30
“Every end heralds a new beginning. Never waste yours.”
—How Boys Become Men
—The Darkest Promise
Subtitle: The Story of Lazarus and His Cameo
Memories deluged Cameo, overtaking her completely. She lived in those memories, the rest of the world forgotten. She remembered every time she’d ever smiled or laughed.
The time Torin told her, “If Disease spread Ebola rather than the dreaded man-cold, people would have a chance at survival!”
When Maddox said, “You hit like a bitch. If bitches hit like Mack trucks.”
When Kane had teasingly said, “The fact that Misery and Disaster couldn’t make a relationship work? One of life’s greatest mysteries.”
She remembered the times she’d felt valued. When Sabin and Strider presented her with the heads of her torturers. When Amun took a bullet meant for her. When Lucien, Gideon and Reyes cooked a Thanksgiving meal, just because she’d mentioned wanting to spend the holiday like a normal person. When Paris and Aeron showed up at an immortal bar after she’d agreed to meet a shifter for a “night of fun you’ll never forget.” The shifter had run away after only ten minutes in her company, but her boys had stayed behind to dance with her. And later kicked the shifter’s ass, of course.
Those warriors loved her without exception. And yet she’d allowed Misery to wipe her mind of each and every instance. Again and again he’d preyed on her fear of knowing—and losing—true happiness. He’d tricked her. Actually, she’d tricked herself. She hadn’t let herself believe good things could happen to her. She’d expected the worst, and she’d gotten it.
She had created her own misery. Had welcomed her own destruction. Had cast her own emotional illusions, believing in them until they became her reality.
Worst of all, she’d given up her memories of Lazarus because she hadn’t believed a happily-ever-after was possible.
Lazarus! He’d played in the mud with her. Teased her, and protected her. He’d given her orgasm after orgasm, held her close, and loved her when she was unlovable.
He’d...stabbed her.
Yes. Yes, he had. But only because Cameo had leaped between him and Hera. Hera, who’d nearly stabbed him.
Though Cameo had had no memory of Lazarus at the time, she’d remained highly attuned to him, aware of his every movement. Her body had ached, as if recalling his touch and only wanting more. The desire to stay with him had plagued her. He’d looked to be in great pain with every move he made, but even still, he’d kept moving through the temple, had kept fighting the goddess. Cameo had desperately wanted to ease him, to help and protect him.
Had she retained her memory, she would have wanted the same things, only at a much more intense level.
Oh, yes. She had created her own misery.
Now Lazarus was...she frowned. Where was he? Last thing she remembered, he’d been crouched beside her. He’d slashed his wrist and—
He’d slashed his wrist! Her stomach twisted into a thousand knots. He’d slashed his wrist as crystals grew over his flesh, no longer content to stay underneath the surface of his skin.
What if he was dead? What if she was dead and he lived, trapped? What if—
Nope. No more depressing thoughts without any gleam of hope. Whatever the circumstances, there was a solution.
“—hell happened?”
The voice cut into her awareness. Hades. Had she traveled to the underworld?
“Hera can siphon abilities. She stole from Typhon and then Lazarus and used his power to cast an illusion.” Rathbone’s voice now. “Made Cameo think Lazarus was about to take a blow.”
Another illusion. Well, Cameo couldn’t bring herself to regret her actions. The Paring Rod had done as its name implied, paring the demon from her spirit. The cut had been clean, and the spiritual wound cauterized by Lazarus. By her love for him, and his love for her. Misery hadn’t entered the box, however. The box had tried to suck him inside—they’d both felt its pull—but the demon had met with a block and bounced free.
Now he roamed Hera’s realm. Unless he’d found a way out?
“Where is Hera now?” William the Ever Randy demanded.
“She escaped upon your arrival,” Rathbone grated.
“So she lives.” Relief vibrated from Hades. “She is possessed by hundreds of demons. The moment she dies, they’ll be released. We must proceed with caution or Lucifer will use her and her fiends to his advantage.”
Enough chitchat about Hera. Tell me about Lazarus!
He’d given Cameo some of his blood. Her body had begun to heal. She owed him her life.
Cameo fought her way through the mire of her thoughts. Consciousness beckoned...she fought harder...there!
With a gasp, she sat up and blinked. Her gaze found the man she loved, and alarm choked her. He crouched beside her, his hand outstretched. Pupa mixed with crystals covered him from head to toe, molding to his body. Two butterflies perched on his head.
“Lazarus.” She scrambled to her knees and frantically patted his cheek. “I’m alive, not dead. Come back to me. Please.”
No reaction. Underneath the glistening crystals, she could see the outline of his beautiful face. His eyes stared at nothing. His chest never rose or lowered with breath.
Unacceptable!
A strong, comforting hand squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweet. Let’s get you home.”
“No.” She batted William away. She could feel the lure of true happiness for the first time in centuries, but a familiar grief tried to lock her in a bear trap, clamping metal spikes around her heart. Again—unacceptable. “I’m not leaving without Lazarus.”
She would cut and hack at the crystal tomb until she reached him!
“Listen to her.” Rathbone rubbed his healing jaw. Cameo had accidentally broken it while fighting to escape. “She means what she says.”
“Lazarus...or what remains of him...can go with us,” William said. Pity coated every word.
“Yes,” she said, and nodded. “Yes.” Her friends would help her. “Take us home.”
* * *
Days passed. Lazarus remained trapped inside the chrysalis, and Cameo remained nearby, leaving her bedroom only once. She’d given Torin the apple for safekeeping.
“I need you, Lazarus.” She paced in front of him. “Come to me.”
The first time she’d grabbed an ice pick, intending to chisel Lazarus free, Keeley had burst into the room, shouting, “Don’t you dare! Cut a butterfly from his chrysalis, and he will be weakened. Make him work for it, and he will be stronger.”
Exactly what Lazarus had once told her. “He’s not a butterfly,” she’d replied. But she’d paused, her mind racing. Butterflies had swarmed the fortress ever since his return. They’d perched on Lazarus, a few times even covering him completely.
“He is!” Keeley had said. “Finally found his info on my corkboard.” Corkboard—what she called her millennia-old brain. “He’s the son of Typhon, the last living king of butterflies.”
“Uh, there’s no way Typhon or Lazarus were kings of freaking butterflies.” Cameo had received her first look at the Monster inside Hera’s temple. To be honest, the monster descriptor was being kind. “He would have known it. And he isn’t delicate. Or tiny. Or winged.”
Keeley had shaken her fists at the sky. “Why does everyone only rely on their own experiences and not believe my firsthand account? Look. I knew Typhon. He was a horrid male. His great-however-many-other-greats grandmother was Hydra, and Hydra had a secret affair with the king of the Lepidoptera—warriors without equal. They branded every soldier, weapon and piece of armor with the mark of the butterfly. A symbol of rebirth, since they always came back from the dead.”
But... “If they’re able to come back from the dead, where are they now?”
“Perhaps they weren’t strong enough to break free of the chrysalis? Typhon wasn’t. I mean, he isn’t. He’s still trapped. I questioned William and Hades about Hera’s secret realm. The Monster is there. His chrysalis is infected—probably because of the hatred in his heart—and oozes poison.”
Oozes. Something in the realm had oozed all right. The tar-covered tree thing that had helped Lazarus escape the homicidal vines. Was the tree his father, the chrysalis hidden underneath the ooze? Perhaps his dad wasn’t all bad?
Never mind. Rapist. All bad.
“A chrysalis isn’t made of crystal,” Cameo had said.
“No. Not for insects. For immortals like Lazarus, they are made of pupa and crystal. Anyway, gotta jet. There’s a Psych marathon I’m not missing. I’m learning to be a detective.” Keeley had skipped toward the bedroom door before pausing and glancing over her shoulder. “Parting advice from the Red Queen. You need to give Lazarus a reason to keep fighting his way free.” Then she was gone.
Now Cameo sat on her bed, directly in front of Lazarus. She rubbed the spot on her chest. The place the Paring Rod had pierced her. A thin line marked the center of her sternum. A scar...what looked to be wings branching from both sides of the line. Another butterfly, she thought with a smile. An actual smile!
“Zeus and the rest of the Greeks escaped Tartarus,” she told Lazarus. “They’ve joined Lucifer in the war with Hades and their forces grow stronger by the day. Hera has been spotted in the third heaven, hiding among the Sent Ones. I need you here, fighting by my side. Lucien nearly died in the last battle, and Maddox has yet to recover from his newest set of wounds.”
Nothing. No reaction.
“Did you ever meet Atlas and Nike? They’re the Greek and Titan god and goddess of Strength. They’re married now, and they’ve allied with Hades. They convinced him to agree to the mother of all battles, set to take place in one week. I’m going to be there, in the midst of the fray. Do you really want me going without you?”
Still nothing.
Her nails dug into her upper thighs. Not giving up. Never giving up.
“I’ve stolen the devotion of your pets. They fly outside my balcony, and I give them reports about your condition. You never told me the little buggers could speak eleven different languages but had chosen to speak Typhonish, the only one I didn’t know, simply to irritate me.”
Annnd nothing.
All right. Time to play hardball. Literally!
“The butterfly tattoo on my back is gone. But I have another one, thanks to you.” Cameo tore her shirt over her head, ripped at the center clasp of her bra and shimmied out of her pants and underwear, leaving her bare. Cool air wafted over her as she leaned back, anchoring her weight on her elbows, and offered Lazarus a full frontal view.
“See?” She traced her fingertips over her sternum. “What do you think?”
Her heart raced as she waited. Hoped, prayed. But nothing happened.
She climbed atop the bed. The sheets smelled of Lazarus, of sweet chocolate and heady champagne.
“This is what you’re missing.” A husky note had entered her voice. “And you’re denying me what I’m missing. Your kiss...your touch...your hard and fast possession.” She cupped her breasts, plucked at her nipples. Pleasure burned through her. “Bet I can make myself come without you...but it won’t be nearly as fun. I’ll—”
The chrysalis shattered. Shards of crystalized pupa flew in every direction. Lazarus rose, standing to his full seven foot height. His hands were balled, his chest rising and falling quickly.
She gasped, her gaze welded to his. His eyes were...changed. They were dark, but now his irises appeared to be rimmed by the pupa he’d shed, and his skin glistened as if he’d been dipped in diamond dust. Or played motorboat with a stripper.
“You did it!” she cried. “You broke free!”
“So I did.”
At the sound of his low, sexy timbre—nothing but a predatory growl—undiluted joy burst inside Cameo. “I should have gotten naked days ago.” A laugh escaped her, then. A genuine laugh.
He sucked in a breath. “That is the laugh I have dreamed of hearing, but it is better in reality, far better than anything I’d imagined. Your laugh is magic. A spell of enchantment. An incantation meant to entice, lure and seduce, and if I hadn’t loved you already, I would have fallen right then.”
She quieted, suddenly caught up in a maelstrom of sensations. Tingling, heat, aches and needs, so many needs. He crawled across the bed and hovered over her, his palms braced at her temples. They stared at each other for a long while, soaking up the moment. They had a future!
He lowered his head and kissed her. His soft lips tasted her—and then they devoured her.
By the time he lifted his head, they were both out of breath and panting.
“I love you more than I can ever articulate, sunshine. You are my light on the darkest of days. To me, you are first. You will always be first. Nothing and no one will ever come before you.”
“I love you, too. You are first...though in the spirit of full disclosure, you are tied with your penis.”
He barked out a laugh. “Is this my sweet Cameo without a hint of misery?”
“It is indeed. But you may call me Queen Cameo,” she corrected with a smile. “Apparently you are king of the butterflies, and as your woman, I claim half of your possessions. Starting with this...” She cupped his shaft, and he hissed in a breath. “Mmm, your love for me is growing.”
He nipped at her bottom lip. “We are going to have a glorious life together. That is a command...and a promise.”
“We’ll be happy,” she said, and nipped his lip right back.
“Happy,” he confirmed. “And, sunshine? I have a feeling my love for you will grow every morning, afternoon and evening.”
She chuckled. “Yay, me!”
He swooped down to claim another kiss and Cameo lost herself in the promise of an eternity ever after.
* * * * *