The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

He pulled his short swords from the sheathes anchored to his back, metal whistling, and took a step forward—

An invisible wall stopped him. Scowling, he stabbed repeatedly, attempting to create a fissure. The weapons bent while the wall remained unharmed.

Hildabeast smiled a smug smile. “You wish to pass? Answer me this. The man who makes it has no need of it. The man who purchases it will not use it. The man who uses it will not know he’s doing so. What is it?”

Her stupid riddles. In his haste to ensure Cameo’s return, Lazarus had forgotten the way of the Sphinx. No man could approach without first answering a riddle. One of the reasons the creatures made such excellent guard dogs.

Last time, whenever Lazarus or Cameo had neared the wall, they’d experienced vertigo before being flashed to the far corner of the room.

This time, Lazarus wasn’t newly dead. He was stronger, despite the crystals, and he was far more determined.

He rolled Hilda’s riddle through his mind, and decided she’d gone easy on him. She wanted to fight him.

The man who makes “it” had no need of it...because he lived. The man who purchased “it” wouldn’t use it...because he lived. The man who used “it” wouldn’t know he was doing so...because he was dead.

“The answer is coffin,” Lazarus said. “What you will need today.”

A loud whoosh sounded, hot air gusting over him. The wall had just come down.

Glee darkened her eyes. “Do you truly believe you can best me?”

“I do.” Smiling his own smug smile, he tossed his damaged swords to the floor and stalked toward his opponent. They’d do this hand to hand. Or rather, hand to paw.

Without warning, she swiped her claws at him. He dodged, only to put himself in the path of another hand. Pain tore through his midsection, momentarily rendering him immobile. Like any predator, she used his paralysis to her advantage, latching onto the back of his thighs and yanking.

He hit the ground with a heavy thud. Stars flashed through his vision.

Rather than launch her next attack, as any sane person would, she peered down at him. Gaze locked with his, she raised her fingers to her mouth. Out came her tongue, lapping up his blood.

“Delicious,” she said.

Fury blazed through him. Perhaps humiliation. “You’re a fool. You should have taken me out while you had the chance. You won’t get another.”

“Ready for more so soon? I know I am.”

Lazarus jumped up. This time, when she swiped at him, he dropped to his stomach, palming two daggers on the way down. She missed, and he stabbed both of her feet.

Her roar echoed off the walls, shaking the entire room. Claws ripped across his back. Ignoring the newest onslaught of pain, he rolled to the side. When she took another swipe at him, he caught her wrists, kicked up his legs and crossed his ankles at her nape.

He rolled to his back this time, flipping her over his head. The daggers fell from her feet. He ended up on top of her, his knees pinning her shoulders. Anger contorted her features into a whole lot of ugly.

Not so smug now, are we?

Grinning, he punched the underside of her jaw. His knuckles cracked, but so did her jaw. She bucked, but the action failed to dislodge him. Then her wings swept up and knocked him across the room. Fueled by adrenaline, impact barely registered. He leaped up and spit out a feather. She climbed to all fours.

They circled each other, every step she took leaving a bloody paw print.

“There’s something different about you.” Her gaze slid over him. “But what?”

If she noticed the crystals, his weakness, he would—

Not care. Hilda died today.

He blew her a kiss. “I’m no longer a child, but a man. Not quite the man you are, of course, but everyone has a cross to bear.”

The sneer in his tone did exactly as he’d hoped. Provoked beyond reason, she dived at him, fangs bared, claws ready. He swiped up the fallen daggers and ducked. As Hilda soared overhead, missing him by only a few inches, he used one hand to punch up and cut through her breastplate—through her body, from sternum to pubis. The other hand sliced through her wing.

Blood and organs rained over him. A pained shriek blended with his satisfied grunt as she flopped to the carpeted floor. Acting quickly, knowing she would regenerate everything she’d lost, he threw himself atop her and framed her face with his hands. Skin on skin.

Her eyes widened when she realized his ultimate purpose. She erupted, fighting him with all her might. As slippery as he was, soaked with her blood, he lost his grip. She kicked him off. Damn it! He returned, knocking her down as she tried to sit up. She punched his face, kneed his balls. Air gushed from his lungs. Her elbow collided with his cheek, and he staggered to the side.

When she attempted to stand, he kicked her in the jaw. No mercy. Down she tumbled. He jumped on top of her yet again and dug his claws into her temples, holding on tight.

“This is happening,” he snarled, embarrassed to be panting. “Take it like a man.”

“If I took it like a man,” she snarled right back, “I’d be crying.” She batted his hands away, ripping out his claws, leaving her cheek as raw as hamburger meat.

Even as she grunted with pain, she rolled to her side and punted his chest. But her strength had waned. The action only knocked him halfway across the room.

By the time she made it to her feet, he’d pushed his way back. Remaining prone, he kicked her ankles together. She flailed as she fell. The second she landed, he rolled on top of her. She fought for dominance. Punching. Biting. Clawing.

Blood dripped into his eyes. His own? Or hers? She bit into his shoulder and tore out a hank of flesh and bone. Pain seared him. He roared to the rafters, pinpricks of light winking behind his eyes.

Overcome by his rage, Lazarus lifted his head, sank his teeth into her vulnerable neck—and tore out her trachea. She gasped, the gaping wound sucking raggedly at whatever air it could steal. He rolled a final time, ending up on top, shoving his knees into her torso and cupping her cheeks.

With the flip of a mental switch, heat flowed out of him and into her, such intense heat. Sweat suddenly drenched her. Her flesh began to turn to stone...

At first, she flailed. As her skin and fur hardened, beiges and browns darkening to gray, her motions slowed...

Bastard, she mouthed as the last of her petrified.

To his knowledge, the process could not be undone. Which meant he’d won.

Relieved, he collapsed beside her. The process always drained him, the reason he only ever used the ability when he lacked an audience.

“Told you,” he rasped.

He studied his newest statue. Her agonized features were forever frozen, her eyes gazing upward, pleading for mercy, her mouth open, revealing fangs. Her arms were extended, her hands balled into fists. Both sets of legs were extended as well, now pushing at oxygen. Her broken wing lay at an odd angle, while the other wrapped inward in an attempt to protect her. Her chest cavity was split open, not yet having healed.

She would have a place of honor in his garden.