Gena Showalter - The Darkest Pleasure

"Don't cancel the meeting," Reyes told the others. "Just…start without me." He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze starting in the sky and falling slowly. Night's sinister canvas still waited, beckoning him to finally leap. "I'll be down in a few."

Paris's lips twitched. "Down. Funny. Maybe I'll meet you down there and we can play Hide-the-Pancreas again. Forcing you to completely regenerate rather than simply heal always amuses me."

Even Lucien grinned at that.

"Oh, oh, I wanna play! Can I hide his liver this time?"

At the sound of Anya's sultry voice, Reyes stifled a groan.

The white-haired goddess of Anarchy rushed through the doorway and threw herself into Lucien's now-open arms, her strawberry fragrance drifting on the ever-increasing wind. The pair cooed and cuddled like lovesick idiots for an eternity, lost in each other, the world around them forgotten.

It had taken Reyes a while to warm to the woman. She belonged in Olympus, home to the very beings he reviled—strike one. She left chaos in her wake, something as natural to her as breathing—strike two. But in the end, she had aided every warrior here, and had blessed Lucien with a happiness Reyes could only imagine.

Sabin coughed.

Paris whistled, though the sound of it was strained.

A pang of envy tightened Reyes's chest, squeezing at the heart that would soon stop beating. The heart he wished he did not possess. Without one, he would not have wanted Danika even though he knew he couldn't have her.

Didn't matter, he supposed. She would never want him in return. Most women did not appreciate his particular brand of pleasure and sweet, angelic Danika would hate it more than most. Even being near him had terrified her.

Perhaps, though, he could have won her over, seduced her, softened her toward him. Perhaps…but he refused to even try. The women he bedded always succumbed to his demon, became drunk on it, addicted to its predilections. They developed their own need for pain, lashing out and hurting everyone around them.

"Someone gather the others," Reyes said, sarcasm dripping from the words and hopefully hiding his inner agony. "We'll make this a reunion." What was Danika doing right this second? Who was she with? A man? Was she cuddling against him as Anya was cuddling against Lucien? Was she dead, buried as Aeron was buried? His hands curled into fists, his nails elongating into claws, slicing skin and stinging beautifully.

"You can shut it, Painie," Anya said, facing him. She burrowed her head in the hollow of Lucien's neck, blue eyes peeking through thick strands of pale hair. "You're wasting Lucien's time, and that seriously irritates me."

Bad things happened when Anya was irritated. Wars, natural disasters. Reyes's weapons left in the rain to rust. "He and I have already spoken. He has the information he desired."

"Not all of it," Lucien said.

"Tell him or I'll push you," Anya said. "And then I swear to the gods—bastards that they are!—that while you're recovering and unable to stop me I'll find your little girlfriend and mail you one of her fingers."

Just the thought caused a red haze to curtain his eyes. Danika…hurting… Do not react . Do not allow fury to swamp you. "You will not touch her."

"Watch your tone," Lucien told him, tightening his grip on his woman.

"You don't even know where she is," Reyes said more calmly, marveling at how protective the once stolid Lucien was.

Anya smiled a secret smile.

"Anya," he warned.

"What?" she asked, all innocence.

"Aeron needs to be with us," Lucien said.

"Aeron is no longer up for discussion," Reyes growled. "You weren't there. You didn't see the torment in his eyes. You didn't hear the pleading in his tone. I did what I had to do, and I'd do it again." He spun away from his friends. Glanced down. The puddles were now undulating fiercely against the jagged rocks lining the ground. They were still beckoning.

Deliverance, they whispered.

Just for a little while….

"Reyes," Lucien called.

Reyes jumped.

"ORDER'S UP."

Danika Ford caught the two steaming plates that slid across the silver warmer. One a greasy hamburger, hold the onions. The other a chili dog with extra cheese. Both were overflowing with heart-attack-in-the-making fries and wafting delicious scents to her nose, making her mouth water and her stomach rumble.

Last thing she'd eaten had been a bologna sandwich before bed last night. The bread had been crusty and the meat ripe. Sadly, she would have paid good money for another crusty, overripe sandwich just then. If she'd had any money, that is.

Three more hours till her shift ended, then she could eat again. Three feet-throbbing, backbreaking, limb-shaking hours. She wouldn't last. Don't be a princess. Chin up. Game on. You're a Ford. Built for strength and all that jazz.

Despite the pep talk, her gaze fell to the plates. She swiped her tongue over her lips. Maybe a nibble. What could it hurt? No one would know.

Her arm rose before she could stop it, her fingers reached…

"I think she's stealing one of my fries," she heard a man whisper.

Another whispered back, "What'd you expect from someone like her?"

Danika froze. For a moment, her appetite was forgotten and a million emotions swept through her. Sadness, frustration and embarrassment were the front-runners. This is what my life has become. From sheltered daughter to woman-on-the-run in a single bleak night. From well-respected artist to take-whatever's-dished waitress.

"Like to say I'm surprised, but…"

"Check your wallet when we leave."

Embarrassment edged ahead of the other two. She didn't have to see the men to know they were watching her with hard, judging eyes. Three times they'd come to eat at Enrique's and all three times they'd given her self-esteem a good workout. It was weird, too. They never said anything harsh, always smiled and thanked her when she brought them something, but they just couldn't mask the distaste shining in their eyes.

She'd dubbed them the Bird Brothers, so badly did she want to flip them off.

Don't bring attention to yourself, her common sense piped up. These days, it was the only rule she lived by.

"I better not catch you trying to sneak food again," her boss snapped. Enrique was the owner, as well as the short-order cook. "Now, hurry up. Their food's getting cold."

"Actually, it's too hot. They might burn themselves and sue." The plates were obscenely warm against her cold skin—skin she hadn't been able to warm in weeks. Even now, in the heat of the diner, she wore a sweater she'd purchased for $3.99 at the thrift shop down the street. But to her consternation, the burn from the plates never seeped inside her.

Surely something good would happen to her soon. Weren't good and evil supposed to balance each other out? Once, she had thought so. Had believed happiness waited around every corner. Sadly, Danika now knew better.

Behind her, past the wall of windows that provided a mocking view into the pulsing heart of L.A.'s nightlife, cars whizzed and people strolled, carefree and laughing. Not too long ago, that was me.

Danika had taken the job here, working as many hours as possible, because Enrique paid her under the table, no social security number required. Cash, no taxes deducted. She could disappear at a moment's notice.

Was her mother living like this? Her sister? Her granny—if she was still alive?

Two months ago, the four of them had decided to take an extended vacation in Budapest, her grandpa's favorite city. Magical, he'd always said. After he died, they'd gone to celebrate his memory and finally say goodbye.