The Darkest Craving

CHAPTER FIFTEEN



TORIN, KEEPER OF Disease, paced the floor of the room where he’d last seen Cameo. Days had passed since she’d vanished, leaving all of the artifacts behind, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened here. Her gaze had locked with Maddox’s. She had reached out. Then, she had been gone, with no trace of her remaining. Where was she? What had happened?

The other warriors had come and gone, inspecting the room before stalking out to hunt down anyone who might know how to save a woman Torin loved with all of his heart. Not as a lover, though they had once tried to go that route, but as his best friend.

If he would die for his friends, he would kill for his best friend.

And yet, Torin was stuck here. He could do nothing but wait. He’d already checked online, but the information he desired wasn’t out there. Or, if it was, he hadn’t yet found it.

He couldn’t leave the fortress, because he couldn’t risk touching anyone. Were his skin to accidentally brush against the skin of another immortal, that immortal would then carry the taint of Torin’s curse, infecting anyone they touched with disease. Were his skin to brush against the skin of a human, that human would sicken and die—but not before passing the disease on to others. A plague would erupt. Again.

Yeah. He’d once lusted after a woman he hadn’t been meant to have. He’d rescued her from the hands of his enemy—they’d noticed his interest in her. Then, he’d removed his gloves and touched her, desperate for contact. Skin-to-skin. Warmth to warmth. He’d thought she would be the exception, that his yearning for her would somehow overcome his handicap.

Her eyes had closed, and her lips had curled into a small grin, and pleasure had overwhelmed him. But then she’d sickened. Then her family and friends had sickened. Then they had all died—along with thousands of others.

Now, when Cameo needed him...

He was worse than useless. He was a failure. He hadn’t gotten here soon enough to save her, and he couldn’t race to her rescue. Frustration and fury burned in his chest, a toxic combination adding to the poison in his blood.

He stopped in front of the Cage of Compulsion. Two of the artifacts were inside, exactly where they’d fallen when Cameo vanished. The Rod was propped outside, against the corner. If he did what Cameo had done, could he get to where she was? To where Viola was?

Maybe.

Probably.

Worth the risk, he thought.

He stepped forward and curled his fingers over the edge of the cage.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” a voice said from behind him.

He stiffened. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Anya, the incarnation of Anarchy and girlfriend of the keeper of Death, leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed over her middle. She was tall and blonde and one of the most beautiful females ever created; she was also one of the most troublesome, preferring chaos over calm. Today she wore a skintight blue minidress that looked—wait, it was painted on.

Sweet heaven.

“Better question. Are you going to tell Lucien?”

“When he took off this morning to escort a few souls to the hereafter, he failed to wake me with a kiss and tell me he loved me. Therefore, I’m currently giving him the silent treatment.”

And Lucien was probably loving it. Not that Torin would ever say such a thing aloud.

He changed the subject, saying, “New look?”

“New form of torture for Lucien. He’ll never not kiss me again!”

“He probably thought you’d demand more than a kiss from him, when he wouldn’t have the time to give it to you.”

“There’s always time to give it to me.”

He wanted to smile, and the thread of humor, even as small as it was, surprised him. But then, Anya had that effect on people. “Want to try and talk me out of this?” he said, motioning to the artifacts.

“Nah. I want Cameo brought back as much as you do. But if you die, well, I call dibs on your room. I’m thinking about getting a pet that will eat Viola’s devil, and my baby will need a place all her own.”

“It’s yours.”

She nodded, as if she’d expected nothing less. “Just know that I’ve always enjoyed looking at you. I’ll miss your sexy face.”

The smile bloomed to full wattage, unstoppable. “I’ve always enjoyed looking at you, too.”

She blew him a kiss.

Because he carried the All-key inside his body, he was able to unlock anything with only a touch. The cage was no exception. He entered. The door slammed shut behind him.

“I feel like this is the perfect time to admit I’m the Cage’s owner,” Anya said, tapping her chin and eyeing him thoughtfully. “Cronus gave it to me. I could command you to strip and you’d have to obey.”

Torin ignored her, looking over the painting. A man’s office. A glass display case. Artifacts. One of them was a small box made of bones. Pandora’s box? Maybe. Why had he not noticed it before? He picked up the Cloak and draped the material over his shoulders, just as he’d watched Cameo do. Then, he took off his glove, reached out and gripped the Rod. But...

Nothing happened.

“Well, that wasn’t disappointing,” Anya said drily. “See you later, Disease.”

She left him alone in the room, and he cursed. “You don’t want my disease inside you?” he growled at the Rod. “Huh? Is that it? Do you get to pick and choose the ones you accept?”

He tossed the artifact on the floor, exited the Cage, and, disgusted, followed the path Anya had taken.

* * *

CAMEO FELT AS though she was trapped inside a washing machine, being swirled and churned this way and that, round and round, never pausing. How many days...months...years...had passed since she’d climbed inside the Cage of Compulsion and touched the Paring Rod? She wasn’t sure. Time had ceased to exit.

“Viola!” she shouted.

She bumped into something solid—something that grunted and cursed. Definitely not Viola. Someone other than the goddess was with her in this dark, winding pit?

Hard bands shackled her waist, jerking her against a male...yes...and he had to be eight feet tall, and as wide as a building. He surrounded her with his heat and his scent...sandalwood and peat smoke...and even stopped her from spinning.

“Who are you?” he demanded in a deep, rumbling voice she didn’t recognize.

“Cameo,” she managed to grit out. She wished she could see him, but was kind of glad she couldn’t. He couldn’t see her, either, so he couldn’t know how close she was to vomiting. Her stomach hurt. “You?”

“Lazarus.” Warm breath caressed the top of her head, ruffling strands of her hair.

“Where?”

He knew what she meant. “The Paring Rod. We’re trapped inside it. You were hurtling through it—and you’re still being pulled toward something.” His tone was strained, as if all of his strength was needed to hold on to her. “I’m trying to keep you in place, and believe me, I’m as tough as they come, but whatever’s got you wants you desperately, because I’m being dragged with you.”

“Well, then, let go.” Translation: save yourself.

“Uh, that would be a no. If you’re being pulled out, I’d kill my own kin to go with you.”

“Could be...dangerous,” she said. Breathe. Just breathe.

“There are hundreds of people trapped in here and no one has ever escaped. If there’s a chance that is what’s happening with you, I’m going to take it.”

No. Not yet. She hadn’t had a chance to search. “I can’t leave without a little blonde who’s in love with herself.”

“Sorry, female, but you don’t get a choice in the matter.”

“But—”

He tightened his hold, practically flattening her lungs.

“Air...need...”

“That’s not me,” he gritted, sounding just as winded as she was. “Walls...closing in.”

Suddenly, the pressure eased. Cameo slammed into something solid—a floor, maybe...yes, a floor, she thought, patting the area around her. It was cold, solid.

“The bottom of the Rod?” she panted. That would mean the Rod had shrunk her to thimble size, and she wasn’t okay with that.

Lazarus released her and rolled away. “I’ve been all over the confines of the Rod, and this isn’t part of it. I think we did the impossible and escaped.”

His excitement was contagious. Maybe Viola had escaped, too.

Blinking to clear her line of vision, Cameo clambered to her hands and knees. With the action, the urge to vomit increased, the dizziness careened out of control annnd—yes, she spewed the contents of her stomach all over the man’s shoes.

“Nice,” she thought she heard him say.

At least he hadn’t batted her away.

“I need you to move now,” he said. “I want these shoes off.”

Inhale. Good. Now exhale. Several minutes passed before she was able to lift her head enough to see what was around her. An office. The one from the painting, she realized. There was a desk piled high with papers. There was a glass display case brimming with artifacts. And there was Pandora’s box.

So close.

For the moment, Viola was forgotten. Cameo pushed to a stand and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“How did the Rod send us here?” She took a step forward. And where was here, exactly?

Lazarus chucked his shoes. He moved beside her and latched onto her arm, his grip strong, unbreakable. She turned to face him—and gaped. He wasn’t as tall as she’d imagined, but he was still a giant. He had a muscle mass even the biggest of her friends had yet to achieve. But it was his face that truly arrested her attention.

He. Was. Gorgeous. He wouldn’t have to speak to a woman to gain her interest. He’d just have to look at her. He had black hair, black eyes. Fathomless eyes, really. A proud nose, a stubbornly square chin. Lips the color of rubies, and the perfect contrast to all that dark. His skin was bronzed to perfection.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” You’re a warrior. Act like one. She tugged from his hold, and the only reason she succeeded was because he let her; she knew it. “I’ve seen you before.”

Strider was dating, or whatever, Kaia the Wing Shredder, and Strider had beheaded Lazarus to protect her. He was the consort of another Harpy, one even more annoying than Kaia, who was desperate to avenge his death.

“How are you alive?” she demanded.

“My body was destroyed, but not my spirit. It was trapped inside the Rod all this time.”

Trapped. Past tense. They’d really gotten out? “If your body was destroyed, why are you solid to me?”

“Your body was destroyed as well, the moment you entered the Rod.”

“No.”

“Don’t worry. I can make us both another one, just as soon as I get home.”

She wouldn’t panic. She would believe him. She didn’t like the alternative.

“You have a weapon?” he asked.

Did she? She patted herself down and came up with...nothing. Silent, refusing to admit the lack, she raised her chin. “You want to fight me or something? Before you answer that, you should probably know I lack any sort of softer emotions and I’ll do things to you that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.”

“Yes, I want to fight, but you’re not the opponent I’m jonesing for—even though I’m intrigued by the things you say you can do. I want to fight him.” Lazarus nodded to a place behind her. “We’ll need to work together to defeat him. I’m good, probably the best and strongest warrior you’ll never have the pleasure to meet, but we just happen to be in the same room as the only male ever to beat me.”

Him, he’d said. The skinny red-eyed male she’d seen after draping the Cloak over her head and peering at the painting? And the guy had once beaten Lazarus? He must have powers the painting hadn’t revealed. Dread washed through her as she turned, but...she couldn’t see him.

“He’s here?” she demanded. “Who is he?”

“You can’t see him?”

She licked her lips, once again refusing to admit to a lack.

“He has the ability to reveal himself—or not. He must have decided you’re not worth playing with.” He sighed angrily. “I guess it’s up to me to save the day, then.”