The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

Curses sounded. Harpies covered their ears. Hera flinched.

Cameo continued to hum. Some of the Harpies dropped to their knees. Others sobbed and raced from the clearing. Even Kaia, Gwen and Keeley cried. Viola paled.

Lazarus began to tremble. In seconds, sorrow washed through him, filling and nearly drowning him. And when it finally drained, it left a sticky film behind. Cameo’s voice had never hit him so hard or so deep. He’d only ever wanted to take her into his arms and protect her from the travesties she’d had to live with every day, every hour, every minute.

This time was different.

He had no defense against a sudden onslaught of memories. Every action he’d ever regretted. Flashes of everyone he’d ever loved and lost. Dark thoughts followed: I will never have what I crave most. Will only be strong enough to defeat Hera without Cameo at my side. I’m weakened already...but I don’t think I can survive without Cameo. This is an impossible situation. There’s no hope. No hope.

“Stop,” Juliette commanded, pressing her palms against her ears. “You have to stop this!”

Cameo sang her response, the words sharper than any weapon she’d wielded. “There are no rules, remember?” She picked up the Harpy’s fallen sword and slowly approached.

Juliette hunched over and sobbed. Cameo’s voice contained a thousand disappointments and regrets, each bleeding into Lazarus’s own...offering an invitation to at last end his suffering. Here and now. The world would be a better place without him. So much better.

The eerie melody had a life of its own, a dark life, bleak. And so powerful it cast a terrible shadow over the land. Already cold air became frigid. Birds squawked and flew from the trees. No, not from the trees but into the trees. Trying to kill themselves? Anything to escape the brutal spiral of hopelessness and despair!

Lazarus trembled harder when he realized he’d pressed the tip of a dagger into his chest, ready to plunge the blade into his heart.

Death...the only way to experience peace...

He couldn’t stop himself. Stop, had to stop...

At the last second, he lifted the dagger and stabbed one of his ears. He repeated the motion with the other ear. Sharp pain exploded inside his head and warm liquid trickled down his neck; at least the sense of hopelessness faded.

He ground his teeth, knowing soul deep he’d just experienced a taste of what Cameo experienced on a daily basis. How had she managed to survive as long as she had?

His poor, darling female.

Words had power to build up or tear down, and she’d certainly proved it this day. She’d torn down his every defense, leaving only raw vulnerability. For Juliette, too.

The Harpy dropped to her knees as tears streamed down her cheeks. She crawled to a fallen dagger, though she stopped midway to dry-heave. With a quick jab, jab, she stabbed herself in the ears. But she was too late.

Cameo struck once, twice, and both of Juliette’s hands thumped to the ground. The Harpy screamed in agony, clutching the gushing stumps to her chest.

With a cold smile lacking any hint of amusement, Cameo dropped the sword and caught the odd little weapon Viola tossed at her. She removed the cloth over the end, and Lazarus stilled, not even daring to breathe as recognition slammed into him. The Paring Rod.

“No,” Juliette cried. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he could read her lips.

In a desperate bid to escape Cameo and the Rod, she scrambled toward the crowd. When no one stepped forward to help her, she climbed to unsteady legs, swayed.

“This is for Lazarus.” Cameo stabbed the Harpy in the throat. “You enslaved him in the Harpy camp. Now I enslave you in the spirit realms.”

Again he had to read lips.

With another push, Cameo caused the bulbous tip to come out Juliette’s other side. Blood gurgled from her mouth. A second later, she vanished, the tip of the Rod glowing bright blue, charged by the passing of a new life force.

All that remained of Juliette was the pool of crimson she’d left behind.

And it was done. Just like that. One of his greatest enemies had been slain. He expected to feel pleasure and contentment, or barring that, disappointment and resentment. As he stalked forward, he experienced only relief. Cameo remained unharmed.

After carefully sheathing the Paring Rod in leather, he pried the weapon from Cameo’s grip and drew her into his arms. He refused to contemplate what this meant for him. What this meant for their relationship.

Over Cameo’s head, he met Hera’s gaze, and he smiled. Tears glimmered in her eyes. Because she’d just lost a friend, or because Misery had filled her with sorrow, too?

The goddess vanished. Weakened? There must be a chink in her armor...

There might not be a better chance to strike. He should give chase. But as he prepared to flash away, he realized Cameo hadn’t returned his embrace. He frowned and pulled back to look her over.

Misery pulsed from her. Her silver eyes were dull, her expression contorted with pain.

The demon had taken over.

Her gaze met his, tears trapped in her lashes. “Kill me,” she whispered. “Please.”





23

“You cannot take a strong man’s castle without first weakening him. Once you’ve taken it, give it to your woman for safe-keeping.”

—The Art of Keeping Your Female Happy

Misery consumed Cameo. In every sense of the word. The demon reminded her of a family of termites; she was the crumbling house, her foundation already riddled with holes. Every hour—every minute—he reminded her of every torture she’d ever endured. Of Alex’s death and Lazarus’s doom.

My fault. All my fault.

One hundred percent of the population feels they would be better off without you...

During the fight with Juliette, Cameo had done the unthinkable. She’d allowed Misery to fill her with the worst of his sorrows, pricking the worst of her regrets. The overflow had spilled out, vanquishing her opponent. But victory had come at a terrible price. Dark thoughts now mired Cameo’s mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape them.

No hope, no hope. She no longer believed she could live a better life. Lazarus was dying, crystals growing inside his veins, and she had no idea how to save him.

Her mind hurt. Her soul hurt. Who was she kidding? Every part of her hurt. Misery used her fear and grief for Lazarus, playing her heart like a violin.

“A terrible melody haunts her,” she’d heard Lazarus explain to her friends. He was right. She’d never felt so alone or helpless.

Logically she knew the feelings were a lie. Of course she knew. Her friends loved her and would do anything in their power to aid her. Lazarus had said he planned to stay with her for the remainder of his days. But truth and logic meant nothing right now.