The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

Her friends cringed at the sound of her voice. Worse, they cringed with more force than usual.

Told you, Misery taunted.

She pressed her lips together. She’d had no plans to tell anyone about Lazarus’s lines, anyway. His secret was his to share.

“I’ll ask around,” Sienna said. “Someone knows something.” As the new keeper of Wrath, dishing punishments had become her favorite jam. She cracked her knuckles. “That someone will sing like a canary.”

“Inquiring minds want to know.” Kaia hopped up and down. “Does every inch of the new, living Lazarus work?”

Like, did his heart beat? She nodded.

Kaia offered a sly grin. “How many inches are we talking about? Huh, huh. Tell me!”

Try: gigantor. And mine. All mine.

Cameo silently mouthed, “Focus, people!”

“So less than six? Seven?” she insisted. “Juliette bragged about keeping his balls in her trophy case. Apparently she cut one off every now and then to remind Laz who was boss. Got a new one during the last battle. I just wondered if he’s experienced shrinkage.”

He’d been injured? She’d assumed the blood he’d worn had belonged to his victims.

How could I leave him behind?

Before Misery could use her guilt against her, she turned to Aeron. “After you died, the One True Deity gave you a new body. He’s the only being capable of such a feat, yes?” He’d created Sent Ones, angels and even humans from dirt.

As for the other species?

Stories claimed fallen angels had once mated with humans to create demigods—the Titans, Greeks and Unspoken Ones. Though they’d chosen to drop the word “demi.” Those demigods had mated with other demigods, and different immortal races were born. Shifters, Berserkers, sirens, nymphs and a handful of others. Still other demigods had mated with demons, creating Harpies, vampires and witches. However, none of those beings knew how to create flesh from dirt—or anything else.

“To my knowledge, yes.” Aeron’s voice was as gruff as ever. “I don’t know how He did it. I woke up in the heavens, already bonded to my new body.”

So we’re still at square one. Awesome.

Sorrow wafted from Misery, a poisoned perfume. Sienna sniffled. Kaia and Gwen turned away to stealthily wipe their tears.

Here I go, making everyone around me miserable again.

“I’m out.” Head down, Cameo strode into the hall.

“We need to discuss the box,” Sabin called after her.

She paused long enough to answer. “Don’t worry. Juliette Eagleshield will tell me everything she knows before I remove her head.” No more playing nice and stopping with a hand removal.

Cameo descended the stairs. Along the way, she passed a butterfly in flight and ignored the prickling unease. She shut herself inside her bedroom and eased onto the cushioned seat in front of her vanity...where Lazarus’s mirror now hung.

At first, she’d had no idea the mirror was in her room. She’d seen a blow-up doll. Then she’d touched it and the illusion faded, the glass appearing before her eyes. A gift from Lazarus. She was awed by his thoughtfulness...and terrified of what she would next see.

History had proved only heartache awaited her.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as little sorrows began to nibble at her soul like starving mice who’d finally found a hunk of cheese. Sadness and regrets scurried across her mind, little cockroaches that dwelled in the shadows.

Despite their explosive goodbye, she missed Lazarus more with every second that passed. Missed his touch. His taste. His bark of a laugh, a bit rusty at the edges. Not many people could make him laugh; she was one of a rare few. She even missed his irritating comments.

With him, she felt alive for the first time since her possession, so close to happiness she could almost bark out a laugh of her own.

Lazarus has abandoned you, wants nothing to do with you. Misery purred like a well-fed kitten. Perhaps you would feel better if you forgot him.

Never!

Maybe...

Lazarus believed the demon needed permission to wipe her memory. At first, she’d discarded the idea as ludicrous. Not knowing the things she’d done and said was torture. Now, however, she was possessed by an even a worse torture. Knowing the wanton things she’d done and said, the wanton things Lazarus had done and said—and knowing she would never experience them again.

No, no. The loss of memory would be worse, guaranteed, and she couldn’t let sorrow convince her she’d finally know peace.

No “peace” could compare with the memory of their first kiss. The little details as much as the big. The sardonic gleam in his dark eyes when he teased her. The huskiness of his voice when she pleased him. The way beads of sweat trickled down the ripples of his muscles.

Cameo stared into the mirror, desperate. “Show me the future,” she whispered. “Please.”

To her surprise, the glass liquefied, waves rippling from top to bottom. Eventually those waves split and two images appeared, one on the right, one on the left. In the first, Lazarus stabbed Hera with a miniature version of the Paring Rod. The shaft had been cut in two, the bulbous tip pushed to the center to make room for a retractable dagger. In the vision, Cameo watched the murder with an air of relief. He’d done it. Gotten vengeance and survived.

The scene morphed, revealing the consequences of his victory. Cameo’s motionless body burned atop a pyre. Her friends surrounded her, their heads bowed with sorrow and grief—funny, the terrible emotions were still courtesy of her.

“If Lazarus kills Hera, I die?” she asked the glass.

Trembling, she focused on the other half of the mirror and blinked in shock as she watched her image act out the second scene. In it, she stepped in front of Hera, saving the former queen’s life—and causing the end of her own.

No hope. Doomed if I do, doomed if I don’t. Unless she could somehow changed her future.

Why would Cameo protect the goddess who’d killed Lazarus’s mother?

The scene changed, revealing the consequences of her choice. This time, Cameo lay in bed, laughing as a kaleidoscope of butterflies danced overhead.

Whoa. She survived? And laughed? At butterflies?

Maybe she shouldn’t try to change her future, after all. Following the mirror’s lead the first time around had worked out very well for her.

But...butterflies?

If one leaves her chrysalis too easily, her wings are weakened. She must struggle to exit, or she will never have the strength to fly.

She remembered Lazarus’s words, and twisted to peer at a flurry of butterflies perched outside her window. What if the insects weren’t a symbol of doom but instead—she swallowed hard—a portent of success? What if they signaled Lazarus’s approach? He’d said they gravitated to him.

Her heart leaped. Had he forgiven her for Juliette’s temporary stay of execution?