s.
Surprisingly, the separation from her had agonized him far more than the loss of his man-egg. He should have healed by now. No Cameo, no worsening. Yet he’d begun to regenerate only this morning.
Whatever the reason, Juliette would pay for his imprisonment and the days apart from his woman. She would pay with her life, yes, but first she would bleed.
He missed Cameo. Missed her wit and ferocity. Craved her sweet kisses and decadent taste. Hungered for her seductive purrs of arousal. He yearned to have her nails in his back once again, her legs wrapped around his waist. Dreamed of the way she soaked her panties for him. Even the way she’d fought those Harpies...
Most of all, he needed to see her smile again, rare as it was. He was now a junkie in need of a fix, twitchy and trigger-happy, ready to rip to shreds anyone who dared get in his way.
He saw her for who she was—strong, intelligent, brave—all of this and more. She deserved to be his partner, not just a pretty decoration at his side.
He’d almost stepped into the shadows, his personal vendetta against Juliette and Hera forgotten, just to watch her. She’d wielded a sword as expertly as she’d made one from scrap metal, the weapon an extension of her arm. She had moved like ripples in water, so smooth she’d seemed harmless until far too late.
Yesterday he’d broken down and summoned the Sent One with rainbow-colored eyes. Bjorn. The oldest.
“Do I have your word this conversation will go no further?” Lazarus had asked.
“You do,” the Sent One had replied. Unable to lie, he’d effectively bound himself to silence on the subject.
Which was the only reason Lazarus had continued. “You’ve been alive a long time. As long as I have. What do you know of Hera? Of...my father?”
“Very little about your father. Hera and your mother, I knew. At one time, they were friends.”
Friends? The news had come as a shock. How could one friend mercilessly murder another? “When did they become enemies?”
“When your father abducted your mother.”
A simple case of jealousy? Had Hera wanted Typhon? Why?
He had turned the tide of the conversation, saying, “Do you know a way to remove Cameo’s demon and keep her alive?”
Bjorn had tapped his fingers to his chin. “An empty vessel withers. That’s why she will die when he is removed. If you managed to revive her afterward, which isn’t a guarantee, her spirit would have to be patched—or healed—and refilled. Love for hate. Joy for sadness.”
It made sense, but it was too risky. Neither he nor Cameo knew how to love. And had he ever known joy? True joy?
Lazarus paced through the bedroom he’d shared with Cameo and grimaced as tender, regenerating flesh rubbed against his leathers. He should let her go now rather than later. He should turn his efforts to building an army. Yes, he should. But staying away from the keeper of Misery was looking less and less like an option for him.
He’d told her he would help her control the demon. He’d told her he would protect her, even from herself.
Must protect her.
Fool!
He was thousands of years old. Had experienced the best and worst life had to offer, and yet he had no defenses against Cameo. Her mere existence made her enemy one. Without her, he would live. He would be strong, a leader among men. But without her, he would not live well.
I am my father’s son.
Never! He would never take Cameo against her will.
He would romance the hell out of her.
Damn it! Need for her threatened to supersede his will to survive. He’d craved her before; she’d been a temptation. Now she was a necessity, essential to his existence.
Was this how his father had felt about his mother? Crazed? Had this been the beginning of the end for Typhon?
Make or break time, Lazarus realized. He had to decide. Walk away from Cameo for good, or go all in. Accept the crystals, and the end result—a life in the shadows, unable to fight—or eschew the crystals and win his personal wars.
If he chose the first, there could be no half measures. He’d made that mistake before, demanding Cameo accept a one-night stand. As many times and as many ways as she’d been hurt, she needed security from her man. She deserved to know she was adored. Only then would he win her trust. Only then would she share her body...and choose to remember her smile.
In return, she could help Lazarus achieve his vengeance. What better warrior to have at his side? He could have it all, his woman and his vengeance, before the crystals overtook him.
But. Always there was a “but.” If Lazarus planned to spend what remained of his days with Cameo, he had to tell her about Pandora’s box. He had to tell her before she challenged Juliette for information the Harpy did not—could not—have.
What if she used the box to hurt herself?
He could destroy the box and simply show her the remains.
She would hate him.
And what about the Morning Star? The apple hung from his neck once again. He wrapped his hand around it and squeezed. If he destroyed Pandora’s box, he might destroy the Morning Star, as well. Or would the mysterious being finally go free?
Could the Morning Star save Cameo?
If there was even a chance, he couldn’t destroy the box. The risk outweighed the reward. That meant he couldn’t tell Cameo about it, no matter how much she deserved the truth.
Can’t jeopardize her well-being. Or her future. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about this anymore. He wouldn’t! She meant too much to him, and what he did, he did for her.
He protected her. End of story.
New plan, next move. He would kill Juliette before Cameo had a chance to chat her up. Then he would turn his attentions to Hera, beat his father’s location out of her and finally kill the woman who’d murdered his mother as well as the man who’d enslaved her. He would act fast. Then he would spend the rest of his days with Cameo, basking in the contentment only she could give him.
A sound plan.
“Hello, Lazarus.”
The familiar voice drifted from the space behind him, every muscle in his body knotting. Palming a dagger in each hand, he spun—
And came face-to-face with Hera.
Lazarus cast an illusion, hiding his fury behind a blank mask, erasing any sign of the apple underneath his shirt and the weapons strapped to his body. Let her believe he was unarmed.
The years had been kind to her, making her more beautiful than ever. Her hair resembled a fall of moss intermixed with lush pink flowers. Her eyes were, in essence, an aerial map of the Earth, blue with spots of green and brown. The perfect complement to the beautiful sienna hue of her skin.
She wore a gown made entirely of enchanted rose petals, the flowers’ sweet perfume wafting from her.
A bitch like her should smell like brimstone and sulfur!
He had not expected her to come to him. Hadn’t expected her to remember the little boy she’d orphaned. As Lazarus had grown into a man, he’d kept his intentions for her to himself.
“Hera. I have long dreamed of seeing you again.”
“You were beheaded. I find it difficult to believe you dream at all, let alone live,” she said conversationally.
“Haven’t you heard? I cannot be killed.”
“Makes sense, I suppose. You are, after all, your father’s son.” Her lips pursed. “Typhon. Such a slippery little pig who has managed to evade death...so far.”
Did she realize she’d just confirmed his father’s survival? “You killed my mother. Your friend,” he finished with bite. “Who’s the true pig in that picture?”
Rage darkened her features. Then he detected a crackle of power similar to his own—to his father’s—and her expression blanked. Did she have the ability to cast illusions, too?
“Do you know why I’m here?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. To die at my hands.”
“You have Pandora’s box. My box. You killed my slave.”
His illusion masked his shock. Hera the Cuckoldress had been Hilda’s master.
“I know the box is nearby,” she said. “I can feel it. Don’t lie to me, Lazarus. You see, before being incarcerated in Tartarus, I spent my days killing the males who proved to be any kind of threat to the fairer sex. I was very good. Very good.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, playing innocent. “Hold your tongue and return the box to me now, or you shall join my list of undesirables.”
“You yourself said Death can’t get his grubby hands on me.” He kept his tone pleasant. “I’ll go with option C, and hack you to pieces.”
“Good luck with that.” She wandered about the bedroom with undisguised indifference, trailing one fingertip along the top of the antique dresser...the vanity...one of the posts on the massive bed, where the rumpled sheets still bore a faint trace of Cameo’s scent. Lazarus owned nothing here, and yet his sense of possession flared.
Vengeance demanded he slay his foe. Act now. But he remained in place. Never start a fight you cannot win. Weakened as he was—as powerful as she was—he had to proceed carefully...stealthily.
“What a hypocrite you’ve become in your old age, eh.” He allowed a cold smile to slip through his illusion, the truth in his bold stare an open taunt. “You, the avenger of the violated, known for punishing anyone who dared take something not freely offered—you stole Pandora’s box and prevented the demons from being put back inside. You unleashed those demons upon an unsuspecting world. For centuries, they’ve pillaged, plundered and destroyed the innocent.”
A bitter laugh filled the space between them. “You’re right. I’m a hypocrite. And I’m punished every day for my choices.”
Trying to turn the tables on him and earn his sympathy? Never! “I weep for you,” he told her, and flicked away an imaginary tear.
“I’m sure you do.” She met his stare with unflinching determination. “Where’s my box?”
“Where’s my father?”
She lifted a brow. “Do you wish to save him?”
“I wish to kill him.”
A pause laden with tension. Then, “Where’s my box, Lazarus?”
“Where’s my father?” he said, stepping toward her.
“I learned my lesson well, Lazarus. Letting you live was a mistake. Tell me where you’re keeping my box, or I will destroy your family, beginning with your young.”
“I have no young.” He cupped his groin. “But you’re welcome to drink them straight from the tap.”
Ashen, she performed a half pivot, always keeping him within her sights. “I saved you from becoming a copy of your father. As a child, I spared your life. You owe me.”
“You enslaved me and relegated the care of my soul to a Harpy. I owe you nothing but a painful death.”
“Brave words. Foolish words. Do not force me to dismember your precious Cameo the way I dismembered Echidna.”
Had her voice wobbled there at the end? “Force you?” The hatred he’d harbored for so long exploded inside him, emotional shrapnel embedding itself in every inch of his body. The wounds bled more rage, only rage.
“I’ve never enjoyed harming my fellow females.”
“Touch Cameo, and I’ll—” There was no threat great enough.
“What? Freeze up like your father, unable to move, trapped inside some sort of chrysalis?” She laughed. “I checked on him not too long ago. A tragic fate for a once-strong male.”
A fate Lazarus would share.
He’d already resigned himself to it—or thought he had. If he stayed with Cameo, he would continue to weaken. Perhaps now was the time to attack. Perhaps he would never have more power than he had now.
Decision made.
Without forecasting his intent, Lazarus threw himself at Hera. His shoulder plowed into the softest part of her belly, and he roared with satisfaction at her sound of distress. As he followed her to the floor, she took the brunt of impact, the back of her skull shattering.
Despite the injury, she banged her forehead into his chin. Adrenaline jacked, he barely registered the hit. Never missing a beat, he drew back his elbow and jabbed his arm forward. The blow met nothing but air as she flashed away.
Hoping she would return, he jumped to his feet. He paced the room for five minutes...ten...but she never appeared.
New plan. Weakened or not, he would return to Cameo’s side. Today. Now. They would hunt and kill Hera and Juliette together. They would find and slay his father. He trusted Cameo and admired her skill.
He didn’t need an army. He just needed her.
* * *
“Get your asses in gear. Our one millionth family meeting is about to kick off.” Torin’s voice echoed over the sound system he’d installed inside the fortress.
Great! Wonderful! Cameo knew what would be discussed. Or rather, who they would be discussing.
When she’d told her friends Juliette maybe, just possibly might know where to find Pandora’s box, excitement and hope had bloomed. The Harpy had become the Lords’ enemy one.
Had Lazarus forgiven Cameo for saving his tormentor’s life?
Hell, no. Otherwise he’d be here.
Lost him before I had him.
Everyone filed into the great room. Cameo claimed a spot up front, her arms crossed over her chest as she met the gaze of every occupant: Torin, Keeley, Maddox, Ashlyn, Sienna, Sabin, Gwen, Gideon, Scarlet, Amun, Haidee, Danika, Kaia, Aeron and Olivia, a Sent One.
Lucien, Anya, Reyes, Kane, Josephina, Strider, Baden and Katarina were currently in the underworld with Hades.
Galen, former enemy turned almost-friend, strode into the room and plopped on the couch. A storm brewed inside his sky blue eyes. His pale hair was spiked in complete disarray. He’d just returned from a secret mission for...Hades? Himself? He must have failed.
Redheaded Kaia nudged Cameo’s shoulder, all I’ve got this. “Pipe down and listen up. The entire Eagleshield clan has declared war on our girl Cam. They expect all Skyhawks to do the same because we’ve always held a grudge against Cam’s man-candy-liciousness Lazarus.”
How dare the Eagleshields try to recruit her friends!
You have no friends, Misery whispered.
I do! I know I do.
A chorus of “boo” rang out from the crowd.
See? she told the demon. Friends.
“We declined, of course. With blades.” Cheers erupted, and Kaia took a bow. When the room quieted, she added, “Ages ago, Lazarus destroyed one of our villages, but today, we officially forgive him. For Cameo’s sake and also because we’d like an opportunity to torture him slowly. In the most nonviolent ways.” Her gaze darted to Cameo. “Death is too fast and definitely too permanent.”
“Word is Lazarus actually came back from the dead,” Gwen said. “How is that possible?”
All eyes landed on Cameo. “I don’t know.” His physical appearance had changed, the lines etched through his arms thicker and darker, his hatred of them worse. “Neither does he.”
Her friends cringed at the sound of her voice. Worse, they cringed with more force than usual.
Told you, Misery taunted.
She pressed her lips together. She’d had no plans to tell anyone about Lazarus’s lines, anyway. His secret was his to share.
“I’ll ask around,” Sienna said. “Someone knows something.” As the new keeper of Wrath, dishing punishments had become her favorite jam. She cracked her knuckles. “That someone will sing like a canary.”
“Inquiring minds want to know.” Kaia hopped up and down. “Does every inch of the new, living Lazarus work?”
Like, did his heart beat? She nodded.
Kaia offered a sly grin. “How many inches are we talking about? Huh, huh. Tell me!”
Try: gigantor. And mine. All mine.
Cameo silently mouthed, “Focus, people!”
“So less than six? Seven?” she insisted. “Juliette bragged about keeping his balls in her trophy case. Apparently she cut one off every now and then to remind Laz who was boss. Got a new one during the last battle. I just wondered if he’s experienced shrinkage.”
He’d been injured? She’d assumed the blood he’d worn had belonged to his victims.
How could I leave him behind?
Before Misery could use her guilt against her, she turned to Aeron. “After you died, the One True Deity gave you a new body. He’s the only being capable of such a feat, yes?” He’d created Sent Ones, angels and even humans from dirt.
As for the other species?
Stories claimed fallen angels had once mated with humans to create demigods—the Titans, Greeks and Unspoken Ones. Though they’d chosen to drop the word “demi.” Those demigods had mated with other demigods, and different immortal races were born. Shifters, Berserkers, sirens, nymphs and a handful of others. Still other demigods had mated with demons, creating Harpies, vampires and witches. However, none of those beings knew how to create flesh from dirt—or anything else.
“To my knowledge, yes.” Aeron’s voice was as gruff as ever. “I don’t know how He did it. I woke up in the heavens, already bonded to my new body.”
So we’re still at square one. Awesome.
Sorrow wafted from Misery, a poisoned perfume. Sienna sniffled. Kaia and Gwen turned away to stealthily wipe their tears.
Here I go, making everyone around me miserable again.
“I’m out.” Head down, Cameo strode into the hall.
“We need to discuss the box,” Sabin called after her.
She paused long enough to answer. “Don’t worry. Juliette Eagleshield will tell me everything she knows before I remove her head.” No more playing nice and stopping with a hand removal.
Cameo descended the stairs. Along the way, she passed a butterfly in flight and ignored the prickling unease. She shut herself inside her bedroom and eased onto the cushioned seat in front of her vanity...where Lazarus’s mirror now hung.
At first, she’d had no idea the mirror was in her room. She’d seen a blow-up doll. Then she’d touched it and the illusion faded, the glass appearing before her eyes. A gift from Lazarus. She was awed by his thoughtfulness...and terrified of what she would next see.
History had proved only heartache awaited her.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as little sorrows began to nibble at her soul like starving mice who’d finally found a hunk of cheese. Sadness and regrets scurried across her mind, little cockroaches that dwelled in the shadows.
Despite their explosive goodbye, she missed Lazarus more with every second that passed. Missed his touch. His taste. His bark of a laugh, a bit rusty at the edges. Not many people could make him laugh; she was one of a rare few. She even missed his irritating comments.
With him, she felt alive for the first time since her possession, so close to happiness she could almost bark out a laugh of her own.
Lazarus has abandoned you, wants nothing to do with you. Misery purred like a well-fed kitten. Perhaps you would feel better if you forgot him.
Never!
Maybe...
Lazarus believed the demon needed permission to wipe her memory. At first, she’d discarded the idea as ludicrous. Not knowing the things she’d done and said was torture. Now, however, she was possessed by an even a worse torture. Knowing the wanton things she’d done and said, the wanton things Lazarus had done and said—and knowing she would never experience them again.
No, no. The loss of memory would be worse, guaranteed, and she couldn’t let sorrow convince her she’d finally know peace.
No “peace” could compare with the memory of their first kiss. The little details as much as the big. The sardonic gleam in his dark eyes when he teased her. The huskiness of his voice when she pleased him. The way beads of sweat trickled down the ripples of his muscles.
Cameo stared into the mirror, desperate. “Show me the future,” she whispered. “Please.”
To her surprise, the glass liquefied, waves rippling from top to bottom. Eventually those waves split and two images appeared, one on the right, one on the left. In the first, Lazarus stabbed Hera with a miniature version of the Paring Rod. The shaft had been cut in two, the bulbous tip pushed to the center to make room for a retractable dagger. In the vision, Cameo watched the murder with an air of relief. He’d done it. Gotten vengeance and survived.
The scene morphed, revealing the consequences of his victory. Cameo’s motionless body burned atop a pyre. Her friends surrounded her, their heads bowed with sorrow and grief—funny, the terrible emotions were still courtesy of her.
“If Lazarus kills Hera, I die?” she asked the glass.
Trembling, she focused on the other half of the mirror and blinked in shock as she watched her image act out the second scene. In it, she stepped in front of Hera, saving the former queen’s life—and causing the end of her own.
No hope. Doomed if I do, doomed if I don’t. Unless she could somehow changed her future.
Why would Cameo protect the goddess who’d killed Lazarus’s mother?
The scene changed, revealing the consequences of her choice. This time, Cameo lay in bed, laughing as a kaleidoscope of butterflies danced overhead.
Whoa. She survived? And laughed? At butterflies?
Maybe she shouldn’t try to change her future, after all. Following the mirror’s lead the first time around had worked out very well for her.
But...butterflies?
If one leaves her chrysalis too easily, her wings are weakened. She must struggle to exit, or she will never have the strength to fly.
She remembered Lazarus’s words, and twisted to peer at a flurry of butterflies perched outside her window. What if the insects weren’t a symbol of doom but instead—she swallowed hard—a portent of success? What if they signaled Lazarus’s approach? He’d said they gravitated to him.
Her heart leaped. Had he forgiven her for Juliette’s temporary stay of execution?
Maybe so, but... She rested her elbows on the vanity and leaned her forehead against the heels of her palms. He would forever despise her for saving Hera. Therefore, saving the goddess could not possibly lead to Cameo’s happiness.
But come on! What if she lost Lazarus either way? The first vision showed his death, and in the second vision, he hadn’t been anywhere near her bed.
And yet I laughed. Why?
Had he been nearby?
So many unanswered questions.
A knock sounded at her door. The glass cleared, revealing her reflection and the disarray of her bedroom. Good, that was good.
She stood on shaky legs and croaked, “Enter.”
Viola swept inside, her pet nipping playfully at her heels. Today Viola wore a grungy T-shirt that read I’m Dating a Supermodel. Me! The collar was ripped and the hem frayed. Her short shorts were streaked with grass stains. Mud caked her cowgirl boots.
Fluffy wore a matching outfit.
The pair had returned to the fortress yesterday. The goddess had refused to talk about what had gone down at the club, and Cameo hadn’t pushed for answers.
“Since I’m your best friend,” Viola said, “I’ve been elected to tell you the bad news.”
Oh, no. “What happened? Did someone die? Who died?”
Misery snickered.
“Wow,” Viola said. “Your mind immediately goes all worst-case scenario, doesn’t it?”
She forced herself to inhale and exhale with purpose. “What happened?” she repeated as calmly as possible.
“Gwen and Kaia just got a bead on Juliette.” Viola’s gaze landed on the mirror and widened, her mouth parting on a dreamy sigh. As if in a trance, she walked forward, her arms extending to touch. “Oh! A pretty!”
Cameo grabbed a blanket and rushed toward the mirror, intent on intervening before Viola lost herself to her reflection. Mission accomplished.
“How is finding Juliette bad news for me?” Cameo asked, wiping her hands together in a job well done.
“Who said anything about it being bad news for you? It’s totally bad news for her. Did I forget to mention the silly Harpy has issued you a challenge? She wants to nix pitting family against family and fight you one-on-one. Winner gets to keep Lazarus.”
Cameo’s hands balled into fists. “One-on-one? Done. But Lazarus is no one’s pawn. He will choose the woman he’s with.”
It won’t be her, and it won’t be you, the demon piped up. That plane has already left the runway.
“She doesn’t care about free will, so you need to prepare. Come.” Viola walked away, clearly expecting Cameo to follow.
Feet as heavy as boulders, she trudged after her friend. They entered the artifact room, where the Paring Rod, Cage of Compulsion, Cloak of Invisibility and paintings created by the All-seeing Eye were stored.
Power thickened the air. And dust. Lots and lots of dust. Cameo coughed.
Her gaze fixed on the Paring Rod. It had a long, metal shaft and a bulbous stained-glass tip. One touch, and she would end up in another realm.
“Why are we here?” she asked. “I don’t want to leave the mortal world.”
“Duh.” Viola pulled a piece of cloth from her pocket and carefully sheathed the bulb. “As you know, I made it my business to learn more about the Paring Rod while trapped inside the spirit realm—”
“You weren’t trapped. You willingly entered the second time. And you had the ring!” Cameo reminded her.
“Anyway. The Paring Rod. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.” As Viola spoke, she bent and twisted the Rod...in natural grooves Cameo had never noticed, shortening the staff, causing a sharper edge to emerge from the tip.
Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. The Paring Rod had shrunk into a miniature version of itself, becoming the sword she’d seen in the mirror. Which meant the artifact had just become the weapon Lazarus would use to kill Hera...or Cameo.
Sooo. The mirror had shown two possible futures, and now Cameo had to choose which one she desired to fruition.
No need to ponder. The second. Of course she picked the second. She’d laughed!
But what about Lazarus? Would her happiness ruin his?