The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

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 μονομαν?α. 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.