9
“Step six: Slaughter your enemy, as well as everyone he loves—then celebrate your triumph.”
—How to Achieve Victory
Subtitle: Except with Lovers and Their Family
Lazarus endured a torturous night. Perhaps the worst of his life. Definitely worse than the time a female had fed him a poisoned kiss, weakening him. She’d restrained him while he couldn’t fight back and gloatingly hacked off all his limbs.
Look at the mighty Lazarus now.
Turned out, she was an assassin sent by one of his father’s old enemies.
She would have succeeded in killing the Monster’s son, if not for two fatal mistakes. The As and Bs of defeat. (A) she’d believed him helpless without his arms and legs, and (B) she’d taunted him with a second kiss. A goodbye.
Pride—believing lies about oneself to inflate self-worth—often heralded a nasty fall.
As the female had lifted her head, ending the kiss with a smirk, Lazarus had ripped out her trachea with his teeth. She had bled to death, and he had lived. Afterward, he’d poisoned himself over and over again until he’d developed an immunity.
Why had Cameo kicked Lazarus out of her room? How could she be so blind to the truth? He could enjoy a night with her and achieve his vengeance against Hera and Juliette. One did not negate the other.
With a curse, he stalked from bed. A fly buzzed around him, but no matter how swiftly he swatted, the pesky insect eluded him. Irritated, he escaped into the bathroom, where he showered and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and battle leathers. As usual, he would be sleeping fully clothed.
The pants covered the crystals that wound through his legs from thigh to calf. The shirtsleeves hid the crystals now intersecting his biceps.
The weakness had spread.
Fury burned through him. He strode into the bedroom, crossing over the unicorn-skin rug that had been prized by the former king. His pace was slower than usual. Did he have a limp? He better not have a limp!
His metamorphosis hadn’t just spread, it had sped up. He was changing faster than his father.
Lazarus pounded his fists into the punching bag hanging in the corner. His knuckles cracked and blood welled, but he continued to whale on the bag until it exploded, sand spilling everywhere.
Did he want Cameo more than his father had wanted his mother? Was that the problem?
He couldn’t be sure. His mind refused to analyze anything but the woman’s bra size—perfect. His every thought revolved around a single question. How do I get her into bed? Ragged hunger gnawed and clawed at his insides, insatiable. Obsession ruled him.
He had to have her. Once, only once. Then he could let her go, his body safe from further harm.
He stuffed the diamond knuckles and dagger pendant in his pocket and moved to the window to peer down at the Garden of Perpetual Horror. Dawn approached.
A three-day journey loomed, each one a compendium of minutes and seconds he had to use to his advantage. Surely he could win his prize. He’d started and ended wars in less time.
The fly returned, buzzing around him. He remained still, listening, his ear twitching—Whack!
Damn it! He’d missed.
Lazarus combed a hand through his hair, the muscles in his shoulders knotted and strained. She had two objections to him. One, he put vengeance before pleasure and two, she would forget him.
The first he could easily assuage. For their night together, he would concern himself only with her pleasure. The second was the problem.
Lazarus had done his research. He knew two of her brothers-by-circumstance had survived the loss of their demons. Kane, once the keeper of Disaster, and Aeron, once the keeper of Wrath.
Kane...Lazarus wasn’t sure how he’d recovered. Aeron was given a new body—a new house for his spirit—by the One True Deity, leader of the Sent Ones and angels. But then, Aeron had wed a Sent One, so the gift made sense. Cameo was single, and if Lazarus had anything to say about it, she would remain that way for the rest of eternity.
My possessiveness matters more than her happiness? Going to let her go.
Little growls rose from deep in his chest as he started pacing. He needed to see her. Was she asleep? Did she dream of him?
He opened his mind, saw her puttering around her bedroom, and hardened. Tools were strewed across the table where they’d dined; she hammered, chiseled and filed a small dagger. Already she’d made two helmets and two breastplates, size small. For the children, he realized. She feared an attack on the journey to the portal, and this was a preemptive strike.
Had she stayed up all night?
Such a wickedly smart woman, his μονομανία. And talented. The magnificence of the craftsmanship stunned him.
Before they parted, he would have a sword made by her, a blade to cherish throughout an eternity spent alone.
* * *
By the time morning arrived, Cameo’s eyes burned and her limbs trembled with fatigue. At least she’d finished the armor for the children, using skills she’d acquired under Alex’s tutelage.
Alex... A familiar tide of sorrow battered her.
Ignore it. Protecting Urban and Ever—even without her customary embellishments—trumped any discomfort on her part.
She bathed and dressed in a clean tank, another pair of butt-crack shorts and a sarong. Her combat boots and daggers rested atop the bureau, surprising her. The guards must have brought the items during one of their many deliveries, which meant Lazarus had kept his promise to return her personal belongings.
Dangerous warmth cascaded through her veins.
Ignore it! She anchored the boots in place and sheathed the daggers at her ankles. Along with armor, she’d made a vial for the—very expensive—salve Lazarus had used on her wounds. A vial she hung around her neck with a leather cord. Sky serpents bore her no love. If they decided to attack her, she had best be prepared.
She brushed and braided her hair—well, attempted to braid her hair. She failed royally and opted for a messy ponytail. Her usual. Noting her pale cheeks, she pinched here and there to add color. Not that she cared about her appearance. She’d never cared before. After all, the very second she opened her mouth, most men fled as if she were toxic waste.
But Lazarus was different. He placed vengeance above everything else, even pleasure, as if it was forgettable. Bastard! She would do anything to experience and remember pleasure. So. Let him look at Cameo and want what he couldn’t have. Let him stew in his desire and find no succor.
Let him know the trials she endured on a daily basis!
Or prove he’s better off without you...
She inhaled sharply, the demon’s words hitting her where it hurt the most. Her hope.
A knock sounded at the door, and she jolted, her heart skipping a beat. Lazarus, come to fetch her? “Enter.”
Blondie stepped into the room, and Cameo deflated.
“Breakfast, courtesy of the king.” She placed the tray on the table, pushing aside Cameo’s tools, and uncovered multiple dishes of food. Chocolate cake, cupcakes and pudding, with a steaming pot of hot chocolate to wash everything down.
Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. Lazarus was lethal to her resolve.
How was she supposed to resist him?
Cameo waved the servant away, wishing she could act like a normal person and say, “Thank you.”
Alone, she gobbled up the food, an addict finally getting a hit. But the delicious sweetness only added to the turmoil inside her head. What had caused Lazarus to make vengeance his number-one priority?
Before using the Paring Rod the second time, Cameo had asked around. Hera the Cuckoldress, dethroned queen of the Greeks, had warred with Typhon, Lazarus’s father. Terrible deeds were committed by both. Ultimately Hera killed Lazarus’s mother before hiding and imprisoning his father. Hating her was understandable.
Ever since the Titans had taken control of the third heaven, Hera had been locked in Tartarus, utterly helpless, starved and beaten by other imprisoned immortals. Had she paid for her crimes? Had she suffered enough?
When would the cycle of evil end?
Juliette the Eradicator had enslaved Lazarus for centuries. Cameo remembered seeing the couple together on two separate occasions. When Juliette’s temper had threatened to detonate, he’d patted her hand to calm her. He’d been the only one capable of calming her.
When she had gripped him by the nape and yanked him close for a kiss, he hadn’t denied her. No, he’d kissed her back with equal fervor.
Jealousy simmered, scalding Cameo. At one time, Lazarus had desired the Harpy. Perhaps he would have offered Juliette forever if she hadn’t forced the issue, perhaps not. Now he yearned to punish her.
How quickly a man’s feelings could change. But then, feelings were unreliable and unpredictable, and if left unchecked, they would lead to disaster. Misery had proved it again and again.
Lust was unreliable and unpredictable. And yet, as Lazarus’s arms wrapped around her, Cameo wanted her lips on his.
He’d offered a night in his bed. Maybe she should accept.
Maybe he would rock her socks off. Maybe she would have to fake a good time. Either way, she would forget him afterward. For whatever reason, Misery despised the male and, judging by past behavior, would allow no reminders of him.
Maybe the loss of Cameo’s memory could be a good thing this time?
Once a lover had told her, “You have no poker face. You’re miserable, and you want me to stop.” It hadn’t been a question.
She’d nodded, hating herself as much as the demon.
Funny thing. The man had stopped without any effort. He hadn’t been overcome with passion, or so close to coming he’d been driven to the brink of sanity. He’d simply put on his clothes and left without saying another word, only casting a disgusted glance over his shoulder.
She would love to forget the humiliation of that night.
What if the warrior gives you what you’ve always wanted? Misery stroked her mind, as if he was petting her. I might allow you to keep your memory of him...if you kill him after you sleep with him.
She choked on her tongue. Kill Lazarus? Murder a lover in cold blood simply to retain her memories of an orgasm?
An orgasm? As in, only one. Silly Cameo. That male will never stop with one.
With a screech, she punched her fists into her temples. “You’re that desperate to end my association with him?”
She’d killed before, yes; she’d killed many times before, but always in the heat of battle. Never would she consider the demon’s offer. Besides, Misery had no honor. If she kept her end of the bargain, he could wipe her memory, anyway. How would she know?
“Foolish demon.” She tsk-tsked. “You’ve made a grave mistake. You’ve shown your cards. You’re scared of him. Because he can make me happy.”
Misery hissed in denial, but the truth was suddenly crystal clear.
Lazarus can make me happy.
Dazed, she eased onto the chair in front of the vanity. Ripples appeared in the glass, distorting her reflection. She gasped.
As an image began to take shape in the center, Cameo had a startling realization. The goddess of Many Futures was trapped inside.
Hope ignited. What if a bright future awaited Cameo?
“Show me,” she whispered. “Please.”
The screen split, revealing two images. In both, Lazarus was cut and bruised and standing in front of two towering trees, holding Cameo’s hand and watching as Viola and the children entered the glittering space between and vanished.
The portal home, she realized.
Vision Cameo remained by Lazarus’s side.
Real life Cameo switched her focus. On one side of the screen, Lazarus led her away from the trees. Time blazed by, as if on fast-forward, as he escorted her back to the palace, where they spent days, weeks, talking, getting to know each, pleasuring each other.
He introduced her body to bliss, but never removed his clothes. Why?
“This way or no way,” he told her.
This way, any way. Maybe they didn’t want such different things, after all. For him, Cameo smiled. Smiled! She whistled a merry tune and skipped through the halls. However, her dream come true was somehow a nightmare for Lazarus. The happier she became, the angrier he grew. Eventually, he glared at her with...hatred?
He returned her to the portal and placed half a black heart in her hand. When she stepped forward, her back to him, he raised a sword, as if he meant to strike her down. In the mirror, Cameo remained unaware of his malicious intention.
In the present, horror filled her. He becomes my enemy?
Real-life Cameo breathed a sigh of relief when he spun on a booted heel and stalked away without harming vision Cameo, who tossed the black heart into the portal.
The air shimmered, a countdown clock ticking; the portal would stay open for a minute, maybe two. She entered, the light fading from her eyes. Because Misery allowed her to keep her memory of Lazarus...of his abandonment. Of happiness she’d been unable to sustain.
Cameo’s stomach threatened to rebel.
On the other side of the mirror, a different fate began to play out. Lazarus insisted Cameo spend a night with him and return home in the morning. She said no. They argued, and he kissed her with such intensity her knees weakened—in the future and in the present. Then she backed away from him, entered the portal and—
The mirror blackened, not telling her if she kept her memory or not.
No, no, no. Cameo gripped the sides of the gilt frame and shook. “What happens next? Show me!”
A minute passed. Then another. Still nothing. Damn it!
How reliable were these visions? Did she have no other options?
If she left soon after Viola and the children, would she later return to Lazarus? Would he come after her?
Smug again, Misery said, The dead cannot pass through the portal, remember. And even if he could, would he choose to be with you...or finally end you?
Light-headed, Cameo massaged her temples. She knew so little about the man on whom she’d pinned her hopes. Knew nothing about his wants and motivations. What would happen if they parted at the portal? Something better than loving and losing him? Or something far worse?
I must see the rest of the second vision!
Cameo considered her options. There was no way to sneak the mirror out of the palace. Maybe a piece of it? Yes! She grabbed a pillow and punched the glass with all her might, again and again.
Nothing happened. Not a single crack appeared. Frustration mixed with anger and helplessness.
Guess I’m on my own. As always.