Gena Showalter - The Darkest Promise

Her misery was already spreading, affecting those around her. The knowledge only added to her sorrows.

Viola threw open her arms and shouted, “I’m here at last. Drink me in.”

Lazarus escorted her and the children to a spacious room. “Rest,” he said. “Food will be brought to you.”

He shut the door before the trio could protest. As two guards raced from the shadows to stand sentry at the door, he strode down the hall, turned a corner and stopped at Cameo’s door.

Tension radiated from him and thickened the air, air sweet with his scent and sultry with his delicious heat. Breathing became more difficult, as if she were trying to inhale molasses.

“Invite me in,” he rasped.

The change in him devastated her senses. She licked suddenly dry lips. “Why? Minutes ago, you couldn’t stand my touch.”

“Untrue. We were in public, and you were about to touch a...wound.”

He’s not embarrassed of me. “I’m sorry, Lazarus. I didn’t know.”

He took a step toward her, invading her personal space. “I want a night with you, sunshine. From sundown to sunrise, I want to make you scream with pleasure.”

The blatant sexuality of his claim nearly knocked her off her feet. He’d meant what he said and would do as he’d promised; she had zero doubts about that. His dark eyes sizzled with lust and challenge.

Must decline. But why?

His dislike. Her memory loss.

Um, surely she had more than two reasons?

Only need one. “No,” she croaked.

Without missing a beat, Lazarus took her by the hips, swung her around and pressed her against the door. “Have dinner with me, then. Give me a chance to sway you.”

Misery hissed.

Cameo chewed on her bottom lip. “Why do you want me?” Why not go for Viola, the surer thing?

“Desire is a beast more insidious than your demon.”

In other words, he didn’t want to want her. And she couldn’t blame him!

She should lock herself in her room, end the madness. Problem was, she would only buy herself an hour, maybe two. He was a warrior, and walking away from him would incite him to battle. He would only come after her with greater fervor.

What harm could food, conversation and a little innocent flirting do? He would never breach her resolve. She, too, was a warrior. Yes?

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll have dinner with you.”

8

“Step five: Plan an attack. Trash it and plan another. Trash that one, and act without planning. If you surprise yourself, you’ll surprise your enemy.”

—How to Achieve Victory

Subtitle: Except with Lovers and Their Family

Cameo’s heart thundered against her ribs as Lazarus led her into the bedroom. She stopped short, dumbfounded.

Damn him. He’d planned ahead.

Servants were lighting candles here, there, everywhere. A small, round table had been brought into the room and covered with dishes. The scent of sweetmeats and candied treats teased her, and her mouth watered.

Misery had curtailed her appetite for years, and yet her stomach rumbled, a sign of hunger she wasn’t used to feeling. Usually, when she spent time away from her friends, she had to set an alert on her phone to let her know mealtime arrived.

Never breach my resolve? I’m an idiot.

“You are not an—” Lazarus began.

Erecting a mental shield, she pressed a finger against his lips. “If you respond to my thoughts one more time, I’ll insist on eating alone.”

He nipped at her fingertip, his straight white teeth sinking into her tender flesh. She barely noticed the sting...but gasped as he licked the same spot, her cells buzzing. Languid heat consumed her.

“Out,” he barked, never looking away from her.

The servants dashed from the room. The males wore T-shirts and jeans while the females wore cashmere sweaters and lightweight pants. I call foul! Lazarus only dressed his pretties scantily while everyone else got to wear whatever the hell they wanted?

“You are no longer in charge of my wardrobe,” Cameo informed him. “Sexable women aren’t your personal Barbie dolls. Some of us prefer to wear something other than sequined bandages.”

“A simple thank you would suffice. And I like the word sexable. You offering?”

“What! No!” Right?

Right.

With a smirk, Lazarus snaked an arm around her waist and led her to the table. He pulled out her chair, ever the gentleman. “Please, have a seat on the quitter bench.”

Muscles contracted at both corners of her mouth as if...as if... Nope. The sensation eased, and disappointment flared. Sighing, she sat down.

He eased into the chair across from hers, light and shadows flickering over his rugged features. Taking turns caressing him? Lucky lights. Lucky shadows.

He smiled as he filled her plate with flaky crab meat in a butter cream sauce, mixed vegetables steamed to perfection, and a casserole that smelled suspiciously like...

“Doritos?” she asked.

“At the Harpy Games, you ate a bag of the cheese-flavored chips while cheering for your friend, so I had a special dish prepared.” He hiked a shoulder in a casual shrug. “One of the newly deceased members of my staff had a recipe.” His dark eyes twinkled at her. “Are you impressed?”

She sooo did not want to admit the truth, but unlike Gideon, the keeper of Lies, deceit wasn’t her thing and it would only fuel Misery’s power over her. “Yes,” she grumbled, and toasted him with her glass of wine. “I am.”

He’d noticed her before she’d even met him. How sweet was that?

She toasted him with a glass of red wine and added, “Here’s hoping you disappoint me the rest of the evening.”

“Alas. Your hopes are for naught. Disappointment is a feat I’ve never managed.”

“I’m sure,” she grumbled.

“You sound jealous. Are you jealous?”

“You sound hopeful. Are you hopeful?”

His husky chuckle proved headier than the cabernet. “For dessert, we’re having chocolate cake. I’m told mortals think this one is better than sex.”

Hmm, chocolate. Despite her lack of appetite, she sometimes craved chocolate as if it were the only path to happiness. “Well. Meet your competition. I’m tempted to spend the night with the cake.”

“In that case...” He lifted a round lid, revealing the chocolate cake in question. With his free hand, he stabbed his knife into the center. “Unfortunately, this cake has been murdered.”

She snickered—no, Misery swallowed the sound before it had a chance to escape, leaving her deflated.

“When first I arrived in your realm,” she said, jumping from pleasure to business for the sake of her sanity, “a man noticed I’m living rather than dead. How?”

He rolled with the punches, not missing a beat. “When a living being passes through the Paring Rod, their body becomes a type of suit. It’s there, the dead can see it, but the spirit shimmers through it.”

Interesting. “How many living—”

“Nope. My turn to ask a question.” He leaned back in his seat and regarded her intently. “You’ve mentioned your desire to find Pandora’s box. What are your plans for it?”

“I’m...undecided,” she admitted. No option struck her as “the one.”

She could destroy the box and sentence herself to an eternity with Misery and without hope. She could open the box and remove Misery, but she would kill herself and all of her friends.

Rumors stated anyone demon possessed would die when the box was opened, the demons sucked out of their bodies. Because evil had become an organ over the centuries. A cancerous but necessary organ. Without it, a gaping wound remained. She and the others would hemorrhage.