The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

Upon stepping into the portal, he’d experienced total sensory deprivation. He’d thought he’d taken a gamble and lost. The knowledge had awakened his inner monster, his fangs and claws returning, the crystals in his veins throbbing. But as they’d throbbed, lights had begun to pulse and blur. Seconds later, he’d fallen down, down, down, landing in an open field of wildflowers. No one had been around. Not spirit, not human, not immortal.

Cautious, uncertain but not daring to hope, he’d flashed to a home he’d built and hidden centuries ago. It resided in one of the lands that formed an archipelago of New Zealand Subantarctic Islands. A place he’d been unable to reach inside the spirit realms.

Seeing his cabin had driven him to his knees. Yes, the wood had rotted, and yes, weather and wildlife had left their mark, but what did that matter? Lazarus lived. Lived! After being beheaded.

His father was right. He would live forever. He wasn’t sure how or why, exactly, but he now suspected the crystals were the catalyst. The way they’d throbbed...

Impossible. The crystals were his downfall. They didn’t strengthen him; they weakened him, and a feeble man survived nothing. Lazarus’s movements were already slower than usual, his range of motion more limited.

He’d thought, Find and seduce Cameo. Kill Juliette and Hera before it’s too late.

He’d cloaked himself in an illusion of invisibility and flashed to Budapest. He’d swept through Cameo’s home, a veritable fortress, remaining unseen to the occupants. After reading a mind or twelve, he discovered she’d left earlier that morning. He’d hidden the magic mirror in her bedroom, happy the glass had survived the journey, and set off on a hunt of his own.

Murmurs filled his head, yanking him into the present.

“Is that Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual?”

“Dude! Didn’t I hear he’d gotten his neck trimmed?”

Lazarus breathed deep, the scents stronger here than in the spirit realm. He detected notes of alcohol and ambrosia, a cloying mix of immortal perfumes, the wood, steel and mortar used to build the club, and a deluge of too many other things to pinpoint. No, not too many others—three stood out above all the rest. Roses, bergamot and neroli.

He hardened, his erection straining against the fly of his leathers.

His gaze met Cameo’s, and the rest of the world disappeared. There she stood, the μονομαν?α responsible for his pain...and his pleasure. Only days had passed, but her beauty struck him anew, as if he were seeing it for the first time. Her raven locks were anchored in a high ponytail swinging back and forth. Her liquid silver eyes smoldered with sorrow, yes, but also heat.

She drew him, but he drew her, as well. At least they were in this mess together.

Her ruby-red lips softened, as if preparing for his kiss. Rest assured, I’ll be kissing you as soon as we’re alone, sunshine. And then I’ll be collecting my reward...

As his body thrummed with need, he opened his mind to her, barring everyone else. Too many thoughts at once could incapacitate him. Her shield was in place.

Had Misery wiped her memory?

Ready for war, Lazarus stepped forward. Two bear shifters reacted to the aggression he radiated, stepped into his path and growled. Lazarus grabbed one by the wrist and yanked before the punch could land, turning the brute so that his back pressed against Lazarus’s chest, creating a shield. The other twin ended up punching his brother.

As the one in his arms fell, unconscious, Lazarus hammered at the brother’s jaw. When he fell, Lazarus stepped over him, once again on a path toward his woman.

The Sent One released Cameo. Without hesitation, she raced through the part in the crowd—and a group of Harpies—to stand before him.

She remembered. Relief showered over him.

“You’re here, and you’re alive,” she whispered. She reached out with a trembling hand to brush her fingertips across his jaw.

The simple touch threatened to unman him, the sensations far more intense now that he had a physical body. The heat of her skin, the incomparable softness, the friction caused by the small callus on her palm...

Can’t ever let her go.

Must!

“You’re tangible to me in the mortal realm and—” With a gasp, she jumped away from him. “Filled with electricity? You are literally sending tingles through every inch of me.”

Electricity? “Animal magnetism is strong in this one.” He forcibly disregarded the urge to shout, Touch me again. Never stop. “Did anyone hurt you?”

“No, I was doing the hurting until the Get Bent Ones stopped the festivities.”

She spoke so quietly, he had to strain to hear. Someone—probably multiple someones—had made her feel bad about her voice. Did no one have balls anymore?

He clasped her hand, all but shuddering with pleasure. The rightness of their connection...

Once again she jumped away from him. Frowning, she rubbed her palm, as if he’d burned her.

The tingles pained her?

What the hell would—

Pandora’s box. Pandora’s box hung around his neck, hidden by his shirt and pressed against his skin. How could he have forgotten? Did the box’s power use him as a conduit?

Guilt slithered through him. This woman—his woman—had searched for Pandora’s box for centuries. He’d planned to use it to draw her to his realm, but he’d never intended to give it to her. Too many risks involved.

Her friends wanted it destroyed. Part of Cameo probably wanted it destroyed, too. What would happen when—if—the Morning Star escaped? Would someone else harness the being’s power, perhaps even use that power against Cameo? What if the Lords decided to hide the box, and Misery later convinced Cameo to end her life as well as the lives of her loved ones?

Oh, yes. Too many risks. And too many unknowns. Lazarus would not be mentioning the box to her. Would not gamble on her reaction.

He should have left it with the mirror, and would have if he hadn’t feared the Lords would sense its presence in the fortress, fail to realize what it was and open it.

Must protect her. He created an illusion. Anyone looking his way would see a man and woman standing a few inches apart, their heads bent together as they talked. In reality, he ripped the hem off Cameo’s shirt.

“Uh, what are you doing?” she asked.

“I’ll explain later.” Some watered-down version of the truth, anyway. He pulled an apple pendant from beneath his shirt and tied the strip of material around it before hiding it once again, preventing any contact with his skin.

“Pretty,” she said. “I would never have pegged you for an apple guy.”

“Why? It’s the forbidden fruit. The original sin.” He steeled himself and offered his hand to her. A slight hesitation before she accepted. An-n-nd she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Better,” she said with a nod.

A sigh of relief escaped him. He dropped the illusion and led her right back to the Sent One. The male needed to understand the error of his ways—and the consequences he would face. “You do not touch her. Ever. Understood?”

The red-eyed, white-haired male looked him up and down and smiled without humor. “Careful, warrior. My dance card is currently full, but I don’t mind penciling in your name.”