The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld #13)

Her breaths were coming faster now, so fast she could barely speak, but still she managed to say, “I want...you...all of you. Please,” she repeated.

“Then all of me you shall have, my Cami.” Lazarus placed the tip of his erection at her entrance—and plunged inside her. He stretched her. Filled her. Branded her.

Owned her.

Never going to be the same. Her back arched, her nails cutting into the cavern floor, and she shouted his name. “Give me hard and fast.”

Lazarus unleashed the full brunt of his passion. He pounded in and out of her with no hint of gentleness, tossing her into a great and mighty storm. Pleasure saturated her bones...sweet...as potent as a drug, going straight to her head.

He pressed his chest to her back and laved the shell of her ear. His pace never slowed, the force he used never easing. Too much. Not enough.

“My Lazario.” Lost in abandon, she chanted his name now. In her tone, she heard no sorrow. No regret or sadness. She heard wonder, and his entire body jolted in response; he pounded into her harder, faster, in and out. She was almost there... “So close.”

He hooked his hand around her knees to push her legs farther apart, at the same time pressing her head forward, causing her back to arch, granting him another inch inside her, hitting her where she needed him most. She screamed in bliss, in agony, her inner walls clenching and unclenching on him, demanding a reward. A reward he freely gave.

As satisfaction punched through her, Lazarus roared. A guttural, animalistic sound that echoed through the cave long after he’d collapsed atop her, tremors still working through both their bodies.

*

As Lazarus slept, Cameo remained cuddled into his side, toying with the apple—Pandora’s box. Soon, the sun would rise. Today would be gone, and tomorrow would be here.

Her life with Lazarus would end.

Her life would end, period.

What would happen if she touched the apple skin-to-bone? She had to know.

If she died this way, she died, the end coming sooner than she’d expected. Lazarus could warn her friends. And live. He would live.

Not giving herself time to think or worry, she purposely slipped her fingertips under the leather casing. In an instant, fiery heat arced through her, and she grunted.

What didn’t happen? Death. Misery remained at bay, hidden in the back of her mind. Suppressed more forcefully? Perhaps even injured?

Lazarus shifted against her, and she stilled. Only when he resettled, his breaths even, did she begin to breathe again. His strong arm was draped over her, his hand cupping her breast, as if he couldn’t bear to sever their connection.

A fierce need she understood.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and a knot of grief grew in her throat. The dam around her heart threatened to break at last. Not yet, just a little longer. Sorrow beat and battered her. How could she proceed with her memory-wipe plan? How could she willingly part with her only source of happiness?

Easily. To save Lazarus’s life.

He would kill Hera. Cameo wouldn’t stop him. She would die, somehow, free of Misery, no longer a threat to Lazarus’s life.

Win-win.

Lazarus...king...butterflies.

The words Keeley had spoken to Torin played through her mind. Perhaps Lazarus was right. Perhaps butterflies represented hope. Without Cameo and her butterfly, he would thrive.

The tears overflowed, streaming down her cheeks, burning her skin. For so long her memory had been everything to her. She’d cherished what she retained and mourned what she’d lost. Meeting Lazarus—loving Lazarus—had made her memories even more precious to her.

His every smile. The way he teased her. His every touch. The way his muscles rippled when he moved. His every kiss. The way he tasted, intoxicating her senses. His every claiming. The way he looked at her, lust and affection in his dark eyes.

Can’t live without the memories.

Don’t have to.

Yes, she did. For him.

Hands shaking, Cameo removed the necklace and gently placed the chain around Lazarus’s neck. Misery couldn’t wipe her memory while she wore the box.

The demon surged front and center, pissed as hell and determined to ruin whatever happiness she’d achieved in his absence.

Too late. “Take my memory of him,” she whispered.

Part of her expected him to refuse. As miserable as she was, as miserable as she would continue to be, her sorrow would surely empower him for centuries to come. But he had to know as well as she how deeply the loss of her memory would devastate her. Lazarus’s reaction would finish her off, because she would know, deep down, her mind had been violated, something precious taken from her.

With a gleeful laugh, Misery sliced his claws into her mental files, cutting away the most beloved moments of her life. She cringed, the pain sharp and sure.

Necessary.

Cameo turned her head to peer at Lazarus, to say goodbye a final time. To—

She frowned. A naked male lay beside her; he was cut with muscle and heavily tattooed. Thick lines stretched across his arms, chest and legs, as if his veins had been filled with glitter. He was gorgeous. Magnetic. Dangerous?

Heart thudding, she scrambled away. The demon had taken her memories again, hadn’t he?

Bastard! She reached up to punch her fists into her temples, perhaps shaking the demon.

Her bedmate blinked open his eyes—dark eyes, framed by incredibly long lashes. He was more than gorgeous. He was rugged and strong, and she wondered if she’d fallen for his looks. Because wow. But...she hated sex. What if he’d forced her?

“Sunshine?” He reached for her. “Come back to bed, love.”

She scrambled backward, widening the distance between them.

Love. He’d called her love. He hadn’t forced her. He’d romanced her. Had probably made her happy, and the demon had decided to strike.

Can’t live like this.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

*

Lazarus dressed and weaponed up as Cameo did the same, careful to keep him within her periphery. She remained as far away from him as possible. Only hours before, she’d promised to love him always. Pandora’s box now hung around his neck; she’d returned her prized possession, had forgotten it—had forgotten him. She’d willingly allowed Misery to wipe her mind.

Why, damn her?

He wished he could hate her for it, but he fell deeper in love with her. No one had ever put him first. Until her. Always her.

Still fury frothed inside him. With one act, she’d shredded the heart he’d entrusted to her. He wanted his Cameo back. His sunshine. He felt as if she’d perished today, along with his dreams. The remains were here, in a cave that had become a grave.

“I’m your man.” Believe me. Remember. “You love me, and I love you.”

At his declaration, her eyes rounded like saucers. Her mind remained open to him, the shield down. She could see the torment etched in every line in his face, sensed it was genuine, and hated that she’d hurt the man who’d probably shown her the meaning of happiness. Prob-fucking-ably. He had!