The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

One last thing to do...

He lumbered to a stand and stalked across the room, stopping directly in front of the display case. The power he’d encountered earlier brushed over him, his blood beginning to fizz all over again.

He pulled off the remains of his T-shirt, wrapped the material around his fist and punched through the panel that protected the box.

The glass shattered and slashed through the cotton. Sharp stings zinged over his fingers, and crimson beaded from a thousand tiny wounds.

Steeling himself, he reached for the box...only to still. The pulse of power wasn’t coming from it. He frowned and focused on the skull, the true source. Why had its teeth been filed into razor points...if not to guard something of importance?

Acting on instinct, he reached inside its open mouth. Those teeth clamped down on his wrist, and he hissed, but he didn’t yank out his hand. His fingers bumped against a small object anchored inside, and the power arced through him, pure and undiluted. The scratches in his stomach and back healed. The cuts on his knuckles closed up.

This was the same power he’d experienced the few times he’d encountered Kadence, the goddess of Oppression. Upon her death, her bones were used to make the box.

Satisfaction bubbled inside him. He latched onto the item, whatever it was, and yanked. The skull’s teeth remained embedded in his skin. Poison leaked from the incisors, but it was no deterrent to him. One by one, he tossed the bits of enamel to the floor. Then he examined the small trinket he’d liberated.

Definitely made from bones, just like the box. Fingers and knuckles. And yes, they belonged to Kadence. The bones had been shattered, the pieces welded together and stained red to resemble an apple.

An apple. The original temptation. But...

This was the infamous Pandora’s box?

Problem: the other Lords remembered a literal box, like the one he’d first reached for.

Possibility: whoever made the box could have remade the box after it was opened. A good strategy. How better to hide it? But who had made the first box? And why?

The Lords believed a living being was still trapped inside. The Morning Star. Not a demon, but a creature able to destroy Lucifer and his evil with a single touch. Able to free the Lords of their demons, too, while ensuring the warriors lived on.

Lazarus had done his research. Some said the Morning Star was a Sent One, the best demon slayer ever to live. Others claimed the Morning Star was a literal descendant of celestial beings known as Starlights, so bright the sun would weep with envy. Still others suggested the being was a jinni, a granter of wishes.

The next problem, or maybe the biggest paradox: Lazarus would love to use the Morning Star, but to do so, he would have to open the box. Cameo could die before he had the chance to use the Star, saving her.

Could she be saved?

Speaking of his μονομαν?α, how was he to get word to her? He had what she craved.

She expected him to show up at her door, all Remember you said you’d reward me if I escaped the spirit realm?

He knew what he would request. Her mouth on his shaft.

Lazarus hung the pendant from a chain around his neck and tugged the ruined remains of his shirt overhead, hiding the artifact under the material. Using the ring, he created a portal to the Realm of Grimm and Fantica. He dragged Hilda through and ended up in front of the other portal. The one leading to the mortal world. To Cameo.

He glared daggers at the shimmery air. You took my woman from me.

A strange tugging sensation drew him closer. His mind whirled as he dug in his heels. Pandora’s box, attempting to reach the demons?

No, couldn’t be. The sensation originated in his veins. In the crystal. He didn’t understand, but he expected the worst and backed away.

His men were just as he’d left them. His sky serpents, too. Trees had been felled, but so had griffins. Their bodies lay in pieces throughout the forest.

“Good boys and girls,” he praised. To his soldiers, he called, “Rope.”

One of the men rushed forward to offer the desired item. Lazarus anchored one end to Hilda and the other to his stallion’s saddle, ensuring the braided length wouldn’t tangle in the steed’s wings. He mounted.

“You, you and you.” He pointed to his strongest men. “Camp here. When the dark-haired woman returns, protect her with your lives and escort her to the palace. The rest of you...let’s go home.”

*

Lazarus positioned Hilda in the Garden of Perpetual Horror. Only the best for his newest addition. Her broken body lay underneath a squatting troll who’d raided a nearby village and slaughtered the males in order to steal the females.

Satisfied with his selection, Lazarus marched into the palace. No servants rushed to greet him. In fact, the halls were eerily quiet. He withdrew two daggers even as he opened his mind to gauge the situation.

Mental chatter from the soldiers who’d returned with him. They wondered about Cameo, what she meant to their king. The only other occupants were...dreaming? Nothing else explained the image of a dancing elephant with a tutu, a talking car and a horny robot.

He turned the corner, entering the dining hall, and found the bodies of soldiers and servants slumped over furniture and splayed on the floor.

Finally—an answer from the Amazons he’d imprisoned. The bags of poison had been decoys. They’d already turned their blood to poison—for others.

He’d been tricked, distracted by one ploy while another brewed. What he’d done, they’d wanted him to do.

And now, he sensed another presence. Someone he’d warned away.

“Rathbone,” he shouted. He stormed through the Great Room and past the exquisitely painted arched doors that led into his throne room.

The dark-haired male reclined on the throne, one leg crossed over the other in a lazy, relaxed pose. There was only one outward sign of his impatience—he drummed his fingers against the chair’s arms.

“Look at you,” Rathbone said. “Alive and well. And practically shirtless. Determined to set maiden hearts aflutter, are we?”

“What are you doing here?” Lazarus demanded.

“Protecting your people in your absence. You’re welcome.” The king of the underworld waved to the far wall. “Behold.”

He turned to see the Amazons suspended in the air.

“They escaped and attempted a coup.” Rathbone grinned without humor. “Their queen has plans for you. An enslavement masked as a wedding.”

His grip on the daggers tightened. She thinks to enslave me? She dies!

“They’ll receive prime spots in my Garden of Perpetual Horror by the end of the day.” He would not thank Rathbone. The words would be an admission he’d needed help. He hadn’t. He could have reclaimed the palace on his own, no problem.