The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

Fear of losing her consumed him.

Calm. Steady. She was here, in his arms. Alive and well. He needed her in a way he’d never needed anyone or anything. And he owed her. He had Pandora’s box. He couldn’t risk telling her about the artifact, but he could risk this. His secret shame. If she thought to break up with him, as humans liked to say, he would find a way to change her mind.

“Very well.” He stood, embarrassed by his tremors. He kicked off his boots and—do it, just do it—removed his leathers, leaving his legs bare.

For several agonizing seconds, she looked her fill. The crystals had spread, branching from his hips to his ankles, every glistening river a burning reminder of his hated fate.

“You are...magnificent,” she said, her voice heavy with...awe? “These lines. They’re like the ones in your arms. The ones you called wounds. Will I hurt you if I touch them?”

“You’ll hurt me if you don’t.”

“Why hide them, then?”

“The lines...they signify a change I cannot stop.” Unwilling to meet her gaze, he returned to the bed to settle against a mound of pillows. “A change that overtook my father and ultimately led to his destruction.”

“You mean the day Hera attacked him?” Her head tilted to the side. “I don’t understand.”

And he wasn’t going to help her do so. Not here, not now. The demon would use the information against her.

“Later.” Lazarus waved an imperial hand at his swollen shaft. “I did my part. Time to do yours.”

“Very well.” She settled between his legs, remaining on her knees, and pressed her hand over her heart. “Give me a moment to recover from the onslaught of romance.”

Her dry tone earned a glower.

Her eyes glittered with a hint of amusement, and his panic receded. His irritation, too, until only arousal remained. Down, down she leaned and flicked her tongue over one of his nipples. Pure, raw sensation blazed through him, and he sucked in a breath.

Her lips left a trail of fire down the ropes of muscle lining his stomach. “You say you are like your father. He’s known as the Monster. Is it because of the size of his penis?”

Lazarus nearly choked on his tongue. “Why do you ask?”

“Because yours could qualify as a monster, too. Tell me the truth. You thought I’d be afraid of it, didn’t you?”

“No. I feared your reaction to the marks in my legs. They are—”

“Lethal to my inhibitions? Exactly right.”

“I...don’t know what to say right now.” She baffled him.

“Well, that’s a first, isn’t it?” She turned her attention to his thigh and licked the crystalized vein running from his groin to his knee.

The contact was a shock to his system. His entire body shuddered with pleasure.

As she followed another vein, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around the base of his erection. Groaning, he arched into her touch—and at long last her lips closed around him. She sucked him down, down, all the way to the back of her throat. He roared. The fiery heat...the wet, silken depths of her mouth...too much to survive and yet not enough to save him. Drops of sweat trickled down his temples. He fisted the sheets. Inside him, ecstasy and pressure combined, tormenting him.

My woman. Mine. Never giving her up.

She sucked on him as if he were a tasty treat. As if she couldn’t get enough of him. As if she would never get enough of him.

She owned him.

“Yes. Yes!” He wanted to give her the world. Every kingdom. Every jewel. Wanted to throw her enemies at her feet. Wanted to make love with her every night and awaken with her every morning.

Her teeth scraped lightly over the head of his shaft. His hips shot up of their own volition, sending him deeper down her throat. As she moaned her acceptance, the sound sending soft vibrations along his erection, satisfaction crept through him, demanding its due.

Lazarus erupted, climaxing harder than ever before.

*

Cameo nestled into Lazarus’s side. Anyone who’d ever dated anyone would probably tell her clinging was a deal breaker, but she tightened her hold, refusing to let go.

I think I’m falling for him.

Well, why wouldn’t she? Each time he’d fought—either the Amazons, bear shifters or Harpies—he’d checked on Cameo first to make sure she was unharmed. When Misery barraged her, he moved heaven and earth to make her happy. He ensured her orgasm before seeking his own.

In many ways, she came before his vengeance, and the realization thrilled her. Maybe they had a chance to go the distance, after all.

What about the visions?

The demon beat at her skull, and a familiar but still strange tingle resonated below the surface of her skin. A tingle she’d experienced since Lazarus’s arrival. A tingle she didn’t understand—just like she didn’t understand his fear of the glistening rivers that ran through his legs.

“Tell me about the change that overtook your father,” she said. “What led to his destruction?”

He tensed, but admitted, “The lines you see in my limbs...they are crystals, and they are slowly killing me.”

She jackknifed into a sitting position. He tugged her back to his side before she could leap from the bed. “But...you can’t be killed. Not for long. Your resurrection is proof.”

“Destruction doesn’t have to mean death. How do you think Hera was able to capture my father, the strongest man in existence? Because he, too, had begun to crystalize.”

Horror turned her blood to icy sludge. “What causes it? Is there a way to stop it?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He combed his fingers through her hair, petting her. “I’ve accepted my end. You will, too.”

She gave a violent shake of her head. “I will never accept your end.”

He kissed her temple, sighed. “You must.”

“The way you accepted mine when I told you about the vision?” she snapped.

“That’s different. Yours can be prevented by a change of action. The crystals are spreading, limiting my range of motion. One day they’ll cover me.”

Lose him, after she’d only just found him? No! “There must be an antidote.”

“Trust me. I exhausted my resources during my search. There’s not. And now, I’m turning my efforts to something else. Before my last breath, I will see to the destruction of our enemies.”

Not my. Not your. But our. “Lazarus.” I don’t want to go on without him. “We can talk to Torin and Keeley. They can help you—”

“No. I will accept help from no one but you. To do so would reveal my weakness. I will risk being abducted like my father, doomed to live out an existence in paralyzed awareness, unable to change my fate in any way. And you will not break up with me over this,” he said. A command, not a question.

“Of course I won’t.” Why would he think such an awful thing? And was he serious about accepting no help? His pride was that great? The reward—more time with her—not enough? “But I will find a way to save you.”