The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

“Lies doesn’t.” The denial came from Gideon.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Strider said. “Or you would have, if you’d told the truth and mentioned Defeat. So what’s the problem? How do you provoke the demons, dead man?”

Her friends sensed the box, too?

Lazarus ignored the question and gave Cameo’s butt another smack. Her back teeth ground together.

“What did you do with her the last time she got like this?” Lazarus asked no one in particular.

“We waited,” Sabin said. “Everything we tried made her worse.”

“Well, I’m done waiting.” Lazarus bypassed the group and pounded down the stairs.

To her annoyance, everyone followed him, eager to discover what he’d do next. Kane, the newly crowned king of the Fae, was among them. When had he returned from the underworld? Even Torin tagged along, the traitor!

Why had he dated her, anyway? What an ill-matched pair they’d been, unable to touch. Or rather, unwilling to touch, because she could have touched him; she wouldn’t have gotten sick—probably—but she would have become a carrier, like him. They hadn’t known about his cure back then.

They’d pleasured themselves while the other watched. Well, she’d pretended to pleasure herself. She’d faked every orgasm. Should she tell him? He would return to his room in a huff, and she’d have one less spectator.

“Don’t worry, sunshine,” Lazarus said. “I’ll make sure he knows by the end of the day.”

Her teeth ground together with a little more force. She erected the shield around her mind. “Unlike Misery, I find no enjoyment in hurting others. Don’t say a word to him.”

Groans swept through the crowd, but this time Lazarus gave no notice of her voice.

The demon prowled from the shadows, desperate to recover every inch of ground he’d lost. Couldn’t keep Kane, couldn’t keep Torin, won’t keep Lazarus.

She whimpered. Lazarus gave her butt another smack.

Now she huffed and puffed. How dare he! “If you liked and respected me at all, you wouldn’t treat me this way.”

“It’s because I like and respect you that I’m treating you this way.” And just to be contrary, she was sure, he gave her another smack. He used more force, most definitely leaving a palm print.

Anger sparked. Why was he doing this? Where was he taking her?

He kicked open the front door and strode outside. Sunlight seeped into her skin, warming the bone-deep chill she hadn’t realized she had felt. He stopped somewhere in the front yard and dropped her.

Splat! Thick, gooey mud bespattered her from head to toe, droplets snagging in her hair and even her eyelashes.

How dare he! A prolonged lack of mobility had left her weak, and her legs trembled as she stood. Mud oozed from her hands.

Lazarus poked a finger into her chest, and her feet slipped out from under her. She fell, and this time she stayed down, glaring up at him.

“Is this supposed to send me into a fury?” she demanded. Because it’s working!

“Don’t be silly.” He removed his shirt, baring his tattooed chest...all those glorious ropes of muscle. “What happens next is supposed to send you into a fury.”





24

“With an enemy, death should always come before surrender With your woman, your surrender will happen one way or another. Why fight it?”

—The Art of Keeping Your Female Happy

—The Secret to My Success

Viola couldn’t believe the turn of events. She whistled and cheered. The guys clapped.

“Take it all off!” Anya cheered.

“What happens next?” Cameo asked Lazarus.

A slow smile overtook his gorgeous face, and he cracked his knuckles. “I’d rather show you.”

Viola watched as he pelted the keeper of Misery with one mud ball after another, envy creating a vise grip around her heart. I want this...this...fun. This acceptance.

As Cameo ducked and dodged the missiles, sputtering with indignation and spitting out dirt, Lazarus barked out a laugh.

The rusty sound enchanted everyone around him. The women preened as if he’d just morphed into the fairy-tale prince of their dreams. The men simply stared.

For the first time since her return from the Alaskan wilderness, a cloud of darkness lifted from Cameo. “Darkpit,” she said, “you’re going to pay for this.”

A miracle happened. No one flinched or cried at the sound of her voice. Not that Cameo or Lazarus seemed to notice. They were too absorbed in each other.

“If you’d like this savage attack to end, you’re going to have to stop me,” Lazarus said. “I respond only to kisses.”

The onlookers waited with bated breath for her response.

“Don’t you dare—” she began. A mud ball splattered in her face. “You’re going to regret—” More mud in her face.

Lazarus’s smile was smug. “I regret nothing.”

Cameo’s screech of fury caused everyone to cheer. Then the dark-haired beauty hurled a mud ball at her man. The ooey-gooey substance drenched his shirt, and a wicked light glowed in his eyes, mixing with relief.

He truly cared about Cameo’s well-being, Viola realized. Those two crazy kids just might go the distance.

Lazarus knocked Cameo into the puddle, dirty water splashing around them. They struggled and strained together, vying for supremacy, doing their best to pin the other down. They were acting like children and—dude! So were the others.

Maddox, Sabin, the Harpies and everyone else who’d followed the unlikely pair outside rushed into the pond to launch their own missiles.

Viola, the sole holdout, remained in place. She practiced decorum in all situations. When you think class and sophistication, you think goddess of the Afterlife and her pet Tasmanian devil. Every freaking time.

Urban, the rat, threw mud at her, but she performed an expert duck and slide.

Even Strider, keeper of Defeat, joined the festivities. How foolish! If he lost a single challenge, even one as innocent as this, he would suffer unimaginable pain. Why risk it? And yet, he laughed as he pinioned his consort to the ground and stuffed her pants with mud.

Maddox held his squirming, laughing children upside down and threatened to dip their faces into the puddle. “You’ve got to stop pestering Viola. I mean it.”

“I don’t pester,” the boy protested. “I woo!”

Gwen pounced on Sabin, sending him to his knees. “You deserve this. You know you do. Take your punishment like a good boy.”

Torin covered his mouth with a gloved hand, trying to hide a smile while his wife—girlfriend, whatever!—did the backstroke in the pond.

“Come on in. The water’s warm,” Keeley called. As a Curator, the beautiful pink-haired babe had been created long before humans. Once a spirit of light, she had been tasked with the safekeeping of Earth, bound to it and its seasons. She was still bound to earth itself. Dirt healed and revitalized her. “Don’t worry about getting dirty.”

“Yes, but my mind is already dirty,” Torin responded. “I should probably keep my body clean. You know, to balance things out.”