Lords of the Underworld Bundle (99 page)

Danika stalked to the desk and whirled. “How dare you!”

His eyes narrowed, homing in on her. “How dare I what? Claim this room? The club was destroyed by Hunters nearly two months ago, and I rebuilt it in three days. Believe me, they are happy to let me use anything I want.”

Even the female patrons? she almost shouted, barely managing to contain the words. “No, how dare you force me in here? I'm done with you!” And what did he mean, Hunters had destroyed it? She remembered the aftermath of the explosion, but hadn't realized Hunters were responsible.

He closed what little distance there was between them. His warm breath trekked over her face, and she tried to hold her own breath. She really did. But that lasted only a minute before she was sucking in his scent, her lungs desperate.

“No, you aren't,” he said softly, menacingly.

Though she wanted to tear her gaze from his harsh and beautifully angry face, she didn't look away.
I'm strong now. I do not back down. Ever.

“Are you angry because I left without you?”

“Please.” She raised her chin, squared her shoulders, just like she'd learned in one of her classes. Sometimes appearing confident was enough to send your opponent running. “I'm not angry.”

“Liar,” he lashed out. His top lashes intertwined with the bottom, blocking even a minute view of his pupils. “Why? Tell me.”

“Go to hell.”

“How many times must we establish that I'm already there?” He leaned down, a little closer to her.

Another tremor shook her. “There's nothing for us to discuss. I came to warn you about the Hunters, and I've done that.”

“I believe I asked how you knew.”

“I believe I refused to answer.”

His head tilted to the side, his gaze raking her body, lingering in all the right spots. “Are you going to betray me, Danika?”

“I should,” she said, practically spitting the words.

“But you haven't.” A demand for the truth.

Her lips thinned into a mulish line.

He massaged the back of his neck, looking tired all of a sudden. “What am I going to do with you?” The question was clearly meant more for himself than her.

“Nothing. I'm leaving, and you're going back to your girlfriend. Don't worry. I won't return to the fortress.” Cameo's words chose that moment to invade her mind.
You want him, you'll have to fight him.

I've already lost,
she thought. Keeping her nose in the air, she pushed past him. Or tried to.

His arm snaked out, an unmovable blockade.

Automatically, she gripped that arm, her nails sinking deep in warning. But he closed his eyes and moaned in ecstasy. Her eyes began to close, too; she began to moan, just as ecstatic. Touching him always warmed her, and now was no different. The chill left her blood. Her nipples hardened and her stomach quivered.
How can I still desire him?

Danika forced her arms to fall to her sides. She couldn't control the wild thump of her pulse, though. Couldn't stop the dark flood of regret washing through her. Fight him…“Who were you with? You came here to fuck, didn't you? Don't try to deny it. I've had boyfriends and know how you guys are. Well, who'd you pick?”

Reyes bared his teeth, resembling a feral animal as he leaned the rest of the way in to her. Their noses brushed and he snarled, “I do not want to hear about any boyfriends you've had. Understand?”

“Y-yes.” God, his anger…Exciting when it should have been frightening.

“And as to who I picked, are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes.” This time, at least, she managed to sound somewhat confident.

“Why?”

Because I want to kill her for daring to put her hands on you
.
Because you're mine and I do not share.
“Because,” was all she said, her chin trembling. Damn it!
Do not cry.

“I did come here to find a woman,” he said.

Danika bit the inside of her cheek, blood filling her mouth.

“I found one,” he added.

Motherfucker! The curse echoed through her mind, white-hot, searing. “I'm so glad,” she gritted out. “I hope the two of you had a fun time.”
I hope she gave you an STD and you both die from it!

God, when had she become so bitter? So vindictive?

“Fun?” He laughed, but it was an ugly sound. “When I could not bring myself to touch her?”

“When you—what?” The hottest flames of her fury sizzled and crackled before finally dying. “You didn't?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Danika's shoulders slumped, and her eyes closed. Relief poured through her like—

“So I found another.”

Her gaze snapped back up, locked on him. From relief and hope—hated hope—to fury. “And?”

“I could not bring myself to touch her, either. Both would have given me the beating I so desperately needed when I left the fortress. They were eager to tie me up and whip me. They would have hurt me, and we all would have loved it.”

“Would have?” Her glare landed on his still-wounded neck. She arched a brow. “That's funny. Looks as if you already did.”

He grabbed her arms and shook her hard enough to give her whiplash. “Would have. All I could think about was you. All I wanted was you. And they were not you, so I could not force myself to take them.”

She licked her lips. “So you…did this to yourself?”
Please. Please, please, please.

“No. When I first arrived, there were four Hunters in the club.”

Now she gulped. Her fury, gone. Her hope, renewed. And yet, she had no relief. Not this time. He hadn't been with another woman, and that delighted her. But he had killed. Killed the very men she was supposed to be helping. “
Were
here? You keep saying that.”

He nodded, grim.

“You fought them?” She didn't need to ask; she knew the answer, but perhaps she needed confirmation. Perhaps she needed time to halt the desire intensifying inside her. This man still belonged to her, wanted her as fiercely as she wanted him. “Who were they?” She hadn't meant to ask the question aloud, and gulped when she realized what she'd done. Had Stefano been among them?

Frowning, Reyes dug in his pocket, withdrew a stack of IDs, and handed them to Danika. She flipped through them with shaky hands. No Stefano. But the men looked like any other average Joes and it saddened her that they might have been hurt.

“They didn't see us until it was too late. William and I had already dragged them outside. We…took care of them.” His anger seemed to melt from him. “I've battled, angel, and I'm hurting. I need you, and this time, I'm going to let myself have you. Will you let me?”

She'd already decided to be with him. If only to wipe him from her mind, get him out of her system and stop the fantasies plaguing her. If only to prove to herself that being with him would
not
be pleasurable for her.

“Will you? I'll go slow. I'll be tender. I'll be careful with you. I won't let my demon out. You won't have to hurt me.”

He'd ticked off all the reasons she should give herself to him, as if he'd thought of every argument she could raise. “I—I—” She'd expected to stab him. That would have disgusted her. Wouldn't it have? Now, he wanted slow and tender? No pain? “What will you want me to do to you?” Would she be able to give him what he needed this way? Would
he
be able to forget
her
afterward?

“Love me, just for a little while.”

She groaned quietly. What if, when the loving was over, she wanted more? Craved him more? Couldn't live without him? Slow and tender could only be bad for her, endearing him to her all the more.

“Why slow? Why tender?” she found herself asking.

“In the past, women have grown to…like what they do to me a little too much,” he said. “They then begin to hurt those around them. I do not want that for you. I thought to take another today and ensure no harm would come to the woman. If she remained as she was, I would have been free to take you without worry. If she changed, I would have known to stay away from you. But I can't stay away from you.”

Frightened, she slowly backed away from him. His arms fell to his sides, his expression tormented. She stopped, opening her mouth to say…what? She knew what she should say. No. They should wait until he needed pain again, because it was the best way to get him out of her fantasies. That she would never long to hurt someone. But she recalled the time—was it only a day ago?—that she had bitten him. She'd liked it.

You know what you're up against now. You're prepared.

Already her nipples were hard, her limbs trembling. Moisture was pooling between her legs; warm flutters consumed her belly, stretching and awakening every cell, every organ.

“Tonight,” she said. “Only tonight. Tomorrow…”

He released a breath she hadn't known he'd been holding. “Tomorrow you can hate me again.”

P
ARIS HAD TOLD THE OTHERS
about the images he'd seen at the temple, and everyone believed he'd been the one to see them because it had been
his
blood to first mix with the rain. Lucien had flashed back to the fortress, but he hadn't returned. Sabin had tried to call Reyes a thousand times—no answer—and had finally given up and contacted Torin, who informed them that the warrior was out dancing.

Dancing? Wasn't like the usually somber Reyes, Paris thought, and wondered if Danika had anything to do with it. How would Reyes respond to the news that his woman was going to play an integral role in finding Pandora's box?

Pacing the floor of his temporary bedroom, Paris tangled a hand through his hair. The others were seeing to their rented home's defenses. He should be with them, should be helping. He had more reason than most to guard against Hunters. Yet his friends had realized he wasn't watching the monitors as ordered but was lost in thought, so they'd disgustedly sent him away.

He'd left the busy living room without protest, happy to grab some time for himself. His mind was chaotic, churning and struggling with a single thought.
What if.
What if Sienna could be brought back? What if he simply had to ask the gods?

Since the Titans had escaped Tartarus and overthrown the Greeks, reclaiming the heavens, they had caused him and his friends nothing but grief. They had commanded Aeron to kill human women, and then cursed the warrior with a crazed bloodlust when he'd refused. They'd chased Anya relentlessly and marked her for death. They'd allowed Sienna to die.

No,
you
allowed her to die.

There was no denying that, but damn, he hated the reminder.

Most likely, the new gods didn't have his best interests at heart any more than their predecessors had. But unlike the aloof Greeks, the Titans yearned for worship and adoration. And Paris could give it to them. For a price.

Stop pacing. Act.

Heart pounding with urgency and excitement, he fell to his knees. The shag carpet abraded his bare legs. He'd removed all his clothing, wanting nothing to offend the fickle gods. If one—or two or three—did indeed come to him, and he offended in some way, he could be punished.
More than I already am.
He could be banished to hell, killed or asked to do something he didn't want to do.

“Worth the risk,” he muttered to remind himself of his goal. He gripped a dagger in his left hand, his knuckles so tight around it they were in danger of snapping apart.
Now or never.

He raised the dagger as high as possible. The silver metal glistened as the candle on the nightstand burned.
Who shall I try and summon?
His mind whirled with possibilities, flashing the names of the beings he'd studied and learned this past week in preparation for searching the temple.

Cronus, the warrior king? Cronus would understand power and respect it. But he seemed to hate the Lords, and he'd been the one to order Anya's death.

Rhea—wife to Cronus? Paris knew nothing about her. Geae, mother of the earth? She would, perhaps, show the most concern for his plight. Oceanus, the god of the water? Tethys, who loved Oceanus? Mnemosyne, goddess of memory? Hyperion, god of light and father of the sun? Themis, goddess of justice?

No, Themis was in prison, he recalled Anya mentioning. She had aided the Greeks all those thousands of years ago, helping them defeat the Titans. Immediately upon regaining the throne, Cronus had locked her up.

Who else could he approach?

There was Phoebe, goddess of the moon. Atlas, who had once held the entire world on his back. Epimetheus, the god of afterthought. He was supposedly the stupidest of all the gods. Prometheus, god of forethought. Now there was a god who'd understand unrelenting torment. He'd spent thousands of years having his liver eaten every night, only to regrow so that it could be eaten again.

Mythology was tricky. What humans knew was bits and pieces of the truth twisted together with falsehoods. Paris, exiled from Olympus all those centuries ago, didn't know what to believe. Didn't know who was strongest, who was loved and who was hated. If he called the wrong name…summoned an enemy…He might be wise to summon a female, for hardly anyone could resist the demon of Promiscuity. But if he tried to seduce the wife of a god…Anya had told him William had slept with Hera, and as punishment Zeus stripped William of his ability to flash or be flashed. That way, William could never again escape from a bedroom he was not supposed to be in. He would have to remain—and deal with the enraged husband.

No females, then.

He pushed out a sigh, his mind turning once more to Cronus. Might as well go for the gold. The god king was the most enigmatic of the bunch, hard and embittered. But he had brought Lucien back to life recently, and that was the type of ability Paris needed.

If the temple did not have humans swarming all over it, he would have returned and performed the coming ritual there. As it was, he would have to make do. Closing his eyes, he called, “Cronus, king of gods. I summon you.”

Several seconds ticked by and nothing happened. Paris hadn't expected the god to appear right away, had known a sacrifice would need to be offered to even tempt such a being to his presence. So he lowered his arm, slowly, deliberately, and slashed the blade's tip across his chest. The flesh ripped open inch by inch and warm blood flowed down his stomach, pooling in his navel.

Still, the seconds passed with no result.

“God King, I need you. I beg an audience.”

The crimson continued to flow…and flow…He'd set a glass of water on the floor before deciding to continue the ritual. Just in case. It was Anya's rainwater, the tears of the earth.

Paris soaked one of his hands inside, then wiped the droplets across his wound. Blood and water mixed, the crimson fading to pink as it slid along the ropes of his stomach and onto the floor.

“I beg for a glimpse of you. I humbly wait on my knees.” He raised his hand again, the dagger still clutched there, before slashing another wound on his chest, a direct crisscross. Pleading was more difficult than he'd imagined. Last time he'd fallen to his knees like this, his cries had been ignored and a demon shoved inside his body. “I will wait forever if you so deem.”

“Is that so?” The quiet voice echoed throughout the bedroom, wry, a little angry.

Paris's eyelids popped open. The murky light hadn't brightened, a halo didn't surround the god king's thin form, but there he was. Cronus. Shock nearly felled Paris, and he was immensely glad he was already on his knees.

The god had thick silver hair and a regal beard. His eyes were dark, fathomless pools. Clean white linen draped one of his shoulders and cascaded down his body. He clutched a staff in one hand. The Scythe of Death—a weapon not even Lucien possessed.

He was tall and lean, aged, but power radiated from him.

Paris didn't dare stand. He bowed his hand, heart racing all the faster. Cronus had come. He'd truly come. “Thank you for deigning to appear.”

“I did not do it for you. I am…curious.”

Tread carefully.
“If that pleases you, it pleases me.”

“It does not please me. I do not like puzzles.”

Not a good start. “I offer my sincerest apologies for disturbing you, my king.”

Cronus chuckled, the sound still wry but no longer laced with anger. “You have learned something of control and diplomacy in all your thousands of years, I see.”

“No thanks to the Greeks,” Paris said. One thing he and Cronus shared was a common enemy. A common hatred.

As he'd expected, the words delighted the new king. “Zeus was never my equal.” Cronus stepped forward, the scent of stars and sky radiating from him. “I am pleased you realize this.”

Paris noted the king's toes peeked out from under the long chimation he wore. They were framed by pristine sandals and tipped by clawlike nails completely at odds with the dignified appearance the god presented.

Perhaps they were not so different, god and demon.

Cronus walked around him but never touched him. “You are Paris, unwilling keeper of Promiscuity. My sympathies to your demon, for I know what it is like, being imprisoned.”

Oh, yes. They were alike. “Then you also know what it is to suffer.”

“Yes.” Another pause. Fingers sifted through Paris's hair. “Did you summon me because you wish to be free of your demon?”

With one wave of his hand, Cronus
could
separate man and beast. If he did so, Paris would die.

Paris could barely remember his life without the demon. Yes, he wanted peace. Yes, he wanted freedom inside his own mind, wanted his thoughts to always be his own, but Promiscuity was the other half of him. “No, my king,” he finally said.

“A wise choice. That pleases me.”

“As your servant, I pride myself on pleasing you.”

A soft chuckle. “Well said.”

Paris kept his head bowed and watched as his blood coated the bottom of the god's linen. The stain seemed to take the shape of a heart. “I must admit, I expected…”

“A monster?”

“Yes.” He didn't dare lie. This was too important. “I thought you would be happy to end the Lords.”

There was a rustle of clothing, the god no longer in front of him, then warm breath was caressing Paris's ear. “You expected correctly,” the king whispered. Another rustle, and the warm breath disappeared. “I am a monster. I am what prison made me.”

“Now you crave the worship of your people. I will worship you all the days of my life if only you will—”

A gust of wind slammed into Paris's back, knocking him face-first into the floor. His blood had clotted and now splattered his cheek, too thick to fall.

“Face me, demon.”

Slowly Paris raised his head. There was Cronus, in front of him once again. He wasn't used to obeying anyone but himself and the demon. Instinct demanded he refuse simply on principle. To obey was to invite more demands.

For Sienna, anything.

Without further hesitation, his eyes latched on to the god's face. The room's shadows had seemed to grow arms, reaching out and wrapping Cronus in their midst, shielding him. But his gaze, dark as it was, glowed.

“You cannot begin to know my wants.”

“My apologies.”

An eternity ticked by in silence, but the tension in the room never eased.

“I must admit I have been unsure what to do about you and the other Lords,” the god finally said. “You are abominations, that much I know, and yet you do serve a purpose.”

Abominations? Spoken like a Hunter. Truthfully, Paris had once thought the very same thing. He and the others had done terrible wrongs. To the world, to mortals. Even to the Greeks by betraying their trust. But they had spent centuries trying to absolve their sins. “Purpose?”

“As if I need explain myself to you,” Cronus scoffed.

There was nothing to say to that. Nothing that would help him, that is.

“I know what you desire, demon. The woman, Sienna. You want her returned to you.”

It was difficult, hearing his most private desire spoken aloud. For him, for the demon currently slamming from one side of his brain to another in a desperate frenzy. While Paris loved the thought of being with only one woman, his companion did not.

“Yes.”

“She is dead.”

“As you once proved with Lucien, you are more powerful than death.”

A whisper-soft chuckle. “Flattery, oh, sweet flattery. But I will not grant you this wish. What's done is done. She's gone.”

Giving in to the crushing weight of disappointment now pressing into his shoulders was not an option. A warrior did not give up until the last breath was taken—and even then Paris suspected there might be opportunity to negotiate. “I will bargain for her.”

“Yes, with your
worship,
” Cronus said drolly. “You, demon, have nothing of value.”

For once Promiscuity seemed more concerned with doling out pain than taking pleasure, because both Paris and the demon roared at that, ready to lash out. “Surely there is something,” he replied tightly.

“No. Nothing. I have no need of more warriors. I have riches, freedom, power beyond imagining. You have my cage, but I cannot bargain for that because I gave my word and my word is law. Should you find my other weapons…perhaps.”

“Please,” he rushed out, afraid the god would vanish at any moment. “You are my last hope. I will do anything you ask, if only you will grant me this one request. I am lost without her. I need her, for she is the calm in my storm. My anchor. Without her, I am just the shell of a man. Have you never felt that way about anyone? Have you never wanted something so badly, you would give your own life for it?”