Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author
GENA SHOWALTER

The Darkest Whisper

“[Showalter] infuses her stories with plenty of passion, hope and love. If you like your paranormal dark and passionately flavored, this is the series for you.”

—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

Intertwined

“Hooked readers will clamor for more.”

—Kirkus Reviews

The Vampire’s Bride

“Thanks to Showalter’s great writing and imagination, this story, reminiscent of a reality show with all-powerful gods pulling everyone’s strings, will really appeal.”

—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

The Darkest Pleasure

“Showalter’s darkly dangerous Lords of the Underworld trilogy, with its tortured characters, comes to a very satisfactory conclusion…[her] compelling universe contains the possibility of more stories to be told.”

—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

The Darkest Kiss

“In this new chapter the Lords of the Underworld engage in a deadly dance. Anya is a fascinating blend of spunk, arrogance and vulnerability—a perfect match for the tormented Lucien.”

—RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

The Darkest Night

“A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and nonstop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest, and a fabulous start to an imaginative new series.”

—New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning

Catch a Mate

“The versatile Showalter…once again shows that she can blend humor and poignancy while keeping readers entertained from start to finish.”

—Booklist

The Nymph King

“A world of myth, mayhem and love under the sea!”

—New York Times bestselling author J. R. Ward

Playing with Fire

“Another sizzling page-turner from one of the premier authors of paranormal romance. Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spellbinding story!”

—New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole

Animal Instincts

“Bold and witty, sexy and provocative, Gena Showalter’s star is rising fast!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

Jewel of Atlantis

“Shines like the purest gem… Rich in imagery and evocative detail, this book is a sterling example of what makes romance novels so worthwhile.”

—A Romance Review, 5 stars

Heart of the Dragon

“Lots of danger and sexy passion give lucky readers a spicy taste of adventure and romance.”

—RT Book Reviews

The Pleasure Slave

“This couple is dynamite and Tristan’s intense sensuality will have you sweating. [The Pleasure Slave] is definitely going on my keeper shelf.”

—The Romance Studio

The Stone Prince

“Sexy, funny and downright magical!”

—New York Times bestselling author Katie MacAlister

GENA SHOWALTER

INTO THE DARK

CONTENTS

THE DARKEST FIRE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE AMAZON’S CURSE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE DARKEST PRISON

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD
Bonus Guide

TWENTY(ISH) QUESTIONS WITH KRESLEY COLE

CLASSIFIED FILES: FROM THE PRIVATE RECORDS OF DEAN STEFANO

BEHIND THE SCENES: CREATING THE LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD

AT HOME WITH THE LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD

ROUND TABLE: THE WOMEN OF THE UNDERWORLD SPEAK

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

SNEAK PEEK AT THE DARKEST PASSION

THE SACRED SCROLLS

GLOSSARY OF CHARACTERS AND TERMS

Dear Reader:

I’m so happy that The Darkest Fire, The Amazon’s Curse and The Darkest Prison, stories once available only in eBook form, are now available in one printed collection, Into the Dark.

In The Darkest Fire you’ll get a peek at the demons from Pandora’s box before they were given to the Lords of the Underworld. You’ll also discover how Pandora’s box was created. In The Amazon’s Curse you’ll learn about the painful pasts that both Zane and Nola from The Vampire’s Bride endured…and how they find a love that will last forever. In The Darkest Prison you’ll finally get a glimpse inside Tartarus, the prison realm for immortals, and meet the sexy Titan god running the place and the imprisoned Greek goddess he can’t resist.

Each of these stories was a joy to write. A joy that sometimes caused me to want to pull my hair out, but a joy nonetheless. (Stubborn characters!)

What’s more, this book is packed with all kinds of goodies. My favorite part: in an all-new behind-the-scenes bonus guide, the Lords of the Underworld are stripped bare! Well, metaphorically speaking. The other kind…well, we’ll just have to save that for another book.

Warmest regards,

Gena Showalter

THE DARKEST FIRE

To Kresley Cole for the love,
the support and the interview

To Jill Monroe for the love, the support
and the phone calls

To Margo Lipschultz for the love, the support
and the extra hours

This guide wouldn’t have been
possible without you guys!

Acknowledgment

Thank you, Max, for all you do!
I appreciate (and adore) you!

CHAPTER ONE

EVERY DAY FOR HUNDREDS of years the goddess had visited Hell and every day Geryon had watched her from his station, desire heating his blood more than the flames of damnation beyond his post ever had. He should not have studied her that first time and should have kept his gaze downcast all the times since. He was a slave to the prince of darkness, spawned by evil; she was a goddess, created in light.

He could not have her, he thought, hands fisting. No matter how much he might wish otherwise. She would not want him anyway. This…obsession was pointless and brought him nothing but despair. He did not need more despair.

And yet, still he watched her this day as she floated through the barren cavern, coral-tipped fingers tracing the jagged stones that separated underground from underworld. Golden ringlets flowed down her elegant back and framed a face so perfect, so lovely, Aphrodite herself could not compare. Eyes of starlight narrowed, a rosy color blooming in those cheeks of smooth alabaster.

“The wall is cracked,” she said, her voice like a song amid the hiss of nearby flames—and the unnatural screams that always accompanied them.

He shook his head, positive he had merely imagined the words. In all their centuries together, they had never spoken, never deviated from their routine. As the Guardian of Hell, he ensured the gate remained closed until a spirit needed to be cast inside. That way, no one and nothing escaped—and if they tried, he rendered punishment. As the goddess of Oppression, she fortified the physical barrier with only a touch. Silence was never breeched.

Uncertainty darkened her features. “Have you nothing to say?”

She stood in front of him a moment later, though he never saw her move. The scent of honeysuckle suddenly overshadowed the stink of sulfur and melting flesh, and he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in ecstasy. Oh, that she would remain just as she was….

“Guardian,” she prompted.

“Goddess.” He forced his lids to open gradually, slowly revealing the glow of her beauty. Up close, she was not as perfect as he had thought. She was better. A smattering of freckles dotted her sweetly sloped nose, and dimples appeared with the curve of her half-smile. Exquisite.

What did she think of him? he wondered.

She probably thought him a monster, hideous and misshapen. Which he was. But if she thought so, she did not show it. Only curiosity rested in those starlight eyes. For the wall, he suspected, not for him. Even when he’d been human, women had wanted nothing to do with him. They’d run from him the moment he’d turned his attention to them. He’d been too tall, too brawny, too bumbling. And that was before he’d resembled an ogre.

Sometimes he wondered if he’d been tainted at birth.

“Those cracks were not there yesterday,” she said. “What has caused such damage? And so swiftly?”

“A horde of Demon Lords rise from the pit daily and fight to break out. They have grown tired of their confinement here and seek living humans to torment.”

She accepted the news without reaction. “Have you their names?”

He nodded. He did not need to see beyond the gate to know who visited on the other side; he sensed it. Always. “Violence, Death, Lies, Doubt, Misery. Shall I go on?”

“No,” she said softly. “I understand. The worst of the worst.”

“Yes. They bang and they claw from the other side, desperate to reach the mortal realm.”

“Well, stop them.” A command, laced with husky entreaty.

If only. He would have given up the last vestiges of his humanity to do as she wished. Anything to repay the daily gift of her presence. Anything to keep her just where she was, prolonging the sweetness of her scent. “I am forbidden to leave my post, just as I am forbidden to open the gates for any reason but allowing one of the damned inside. I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Besides, the only way to stop a determined demon was to kill it, and killing a High Lord was another forbidden act.

A sigh slipped from her. “Do you always do as you’re told?”

“Always.” Once he had fought the invisible ties that bound him. Once, but no longer. To fight was to invite pain and suffering—not for him, but for others. Innocent humans who resembled his mother, his father and his brothers—because his true mother, father and brothers had already been slain—were brought here and tortured in front of him. The screams…oh, the screams. Far worse than the ones that seeped from Hell. And the sights… He shuddered.

Had the pain and suffering been heaped upon him, he would not have cared. Would have laughed and fought all the harder. What was a little more pain? But Lucifer, brother to Hades and prince of the demons, needed him healthy, whole, so had found other ways to gain his cooperation.

The memories would forever haunt him, but might have faded during the night, if he’d required sleep. He remained awake, however, every hour of every day, never able to forget.

“Obedience. I expected differently from you,” she said. “You are a warrior, so strong and assured.”

Yes, he was a warrior. But he was also a slave. One did not cancel out the other. “I am sorry, goddess. My strength and assurance change nothing.”

“I will pay you to help me,” she insisted. “Name your price. Whatever you desire shall be yours.”

If only, Geryon thought again. He would ask for a single taste of her lips.

Why limit himself, though? he wondered next. Whatever he desired. He could ask for a night in her arms. Naked. Touching. Tasting. Yes. Yes. Every muscle in his body clenched. In arousal. In desperation.

In despair.

No. He could not risk the suffering of the innocent—why do you bother with them?—simply to sate his craving for the lovely goddess. So have a kiss? A night with her? No again.

Finally I know true torture. He ground his teeth. Why did he bother? Because without good, there would be only evil. And he had seen too much evil over the centuries. He would not be responsible for more.

“Guardian?” the goddess prompted. “Anything.”

CHAPTER TWO

DO NOT SPEAK. DO NOT DO THIS. Geryon gulped. “I am sorry, goddess.” No. Say no more. Ask for that kiss, at the very least. “As I told you, I cannot help you.” No, no, no.

How he hated himself just then.

Her delicate shoulders sagged in disappointment, and his self-hatred grew. “But…why? You want to keep the demons in Hell just as much as I do. Right?”

“Right.” Geryon didn’t want to tell her his reasons for refusing her, was still ashamed after all this time. Tell her, however, he would. Perhaps then she would return to the old ways and pretend he did not exist. As it was, his craving for her was deepening, intensifying, his body hardening. Readying.

She’s not for you.

How many times would he need the reminder before this conversation ended?

“I sold my soul,” he admitted. He had been one of the first humans to walk the earth. Despite his massive build and bumbling ways, he’d been content with his lot and enraptured by his mate, even though she’d been chosen by his family and, like all the other females of his acquaintance, had not desired him in return.

A year into their marriage, she had grown sick, and he had despaired. Though she had found no joy with him, she had belonged to him, and ensuring her safety and well-being had been his duty. So he had cried out to the gods for assistance.

They had ignored him, and his despair became unbearable.

That was when Lucifer appeared before him. So cunning, that one was.

To save his mate—and perhaps finally win her heart—Geryon had willingly given himself to the dark prince. And found himself transformed from man to beast. Horns had sprouted atop his head, and his hands had become clubs, his nails claws. Dark, carmine fur had covered the skin on his legs, while hooves replaced his feet.

In seconds, he’d been more animal than human.

His wife had healed, as his contract with Lucifer stated, but she had not softened toward Geryon. No, his selfless act had meant nothing to her and she had left him for another man. A man she had apparently been seeing all along.

What a fool he’d been. A cuckold. All for nothing.

“What thoughts fill your head, Guardian? Never have you appeared so…broken.”

The goddess. His hands fisted, claws digging deep into his palms, as he refocused on her. There had been compassion in her tone. Compassion he must ignore. Unemotional, that’s how he had to be. Always. Otherwise, he would not survive his time here.

“My actions are no longer mine to command. No matter how I wish otherwise, I cannot help you. Now please. Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

“I am doing my duty now. Are you?”

He flushed.

She sighed. “Forgive my waspishness. I am frazzled.” The goddess studied him, her head tilting to the side. He shifted uncomfortably, such scrutiny unnerving given his sickening appearance. To his surprise, revulsion did not darken her lovely gaze as she said, “Your soul belongs to the dark prince?”

“Yes.”

“And if your soul was returned to you, you would aid me?”

“Yes,” he repeated, the word a croak. Would she still offer him a boon for that aid?

“Very well. I will see what I can do.”

His eyes widened in horror. Approach Lucifer? “No, you must—”

She disappeared before he could stop her.

Inner Corridors of Hell

“LUCIFER, HEAR ME WELL. I demand to speak with you. You will appear before me. This day, in this room. Alone. I will remain exactly as I am.” Kadence, goddess of Oppression, knew to state her wants precisely or the demon prince would “interpret” them however he wished. “And you will be clothed.”

Were she simply to demand an audience, he might whisk her to his bed, her arms and legs tied, her clothing gone, a legion of fiends surrounding her.

Several minutes ticked by and there was no response to her summons. But then, she’d known there wouldn’t be. He enjoyed making her wait. Made him feel powerful. Keep busy. Act as if you do not care.

Kadence eyed her surroundings, as if studying them was exactly what she’d come to do. Rather than stone and mortar, the walls of Lucifer’s palace were comprised of flames. Crackling, orange-gold. Deadly.

His throne was comprised of bone, ash and more of those flames. Off to the side was a bloodstained altar. A lifeless body still lay across it—minus a head. The head would reattach all too soon, however, so that the torturing could begin anew. That was the way of it here.

No soul would escape. Even in death.

She hated everything about this place. Plumes of black smoke wafted from the blazes, curling around her like fingers of the damned. So badly she wanted to wave her hand in front of her nose, but she did not. She wouldn’t show weakness—even with so small an action.

Did she dare, she knew she would find herself drowning in the noxious fumes. Lucifer loved nothing more than exploiting vulnerabilities.

Kadence had learned that lesson well. The first time she had visited, she’d come to inform both Hades and Lucifer that she had been appointed their warden. As one who embodied the essence of subjugation and conquest, there was no one better to ensure that demons and dead alike remained here.

Or so the gods had thought, which was why they’d chosen her for this task.

She had not agreed, but refusing them would have invited punishment. Many times since accepting, however, she’d thought perhaps punishment would have been better. Having stones thrown at her, bloody carcasses left on her doorstep in warning…they hardly compared to spending her days sleeping in a nearby cave—not a true sleep but a watchful one, her mind’s eye drifting over the different demon camps. Could hardly compare to spending her nights surveying a wall of rock.

As the Guardian watched.

That, however, was not such a hardship.

For many years, his attention had unnerved her, for he was unlike anyone she had ever met: half man, half beast, all…edge. But then she’d come to find comfort in his detached gaze. He protected her from demons and souls who slipped through the gate, attacking everyone in their path. No matter the harm to himself.

She could do no less for him.

I sold my soul, he’d said. For what? she wondered. What had he received in return? Did he consider the trade a good one? She’d wanted to ask him, but had recalled how uncomfortable he had been with her questions about the wall. He would not have welcomed a discussion about something so personal.

And that was probably for the best. Only her job mattered right now. How could she not have known demon High Lords were determined to escape forever?

Had Lucifer somehow blocked her visions of this realm? He was the only one strong enough to do so. If so, what did he hope to gain? Were she to ask, he would merely lie, that much she knew.

She’d never felt more helpless.

No, that wasn’t true. During her first visit, Lucifer had sensed her trepidation—and he’d since used every opportunity to nurture it. A fire-coated touch here, a wicked taunt there. Every time she had come here to report an infraction, she had wilted under his attentions.

That had disappointed the gods. They would have called her home, she was sure, had they not already bound her to the wall, an act that had been meant to help with her duties, not hinder them. But not even the gods had known just how deeply the bond would go. Rather than simply sensing when the wall needed fortification, she’d realized it was her reason for living.

Her blood now sang with its essence.

The first time one of the demons had scratched it, she’d felt the sting and had gasped, shocked. Now, it no longer shocked her, though she still felt every contact. When a soul brushed it, her skin felt tickled. When the inferno licked at it, she felt burned. So why had she not sensed these latest ministrations?

Oh, she’d felt her body draining of strength, little by little, pains shooting through her seemingly for no reason, but her visions had been calm. Well, as calm as such visions could be, considering what she was forced to witness on a daily basis.

Now, at least, she knew why she’d hurt. Bound as she was to this dark underworld, that crack in the outer wall was literally killing her.

You are losing focus. Concentrate! Distraction could cost her. Dearly. And the outcome of this meeting was more important than any that had come before it.

From outside the palace she could hear the crazed laughter of the demons, the moans of the tortured and the sizzle of flesh pouring from bone. And the smell…it was a hell all its own.

It was difficult, remaining stoic amidst such vileness. Especially now. The High Lords must have been working on the wall for weeks. Because if her side was cracked, she shuddered to think of the damage on Hell’s side. At the very least, she should have seen the demons approach. But again, her visions had remained calm.

Enough of this. Clearly, she could not concentrate.

“Lucifer,” she called again. “You heard my demands. Now heed them. Or I will leave and you will miss this opportunity to bargain.”

The pound of footsteps suddenly echoed and the flames several feet in front of her parted. Finally. In strolled Lucifer, as carefree as a summer day.

“Yes, I did hear them,” he said in the silkiest of voices. He even grinned, the expression pure wickedness. “You mentioned a bargain? What can I do for you, my darling?”

CHAPTER THREE

KADENCE DIDN’T ALLOW herself to shudder.

Lucifer was tall, muscled like a warrior and sensually handsome despite the dark inferno raging in his eyes. But he did not compare to the beast who guarded his domain. The beast whose face was too rough to be considered anything other than savage. The beast whose massive body should have frightened her but only made her feel safe. The beast whose monstrous appearance should have disgusted her but didn’t. Instead, his brown eyes—eyes she’d once considered impassive, but after today, now saw as haunted—captivated her. And, of course, his protective nature intrigued her.

She might never have become interested in the Guardian, might have continued to assume he was like every other hated creature here, but then he’d saved her life that first time. Sadly, even immortal goddesses could be slain—a prospect that had never been clearer as the outer gates had parted to welcome a spirit and a minion slipped free, racing toward her, hungry for living flesh.

She’d frozen, knowing her death was imminent.

The Guardian—what was his name?—had intervened, destroying the fiend with one swipe of his poisoned claw before it had made contact with her. He hadn’t spoken to her afterward, and she hadn’t spoken to him, her belief that he was like all the other creatures in this underworld shaken but not yet completely broken.

She’d begun to study him, though. Over time, she’d become fascinated by his complexities.

He was a destroyer, yet he’d saved her. He had nothing, yet he hadn’t asked for anything in exchange. How rare that was. How strange. How…welcome. She now wanted to do something for him. Anything, as she’d told him. And for one stolen moment, she’d thought he meant to request a kiss. His gaze had fallen to her lips, and lingered. Utter longing had radiated from him.

Please, she had almost begged. Her heart rate had sped up, her mouth had watered. What would he taste like? But then his expression had cleared, he had looked away and shaken his head. No.

Her disappointment had nearly felled her. Push him, however, she would not do. He’d already done so much for her. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder, hope…did he favor her in return? For that stolen moment, she would have sworn she saw white-hot flames in his eyes, flames that had nothing to do with the damned.

“Am I so boring you cannot grant me your attention after you summoned me? Twice.”

The question returned her to the present, and she could have slapped herself. Do you want to lose this match of wits with the prince of darkness? “Boring?” She shrugged. To say yes would be asking him to liven things up. To say no would be telling him she enjoyed him. In his mind, at least. Neither would end well for her.

Lucifer regarded her silently as he settled atop his throne. Instantly, swirling, ghostly souls began writhing between the bones and ash. A bejeweled goblet materialized, already clutched in his hand, and he sipped from it. A drop of crimson slid down the corner of his mouth and trickled onto his stark white shirt. Blood.

Revulsion besieged her, but she kept her expression neutral.

“You are disgusted by me but do not show it,” he said with another of those wicked smiles. “Where is the mouse who usually visits? The one who trembles and stumbles over her words? I like her better.”

Kadence raised her chin. He could call her all the names he wished, but she wouldn’t comment. “Your walls have been compromised, and a horde of demons fights to escape.”

The prince quickly lost his smile. “You lie. They would not dare.”

His agitation was understandable. Without his legions, he would have no one to rule. “You’re right. Your band of thieves, rapists and murderers would not dare disobey their sovereign.”

His eyes narrowed in a show of anger. One he quickly masked by shrugging casually. “So the walls are compromised. What do you expect me to do about it?”

She should not have been surprised. Always he made things difficult. “The Guardian. He can help me stop the ones responsible. But as you own his soul, he must first gain your permission.”

Lucifer snorted. “No. I will not grant it. Not for any reason. I like him where he is.”

Yes. Difficult. “Why?”

“I need a reason? Well, then. Let’s see. Let’s see.” He tapped his chin with a fingertip. “What about, my last guard fell victim to a demon’s lies and almost allowed a legion to escape.”

A lie of his own? The Guardian she knew had been here far longer than she, so she did not know if anyone else had ever stood in his place. “This one could just as easily fall.” Now that was a lie. No one was more determined. There would be no falling. Not for him.

“No.” Lucifer shook his head. “Geryon is impervious to their wiles.”

Geryon. Finally. A name. Greek in origin, meaning monster.

She didn’t like it.

He was more than his appearance. Far more.

“Nothing else to say?” Lucifer asked. “Shall we part, then?”

She barely stopped herself from running her tongue over her teeth. Was this a game he played? He needed the wall repaired as much as she did. Well, not as much as she did, she mused. Unlike her, he would not die if the wall crumbled. Still. His resistance grated.

With that thought, she answered her own question. Yes, this was a game. One she would not tolerate. “I am your sovereign,” she said. “You will—”

“You are not my sovereign,” he growled in another display of anger. Another display he quickly hid. A single breath in and out, and he visibly calmed. “You are my…observer. You watch, you advise and you protect, but you do not command.”

Because you are too weak, he did not say. But then, he didn’t have to. They both knew it was true.

She wanted to be different. Strong. She truly did. And she should have been. Once, she had been. Her very nature was one of subjugation, after all. For others, though, and not herself. Or that’s the way it had been. Why was she like this now?

You know the answer, and you would do well to forget it.

She squared her shoulders, realizing she would have to play Lucifer’s game, after all. There was no other way. You can do this. For Geryon. “I believe I offered to bargain with you, and you were amenable. Shall we begin?” she asked silkily.

He nodded, as if he’d merely been waiting for the question all along. “We shall.”

Gates of Hell

“I DO NOT UNDERSTAND,” Geryon said, refusing to leave his post. He even crossed his arms over his chest, an action that reminded him of his human days, when he’d been more than guard, more than monster. “Lucifer would never have agreed to release me from his…care.”

“I promise you, he agreed. You are free.” The goddess cast her gaze to her sandaled feet, saying no more on the subject. “Finally.”

Did she hide something? Plan to trick him, for whatever reason? It had been so long since he’d dealt with a female, he wasn’t sure how to judge her actions. Her, though, he wanted to believe. Anything and everything she said. And that was what scared him most.

She could destroy him and his poor heart. Or rather, what remained of it. If anything did.

She was paler than usual, he noted, the rosy glow in her cheeks gone, her freckles stark. Her golden ringlets tumbled down her shoulders and arms, and he could see soot woven throughout the fine strands. His hands ached to reach out, to sift those tresses through his fingers.

Would she run screaming if he did so? Probably.

Today she wore a violet robe and matching necklace—a necklace that boasted a teardrop amethyst as large as his fist and as bright as the glistening ice of his homeland. Ice he had not seen in hundreds of years. She had never worn such a thing before; usually she draped herself in white, an angel among evil, with no adornment.

“How?” he persisted. “Why?” And why do you look so sad?

“Does it matter?” Her gaze lifted, boring into him with the precision of a spear and cutting just as deep.

There was fury blended with her sadness. He did not like either. This female should only ever be happy. “To me, yes.” But only because it was necessary to his survival. Anything else, and he might have caved then and there. Given her whatever she desired. Even follow her into the fires behind him, as she’d first requested.

She gave a little stomp of her foot. “To save the wall, I need your help. Let that be enough of an answer for now. You know Lucifer would not want it to fall.” Her fingers beckoned him. “Come. See the damage that has been done on this side. See why I must cross over.”

The goddess did not await his reply. She turned away from him and walked to the far corner of the wall. No, not walked. She glided, a dream of falling stars amid shimmering twilight.

Why do you want to survive? What good does living do you? Geryon hesitated only a moment before following her, breathing deeply of her honeysuckle scent along the way.

To his surprise, no one jumped from the shadows as he walked; no one waited to punish him for daring to leave his post. Was he truly free? Dare he hope?

The goddess didn’t face him when he reached her, but traced a fingertip along a thin, jagged groove in the middle stone. A groove that branched into smaller striations, like tiny rivers flowing from a churning ocean.

“It’s small, I know, but already it has grown from what I saw yesterday. If the demons continue their abuse, it will continue to grow until the rock splits completely in two, allowing legions to enter the human realm.”

“Were a single demon released upon the unsuspecting world,” he muttered, “death and destruction would reign.” Whether or not a punishment would be delivered to him, he would help her, Geryon decided. He could not allow such a thing to happen. Innocence should never be taken from the undeserving. It was too precious.

“If I do this… If I help you…”

Still she didn’t face him. “Yes?” A breathy sigh.

“I will earn that boon? Whatever I desire?” How selfish he was to ask, he thought, but he did not take the words back.

“Yes.” No hesitation. Still breathy.

What did she think he would ask for? “Then so be it. I accept. I will lead you into Hell, goddess.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE GODDESS GAVE A STARTLED gasp and flicked him the briefest of glances. “You’ll help me? Even knowing you are no longer bound to the prince? That you could leave?”

His chest constricted at that glimpse of starlight eyes and lush red lips. “Yes. Even knowing.” If she spoke true and he was free, he had no place to go. Too many centuries had passed, and his home was now gone. His family, dead. Without a doubt, he would cause riots with his appearance. Besides, he might crave the very freedom the goddess promised but he still feared trusting her. She might not intend malice, but Lucifer certainly would.

With the prince, there was always a catch. Free today did not necessarily mean free tomorrow. And since his soul had not been returned to him…

No, he dare not hope.

“Thank you. I didn’t expect—I— Why did you sell your soul?” she asked softly, tracing the crack again.

A change of subject. One he was not prepared for.

“What would you have me do?” he asked rather than answer. He did not wish to admit the reason for his folly and the subsequent humiliation.

Her arm dropped to her side, and she faced him fully. As his gaze drank her in, her expression softened. “I am Kadence,” she said, as though he had asked for her name rather than instruction.

Kadence. How he loved the way the syllables rolled through his mind, smooth as velvet—gods, how long since he’d touched a material so fine?—and sweet as wine. How long since he’d tasted such a drink?

“I am Geryon.” Once, he’d had a different name. Upon arriving here, however, Lucifer had given him his current moniker. Monster was the literal translation, but in truth it meant Guardian of the Damned, which was what he was and all he would ever be. Soul or not.

Some legends, a demon had once jeered at him, proclaimed him to be a three-headed centaur. Some, a vicious dog. Some, the leavings of a warrior named Hercules. Anything was better than the truth, however, so he did not mind the stories.

“I am yours to command,” he said, adding, “Kadence.” Tasted even better on his tongue.

Breath caught in her throat; he heard the hitch of it. “You say my name like a prayer.” There was no astonishment in her tone. Only…uncertainty?

Had he done so? “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Her cheeks flushed prettily. Then she clapped her hands and brought the conversation back to what should have been their primary concern. “Our first order of business is to patch those cracks.”

He nodded but said, “I fear the wall is already compromised.” Outer damage was fixable. But not inner. In walls or in immortals, he thought, thinking of the inner scars he must bare. “Patching will merely strengthen it for a time.” But might not prevent an eventual fall, he did not add.

What they would do then, he did not know. Chaos would reign. Souls and demons would be able to leave at will.

Something more would have to be done. But again, he did not know what.

“Yes. Knowing demons as I have come to, they will return and inflict more damage.” Once more she lifted her gaze to him, kernels of fear swirling where there should only be satisfaction. A crime. “Geryon,” she began, only to press her lush lips together.

What was left of his heart skidded to an abrupt stop. She was just so lovely, her gentleness and goodness setting her apart from everything he represented. He wanted to duck his head, hide his ugliness from her. “Yes?”

“I— I—”

Why so uncomfortable? “You may speak freely with me, goddess.” Whatever she needed, he would provide.

“Kadence. Please.”

“Kadence,” he said again, and savored. So good…

“I— What boon would you ask of me?”

That was not what she’d meant to ask, he knew it, and could only gape at her, trying not to panic. He had hoped to discuss this after. “A…a kiss.” He waited for her screech of horror. Her denial.

Instead, she merely opened her mouth in a wide O.

“You may close your eyes and imagine you are with someone else,” he rushed out. “Or refuse me. I would understand.” Stop talking. You’re only making things worse.

“I would not refuse,” she said softly, huskily.

“I— I—” Now he was the one to stutter. She would not refuse?

She licked her lips. “Shall I give you a kiss now?”

Now? Suddenly he had trouble breathing. Standing. His knees were shaking, his limbs as heavy as boulders. Dark spots winked over his vision. Now? he wondered again, wildly this time.

He was not ready. He would make a fool of himself, and she would leave him. No longer want his help. Or worse, she would cast him pitying, disgusted glances the entire time they worked.

“After,” he managed to croak.

Was that…disappointment clouding her expression? Surely not.

“Very well,” she said. No emotion. “After. But Geryon, I must warn you. There is a chance we will not survive.”

“What do you mean?”

“After we have repaired the wall, we must hunt and kill the demons who would destroy it. Are you sure you wish to wait?”

Hunt and destroy the demons. Of course. The answer was so clear, he was embarrassed that he had not thought of it. By killing the High Lords, they would be committing a crime, and they would be punished. Perhaps be put to death.

“So…your kiss?” she prompted softly.

Had he not known better, he would almost think her…eager.

But he did know better. Agreeing to Lucifer’s bargain had been difficult. Or so he’d thought at the time. This was a thousand times more so. “After,” he repeated. He would earn that kiss, and hopefully, she would not ever think back on it and consider him unworthy.

She nodded, and once again looked away from him. “Then let us begin our work.”

CHAPTER FIVE

FOR HOURS GERYON WORKED at repairing the outer wall, pleading with Kadence all the while to remain behind. Demons were dangerous, he said. Demons liked their prey alive and fresh, he said. What he did not say was that she was fragile, breakable. No, he did not need to say it; she read the thoughts in the ever-growing concern in his eyes.

Through it all, she refused to allow him to be alone. She had not bartered something that would surely earn her the wrath of the gods, only to send him on a mission he could not hope to win without her.

While the demons were not hers to command, she could force them to bow to her. She hoped. Besides, she might appear fragile and breakable, but she possessed a core of iron.

Something she’d finally proven to Lucifer earlier. As well as herself.

As a child, she had been an indomitable force. A whirlwind that trampled anything and everything in her path. It had not been intentional. She’d simply followed the quiet urgings inside her head. Dominate. Master.

Do you really wish to think of this now?

No better time, she supposed. Only other thing to think about was why Geryon had not wanted to kiss her when she’d offered. Why he’d actually looked alarmed. A few ideas came to mind: he did not really want to kiss her—but why then would he have requested one? Or he resented her for asking for his aid—this was the most likely—and last, he was simply desperate for a woman, she was the only one available, yet he had to force his body to react first.

Embarrassing!

Not helping.

She could have helped him rather than simply pondering, but he had shooed her away every time she tried. When she joined him anyway, he’d threatened to leave her if she did not stop. So here she was, doing nothing. Useless.

I am not weak, damn it. Even though, for the most part, I have acted like it.

When, as a child, she’d realized she had chipped away at her own mother’s strength of mind, turning the once vibrant goddess into a lifeless shell, she had retreated inside herself, afraid of who and what she was. Afraid of what she could do, unintentional though it was.

Sadly, with those fears came others, as if she’d opened a doorway in her mind and placed a welcome mat out front. Fear of people, places, emotions. For centuries she had acted like the mouse Lucifer had called her.

Underneath the fears, however, she was still the goddess she’d been born to be: Oppression. She conquered. She did not cower. Please, do not let me cower. Not any longer.

“I have done all I can for the outer wall,” Geryon suddenly said.

Kadence had been perched on a nearby rock, and now stood. Her robe fell to her ankles, swaying.

“Once I pry the gate’s boulders apart—” boulders that blocked the cavern from a yawning pit “—we must hurry. We will only have a small slit to pass through, but we cannot let that slow us.”

Or someone—or thing—could escape. “I understand,” she said, closing the distance between them.

“There will be no ledge for us to stand upon. We must hold on to the boulder and work our way down the pit.”

Only after she nodded did he shove and push, creating the aforementioned slit.

Instantly flames and scaled arms reached out. Screams permeated the air. Geryon entered first, commanding all to recede. To her surprise, the demons darted away, the flames died, and the screams quieted as she came through, her body swinging from the natural world into the spiritual one. Part of her wanted to believe they had done so because they’d been afraid of her. The other part of her knew they’d feared Geryon’s wrath.

She held onto the boulder with every bit of her strength as Geryon closed the slit. To let go was to freefall into Hell, a fiery pit just waiting to gobble them up.

Palms…sweating…

“Ready, goddess?” He inched his way toward her. He had swung to the left of the gate, and she the right. “Ready?” he insisted, reaching for her. To protect her? Aid her?

“Yes.” Finally, I will know his touch. Surely it will not be as divine as my body expects. Nothing could be. But just before contact, he moved behind her, then away from her, all without touching her. She sighed in disappointment and tightened her grip on the wall, balancing her feet on a rocky protrusion as best she could.

“This way.” He motioned toward this side’s crack with a tilt of his chin.

“All right. And Geryon? Thank you. For everything.” Usually she whisked herself to Lucifer’s palace without ever opening the gate, too afraid of this. Not today. She couldn’t. For she could not whisk Geryon. Or anyone else, for that matter. The ability extended only to herself.

“You are welcome.”

As she passed, she waved one hand over the now-closed slit. Because there was no longer a guardian stationed out front, the extra fortification would be needed—despite the fact that providing it weakened her, forcing her to leave a piece of herself behind.

As fragments of her power adhered to the stones, she was careful to maintain distance from them. Supposedly Geryon was the only one who could touch the handles of the gate without consequence. Well, besides Hades and Lucifer. Anyone else, the stones heaped untold pain and horror upon.

She had never dared test the supposition.

A thought occurred to her, and she tilted her head, studying her companion. Without Geryon at the gate, who would open the stones to allow damned souls inside?

Perhaps Lucifer had already appointed another Guardian. Perhaps? She chuckled without humor. He had. He couldn’t leave the gates unguarded, even if he had known Kadence would refortify it.

The knowledge that Geryon would not be the man she saw every day…saddened her. For when the wall was safe—she would not allow herself to believe she would fail in this mission—Geryon could leave, but she would be stuck here.

Do not think about that now. She would cry. If she cried, her vision would blur and if her vision blurred, she would have trouble knowing where to place her hands. Her still sweating hands.

She glanced around. The air was smokier here, she noticed, hotter. So hot, in fact, that the sheen of sweat spread up her arms, her neck, even her face. Beads formed, and those beads began trickling down her temples, blurring her vision.

“Geryon,” she said, nearing a panic.

“I am here, Kadence.” In the next instant, he was climbing over her and positioning himself behind again. The scent of decadent, powerful male enveloped her, chasing away the pungent odor of decay. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered, but gods, what had she gotten herself into?

CHAPTER SIX

“MOVE WITH ME,” Geryon told Kadence. “Can you do that?”

“Yes. Of course.” Could she? Maintaining a firm grip, she used the jagged stones to edge along, ever conscious of the seemingly endless void awaiting her should she lose her balance—but far more aware of the male still behind her, caging her in, keeping her steady. “Perhaps the wall is not as damaged as I feared. A goddess can hope, at least.”

“Yes, a goddess can hope.”

How she yearned to rub against him, to drink in his strength, belong to him if only for a moment, but she did not, too afraid of distracting him. Or startling him. Or giving him too much of her weight and causing him to fall.

A rock tumbled from the small ledge on which she had just placed her foot, and she yelped.

“Do not show your fear in any way,” he said. “The demons and the flames feed on it, will try to increase it.”

“They are alive? The flames, I mean.”

“Some of them, yes.”

Dear gods. How had she not known? “I did not imagine the climb would be difficult. I wish I could flash us.”

“Flash?”

“The ability to move from one location to another with only a thought.”

“You have this ability?”

“Yes.”

“And you can go anywhere?”

“Anywhere I have already been. To flash somewhere I have not is…dangerous.”

He thought for a moment. “Have you been to the bottom of this cavern?”

“No.” He had to wonder why she, one of the keepers of Hell, had not physically visited every inch. She had thought herself so clever, merely sending her mind through to watch. But she realized her mistake now.

“Then I ask that you do not try to flash. You might misjudge the distance and end up in a spot without a ledge.”

Or underground, but she did not tell him that.

“That is a handy power to possess. I envy you.”

Poor man. He’d been stuck at the gates of Hell for countless lifetimes. “If you could flash to anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Once they’d destroyed the demons trying to escape, perhaps she would take him there. She would not be able to remain with him, of course, but seeing his happiness could fuel her fantasies for years to come.

He grunted. “I do not wish to lie to you, goddess, therefore I will not answer your question.”

Oh. “I appreciate your honesty.” Why won’t he talk to me?

Curiosity bombarded her. Did his answer embarrass him, perhaps? If so, why? She desperately wanted to know, but let the matter drop. For now.

“We are almost there,” he said. Almost at the crack.

“Good.” He was still close to her, still behind her, but he made sure not to touch her. Yet he couldn’t stop his heat from enveloping her. It was not a heat she minded, even amidst the smoldering furnace that was Hell. His was…heady.

He stopped, forcing her to do the same. “I’m sorry to say it’s worse than I thought it would be.” His breath trekked over the back of her neck.

“Wh—what?” she asked, horrified. Being near her was worse than he’d thought?

“The wall. What else?”

Thank the gods, she thought, expelling a breath. Foolish woman. Her life depended on this wall. She should not care whether a man found her attractive. Or not.

She forced her gaze straight ahead, her mind to center on her job, not the intriguing man behind her. Thick claw marks abounded. And what had appeared to be thin grooves on the other side were massive craters here.

Hope abandoned her.

Irreparable. In every way.

“They are more determined than I realized,” was all she said, voice trembling slightly. No reason to speak her fears aloud. Geryon might think she was complaining about his work or doubting his abilities.

He adjusted his grip, his arm just over her shoulder. A tremor raked her. If she stood on her tiptoes, she would feel his skin through her chimation. Though it had been hundreds of years since she’d had a man, she remembered the comfort such simple contact could offer.

“Do not worry, Kadence. I will not allow them to hurt you.”

He was using her name more freely now, and that gladdened her. “Just so you know, I will not allow them to hurt you, either.” It was a vow.

There was a pause. Then, “Thank you.” He sounded unsure.

“You are welcome.”

She thought she heard him swallow. “Shall I try and patch this side?”

“No.” Too much effort for too little reward. She realized that now. “We should make our way to the bottom. Destroying the High Lords is the only way to prevent more damage.”

Evil laughter erupted behind them, and they both stiffened.

Demons.

“Leave us,” Geryon snapped.

The laughter increased in volume. Drew closer.

He sighed. “I cannot battle them like this, and they know it,” he muttered, latching onto her waist.

She gasped. Finally. He was touching her. It was amazing and wonderful, wild and intense. But there was no comfort in it, as she’d expected. No, instead she experienced white-hot, searing arousal. And a burning desire for more.

“What should we do?”

“Time to fall, Kadence,” he said, and then he released the rocks, taking her over the edge with him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THEY SEEMED TO FALL FOREVER. Geryon retained an iron-edged grip on the trembling Kadence, her hair whipping around them like angry silk ribbons. She didn’t scream, something he’d expected, but she did turn and wind her legs around him, something he had not.

It was his first taste of heaven. In this life, and his other.

“I’ve got you,” he said. Her body fit perfectly against his, soft where he was hard, smooth where he was callused.

“When does it end?” she whispered, but still he caught the undercurrents of panic in her voice.

They were not twirling, were merely dropping, but he knew the sensation could be harrowing. Especially, he reflected, for one used to flashing from one place to another.

“Soon.” He’d fallen like this only once before, when Lucifer summoned him to the palace to explain his new duties. But he had never forgotten the experience.

Like before, flames kindled all around them, pinpricks of gold in the shuddering darkness. Except before, those flames had flicked like snake tongues, licking at him. That they didn’t now…did they fear him? Or the goddess?

She was more everything than Geryon had realized. More courageous. More determined. Every minute he spent with her, his desire for her intensified. She was the break of dawn in the bleakness that was his life. She was refreshing ice in smoldering heat.

She is not for you.

Ugly as he was, she would run fast and far if she knew the many fantasies his mind had begun to weave of them. Him, laying her on the ground, stripping her, dancing his tongue over every delicious inch of her. Her, moaning in pleasure as he tasted her core. Crying out in abandon as he filled her with his shaft. Far more than the kiss she would have allowed him.

A kiss born of…pity? Or gratitude?

He found he desired neither. He wanted her to want his kiss.

And damn himself to everlasting eternity, why had he not taken her lips when she’d offered them? In pity, gratitude or not. What a fool he was! What a coward.

Did the opportunity arise again, he would pounce.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her still-rising panic evident.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he lied. “Some have called this the never ending pit, but I assure you, there is an end. Just a little farther and we’ll hit. Landing will jar you, but I’ll absorb most of the impact.” He moved one of his hands up and onto the base of her neck. Offering comfort, he told himself. He’d tried not to touch her, had fought it, but there’d been no other way to protect her inside the pit.

Besides, what was the harm in adjusting a single hand?

“But you stiffened.”

I must stop craving her. Her skin was soft, so soft, and he felt little bumps rise under his palm as he gently massaged. To his delight, her muscles relaxed under his ministrations.

Apparently, there was a lot of harm. His shaft hardened unexpectedly, and his cheeks heated. Could she feel the evidence of his arousal? It was buried beneath his only piece of armor, so perhaps she would think the metal responsible.

And you are a fool.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she said. “You’re hiding something, I can tell. I know this pit is made for souls, not breathing, flesh-and-blood bodies. Are we going to—”

“No. I swear it. We will live.” The conversation seemed to calm her, so he said, “Tell me about you. About your childhood.”

“I—all right. But there’s not much to tell. I was not allowed out of my home as a child. For the greater good,” she added, as though the line had been fed to her many times before.

He did not mean to, would have stopped himself if he’d realized, but he found himself hugging her tight, understanding. Because of her nature, she’d been as much an outcast as he was. “Kadence, I—” The air was thickening around them, the flames spraying what looked to be molten teardrops. He recognized the signs; the end was near. “Drop your legs from me, but do not let them touch the ground.”

“All righ—”

“Now!”

Too late.

Boom. They smacked into the ground and Geryon planted his feet as the impact vibrated through him. He tried to remain upright to keep the goddess from having to touch the bones littering the area, but his knees soon gave out and he collapsed backward.

Kadence remained in his arms, unwinding her legs as he’d asked, so his back took the brunt of the fall, breath knocking from his lungs.

He lay there for a moment, panting. They were well and truly inside Hell.

There was no going back now.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“GERYON? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

The muted darkness of the pit had given way to bright light, fire illuminating every direction. Kadence hovered over him, like the sun he sometimes glimpsed in his daydreams, bright and glorious. “I am…fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re wheezing. What can I do to help?”

He was surprised to note she did not scramble off him, now that they were safe. Well, as safe as a person could be inside Hell. “Tell me more about yourself. While I catch my breath.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” As she spoke, her delicate hands wisped over his brow, his jaw, his shoulders. Searching for injuries? Offering comfort? “What should I tell you?”

“Anything.” He was growing stronger by the second, but he did not admit it. Rather, he luxuriated in the sensation of her touch. “Everything. I want to know all about you.” Truth.

“All right. I…goodness, this is hard. I guess I’ll start at the beginning. My mother is the goddess of Happiness. Odd, I know, that such a woman could give birth to one such as me.”

“Why odd?” When looking at Kadence, hearing her voice, breathing in her scent, gave him more joy than he’d ever known?

“Because of what I am,” she said, clearly ashamed. “Because of the damage I can cause.”

“I have known nothing but—” pleasure, hunger, desperation “—kindness at your hands.”

Her ministrations ceased, and he could feel her gaze boring into him. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly.” Do not stop touching me. Centuries had passed since he’d last enjoyed even the slightest hint of contact. This was nirvana, paradise and a dream all wrapped into one delightful package. “My head,” he found himself saying on a moan.

“Poor baby,” she cooed, massaging his temples.

He nearly smiled. Now was not the time for this. They were inside Hell, out in the open, possible targets. The demons at the gate could have followed them. But he could not help himself, was too desperate, greedy. Just a little longer. “Your story,” he prompted.

“Where was I? Oh, yes.” Her honeysuckle scent enveloped him, chasing away the odor of rot. “I was a mean little girl. I didn’t share my toys, and I frequently made the other children cry, unintentionally compelling them to bend to my will. All right, perhaps a few of those times it was not so unintentional. I think that’s one of the reasons I was sent to Hell as warden, though it was never said aloud. The gods wanted to be rid of me, once and for all.”

How forlorn she sounded. “Every living creature has made a mistake at one point or another. Besides, you were a child. Not yet sensitized to the feelings of others. Do not blame yourself. They should not have. They knew better.”

“What of you?” she asked, and this time she sounded more buoyant.

I did that. I encouraged her.

“What would you like to know?” he wondered.

Slowly she grinned. “Anything. Everything.”

That grin…one of the gods’ finest creations, surely. His gut clenched. His shaft hardened again.

“I need a moment to think.” He’d relegated his human memories to a far corner in his mind, never to be considered again. Before, thinking of those days had stung, for he’d known they were forever lost—but he reminded himself that with his wife’s desertion, that was a good thing. Today, however, with the essence of Kadence all around him, he experienced only a thrum of sadness for what might have been.

“I was a wild child, untamable, a roamer,” he said. “My mother despaired, thinking I would worry her and every member of our family to death.” He laughed, her sweetly aged face flashing in his mind. “Then they introduced me to Evangeline. She calmed me, because I wanted to be worthy of her. We married, as both our families desired.”

Kadence stiffened. Even paled. The hand she’d been dancing at his temple stilled. “You are…wed?”

“No. She left me.”

“I am sorry,” she said, but there was relief in her tone.

Relief? Why? “Don’t be.” Had he not given his soul for Evangeline, she would have died. And had she not left Geryon, he might have fought Lucifer when the time came to become Guardian. And had he fought, he might not have met Kadence.

In that moment, he had never been so glad of something.

Suddenly a frenzied snarl echoed through the distance, trailed by more demon laughter. They had indeed been followed.

Giving up all pretense of being winded, Geryon popped to a stand, lifting the goddess with him and searching the distance.

The horde was several yards away. But as he watched, a fiend separated from the pack and raced straight for them.

CHAPTER NINE

GERYON SHOVED KADENCE behind him. Another touch—warmth, satin skin, perfection—and he yearned to revel in it. He didn’t, couldn’t. He’d agreed to come with her to save the human realm, yes, but also to keep her safe. Not because she was a goddess and not because she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever beheld, but because, in this single day, she had made him feel like a man. Not a beast.

“Remember that I swore to let no harm befall you,” he told her. A minute, perhaps two, and the creature would reach them. Fast as it was, there was still a great distance to cover, the streets of Hell stretching endlessly. “I will keep my word.”

“Geryon. Perhaps I can—”

“No.” He didn’t want her involved in this fight. Already she was trembling in fear. She was so scared, in fact, she had yet to realize her hands were resting on his back, twin conductors of inexorable pleasure. Had she known, surely she would have jerked away. “I will fight it.” Should she try to do so, it would feed off her fear, becoming more crazed.

As did most minions, the creature coming at them possessed a skeletal face and a muscled body covered in green scales, its forked tongue flicking out as if blood already coated the air. Glowing red eyes glared at them, a thousand sins resting where pupils should have.

Warrior instincts demanded Geryon stride forward and meet the bastard in the middle. Fight there, like true soldiers. Yet his every male instinct demanded he stay where he was. To put any distance between himself and Kadence was to place her in further danger. Another demon could be hiding nearby, waiting for the chance to pounce on her. Another of the horde could separate, circle around and try to take her from behind.

“This is my fault,” she said. “No matter that I had begun to relax, my fear of this place is bone-deep. And that fear is like a beacon to them, isn’t it?”

He chose not to answer that, too afraid of scaring her further by acknowledging the truth of her words. “When it reaches us, I want you to run backward. Press against the wall and scream for me if you see any hint of another demon.”

“No, I want to help you. I—”

“Will do as I said. Otherwise, I will defeat it and leave this place.” His tone was uncompromising. Already he regretted bringing her here, whether the wall needed defending or not. Whether innocents needed saving or not.

She was more important, he realized.

She stiffened against him, but didn’t offer another protest.

A cry of “Mine, mine, mine” rent the air.

The creature closed in, faster…almost…there. Claws raked at Geryon as he grabbed his opponent by the neck. Multiple stings erupted on his face, followed by the trickle of warm blood. Flailing arms, kicking legs.

Only when the temptation of Kadence’s hands fell away did Geryon truly begin to battle. He tossed the creature to the ground and leapt upon it, knees pinning its shoulders. One punch, two, three.

It bucked, wild and feral. Saliva gleamed on its fangs as curses sprang from its bony mouth. Another punch. Still another. But the pounding failed to subdue it in any way.

“Where is Violence? Death? Doubt?” he gritted out. They were why he was here, after all.

The struggling continued, intensified, terror leaping to life in those red eyes. Not fear for what Geryon would do, he knew, but terror for what its brothers-in-evil would do if they learned of any betrayal.

Though Geryon hated for Kadence to see him kill brutally, savagely—again—it could not be helped. He raised his hand, spread his elongating, dripping nails and struck. The poison that coated his nails was a “gift” from Lucifer to aid in his duties and acted swiftly, without mercy, spreading through the creature’s body and rotting it from the inside out.

It screamed and screeched in agony, its struggles becoming writhing spasms. Then the scales began to burn away, smoking, sizzling, leaving only more of that ugly bone. But the bones, too, disintegrated and black ash soon coated the air, blowing in every direction.

Geryon stood to shaky legs. “You are next,” he shouted to the others.

They quickly scampered away.

How long would they stay gone, though?

He should move on. Instead, he kept his back to Kadence for several minutes, waiting, hoping—dreading—that she would say something. What did she think of him now? Would there be any more of her tending? Would she rescind her offer of a kiss?

Finally curiosity got the better of him and he pivoted on his heels.

She stood exactly as he’d commanded, her back pressed against the rocky wall. Those glorious ringlets cascaded around her. Her eyes were wide and filled with…admiration? Surely not.

“Kadence.”

“No. Do not speak. Come to me,” she said, and crooked her finger.

CHAPTER TEN

KADENCE HAD BEEN UNABLE to hold back her entreaty. Geryon stood several feet away, panting shallowly, his cheeks cut and bleeding, his hands dripping with his opponent’s lifeblood.

His dark eyes were more haunted than she’d ever seen them.

“Come to me,” she said again. And again, she motioned him over with a wave of her fingers.

The first time, he’d given no reaction. As though he hadn’t believed he’d heard her correctly. This time, he blinked. Shook his head. “You wish to…punish me for my actions?”

Silly man. Punish him? When he’d saved her? Yes, part of her was angry that he’d kept her from the fight, that he’d threatened—vowed—to leave without doing what they’d come here to do. Yet again. But part of her was relieved. As the demon had struck at him, she had felt power bloom inside her. Such magnificent, beautiful power. Born of fury, perhaps, but born nonetheless.

I am not a coward. Not anymore. Next time, I will act. No matter his wishes, no matter mine. He deserves that. Deserves to have someone look out for him.

“Kadence,” Geryon said, and she realized she had been staring at him, silent.

“I would never punish you for aiding me. No matter your actions. If you learn nothing else about me, learn that.”

Again he blinked. “But…I killed. I hurt another creature.”

“And you were injured in the process. Come, let me attend to your wounds.”

Still he resisted. “But you would have to put your hands on me.”

He said it as though the thought should be loathsome to her. “Yes, I know. Does the thought bother you?” Please don’t let it bother you. “I mean, I have done so already and you did not seem… I mean…”

“Bother me?” One hesitant step, two. At that pace, he would never reach her.

Sighing, she closed the rest of the distance herself, twined their fingers—experienced an electric jolt, gasped—and led him to the rocks. “Sit. Please.”

As he obeyed, he tugged his hand from her and rubbed where they’d been connected. Had the same jolt pierced him? She hoped it had, for she did not want to be alone in this…attraction. Yes, attraction, she realized. Physical, erotic. The kind that prompted a woman to leave her inhibitions and invite a man into her bed.

Whether that invitation was accepted or not was a different story.

Reluctant as Geryon was, she was positive he would turn her down. As he had done for the kiss. And perhaps that was for the best, she decided now. Her lovemaking tended to scare men away. Because when the pleasure hit her, she could not control her nature. The chains she’d erected broke, unleashing her will with a vengeance.

Physically, her lovers became her slaves. Mentally, they cursed her, knowing she had stolen their freedom of choice, unwitting though it had been.

She had never bedded the same man twice, and, after three tries, had stopped altogether. One she had considered bad luck. Two, a coincidence. Three, undeniably her fault.

How would Geryon respond, though? Would he hate her as the others had? Probably. Already he knew the horrors of being bound to someone else’s will. She would not doubt if freedom was the most precious commodity in his life.

And that was as it should be. Natural. Normal. Both of which he probably craved as well.

She would be more trouble than she was worth.

Sighing, she tore several strips of cloth from the bottom of her robe and knelt in front of him, between his legs. His shaft was hidden by a short skirt of leather and metal filigree. A warrior’s cloth. Perhaps it was wanton of her, but she wanted to see him there. Despite everything. She licked her lips, thinking maybe, perhaps, what if she did peek? That would not destroy his life and…

As if he could read her mind, he sucked in a breath. “Don’t,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I—”

“No. Don’t stop.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DON’T STOP. DID HE MEAN for her to move his armor out of the way? Or simply to clean him as she’d promised? Already he was nervous, on edge, and had resisted even the slightest of handling. Afraid to risk a mistake, she leaned in, reached up and mopped the blood from his face with one of the strips of cloth. Acting the coward again, are we?

His delectable scent filled her nose, a midnight breeze that inexplicably reminded her of home. A sprawling, opulent home she had not been able to visit since reluctantly agreeing to oversee the fortification of Hell. How she missed it.

“In all the years I have known you,” she said, carefully avoiding the deepest gash, “you have never left your post at the gate. Do you eat?” At first contact, he had jumped. But she maintained a steady, casual rhythm and he gradually relaxed.

Perhaps one day he would allow her to do more. Would she enslave him, though, as she had the others? Still the question plagued her. If there was a chance that she wouldn’t… What are you doing? She’d already told herself she could not risk it, but hope was a silly thing and refused to leave her.

“No,” he said. “There’s no need for me to eat.”

“Really?” Even she, a goddess, needed food. She could survive without it, yes, but she would waste away, becoming a mere shell of herself. That was why baskets of fruits and breads were brought to her once a week—along with lectures about her many failures. “How, then, do you survive?”

“I’m not sure. I know only that I stopped needing food the day I was brought here. Perhaps the fire and smoke sustain me.”

“So you don’t miss it? The tastes and textures, I mean?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen even a crumb that I rarely think of food anymore.”

She wanted to feed him, she thought. Wanted to sweep him out of this nightmare and into a banquet hall with tables piled high, food of every kind gracing their surfaces. She wanted to watch his face light in ecstasy as he sampled one of everything. No one should be forced to go without such nourishment.

When his face was clean, she switched her attentions to his right arm. Angry claw marks glared at her, and she knew they had to be hurting him. Not by word or deed did he betray it, though. No, he actually seemed…blissful.

“I’m sorry I do not have the proper medicines to ease your pain.”

“You have no reason to be sorry. I’m grateful for what you’re doing and hope to repay you in kind someday. Not that I desire you to be injured,” he added quickly. “I do not.” Horror blanched his features. “I would hate such a thing. Truly. I only want to see you healthy and whole.”

Her lips curled into a slow smile. “I understood your meaning.” Finished with her ministrations, she settled her hands in her lap. She didn’t move from her position between his legs, because an idea had taken root in her mind. Perhaps he wasn’t ready for her to remove his armor, but that did not mean he would refuse her…other things. And he’d seemed to enjoy having her hands on him.

Careful. “May I ask you a question, Geryon?”

He nodded hesitantly. “You may do anything you like to me.”

Had he meant the words to emerge so sensually? So husky and rich? Butterflies took flight in her belly. “Are you…do you like me?”

He looked away from her and gave another nod. “More than I should,” he muttered.

Those butterflies morphed into ravens, flapping their dark wings wildly. “Then I would like very much if you would kiss me at last.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

KISS HER? “I SHOULDN’T. I can’t.” What are you doing? You just told yourself you would not pass up an opportunity like this again. Geryon’s gaze strayed to her lips. They were lush and red. Glistening. His mouth watered for a taste of them. His horns, sensitive to his emotions as they were, throbbed.

Those pretty lips dipped into a frown. “Why not? You just said you liked me. Did you lie to spare my feelings?”

If only it were that easy. “I would never lie to you. And I do like you. You are beautiful and strong, the finest thing I have ever known.”

“You think me beautiful? Strong?” Pleasure lit her expression. “Then why won’t you kiss me?”

Yes, you fool. What reasons do you have now? “I will hurt you.” Oh. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? It was irrefutable. And the only guarantee he would keep his lips to himself.

Her face scrunched adorably in her confusion. “I don’t understand. You’ve never hurt me before.”

“My teeth…they are too sharp.” He didn’t add that his hands were too toxic, his strength too mighty. Were he to lose control of himself and squeeze her, which was a possibility considering how much he desired her, she would be hurt. Scared, too. Perhaps even irreparably damaged.

“I’m willing to risk it,” she said, placing her palms on his thighs and burning him soul-deep.

He both hated and loved his half-armor at that moment. Hated because it kept him from skin-to-fur contact. Loved because it blocked her gaze from parts of his monstrous form.

“Why?” What reason could she possibly have for wanting to place her luscious lips on something so disgusting? Mere curiosity would not drive a female to such an act. Evangeline had vomited the moment she’d first spied his changed appearance. “I could tolerate what you were, but I cannot tolerate…this,” she’d thrown at him.

“Because.” Twin pink circles painted Kadence’s cheeks, but she didn’t turn her gaze.

“Why?” he insisted. He placed his hands atop hers. Gulped at the headiness, the silkiness.

“You saved me.”

So she was grateful. Exactly as he had suspected—and had not wanted. His shoulders sagged in disappointment. Did you truly expect her to desire you? No, he hadn’t expected it—but he had hoped. “It would be dishonorable to kiss you for such a reason.”

“But I owe you.”

“No. I release you from that vow.” Foolish again!

“Fine.” Though she remained on her knees, she rose until they were merely a whisper apart. “Do it because I’m desperate, needy. Do it because I’ve suddenly realized how quickly something can be taken from me, and I wish to know some part of you before I’m—”

“Before you’re…” he managed to choke out. She was desperate? Needy? For him?

“Do it,” she pleaded.

Yes. Yes. Geryon could no longer resist, dishonorable or not. Risk or not. He would be careful, he vowed. So careful. He could not resist her. Would not resist her.

He bent the rest of the way, softly pressing his mouth against hers. Exquisite. She didn’t pull away. She gasped, lips parting, and he swept his tongue inside. Her taste…so sweet, like a snowstorm after a millennium of fire. Beyond exquisite.

“More,” she said. “Deeper. Harder.”

“Sure?” Please, please, please.

“More than I’ve ever been.”

Thank the gods. Centuries had passed since he’d kissed a woman and never while in this form, but he began thrusting his tongue against hers, rolling them together, retreating, then going back for more. When he felt his teeth scrape hers, he stiffened. And when she moaned, he tried to pull away. But her arms slid up his chest, one anchoring around his neck, the other caressing a horn. He had to grip his thighs, nails sinking deep, to keep his claws off her.

“Like?” she asked.

“Yes,” he managed to grit out.

“Good. Me, too.” Her lush breasts pressed into his chest, her nipples hard and searching.

She truly enjoyed his kiss? Tremors rocked him, their tongues beginning another dance, his muscles tightening against the strain of remaining exactly as he was. With every moment that passed, every breathy sound that emerged from her, his control snapped a little more. He yearned to toss her down, climb atop her and pound, pound so hard he would brand himself on every inch of her. Inside every cell.

More, more, more. He had to have more. Had to have all.

Had already given all.

The realization rocked him. “Stop,” he finally said. “We must stop.” He jerked to his feet, away from her, already mourning the loss of her taste. Shaking. He kept his back to her, panting, his heart racing.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked softly, and there was a catch in her voice.

Oh, yes. You stole a heart I could not afford to give. He’d promised never to lie to her, however, so he merely said, “Come. We have waited long enough. We have demons to hunt.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THEY STOPPED AT THE FIRST building they came to: a tavern. An actual, honest-to-gods tavern, where blood was served rather than alcohol and body parts were the snacks. Kadence had known such things existed down here, but it still struck her as odd. Demons, acting as humans. In their eerie way.

She and Geryon had had a two-mile trek from the pit’s entrance to here. A two-mile trek she had spent remembering his earth-shattering kiss, cursing him for stopping it and fretting about his reasons for doing so.

Throughout her endless life, she had welcomed only those three lovers into her bed, and all three had been gods. If gods had not been able to handle her, there was no way Geryon could. But she had hoped. For once, during that too-short span, she’d had no thoughts of controlling her nature, only enjoying. Oh, had she enjoyed. His taste was divine, his tongue hot and wet, his body a work of art and muscle. So badly she had wanted him to touch her. To strip her and penetrate her. To claim her.

Yet Geryon had walked away from her, just as the others had.

Am I so terrible? So horrible a person?

More than the others, she had wanted Geryon to find pleasure with her because he meant more. She liked who she was with him. Liked how she felt when he was near. Worthy. Precious. Instead, she had…disgusted him? Repelled him? Failed to arouse him in even the slightest way?

“Stay by my side,” he said as he shoved open the tavern’s swinging double doors. They were the first words he had uttered since reminding her of their quest. “And keep your hood over your head. Just in case. Actually, are you versed in glamour?”

His voice was deep and rough and caressed every one of her weeping senses. Surely she did not disgust him. Surely she did not repel him. He had held himself back during their kiss, had stopped it, but when he looked at her, he made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. The most beautiful, the most desired.

He paused before entering. “Kadence?” Cleared his throat. “Goddess?”

“I will glamour myself and stay by your side,” she told him, though inside she beseeched, Tell me why you continually push me away. She only wanted to draw closer.

He didn’t, of course. He nodded and stepped forward. She stayed close, as promised, mentally projecting the image of bones and scales. Anyone who glanced in her direction would think they saw one of their own. She could only hope her fear was masked as well. They would not hesitate to devour one of their own.

Taunting laughter and pain-filled cries immediately assaulted her ears. Gulping, she sent her gaze around the room. So many demons…they came in every shape and size. Some were like the image she projected, bones and scales. Some were half man, half bull. Some were winged like dragons with snouts to match. Yet all of them crowded a stone slab. A moving slab?

No, not moving, she realized, horror claiming her in a bruising grip and nearly crushing her lungs. Human spirits were atop the slab. The demons were ripping them apart, eating their insides. Dear gods.

Unfortunately, there was no peace for the damned. Only endless torture.

“Disgusting,” she couldn’t help but breathe. “How can we defeat a horde of these?”

“All we can do is try.”

Yes. Sadly, they had no guarantee of success. But I told Geryon I would protect him, and I will.

“Over here.” He edged them to the side and out of the way, and she knew it was so that they could observe the happenings without drawing notice. “The creatures you see here are minions, soldiers and servants. They are not what we will be fighting.”

That’s right, she thought, stomach sinking. Violence, Death and the like were Demon Lords. While minions enjoyed their prey’s agony, their main focus was the fulfillment of a single, basic need: hunger.

The Lords cared only for the agony. Prolonging it, increasing it to the depths of insanity. And the more agony they inflicted, the more screams they elicited, the stronger they became.

Oh, yes. They were far worse than anything here.

She would never be able to keep Geryon safe.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“SSSMELL GOOD, LIKE FEAR,” something suddenly growled beside Kadence. “Mmm, hungry.”

Startled, she gasped. I’ve already given myself away? She’d just decided to do something, anything to force Geryon to return to the gate. Now this. Hell. No, she thought.

Geryon tried to pull her behind him, but she resisted. This time, she wouldn’t sink into the background, forcing him to do all the work, take all the risks. This time, she fought.

“Move away or die,” she told the demon.

It frowned at her. “Look like me ssso why you sssmell so good?” It licked its lips, saliva dripping from the corners of its paper-thin mouth. It was covered in yellow scales and only reached her navel. And while it appeared lean, she suspected unyielding strength rested underneath those scales.

A tremor moved through her. Remember who you are. Remember what you can do.

It stepped closer. “Tassste.”

“You were warned,” she said, bracing herself.

“Wait outside, Kadence. Please.” Geryon tried to move in front of her. “I will handle this.”

She blocked him, not facing him. “No. You will not fight them alone.”

As they spoke, the demon continued to inch toward them, its claws lengthening.

“Please, Kadence.” Geryon tugged at her. “I need to know you’re safe. Otherwise, I’ll be distracted, and a distracted warrior is a defeated warrior.”

Defeat would not be theirs. “I cannot act the coward. Not anymore. Besides, if this works, you will not have to fight him at all.” She was Hell’s warden; it was past time she acted like it. Past time she ruled rather than merely observed.

“If isn’t good enough. Not when it comes to your safety.”

She did not have time to bask in his beautiful concern. Any moment the creature would cease its stalking and spring. She knew it, felt it. Kadence reached inside herself as she angled her chin to stare deep into its eyes, surprised to find her power easily accessible. She shouldn’t have been surprised, though. She might try to suppress it, but it was always there, never silent, a churning sea inside her.

Hadn’t Geryon’s earlier fight proven that?

“Stay,” she said, and the creature locked in place, its mind still active but every part of its physical form hers to command.

For a long while, she simply drank in her handiwork, amazed. I did it. Not once did the fiend try and approach her again—even though murder gleamed in those beady eyes.

“Something’s happened,” Geryon said, sounding confused.

“I happened,” she said, proud of herself. “Watch.” To the demon she said, “Raise your arms over your head.”

Instantly, it obeyed, shooting both arms into the air without a word of complaint. But then, she had possession of its mouth, as well.

Joy burst through her. For once, she had used her ability for good: to save someone she greatly lo—admired. Dear gods. Love? Did she love Geryon? She loved being with him, loved the way he made her feel, but did that mean she had given him her heart? Surely not. Surely she was not that foolish.

Soon they would part.

“Look, Kadence.” Geryon pointed to the slab. “Look what’s happened.”

She followed the direction of his finger and gasped. Every demon had frozen in place, their hands in the air. Even the spirits had stopped writhing. There was no laughter, no cries. Only the sound of her own breathing could be heard.

“You did this?” Geryon asked.

“I—yes.”

“I am amazed. Awed.”

Her joy intensified. He admired her. Was perhaps even proud of her. “Thank you.”

“Can they hear me?” When she nodded, he slowly grinned and shouted to the creatures, “Hear me well. Go forth and tell every Demon Lord the Guardian is here and that I plan to destroy them.” To Kadence he added, “You may release them now.”

“Are you sure? I could command their bodies to wither and die.” And those bodies would obey. Power…so sweet…

“I am sure. They are here to punish, so they do serve a purpose. More than that, they will now bring the Lords to us.”

Though she wanted to protest, Kadence did as he’d asked. In less than a blink, the creatures were racing from the building as fast as possible, leaving her and Geryon alone. “We must prepare,” Geryon said gravely.

“For?”

“War.”

There would be no taking him back, she realized. Unless she ordered him to return. Which she could do, and he would now be forced to obey. Power… But he would return, she was sure. Too much determination rested in his smoldering eyes.

You can protect him now, she thought next, and grinned.

“War,” she said with a nod. “That sounds fun.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

GERYON FORTIFIED the building against attack as best as he was able, given the lack of supplies and tools. Kadence remained at his side, lending a spiritual touch whenever needed, forcing the planks and stones to bow to her will. He noticed she grew paler with every minute that passed. A paleness all the more stark when compared to the authority she’d wielded over those demons.

Why was she weakening?

Did he have the right to ask? She was a goddess, after all. But that growing paleness did not speak of typical fatigue; it spoke of something more. Something deeper.

“What’s our battle plan?” she asked when they finished, settling against the far wall. The only place without blood or…other things on it.

Keeping you alive, by whatever means necessary. He joined her, careful not to touch her. One touch, and he would pull her back into his arms. He needed to be alert, on guard. “The moment they enter, you’ll lock them in place and I’ll slay them with my poison.”

“Quick and easy,” she said with a ring of satisfaction in her tone.

He was surprised she was not more fearful, despite her show of power. Maybe because he wanted her fearful. Just a bit, just enough. That was the only way to keep her out of the action. Safe. “But we must wait until they all arrive, otherwise they will hear of the devastation we have caused and run. And if they run, we might never be able to find them.”

She absorbed his words. “How long do you think we have before they begin arriving?”

“A few hours. It will take a while for news of my arrival and intentions to spread. Longer still for the Lords to gather their forces and plan an attack.” Geryon raked a claw across the floorboard to mar the curse etched there, shards flying into the air. “I have a question for you.”

“Ask.”

Did he dare?

Yes, he thought, glancing at her beauty. He dared. “I understand why Lucifer wishes you to destroy the demons trying to leave Hell and thereby prevent all other demons from following them, but why does it matter so much to you? You were born in the heavens. You could be frolicking there, in the clouds and amid the ambrosia.”

“Many times I have wished to return. But I willingly agreed to do this job, and do it, I shall. Besides, when I agreed to enter this realm, I became…connected to it.”

“Connected? What do you mean?”

“If the wall crumbles, I…die.”

She would die? “Why did you not tell me before now?” he growled. “And why would you connect to such a thing? Why would you come here willingly?”

She twisted the fabric of her gown. “Had I remained in the heavens, I would have been punished every minute of every day. No one is crueler in that respect than the gods. They wanted me here, so here I came. But I had no idea how permanent the bonding would be. How powerful. As to why I didn’t tell you before…” She shrugged. “You had permission to finally leave your post yet you chose to help me. I didn’t want to burden you further. Now you’ve saved me, again, and I don’t wish to lie to you. Even by omission.”

“Kadence,” he said, then shook his head. He could not believe this was happening. That he could lose her—and be able to do nothing about it. “I should have remained at the inside of the gate, without you, and slayed the Lords as they approached. Now the wall is without protection, and you are in more danger than ever.”

“No. They would have seen you and stayed away, for there is no place to hide above the pit.”

“And that would have been fine with me. That would have kept you safe.”

“Yet that is no kind of life for you, simply lying in wait.”

“It is the life I am used to.” Truth. But knowing what he did was for her…there was no greater purpose.

“But you deserve more!” Looking away from him, she traced a fingertip over the area he had clawed. “We had to do this. Or rather, I did. But I want you to know that if I fall, the wall will remain as it is, for it isn’t bound to me. I know because I have been hurt many times over the years, yet it did not show signs of damage.”

“I don’t care about the damn wall!” Again, truth.

Her eyes widened. Then she gulped and continued as if he hadn’t spoken. Or yelled. “Without me, there will be no one who senses when something is wrong. The gods will have to find someone new. I know you are now free, but would you remain there, vigilant, until that person is found? Even if Lucifer has already appointed a new guardian?”

“You are not going to die, damn it. Now tell me why Lucifer allowed you inside? Clearly, he needs you outside.”

Color fused her cheeks. Embarrassment? Guilt? “He also needs his wall protected at any cost.”

Guilt, most definitely. It was there in her voice, echoing off the walls. “He could have destroyed or imprisoned the Demon Lords.”

“If he could catch them.”

Geryon didn’t want to, but he nodded. “I’ll give you that.” He tapped two fingers against his chin, pondering the situation. “Lucifer allows nothing, even those things he needs, without demanding some form of payment.” Which meant Kadence had had to pay. “What did he demand of you? And why did he allow you my services? Why release my soul? And where is my soul now, if Lucifer no longer has it?” Even as he asked the questions, a few of the answers shaped in his mind. He snarled low in his throat. “You bought me from him.”

That color in her cheeks deepened. “Geryon, I—”

“Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Her eyelashes fluttered shut, the length of them casting spiky shadows over her cheeks. One of her hands rubbed at the amethyst dangling between her breasts. “I’m not sorry, either.”

Was his soul inside that stone? “Did you buy me with…yourself?” If so, he would slay the prince before allowing one evil finger to touch this woman’s precious body.

A pause, her eyes slowly opening. Then, “No. I do not wish to discuss this, though.”

“I don’t care. Tell me.” Anger was building inside of him. Anger with her, with Lucifer, with himself that this could have happened. What had this prized woman given up? Why had she given it up? He placed his hand over hers, not to hold her in place—powerful as he now knew she was, he doubted he could have done so—but to offer reassurance. He was here, he wasn’t leaving. Nothing she said would send him running. “Please.”

Her chin trembled. “I—I gave him a year on earth, unimpeded, to do as he wished.”

“Oh, Kadence,” Geryon said, knowing the other gods would have to honor her bargain—and would make her suffer for it. Everything inside him rebelled at the thought. If they hurt her…you can do nothing. Powerless fool. “Why would you do such a thing?” A savage whisper. Run, no. He still would not.

Tears beaded in her eyes. “To save you. To save me. To save the world beyond our reach. I could think of no other way. A single year to wreak his havoc seemed a small thing to trade in comparison to an eternity of demons roaming free.” Her mouth opened, but rather than words she gave a pained cry.

Quick as a snap, her skin leached of color and she doubled over.

Concern instantly rocked him. “What’s wrong, sweet? Tell me.”

“The demons…I think…I think they’re at the wall. I think they’re killing me.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HAD LUCIFER TOLD THE DEMONS of her bond to the wall? Kadence wondered, pain slicing through her. Rather than come here to fight, they had gone there. Why would they do such a thing unless they knew she would weaken, die?

Or perhaps they had hoped to draw Geryon to them, leaving her here, alone and seemingly vulnerable to ambush. Or did they want her to come to them? So many alternatives. All of them grim.

The prince probably found the entire situation vastly amusing. He probably—a sudden thought nearly paralyzed her. If she were killed, he could have more than the agreed upon year on the earth, bartering for souls, causing untold havoc. He could have forever, if he so desired, and he could bring his demons with him, ruling his minions and humans.

He was a god, a brother to the sovereign. Because of that, there was no guarantee he would be captured and sent back.

Of course. The perfect plan. He’d wanted her to come here. He’d wanted her to bring Geryon. He’d wanted them both—his only hindrances—to die.

Oh, gods. She was sickened, for she had unwittingly helped him every step of the way. What kind of fool am I? More than sickened, she was so ashamed.

So easy. She’d made it so easy for him.

“Kadence, speak to me. Tell me what’s wrong,” Geryon insisted. He popped to his knees and swung around, kneeling between her legs. One of his claws gently, tenderly brushed away the damp hair clinging to her brow.

Her gaze lifted to his. Seeing him with so much concern in his beautiful brown eyes, the sickness and the shame left her—the pain, though, remained. She suddenly could not regret the choices she’d made. No matter what happened, he would be free. This proud, strong man would finally be free. As he’d always deserved.

“I…am…fine,” she managed to gasp out. Gods, she felt shredded inside, as though her organs were being ripped to ribbons.

“No, you’re not. But you will be.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the back. To a room the owner must have used. He laid her on a thin pallet of fur. “May I?” he asked, lifting the amethyst that housed his soul.

“Yes.” She had planned to present it to him once their mission was completed, a gift for his aid, but she nodded. Right now, there was a good chance she would not complete anything.

“Is my soul inside?”

“Yes. All you must do is hold the stone over your heart.”

“That easily?”

“Yes,” she repeated. She wasn’t capable of more.

Slowly, carefully, he worked the stone from around her neck and placed it over his heart as she’d instructed. His eyes closed. He was probably unsure what would happen. And at first, nothing did. Then, in gradual degrees, the jewel began to glow.

A frown pulled at Geryon’s lips, and he grunted. “Burns.”

“I’ll hold it for y—”

The glow exploded into a thousand pinpricks of light, and he roared, loud and long.

After the last echo sounded, everything quieted. The lights faded. Only the chain that had held the jewel remained in his hand.

His frown was lifting into a smile as his eyes opened. But when he studied his arms and then his body, the frown returned, deeper, more intense. “I should have…I did not…I had hoped to return to my former visage.”

“Why?” She loved him, just as he was. Horns, fangs, claws and all. Loved. Unquestionably. She had considered it before, but had discarded the idea. Now, there could be no discarding. The emotion was there, undeniable as Death stared her in the face.

No man had ever been more perfectly suited for her. He was not disgusted by her nature, he reveled in it. He did not fear what she could do, but found pride in it. He delighted her, amused her, tempted her.

“It is my hope that…that…” He gulped. “If you bond with something else, something besides the wall, perhaps your ties to it will lessen and your strength will return. Perhaps the pain will ease.”

Something else? “You?” she asked, suddenly breathless for reasons that had nothing to do with pain.

“Yes. Me. I would understand if you choose not to do such a thing. I wanted only to offer the possibility so that—”

“Geryon?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

GERYON REMAINED IN PLACE, looking away from her. “First, hear me out. I know I’m ugly. I know the thought of being with me in such a manner is abhorrent, but I—”

“You aren’t ugly,” Kadence interjected, “and I do not like that you think you are. I do not like when you demean yourself like that.”

His attention whipped back to her and he blinked at her, astonishment shining in his expression.

She continued, “The thought of being with you is welcome. I promise you. Now can we kiss?”

Now his mouth opened and closed. “Welcome?”

She supposed not. “Yes. But I don’t want you to bond with me simply to save me.” She had once been too afraid to admit she craved his body, had pretended merely to be grateful to get a kiss. There would be no more pretending. “I want you to want to do this. Because I…I want you inside of me, becoming part of me, more than I want another tomorrow. I want to be your woman, now and always.”

Before he could respond, another pain slicked through her, raining like poisoned hail and curling her into a ball. Another crack had just slithered through the wall; she saw it in her mind.

“Geryon?” she panted. “You must decide.”

His gaze bore into her. “I once swore that were I ever lucky enough to regain my soul, I would never, for any reason, trade it again. I have just realized that I would willingly trade it for you, Kadence. So yes, I want to do this. Now we can kiss.”

AS THEIR MOUTHS WORKED hungrily, Geryon slowly divested Kadence of her robe, careful not to hurt her with his razor-sharp nails. She was already in pain and he doubted she could bear much more. Beautiful, precious woman. She deserved only pleasure.

For whatever reason, she desired him. Desired forever. Together. She had given him the thing he’d thought he valued most—his soul—but he had not known until he’d watched her curl into a ball that he valued her more. Far more. He’d longed to take her pain into himself. For her, anything. She cared not that he was a beast. She saw to the heart of him, and liked it.

Amazing.

When she was naked, he pulled back and drank her in. Alabaster skin dusted with the sweetest hint of rose. Lush breasts, a curved waist, a navel his mouth watered to sample. Legs that stretched for miles. He bent and licked one of her nipples, laving his tongue around the delectable tip, his hands traveling all over her body.

The closer his fingers came to her core, the more she purred a deep sigh of satisfaction, her pain seeming to melt away. “The pleasure, it’s replacing the pain,” she said, confirming his thoughts.

Thank the gods. He moved his attention to her other nipple, sucking, allowing the tip of a fang to graze it ever so gently. She moaned.

“Still helping?” All the while his fingers teased just above her clitoris, not touching, only teasing. Was he doing this right? Please, gods, let him be doing this right.

“Still helping. But I want to see you,” she said, giving his armor a pointed stare.

He lifted his head and peered into her eyes. “Are you sure? I could take you without removing a single piece of armor.”

“I want all of you, Geryon.” Her features were luminescent. “All.”

Beautiful, precious woman, he thought again. “Whatever you desire, you shall have.” He only hoped she did not change her mind when she saw him.

“Do not fear my reaction. You are beautiful to me.”

Such sweet words. But…he’d lived with his insecurities so long, they were a part of him. “How can I be? Look at me. I am a beast. A monster. Something to be feared and reviled.”

“I am looking at you and you are something to be praised. You may not bear the appearance of other men, but you have strength and courage. Besides,” she added, licking her lips, “animal magnetism is a very good thing. Now, show your future bride what she wants to see.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GERYON REMOVED HIS BREAST cloth and tossed it aside, his too-corded chest with its scars, fur and over-large bones revealed. His hands shook as he then unwound the leather wrapped around his waist, as well as the rounded piece of armor, slowly revealing his hardened shaft, his scarred and fur-lined thighs.

He tensed, waiting for the inevitable gasp of horror, even though Kadence had assured him of his “animal magnetism.”

“Beautiful,” she said reverently. “A true warrior. My warrior.” She reached up and ran her fingertips through that fur. “Soft. I like. No. I love.”

Breath seeped from his parted lips, breath he had not realized he’d been holding until just then. “Kadence. Sweet Kadence,” he rasped. She was…she was…everything. What had he ever done to deserve her? If he hadn’t fallen in love with her already, he would have fallen then.

“Want to taste you.”

“Please.”

As the hottest thrum of desire he’d ever experienced pounded through him, he kissed his way down her stomach, stopping only to dip his tongue inside her navel. She trembled. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he worshipped her, sipping, licking, nibbling, loving, and the trembling became writhing.

“Amazing,” she gasped, fisting his hair. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He could feel the power of her, wrapping around him, trying to drive his actions. He wasn’t sure if he could have disobeyed and he didn’t care. He wanted to devour her, possess her, and he did.

Only when she came apart, screaming her pleasure, did he rise above her. He was proud and honored to have given her such ecstasy. But he was trembling now himself, his body on fire. Desperate. Aching. For her, only her.

“Pain?”

“Gone.”

The fact that this bonding could save her might be the reason he’d dared broach the subject, but he had never been happier. She would be his. She would live.

Her legs wound around him, and she cupped his cheeks, staring deep into his eyes. “Please don’t change your mind. I need more of you.”

He had stilled, he realized, poised at her entrance. “Never change my mind. Must have you. Ready?”

“Always.”

He entered her an inch, one blessed inch. Stopped, gave her time to adjust. He’d go slowly if it killed him. And it might. Torture. The sweetest kind of torture. But he would make this good for her, the best.

“Why do I not feel the need to master you?” she purred into his ear. She bit the lobe.

Sweet fire. “That’s how it was, before?” Sweat beaded all over him and dripped onto her.

She nodded, arching her hips to take more of him. Another inch.

He had to cut off a groan. “Perhaps because my heart is so completely yours, there’s nothing left to master.”

“Oh, Geryon. Please.” She stroked his horns, circling a fingertip over the hard points. “Take me all the way. Give me everything.”

He could deny her nothing.

Releasing his fierce grip on control, he pounded forward and she cried out. Not in pain, but in joy, he realized. Their souls—he had a soul, he truly had a soul—were dancing together, intertwining…joining. Yes. Yes. Over and over he filled her, giving her all of him. Their wills intermingled so completely, it was impossible to tell who wanted what. Pleasure was the only goal.

His nails raked the floor beside her head, his teeth even nipped her, but she loved it all, urging him on, still begging for more. And when he spilled his seed inside her, her inner walls clutching him in her own surge of satisfaction, he shouted the words that had been building inside of him since the moment he’d met her. “I love you!”

To his surprise, she gave a shout of her own. “Oh, Geryon. I love you, too.”

They were mated.

They were bound.

THEY QUICKLY DRESSED. Kadence was still weak, but at least the pain had stopped.

“Are they still at the gate?” Geryon asked. He was ready to end this. To take her away from this realm and cherish her always.

What if she still could not leave?

The thought drifted through his head but he ignored it. He would finally have a happy ending. Because they were together. Because they loved.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “They’re working it feverishly.”

He kissed her lips, and he reveled in another taste of this woman he loved. “We will hike there. The moment you spy them, lock them in place, and I will do the rest.”

“I hope this works,” she said, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of being parted from you.”

Neither could he. “It will. It has to.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE HIKE TOOK AN HOUR, a slow torturous hour as well as a too-quick span, and then Geryon found himself standing a few yards from the wall. When he comprehended the carnage around him, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. The demons had worked so fervently, they had bled all over the stones—stones that had been shredded, almost paper thin. A hole was imminent.

Worse, the horde of Demon Lords was still there. They were huge, all of them at least seven foot, their bodies so broad that even Geryon, massive as he was, would not be able to stretch his arms wide enough to measure them. Skeletons were visible underneath the translucent skin. A few had wings, a few scales, and all were grotesque in their evil. Red eyes, horns like Geryon and fingers like knives.

“Kadence,” he said.

“I’m trying, Geryon, I swear I am.” Each word was softer, weaker. “But…”

One of the…things spotted them. Laughed, a sound that raised every hair on his body.

“Now,” he shouted to Kadence. Please.

“Freeze, demons. I demand that you freeze.”

They did not.

“Try again.”

“Am.” She glared over at them—nothing. Pointed her hands at them—nothing. Groaned with the force of her will—but still nothing happened. The Lords did not freeze in place. “I can’t,” she gasped out.

“What’s wrong?” He glanced at her, even as he moved in front of her, repositioning his arm around her waist. She had paled, as she had while working in the bar, and her trembling had returned. Had his arm not been around her, he knew she would have fallen. Had the bonding not worked, then? “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

He watched the demons as they rallied together, watching him. Laughing. Imagining how they would kill him?

“I’m bound to you and the wall. I can feel your strength, its weakness, and it’s tearing me apart,” she cried. “I’m sorry. So sorry. All of this was for nothing, Geryon. Nothing! I’m doomed. I was doomed all along.”

“Not nothing, never nothing. We have each other.” But for how long? “I won’t let you die.”

“Nothing can be done.”

Slowly the demons stalked forward, predators locked on prey. Eerie delight radiated from them. “I’ll kill them all. We’ll run. We’ll—”

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me,” she said weakly, leaning her cheek against his back.

“I forbade you to talk like that, Kadence.” To say goodbye. For that’s what she was doing, he knew it was.

“Kill them and run, just as you planned. Live in peace and freedom, my love. Both are yours. You deserve them.”

No. No! “You will not die.” But even as he said it, the wall, so badly damaged, began to crack, to crumble, the hole appearing. Widening. “Swear to me that you will not die.”

Kadence’s knees finally gave out, and he turned, roaring, easing her to the ground. Her eyes were closed. “So…sorry. Love.”

“No. You will live. Do you hear me? You will live!”

Her head lolled to the side. Then, nothing.

“Kadence.” He shook her. “Kadence!”

No response. But there was a rising and falling of her chest. She lived still. Thank gods, thank gods, thank gods.

“Tell me how to help you, Kadence. Please.”

Again, nothing.

“Please.” Tears burned his eyes. He had not cried for the wife that left him, had not cried for the life he’d lost, but he cried for this woman. I need you. She wanted him to stop the demons from leaving this realm, and then leave himself, but Geryon couldn’t bring himself to move from her side.

Without her, he had no reason to go on.

Something sharp scraped at his neck, and he jerked his head to the side. The Lords flew around them, cackling with glee. “Leave us,” he growled. He would spend however long was necessary, holding her until it was safe enough to move her.

“Kill her,” one demon beseeched.

“Destroy her.”

“Maim her.”

“Too late. She’s gone.”

More laughter.

Bastards! One of them swooped down and raked a claw over her cheek, drawing blood before Geryon realized what was happening. She did not react. But he did. He roared with so much fury, the sound scraped at his ears.

The rest of the demons scented the lifeblood and purred in delight. Then there was a moment of absolute stillness and quiet. The calm before the storm. For, in the next instant, they attacked in a frenzy.

Geryon roared again, throwing himself over Kadence to take the brunt of their assault. Soon his back was in tatters, one of his horns chewed loose, a tendon severed. All the while he swung out his arm, hoping to slay as many as he could with his poison, but only one failed to dodge his blow.

On and on the laughter and abuse continued.

“I love you,” Kadence suddenly whispered in his ear. “Your scream…pulled me from…darkness. Had to…tell you.”

She had awakened? His muscles spasmed in shock and relief. “I love you. Stay with me. Don’t leave me. Please. If you stay awake, just long enough to defend yourself, I can kill them. We can leave.”

“I’m…sorry. Can’t.”

Then he would find a way to save her and continue protecting her. He never would have brought her into Hell had he known this would happen. He would have spent his entire existence at the gate, fighting to protect it. Her.

Wait. Fighting to protect. These demons wanted to escape. That’s why they were here.

“Go,” he screamed to them. “Leave this place. The mortal realm is yours.” He didn’t care anymore. Only Kadence mattered.

As if the wall had merely been waiting for his permission, it finally toppled completely. Which meant—

“No,” he screamed. “I did not mean for you to collapse. I only meant for the demons to fly through.” But it was too late, the damage was done.

Gleeful, the Demon Lords abandoned him and flew into the cave, then disappeared from view.

A new stream of tears burned Geryon’s eyes as he gathered Kadence in his bleeding arms. “Tell me the wall no longer matters. Tell me I can now carry you to safety. That we can be together.”

“Goodbye, my love,” she said, and died in his arms.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SHE WAS DEAD. KADENCE was dead. And there was nothing he could do to save her. He knew it as surely as he knew he would take his next breath. An unwanted, hated breath. Those stinging tears slid down his cheeks, mocking reminders that he lived—and she did not.

I failed her. Damn this, I failed her!

She had wanted his help to save the wall, to save her. She had wanted his help to keep the Demon Lords inside Hell, yet he had failed her on all counts. Failed, failed, failed.

“I am so sorry, Geryon.”

At this newest sound of her voice, he blinked. What the—as he watched, her spirit began to rise from her motionless body. She was…she was… Hope fluttered inside his chest. Hope and joy and shock.

He had not truly lost her, after all!

Her body was destroyed, but her spirit would live on. Of course. He should have known. Every day he encountered such spirits, though none had been as pure and vibrant as hers. They could still be together.

He pushed to his feet, facing her, heart drumming madly, legs shaking. She smiled sadly at him.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I should not have bound myself to you. Should never have asked for your aid.”

“Why?” When he’d never been happier? She was here, with him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. It is I who failed you.”

“Never say such a thing. Had you been stationed at the gate as you had wanted, this would not have happened.”

“That isn’t so. The demons would have ruined the wall, and thereby ruined you, but I would not have had the opportunity, no, the pleasure, of bonding with you. I cannot regret what happened.” Not anymore. Not with her spirit just in front of him.

“Geryon—”

“What of the demons?” he asked, cutting her off. He would not have her lamenting her supposed mistakes. She had made none.

“I suppose the gods will attempt to gather them, bemoaning me as a failure forevermore.”

He shook his head. “You are not a failure, love. You did everything within your power to stop them. Most would never even have entered the gates.” His head tilted to the side as he studied her more intently. She was as lovely as ever, like a dream of her former self. Glittery, translucent, fragile. Still she possessed those golden curls. Still she looked at him with those bright eyes.

Before her, his life had been a wasteland. A single moment without her would have been…well, hell.

“Thank you, my sweet Geryon. But even if the wall is repaired, even if the demons are somehow captured, I fear the gods will be unable to contain those demons here.” She sighed. “They have now tasted freedom. They will always fight to escape.”

“The gods will find a way,” he assured her. “They always do.” He reached out to hug her to him, but his hand misted through her and he frowned, some of his happiness draining. Touching her was a necessity; he would not be able to live without her warmth, her softness.

Better he do without her touch and her warmth, though, than without her.

“You understand now,” she said in that sad tone. “We can never be together again. Not truly.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.” Tears filled her eyes. “After everything you have suffered, you deserve more. So much more.”

“I only want you.”

She continued as if he had not spoken. “I will leave you and wander the earth alone.” She gave a firm shake of her head. Those tears splashed onto her cheeks. “I know gods and goddesses are allowed to choose where they wish to reside in the afterlife, but I have no desire to return to heaven or stay in Hell.”

As she spoke, an idea sprang into his mind. A wild idea he did not discard, but rather embraced.

Are you really going to do this?

He looked at her again, their gazes colliding and thought, Yes. I really am going to do this. “When I bonded to you, Kadence, it was forever and another eternity. I will not give you up now.”

“But you will never again be able to touch me. You will never—”

“I will. I promise.” And with that, he sank his own poisoned claws into his chest, felt the toxin burn him, blistering, scorching. He screamed at the anguish, black winking over his eyes.

He was…dying…

When the pain eased, the blackness faded. He was nothing. A void.

No, not true. There was a light. A bright light. He ran toward it, huffing and puffing for mile after mile, almost…there…

His eyelids fluttered open and he saw that his body was gone, a pile of ash, his spirit floating beside Kadence. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open.

So many times over the centuries, he’d considered taking just such an action. Anything to end the monotony of his existence. But he had clung to life, for Kadence. To see her, to imagine caressing her and hope for the chance.

Now, that chance was a reality.

“You are…Geryon…you are just the same.”

He looked down at himself. There were his claws, his fur, his hooves. “Are you disappointed?”

“No. I am overjoyed! I love you just as you are and do not want you to ever change. But you should not have given up your life for me,” she sputtered through tears—and a grin she could not hide.

“I, too, am now free,” he said. “Truly free. To be with you. And I would die all over again for just such an outcome.” He jerked her into his arms, grinning, too, because he could feel her again. She was not as warm, there was a coldness to them both now, but he was holding her. He could deal. “You are my everything, sweetheart. I am lost without you.”

“I love you so much,” she said, raining little kisses all over his face. “But whatever will we do now?”

“Live. Finally, we will live.”

And they did.

WHEN THE GODS REALIZED that the wall between earth and Hell had been breeched and a horde of Demon Lords let loose upon earth, they sent an immortal army to repair the damage—but no one could catch the fiends. And even if they could, the gods knew that locking them back inside Hell would merely invite another rebellion.

Something had to be done.

Though the stone barrier had fallen, the goddess of Oppression’s body was still bound to the wall of Hell. And so the gods rebuilt the wall and then created a box-sized prison from Kadence’s bones, confident that the powers she had tapped into hours before her death still resided deep in the marrow.

They were proven right.

Once opened, the box drew the demons from their hiding places, holding them captive as even Hell had been unable to do.

Of course, the gods were pleased with their handiwork and gave the box to Pandora, the strongest female warrior of her time, to guard. But that is a story for another time.

THE AMAZON’S CURSE

CHAPTER ONE

NOLA STOOD IN THE CENTER of the battle tent, watching as her sisters-by-race lined up. Each shifted eagerly from one foot to the other, clutching their weapon of choice. She spotted several axes, a few spears, but mostly swords. Anticipation thickened the air.

Mating season had officially begun.

Soon the females would break into groups, fighting each other for the right to whichever stolen slave they desired. Those slaves, eight in number, were currently chained to the far wall at the end of the spacious enclosure. Three dragon shifters, two centaurs, two male sirens and a vampire. All eight were muscled, beautiful…and all but one was grinning. The vampire.

Her vampire. Zane.

The men would be bedded this night and for several weeks to come. Then they would be freed, never to return. That was the way of the Amazons. Capture, breed and abandon. Of course the males were happy about this. All but Zane. His fury was palpable.

Despite that fury, her gaze drank him in. Zane had dark hair, equally dark eyes and a body made for war. And sex. He had muscle stacked upon muscle and scars that laced his corded chest.

He also had the fiercest temper she’d ever encountered. He didn’t like to be touched and had actually injured many Amazons—not an easy feat—in his quest for freedom. Finally, in an effort to tame him, they had stopped feeding him the blood he needed for strength. Now he was physically weakened, only able to lean against the wall and wait for his mistress to be declared.

However, nothing could weaken his hatred—or the promised retribution that radiated from him.

Nola had met him what seemed an eternity but had actually only been four months ago. He’d desired her, for whatever reason, and had tried to win her affections—and she’d tried to kill him.

With the memory, guilt filled her. But in her defense, she hadn’t known him then. Had only been concerned with her own survival. The gods had swept them to a remote island, along with several other creatures, and pitted them against each other, forcing them to fight. Worse, forcing them to watch helplessly as their friends were executed.

More than that, she’d spent her entire life hating men and the pain they brought with them. As a young child, she’d been sold by her own mother to male after male; she’d been used, hurt, taunted…ruined. Zane’s desire had frightened her, and she had lashed out.

And now, she was paying for that.

No one could see her. No one could hear her. Though she was encircled by the bright, golden light seeping through the tent’s apex, no one knew she was there, that she’d been among them, month after month. The gods had cursed her with invisibility when she’d been eliminated from their impossible contest—and then chained her to this camp as surely as Zane was now chained.

The gods had seen to Zane’s captivity, as well, gifting the vampire to the Amazons to use as they saw fit. And use him they would—and had already. Because mating season had not begun until today, they had forced him to work their land, hauling boulder after boulder for the building of more tents. He’d had to find sticks and sharpen them into weapons. They’d even forced him to feed many of the women by hand. Of course, he’d tried to escape, time after time, so they’d resorted to starving him. That starvation had caused him to weaken unbearably, rendering him useless. Lately all he’d been able to do was lie in place and curse.

She hated seeing him like this. Maybe because she no longer viewed him as an enemy. How could she? He suffered as she suffered. But now, they would never have a chance to explore their…feelings for each other. Yes, feelings, she thought. On her part anyway. Finally, she felt. A need to protect. A need to defend.

Yet she could do neither. And after the way she had treated him, rejecting his advances, he might not want her to try.

What did he see in me, anyway? She’d never understood. That dislike of another’s touch…he’d possessed it even on the island. Even with his own king, Layel. Except with her.

Her, he had welcomed. Again, why? What made her so different?

And why had she not reveled in him while she’d had the chance?

Foolish girl. That’s what her mother had called her every time she’d complained about her abuse. Nola had never agreed. Until now.

“It is time,” a commanding female voice suddenly boomed. “Stand before the slave you wish to claim.”

A royal decree the warrioresses rushed to obey, breaking apart, rushing forward.

Kreja, the Amazon queen, stood at the edge of her royal dais, her gaze scanning, expectant. She was a lovely woman, with pale hair and light eyes, both of which gave her the appearance of fragility. But she possessed an iron core, a vicious nature. Which was why Nola had always served her well. She cherished order and had truly enjoyed being led by a woman who thought battles were to be won at any cost.

Now? Not so much.

Finally, the women were crowded around the males that tempted them.

Nineteen of the thirty-two females chose Zane.

Shocking. She had thought their aversion to biting and blood would deter them. She should have known better. Strength was prized among the Amazons, and Zane had nearly won his freedom. Twice. They wanted that strength for their offspring, which was the entire point of mating season.

Her hands curled into fists. Fists that would remain useless, for they could make contact with no one but herself.

“Excellent,” Kreja said with a grin. She nodded to the ones standing in front of Zane. “You have chosen well. Though the vampire is a parasite, his daughters will be stalwart.”

His daughters.

They should have been mine. Amazons only gave birth to girls. Nola didn’t know why or how, only that it was so. And she wanted to kill anyone who would accept this man’s seed.

“And if our goddess is shining upon us,” Kreja continued, “we will be able to train those daughters to consume something besides blood. If not…” She shrugged, but Nola knew what she implied.

The daughters would be killed.

Zane snarled.

That delighted the women around him, edging them to a new level of eagerness.

Nola fought a wave of anger, of helplessness. He knows what Kreja plans, and does not like it. He wants to protect his children, even though none have yet been conceived. No, she should not have feared Zane. She should have enjoyed him, maybe run away with him.

Like him, she did not like being touched. Except by him. His was the first touch in the entire span of her life that had not filled her with disgust. There had been something almost…reverent in his every gentle caress. If she’d welcomed him, he might have helped purge the demons of her past. He might have saved her from herself.

Now, she would never know.

Just as she’d wondered what made her so different to him, she wondered what made him so different to her. That they were so alike? That they sensed, on a bone-deep level, the other’s hurt? Because yes, every time she neared him, her heart squeezed and shuddered. Pain always rested in his eyes.

“Fight for me if you wish,” he said through sharp, gritted teeth, drawing her thoughts back to the tent, “but know that I will slay the winner with my bare hands.”

He was not a man given to boasting, Nola knew. He promised—and he followed through.

“So vengeful,” someone twittered happily.

“So mine,” another snapped.

“It is I who will win his seed,” still another growled. “I who will give birth to his offspring.”

“No one will bear my child,” he roared. “I will die first.”

He could not die!

He is not meant to be a slave, Nola longed to shout. He was too proud, too defiant. Traits she also possessed. Which was why she had finally risen up and slain her own mother. Which in turn was why she sometimes cried herself to sleep, wishing she could claw the bloody images from her mind.

Scowling, Nola strode forward and reached out, hoping that, for once, her fingers would do more than ghost through as she tried to shove the Amazons aside. As always, her hand slipped through their bodies as if she were nothing more substantial than mist.

A cry of frustration escaped her.

Still, no one paid her any heed.

“Those of you who desire the vampire will now enter the arena.” Kreja’s hard voice silenced their arguments. Together they did as commanded, bypassing Nola, even stepping through her. “He shall be the first prize.”

“Damn you!” she shouted. “Hear me!”

Of course, they did not.

Shoulders slumping, she closed the distance between herself and Zane and sank beside him. Like the others, he did not act as if he noticed. But she could almost—almost—feel his warmth, and goose bumps broke out over her skin.

“Lily,” Kreja called with a wave of her hand.

Lily, the child-princess who would one day rule this clan, stood from her throne atop the dais and walked to her mother’s side, her little body draped in velvet robes rather than the leather straps and skirts worn by the warrioresses.

She had changed much in the past few months. No longer was this queen-in-training giddy and innocent. Once having run from camp to prove herself worthy of her people—thereby inadvertently beginning a war between the Amazons and the dragons, a war she’d once thought had caused the deaths of Nola and another Amazon, Delilah—she was now solemn. She’d even relinquished her right to claim Brand the dragon shifter, another of the gods’ exiles, as her personal servant, and had offered him up to her people. He now sat among the other slaves.

“You will not fight to the death,” Lily proclaimed in her soft voice. “But you will continue to engage each other until only one of you is left standing. It is she who will earn the right to bed the vampire.”

And when that winner tired of him, she could pass him on to her friends if she so chose. Increasing Zane’s humiliation.

Mating season had never bothered Nola before, but it bothered her now.

Leave. After Nola’s own experience with the gods’ cruel contest, she had no desire to watch another. For Zane, however, she would watch. And she would wish.

Every female in the ring assumed the battle stance.

There was only a slight pause before Kreja said, “You may begin.”

Immediately the women leapt into action. Metal clanged against metal, grunts abounded, and sand was flung in every direction. Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes to what seemed hours. An eternity. Bodies began collapsing, cries of pain echoing, one pink-haired female savagely working her way through the masses.

Soon, she was the only one standing.

Over. Done.

Nola wanted to vomit.

“And so we have a winner,” Kreja decreed proudly. She motioned to Zane with a wave of her hand. “Claim your prize, beloved. Know that we are pleased with the strength and tenacity you have demonstrated this day.”

As the female approached, Zane trembled. In rage. Perhaps in fear.

I’m so sorry, vampire. “I won’t let her have you,” Nola vowed, though she knew there was nothing she could do to stop what was to come.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FEMALE WAS GOING TO KILL HIM, Zane thought dazedly, dispassionately.

She’d won him, however long ago she’d fought for him—one day? Two? Weak as he was, he’d lost track of time. All he knew was that she’d tried multiple times to bed him. But she needed a hard cock for that, and he hadn’t given it to her.

Denying her had delighted him. Still did.

Now two of those wretched Amazons stood around him, staring down at his naked body. If he hadn’t been half-starved and teetering on the brink of total collapse, those stares would have sent him into a killing rage. He hated being looked at as much as he hated being touched.

He’d spent too many centuries as the demon queen’s whore, hers to use, hers to hurt. And hurt him she had.

Many times, she’d forced him to drop to his knees and “worship” her with his mouth. Many times, she had forced him to clean each and every one of the horns covering her body. Again, with his mouth. Many times, she had forced him to do the same to others while she watched.

But the worst… He shuddered, hating to remember. But just then, his memories were all he had. They filled him up, consumed him, eating him bite by rancid bite. She’d blindfolded him and bound him to her bed. He had not known who kissed and touched him. Male, female. Demon, another slave. He hadn’t known.

He hated, hated that there were people in Atlantis who knew of his humiliation and subjugation. He hated that those people had seen him naked, tasted him, brought him to climax in terrible ways, yet he did not know who they were.

Bile rose from his stomach into his throat. Demon whore. That’s what he was, all he would ever be. Demon whore, demon whore. He squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to cover his ears, but could not. His arms were tied, true, but even if he had been free, he was too weak to move.

Demon whore.

How could he have allowed such things? And he had. Allowed them. He could have walked away at any time. Yet he hadn’t.

All for the love of a woman. A slave, as he was supposed to be now. Marina, that detestable queen, had promised to set his beloved free if Zane pleased her until she grew tired of him. But she’d never grown tired of him, and Cassandra, his chosen mate, had begun to hate him as a result. For all he knew, she could have been forced to watch him with the queen.

Demon whore.

Yet still he’d stayed, determined to finally win his prize. His Cassandra. If he couldn’t have her as a mate, he’d at least wanted her to be happy. And as he well knew, no one could be happy without freedom.

But then, his actions hadn’t mattered. Layel, the vampire king, had done the impossible—what Zane had craved but had not yet had the strength to do—and drained the demon queen, finally freeing both Zane and Cassandra. He’d thought to earn back her love. However necessary. After all, everything he had done had been for her. Every hated touch, every blinded session. Only, she’d fled him. For another man.

Demon whore.

Perhaps that had been for the best.

Zane was not the man he’d once been. He eschewed females and wanted no part of them. Wanted no part of sex. He shuddered at even the thought of it, and sickness once again churned in his stomach. Had he eaten that day, he would have vomited.

One bright light. Remember your one bright light.

Nola.

Finally, his stomach calmed.

Nola had walked into his life, chasing away the darkness. Beautiful, passionate, fierce Nola. A woman who hadn’t wanted him, who had rebuffed him. A woman he’d craved with every ounce of his being despite what had been done to him. A woman the gods had taken from him. Why did he want her so damned passionately? He hadn’t known then, and he didn’t know now. Yet still he craved her. As if she were necessary to him. To his survival. As if, the first moment their eyes had met, hers as haunted as he knew his were, she had become a part of him.

Would he ever see her again?

He did not know if she’d survived their island game or if the gods had set her free, but sometimes he would swear that he smelled her sweet scent, felt the gentle glide of her hands on him. A touch he still did not mind.

A touch he needed. She…soothed him.

And, actually, the first time he’d seen her, he’d thought her a gift from the gods. For why else would he have been able to endure—no, enjoy—her touch and no other’s? Now, he thought that perhaps she’d been another curse. He craved her still, yet like Cassandra he could never have her.

What did I do to deserve this?

Demon whore.

“I’m strong,” his owner said now, drawing his attention, “so of course he desires me. I mean, look at what I did to my competitors! Eighteen against one, yet I owned that arena. But he’s too weak to be claimed. That’s the problem here. Surely.”

“You’re right. Clearly he needs blood,” another said.

“Yes, but if he’s given blood, he’ll be able to raise his head and bite me.”

Both of the females shuddered.

Did these Amazons—who abhorred the biting of flesh and the drinking of blood and who thought to rape him to steal a child from him—not realize the child of a vampire would not be trainable, as the Amazon queen had said? A vampire needed blood. Blood was nourishment. Life. That was not something that could be “trained” away.

And so, any child of his would be killed. That’s what the foolish queen had implied.

His baby. Killed. Even through the haze of weakness, rage sparked inside his chest. He would kill them first, he thought, once again struggling against his bonds.

They expected him to leave his child behind, to be raised by them. Abused by them. Something he would never do. What was his, was his. He did not share. He did not abandon.

“Weak, but still fighting,” the pink-haired Amazon said with awe.

“Yet still no hardened shaft,” the other tsked.

Calm. Or they will stop feeding you altogether. Though every bone in his body screamed for him to do otherwise, he relaxed against his pallet.

“You’re going to have to feed him.”

“I know. But even now, I think he would bite me if I got too close. What is to happen when he’s stronger?”

Before his last escape attempt, they’d kept him nourished by allowing him three small cups of blood a day. Who had donated the blood, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. He didn’t like to take from a living source, only from those he’d slain. So he’d pretended the blood came from one of his victims.

“Let’s think this through, then. Perhaps there is another way. Did you try manipulating his rod?”

“Of course. He’s not my first slave, you know.”

“Well, give him blood, then…bind his mouth. Yes, that might work. That way, he’ll be strong enough to bed but unable to nibble on you.”

“Oh, excellent idea! Grab a goblet.” The pink-haired woman—he hadn’t cared to remember her name—palmed one of her daggers, sliced a groove in her wrist and held the wound over the offered cup.

His mouth watered at the sight and smell of that crimson nectar; his fangs elongated. She was not dead, he couldn’t pretend otherwise, but he would still take from her. Sacrifices must be made in times of adversity.

She approached him and held the cup to his lips. Thankfully, her skin did not brush his. “Drink.”

As though in a trance, he obeyed, swallowing three precious mouthfuls. Instantly, warmth spread through him, followed on its heels by strength. So good…

“It’s working. His color is returning.” The goblet was removed from his mouth, and he found his gaze locked with that of his captor. She was pretty, if he cared for such things. He didn’t. He only cared that she had pink hair rather than black, brown eyes rather than turquoise, and she did not smell like Nola. Like sea and storms and flowers.

There was a pause, then a purr of agreement. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

“Don’t forget he’s mine,” was the snapped reply.

“Well, his cock is still flaccid, so you won’t be claiming him any time soon,” the other Amazon lashed back.

As the blood continued to work through him, the lethargy that had plagued him all these many days dissolved, leaving energy in his muscles, a sizzle in his bones. Escape, he thought, a growl working its way past his throat.

Both Amazons jumped away from him with a yelp.

“Hurry! Let’s bind his mouth.”

“Don’t touch me!” Growls intensifying, Zane jerked at the chains circling his wrists and ankles. He hissed and snapped, kicking as much as he was able as the Amazons maneuvered around him. “No touching! Do you hear me? I’ll kill you.”

Metal cut past his flesh, hitting those sizzling bones. Still he fought, imagining his blade slicing through both of these women. More blood would spill. He would lap it up. Strengthen even more. He would tear through their camp. No mercy.

Suddenly a golden ray of light spilled inside the tent, and he would have sworn he caught a glimpse of…no, surely not. Couldn’t be. Yet…there she was. His Nola.

“No—” He stilled, his heart slamming against his ribs. Couldn’t be, he thought again. Unless…was she a hallucination? He’d had them before, yet they never ceased to shock him.

His captor moved, reaching for his neck, blocking the vision.

“Out of my way!” he shouted, bumping his hip against hers and sending her toppling to her face. He’d imagined Nola before, there in the battle tent. Sadly, that glimpse had lasted only a few heart-stopping seconds. How long would this one last?

Had his captor already dispelled it?

If she had…

No. There Nola was again, a shimmering outline of long black hair, a glow of turquoise eyes. She was trying—ineffectually—to tug his captor away from him. He lost his breath. So lovely. His shaft hardened quickly and painfully. Nola. His sweetest tormentor.

Then the vision wavered, the air dabbled…gone. She was gone.

He wanted to scream and hurt and maim. To kill and be killed. The desire came too late, though, his stunned immobility costing him. The Amazon was able to leap to her feet and easily hook a thick strap of material around his useless mouth.

“Finally.” Sighing with satisfaction, she leaned away from him, crouching on her haunches and smiling smugly. “And just as I suspected, your rod is—” Her words halted and her smile faded as his cock withered before her eyes. “But…you were…why…”

He had only imagined Nola; he knew that, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from searching for another glimpse of her. To his dismay, he saw only furs, carved furniture and weapons.

Even as his captor and her friend attempted to arouse him once more, stripping for him, caressing him, he did not stop searching.

Finally, exasperated with him, the Amazons dressed and stormed from the tent, leaving him alone with his insanity.

CHAPTER THREE

AS MANY TIMES AS NOLA had been chained and used in her life, she knew the humiliation, frustration and helplessness Zane was now feeling. He must want to kill Amelia, his new owner. She did.

Hurting another Amazon went against every instinct Nola possessed, every rule she’d ever been taught—after she’d escaped her mother, that is—but she would have sliced the warrioress to pieces if she’d been able to grip a blade. Exactly as she’d done to her mother. Zane’s eyes had been so wild, his snarls so desperate. And she’d been unable to aid him, had only been able to watch in horror.

“I will take his place,” she shouted to the ceiling, not knowing if the gods were listening. Or if they even cared. But she had to try. Zane didn’t deserve this. No one did. At least she had endured servitude before. She could do so again. And were she to actually take Zane’s place, the women wouldn’t rape her, of course, but they would work her and beat her. Neither of which would break her. Because she would know she had helped her man.

“Please,” she shouted. “Switch us!”

No response. But suddenly air was sucked through Zane’s nostrils, and his body jerked. Then he began struggling against his bonds again. Her attention whipped to him. He was staring directly at her, his dark gaze boring into her.

“Zane,” she said, rushing to his side and kneeling. “Shh, now. Shh. You’ll only injure your wrists and ankles further.” Already he was bleeding, losing the blood he’d just been given.

He tracked her every movement.

Could he…no. Not possible. No matter how many times she’d wished otherwise, she’d remained as unnoticeable as the air he breathed. Besides, if he knew she was here, he would be fighting her as he’d fought Amelia. Perhaps even more violently. She had not only rebuked his advances, she had tried to hurt him, too. Had called him vile names he had not deserved. All because she’d been too frightened of her feelings.

I am not worthy of being an Amazon warrioress.

Frantic, Zane rubbed his jaw against his shoulder until the material fell away from his mouth. “Nola,” he rasped. “Nola, Nola, Nola. You are here.”

He could see her. Oh, gods. Oh, gods! Could she touch him? Her arm shook as she reached out, meaning to brush his hair from his face, but as always, her hand ghosted through him. She moaned in frustration.

He laughed, the sound full of sweet satisfaction. “I’ve finally slipped over the edge of sanity and I don’t care.” He relaxed against the blankets spread out beneath him. “My Nola, here to comfort me. As beautiful as ever.”

His Nola? A shiver moved through her. Oh, if only…“You aren’t imagining me, Zane. I’m truly here. I’ve been here since the day of your arrival.”

Zane didn’t seem to hear her. His gaze was too busy drinking her in. “Of course I would imagine you like this, soft and lush, but still not mine to possess.”

“Listen to me. The gods cursed me, as they cursed you, only I am not to be seen, heard or felt.” Until now. Why, why, why could she now be seen and heard but still not felt?

Finally, her words seemed to take root. His eyelids narrowed and his lips pulled tight against his teeth, revealing the tips of those deadly fangs. “How is that possible?”

“Need I remind you of the gods’ powers?”

His cheeks flushed. “How can I see you now, then?” he asked, mirroring her thoughts. “What has changed?”

“I wish I knew,” she said on a sigh. Would others be able to see her, as well?

He laughed without humor. “So. Another curse is to be heaped upon me. To see, but never to touch the only one I desire.” He turned his head from her, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her another second.

That was the treatment she’d expected from him, but it still hurt. You deserve it. Take it like a warrior.

At least he no longer thought himself crazy.

“You…still wish to touch me?”

A pause, heavy, laden with tension. “Why aren’t you with Brand?” he demanded rather than answer her.

Brand, the dragon shape-shifter who had been cursed right alongside them. “I don’t…” What? She liked Brand, but she wasn’t concerned with his treatment. He had not fought his captivity like Zane. He had embraced the thought of a temporary Amazon owner.

Other than Lily, that is. Lily had been too young for him, and he’d been nothing more than a maid for her. Since she’d released him into the tender care of the other Amazons, though, he’d looked nothing but content.

But even if he had not been enjoying himself, Nola still would have chosen to watch over Zane. His strength and determination, and even his wildness, drew her. Maybe because that wildness had never truly extended to her. Even when she’d stabbed both of his shoulders with spears, he had not attempted to hurt her. He had cried out for her, wanting to be with her.

I hate myself for rejecting him.

“Why haven’t you used your…gift to help you escape?” she asked, ignoring his question as he’d ignored hers. Much as this man had to hate her, despite the desire he’d professed—or had she imagined that?—she wasn’t ready to voice her softer feelings. Even she didn’t understand her change from tormentor to tormented. And what if he were to reject her? Her already bruised and battered heart would not survive.

His cheeks heated in embarrassment, but still he did not face her.

He’d once used that gift on her. Had slipped inside her dreams and showed her how good it would be between them. How he would kiss and taste every inch of her body, enjoy her, help her enjoy him.

“You can show the Amazons the destruction you will unleash if they fail to release you.”

“The gods stripped me of the ability when they sent me here,” he finally admitted. “I can no longer enter dreams. Or create nightmares. They also stripped me of my ability to transport myself to other locations with only a thought.”

Damn them! “There has to be a way to free you. I wish I could leave camp and visit your king. Word has spread through Atlantis that he is wed now to my sister, Delilah. They would help you, I know it. And maybe, like you, they would be able to see and hear me. But I am bound to this camp, as surely as if I were shackled. I cannot leave its boundaries.”

Or perhaps she could, now that part of her curse seemed to be lifted. She wanted to check, but couldn’t force herself to move away.

Zane shifted even further away from her, his chains rattling. It was another stark reminder of their doomed circumstances. “Why would you help me?”

“Because I—” She peered down at her hands. Her fingers were twined together and twisting the leather of her skirt. They wanted to be on Zane’s body, learning his every nuance. What would make him gasp in pleasure? What would make him moan? “I owe you. I hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. Sorrier than I can ever express. I want—”

“Enough,” he growled, cutting her off. “I don’t want your apology. I never did.”

Rejection. Even though she had not professed her new feelings. As she’d suspected, her heart stopped. Literally stopped. Tears burned her eyes. She had not cried in years. Not since she was a little girl, huddled in bed, dreading the monsters who would visit her.

“I’ve always wanted you…your body,” he added in a croak. “Still do.”

“Wh-what?”

“I want you.”

Shocking. Need trembled through her. Welcome need. Beloved need. “Yes.” Yes. “I would rather give myself to you than give the apology, for I want you, too.” There. Admission. Not as scary as she had thought. Freeing, actually. “But you can’t touch me, and I cannot touch you. How…” Hated need, she thought next. A craving that could never be satisfied.

“We will figure it out.” Huskily said, softening expression.

How? she wanted to ask again, but didn’t. No telling when Amelia would return. Their privacy was limited, and she did not want to spend it grasping for solutions they would never find.

Apparently, Zane did not either.

“Climb on top of me,” he beseeched. “I want to see you there. Want to imagine.”

To her surprise, she obeyed without hesitation, eager, straddling his waist. His eyes closed, and he arched up. Imagine, he’d said. He was imagining sinking inside her.

Yes, she thought. Yes. She would like that. Wanted that. She imagined his hard shaft entering inch by inch and moaned. A few times, the act had felt pleasurable rather than painful, but those times had left her wallowing in shame. How could she have liked being bedded by those disgusting males, even for a moment?

This time, however, there was no shame. Only acceptance. More.

“Zane, I—”

“Feel good?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. Would you like me to—”

The entrance to the tent flapped, and Amelia strode inside. “Well, vampire. I have decided—” Her eyes widened, and she stopped. “Nola? What are you doing here?”

Nola jumped up as though burned. She wanted to scream in frustration, but held her tongue. One question had been answered, at least. Others could see her. “Hello, Amelia.” Did she sound as breathless to the warrioress as she did to herself?

“We thought you were dead.”

“You thought wrong.”

Amelia’s dark gaze swung to Zane, then back to Nola. “Either way, you will move away from my slave. If you wanted him for yourself, you should have been brave enough to return and fight for him.”

“I do want him for myself.”

“Too late.”

No. It wasn’t. She refused to believe that.

“Nola,” Zane said, and there was a warning in his tone.

A warning of what? Nola didn’t face him, but squared her shoulders and forced her expression to harden. “Well, I am here now. Amelia, I challenge you for the vampire.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“HURRY! SHE’LL RETURN any moment, and she’ll have others with her. Perhaps the entire army.”

Zane watched as Nola tried and failed to jerk the head of his chains from the iron pole they were attached to, a pole that was anchored deep in the earth. As before, her fingers merely passed through the object.

His shock had yet to diminish. Nola was here; Nola wanted him; Nola thought to help him. After her announcement—I challenge you for the vampire—his captor had stormed out of the tent with every intention of speaking to the Amazon queen. And having Nola imprisoned.

No. He would not allow that.

She was his.

Earlier when she’d apologized to him, it had not been remorse thickening her voice. It had been desire. Then she’d climbed on top of him without any uncertainty, had moaned when he’d arched into her. He hadn’t been able to feel her, but oh, just the thought of doing so had been enough for him. He’d never craved a female more.

“How do you propose to fight her?” he demanded. “You cannot hurt her, and she cannot hurt you.” Thank the gods. He would rather endure an eternity of slavery than watch this woman bleed.

“I didn’t want to fight her. Well, I did, do, but know I can’t. I just wanted time. And why are you just lying there?” She peered down at him, hands on her hips, dark hair streaming wildly around her delicate face. “Fight free!”

So lovely. Everything he’d craved these many months of his captivity—Nola, freedom, a chance to be together—was now being offered to him. No longer did he feel cursed. Never had he been so blessed.

He couldn’t feel her? So what. Being with her was more important.

“You will come with me? If I escape?” he asked.

“If I can, yes. I want that more than anything,” she added in a fierce whisper.

Again, there was no uncertainty. There was even a flicker of hope in her magnificent eyes. She truly did not hate him.

What had brought about this change in her?

Would she change her mind if she knew of his past?

Demon whore.

He squeezed his eyes closed, wishing once again that he could cover his ears.

“Zane, darling. What’s wrong?”

Don’t tell her. Don’t ever tell her. “Nothing.” She would run from him as Cassandra had.

“You’re hurting,” Nola said. She tapped on his chest, just above his heart. “Here. Tell me why.”

“I will escape,” he said instead. “You will come with me.”

He was suddenly fueled with a fervor he had never experienced before. He wanted this. Would have this. Just as…soon as…he broke…free. For what seemed an eternity, he pulled hard at his wrists and ankles, straining so forcefully his bones eventually gave way.

Out came both his ankles; out came both his wrists. The pain of it nearly bowled him over as he sat up, then stood to trembling legs. He didn’t care about the pain, though. He was free at last.

Together. They could be together.

“I hear them,” Nola gasped. “Come on.” She made to grab him, but her hand misted through his body. “Damn this!”

There was no sensation, no chill, but the knowledge that she had tried to touch him caused him to shiver rather than shudder. From the very first, it had been that way. Others he ran from. Others he abhorred. Her, he only yearned for more of. Why? he wondered again.

“This way.” She raced to the far end of the tent. “Raise the flap.”

He lumbered to her, stumbling constantly, and did as commanded. All the while, his battered body screamed in agony, black winking over his vision, stomach threatening to heave. Vampires were fast healers, but he’d been without blood too long, the few sips he’d had earlier already used up.

Outside, light poured from the crystal dome surrounding all of Atlantis, heating and stinging his now-sensitive skin and making his eyes water. This kind of reaction had only happened once before. On that cursed island of the gods.

The reminder of his time there infuriated him and that fury gave him strength. He could do this. Tent after tent dotted the surrounding land. Amazons were scattered throughout. Some were bent over a fire and hammering at weapons; some were hanging animal hides.

“Walk behind me,” Nola said, “as if you are my slave.”

Without waiting for his agreement, she moved forward, head held high. Behind him, he could hear a murmur of voices inside his captor’s tent. Amelia had returned, and she had indeed brought an army with her. Zane kicked into motion. Thankfully, no one paid them any heed—until a horn blasted. The Amazons around him straightened, a few even reaching for weapons.

“Run,” Nola shouted, picking up speed. “Run.”

No longer content to remain behind her, he matched her pace. A forest loomed a few yards ahead, thick trees promising cover.

“Nola!” someone shouted. “Stop!”

“Vampire,” his captor screamed. “Not another step. I will punish you.”

Zane tripped over a rock. He lurched forward, his broken ankles unable to support him. When he hit the ground, he hit hard and lost every bit of oxygen in his lungs. Grimacing, he lumbered back up. Started running again.

All the while, Nola encouraged him. “You can do it. I know you can. That’s the way. Just a little farther. You’re so strong. You’re so brave. I’m so proud of you.”

Sweeter words had never been spoken. Such encouragement…no one, not even his king, had offered it. He soaked it up, bloomed under it. His speed increased, his steps firmed.

But when they reached the trees, Nola stopped and screeched. “No! No, no, no.”

He, too, stopped and faced her. He tried to grab her, but as before, encountered only air. “Come. Now. We’ll enter the forest and disappear.” Together, he thought again, satisfaction filling him.

“I can’t. It’s like a wall is blocking me.” Frantic, she tossed a glance over her shoulder at the scowling Amazon warrioresses bearing down on them. “Go. Please. Just go.”

Still she could not leave the camp’s boundary?

He remained in place, the screams in his head no longer for his bodily pain. He couldn’t leave this woman behind. But he couldn’t stay here, broken as he was. He was no good to either of them.

Damn the gods to Hades!

Demon whore. To think, even for a moment, that he’d felt blessed. Foolish.

“Will they attempt to punish you?” he asked. He had to know. He would stay here, even broken as he was, even helpless as he was. Anything to protect her.

“They can’t hurt me. They might be able to see me, but I’m untouchable, remember?” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Now go, before they take you. They will not be as gentle with you this time.”

“Nola…” She is mine. I keep what is mine.

“Zane. Go. Please. Save yourself. You are not meant to be any woman’s slave. Not even mine.”

A muscle ticked below his eye. “I will come back for you. Soon as I’m healed, I will come back.” As he spoke, he walked backward.

“I will think and dream of you always.”

A goodbye? Oh, no. “I will come back,” he repeated. “Watch for me.” Only when she was blocked from his view did he spin and run.

CHAPTER FIVE

NOLA FACED OFF WITH HER sisters. They formed a menacing half-circle around her, each glaring at her.

“You freed my slave,” Amelia growled, and several warrioresses booed and hissed at Nola.

She had always been something of a tribe outsider, so she wasn’t surprised at the cold welcome. “He isn’t yours, but yes,” she said proudly. “I freed him.” And she would do so again. Anything for Zane.

I will come back, he’d said. Twice. She shivered.

A frowning Kreja stepped forward, separating herself from the masses and placing herself nose to nose with Nola. “I want five of my elite armed and hunting the vampire within the next five minutes.”

Footsteps echoed as the warrioresses complied. They could look, but they wouldn’t find him. He was too determined. I will come back.

“And you,” the queen continued, “you know the punishment for stealing your sister’s slave?”

“Yes,” Nola repeated. The punishment—a savage, wish-you-were-dead whipping. Not that they could administer it. But even if she’d been tangible, she would have risked it. Zane’s freedom was worth losing the skin on her back. At the very least.

“Delilah returned and told us you lived still, but that did not stop our worry for you. And now I find you here, working against us. Why would you do such a thing?” the queen asked, sounding genuinely curious, slightly sad, rather than fully enraged.

“The vampire had endured enough at the hands of the Amazons. Like us, he is a living being with feelings. He is courageous, wild as the animals in this forest and fierce beyond imagining. We would have broken him.” Or tried to.

“Wise words.” Kreja arched a brow. “And yet, he left you here to endure punishment, even though you aided him. Do you find that a worthy trait?”

I will come back.

And he would. She had no doubt. Never before had she trusted a man, but she trusted Zane. Having watched him these past few months, she knew he was not the kind of man who made vows lightly. She knew he did not say things simply to placate his audience. Oh, yes. He would return.

What they would do when he reached her, she didn’t know. She only knew that she needed to be with him. To see his face and hear his voice. She could live with any curse, as long as he was alive and well and with her.

“I find him worthy,” she finally replied.

Kreja sighed. “That does not change what you have done. Not only did you free a slave, you freed your sister’s slave. For that, you will deal with Amelia in the battle arena. She will be armed. You will not. Afterward, if you survive, you will be whipped, as is our custom.”

The queen reached out—and wrapped her fingers around Nola’s suddenly solid forearm, dragging her toward the arena, Amelia marching close on her heels.

Nola gasped in shock. What…why…how was it possible? She could be touched now.

“I will not go easy on you,” Amelia snarled at her.

They can touch me. Which means they can hurt me, Nola realized, dread sweeping through her.

Would she be alive when Zane returned?

ZANE REACHED THE VAMPIRE stronghold and collapsed at its gates. His strength—gone. His wounds—unhealed. Followed as he’d been, he hadn’t been able to hunt for food. Broken as he was, he wouldn’t have been able to capture a single animal and feed himself.

Thankfully the guards recognized him. He was hefted over a shoulder and carted inside the palace. The touch disturbed him, but he didn’t fight it. He was in too much of a hurry and knew this was the best way. By the time they reached his personal chamber, there was a buzz of activity, his name being whispered from everyone’s lips.

“Blood,” he rasped as the guard lay him down on the bed.

That guard tilted his head, offering his own neck.

Zane shook his head and closed his eyes. “Glass.” He would not take from a living source. Still couldn’t stomach the thought—unless that living source was Nola. Once, when he’d ensured she would welcome him by invading her dreams, he had tasted her. The sweetness of her blood…the decadence of her moans…he’d reveled in every nuance of her. He would not overshadow that precious memory by taking from someone else, even in his desperation.

How did she affect him this way?

Would he always be forced to wonder?

Perhaps he did not mind her hands on him because he saw himself in her eyes. Every damned time he looked at her. He saw vulnerability and pain, fear and yearning.

Perhaps they shared a similar past; she’d alluded to such a thing once before, when they’d been pitted against each other on the island. Back then, he had been too wrapped in his newfound desire to pay much attention to her words. Never again, he vowed. What she said came first. Always. As did protecting her, defending her.

And maybe she would feel the same about him.

He suddenly wanted to hug her close and tell her everything that had happened to him. Admit that he’d once been the demon queen’s willing sexual toy. She might…she might understand rather than run.

Demon whore.

How could anyone understand?

But for once, the taunt did not drive him to distraction. She might, and for now, that was enough.

Warm hands settled on his shoulders and shook him.

His eyelids fluttered open, a growl in his throat. When he saw that Layel loomed above him, glass in hand, he forced himself to relax against the feathered mattress. “My king, I—”

“No talking just yet. Drink,” Layel said, placing the glass to his lips. Tall and leanly muscled, with white hair and blue eyes, he was an eerily beautiful sight that reminded Zane of both his rescue from the demon queen and the horrors he’d later endured at the hands of the gods. “Drink.”

Zane opened his mouth, and the sweet nectar of life poured down his throat. He swallowed greedily. Once again, warmth spread through him. Warmth and strength and determination.

He had not lied to Nola. He was going back for her. He would conquer that damn camp and everyone inside it.

Nola will not like that. Those women are her sisters.

Well, they damn well should not have tried to enslave him, he thought darkly. But he knew deep down that he wouldn’t hurt them. Not really. For Nola, he would simply send them on their way, claiming the camp as his own and remaining there until she could leave it. And if she could never leave it, he would never leave it.

“Good now?” Layel asked.

“More,” he said when the supply ran out. He’d need every ounce of his strength to conquer the Amazons.

Layel cut his wrist, filled the glass with his own life force, and offered it up. This time, Zane was able to hold the glass on his own. Again, he drained every drop. When he finished, he licked his lips and faced the king.

“I am ready to talk,” he said.

“Good. I have questions.”

“Answer mine first. You escaped the gods and their island.” He grunted as his wrists and ankles popped back into place. “Did you win their game?”

The king’s lips slowly lifted in a grin. “Delilah did. She saved us both. We have been searching for you since the moment of our return, but the Amazons hid you well. We knew you were there, but we could find no sign of you.”

“Have you news of my sister?” a female voice asked.

Zane looked past his king and saw Delilah standing in the doorway. She was petite in appearance, but as fierce as Nola on a battlefield. Her blue hair was falling around her shoulders, and worry was etched in the violet depths of her eyes.

“She is alive,” he told her, and she expelled a relieved breath. “And she is mine.”

A pause.

“And does she agree with that statement?” Delilah’s head tilted to the side as she rubbed at her slightly rounded belly. There was barely contained fury in her tone. She would slay him without mercy if he hurt Nola, that much was obvious.

Rather than plead his case, he focused on that belly. Slightly rounded. A baby? Layel was to become a father? An ache bloomed in Zane’s chest. He’d wanted children with Cassandra. Had dreamed of them. Yet that, too, had been denied him. Until…now?

With Nola… You cannot truly touch her, you fool. That dream is still dead. He couldn’t make himself care, however. As long as he had Nola, nothing else mattered.

“Well?” Delilah insisted.

Did Nola wish to belong to him? she’d asked. He thought so, yes. She had helped him. She had even wanted to go with him. But she was also a warrior to her core, an Amazon warrior at that, and they only tolerated men during mating season. He wanted far more than that. No matter the circumstances. He wanted what Layel and Delilah clearly had.

“We will see,” Zane said, kicking his legs over the bed.

“You only just returned,” Layel said. “Where are you going?”

“To get my woman.” This one, he wouldn’t let get away.

CHAPTER SIX

GRUNTS, GROANS AND THE CLANG of metal against metal roused Nola from her troubled sleep. She wanted to rise, to see what was happening, but could not force her body into action. Her back was a mass of agony, the skin flayed completely. The rest of her, well, it had not fared much better during her battle with Amelia. Nola had won, her determination stronger than any weapon, but she had not emerged unscathed. There were deep sword slices all down her arms, stomach and legs.

She lay on her bed, her stomach pressed into soft blankets. Alone, always alone. No one was allowed to help her. Not in any way. Amazons healed as slowly as humans, so she knew she would suffer like this for many weeks to come.

Outside, a scream echoed. Her muscles were heavy as stones, and she didn’t have the strength to drag herself upright. Or gather food. Not that she even had the strength to eat. She wanted to help her sisters, though. Despite what had been done to her, she loved them.

They had welcomed her into their fold when she’d had nowhere else to go. They had despised her mother for what the woman had done to her.

“You will die for this, vampires!” someone shouted.

“Not by your hand,” she heard a male voice say. The vampire king? That had sounded like his rough, cocky timbre.

Despite her pain, Nola grinned. Relaxed.

Zane was here.

For hours, the battle continued to rage. Nola didn’t want her sisters injured, but neither did she want Zane to lose, and waiting proved difficult. She chewed at her cheeks, dug her nails into her palms and broke into a sweat, which caused her back to burn as if it had been set on fire as well as flayed.

Finally, the tent flap rose and light flooded inside. And then he was there, standing in front of her. Her vampire. Zane. Her heart knocked against her ribs.

“Knew you’d come,” she said, her voice barely audible. She hadn’t screamed during her whipping, hadn’t made a sound, but holding her cries inside had scraped her throat raw.

“Nola…sweet…” He approached her slowly, as if she were a trapped animal. “What did they do to you?” There was horror in his tone. He crouched beside her, reached out and smoothed her hair from her damp forehead. Then he froze. “How is this possible? I’m touching you. Feeling your warmth.”

“Yes. Happened just after you’d left.” Any other time, she would have been mortified for him to see her like this: broken, helpless, naked but for a sheet covering her lower half. Her relief at seeing him alive and well, however, was simply too great.

“I will destroy the gods for this. How dare they do this to you! Allow you to feel only when you will be injured. The cruelty such an act requires… I will find a way to raid the heavens and I will—”

“No, no. This is a blessing. I’ve had time to think, and I believe I know what’s happening. Each time I admit something about you, like the fact that you did not deserve what was done to you, and that I trust you, I’ve been given back a piece of my life.”

His brows furrowed together, and a spark of hope entered his eyes. “Can you pass the camp boundary now?”

“No. My sisters carried me there, meaning to toss me out after my whipping, but that invisible wall blocked them.”

Fury replaced the hope. “We didn’t hurt your sisters—I knew you would hate it if we did, but now I wish I’d sliced each and every one of them to pieces. They abandoned camp or I would see to it now.”

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” And it was. “But…how long will you be able to stay?” Her nervousness returned. His king would want him back. And the Amazons would one day come back. This was not the first time their camp had been taken. They always came back. Angrier. Far more brutal. “You can’t remain forever, and I can’t leave. We’ll be forced to separate again and—”

“It’s all right. It’s all right, sweet. Do not worry yourself. Think only of healing. I’m here, and I’m not leaving without you. No matter what. You freed me. I will find a way to free you.”

The burst of strength her nervousness had given her drained, and she expelled a breath. “As long as I have you, I’ll be all right.” The words flowed freely. Talking about her feelings was becoming easier.

“Yes, you will.” He stretched out beside her and angled his head, displaying his neck to her. The scent of him filled her nose. Dark spice and tree dew. She inhaled deeply, savoring. “Drink,” he said.

“Wh-what?” Even when they’d been trapped on that island, he had not let anyone drink from him. Not from his wrist, and certainly not from his neck.

“Drink. I know biting and blood are distasteful to your kind, but you will heal faster if my blood flows inside your veins. I have watched others of my kind do this for their mates who were not vampires.”

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t mind drinking from you. I just don’t want to disgust you. I know you do not like such things being done to you.”

Precious little lights flickered in his eyes. “I want to give you everything, Nola. Even this. With you and no other. I need this, so please. Please.”

Please, this proud, strong man had said. How could she deny him? She cried out as she edged toward him—pain, so much pain—and sank her teeth into his neck, hard as she could, cutting past skin and hitting vein. Blood instantly trickled down her throat.

Once, the thought of doing this would have been distasteful to her, as he’d claimed. But this was Zane. She wanted him inside her. Any part of him that she could get. And like him, she wanted him to have everything she had to give.

“I never thought to allow someone to take from me again,” he said, petting her head. “I—I have to tell you something. Something that may make you hate me. But you deserve to know.”

Nothing could make her hate him. Nothing.

He did not give her time to tell him that. “The demon queen,” he continued. “I was her slave for many centuries. Her…bedmate. Willingly. She took from me whenever and however she desired. Her methods sickened me, but I allowed them because she had something—someone—my compliance was supposed to purchase.”

Nola released his neck. “I—”

“No. Do not speak. Keep drinking. There is more I must tell you, but my courage will abandon me if your mouth is gone from me.”

She sank her teeth back into his neck, the warmth of his blood spinning through her, lighting her up from the inside out.

“When she died and I was freed, I thought to never endure such things again. You, though, I think I would allow to do anything to me. It has been that way from the first. I don’t understand it, either. Your presence doesn’t drown out the memories or take away my revulsion for this act. My…need for you simply overrides it. Even though I fear you will find me, a dirty demon whore, unworthy of you. I am unworthy of you.”

“No,” she said, wrenching away. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth. “You are perfect. Wonderful.” She snuggled into his waiting embrace, head cradled in the hollow of his neck. The action pained her, but only a little. She could feel the flesh weaving together on her back. “Never say otherwise.”

“You…you do not wish to leave me now?” So hesitant. So unsure.

“If you are a demon whore, then I am an Amazon whore. When I was a child, my mother mated with a man and left the Amazon camp to live with him. They had no money and so they…sold me, time and time again,” she said, heat spreading over her cheeks. “I know the desire to never again be touched by another. Except you.”

“Oh, sweet. I am so sorry for what you endured. And you are not a whore. Never say such a thing.”

That gentle tone brought tears to her eyes. “If I cannot, you cannot.”

“Agreed.” He wrapped his arm around her, careful of her injuries. “You once told me your family had destroyed you, that you had killed them for it, but until now, I had no idea they’d done such things to you.”

She flattened her palm against his chest, exactly as she’d wanted to do all these months while watching him. His heart beat fast and hard. “Maybe we remind each other of what we were like, before. Unafraid, untainted. Maybe we see the future in each other and the past ceases to matter.”

He didn’t reply, which disappointed her. Instead, he settled her onto the blankets and sat up. Old fears surfaced. Did he not want a future with her? Was that what his silence signified? Did he—

He traced a fingertip along her spine, and she shivered. “All healed,” he said huskily. “And now, all mine.”

Thank the gods. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if he’d rebuffed her as she’d once done him. You should not have doubted him. Even for a moment.

She wouldn’t. Not ever again.

“Make love to me, Zane.” She’d never been with a man of her choosing. Never given herself completely. She was suddenly desperate to know what that was like. With this man. Only this man, who was surely a gift from the heavens, even amid her curse. “Please. Let us join.”

“Forever.”

“Forever.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

ZANE FLIPPED NOLA TO HER back so that she was peering up at him. A gasp escaped her, but she didn’t try to scramble away, even though he loomed above her, dressed in his blood-splattered battle clothes while she was naked.

Her breasts were small but firm, perfectly tipped with hard pink nipples. Her stomach was flat, her skin sun-kissed and smooth. He could see every ridge of her ribs and knew she hadn’t eaten since his departure six days ago. Damn her sisters! Had she not already been through enough torment, without her tribe adding to it?

He was going to burn away the images of what they’d done to her. Burn away the memories of the men who had used her. He would replace both with thoughts of himself. He didn’t care what he had to do to accomplish it.

“Have you ever experienced pleasure in the act?” he asked.

Up and down her chest rose with the force of her breathing. “A few times. Perhaps a little. But it was…”

“Say no more. I understand.” And he did. Even when you hated the person you were bedding, your body sometimes reacted.

“You?” Nola asked.

“Long, long ago.” He only prayed he remembered how to please his woman. With the demon queen, he hadn’t cared to try. He’d simply endured. Never had a female’s enjoyment been more important to him. “If I scare you, do something you don’t like, tell me.”

She nodded, nervously licked her lips. “You tell me, as well.”

It was his turn to nod. Rather than suck on her nipples as he desired, he lifted himself off her, reached behind him and tugged off his shirt. He tossed the material aside. His boots and pants quickly followed, leaving him as bare as she was.

Nola’s gaze traveled the length of him, and fire leapt inside her turquoise eyes. “Zane…”

“Afraid?”

“No. You won’t hurt me. I just wanted you to know I like what I see. You are beautiful. So pale and strong.”

Her trust emboldened him, as did her praise. Gently he eased atop her. Skin against skin, hardness against softness. They moaned in unison. Contact with anyone else, even his king, was hell. Contact with Nola was heaven. Her legs opened, allowing him a deep cradle.

So soft.

“I want to kiss you now,” he rasped.

Only when she whispered her consent did he lean down and press his lips against hers. Softly at first, barely even a touch. But the sweet scent of her was in his nose, her nipples hard against his chest, her thighs pliant against his, and soon he had to have more. He licked at her, and her lips eagerly parted. His tongue glided past teeth to intertwine with hers.

He’d had her blood, but he’d never had her mouth. To his delight, this was even better. Sweeter, headier, not for living or healing or even to relieve hunger, but simply for pleasure. It was addictive, and he wondered how he’d gone without this for so long.

Tentatively, she tangled her hands in his hair. And at first, her tongue was hesitant against his. Seeking, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it. But the more he explored her mouth, the bolder she became. Soon their teeth were banging together, their bodies writhing against each other. Sweat was beading over his skin, his blood heating as though lava flowed in his veins.

“Going to…suck your…breasts now,” he managed to say between pants. “Like that?”

“Yes. Yes.” She, too, was panting. She, too, was sweating. Her eyes were closed and her head was thrashing from side to side.

I did that. Pride filled him as he lowered his head, fitting his lips around one tight little pearl. He laved it with attention before turning to the other one—careful, so careful to deliver pleasure without any sting.

When he kissed his way down her stomach, she quivered and gasped his name.

“Stop?” he asked. It would be difficult, but he would find a way.

“More.”

Thank the gods. Never had he been more determined in his life. He would know this woman, every inch of her. Nothing would be prohibited. Body, mind…soul. Mouth watering, he licked between her legs. Wet, wild, wanton.

A memory of doing this very thing to the demon queen slipped into his mind. Do not think about the demon. She has no place in this wondrous moment. He’d once hated this act—until he’d tried it on Nola on that island. Oh, how he had enjoyed doing so, which had shocked him. Since then, he’d craved it—another shock. He wanted this to last forever. Nola was precious, a treasure, her cries a drug for his ears.

“Like?” Please, please, please.

“Mmm, yes. Before, they just ripped at my clothes and shoved their way—”

“No, no. None of that.” As she’d spoken, she’d stopped writhing. Had released her death grip on his hair. “That does not belong between us. It’s just you and me in this bed. You and me.”

Her eyes were luminous as she nodded. “Bite me, then. Take my blood and remind me that my vampire is claiming me.”

“No. No, I can’t.”

“Because you do not take from living beings?” she asked hesitantly.

“You, I would gladly take from. Anytime you would have me.” It was the truth. “But as I told you, I know your kind abhors that, and I will never ask you to do anything you do not want to do. I will find my nourishment elsewhere.”

“No!” she shouted, and it was a soldier’s cry. She might appear delicate, but she truly had the soul of a warrior. “You will only ever take from me.”

A possessive warrior, he realized, wanting to grin. He crawled up her body, fit his cock against her moist entrance. “I will only ever crave you, sweet. That much is true. Are you ready for me?”

“Yes. I need you inside me. I need to feel you, as deep as you can go. Your shaft—and your teeth. Take all of me. Please.”

Oh, that please… He’d seen the way her expression softened when he’d uttered that word. Now she thought to use it against him, bless her.

Inch by inch, he sank inside her, careful, meticulous. Never had he exercised such exquisite care. Finally, though, he was in her to the hilt. They were joined; they were one. She surrounded him, hot and tight and wet, and it was better than he’d anticipated.

Tenderly he cupped her face. Her beautiful face. His thumbs brushed over her lips. He would care for her all the days of his life. He would ensure no one ever hurt her again.

“Ready for more?”

“With you? Always.”

He withdrew from her, almost all the way out, before sinking back in and groaning at the bliss. Her back arched, and her perfect white teeth nibbled on her bottom lip. Her head fell to the side, revealing the delicious plane of her neck. Still he did not bite her. He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t do that to her.

In and out he moved, in and out he savored her. He stared into her eyes the entire time, and she stared into his. It was as if they were each other’s anchor. As if seeing each other kept them here, locked in the moment, just the two of them, safe and cherished. There was nothing else, no one else, the fruition of every secret yearning he’d ever possessed.

“Bite,” she commanded.

“No. You are still healing.”

“No, I am healed. You told me so. Bite me. I want it. I need it. Don’t deny me this. Please, don’t deny me this.”

“Nola—”

“Please, Zane. Please. With you, nothing seems wrong. Don’t make me beg.”

He could not stand the thought of this strong woman begging for anything. He bit, fangs drilling into her neck. The sweetness of her taste exploded on his tongue, through his body, making his muscles quiver and his bones vibrate.

“Zane,” she cried as her inner walls spasmed around his shaft. “Zane, Zane.” Her hands clutched at his back, her nails digging into his muscles. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Nola!” That was all his body needed to propel into its own release. He roared, shooting inside her, filling her up with everything that he was. In that moment, his entire existence made sense. He’d been born to be this woman’s mate. He’d given himself to a demon to better understand this precious woman’s pain. He’d been chosen for the gods’ cruel game to ensure this woman’s survival.

He loved her. Would always love her.

And now, he thought, an idea springing to life, he would save her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

NOLA CUDDLED AGAINST Zane’s body, happier than she’d ever been in her life. She’d just made love. Truly made love. And it had been amazing. Her body had hummed with pleasure, and her mind had soared to the heavens.

Only once had she considered her past, and Zane had quickly defeated the memories, as only a strong, fierce warrior could. No one had ever made her feel as protected or as prized as this man had.

She hadn’t thought such feelings possible, actually.

“Zane,” she said, grinning. She was buzzing with joy, drunk with it, and just might smile for the rest of her life. “Thank you.”

“I did do a good job, didn’t I?”

It was the first time he’d ever teased her, and she liked it. A laugh bubbled from her; she couldn’t hold it back. Soon she was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Laughter.

Shocking.

Zane’s lips were twitching. “Some men would take this as a criticism of their performance.”

Only when her giggles subsided did she say, “But as you know you did a good job…”

“I’m not one of them,” he agreed.

They shared a grin. What a tranquil, amazing moment. The first she’d ever had. But she knew it would be the first of many.

His arms tightened around her. “You said every time you admitted something about me, you were freed from some part of your curse.”

“Yes.” Reminded of her plight, some of the happiness drained from her.

He arched a brow. “Then do you have something else to admit to me?”

“Oh. Well… I—” Nola sat up and peered down at him. No longer did he appear so confident and joyous. His expression was blank. No, not blank. Fear was sparking in the depths of his eyes. For some reason, seeing it gave her courage. “I love you. I love you so much I ache with it.” The words tumbled from her; she couldn’t stop them. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I want to make love to you every night and wake up to you every morning. And I don’t want you to think I’m saying this only because I wish to lift the curse. I’m not.”

“You are too honest for such a trick.” He grabbed her and rolled her under him. “And just so you know, I love you, too. So much I would die without you. You are my life, my heart, my everything. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

She hadn’t dared dream of having a man like him, or a life like they would surely lead, not even as a child. It had seemed too much to ask, too unattainable, and she had preferred to wallow in her sorrows rather than risk hope.

“The gods didn’t take your ability from you, you know,” she said. “Not completely. You can still create dreams. For the first time in my life, I see joy in my future.”

“Oh, Nola. You are my joy.”

With another laugh, she threw her arms around him and rolled him to his back. Her dark hair fell around him, forming a curtain that left only the two of them—just the way she liked it.

They made love twice more and spent several hours simply talking and getting to know each other better, before dressing and emerging from the tent. Night had fallen, but vampire warriors still patrolled the area.

She froze in place. “Zane. I don’t know about this.”

“We must speak with Layel,” he said, remaining beside her. “Inform him that you will be coming with us.”

“If I can.”

“You can.”

He sounded confident. “How do you know?”

“You admitted you loved me.”

“Yes, but that might not be the admission needed to free me from this camp.”

He ignored her, perhaps sensing there was nothing he could say to assuage her fears. “Now, where is that king of mine?”

Distraction. He did know her well. Nola spotted the king and her sister in front of the fire, and gulped. There was no love lost between herself and Delilah. Nola had once tried to murder Layel, after all. “Will they…what if…”

Zane captured her hand with his own and squeezed. “They will love and welcome you or we will find somewhere else to live.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to lose everything you hold dear because of me.”

“Nola,” he said, forcing her to look up at him. “You are all that I hold dear. Nothing else matters to me.”

Tears burned her eyes. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“It is I who is undeserving. But you have my word, I will do everything in my power to prove myself worthy of you.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You already have.”

“Nola,” she heard Delilah call.

Zane wrapped his arms around her, keeping her in the protection of his embrace as they started forward. The blue-haired warrioress was walking toward her, expression blank. Layel stayed close on her heels, a blade in his hand, as protective of his woman as Zane was of Nola.

“You are well?” Delilah said, looking her over.

“Yes. And you?”

“Yes.” And then Delilah was there, grinning, pushing Zane aside to hug her tightly. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Nola glanced at Zane and he gave her a nod of encouragement. Biting her lip, Nola hugged her sister back. Shocking, she thought again.

“I thought I was going to have to burst into that tent and give Zane a stern talking-to,” Delilah said, pulling back, grin widening. “But the moans were of pleasure rather than rebuke, so Layel was able to hold me back.”

Nola’s cheeks heated.

So did Zane’s, she noticed. And for some reason, that eased her own embarrassment. They were in this together.

Layel slapped him on the back. Zane stiffened for a moment, then relaxed against Nola. “Good man,” the king said with a laugh. “Doing our people proud.”

“Well, shall we go home?” Delilah asked. She rubbed her belly, which Nola suddenly realized was not quite as flat as she remembered. “As protector of this little hellion, I am not the soldier I once was and prefer the comfort of my own bed.”

A baby. Nola again glanced at Zane. He offered a soft smile—one that promised they, too, would one day experience such a joy. “Congratulations, Delilah. I am so happy for you.”

Delilah beamed. “Thank you.”

The warrioress and her husband shared a tender smile before Layel escorted her a few feet away, to where the horses were chewing on grass. “Zane? Will you be joining us?”

“Is Nola welcome?”

“She is.” No hesitation.

“Then, yes. We shall try.”

Whether the king understood or not, he merely nodded. “Back to the palace, men,” he called.

Zane helped Nola atop his horse, then swooped up behind her. Nervousness skidded through her when they began moving. First Layel and Delilah disappeared beyond the trees, then the vampire troops. Soon their turn would come…soon she would know if she was still bound to the camp.

“Zane,” she said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.

He didn’t say a word, just urged the horse into a quicker pace. And then they were past the trees, just like everyone else. They were in the forest, foliage surrounding them, heading away from their captivity.

“We did it! We’re free! We’re really free!”

“As I knew we would be.” He kissed the top of her head. “The gods are not the cruel monsters I imagined. How can they be, when they paired us together?”

Thank you, she mouthed to the top of the dome. Not once did she look back. There was too much to look forward to. “I love you, Zane. So much.”

“And I love you. It will be my pleasure to prove it to you, over and over again.”

“Even when mating season ends?” she teased.

He squeezed her tight. “I have a feeling our mating season will last for eternity, sweet.”

So did she. Oh, yes, so did she.

THE DARKEST PRISON

PROLOGUE

REYES, ONCE AN IMMORTAL warrior for the gods, now possessed by the demon of Pain and living in Budapest, entered his bedroom. He was drenched in sweat and panting from the force of his workout. Because he could not experience pleasure without physical suffering, the burn in his muscles had excited him. Was exciting him.

As always, his gaze sought out his woman, and he palmed the blade they preferred to use during their loveplay. She was sitting at the edge of their big bed, lovely features drawn tight as she studied the canvas in front of her. A canvas she’d propped on an easel and lowered so that she had a direct view. Blond hair fell to her shoulders in wild disarray, as if she’d tangled her fingers through the thick mass multiple times, and she was chewing on her bottom lip.

Sex could wait, he decided then. She was troubled, and he would be unable to think of anything else until he’d solved this dilemma for her. Whatever it was. He sheathed the blade.

“Something wrong, angel?”

Her eyes lifted and landed on him, worry in their emerald depths. She offered him a small smile. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, why don’t I help you figure it out?” Anything that bothered her, he would dispatch. No hesitation. For her happiness, he would do anything, kill anyone.

“I would like that, thank you.”

“Shall I shower before I join you?”

“No. I like you just how you are.”

Darling woman. But he didn’t like the thought of dirtying her pretty clothes. He quickly grabbed a towel from the bathroom and rubbed himself dry. Only then did he settle behind his woman, his legs encasing hers, his arms wrapping around her waist. Breathing deeply of her wild storm scent, he rested his chin in the hollow of her neck and followed the direction of her gaze.

What he saw surprised him.

It shouldn’t have. Her paintings were always vivid. As the All-Seeing Eye, an oracle of the gods and one of their most cherished aides, she could peer into heaven and Hell. And did, every night, though she had no control over what she witnessed. Past, present, future, it didn’t matter. Every morning, she painted what she’d seen.

This one was of a man. A warrior, clearly. With that muscle mass, he had to be. A gold collar circled his neck, cinching tight. He was on his knees, legs spread. His arms rested on his thighs, palms raised. His dark head was thrown back, and he was roaring up at a domed ceiling. In pain, perhaps. Maybe even fury. There was blood smeared all over his chest, seeping from multiple wounds. Wounds that looked as if his skin had been carved away.

“Who is he?” Reyes asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.”

Then they would reason this out as best they were able. “Was he from heaven or Hell?”

“Heaven. Definitely. I think he’s in Cronus’s throne room.”

A god, then? A few months ago, Titans had overthrown the Greeks and seized control of the divine throne. So, if this man was in Cronus’s throne room, chained up, hurt, and Cronus was leader of the Titans, that must mean the warrior was a Greek. A slave who had been punished, perhaps?

“You saw only this image?” Reyes asked. “Not what got him to this point?”

“Correct,” Danika said with a nod. “I heard him scream, though. It was…” She shuddered, and his arms squeezed her in comfort. “I felt so sorry for him. Never have I heard so much rage and helplessness.”

“We can summon Cronus.” Cronus wasn’t too fond of Reyes and his fellow Lords of the Underworld—the very men who had opened Pandora’s box, unleashing the evil from inside. The men who had then been cursed to carry that evil inside themselves. But the god king hated their enemy, the Hunters, more, because Danika had seen Galen, the leader of the Hunters, chop off Cronus’s head in a vision. Now the god king was determined to kill Galen before Galen could kill him. Even if that meant soliciting the aid of the Lords. “We can ask him if he knows this man.”

A moment passed while Danika pondered his suggestion. Finally, she sighed, nodded. “Yes. I’d like that.” Then she surprised him by turning to him and offering the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. Well, all of her smiles were that way. “But it’s too early in the morning to summon anyone, and besides, I think you had other things on your mind when you entered the room. Why don’t you tell me about them?” she suggested huskily.

He was rock hard in seconds—that’s what she did to him. “That would be my pleasure, angel.”

She pushed him to his back, smile widening. “And mine.”

CHAPTER ONE

“BE STILL, NIKE. YOU’RE ONLY making this worse for yourself.” Atlas, Titan god of Strength, stared down at the bane of his existence. Nike, Greek goddess of Strength. And Victory, he inwardly sneered. She loved to remind him that many called her the goddess of Strength and Victory. As if she were better than him. In reality, she was his godly counterpart. His equal. His enemy. And an all-around grade-A bitch.

Two of his best men held her arms and two held her legs. They should have been able to pin her without incident. She was collared, after all, and that collar prevented her from using any of her immortal powers. Even her legendary strength—strength that was not on par with his, thank you. But never had a female been more stubborn—or more determined to fell him. She continually struggled against their hold, punching, kicking and biting like a cornered animal.

“I will kill you for this,” she growled at him.

“Why? I’m not doing anything to you that you didn’t once have done to me.” Motions clipped, Atlas tore his shirt over his head and tossed the material aside, revealing his chest, the ropes of his stomach. There, in the center, in big black letters spanning from one tiny brown nipple to the other, was her name, spelled out for all the world to see. N-I-K-E.

She’d branded him, reduced him to her property.

Had he deserved it? Maybe. Once, he’d been a prisoner in this bleak realm. In Tartarus, a divine dungeon. He’d been a god overthrown and locked away, forgotten, no better than rubbish. He’d wanted out, and he had been willing to do anything to see it done. Anything. So he had seduced Nike, one of his guards, using her amorous feelings for him against her.

Though she would deny it now, she truly had fallen a little in love with him. The proof: she’d arranged his escape, a crime punishable by death. Yet she’d been willing to risk it. For him. Only, just before she could remove his collar, allowing him to flash himself away—moving from one place to another with only a thought—she discovered that he had also seduced several other female guards.

Why rely on one to get the job done when four could serve him better?

He’d counted on the fact that none of the Greek females would want their affair with an enslaved Titan known. He’d counted on their silence.

What he should have done was count on their jealousy. Women.

Nike had realized she’d been used, that his emotions had never really been engaged. Rather than throw him back into his cell and pretend he did not exist, rather than have him beaten, she’d had him held down and marked permanently.

For years he’d dreamed of returning the favor. Sometimes he thought the desire was the only thing that kept him sane as he whiled away century after century in this hellhole. Alone, darkness his only companion.

Imagine his delight when the prison walls began to crack. When the defenses began to crumble. When their collars fell away. It had taken a while, but he and his brethren had finally managed to work their way free. They’d attacked the Greeks, brutally and without mercy.

In a matter of days, they had won.

The Greeks were defeated and now locked exactly where they’d locked the Titans. Atlas had volunteered to oversee the realm and had thankfully been placed in charge. Finally, his day of vengeance had arrived. Nike would forever bear his mark.

“You should be grateful you’re alive,” he told her.

“Fuck you.”

He smiled slowly, evilly. “You’ve done that, remember?”

Her struggles increased. Increased so viciously she was soon panting and sweating right alongside his men. “You bastard! I will flay you alive. I will torch you to ash. Bastard!”

“Flip her over,” he ordered the guards over her curses. No mercy. Atlas didn’t have the patience to wait until she tired. “And a warning to you, Nike. You had best be still. I’ll just keep tattooing until my name is clear enough to satisfy me.”

With a frustrated, infuriated screech, she finally settled down. She knew he spoke true. He always spoke true. Threats were not something he wasted his breath uttering. Only promises.

“Bastard,” she rasped again.

He’d been called worse. And by her, no less. “That’s a good girl.” Atlas strode forward and ripped the cloth from her back. The skin was tanned, smooth. Flawless. Once, he’d caressed this back. Once, he’d kissed and licked it. And yes, being with her had been more satisfying than being with any of the others, because she’d looked at him with such adoration, such hope and awe. He’d felt…humbled. Lucky to be there, touching her. But he would not be ruled by his dick and release her before branding her, all in the hopes that he could get her into bed again.

He would do this.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“That’s not what I did to you,” Nike growled. “I didn’t mark your back.”

“You would rather I brand your lovely breasts?”

At that, she held her tongue.

Good. He didn’t want to mar her chest. Her breasts were a work of art, surely the world’s finest creation. “No need to thank me,” he muttered. He held out his hand and someone slapped the needed supplies in his palm. “At least you won’t have to look at my name every day of your too-long life.” As he had to do. “Everyone else will, though. They’ll see.” And they’ll know who mastered her at last.

“Every lover I choose, you mean.”

He popped his jaw. “Not another word from you. It is time.”

“Don’t do this,” she suddenly cried. “Please. Don’t.” She turned her head and there were tears in her brown eyes.

She wasn’t a beautiful woman. Could barely be called pretty. Her nose was a little too long, and her cheeks a little too sharp. She had ordinary brown hair cut to hit her too-wide shoulders, and no true curves to speak of. Besides her breasts. No, she had the body of a warrior. But there was something about her that had always drawn him.

“Please, Atlas. Please.”

He rolled his eyes. “Dry the fake tears, Nike.” And he knew they were fake. She wasn’t prone to displays of emotion. “They don’t affect me and they certainly don’t become you.”

Instantly her eyelids narrowed, the tears miraculously gone. “Fine. But I will make you regret this. I vow it.”

“I’m looking forward to your attempts.” Truth. Sparring with her had always excited him. She should know that by now.

Without a single beat of hesitation, he pressed the ink gun just below her shoulder blade. His grip was steady as he etched the outline of the first letter. A. Not once did she flinch. Not once did she act as if she felt a single ounce of pain. He knew it hurt, though. Oh, did he know. To permanently mark an immortal, ambrosia had to be mixed into the colored liquid and that ambrosia burned like acid.

She remained silent as he finished each of the outlines. Silent, still, as he filled in the letters. When he finished, he sat back on his haunches and surveyed his work: A-T-L-A-S.

He expected satisfaction to overtake him, so long had he waited for this moment. It didn’t. He expected relief to overwhelm him; finally vengeance had been achieved. It didn’t. What he didn’t expect was a white-hot sweep of possessiveness, but that’s exactly what he experienced. Mine.

Nike now belonged to him. Forever. And all the world would know it.

CHAPTER TWO

NIKE PACED THE CONFINES of her cell. A cell she shared with several others. Knowing her temper as intimately as they did, they were careful to stay out of her way. Still. Roommates sucked. She could feel their eyes boring into her robe-clad back, as if they could see the name now branded there.

A-T-L-A-S.

If they dared say a single word about it… I will kill them!

There hadn’t been enough cells to contain all of the Greeks, so they’d been crammed into each chamber in groups. Male, female, it hadn’t mattered. Maybe the Titans hadn’t cared about the mixing of the sexes, or maybe they’d done it to increase the torment of each prisoner. The latter was probably the case. Husbands had not been paired with wives and friend had not been paired with friend. No, rival had been paired with rival.

For her, that rival was Erebos, the minor god of Darkness. Once, Erebos had treated her like a queen. Once, she’d really liked him. Had even considered marrying him. But then she’d fallen in love with Atlas—that womanizing, lying bastard Atlas—so she’d cut Erebos loose. Then she’d discovered that Atlas had never really wanted her, that Atlas had only been using her.

Love had quickly morphed into rage.

The rage, though, had eventually cooled. She’d forgotten him. For the most part. Liar. Now, with his name decorating her back, she hated him with every fiber of her being.

Maybe—maybe—she’d overreacted when she’d done the same to him. Branded him forever. Impulsiveness had always been her downfall. For years, she’d even regretted her decision. Not that she would ever admit such a thing to him. Regret was not what she felt now, however.

She hadn’t lied to him. She would kill him for this.

First, she would have to find a way to remove the stupid collar around her neck. As long as she wore it, she was powerless. The thick gold did not remove her god-given abilities, but merely muted them. Substantially. Too substantially. Second, she would have to find a way to escape this realm.

The first, in theory, should have been easy. Yet she’d already tried clawing and beating at it, and had even attempted to melt it from her neck. All she’d done was cut her skin, bruise her tender flesh and singe her hair off. She should have known that’s what would happen. How many times had she watched Titan prisoners try the same things? The second, in theory and reality, seemed impossible.

Her gaze circled her surroundings. After the Titans had escaped, they’d reinforced everything. How, she didn’t know. The prison was supposedly bound to Tartarus, the Greek god of Confinement who’d once kept guard over the Titans, and when he’d begun to weaken for no apparent reason, the realm had weakened, as well. Everything in it became structurally unsound. But now, Tartarus was missing. The Titans didn’t have him and no one knew where he was. There was no reason the realm should be as strong as it was in his absence.

The walls and floor were comprised of godly stone, something only special godly tools—tools she didn’t have—could break through. And yet, even without Tartarus’s presence, there was not a crack in sight.

The thick silver bars that allowed a glimpse of the guard’s station below had been constructed by Hephaistos, and only Hephaistos could melt such a metal. Unfortunately, he resided somewhere else. As with Tartarus, no one knew where. Still, without Tartarus, she should have been able to bend that metal. She couldn’t; she’d already tried.

“Could you settle the hell down?” Erebos grumbled from one of the cots.

Nike flicked him a glance. From his dark hair to his dark skin, from his handsome features to his strong body, he was the picture of unhappy male, and all of that unhappiness was directed at her.

“No,” she replied. “I can’t.”

“We’re trying to plan an escape here.”

They were always planning an escape.

“Besides,” he continued, “your ugly face is giving me a headache.”

“Go suck yourself,” she replied. Though she’d been the one to hurt him all those centuries ago—unintentionally—he’d repaid her a thousand times over. Purposely. Not emotionally, but physically. He liked nothing better than to “accidentally” trip her, bump into her and send her flying, as well as to eat what little portion of food was meant for her before she could fight her way to the front of the line, starving her.

If she hadn’t been wearing the collar, he never would have been able to do those things. She would have been too strong. And he would have been too scared. Another reason to despise her captivity.

“Sucking myself would probably elicit better results than when you did it,” he retorted.

The handful of gods and goddesses around him snickered.

“Whatever,” she said, as if the taunt didn’t bother her. Except, her cheeks did flush. She was the epitome of Strength—or she was supposed to be—and she’d always been more mannish than feminine. That was why Atlas’s attentions had so surprised and delighted her. That gorgeous man could have won anyone, yet he’d chosen her. Or so she’d thought. And she’d fallen for his act because he’d somehow made her feel like a delicate, beautiful woman.

Stupid. I was so stupid.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a black-clad male stride into the guard’s station. She didn’t have to see him to know who it was. Atlas. She felt him. Always she felt his heat.

When her gaze found him, she discovered that he had his arm wrapped around a leggy blonde. A blonde who cuddled herself into his side as if she belonged there—and had rested there many times before.

The thought angered Nike. It shouldn’t have; she despised Atlas with all of her being and didn’t care who he slept with. Didn’t care who he pleasured. And yes, he would have pleasured the blonde with those talented hands and seeking lips. He was an amazing lover whose touch still haunted Nike’s dreams. But there it was. Anger.

She didn’t mean to, but found herself striding to the bars and gripping them for a better, closer look at him. Three other guards stood around him, all talking and laughing. While prisoners wore white, guards wore black, and he wore that darkness well. It was the perfect complement to his dark, chopped hair and sea-colored eyes.

His face had been chiseled by a master artist, everything about him perfectly proportioned. His eyes were the perfect distance apart, his nose the perfect length, his cheeks the perfect sharpness, his lips the perfect shape and color and his chin a perfect, stubborn square.

He was perfect while she was nothing but flaws.

She should have known he was playing her the moment he’d turned those dangerous eyes on her and they lit with “interest.” Men just didn’t look at her like that. Not even Erebos had, and he had loved her.

“Bastard,” she muttered, the curse for both the men in her past.

As if he heard her, Atlas lifted his gaze. The moment their eyes met, she wanted to release the bars. She wanted to step away, out of sight. But she didn’t allow herself that luxury. That would have been cowardly, and this man had seen her weak one too many times.

Just to taunt him, and hopefully make him feel as out of control as he always made her feel, she allowed her attention to fall to his chest, exactly where her name rested. She smiled smugly before raising her gaze and arching a brow.

Score. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

What does your lover think of your mark? she wanted to shout. What does the blonde think of my name on your body?

He jerked the stupid blonde deeper into his side and, without breaking eye contact with Nike, planted a lush, wet kiss on her mouth. Of course, the bitch reacted as any other woman would have. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life. As Nike well knew, that man could make a woman come with the expertise of his kiss.

Nike’s anger intensified. Had she been able, she would have stomped down there and ripped them apart. Then she would have killed them both. Not because she wanted Atlas for herself—she didn’t—but because he was clearly using yet another woman. Passion did not glow from his expression. Only determination did.

Nike would be doing the female population a favor by snuffing him out.

“Erebos,” she called. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”

“What?” he gasped out, his shock clear.

“Do you want a kiss or not? Get over here. Quickly.”

There was a rustling of clothing behind her and then her former lover was beside her. He was a prisoner, and sex was a rarity. He would take what he could get, even from someone he loathed. That much she knew.

Nike turned to him; he was already leaning down. Like the blonde, she wrapped her arms around her companion’s neck and held on tight. Only, she didn’t enjoy the kiss, familiar as it was. Erebos’s taste was too…what? Different from Atlas’s, she realized, and that ratcheted her anger another notch. No man should have that much power over her.

Still. She let Erebos continue. Atlas needed to realize that she no longer desired him. He needed to realize that he would never, never play her emotions again. She was not an idealistic little girl anymore.

He’d made sure of that.

CHAPTER THREE

RAGE. ABSOLUTE RAGE FILLED Atlas. He released his companion—he couldn’t recall her name—and she gasped in protest at the abruptness of his actions. He didn’t bother explaining what he was about as he stomped away from her. The rage continued to spread as he climbed the stairs that led to the prisoners’ cages and to the cell holding Nike.

His name was on her back. How dare she allow another man to put his lips on her?

When he reached his destination, he raised his arm, and the sensor he’d had embedded in his wrist caused the bars to slide open. Several prisoners were seated against the far wall. Rapturous longing colored their faces as they watched the minor god of Darkness and the goddess of Strength clean each other’s tonsils. So absorbed were they, in fact, that they didn’t rush Atlas and try to escape. Or maybe that had something to do with the pain they would feel if they did so. He had only to press a button, and their collars would ravage their brains.

Nike moaned, as if she really liked what was being done to her. Red flickered through Atlas’s vision. How. Dare. She. Teeth grinding, he grabbed Nike by the collar of her robe and jerked her into the hard line of his body, away from Erebos.

A gasp escaped her. Unlike when the blonde had gasped, he did not remain unaffected. He wanted to swallow the sound—and do something, anything, to cause Nike to make it again.

What’s wrong with me?

“Hey,” Erebos snapped, foolishly reaching for her to finish what had been started. “We were busy.”

Scowling, Atlas kicked him in the chest. The smaller man flew backward, slamming into his fellow prisoners. The minor god jumped to his feet to attack, saw who had rendered the blow and stilled, nostrils flaring, hands fisting.

“Touch her again,” Atlas said calmly, though he was gritting the words out as if they were being pushed through a meat grinder, “and I’ll remove your collar. Right along with your head.”

The god paled, perhaps even whimpered. “I won’t go near her. She wasn’t worth it, anyway.”

Atlas might kill him for such an insult, as well. Her kisses were heaven, damn it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nike demanded, suddenly coming to life and drawing his attention. She whirled on him, glaring up at him. “I can sleep with whoever I want. And hey, guess what? I might even pick one of your friends. What do you think of that?”

Despite her heated claims, she wasn’t breathless as she would have been if Atlas had been the one kissing her, and her cheeks weren’t flushed. Her nipples weren’t even hard.

Finally, something cooled the hottest flames of his rage.

“Just zip your mouth.” He latched on to Nike’s upper arm and dragged her out of the cell with him. Automatically, the bars closed behind him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she said again, tugging against his hold. She’d never been one to obey him.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he countered. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he stopped. The blonde, who just happened to be the goddess of Memory—damn it, what was her name? Kneemah? No, but close. Nee Nee? Closer. Mnemosyne. Yes, that was it—Mnemosyne, as well as the three other warriors chosen to guard Tartarus today, were gaping at him.

“What?” he snapped. At least Nike stopped resisting him. She stilled at his side, attention darting from him to the others, the others to him.

“You can’t just remove a prisoner,” Hyperion, god of Light, said. He was a handsome man, though as pale as his title suggested, and Nike had better not be eyeing him as a possible bedmate.

“I’m not removing her,” Atlas replied stiffly. “I’m relocating her.” To a cell of her own, where no one could put their dirty, disgusting lips on her. Where no one could put their roving hands on her body. There was nothing…possessive about this decision, either. He simply didn’t want her experiencing any type of pleasure. She didn’t deserve it.

“Why?” Mnemosyne regarded him curiously, not a single thread of upset or jealousy in her expression.

Why? he wondered himself. Mnemosyne been eager to date him for months, summoning him constantly. Last night, she’d even shown up at his home naked. She was beautiful, yes, and he’d almost given in and slept with her. His body had been worked into a frenzy after what had transpired with Nike, after all, and he’d been desperate for release. But before he sealed the deal, he’d sent the determined goddess away. He’d felt too guilty to continue. As if he were cheating on Nike. Which was ridiculous. The only relationship he had with Nike was one of hate.

Besides, who wanted to spend time with a female who would never forget your mistakes? A female who would remember your every transgression? A female who could spin new, false memories into your mind, making you believe whatever she wished. Not him. Yet he’d flashed to Mnemosyne’s home this morning and asked her to spend the day with him, just so he could bring her to the prison this morning. He’d been strangely jubilant at the thought of parading her in front of Nike.

So again, he wondered why Mnemosyne did not feel as if Nike were a threat. Most females didn’t, he knew. He’d heard them talk. Nike was too tall, too muscled, they said. She was too hard, and too coarse. But those were the things that had first sparked his interest in her. She could handle his strength. She gave as good as she got. She would never wither under his glare. She would never run from his anger. She would always face him head-on. And he liked that. A lot. No other female he’d ever encountered had that kind of courage.

And she was pretty, he thought. Yes, only yesterday he’d thought her barely so, but, just now, that seemed wrong on every level. Only a short while ago, when he’d first walked into the prison, he’d felt her gaze on him and had looked up. For a second, only a second, her defenses had been lowered. She hadn’t known he’d been watching her, so she hadn’t guarded her expression. An expression that had been soft, wistful, her eyes luminous.

The sight of her had heated his blood as if he’d been caught on fire.

That still didn’t mean he desired her, his enemy. The fact that his name was spelled across her back was simply playing havoc with his mind, he was sure.

“Well,” Mnemosyne prompted.

“Yeah,” Nike said. “We’re waiting for an answer.”

“Shut up, prisoner,” Mnemosyne snapped. She was sister to Rhea, the god queen, and an elitist. Always had been. She loved power and strength above all else, and viewed most people as beneath her.

He wanted to scold her for using that tone with Nike, but didn’t. They were waiting for an answer to what? he wondered, thinking back over the conversation. Oh, yeah. Why was he moving Nike? He raised his chin, refusing to look down at her. Not that he would have had to look far. At six feet, she was nearly as tall as he was. “I don’t need a reason. I’m responsible for this prison and everyone in it. Therefore, if I want to move you, I can.”

The last was meant for the Titans. They would do well not to question him.

Without another word, he dragged Nike away.

“But Atlas,” Mnemosyne called.

He ignored her. Where should he take Nike? There were not many private places in this doomed structure. All of the cells were filled to capacity. That left—his office, he decided.

“You’re lucky I don’t have that bastard slain,” he said when they snaked a corner and he was sure the others couldn’t hear him.

Nike didn’t have to ask who “that bastard” was. “What for? He did nothing wrong.”

Nothing wrong? He touched what’s mine. “He didn’t have permission to consort with you.” There. An answer to pacify. Truthful, yet misleading. Atlas snaked another corner, and there at the end of the hallway was his door.

“Consort with me?” She laughed without humor. “Oh, wait. I get it. You can screw anyone you want, but I can’t.”

Good. They were on the same page. “That’s right.” He pushed his way inside, kicked the door shut and finally released her. His hands itched to return to her, but he kept them at his sides. Rather than settle behind his desk, he faced her, placing them nose to nose. “You are to suffer in solitude.” Gods, she smelled good. Like passion. Pure, white-hot passion.

“As if. I have more fun with myself, anyway.”

The image those words evoked nearly sent him to his knees. He should back away from her. Before he did something foolish.

Her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t changed, you know. You’re as much of an ass now as you were years ago.”

“However,” he continued, as if she hadn’t just insulted him. Foolishness be damned. She was here, and they were alone. “If you need to be kissed, I’ll take care of it.”

And, godsdamn it, that was the absolute truth.

CHAPTER FOUR

THERE WAS NO TIME to protest. In less time than it took to blink, Nike found herself smashed into the wall, Atlas pressing against her, solid chest to soft breasts, his hands pinning her temples, his mouth slamming into hers. His tongue thrust deep, without warning, forcing its way past her teeth.

She could have bitten him. Wanted to bite him, actually, and not in affection. She wanted to draw blood, pain. Instead, her body instantly became his slave, as if centuries of hatred hadn’t passed, and she welcomed him inside. She wound her arms around him and arched into his erection. Erection? Oh, yes. He was hard. Hard and long and thick. Just as she remembered.

His taste was decadent, wild and burning, like dark spices. His muscles were tensed under her palms. Up she moved them, until her fingers were tangled in his hair. The short spikes abraded deliciously, causing her to shiver.

Touch me, she wanted to shout. It had been so long, so damned long, since she’d experienced this. Oh, she’d been with other men since giving herself so foolishly to Atlas, because she’d been searching for something as intense as what they had shared. Something to soothe her, heal her even. But each experience had left her hollow and unsatisfied. She’d actually felt worse. And then she had been captured—by Atlas himself—and unceremoniously stuffed into this prison.

With the lack of privacy, there’d been no opportunities to find companionship. Not that she would have wanted to or had even tried. No one drew her anymore. No one but Atlas, damn him.

Yes, damn him. Him. The man who had held her down only yesterday and etched his name into her flesh. What was she doing, allowing this? He would think she still cared for him. He would think she still pined for him, dreamed of him…craved him. That might be true, curse it, but she would never allow him to know it.

Panting, she tore her mouth away. How dare you stop, her body cried. “I don’t want you,” she lied. “Let me go. Now.” Hold me forever.

A low growl erupted from his throat. “I don’t want you, either.” Once, twice, he rubbed his shaft against her. “But I’m not letting you go.”

Thank you.

Stupid body.

Tremors slid the length of her spine. Sweet heaven. He’d hit her sweet spot, and sensation rocketed through her. Then one of his hands lowered and cupped her breast, and her knees almost buckled.

“Why?” The word was a mere whimper. And why was she allowing him the choice? Why wasn’t she ripping away from him? You are Strength. Act like it.

“Why won’t I let you go?” He rolled her hardened nipple between his fingers.

That was why she remained as she was, she thought, dazed. The pleasure was building, flowing through her veins, burning her up, recreating her into a new being. Someone who lived for satisfaction alone. Someone who didn’t care that the one responsible for her desire was an enemy.

“Yes.”

“I just…I…” Those fingers tightened, stinging her a little. “Just shut up and kiss me again.”

“Yes,” she replied before she could stop herself.

Their mouths met again, and this time she rose on her tiptoes to meet him. As their tongues clashed and warred, he cupped her ass and lifted her feet off the floor. So strong he was. Forcing him to hold her weight would have been fun, but not nearly as pleasurable as winding her legs around his waist and pressing her needy core against his shaft.

Clever girl.

With her braced against the wall, he was able to tunnel both of his hands under her robe. Their bodies were too close together for him to reach her slick center, where she wanted him most, but having his hands on her cheeks, wanting skin against fiery skin, was almost as welcome. He was hotter than she remembered.

His lips left hers, but before she could moan her disappointment, he was kissing and licking his way down her neck.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes. Like that.”

“More?” His nose nuzzled the golden slave collar as if it were a trinket rather than a device that could kill her. For once, she even liked the collar.

“Yes.” More. At the moment, that was the only word she was capable of. Unless…did he think to make her beg?

Fury suddenly blended with desire. Well, she would show him. She would beg for nothing. Not even this. Especially this. Not for him.

“Then more you shall have,” he said, shocking her. She had not begged, yet he was giving her what she wanted. He tugged the fabric of her robe down, revealing her breasts. Air hissed through his teeth. “So lovely. So perfect.” His tongue flicked out and circled the nipple he’d pinched just a short while ago. “So mine.”

Her head fell back, and her nails scratched at his back. So good. The heat…the wetness…the—“Yes!” The suction. He was sucking at her so forcefully, her stomach muscles were quivering. No one else had been physically powerful enough to suit her. Their caresses had felt like whispers, barely there, utterly unsatisfying. “Atlas,” she groaned. “Don’t stop.” A command, not a plea.

“I won’t. I can’t.” He straightened, his narrowed gaze suddenly pinning her in place far more effectively than his body. “I want you. All of you.”

She struggled to regain her breath. Her senses. “You mean sex?” Yes, yes, yes. Here, now.

A clipped nod was the only answer she received. She opened her mouth to reply, but somehow found the strength to stop herself. She drank in the sight of him—a sight that delighted her almost as much as it angered her. Angered? Why? Her delight should be all-consuming. His nostrils were flared, his lips pulled tight. He looked as if he barely had himself under control. Nothing like he’d looked with Mnemosyne.

He truly wants me.

But…why? she wondered. Or was he merely that good an actor?

Yes, she mused darkly. He was that good an actor. And that was where the anger sprang from. He’d looked at her like that once before, the last time they’d had sex. That look had been the catalyst to her decision to free him, despite the consequences to herself. Consequences that could have resulted in a death sentence. But, she’d thought, he truly loves me with the same intensity that I love him. She’d thought anything worth the risk of freeing him. Of possibly being with him for eternity.

How they would have managed that, she hadn’t known. But she’d wanted to try. He had not.

Thank the gods she’d encountered one of the members of his skank parade mere minutes after escorting him from the building and into the clouds outside, where he would have been able to flash away. He’d still had his collar on—she hadn’t wanted to remove it until they’d bypassed every single guard. That way, everyone who saw them walking together would have assumed she was simply moving a prisoner.

But outside, they’d been seen. No one could flash out of or into the prison itself, so everyone had to walk through the front door. Aergia, the goddess of Laziness, of all things, had decided to come to work early, surprise, surprise—just to be with Atlas again. She’d stopped Nike to question where he was being taken.

I’m taunting him with what he can never have again, Nike had claimed.

The goddess had frowned. Well, take him to my office when you’re done.

Why?

The frown became a slow, sensual smile. So I can dish my brand of…punishment to him.

Dread had sparked inside her. And how do you punish him?

How do you think? But don’t worry. I’ll leave him begging for more. I always do.

Atlas had tried to run then, mowing right over them both, but with his collar still in place, he hadn’t gotten far. Nike had locked him back up and, suspicious, questioned all the female guards. Nearly every single one of them had had a go at him. And he’d told them all the same thing: You are beautiful. I want to spend my life with you. All I need is my freedom, and I will be your slave for eternity.

So, have sex with him again? “Hell, no.”

“You want me,” he snapped. His grip tightened on her, his fingers digging deep, bruising. “I know you do.”

Just like that, she knew what this little make-out session was about. He planned to sleep with her, make her fall in love with him all over again, and then dump her. He’d grind up her pride, spit it out and stomp all over it. Again. All to punish her, she was sure, for daring to tattoo him as she had. Marking her with his name clearly wasn’t enough.

“Wanting you dead and wanting your body aren’t the same things.” With a sugar-sweet grin, she patted his cheek. “And I can promise you that while I do want the first, I was only teasing you about the second.” Now who was playing who? “So…if we’re done here…? I believe there is a minor god awaiting my return.”

Atlas ran his tongue over his teeth. His arms fell away from her, and he stepped back. She nearly collapsed, but managed to shift her legs and absorb her own weight. Unaffected. That’s how she had to appear.

“We’re done,” he said, his tone clipped. “We are definitely done.”

Good, she thought. So why did she suddenly want to cry for real?

CHAPTER FIVE

ATLAS HAD TO EMPTY A CELL of its seven occupants and place those gods and goddesses within other, already cramped cells to make a place for Nike. The time and effort was worth it, though. He couldn’t tolerate the thought of her with that bastard Erebos, doing the same things to him that she’d once done to Atlas.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Ever.

And maybe, perhaps, there was a slight chance it had nothing to do with punishing her and everything to do with the pleasure he’d earlier denied. In her arms, he’d come alive. That had happened last time, too, but he’d written it off as prisoner insanity. Now, he couldn’t write it off. He wasn’t a prisoner; he was a warden. He’d come alive, and he needed more. Of her, only her. Yet she claimed she’d merely been playing him.

Fucking playing him. He wanted that to be a lie more than he wanted to take his next breath. Which he really wanted to take. He didn’t understand this. She was doomed to spend eternity hidden away, which meant they could not have any kind of life together. Not even if he freed her. He would then be locked away or put to death. Unlike her, that was not something he was willing to risk.

But that she had been, all those centuries ago…it was humbling. He still could not get over the emotion.

Surely she still wanted him.

For a week, Atlas lamented his plight and pondered what to do. All the while, he stayed away from Nike’s new cell. That didn’t stop him from thinking about her, however. What was she doing? Did she think of him? Did she dream of him and that shattering kiss?

He did. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the passion glowing from her face. A face that was exquisite. From barely passable, to pretty, to exquisite, all in a week’s time. He shook his head in wonder. But she deserved the praise. Her lashes were long and as rich as black velvet. Velvet that framed sensual chocolate eyes. Her cheeks were smooth, perfect for caressing, and her lush, red lips were sweeter than ambrosia. And all that strength…his shaft filled and lengthened just remembering it. She’d gripped and scratched him with savage abandon. He still bore the marks.

Fine. He had lied to her. They definitely weren’t done. Not even close. He had to experience that again.

Finally, he could stand the separation no longer. Thankfully, his shift was over. A shift that had consisted of walking the prison halls, watching the prisoners inside their cells and ensuring everyone remained calm.

That should have bored him. After all, he was a warrior. But bore him it didn’t. And that should have irritated him. After all, he’d spent countless centuries in this place and had sworn never to return once he’d escaped. But again, irritation was not what he felt. He’d wanted this job to be close to Nike. To have his vengeance, he’d once told himself. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Today, and all week really, he’d walked the halls invigorated, knowing all he had to do to catch sight of her was turn a corner.

He hadn’t allowed himself to do so. Until now. Finally, he would see her.

The moment she came into view, his blood heated, blistering. His breath followed suit, flaming his lungs to ash. She sat atop her cot, arms gripping the rail, knees drawn up while she leaned slightly forward. Her hair was finger-combed to perfection, and her eyes were narrowed, shielding her irises and the emotion banked there, but at least he could see the shadows her lashes cast over her cheeks. Shadows he might trace with a fingertip. Or his tongue.

Oh, yes. She was exquisite.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Her voice was smooth as silk. Just beneath that silk, however, he thought he caught a tendril of fury.

Was she mad that he’d come? Or mad that he’d stayed away so long?

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Though Mnemosyne was still trying to change that.

Even though he pushed her away every damn time.

Nike shrugged. “Too bad for you that whores never commit.”

He knew he was the whore that she spoke of, and popped his jaw. But he deserved that, he supposed. “I did what I had to do to escape, Nike. That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel—” No. Oh, no. He would not go down that road. He hadn’t wanted to feel anything for her, but he had. That hadn’t stopped him from using her, so she’d never like what he had to say about the matter. “I’m sure you’d do anything to escape, as well.”

Her expression darkened, but she did not refute his words. “So, did you come to free me?”

“Hardly.”

“Then why are you here? We have nothing more to say to each other.”

Because you’re all I think about anymore. He never should have marked her. This might have been avoided. Or not. He might have slept with others all those years ago because he’d been desperate to flee this place, but it had been her face he’d imagined when he’d done so.

Without looking away from her, he leaned back against the bar behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s plenty to say. About the kiss.”

She yawned, patting her beautiful mouth. A mouth he wanted all over his body. “I’d rather sleep.”

So. She still wanted him to think she had been unaffected. Part of him believed it. An insecure part of him that had never really known how to deal with her, his equal in every way. Yes, even strength, though he often liked to deny it. The other part of him, the masculine part, knew she had liked everything he’d done. She’d shouted his name, for gods’ sake, and he hadn’t even made her climax.

“You’re saying you don’t want me?” he asked as silkily as she had.

“Not even a little.”

“Really?” He rested his fingers at the waist of his pants, twisting the button, and her eyes followed the movement. His cock was already hard, already straining, rising over the top. Moisture glistened there. “Not even a tiny, tiny bit?”

She gulped. “N-no.” The word was croaked. “But you are. Tiny, that is.”

Liar. She did. She wanted him. And he was huge, thank you very much. He stretched her. The sense of possessiveness returned, all the more intense because it was joined by satisfaction.

“I’ll have you yet, Nike. That I promise you.”

“Just…go away,” she said, suddenly sounding almost…dejected. She eased to her side, then rolled to her back, facing away from him. “We’re done with each other. Remember?”

Wrong move. Seeing her back, even covered by that baggy robe, reminded him of what he’d done and that set fire to his blood anew. Whatever he had to do, he was going to have this woman.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he told her before walking away.

To think. To plan.

CHAPTER SIX

ATLAS PUSHED PAST the double doors that led into Cronus’s throne room. Armed guards, immortal warriors Cronus himself had created, were stationed along the edges of the walls. Each held a spear, and swords swung from the sheaths at their waists. They stood at attention, waiting for an order or a threat. They would spring into action for both.

Of course, there were also warriors lining both sides of the purple lamb’s fleece carpet that led to the bejeweled dais, crowding Atlas as he made his way forward. His weapons had already been removed, but they were taking no chances, eyeing his every movement with distrust.

He wondered if, when she had been a free woman, Nike had ever been summoned to this room, albeit to meet with Zeus, her king. And if she had, had it been for a reward or a punishment?

Stop thinking about her. Concentrate on Cronus. He’s wily, that one. The god king was not the same man he’d been before his incarceration. The thousands of years inside Tartarus had changed him; he was harder, harsher. Utterly unforgiving. Any weakness, he pounced upon.

Nowadays, Cronus refused to stay in the heavens without an army to shield him. But then, a man at war with his own wife couldn’t be too careful. Especially when that wife was a queen with powerful abilities and allies of her own. A wife who—

Dizziness spun through Atlas’s head, fragmenting his thoughts, and he frowned. Frowned but didn’t stop until he reached the end of the fleece. He kept his attention, foggy as it was, fixed on Cronus. What was wrong with him?

The king was seated atop a throne of solid gold. Dark strands were threaded through his silver hair, and his beard had thinned since the last time Atlas had seen him. Some of the age lines had even disappeared from his weathered features. He wore a long white robe, much like the prisoners of Tartarus. Why? Atlas had often wondered.

Only two explanations made any sense. Cronus had worn the garment for centuries and now felt most comfortable in it. Or he did not want to forget what he’d once been—and could be again if he weren’t careful. Atlas had been more than happy to shed his own robe. Would Nike do the same, if ever she gained her freedom? Not that she would.

You’re thinking about her again.

A woman stood beside the throne. She possessed one of the plainest faces Atlas had ever seen, and had pale, freckled skin. She was reed thin, with dark, curling hair and delicate shoulders. Power did not hum from her. Rather, she seemed…insubstantial. Ethereal, as he imagined a ghost might look. There, but see-through. There, but wavering. Her eyes were shadowy, vacant, as if no one was home.

When she reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her brow, he could only gape. The elegance of the movement was awe inspiring. More graceful than a dancer, more delicate than a butterfly wing. Someone was indeed home, she just didn’t care about what was happening around her.

Atlas pulled his attention from the female and studied the chamber. There were thousands of chandeliers overhead, each dripping with glistening teardrops. Multihued glitter sparkled in the air. Odd, he thought, head tilting to the side for a better view. That air was even sweetly scented with—he inhaled deeply—ambrosia. Ah. Now he understood the dizziness and the glitter. Dried ambrosia was being pumped through the room. To keep him docile?

“Atlas, god of Strength,” Cronus said with a nod of greeting, drawing him from his musings.

Atlas bowed, as was proper. “My king. It’s an honor to have this audience with you.”

Cronus leaned forward, silver eyes bright with anxiety. “All is well in Tartarus, yes?”

“Most assuredly.”

Relief instantly replaced the anxiety. “Why, then, did you request this meeting?”

There was no one who hated the Greeks more than this man, this Titan sovereign, and with very good reason. They’d stripped him of his power, humiliated him in front of his people. Even Nike had been a participant.

Just tell him. Get this over with. “I want to remove a woman from the prison and set her up—”

“Stop. Stop there.” Scowling, Cronus raised a hand. “There will be no removing anyone from Tartarus. It is too dangerous.”

He’d expected that answer. However, he persevered. “Perhaps the reward is worth the danger. I would keep her locked inside my home, Majesty. I would never remove her collar—” well, except to whisk her to his home, for she couldn’t be flashed out of Tartarus with it on, but he would recollar her the moment they reached their destination “—and she would be my personal slave. I would ensure her misery.” His first lie of the day, but probably not his last. He only wanted to give Nike pleasure.

Had he forgiven her for what she’d done to him? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he no longer wanted to kill her when he thought about it. He would tire of her eventually, and he looked forward to the day. Until then, this was his only recourse.

The king ran his tongue over his teeth. “Of which her do you speak?”

“Nike. Greek goddess of Strength.” He did not allow a single bit of affection to lace his tone.

The king’s eyes widened. “The one who…” Now those eyes dropped to Atlas’s chest, where his shirt covered his tattoos.

“Yes. The very one.” Hear my anger, only my anger. Except, what she’d done no longer angered him. The marks were as much a part of him now as his were a part of her.

“Interesting.” Cronus leaned back in the throne, the picture of contemplation. “Do you not think she is being made to suffer enough inside Tartarus?”

Time for his second lie. “No. I do not.” In truth, as dejected as she’d sounded at their last meeting, the goddess was suffering. And he didn’t like it.

“And what will you do to increase her suffering?”

“Much as she hates me—” desires me, he added inside his head, so that he wouldn’t reveal the depths of irritation thoughts of her possible loathing elicited “—she will take particular displeasure in cleaning my home, preparing my food and warming my bed.”

The king smiled up at the ghostly girl. “What you’d like to do to your Paris, eh, my Sienna? Make him your slave.”

Her expression never changed. She offered no response, either.

Paris, the demon-possessed immortal who used to haul new prisoners into Tartarus? Atlas wondered, and then shrugged. He didn’t care. Nike was his only concern at the moment.

“My king?” Atlas prompted. “I lack only your permission to begin Nike’s torment. My determination is unparalleled. You will not be disappointed in the results.”

Cronus faced him once again, his smile falling away. A minute passed in silence, then another. Then the king sighed. “I’m afraid my answer has to be no. While I like the thought of Nike’s anguish intensified at your hands, I’m unwilling to risk the removal of her collar, even for the few seconds required to flash her. She is Strength, and were she to somehow escape you and free her brethren, another heavenly war would erupt. I cannot afford to have my attention divided now. Well, not any more than it already is. I find I spend most of my time observing the Lords of the Underworld.”

The Lords of the Underworld. So. The girl named Sienna did wish to enslave the immortal Paris. Atlas had never dealt with the man or any of his friends, as they’d been his enemy and he’d already been incarcerated before Zeus created them.

But he’d heard stories and knew they were vicious…brutal.

“My king. If you will just—”

“I have declared my answer, Strength. I do not understand why you are still here.”

Atlas’s own sense of dejection—and fury—bloomed. He wanted to stalk up that dais, grab the king and shake him. How dare his request be denied? How dare his desires be discarded? Instead, he said, “Very well, my king. I thank you for your time,” and pivoted on his heel. To do otherwise would have invited punishment.

He strode from the chamber, his determination overshadowing all else. He’d already decided that nothing would keep him from claiming Nike. Now he realized that not even this would do so. The king’s will be damned. He would have his woman, just as he wanted.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“COME WITH ME.”

Nike’s heart raced at the sound of that deep voice. Hesitant, she rolled over on her cot. Sure enough, her skin tingled when her gaze found Atlas. Gorgeous as ever, he stood at the bars—bars that were now open. His hand was extended, and he was waving her over. There was fury in his too-tight expression.

What had she done this time?

She’d tried to ignore him. She’d tried to pretend that she felt nothing for him. Anything to stop the madness. But gods, she couldn’t stop thinking about their kiss. She couldn’t stop wishing she’d allowed him to take her all the way. That she’d have experienced everything before being taken back to nothing.

So what if he would have tired of her afterward? So what if he would have been smug about her capitulation? So what if he found someone else and paraded her before Nike? For a few blessed hours—who was she kidding?—for a few blessed minutes, because it wasn’t as if either one of them would last beyond that, she would have known the joy of being with him again. Of simply feeling, giving, taking, sharing…loving.

Have all the rest, common sense piped up, but deny the love.

That would be my pleasure. But I have to get him to offer me the rest first. She still would not beg. A girl had her pride, after all.

Pride will not make you come.

“Come,” he repeated.

What did he have planned? Did it matter? Anything was better than this monotony.

Slowly she sat up. Her hair was in desperate need of a brush, and gods, the rest of her needed a shower. How long since she’d had one? Prisoners were given a bowl of water each day and that was it.

“Why?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Do you want to spend a few hours outside the prison or not?”

Wait. What? Leave Tartarus? She was on her feet before her brain could process what she was doing. Her knees almost buckled, she’d spent so much time prone, bored, but she managed to stay upright. She even reached out and twined their fingers together. The heat of his skin should not have shocked her, but it did. The calluses should not have ignited a fire in her blood, but they did.

“You’re taking me outside?”

“Yes. But do not say a word when we reach the guard’s station. Understand?”

“Yes.” This could be a trick. A trick to build up her hopes only to dash them cruelly, but she didn’t care. If there was a chance, slight though it was, that he would actually stay true to his word, she would do anything he asked.

Without a word, he led her from the cell and down the hall. Other prisoners spotted her and gasped. Some began to murmur amongst themselves, gossiping as they’d once enjoyed doing in the heavens. Some gripped their bars and simply watched her through wistful eyes.

Erebos even shouted, “Hey, where are you going with her now?”

Atlas ignored him, and Nike followed suit. A sense of urgency pounded through her. If Atlas did this, took her outside, even for a few hours… Why would he do such a thing?

“Did you get permission for this?” she asked. “And we’re not at the guard’s station yet, so it’s okay that I’m talking.”

“No. I didn’t get permission.” His words were curt, clearly meant to end the conversation.

As if she’d ever done what was expected of her. “Then why are you—”

“Just be quiet.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll shut you up my favorite way.”

Her mouth fell open. Did he mean he’d shut her up with a kiss? Or by pushing a button on her collar and shooting painful lances through her brain? It was fifty-fifty, she thought. His proclamation had the desired results, however. She was too busy pondering his meaning to talk.

In the guard’s station, two Titans were laughingly making bets about the prisoners. They looked up at Atlas and nodded politely in greeting—only to freeze when they spotted her. As promised, she remained quiet.

“She try to escape?” one demanded, obviously ready to beat her for doing so.

“No. But I’m taking her out for a bit,” Atlas replied.

“Why?” the other gasped out. “There’s nothing out there.”

“Her viper’s tongue offends me. Therefore, she deserves a new punishment. To that end, I plan to taunt her with what she cannot have.”

The very words she’d once offered Aergia, the goddess of Laziness. He’d remembered.

Still the guard persisted. “Has this been cleared with—”

“I’m in charge of this prison and the people inside it. Now shut up and do your job.” With that, Atlas ushered her out of the building and into the daylight. No one else tried to stop him.

As the first ray hit her skin, she jerked free of his hold and stopped, simply basking in the moment. Clouds. Sun. She closed her eyes, head thrown back, arms splayed. The warmth, followed by a cooling breeze…the brightness—her skin soaked them up greedily. Oh, how she’d missed them. She would have loved to have seen temples and golden streets and people, as well, but she would take what she could get without complaint.

Strong arms suddenly banded around her. “You’re beautiful,” Atlas whispered, his nose nuzzling her ear, practically purring. “Do you know that?”

“I know what I look like.” Her lashes fluttered open. The clouds enveloped him, creating a dream haze. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, and she couldn’t have stopped herself from flattening her hands on his chest to save her life. His own heart was racing, she realized with astonishment. Was he…could he be as affected by her as she was by him? “And beautiful is not a word that describes me.”

His head lifted, and he gazed down at her. Tenderness softened his expression, and she thought he’d never been more appealing. “Then you don’t see yourself as I do.”

How did he see her? As much as he hated her—but did he hate her still? How could he, when he’d just escorted her to paradise?—she would have guessed he pictured her with horns, fangs and a tail.

She cleared her throat, too afraid to ask. “Why did you do this for me?” A much easier question, with an answer that probably wouldn’t destroy what little was left of her feminine pride.

“I have my reasons,” was all he said. “Now, as much as I’d love to stay in this exact spot with you, we only have a short amount of time. Do you want to spend it here or eating the food I’ve prepared, as well as bathing? I know those are the two things I missed most during my tenure here.”

“Eat…eating. Bathing.” Was this really happening? Or was she merely dreaming about him again? Nothing else explained this change in him, in her situation.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Then food and a bath you shall have. Come. Since I can’t flash you outside of this realm, and there are no homes, inns or shops here, I’ve set up camp a mile north, out of view of the prison.”

Dreaming, surely. Perhaps a trick, as she’d first supposed. But she allowed him to lead her through the clouds without protest.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BY THE TIME THEY REACHED the camp he’d set up, Atlas was hard and aching. Nike had been pressed against his side the entire mile, her female scent in his nose, her heat radiating into his body.

When she spied the tent he’d erected, she gasped. Wide brown eyes flicked up to him with wonder before she raced forward, not slowing as she barreled through the front flap. He heard another gasp.

Grinning, Atlas followed her inside. He liked this softer side of her. She stood in the center, twirling, clearly trying to take everything in at once. He’d spread furs on the floor and had even carted a small round table here and piled it high with her favorite foods. There was a porcelain tub already filled with steaming water, rose petals floating on the surface.

Never let it be said that the Titan god of Strength did not know how to romance a woman.

Nike’s hand fluttered over her heart, her gaze glued to the plate of strawberries and feta. “How did you know I liked those?”

Because he’d always been hyperaware of her every action. He’d watched her from his cell while she’d eaten them with her friends and he’d fumed that he was not the one with her, basking in her good humor. That was not something he’d admit to, however.

“Good guess,” he finally said.

She peered down at the rug and kicked out her bare, dirty foot. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Atlas.”

“That makes two of us,” he replied gruffly.

“But—”

“Just enjoy it, Nike. It’s all I can give you.”

Her lashes fluttered up, and her gaze pinned him. “But why would you want to give me anything?”

“Stop analyzing my reasons. This isn’t a ploy or a punishment, I promise you. And the food is not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He closed the distance between them, placed his hands on her shoulders and urged her to the table.

There, they ate in silence. The rapture on her face, rapture that increased with every bite, delighted him. The wine she savored sip by sip, moaning with every swallow.

Bringing her here was worth the risk of Cronus’s wrath, he thought.

Although, to get technical, Cronus had merely ordered him to keep her in Tartarus. Which he had done. The clouds around the prison were part of the realm. So really, he had not broken any rules. Cronus, though, being Cronus, would not see it that way.

Still, Atlas couldn’t regret it. He had never seen this joyful, eager side of the Greek goddess, and he found that he liked it just as much as he liked everything else about her. Which was way more than he should have.

When every crumb had been consumed, she turned her attention to the bath. “That’s for me?” Utter longing radiated from her, yet she didn’t move toward it.

“Yes. But I can’t leave you. You know that, right?”

She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded. “What you’re saying is, I can bathe with you watching or not at all.”

“Exactly.”

He expected her to fight him on that. Hell, she could have refused outright. What he did not expect was for her to push to her feet and discard her robe without hesitation. At the sight of her nakedness, he hissed in a breath. Already he’d thought her exquisite…but now, now…holy gods. She was the finest creature the gods had ever produced.

Her skin, so golden and smooth, covered lean muscle and succulent breasts. Those breasts were soft, perfect for his hands, and her nipples were as pretty a pink as he remembered. His mouth watered for them.

She walked to the tub and stepped inside. Her ass, her back…his name. He was on his feet before he realized what he’d done. He wanted to kiss those tattoos, something she would probably fight him over. He wouldn’t apologize for having given them to her, though. Hell, no. He liked them too much.

Nike pivoted slowly, and her gaze met his as she sank into the water. There was no hiding the desire he felt—it consumed him, ate him up and left him as bare as she was. Her expression, however, was blank.

Slowly, she worked the bar of soap he’d brought her over her entire body. She seemed completely unabashed as the suds danced over her, sliding down those magnificent breasts hiding beneath the rose petals. She washed her hair, too, and soon the locks were dripping down her face and shoulders.

With every move she made, he inched a little closer to her. He just couldn’t help himself. Finally she finished and stood. Another feast for his eyes. All the strength he craved more than anything else in the world was now wet, and he wanted to lick away every drop.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, stepping from the tub. Her voice was as devoid of emotion as her expression. Why?

“I need you,” he managed to croak past the lump in his throat.

Finally. A reaction. Relief and desire, such intense desire, claimed her, and she grinned a siren’s smile. “Then have me you shall.”

They were a mimic of his earlier words, and completely unexpected. Why the change in her? Doesn’t matter. As he’d told her earlier, there was no good reason to analyze a change of heart. Not in either of them. Not now.

He had the distance between them defeated a split second later. Had his arms wrapped around her, jerking her into him, a second after that. Their lips met in a wild tangle, their tongues seeking, rolling together. On and on the kiss continued, drowning him in all that she was.

He hated to stop, even for a moment, but he had to remove his clothes. If he didn’t experience skin-to-skin contact soon, he was going to ignite into flames. Panting, he tore away his shirt, his boots, then his pants.

She moaned. “Atlas.”

He pulled her back into his embrace. Finally. Blessedly. Skin to skin. Both of them groaned at the headiness. Her nipples rubbed against his chest, his tattoos, while their lower bodies thrust together. Then she was bending down, tracing those letters with her tongue—and gods, he had never been happier that he had them.

After she’d traced the last one, she kissed her way down his stomach. She dropped to her knees.

Was she going to…please, please, please…but she didn’t like him enough to do it. Did she? “What are you—”

She sucked his cock deep into her mouth.

His head fell back, and he roared. All that wet heat was ecstasy, surely the first he’d ever truly known, for nothing had ever felt this damned good. Except her, that first time he claimed her. Up and down she moved, allowing him to hit the back of her throat.

“Gods! Don’t make me come.”

She laughed, pulled off and licked his sac. “When have I ever listened to you?”

“Vixen.”

“Why can’t I make you come?”

“Because I want inside you.” With a growl, he dropped to his knees, as well. She could taste his seed. Later. He hadn’t lied to her. More than anything, even more of that ecstasy, he wanted inside her, and he didn’t want to have to wait for it. “Spread your legs for me.”

The moment she obeyed, he had two fingers buried deep. More wet heat. And to his delight…“You’re ready for me.” Never had he been more proud that he’d brought a female to this point. And that he’d done so with kisses, only kisses….

She trembled, had to grip his shoulders to remain upright. “I’m ready for you every damn time I see you.”

And she didn’t like it, he could tell from her tone, but he could only bask in the admission. “It’s the same for me.”

At first, she blinked, as if she couldn’t allow herself to believe him. So vulnerable she appeared, so—dare he wish?—hopeful. Then she placed a sweet kiss on his lips and breathed him in. “Don’t say things like that,” she whispered.

“Why not? I spoke true.”

“Because they affect me.”

Headier words had never been spoken. “Let’s finish this before I combust, sweetheart.”

“Please.”

He was sweating, panting, as he settled back on his ass, reached out and cupped hers. He jerked her onto his lap, forcing her to wrap her thighs around his waist. As her hands tangled in his hair, he lifted her, placing her eager core at the tip of his erection.

“Ready?” he asked hoarsely. This was it. The moment he felt he’d been waiting forever for.

“Ready.”

He thrust up and she pushed down, and then he was all the way in, surrounded by the very thing he had defied his king, his sovereign, to possess. It was better than he remembered, better than he could have imagined. He couldn’t pause, couldn’t give her time to adjust. Over and over he pushed in, pulled out, too overwhelmed by pleasure to do anything but ride out the storm. Perhaps it was the same for her. Her nails scored his back, and her moans rang in his ears.

Gods, he was close. On fire. Burning. Desperate. He reached between their bodies and pressed his thumb against his new favorite place.

“Atlas,” she shouted, her inner walls suddenly milking him.

She was climaxing, lost to all that he was, and the thought drove him over the last bit of the edge, as well. He jetted inside her, lost to all that she was, the most intense orgasm of his life claiming him.

An eternity later, his spasms stopped. Together, they fell backward, onto the softness of the fur. He kept his arms around her, unwilling to let her go. Now…always?

Yes, always, he thought, and his eyes widened. He wanted her always. Wanted more of this. Had to have more of this. When he’d forgiven her completely, he didn’t know. When he’d softened, he didn’t know, either. He only knew that she’d become an important part of his life. Perhaps she always had been; he’d just been too foolish to realize it.

What the hell was he going to do?

They could be together each night after his shift, but they’d never have privacy, and her pride would soon chafe at his amorous attentions, all while he refused to set her free. It would have been the same for him when the situation had been reversed. Besides, she was too precious to hurt in that way. But the problem was, he couldn’t be without her. He’d proven that already.

Damn, he thought next, suddenly sick to his stomach. Damn!

He’d finally found the one woman for him, but they were doomed.

CHAPTER NINE

SHE LOVED HIM, NIKE THOUGHT. Again. I’m hopeless.

He’d just…he’d been so amazing. He’d whisked her away, given her everything she’d craved: food, water and his body. Gods, had he given her that delectable body. She’d savored every moment. Savored his taste, his touch, the feel of him pounding inside her.

Four days had since passed, but she craved more. Always she craved more. She’d spent the time locked inside her cell, pacing, trying to think of ways for them to be together. If he still wanted her, that is. Atlas had come by at least once a day to make sure she was properly fed and that her basin of water was filled, but he’d never said a word to her. Actually, they hadn’t spoken since leaving the tent.

At the time, she’d felt too raw, too exposed. She’d feared her feelings for him had been shining in her eyes. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a mate. His strength matched hers. She would never have to worry about hurting him. He was witty and charming. He was a protector, a warrior. He was deliciously vengeful, she knew firsthand.

She smiled, wishing she could reach between her shoulder blades and feel his name. She was certain the letters would be as hot as the man himself. But…

Why hadn’t he spoken to her?

Why didn’t you speak to him?

Because she hadn’t known what to say. Did he still want her? Did he feel anything for her? How would she react if he didn’t, which was most likely the case? Part of her wanted to take anything he would give her. The other part of her knew her pride wouldn’t allow her to do such a thing. But there at the end, when they’d returned to Tartarus and he’d closed the bars to her cell, she had thought she’d glimpsed regret. Regret that he had to seal her inside. Regret that they couldn’t spend more time together—in bed and out.

Nike tugged at her collar and screeched. Damn this. She was the epitome of strength, yet was as helpless as a babe. How could she win a man’s heart when she couldn’t even win her own freedom?

ATLAS HEARD A SCREECH of frustration and knew immediately who had uttered it. Nike. His Nike. His beautiful Nike. He’d deliberated about what to do, how they could be together, for four days. Well, the time for thinking was over, it seemed. She was close to her breaking point. She’d tasted freedom; being sequestered now had to be a thousand times worse than before.

He hated that she was locked up, and he knew they could never be together while she was. He also knew they could not be together if he released her. She would most likely run, and he would most definitely be punished.

Maybe she loved him, maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’d stay with him. Or try to. She liked him and was attracted to him, he would go so far as to say. After everything that had transpired between them, she wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise. But love? He wasn’t sure.

And it didn’t matter, really. He loved her. Perhaps he always had. He’d never felt so strongly about a woman. He’d never wanted to spend his every waking minute with someone before, had never wanted to cuddle someone into his side for every sleeping minute. He’d never wanted to eat every meal together. To talk and laugh about their days. To spar, verbally and physically. But he did with her.

And since they couldn’t be together, no matter what way things panned out, there was only one thing to do.

Dread. That’s what he felt as he pounded up the stairs and to her cell. Also…relief. She was banging a fist into the wall, plumes of dust forming around her. The sight of her nearly undid him. He wanted to kiss her, put his fingers all over her, sink inside her. Harden your heart. Do what is needed. His hand was shaking as he lifted the sensor.

She heard the slide of the bars and turned. A gasp parted her beautiful lips. Without a word, he held out his palm.

“What—”

“Just take it.”

She frowned as she accepted.

Still silent, he pulled her along the same path he had just taken. The same path they’d taken those four days ago. No one tried to stop him this time. In fact, as he passed the guard’s station, the two gods on duty rolled their eyes.

Outside, with the clouds all around him, he whirled on Nike. He still wanted to kiss her, but knew that if he did so, he would not be able to let her go. And he had to let her go.

“Atlas,” she said with a seductive grin. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck. “Another outing? I’m glad.”

He shook his head and placed his fingers on the designated indentations in the collar. Cool metal met his touch. Then he leaned down and fit his lips over the center.

Her grin fell away. A tremor moved through her. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Be still.” He drew in a deep breath, held it…held it…and then slowly released it. As that breath slithered through the inside of the collar, the metal loosened…finally splitting down the center and tumbling to the ground. Such a simple thing, the removal. Touch and breath. Yet only an uncollared god could do so, a fact that had to taunt the incarcerated. Perhaps that’s why the bands had been designed as they had.

Eyes wide, she reached up, felt her bare neck. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” she said. They were the same words she’d spoken before. He hadn’t had an answer then. He did now. He loved her, but he could never tell her that.

“Go,” he said. “Flash somewhere. Maybe earth. And whatever you do, stay hidden. Do you understand me?”

“Atlas…no.” She shook her head violently, even fisted his shirt. “No, I can’t. When they discover I’m gone for good, and they will, you’ll be charged with a crime. You’ll be locked away, placed with the Greeks who hate you. Or, if you’re lucky, you’ll be killed.”

She felt, he realized, both amazed and saddened. She cared for him, which meant she would suffer without him. If anything, that only increased his determination to save her. She did not deserve a life behind bars.

He forced his expression to harden. Forced himself to jerk away from her. “I can’t stand to look at you anymore. I’ve had you, and now I’m bored with you.”

Her arms dropped to her sides as if weighed down by rocks, but she quickly pulled them around her middle. “Then keep me locked up and stay away from me. You don’t want to do this.”

Still willing to give up her freedom to be near him? Damn her. He fell a little more in love with her. “Go! Did you not hear me? I can’t stand the sight of you anymore. Don’t you get it? You make me sick, Nike.”

“Shut up.” Tears filled her eyes. Real godsdamned tears. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that.” The last was whispered brokenly.

His heart constricted painfully. Do it. Finish it. “I’d rather be killed or locked away than look at you another moment. Because every time I look at you, I’m reminded of what we did and I—I want to vomit. I was using you, wanting to punish you, but I took things too far. Even for me.” Hating himself, he turned away from her. “So do us both a favor and go.”

For a long while, she didn’t speak. He knew she didn’t flash away, either, for he heard no rustle of clothing. But then, he did hear a whimper. A sob. More of those tears must be falling.

Gods, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t send her away like this. He spun, meaning to grab on to her and tell her the truth, to force her to listen. To make her leave another way. But she was gone before their eyes could meet and his hands encountered only air.

“YOU INSOLENT FOOL!”

Atlas peered up at the fuming Cronus. Not like he could do anything else. His wrists were chained to poles, forcing him to remain on his knees. The very collar he’d removed from Nike was now wrapped around his own neck.

He’d known this would happen, but he hadn’t cared. He still didn’t. Nike was free, and that was all that mattered.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“No.”

“One Greek can raise an army. That army can attack us. Ruin us. I told you that, and still you defied me.”

“Nike won’t do that,” he said confidently. He trusted her to disappear. Even as angry as she had to be with him, she would not endanger herself to save people she had never truly liked.

Cronus slammed his fist against the arm of his throne, ever the petulant child. “You can’t know that! You aren’t my All-Seeing Eye.”

Atlas arched a brow, refusing to be cowed. “Would you risk being imprisoned again to help your fellow Titans? I may not be able to see all the secrets of the heavens and Hell, yet I know you would not. She will not, either.”

The king had no response to that, but that didn’t stop him from growling. “You disobeyed a direct order, and for that you will be punished.”

“I understand.” He offered the statement without hesitation. It was the truth. He understood that the god king had to make an example out of him. Otherwise, others would see Cronus as weak. They would disobey him as Atlas had.

“I think you actually do.” Some of Cronus’s fury abated. “Only this morning I saw a portrait of you. A portrait painted by my Eye. With it, she showed me exactly how to punish you.” The king smiled evilly and looked to the ghostlike girl still standing at his side. “You know what to do, sweet Sienna.”

Sienna strode forward, a knife appearing in her hand. She stopped in front of Atlas and dropped to her knees, placing them eye to eye. So this was it, he thought. The end. As an immortal, he’d never thought to reach this point. Still. He found he only regretted that he hadn’t had more time with Nike, that he hadn’t gotten the chance to apologize for his harsh words the last time they were together and that he would never have the chance to confess his love.

With absolutely no emotion on her face, the girl dug the tip of the blade into his wrist and cut out his sensor, rather than chop off his head. That’s when he realized Cronus meant to lock him away rather than kill him. Good. More time to think about Nike and what could have been.

But then Sienna moved the blade to his chest and pressed, slicing. It stung, but that was not what made him struggle against her ministrations. No, it was the fact that she began carving away Nike’s name. He roared loud and long, fighting for all he was worth. Guards were called over and hard hands settled over him, pressing him down, holding him steady. Still he fought, but in the end, they managed to remove all four letters.

As each person walked away from him, he glanced down at himself through burning, watery eyes. Blood poured down his chest and four open wounds stared up at him, the muscles torn, the skin completely gone. He might have hated that brand at one point in his life, but he’d grown to love it as much as the woman who’d given it to him. More than that, it had been the last remaining evidence of her presence.

His hands fisted, and his back straightened. Blood and sweat mingled, stinging further. Another roar burst from his lips, and he tossed it to the domed ceiling. He didn’t stop until his throat was shredded from the strain.

“Are you quite finished?” Cronus asked him.

His gaze fell to the dais, narrowing. “I will destroy you for this,” his vowed brokenly. “One day you will die by my hand.”

“Not likely. Take him to Tartarus,” the king told his guards, unconcerned. “Where he will rot for all eternity.”

CHAPTER TEN

IT TOOK HER TWO DAYS, but Nike finally located Atlas’s home, a sprawling estate in Olympus. Or Titania, as Cronus had renamed the city. The amount of wealth Atlas had needed to acquire such a place astonished her—and she knew exactly how much he’d paid because she had once owned it. But then, she supposed he’d considered every cent worth it. After living in a tiny cell for thousands of years, he’d most likely wanted every bit of space he could get. And every amenity.

There was a swimming pool, more than thirty bedrooms, two winding, marble staircases and four fireplaces, and all the walls were comprised of solid gold. None of that interested her, however. Only his bedroom did.

There, she discovered more about the man who had sent her on her way. A man who would not have risked this just to avoid her face, as he’d claimed. A man who would not have risked his life for anything other than love.

Nearly everything was as she’d left it. A huge bed covered with black silk sheets. The walls were painted with murals of the sun and sky, and the furniture smelled of rich mahogany. There were multiple bookcases, each filled with leather-bound books. Her books. Beaded pillows were strategically placed along the floor. Places for him to lounge and read, as she had done.

What held her attention, however, was the only difference. A portrait hung above the hearth. A portrait of her.

He must have commissioned it after their time inside that tent, for she was reclined in a porcelain tub, bubbles sliding over her shoulders and chest, her hair soaked. She would have looked as plain and masculine as always, except he’d had the artist add a sensual light to her dark eyes and a come-and-get-me curve to her lips.

Finally she knew how he saw her. As someone beautiful. He’d once told her so, but she’d had trouble believing him. Now…

Only a man in love would do such a thing. Only a man in love would keep such a thing in such a prominent place. Only a man in love would want to see a woman’s portrait every night before he fell asleep, then wake up looking at it.

Oh, yes. He loved her. As she loved him.

There, outside of Tartarus, she’d thought, hoped, that he did so, but she had let his words scrape against her already low self-esteem. How could so beautiful and sensual a man want her? she’d wondered. But he did. He loved her. Proof: he’d risked everything for her.

She could do no less for him.

Nike strode through the bedroom, knowing her lover would have a weapons case stashed somewhere—and knowing exactly what to do with it.

ATLAS WAS NOT GIVEN A CELL of his own—not at first. Still bleeding and frantic, fighting, he had been thrust into a cell with Erebos. Of course, that’s who had been chosen as his cell mate, he’d thought, rage filling him. A male who had once thought to claim his Nike. A male who had then stolen food from her, pushed her around and called her terrible names.

Atlas had seen it happen on numerous occasions. He hadn’t done anything about it then, telling himself she deserved what she got, but he’d wanted to. And there was no better time than now.

Even with his strength corralled by the collar and half his blood dried to his chest, even with his still-seeping wounds splitting open with every move he made, Atlas managed to defeat Erebos in record time. He punched, he kicked, he did not play fair, kneeing the god in the balls while he was down. In the end, a broken, bloody Erebos lay crying on the dirty floor, right alongside everyone who had tried to save him.

That’s when Atlas was moved to the empty cell Nike had occupied. He stretched out on the cot, simply breathing in her lingering essence. His sweet, sweet Nike. He would have to spend eternity without her. Without even her brand. Once again, he roared.

What was she doing now? If she sought solace in the arms of another man, even in the years to come, he would tear this prison apart stone by stone and kill the bastard. As if. You sent her on her way to do just that. You want her happy.

“What’s all the racket? Seriously.”

Gods, he was hearing her voice now. Locked up two days, and he was already headed into insanity.

His bars rattled, slid open. He rolled to his side, determined to send whoever it was away. When he caught sight of his beloved Nike, he blinked. Oh, yes, he was indeed going insane. She stood before him, clad in a black leather bra top and black leather pants. Her hair was slicked back in a smooth ponytail. Blood splattered her cheeks. Never had she looked more beautiful, her strength there for all to see.

She was holding someone’s arm. Without their body. For the sensor in the wrist?

His hallucinations were certainly detailed.

“Well?” she said, clearly impatient. She tossed the arm aside. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Slowly he sat up. He didn’t want this moment to end. Didn’t want to lose sight of her. “I missed you. So much.”

“And I wanted an apology. Stupid me. I much prefer this.” She grinned, practically beaming. “I missed you, too, but we’ll have to catch up later.” Her gaze fell to his chest, and she gaped in astonishment. Then she growled. “Did the god king cut my name off you?”

“Yes.”

She was holding a knife, he saw, and her knuckles bleached of color. “I. Will. Kill. Him.”

“Already promised to do so.”

“We’ll do it together, then. After we get out of here.” Her attention flicked behind her, urgent, before returning to him. “Come on. We have to go before someone realizes what I’ve done.”

“Just let me look at you. Just let me enjoy this moment. Let me apologize for what I said to you. You said you wanted an apology, yes? I didn’t mean it, not a word I said that last day, but I—”

She closed the distance between them and slapped him. Hard. The blow knocked him back against the cot and caused stars to wink over his vision.

Once more, he blinked at her. “You hit me.”

“Yeah, and I’ll do it again if you don’t get your ass in gear.”

“You’re real.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re real.” He sat up, saying the words but not truly absorbing them. This couldn’t be happening.

She dropped to her knees so that they were eye to eye. “Again, yes.” Just as he’d once done to her, she placed her fingers over his collar and blew into the center. As the metal softened, he finally understood what his brain had been trying to tell him. Nike was here. She was really here. And she was saving his life.

With a scowl, he jumped to his feet. “I told you to go to earth, damn it.”

“Okay, not the reaction I expected.” She stood and pressed a swift kiss to his lips. “Good thing I never listen to you. Now let’s go. I’ve already taken out the guards below. And no, I didn’t kill your friends. Just made them wish they were dead.” As she spoke, she latched on to his hand and dragged him out of the cell. “Cronus could realize what’s going down at any moment and appear, and then we’ll both be in trouble. As long as we’re here, we’re easy pickings.”

True. Nike was a fugitive now; he wanted her out of this prison, out of this realm, as soon as possible. “You risked your life to save me, you fool.”

“Well, you risked your life to save me.”

Down the stairs they pounded and, sure enough, all three of the guards were flat on their faces, motionless. One of them was missing an arm—and he knew exactly where to find it. Not that he’d take the time to tell. The arm, lost or not, would grow back. “But you were free. You had what you wanted.”

“Not everything,” she threw over her shoulder.

Okay, wow. She’d just admitted she wanted him more than freedom. Atlas couldn’t help himself. He gave a tug, propelling her backward, into his arms. “I love you,” he finally proclaimed, and mashed their lips together. His tongue thrust deep, tasting, demanding. “I mean it. I love you more than anything. Anyone.”

She only allowed the kiss for a few seconds, her hands fisting his hair and taking everything he had to give, before she pulled away, panting. “I love you, too. But let’s get the hell out of here. I need your pretty head connected to your amazing body.”

Once again, they surged forward. Still, he almost couldn’t believe this was happening. It was so much like a dream. “I’m going to spend the rest of eternity making up for what I did to you.”

“Good. I think I’ll like seeing you grovel. But just for the record, I love my tattoo and I know why you said those nasty things. Sure, I would have found a better way to get you to safety, but then, I’m smarter than you are, so really, I can’t blame you.”

He laughed. Gods, he loved this woman. “Vixen.”

“Your vixen.”

“Mine. Always. You’ll mark me again just as soon as my skin heals.”

“Already planned on it.”

Good. He wouldn’t feel complete until she did. “So where are we going to live?” he asked. “We can’t stay in the heavens.”

“You ordered me to hide on earth. I thought we could do so—together. Though I hate that you have to give up your amazing house.”

“You’ve been there?” He found he really liked the thought of her there, surrounded by his things, breathing in his essence. “You know where I chose to live?”

“Yes. Why did you? Choose there, I mean.”

“To feel closer to you.”

“Well, you’re about to be a lot closer to me.”

A laugh boomed from him. There was no woman more perfect for him. “The only thing I’ll miss from that house is the portrait of you. But now I have the real thing.” He placed a swift kiss on her lips. “Back to our new living arrangements. There are other gods out there, Greeks like you, who are in hiding. Cronus has never been able to find them. That means there are places he can’t see.”

“Maybe we’ll find them and join them. We are Strength, after all. And Victory.”

“Yes. Victory.”

“We can succeed where he has failed.”

“In the meantime, we might even try to find the Lords of the Underworld. Cronus mentioned being distracted by them. If they are his enemies, they might be good friends for us to have.”

Her eyes widened. “I know of whom you speak. They were Zeus’s immortal warriors long ago, but now they house the demons once locked inside Pandora’s box. Cronus will have his hands tied for a long, long time with them. They would be very good friends to have.”

They reached the door and burst outside, all without incident. Clouds instantly enveloped them, the sun shining brightly. Nike whirled and threw herself in his arms, placing nips and kisses all over his face.

“We did it. Now take us somewhere. Anywhere. As long as we can be together.”

“I love you,” he said again, then did exactly as his woman had ordered.

Lords of the Underworld

A BONUS GUIDE

I, CRONUS, KING OF THE TITANS, powerful warrior god, defender of the people, hereby command you to read and enjoy this guide. I am not mentioned nearly enough, but that is neither here nor there. What you will find in the pages that follow: an interview with Gena Showalter herself, conducted by the one and only New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole; notes from those vile fools, the Hunters; once-missing chapters from Gena’s first attempt at writing about these immortal warriors (she thought she tossed them, but I, all-powerful god that I am, dug them up); interviews with the Lords of the Underworld, as organized by that irreverent whelp William the Ever Randy; a candid discussion about the Lords of the Underworld among their women; answers to questions readers have been dying to know; a preview of the upcoming novel The Darkest Passion; and an intimate look at my very own sacred scrolls.

As I said, you will read and you will enjoy. That is your mission. Nay, your honor. Do not disappoint me. You will not like the results. Just ask Aeron, keeper of the demon of Wrath. Bad things tend to happen.

Yours in the heavens,

Cronus

KING OF THE TITANS

TWENTY(ISH) QUESTIONS WITH KRESLEY COLE

I met the amazing Kresley Cole at a writers’ conference many years ago. I’d just read her very first book, The Captain of All Pleasures—and by “read” I mean “devoured”—and approached her with drool on my mouth to tell her so. Tall, blond and gorgeous—and witty and talented and brilliant—this girl charmed me completely. Somehow, some way, she liked me, too. (Sucker!)

Now she can’t get rid of me. She’s one of my dearest friends, a sister of my heart and a bright star in the romantic fiction world. Recently, we sat down together and chatted about the Lords of the Underworld (among other things). We hope you enjoy the results!

Kresley Cole (KC): When I was younger, I would do anything to get out of writing—did you always like it, knowing you’d want to be an author when you grew up?

Gena Showalter (GS): Yes and no. (I know, right? Of course I’d kick things off with a non-answer. Oh, stop shaking your head, Cole. This is typical Gena, and you know it!) I wrote in junior high and high school, but only for myself. And the friends who paid me. Publication wasn’t even a blip on my radar.

So, in college, I dabbled with nursing, phlebotomy and microbiology, but never ended up finishing. Like, any of them. After a heart-to-heart with myself—and by “heart-to-heart” I mean slapping myself repeatedly and telling myself to finally get in the game—I realized that writing was what I loved, and the only thing I could see myself doing for the rest of my life.

I decided to go for it, to finally try for publication, no matter how long it took me. Which, as it turned out, was about five painful years.

KC: I’m delighted phlebotomy—a word which I totally and completely know the definition of—lost out to your career in writing. [furtively searching Google for “phlebotomy” on cell phone] So what made you decide on the paranormal romance genre? For me, I moved from historicals to paranormals because I couldn’t get Lore creatures out of my head. Did character possession affect your decision, or was it something else?

GS: Oh, yes. Phlebotomy. PB, as I called it. When my family would give me strange looks, I would then add: Pulling Blood. Out of people. With needles. I’ll stop there. You look pale.

Moving on to PR. I picked paranormal romance—after first trying to write a historical, a couple contemporaries and several series romances—because anything I could imagine, I could write about, and the only limitation was my mind. And yes, I hate my mind for not coming up with the Immortals After Dark first. Damn you, Kresley Cole, you brilliant goddess you! But I do love my mind for envisioning the oh, so seductive Lords of the Underworld. I don’t know if they possessed me so much as completely seduced me. The way they tell it, I’m easy.

Anyway. Having all of that beefcake inside my head is pretty delicious some days. Although, to be honest, most of the time they are unbelievably stubborn. And opinionated. And bloodthirsty. (Maybe they were once phlebotomists?)

KC: Brilliant goddess? [Fluffing hair] You shouldn’t! But it is a perfect segue into our next question: Everybody knows I’m your all-time, one-hundred percent favorite author—and the feeling is mutual in a big, adoring way—but were there any particular writers who influenced your craft or your desire to become a writer?

GS: I love that you love me. Though I love you more. (And do not argue about it. You know it’s my turn to win.)

Johanna Lindsey was the first romance author I ever read. I stole Silver Angel right out of my grandmother’s house and I’m still not sorry! And then, when I read Warrior’s Woman, also by Lindsey…I fell deeply in love with her strong alpha men and realized I wanted to create men like that. Larger than life, willing to die for their woman, and well, so in love that no other female but the heroine would ever be able to turn them on again.

You know, like our husbands.

KC: Give us an inside peek into a day in the fabulous life of Gena Showalter. Do you write every day? If so, for how long? Does your editor know you spend a great deal of your time entertaining me? If not, how can we make sure that stays secret?

GS: You know that’s going to appear on the cover of one of my books, right? “Gena Showalter is fabulous!”—#1 New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole.

Anyway. My writing life. I wake up, mainline coffee and get to work. And as you know, by “get to work” I mean e-mail you a thousand times, maybe call you, chat your ear off—entertaining you, as you said, and not pestering you—and then finally opening my work in progress (the WIP, as writers call it. And it does—whip me). Believe me, the secret of my pester…uh, entertaining will remain just that, as I want to continue doing so. Forever.

While crafting a rough draft, I work until I finish a chapter. That could take me two hours or twelve. While editing a finished draft, I tend to work from sunrise to sunset. OCD…sadly, I am her bitch. I can think of nothing else until the story is done. Except for you, of course. And my entertaining.

KC: Word on the street is you sold your soul to write these scintillating tales. Tell us this isn’t so (since it has already been promised—to me).

GS: No truth to the rumors, I swear! Our pact is still applicable. So I’ll expect you to give me that—oops. Almost let the terms of our agreement slip. My bad.

Anyway. The rumor about me being an alien with five arms is actually true. Right now, all at the same time, I’m answering these questions, drinking coffee, fixing my hair, painting my toenails and drawing pictures to send you. You know, to entertain you. Yes, I am never going to let you forget that you said I “entertain” you.

KC: The Lords of the Underworld are all exceedingly sexy and heart-throbbingly male. Was it your plan to give readers testosterone intoxication by creating, oh, I dunno, TWELVE of them? How did you decide on a dozen main Lords characters (as opposed to, say, five or seven or eighteen)? And how did you make it so that all the warriors have distinct personalities? It must be tough to keep the Lords (not to mention their significant others and the assorted menagerie of friends/relatives/demon companions they collect along the way) straight in your mind as you write….

GS: First, thank you! I’ll be smiling for the rest of the day. Three new cover quotes, right there. “Sexy.” “Heart-throbbingly male.” And “Intoxication.”

As for the Lords, I never planned to write about twelve demon-possessed warriors. Believe me, I didn’t need all that naughtiness in my head. On top of what was already there, that is. At first, I thought three, maybe four. Tops. But as I wrote The Darkest Night, those twelve warriors stood up and said hello in my brain—if only you could have heard how husky and seductive those voices were. I just couldn’t say no. Thank God!

And then their friends started to arrive. Irreverent baggage (you know I’m talking about you, William!). I couldn’t say no to them, either.

Shockingly enough, it’s not hard to keep the growing cast straight. To me, it’s like standing in the middle of a room filled with my family. I know them. They look different, act different and even smell different. And sometimes I want to shake them. Some harder than others. (Yes, William. I’m talking about you again.)

KC: So, just between us and a few mil of our closest friends, do you have a favorite Lord? (I’ve narrowed my fave down—it’s a tie between Torin and eleven others.) If you had to choose one of them to come to life and point at you and say “MY WOMAN!” who would it be?

GS: I shouldn’t admit this, but my favorite warrior is not actually a Lord of the Underworld. I am head over heels for William. Yes, that irreverent baggage! I adore his sense of humor—oh, that wicked tongue! And his cockiness. And his uninhibited nature. And even his temper. To me, there’s just something so thrilling about taming a womanizer and becoming the one female in the world he can’t live without. And of course, the only woman who turns him on anymore.

My favorite Lord, though, is Strider. The moment he took pictures with his camera phone of a naked Lucien chained to a bed, then e-mailed those pictures to all his friends, I knew he was the one for me. Someday, some heroine is going to have to pry him out of my kung fu grip.

KC: Do your readers seem to have one clear favorite, judging from reader mail you get? Do you have a least favorite Lord, or one who’s been tougher for you to write than others?

GS: The reader favorite is, without a doubt, Paris. I get more e-mail about him than any other Lord. And I want to tell his story, I do, but of all the Lords, he truly has proven to be the most stubborn. Finally, though, I know where I want to go with him. It’s just going to take some time to get him there. (Please don’t hurt me.)

The second most requested Lord is Torin. And I have a very special lady in mind for him….

KC: Hurt you? Why would we ever? It’s not as if you had Paris make a heartbreaking sacrifice that got readers a-salivating for his story, yet now you’re holding him just out of our reach. Oh, wait…[pummeling Gena] Next topic! So, I think it’s got to be one of the best feelings in the world when a plot twist pops up and takes me by surprise as I’m writing it—something I didn’t see coming, but that ultimately was perfect for my story. Tell me about any surprises you’ve had in the LOTU series.

GS: I have been shocked many times in this series! With The Darkest Night, I didn’t know that the Greek gods had been overtaken by the Titans until Aeron made his announcement. And I had no idea Danika was the All-Seeing Eye when I made her a painter.

In The Darkest Whisper, I didn’t know Galen was Gwen’s father until she saw that painting of him. You’d think that would drive me mad, not knowing where a story is going while I’m writing it, but I like finding out the truth at the same time the reader does.

In fact, sometimes I’ll be writing a scene and wonder why I’m being led in a certain direction. I’ve learned not to question it, though. The answers always fall into place later.

And as for upcoming plot twists, there are many in The Darkest Passion and The Darkest Lie. To be honest, I have never been so shocked by the direction of my stories. What Aeron does, what he gives up…wow, just wow. And what Gideon learns…

KC: You have to tell me!

GS: Well, lean over here and I’ll tell you off the record.

[Whispering. Nodding. Gasps.]

KC: Wow. Okay. So let’s move on before I spill. Personal dish question here. When I’m writing love scenes, sometimes I look over my shoulder and laugh nervously because I can’t believe I’m “going there” in certain situations. [cough cough] Icicle [cough cough]. Do you ever do that? Have you ever had to cut or tone down a love scene? If so, will those scenes ever see the light of day?

GS: First, I need to fan myself. That icicle scene in question…genius! And oh, my God was it hot. (Gena just made a funny. Icicle = hot.)

The only love scene that’s ever made me blush while writing is between Aeron and his Olivia in the upcoming The Darkest Passion. She’s a fallen angel, has never known passion before now, and oh, does he show her. Very…enthusiastically. Gymnastics might be involved. Maybe even wings acrobatics. At this point, the details are hazy. I start to sweat every time I think about it, and have to change the subject in my mind.

But I’d like to take this moment to say, “I’m sorry, Mom. Won’t happen again.” Maybe.

I have had to tone down a love scene, but that scene was in my Atlantis novel The Nymph King, and I have since lost the version that was cut. Otherwise, I just might post it! And apologize to my mom again.

KC: Let’s talk about the heroines in the LOTU series for a minute. You always find the perfect woman for each hero—your heroes have been paired with everyone from human females with paranormal powers to ancient goddesses to timid Harpies. How do you figure out what type of heroine each Lord should end up with?

GS: With Gwen in The Darkest Whisper, it was easy. I dreamed of her, and knew she belonged with a Lord of the Underworld. But she did not like the ones I introduced her to—the ones I needed to be writing about. Like, say, Paris. Then Sabin walked through the door. I had no intention of writing about him. Not for a while, at least. But…Mine, Gwen instantly said, and it was either write his story or let her ravage my brain. After much thought, I wrote his story. Much thought = two seconds.

As for the others, wild Anya was so different from by-the-book Lucien that I knew they were the perfect balance for each other in The Darkest Kiss. Maddox was so consumed by his violent urges, I knew he needed someone gentle in The Darkest Night.

Reyes, so far, has been the most difficult to pair. Even in my mind, while writing The Darkest Pleasure, he was so against tainting Danika with his darkness that he resisted the match. At one point, I thought I would have to pick someone else for him, but oh, did he throw a fit then. After that, he relented, willing to try anything to keep her.

In terms of the other Lords, I just don’t know who they’ll end up with. I never know until the sparks start flying.

Oh, wait. I lied. I know who Aeron and Gideon end up with, of course.

Aeron meets his match in Olivia, an angel who tempts like the devil. (You thought I was going to say makes love like the devil, didn’t you? Well, gold star for you, because that’s what I was really saying!)

And in The Darkest Lie, Gideon meets Scarlet, the keeper of the demon of Nightmares, and a woman who claims to be his wife. Just thinking about Scarlet, I’m grinning. I love that girl. She knows he’s telling lies, but purposefully takes everything he says at face value. Talk about tormenting him! But then, he needed someone to shake up his world.

KC: On the subject of heroines… Of all the ones in my own series, I probably identify most with Mariketa the Awaited, though people who know me say I’m spacey like Nucking Futs Nïx (and I don’t know how I feel about that). Is there one particular heroine so far in the LOTU series that you identify with more than the rest? What about a heroine who was tougher for you to write?

GS: I know what you mean about not knowing how to take things. I identify most with Anya—and readers either love her or hate her. But I identify with her, not because I enjoy chaos or world travel in the blink of an eye—I like calm and as a borderline recluse, I like being home—but because of that smart mouth. Sometimes I can’t believe the things I say. (Why are you nodding, Kresley?) I have no filter, no line I refuse to cross. (Stop nodding, Kresley!)

The heroine who might more closely resemble my own personality, though, is probably Scarlet from The Darkest Lie. She’s sarcastic (check), faux vengeful (check) and surprisingly vulnerable (check). It’ll be interesting—and frightening?—to hear what readers think of her.

The most difficult heroine to write about was, of course, Danika. She underwent such a vast change—from terrified hostage to bait to woman in love to relic of the gods—that I sometimes floundered with what to do with her.

KC: But happily for us, you worked it out with her. Good Gena! Speaking of Danika, I love your character names. Ashlyn, Danika, Anya… How do you come up with them? Is there a name—or a character—from someone else’s book or series [exaggerated stage wink] that you wish you’d come up with yourself first?

GS: The characters either tell me their names before I start writing the book or I scour baby books until I hear a “That’s me!” inside my head. (A fact that horrifies my mother. She tells me I should never admit 1. to having people in my head, and 2. that those people actually talk to me.) All of the ladies mentioned named themselves.

As for a name I wish I’d come up with myself—Mariketa, your heroine from Wicked Deeds on a Winter’s Night. I freaking love that name. But then, I also wish I was dating Bowen MacRieve, Mariketa’s man. Well, and also dating Lachlan from A Hunger Like No Other. And Rydstrom from Kiss of a Demon King. Yes, I am a romance novel hero slut. I can’t be blamed, though. You create such amazing men! I just need to take up residence in your brain. Or your books.

KC: You’re one to talk about creating amazing men. But yes, on the subject of your residing in my brain—it would be so much easier if we just morphed into one. And would really save on our phone bills. Sigh. Anyhoo, so Her Nïxness just got back from an appearance in The Darkest Whisper and will tell us nothing about it, just grins mischievously. How did you pick which Lord would catch her wandering from one series to another?

GS: She picked. I believe she said something like, “You can let Torin see me and live, or let someone else and suffer. Your pick, Showalter.” That’s not an exact quote, you understand, as I swore never to reveal the truth because the “world could implode.” But now, Torin wants a taste of those ears. I’m going to have to send in a distraction.

And now the plot thickens…

KC: Let’s talk about Cronus’s artifacts for a second. The Lords are on a quest to find Pandora’s box before the Hunters beat them to it. To do so, they first need to get their hands on four separate artifacts—the Cage of Compulsion, the All-Seeing Eye, the Cloak of Invisibility and the Paring Rod. So far they’re two down, two to go. Any hints as to which artifact might be discovered next?

GS: I will tell you that the Lords are actually going to get their hands on all four artifacts—but not for long. Something happens and they lose… Great, now I’ve said too much. Kresley, you can get me to spill more secrets than anyone I know. It’s your smile! It says, Tell me everything, and I can’t resist!

KC: Do you want to tell us how you came up with these four particular artifacts?

GS: Well, I was perusing mythology books and every time some kind of godly weapon or relic was mentioned, I wrote it down. Then I did the process of elimination. (The Philosopher’s Stone got cut, as did the Thunderbolt, different types of armor, shields, swords, the Trident, bows and treasures.) What could be used to hide and find something? Why? How?

The four mentioned here stood out the most, only I still have no freaking clue what the Paring Rod does. Cronus is so damn secretive!

KC: Do you know at this point in your writing where Pandora’s box might be hiding? Just a thought, but has anyone looked under the “Paring Rod”? (No need to thank me [fogging and buffing nails]. I live to be helpful in little ways like this.)

GS: Excellent tip, my sweet! [curses under breath] I have no idea where that stupid box is. Oops. My frustration is showing. I really wish I was a planner. I wish I had plotted the entire series so I would know what direction to go in so the Lords could finally find it. They do not like not knowing where that stu—uh, box is, and they let me know about this dislike every day!

KC: So if the gods cursed you to house one of the demons from Pandora’s box inside you, which would you pick and why? Which would you absolutely never want to get stuck with?

GS: I would definitely want to be possessed by the demon of Narcissism. You haven’t met her yet, but oh…good times! To never doubt yourself? To always know how wonderful you are? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!

The only downside is that, when you’re that confident, you tend to get into all kinds of…sticky situations. But with the right warrior at your side—or under you, whatever—“sticky” really means “fun.”

As for who I would most want to avoid…let’s see…so many choices…but probably Pain. I am a baby and I know it. Stubbed toe? Yeah, I sob like the world just ended.

KC: Do you have a set number of LOTU books envisioned? I *might* be happy with an even hundred. (What do you mean that’s a lot? Work it the *%$& out, Showalter!) [composing self] And do you know who the very last book will revolve around?

GS: I wish! But alas, I’m clueless as to how many Lords of the Underworld books there will be—though I am strongly considering one hundred right now. Really.

Besides that, all I know for sure is that I plan to write a book for every Lord. And William, my sweet William. His heroine might be named Gina. Or Jeanna. Only time will tell. Oh, and I would like to write about Kaia, the Harpy. And maybe Galen. And that’s it. Except for, like, ninety others. I mean, the angels are now in play and there are other demon-possessed immortals out there.

The last story will probably be…you know, I actually have no idea. No, that’s not true. The correct answer is, the last story will be about the most stubborn warrior. That changes with every story I write. Right now, however, they all rate pretty high on the Mule Meter.

KC: One thing I catch myself doing a lot is thinking back over the first inkling of an idea I had for certain books. With A Hunger Like No Other, one of the first scenes I imagined was this massive Highlander werewolf running down this ethereal female and rasping, “Never run from one such as me. You will no’ get away—and we like it.” Do you do this, too? What are some of your favorite first inklings?

GS: Those inklings are powerful, aren’t they? So, so powerful. I mean, as you were speaking, I had one of the best inklings of my life. I was the one that massive Highlander was chasing….

Ten minutes later [coughs]

What were we discussing? Inklings? That’s right. And massive Highlanders…

Fifteen minutes later [throws ice water]

Inklings. Right. Yes. I’ve had them and do I ever love them! I can write an entire book because of one inkling (and those are usually the books I love the most). I have three favorites. In The Darkest Night, I saw Maddox being stabbed to death by his best friend, then awakening, then being stabbed to death again.

In The Darkest Whisper, I saw Gwen trapped in a glass cage, saw the door to that cage open, then saw her disappear and return holding a man’s trachea—and nothing else. (Yes, I have the sweetest dreams.)

In The Darkest Prison, I saw a man on his knees, his chest bloody because his skin had just been carved off, and he was screaming at the heavens in fury. I knew a tattoo had just been removed and he wanted that tattoo back. It was only when I sat down to write the story that I realized the tattoo was actually the heroine’s name—and he hadn’t always liked it.

I just realized that my inklings are violent. What does that mean about me, do you think? Wait, don’t answer that.

KC: Veering off topic as we wrap things up, I have to ask you the burning question on every reader’s mind: What is your favorite Gena Showalter novel? (Mine rotates on a continual basis—whichever new release is in my hot little hands, about to be devoured!)

GS: Ah, yes. The burning question. This is going to seem mushy and gushy, but I love them all equally.

Okay, okay. Fine. Mama has a favorite, but if Mama were to mention that favorite, Mama would get into trouble with the other babies, so Mama is zipping her lips.

The Darkest Lie. Who said that?

KC: One last thing—you have a LOTU book to write, don’t you? If you only had twenty dollars in your purse, what would you buy? Actually, let’s make this more challenging: what would you buy—if not for me?

GS: A book (yours), a bottle of wine (cheapest white in stock) and chocolate chip cookie dough. And now, every massive Highland warrior out there knows how to seduce me. Come to Mama…

Bestselling author Kresley Cole is a master’s grad in English and a former world-ranked athlete, who now concentrates on her dream of writing romance. She has followed her highly acclaimed historicals with the continuing Immortals After Dark series, a sizzling paranormal romance collection. In 2007, Cole won the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA Award for best paranormal for her novel A Hunger Like No Other, and in January 2009, she became a #1 New York Times and Publishers Weekly bestselling author with her sixth IAD installment, Kiss of a Demon King. Her latest release is Pleasure of a Dark Prince (February 2010), about ruthless werewolf Garreth MacRieve and Lucia the Huntress, the exquisite archer who’s become his obsession.

Kresley invites you to visit her Web site at:

www.kresleycole.com.

CLASSIFIED

FILES FROM THE PRIVATE RECORDS OF DEAN STEFANO,
THE HUNTERS’ SECOND-IN-COMMAND

THE GREATER GOOD. That’s all I’ve ever fought for. A life without evil. Without sickness and violence. Without corruption and greed. That life is within my grasp. I know this, and that is what drives me so tirelessly. And yes, you might think me ruthless, the way I kill and seem to use others, but if you knew what could be—peace and hope and love—you would be fighting with me. You would be doing the same “terrible” things.

Who knows? One day you might. One day you might be like me, waking up every morning of every day, thinking, this could be it. This could be the day we find the box. The day we rid the world of Pandora’s demons. The day that begins our eternal celebration because we live in a world of absolute bliss.

Am I distressed that we haven’t reached that day yet? Yes. We are close, though…I know that, too. Meanwhile, I continue to be vigilant, to study the demons and the men that house them, meticulously documenting my observations in the hopes that someday they can be put to good use.

And just remember. If you aren’t working with us, you are working against us. Remember also that our enemies tend to die, slowly and painfully….

—Dean Stefano

Maddox

(BUDAPEST CONTINGENT)

Demon: Violence

Height: 6'4''

Hair: Black

Eyes: Violet (Note: eyes glow red when angry)

Butterfly tattoo: Upper left shoulder, wrapping around to his back

Other distinguishing marks: Demon’s skeletal face becomes visible through subject’s skin when subject is angered.

Preferred weapon: Fists

Demon culpability: The stabbing death of Pandora, and thereby the disappearance of her box, can be traced directly to Violence. In modern society Violence is deemed responsible for street-gang warfare, rape, murder and terrorism.

Notable background: Curse resulting from Pandora’s slaying caused the subject to be killed each night and resurrected each day for centuries. Curse has now been broken—methods unclear. Subject still erupts into fits of violence and should be presumed volatile and highly dangerous.

Achilles heel: Recent emotional attachment to human female Ashlyn Darrow, former para-audiologist for the World Institute of Parapsychology who now resides at Budapest fortress. I cannot help but believe that if her mentor, the late Dr. Frederick McIntosh, hadn’t hidden from her the true purpose of her work at the Institute, Darrow would not have defected to the Lords’ camp. Note: Darrow is believed pregnant with subject’s child. Due date to be determined.

Objectives: Capture Ashlyn Darrow if possible, use her as bait for subject to rescue, capture subject and imprison him until such time as Pandora’s box is found. Note: Beware Darrow’s ability to stand in one place and hear every conversation that ever took place there. Utter silence will be needed for any recon or capture missions. The element of surprise is crucial.

Lucien

(LEADER, BUDAPEST CONTINGENT)

Demon: Death

Height: 6'6''

Hair: Black, shoulder-length

Eyes: Mismatched—one brown (normal eye) and one blue (believed to allow subject to see into the spiritual world)

Butterfly tattoo: Upper left shoulder, front of chest

Other distinguishing marks: Face and body are covered in scars. Subject emits an odor of roses presumed to be linked to his demon.

Preferred weapon: Knives. Beware poisoned tips.

Demon culpability: Death is ultimately responsible for deciding which souls ascend to heaven and which are ushered to Hell. It’s believed that the subject uses his bias against the Hunters not only to kill their bodies, but to unfairly ensure that their souls never make it to heaven.

Notable background: Subject is believed to have disfigured his own face and body centuries ago in a fit of rage, indicating an unstable temperament and a harmful nature. Subject can travel outside his body and has been known to transport himself from one location to the next faster than the eye can see, making him a unique threat.

Achilles heel: Two of note. The first, when subject’s…soul, if that’s what it is, leaves his body, that body is left vulnerable. That might be the perfect time to strike. Second, subject seems to have grown attached to Anya, minor Greek goddess of Anarchy. Also noteworthy: Anya is believed to have been bound by a curse herself, possibly hampering her powers. Recon team to investigate further in the hopes of exploiting the knowledge for the greater good.

Objectives: Take a divide-and-conquer approach by separating subject from the minor goddess of Anarchy so subject will suffer. If we can kill the goddess, forcing Death to separate soul from body, he will be most vulnerable. Note: The minor goddess has a penchant for petty theft, incendiary behavior and general insubordination. Following a recent confrontation in Chicago, she has been deemed a nemesis of the angel Galen and thus her permanent capture is of particular interest to the Hunters.

Reyes

(BUDAPEST CONTINGENT)

Demon: Pain

Height: 6'5''

Hair: Dark brown

Eyes: Brown

Butterfly tattoo: Chest and neck

Other distinguishing marks: Deeply tanned skin; frequently sports scabs caused by self-mutilation

Preferred weapon: Daggers; sword; guns

Demon culpability: Physical pain and suffering throughout the ages are attributed to this demon’s acts of random cruelty.

Notable background: Subject has been witnessed going to excruciating lengths to cause himself pain. Jumping off rooftops and cutting his flesh are among his pastimes.

Achilles heel: Subject formed an attachment to human female Danika Ford following her kidnapping at the hands of fellow Lord Aeron. I personally did my utmost to recruit Danika to our cause, even convincing her to stage her own (second) kidnapping so the demons would rescue her and unwittingly bring a spy into their midst. The woman showed tremendous potential but was ultimately seduced by the dark side and aligned her loyalties with the Lords. I count her defection as a personal failure.

Objectives: Separate subject from Danika. Imprison him until Pandora’s box can be found. Demonstrate to Danika the consequences of choosing the wrong allegiance in battle.

Paris

(BUDAPEST CONTINGENT)

Demon: Promiscuity

Height: 6'8''

Hair: Varying shades of brown and black

Eyes: Blue

Butterfly tattoo: Lower back

Other distinguishing marks: Subject is widely regarded as the most physically appealing of all the Lords.

Preferred weapon: Sword

Demon culpability: Out-of-wedlock pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases and infidelity all can be laid at Promiscuity’s doorstep.

Notable background: Subject weakens without frequent physical release and cannot have sexual relations with the same woman twice. Subject has been known to seek out male partners as a last resort if no women are available, though he does not appear to enjoy such forays.

Achilles heel: While imprisoned in Hunters’ research facility in Athens, subject formed a fascinating bond with the late female Hunter Sienna Blackstone (R.I.P.) and managed to overcome his demon’s aversion to repeated sexual contact with the same woman. Since his untimely escape to Budapest, he has been reported to be relying heavily on ambrosia to regulate his moods and get him through the day.

Objectives: Exploit subject’s dependence on ambrosia if possible. Perhaps even arrange for him to receive a tainted batch. Dangle the promise of information about Sienna in order to lure him back to Athens facility for further testing.

Aeron

(BUDAPEST CONTINGENT)

Demon: Wrath

Height: 6'6''

Hair: Military-cropped, brown

Eyes: Violet

Butterfly tattoo: Middle of back

Other distinguishing marks: A pair of black gossamer wings hidden by slits in his back when not in use. Face and body are covered with tattoos of war scenes, weaponry and the demon’s victims. Two eyebrow rings.

Preferred weapon: Subject does not discriminate and embraces any weapon at his disposal.

Demon culpability: Wrath ostensibly preys only on victims it considers deserving of punishment. However, this pretense of meting out “justice” is clearly the demon’s twisted attempt to rationalize its killing sprees and evil deeds so it can continue to cause harm without consequences.

Notable background: Subject was taken over by bloodlust due to a curse of unknown origins and nearly killed human female Danika Ford in addition to her maternal grandmother, mother and older sister. Though the bloodlust seems to have passed, subject continues to be considered a menace to society.

Achilles heel: Subject views himself as godlike and humans as fragile and beneath him; however, his current determination to repay his fellow demon Paris for deeds unknown might prove a weak spot to be exploited. Subject is also devoted to the female demon minion Legion and has sworn to protect her from harm. Additionally, subject appears to be having apparent hallucinations that an invisible presence is spying on him.

Objective: Use subject’s devotion to fellow Lords and the minion Legion against him. Recon team is also determining ways to turn his hallucinations to the Hunters’ advantage.

Torin

(BUDAPEST CONTINGENT)

Demon: Disease

Height: 6'5''

Hair: White, shoulder-length

Eyes: Green

Butterfly tattoo: Stomach

Other distinguishing marks: Always wears long black gloves

Preferred weapon: As subject is confined to the Budapest fortress he has dubbed “the House of the Damned,” he does not generally use weapons but is believed to have gun and sword training.

Demon culpability: Disease is responsible for at least two known plagues that resulted in thousands of casualties. This demon is also at the root of cancer deaths and all additional pestilence, most recently the dreaded Swine Flu pandemic.

Notable background: Subject is unable to touch another living being skin-to-skin without infecting it with disease; subject wears protective clothing at all times and maintains his distance from others to prevent such an occurrence. Subject chooses to hide in the Lords’ fortress rather than accept the public blame he deserves for the illnesses he continues to cause, despite his “attempts” to keep the world “safe.”

Achilles heel: Subject’s battle skills have likely diminished due to his confinement. He could be the weak link of the Lords and vulnerable to capture. A suspected relationship with female Lord Cameo has distracted the subject, and could also be used to Hunters’ advantage.

Objectives: Exploit the subject’s unique vulnerabilities and use this weakest link to take down the rest of the Lords. If we could somehow arrange for subject to touch the other Lords, they would not be killed, but they would never again be able to touch their loved ones without killing them. Such a realization might just cause them to turn themselves in.

Sabin

(LEADER OF THE GREECE CONTINGENT)

Demon: Doubt

Height: 6'7''

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Gold-brown

Butterfly tattoo: Right ribcage and waist

Other distinguishing marks: Wears a necklace believed to be a gift to him from his deceased friend, Baden, demon of Distrust, the Hunters’ first victim.

Preferred weapon: Subject used to rely on knives, guns, throwing stars et al, but now, like the coward he is, he prefers to hide behind his Harpy bride for protection.

Demon culpability: The vilest of all demons whispers insecurities into the ears of anyone within reach and causes crippling, at times life-threatening self-doubt. This demon and the despicable creature who houses it are directly responsible for the suicide of my beloved wife, Darla, eleven years ago.

Notable background: I find it impossible to write objectively about my most deeply hated foe. This monster who calls himself a man seduced my faithful wife away from me with false promises and dirty lies and coaxed her to betray my secrets. When he’d gotten what he needed from her, he let his demon go to work, and the next thing I knew, my wife had slashed her wrists.

Achilles Heel: His single-minded devotion to Gwendolyn the Timid, his Harpy wife. Due to recent complications at our Chicago training facility, we are uncertain as to the extent to which we might be able to use her against him. But sometimes it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Objectives: Secretly, without Galen’s knowledge, separate subject from his wife. Seduce her, as subject likes to seduce other men’s wives, and arrange for subject to find her dead, bleeding body.

Gideon

(GREECE CONTINGENT)

Demon: Lies

Height: 6'3''

Hair: Dyed Blue

Eyes: Blue, kohl-rimmed

Butterfly tattoo: Right thigh

Other distinguishing marks: Multiple piercings and general Goth appearance

Preferred weapon: All of them. Subject seems to have no specific preference, using whatever is nearby.

Demon culpability: Lies has infiltrated politics worldwide, resulting in false promises from world leaders and the disintegration of modern society.

Notable background: Subject is unable to tell the truth without experiencing terrible pain. My forefathers were able to capture and contain subject for a prolonged period of time and, in the course of limb-regeneration experiments, removed subject’s feet. Unfortunately, subject ultimately escaped with the aid of his demon cohorts and both his feet have since grown back. The feet we removed, however, we are still in possession of. We exacted revenge in Chicago recently with the removal of both subject’s hands, but again were unable to contain him for long. We now have the removed hands, as well.

Achilles heel: Unknown. It is impossible to learn anything of use from this disgusting liar.

Objective: Capture this demon once and for all and rid the world of his offensive presence. Also, continue with experiments of the removed limbs, using them to hopefully create our own immortal warrior.

Cameo

(GREECE CONTINGENT)

Demon: Misery

Height: 5'7''

Hair: Long, black

Eyes: Silver

Butterfly tattoo: Lower back, wings spreading around to both hips

Other distinguishing marks: Her voice is enough to make you want to kill yourself. Earplugs are needed when around her.

Preferred weapon: Semi-automatic, long-range rifles

Demon culpability: Misery is responsible for mental health issues such as depression and anxiety. The fact that both are reported at higher rates today than ever before suggests that the demon’s reach is increasing.

Notable background: Subject causes profound emotional anguish in everyone around her. Additionally, subject was, until recently, believed to be the lone female Lord of the Underworld. New events suggest that additional female Lords might in fact exist.

Achilles heel: Subject is believed to have a relationship with Torin, keeper of Disease. Subject will be closely observed for any physical or emotional vulnerability that might pave the way for an opportunity to capture her. But because of the supposed relationship with Disease, protective gear will be needed when apprehending her.

Objectives: Recon team is exploring ways to force subject to use her voice to our advantage.

Amun

(GREECE CONTINGENT)

Demon: Secrets

Height: 6'6''

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Brown

Butterfly tattoo: Right calf

Other distinguishing marks: Dark skin

Preferred weapon: Things of an exotic nature.

Demon culpability: The demon of Secrets fosters a lack of communication that contributes to individual issues such as the breakdown of marriages and global problems such as breaches of national security and the inability to achieve world peace.

Notable background: Subject is unable to speak without the secrets of the world pouring out of his mouth—as I regrettably experienced first-hand at our Chicago facility. Also of note, when he speaks, you hear the voice of the person whose secret he is revealing.

Achilles heel: Subject’s fear of speaking might be utilized to our advantage.

Objectives: Capture and interrogate subject in the hopes of discerning the secrets he keeps and using them against the Lords.

Strider

(GREECE CONTINGENT)

Demon: Defeat

Height: 6'5''

Hair: Blond

Eyes: Blue

Butterfly tattoo: Left hip

Other distinguishing marks: Subject was created, not born, yet has a birthmark on the right side of his buttocks. Small, brown and jagged at the edges.

Preferred weapon: Subject embraces all weaponry.

Demon culpability: The demon of Defeat is determined to win at all costs and will do whatever it takes to ensure victory. Defeat has brought about the downfall of athletes worldwide due to its encouragement of illegal tactics like steroids to obtain a win.

Notable background: Subject cannot lose an argument or battle without succumbing to intense physical agony and prolonged sleep.

Achilles heel: Subject’s inability to lose gracefully.

Objectives: Issue a challenge the demon cannot refuse, one that leads him straight into a trap.

Kane

(GREECE CONTINGENT)

Demon: Disaster

Height: 6'4''

Hair: Mixture of brown, black and gold

Eyes: Hazel

Butterfly tattoo: Right hip

Other distinguishing marks: We are still searching.

Preferred weapon: Rifles and other long-range weaponry

Demon culpability: Disaster can be held accountable for everything from traffic accidents to construction site fatalities to plane crashes. It is harmful, often lethal, to anyone and anything it comes into contact with.

Notable background: Subject is unable to move without causing ceilings to collapse, vehicles to explode and other assorted catastrophes to occur. Miraculously and despicably, subject seems to escape injury from such incidents, but those around him are less fortunate.

Achilles heel: Unknown

Objectives: Recon team is exploring ways to isolate and capture subject and channel the incidents he causes into a strategy that will be advantageous to us.

BEHIND THE SCENES:
Creating the Lords of the Underworld

I’M OFTEN ASKED HOW I created my Lords of the Underworld series, which revolves around a group of immortal warriors who, cursed by the gods to house demons inside them, embark on a quest for an ancient relic that will take them around the world on a journey beyond their wildest dreams. The answer I most often give is: I had never liked the myth of Pandora, where one curious female was blamed for all the world’s misery, so I decided to rewrite that myth—and blame men. But, to be honest, that isn’t how the series originated; that’s just how it ended up after tons of agonizing.

Let me explain. When I sat down to create the very first Lords of the Underworld book, all I knew was that I wanted to write a story about Death. The Grim Reaper. So, I wrote several chapters of a book where the Grim Reaper swept through Las Vegas to take the soul of a woman destined to die the next day. Only, he woke up married to her instead. But something about that story didn’t feel right, and I trashed the pages.

Knowing I needed to start over, I began to question the main character. Why was this man Death? What was his history? Had he always escorted souls to the hereafter? To my delight—and frustration—each new question gave birth to another. Those questions, and their answers, were all I could think about.

Then, one day, Death finally opened up and told me about his friends: Pain, Misery, Doubt, Violence, Disease, Secrets, Wrath, Promiscuity, Distrust, Lies, Disaster and Defeat. Of course, more questions followed. How were they friends? Why were they known as these terrible things?

And then I remembered Pandora’s box and the demons trapped inside. Of course, I thought, more excited than I’d ever been. They were the demons.

Only, rather than immortal warriors being possessed by these demons, as you know the Lords today, I envisioned the men themselves as the demons and rewrote the first few chapters of Death’s new story to reflect that. But again, something didn’t seem right. Maybe because Death was no longer the character that claimed my attention. Violence was; he demanded I pay attention to him. I had to know more about him, this man who would erupt into fits of madness at the slightest provocation. And so, once more I ditched the chapters I’d been working on and tried again, focusing on Violence, aka Maddox, this time.

Finally. I was on the right path, and I knew it—and yet, after writing the first three chapters of Maddox’s story, I realized something still was not right. In fact, here’s the blurb I had written to describe the book:

He is the demon of Violence and he’s been trapped inside Pandora’s box, alone, simply waiting to be unleashed. Then a master thief steals the box and captures his heart, as well. Together they must hunt down the spirits that escaped thousands of years ago, and lock them back up before chaos destroys them both.

And yes, I still have those three chapters. For the curious among you, they are included in this guide. I titled that book Awakening Pandora. But you see, I didn’t like that Violence was still inside the box—been there and done that with The Pleasure Slave, which I published in 2005—and I didn’t like that he planned to lock the other demons back up but would not lock himself up, as well. Where was the fairness in that? What made him so different from the others?

So I sat down and had a heart-to-heart with myself. How could I make the storyline better, yet still utilize the myth of Pandora? And that’s when the answer came to me. All of the demons had already been released, and they’d been living among us for thousands of years.

Finally! I wrote the entire book, lost in Maddox’s new past and the volatile world around him. And here’s another behind-the-scenes tidbit for you: in that manuscript, Paris was originally named Challen; Aeron was Vrede; Reyes was Raine and Galen was Hector. Their names were ultimately changed to make them more accessible and easier to pronounce, and because I wanted names from as many different cultures as possible since my Greek and Titan gods were representing the entire world.

Oh, and in case you’re curious, here was my blurb for book two in the series (which ultimately became The Darkest Kiss). As you’ll see, I was still determined to work in my dying heroine/married in Vegas story:

Death, the Grim Reaper. Freed from Pandora’s Box thousands of years ago, Lucien has spent his time collecting souls and escorting them to their final resting place. Until he encounters his next victim in a Las Vegas nightclub…and, in a drunken haze, marries her instead.

You’re probably wondering about my original plans for book three (The Darkest Pleasure), as well. Here’s that blurb:

The spirit of pain is unexpectedly given to a modern woman, who suddenly begins wielding powers beyond belief. The Lords of the Underworld find her with every intention of killing her. Except one of the warriors wants her for his own…

Now, I did not start working on either of those books. I turned in Maddox’s story, The Darkest Night, and waited to hear from my editor. And oh, I’m glad I did! She helped me see the final remaining problem. With the Lords having been trapped inside the box themselves, they were too tortured. They’d never known anything but Hell, isolation and pain, which left a gap between character and reader, and I had not built a bridge between the two.

Back to the drawing board I went, but this time, I brought my editor—brilliant, genius woman—with me. We tossed around ideas and came up with the stories you know today.

Some Lords have traveled easier roads than others, but I promise you, all will eventually get their happily-ever-after. So far Maddox (Violence), Lucien (Death), Reyes (Pain) and Sabin (Doubt) have found their mates. Aeron (Wrath) and Gideon (Lies) are next. Who’s after that? you might be wondering. And how do I decide?

Well, to answer the first question: Amun (Secrets) will likely be up next. You’ll see why in The Darkest Lie. After him, probably Strider (Defeat). To answer the second question: I don’t. The men decide for me.

I am not a plotter. At all. Even the thought of planning a story from start to finish makes me want to drop to the floor in the fetal position, sucking my thumb and crying for my mommy. I simply sit down with the grain of an idea (and as you’ve now read, I’ve had a lot of grains for this particular series) and allow the characters to take me wherever they want me to go. Which means their stories unfold as they give me the details—and believe me, they are impervious to my begging. ’Cause yeah, I’d love to write about certain characters before others—cough Paris cough—but every time I try, I end up staring at a blank screen. Stubborn bastards!

I might torture them in the books, but in the end, they torture me far, far more.

I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into my process. Not to mention the result.

Wishing you all the best!

Gena Showalter

AWAKENING PANDORA

PROLOGUE

AT ONE TIME, HE’D BEEN a man. A warrior. A king. His enemies had trembled in fear, and his lovers had trembled in ecstasy. Both had begged for the sweet release only he could give: death or pleasure. A slash of his blade or a caress of his hand. Life was sweet, so sweet.

But one night, everything changed.

A woman came to him, the most beautiful he’d ever beheld. Seductive, seemingly guileless. Legend would one day call her Pandora. He would one day call her Witch.

The first time she visited him, she wore a white virgin’s robe, and the hem danced around her ankles as if the very air around her could not help but touch her. Know her. She had hair as dark as a raven’s wing, a face so delicate it almost hurt to gaze upon, and eyes so deep a violet that looking into them was like peering into a never ending abyss.

No one understood how she’d entered his fortress, only that she’d demanded an audience with him. He’d granted her one, certain she was one of a thousand others who wished to know the taste of a king. He’d meant to scold her for such daring and send her on her way. Now, seeing her…

“You may speak,” he told her, waving his royal hand through the air.

“I come to offer you the world, King Maddox. This one, and any other you might desire.” Her voice was lilting, pure enchantment. “Magic will be yours to wield. Time and space will bow to your every whim. Power beyond your wildest imaginings will flow from your hands.”

Seated on his throne of gold, Maddox laughed in disbelief. The strongest of his men surrounded him in a half circle and they, too, laughed at her words. Such things were impossible in this dark world of war and sacrifice. Magic and power belonged to those beyond their reach, the gods and goddesses who rarely ventured here. Still, the claim certainly gained his full attention.

Females lied to him constantly as they fought for a place in his bed and at his side. In this, the beauteous creature was no different.

“What do you ask in return for this gift, sweet?” he asked dryly. “Marriage? To become queen? The right to bear my child?”

She raised her chin, proud, beguiling. “I ask only that you and your army hide my greatest treasure.”

He nearly snorted. Her greatest treasure, in his mind, was her body, and he was more than happy to hide it in his bed. “I accept,” he said, grinning. “My men, however, will have to decide for themselves.”

One by one his brothers-in-arms stepped forward, each mimicking his acceptance. They, too, were smiling widely.

The woman licked her lips in anticipation. “May I kiss you, great king, to complete our bargain?”

He arched a brow. “I would be most disappointed if you didn’t.”

Slowly she climbed the marble stairs and onto the dais, her gown still flowing around her like a phantom, alive, separate from her somehow. When she stood before him, a fragrant breeze wafted to his nostrils, a breeze of midnight tempests and…power? The magic she’d sworn to bestow upon him? No. Surely not.

“Your lips,” she said.

“Take them.” He didn’t shift from his reclined position, forcing her to bend, to come to him. She did. Closer. Closer still. And then her lips gently pressed against his. She opened for him, but didn’t sweep her tongue into his mouth as he expected. No, she uttered a single word. His new prison. His downfall. His sole reason for existence, he would learn.

“Violence,” she said. A gust of wind burst from her mouth and into his, down his throat and into his stomach, his bones. He was suddenly unable to move, locked in place as the brutal wind invaded every corner of his body, attaching itself. Becoming part of him. His muscles shook and burned. His stomach quivered. Pain, so much pain.

He wanted to curse, to fight. To kill. What was happening to him? The wind was solidifying, becoming a…no. No! It was becoming a living entity, another consciousness inside him. He could hear the savageness of its thoughts, could feel the darkness of its desires. He gritted his teeth so forcefully, blood filled his mouth. Grab your sword. Attack! But he could not. He was still trapped, helpless to the wind-creature as it ravaged him.

The woman moved to the man at his right, and there was nothing Maddox could do, nothing he could say to stop her. Her lips descended upon Baden, a scarred, battle-hardened man with more integrity, more honor, than anyone else Maddox had encountered.

“Distrust,” she whispered, and Baden, too, was frozen in place, shaking and under siege.

Over and over, she approached the warriors, kissing them, uttering a different word each time. “Pain.”

“Wrath.”

“Death.”

“Disease.”

“Promiscuity.”

After a while, her voice faded from his ears and he knew nothing except darkness.

When she left, he didn’t know. He only knew that when he awakened, he was stronger than he’d ever been, faster, better. The creature, the second consciousness, lay dormant now, so he tried not to concern himself with it. But magic, he learned, was indeed his to command. Time and space did bow to his every whim, and power beyond his wildest imaginings did flow from his hands, just as the woman had claimed.

He reveled in his new abilities, embraced them, enjoyed everything about them—until the beast inside him awoke, no longer content to endure his rule. The beast inside all of the men awoke.

That’s when the woman began to call upon them.

The beasts were her servants, so in turn, they became her servants. When she was angered, it was Vrede she commanded to wreak destruction. He killed without mercy, forced by the beast inside him to unleash a torrent of wrath upon whomever she desired. There was no way to stop it, no way to fight against it.

Challen she called for fucking. Torin she called for plague. Lucien she called for death.

Over the years, he and his warriors lost touch with their humanity. They became wild, nearly uncontrollable, and more vicious than their creator had ever anticipated. Maddox, more so than most. He was the epitome of anger, fury and rage, so lethal a single glance at him could scare the bravest of souls to death.

When Pandora realized she would soon lose all control of them, she locked the essence of them inside a box. They stayed in this box for many centuries, able to observe the world around them but unable to act. Yet, as time often did, memories of their treacherous deeds dulled. Pandora remembered only the good things they’d done for her. They’d punished her enemies, after all. They’d destroyed those unworthy of her. They’d saddened those who did not deserve happiness.

And so, one night she opened the box, meaning to release only one or two of her pets. All but one burst forward before she was able to slam the lid back into place. Yet the beasts were no longer hers to command, and they hated her for what she’d done to them.

Pandora discarded the box and fled for her life, hiding so that none could find her.

The beasts scattered across the world, wreaking havoc. The one still trapped inside the box, well, he waited…and he waited….

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU GET CAUGHT, AND I’M hauling ass to Mexico.”

“Your concern for me is touching. Really.” Fighting a grin, Farrah Roberts anchored a small flesh-colored headphone on her left ear and eyed River Jackson, the only person in the world that she trusted. He was also the nineteen-year-old kid responsible for making sure she wasn’t caught. “Just watch the feed and warn me if I pick up a shadow.”

“Rub it in a little more, why don’t you?” he said with a pout. “You’re the big, bad thief and I’m the sidekick. I get the grunt work.”

“I’m going to leave the target’s apartment from the roof. You really want to dangle twenty-nine stories from a thin piece of wire?”

“Hell, yeah,” he said, but they both knew he lied. River was afraid of heights. The little shit would pee his pants.

Right now they sat inside a large white van that looked like any other service van parked on Main Street. What was inside their vehicle, however, was much different than any of the others. Monitors that revealed much of the activity in and around the apartment complex she was about to enter, as well as computers and blueprints.

Farrah slid a silver ring down her left index finger. If tonight was a success, she would not have to use what was hidden inside it. “You’ve already hacked into the power system?”

River snorted. “What, I’m an amateur now? Of course I’m in.”

Her lips twitched at his affront. He could hack into anything, anytime, no matter how secure it was, and he wasn’t shy about trumpeting his abilities. Farrah loved his confidence, so different from the lack of self-esteem he’d once exhibited.

She’d found him wandering the streets six years ago, had taken him in though she’d been a child herself, and paid for his education. He’d been a shy little thing back then, unsure, awkward and desperate for attention.

“So…how do I look?” she asked, pinning a small black microphone to the collar of her top.

He eyed her up and down, from the slicked ponytail holding her dark hair captive, to the trench coat hiding the black body suit she’d practically sewed to each of her curves, to the shiny boots on her feet.

“You look like you charge two hundred dollars an hour for bondage and pain. No way you’ll blend with the snobs who live in Crescent Moon.”

“I don’t have to blend. I just have to make it into the elevator without being stopped.”

“Even if you’re stopped, I’m controlling their video recordings here. They won’t get your face on tape. Not permanently, at least.”

“But they will get a description to give the police,” she said dryly.

“Right now, with your makeup and contacts, your face looks like a thousand others.” River hefted the black velvet bag that contained her tools and anchored it on her shoulder. “Get out of here. I’m bored.”

Farrah saw the apprehension in his emerald eyes and bent over to kiss his cheek. He worried about her every time she worked—despite the fact that she’d last been caught ten years ago, at the age of fifteen. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you will. ’Cause I’m watching your back.”

Grinning, she exited the van’s passenger door and entered the cold Dallas night. River reached out and pinched her butt just before she shut the door. Her smile widened. She didn’t bother turning around to flip him off; the van’s windows were tinted so she wouldn’t get to see his reaction.

“Testing,” she whispered into her mouthpiece. It was taped to her cheek and so thin she often forgot it was there. “Testing.”

“Copy is good,” River said.

“Asswipe,” she muttered, and he laughed.

“You liked it—you know you did.”

“If you’re not careful, I’ll demote you to laundry boy.”

“Puh-lease. You need me.”

The moon was high, bright, and the street was busy as she maneuvered across. They’d parked a half-mile from the building, and she made the trek through shadows and back alleys without incident. No one paid her any attention. When Crescent’s towering chrome and glass came into view, she whispered, “Entering in thirty.”

“Tom and John are at the screens, drinking coffee and reading a magazine.”

Male names: that meant both of the guards inside the building were armed. Just in case she and River had an unwanted listener, anyone with a weapon was deemed a boy; everyone else got stuck with names like Bubbles and Bambi.

As predicted, Farrah entered the lobby thirty seconds later. Except for the guards, the lobby was deserted. Good. That’s why she’d chosen Saturday at midnight. The old were in bed, and the young were out partying. Her boots clicked on the pink-veined marble, bouncing her bag at her side.

Showtime.

“Can I help you, miss?” one of the guards asked. He clanked his coffee onto the gray countertop and pushed to his feet. He was a burly man in his late fifties. Friendly face, tired eyes.

Farrah didn’t slow her steps, but tossed him an I’m-so-innocent smile over her shoulder. “Acting like you don’t recognize me? Not funny,” she said. “You know I live here.”

Maybe he was embarrassed not to “recognize” her. Maybe he was just too tired to care. But he didn’t try to stop her as she entered the elevator. And then the doors closed, shutting her inside. Alone. A relieved sigh parted her lips. She would have preferred to have rented one of the apartments and move around freely, without (much) artiface, but all of the apartments were already rented and there was a year-long waiting list. No thanks. She already had a buyer for this particular item, so waiting wasn’t an option.

“Which floor is emptied?” she asked River.

Tap, tap, tap. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Eight is your best bet.”

“Pressing eight.” She jabbed the button, and the elevator jostled into motion. When it stopped on the correct floor, she strode into the hallway and pretended to dig in her purse for a key. “Hold the elevator for me,” she whispered.

“Done,” River said. “Alright, the guards are watching you and they see you at the door. I’m switching the feed…now.” He paused. “Excellent. All they see now is an empty hallway, so they’ll assume you entered the room. I’m controlling the elevator feed, as well. You’re good to go.”

Farrah hurried back to the elevator and swiped the key card she’d stolen. Anyone who wished to enter the penthouse needed a card to bypass the twenty-eighth floor and reach the twenty-ninth.

“I’m looking at the foyer,” River said. “Matt and Mike are waiting for you across from the elevator doors at ten and two.”

“Copy that.” Farrah dug a black mask from her bag and pulled it over her face. That done, she stuffed her gloved hands into her coat pockets, wrapping her fingers around the tranq guns anchored inside of each. She was a thief, not a killer, and never carried lethal weapons.

As adrenaline rushed through her, so heady and strong she could have drunk it, she withdrew the guns and held them at her sides. Her heart pounded excitedly in her chest.

It had always been this way. A rush. Addictive.

She’d begun stealing at the age of twelve; her mother had been sick, and they’d needed money. She stole small things at first: food, clothing, wallets. But as her skills increased, so did her targets. Now, her mom was gone and she had a hefty bank account.

There was no limit to what she could take—or who she could take from. Stopping had never appealed to her.

“Awfully quiet in there,” River said, cutting into her thoughts. “You imagining me naked or something?”

She snorted. “Funny.”

“No. Sexy.”

“Arrogant.”

“Hold that thought,” he said. “Arrival in five. Four. Three. Two.” The elevator dinged; the doors opened.

Immediately Farrah raised her arms, aiming her guns at the ten and two positions. She squeezed the triggers before the guards, who were already standing, had a chance to realize she was masked. Red darts pegged them both in the neck. One guy managed to withdraw his weapon, but the tranquilizer was strong, mainly used for wild animals, and he tumbled onto the plush, dark brown carpet without firing a single shot. His friend soon joined him.

“We good?” River asked.

“We’re good.” Sheathing the guns, she quickly moved to the front door. Unlocked. But she didn’t enter. Not yet. “I’m ready for the power surge.”

“Overriding power system…now.” Lights instantly flickered off, leaving only a dark, dark void. Absolute silence slithered through the air, causing her ears to ring. A necessary evil. It was easier to disable the security system by cutting the power than to use light and sound to cover her actions while she danced around motion detectors and heat sensors. “You have approximately five minutes before they’re able to trip the wire and recharge.”

“Entering now.” She swept inside, time ticking away inside her mind. Here it was lighter than the foyer had been, thin rays of moonlight seeping in from the unadorned windows. For days she’d poured over the blueprint of the apartment, so she knew exactly where to go. The owner, according to her contacts, was vacationing in the French Riviera with his mistress. The wife was here, though—hopefully sleeping.

Silently Farrah moved, rounding corners and taping tiny cameras onto the walls, each one giving River a direct view of her surroundings. “Hallway one, live,” he said. A pause, then the clatter of his keyboard. “Living room, live. Uh, you’ve got a man asleep on the couch.”

Farrah backtracked, used a dart on the third guard, or whoever he was, then leapt back into motion.

“Kitchen, live,” River said. Pause, clatter. “Hallway two, live.”

The study was up next. Reaching the double doors, Farrah’s exhilaration intensified. This was it. The room. She gave the knob an experimental twist. Big surprise, it was locked. Not with a simple pin-tumbler or a wafer-tumbler, either, but a tubular lock, with pins all the way around the circumference of the cylinder plug.

Usually she preferred museums to private collectors. More of a challenge. This job, however, was proving to be quite fun. “How am I on time?” she whispered, dropping her bag and crouching down. She withdrew the proper tools.

“Four minutes, two seconds.”

She inserted the pick gun, a vibrating piece of metal that pushed the lock’s pins up to the shear line, all the while working the tension wrench into the bottom hole. Click. “I’m in.”

Too easy.

“Six seconds,” River said. “Not your record, but not bad.”

Farrah quietly entered the study, her boots sinking into the thick crimson rug. Even through her mask, she smelled woodsy cigar smoke, leather and freshly polished oak. The spacious room boasted wall-to-wall bookshelves. There was a desk in the center, a cushioned chair and several display cases perched on small marble stands.

“Do you see it?” River asked, his excitement palpable.

Her gaze scanned…scanned…seeing many artifacts and several pieces of jewelry until finally lighting on a small wooden box. Dark, surmounted by a deliciously carved face—a man’s face, Farrah realized, when she stood just in front of it—with a glittery golden cord wrapped around the middle.

The gold embossed tag underneath read, Pandora’s box. Satisfaction hummed inside of her.

“Contact,” she said, awed.

Never taking her eyes from the item, she extracted the glass-cutter and a strip of velvet from her bag. The box was certainly beautiful, the most beautiful and detailed she’d ever seen. And the masculine face was a sight to behold, savage, raw, elemental, pulling all of her feminine instincts to the surface. Still, she didn’t know why the buyer was willing to pay her a cool mil for it. Especially since Pandora was a legend, a myth, and there was probably nothing inside.

With precise movements, Farrah sliced a circle in the glass, keeping it suctioned to the cutter so that it didn’t fall to the ground and shatter. She set the piece on top of the case.

Open the box.

She’d been in the process of reaching out when the words whispered across her mind. Deep, masculine. Seductive…Like the face.

Open it.

Surprised, she straightened and frowned. “Did you just tell me to open it?” she asked River.

“Nope. No time for that. You need to get your ass in gear. Less than three minutes remaining.”

Open it. See what’s inside.

What was wrong with her? Farrah shook her head, clasped the box, and carefully wrapped it in the velvet. She secured the package inside her bag, part of her hoping to hear the voice again.

“Shit,” River suddenly bit out. “The wife is awake and walking into the kitchen.”

“She probably got spooked when the power went out and is fixing a midnight snack. We’re okay,” she said, but she was already moving to the far window. She slipped out of her trench.

“Just get the hell out of there, would ya?”

“Time?”

“Not long,” River said. “Less than a minute.”

Before he’d finished the last word, the lights flicked on. The heater kicked on, as well, emitting a gentle hum. Farrah swished aside the drapes and raised the window. Cold air blustered all around her as she gathered her coat and bag, then stepped onto the ledge.

“The wife is trying to wake the guard,” River said with an edge of panic. Then, “She found the dart in his neck. Damn it, she’s running toward the study.”

“Good thing I’m leaving.” Heart pumping with delicious speed, Farrah slid the ultra-thin wiregun from her bag, raised her arm and squeezed a shot. The sharp tip embedded in the beam above her head. She tugged once, twice, making sure the line was secure. Then she jumped, feet first, and flew toward the ground.

The wire slowed just before she hit—she’d measured the distance before ever entering the building—then stopped altogether, softly lowering her to a stand. She released the handle, removed her mask and casually walked away from the building as if she hadn’t a care.

She was smiling.

INSIDE THE BOX, MADDOX seethed with his need to escape. Close, so close. He’d spoken to the woman, and she’d heard him. No one else had ever heard him. But she had hidden him away, cutting him off from her erotic voice. A voice that caused every cell in his body to awaken, to roar, demanding release. How long since he’d spent himself inside a female? How long since he’d known anything except darkness? How long since the beast inside him had experienced the sweet taste of violence?

Eternity.

Did the woman mean to forget him? Oh, he would allow no such thing. He would convince her to free him—and she would be able to do so, as no other human had been able, he knew it—and his body’s long-denied needs would, at last, be met. And yes, the beast would, at last, be unleashed….

CHAPTER TWO

A TOTAL SUCCESS. AGAIN. Farrah was coming off her adrenaline high, but she couldn’t stop smiling. No casualties, no foot or car chase. Just a job well done.

The buyer had insisted she meet with him the same night she “acquired” the box. Perhaps he thought she’d sell it to someone else. Perhaps he simply couldn’t wait to hold it in his hands. Either way, Farrah texted him, letting him know the box was in her possession and she would meet him at their agreed upon location in one hour.

“I’ll be waiting,” was his nearly instantaneous response. He was already in Dallas, had probably flown out before her, three weeks ago.

She didn’t know his name or even what he looked like, and she preferred it that way. They always met in the shadows. In the last six months, she’d done several jobs for him, all of them boxes very similar to the one in her bag. What he wanted with them, she didn’t know. He paid without balking and never tried to renegotiate. That was what mattered to Farrah.

“Wanna see it?” she asked River.

He didn’t have to ask what “it” was. “Hell, yeah, I want to see it.” He kept his attention on the road as he maneuvered their sedan along the highway. They’d switched out the van in favor of a rental that would blend with every other car on the road. Tall streetlights whizzed past them, illuminating, then drowning in shadows. Trees and buildings flashed in and out of view. “That baby’s gonna buy me a kick-ass Lamborghini.”

Farrah settled the bag on her stomach. She kicked her legs onto the dash and sunk deeper into her seat. “Why a Lamborghini?” She would have expected him to list all the computer equipment he couldn’t live another moment without.

“Owning a ride like that is like stumbling upon an island of naked, horny women whose sole goal in life is to pleasure you.”

“No, it’s not,” she scoffed. “I would never date a guy just because he drives a nice car.”

“That’s because you don’t date, period.”

No, she didn’t. Men were not a priority for her. They couldn’t be. They’d learn her secret and betray her. As she well knew.

In the quiet of the night, as she lay in bed, she might long for one, for strong arms and heat and passion. For sex that was hot and hard, pounding. But she would never allow herself to indulge. There was no one she could trust—except River, but he didn’t count. They were best friends, practically brother and sister.

“You’re a good-looking kid—”

“Man,” he interjected with a pointed glare. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “We’ve had this discussion before. I’m a man. Not a kid, not a boy. You get me?”

“Fine. You’re a good-looking man.” He was tall and lean, perhaps too lean. He had light brown hair, piercing green eyes and deceptively angelic features. “If a girl—woman—doesn’t want you for who you are, you shouldn’t want her.”

He rolled his eyes. “You act like I’m looking for something serious. I’m a perv looking for action, Farr, that’s all. Now show me the box already. Your conversation skills suck.”

Fighting a grin, Farrah dug inside the bag and lifted the black velvet mound. Slowly, gently, she unwound the material layer by soft layer. The intricately carved top came into view, the man’s face somehow more savage than she remembered. Her stomach fluttered deliciously. If only such a powerful man truly existed….

River darted a quick glance at it and whistled. “That’s the coolest one so far. Have you opened it yet? Was it empty like the others?”

“No. And I don’t know.” The buyer had dictated she not open a single box. Of course, she disobeyed every time, her curiosity too great. Now, however…with the voice… She was a little afraid, which was stupid.

“Ah, come on. Open, open, open,” River chanted.

Her hand shook as she reached for the glittery gold ribbon. As if on cue, the voice returned.

Open it, he beseeched. His husky, wine-rich timbre filled her head, invaded her blood, tingling along the surface of her skin. Open it and see what’s inside.

She jerked her hand away. Incredulous, she blinked over at River. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He frowned.

“That…voice.”

“Don’t tell me you actually believe that shit about Pandora and her evil spirits.”

“Of course not. I just, I don’t know. This very deep, very masculine voice keeps telling me to—oh, never mind!” She waved her hand through the air. “There’s no way to explain without sounding crazy.”

River’s face scrunched and he gave her a brief, you-are-so-weird look. “You been puffing the magic dragon again?”

“Be serious!”

He barked out a laugh. “I am. Come on, tell Brother River what the naughty voice is telling you to do.”

One peek. Just take one peek.

Farrah gulped. “You truly don’t hear that?”

“No.”

I’ll give you so much pleasure, you’ll feel me inside of you for days. All you have to do is. Open. The. Box.

Farrah’s cheeks heated with a blush. Now she knew it was her imagination. Hadn’t she just lamented about her desire for a man, for passion and hard, pounding sex? She uttered an embarrassed chuckle. “Never mind. Just forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, right. Is the voice telling you to take off all your clothes and dance in the moonlight?” He wiggled his dark brows. “Is the voice telling you to wait for the mother ship to take you home?”

She flipped him off, and he gave another laugh.

Of its own accord, her gaze returned to the box. She removed a glove and traced a fingertip over the man’s—warrior’s—square jawline, over the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. Warmth tingled up her arm. Drugging warmth, electric warmth.

An animalistic purr filled her ears. Do not stop. Touch more.

She gasped and snatched her arm away, even tugged her glove back onto her hand. Even knowing she was imagining things, she couldn’t stop her tingling reaction.

Woman, I said touch more, not less!

“What’s wrong?” River demanded. His arms jerked as he faced her, and the car swerved. Someone honked at them. He hurriedly straightened in the proper lane.

“Nothing, nothing,” she assured him. But a wave of need continued to slam into her. Need like she’d never known before, as if she were touching a flesh and blood man and he was touching her in return. That purr… “I’m not going to open it,” she said, more for the voice than for River. “That will mess up the ribbon, and the buyer will know we peeked. He might refuse to pay us.”

I can smell your arousal, woman. Now I want to taste it.

“Let’s just get this thing to its proud new owner,” she said on a shaky breath.

“We’re almost there.” River had lost his teasing air and now hummed with concern. Not that she could blame him. She’d never acted this way before. So…unstable. She was the calm one. She was the one who took everything in stride. She was the one who remained unaffected. Yet here she was, lusting after a voice inside her head.

Time to put the box away.

Farrah began to wrap the velvet around the wood, but the voice stopped her. No. Please, no. It was tortured this time, a desperate plea. Her mouth went dry, and she stilled. Maybe all of her adrenaline rushes had finally caught up to her and fried her brain. Maybe she needed to take a vacation.

River eased the car into the parking lot of a motel close to the designated nightclub. Even from here, she could hear the bump and grind of the music, a wild, frantic beat that aroused, beckoned. People milled in and out, laughing, talking, flirting.

“I hate these clandestine meetings,” River muttered, parking. The meeting place might stay the same, but they parked somewhere new each time.

“We’ve met with this guy eight other times. Nothing’s ever happened.” Farrah gently set the box on the dash and wound a thick silver belt around her waist, trying to make her body suit look more sexy and less burglarish.

River twisted and leaned into the backseat, grabbing the Polaroid camera she’d thrown back there. He snapped a picture of the box. The bright flash of light was almost blinding, and for several seconds she saw orange-gold spots.

“Here,” he said, handing her the photo. “Proof.”

She slid the picture under her belt. “Thanks.”

“You prepared for anything?”

“Always.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “I have the powdered sedative in my ring and a knife in my boot. Plus, I’ll have the dart gun under my trench.” Even as she spoke, she was anchoring the gun at her side and tugging her coat around her shoulders.

“Damn it,” he suddenly burst out. “I hate sending you in there alone.”

“I’m still wearing my headgear, so you’ll be able to hear everything that’s said. Besides, it’s best this way, and you know it. We get the money without giving him a chance to steal the merchandise.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to like it,” he grumbled. He pulled a Glock from his boot and checked the clip. Every time she saw him with a deadly weapon, she experienced a jolt. She had brought him into this dangerous life, but if anything ever happened to him…

She shuddered. “I’ll text you when he’s wired the money. You come back with the box, and we’ll go home and celebrate.”

“When this is done, I’m going to find me a woman. No, two women. You won’t see me for a week.”

Farrah chuckled as she secured her bag on her shoulder. She’d emptied out her tools during the drive and now carried a small, hand-held laptop. With a last, lingering glance at the male face on the box, she emerged from the car. Cold air enveloped her, thick with cigarette smoke and the pungent fumes of alcohol. Farrah walked over to the club, the music growing louder with each step. Her trench billowed at her ankles.

Her adrenaline was spiking again, rushing through her veins like an awakened river. There was as much danger in meeting her buyers as there was in breaking into a building. But this, too, she loved. There was something so…invigorating about knowing that any moment could be her last.

Her mom, God rest her precious soul, used to call her a danger junkie. There’d been admonishment and fear in Jennifer Roberts’s tone, but she’d never asked Farrah to stop. Not even when Farrah was caught the first time. Or the second time. Or the third. But cancer had been eating the sweet woman alive, stealing her energy, destroying it, and she’d been unable to provide for her only daughter—for herself. Farrah had quite happily taken up the slack and never looked back.

Farrah entered the nightclub, scanning for any hint of betrayal. There were dancers, couples writhing together with a fluid eroticism that caused her blood to heat deliciously. Damn that sexy voice! She never would have noticed the dancers otherwise. There were drinkers at the bar, and waitresses hurrying from one table to another, taking orders. All under the constant swirl of multicolored strobes, casting a sparkling shower of pinks, blues and greens.

No one aimed a weapon at her. No one tried to grab her.

Farrah paid the cover charge, briefly removed her glove so that her hand could be stamped, and sauntered the rest of the way inside. Per the buyer’s instructions, she headed toward the back. The room was filled to capacity, overflowing with eager, lust-hungry men and women. She maneuvered around them. Manufactured smoke billowed in the air, creating a dreamlike haze. Surreal.

Not surprisingly, her contact was waiting for her. He was alone, his table pushed into a shadowy corner.

She knew it was him. Muted beams of light caressed his hand, illuminating a large sapphire ring on one of the fingers clutched around a glass of Scotch. Her heart hammered all the more intently in her chest. She eased into the seat across from him. Without a word, she slipped the photo from under her belt and slid it beside the glass.

A moment passed without reaction. Another.

She wanted to ask him why he was so fascinated with the story of Pandora, but didn’t. Early on, she’d learned that questions always made the client nervous. And nervous clients were not good. Most often they became trigger-happy.

The man gripped the photo between shaky fingers and held it closer to his face. Thick, silver hair glinted as a violet strobe passed overhead.

“You may have the item the moment I collect my fee,” she said, speaking loudly to be heard over the music.

He cocked two fingers, signaling the need for her laptop. She withdrew it from her bag and handed it to him. It was already booted and ready to go. All he needed to do was type in his account number and press Enter.

The entire transaction took less than sixty seconds.

He handed her the laptop and she double-checked her account. Sure enough, the million was there.

“Uh, Farrah,” River said in her ear.

His voice surprised her, and she jumped. Her gaze darted left and right, searching for him. Until she remembered that she still wore the earpiece. “What?”

“I’m being followed,” he said nervously. “Had to leave the parking space when I saw I had company. Two cars. Taking turns. I can’t shake them.”

She cupped her ear with her hand. “Cops?”

“I don’t think so.”

Trying not to panic, she pushed to her feet. The buyer did the same. He was tall, wider than she’d realized. Muscled. For the first time, she glimpsed his features. He was younger than she’d assumed, too. Probably no more than thirty-five. His eyes were big and brown and devoid of any hint of emotion. His nose was straight, his lips too thin but sexy nonetheless. His hair wasn’t silver, as she’d thought she’d seen, but white. Like snow.

He radiated power. Lethal charm.

Not allowing herself to show a single ounce of fear, she flattened her palms on the table and leaned forward. “Do you have a tail on my guy?” she demanded.

“No,” was the surprisingly gentle reply. “There has never been a need for that.”

He was right. They’d worked together before, and he’d never deviated from plan. So who was following River? “Think you can get home?” she asked her friend. Home, for now, was a motel on the north side of town.

“I’ll try.”

Her gaze bore into the man’s. “I’m afraid I’ll have to reschedule with you. Something’s come up.” She tried to run to the door, but he stretched out his arm and grabbed her, stopping her flat.

“You’re not leaving until I have the box.” His tone was no longer gentle, but strong, demanding. “I paid you. I want it.”

Automatically, her fingers wrapped around the dart gun at her waist. She didn’t aim. Yet. But her blood pounded through her veins at full speed. A gloss of sweat beaded over her skin. “I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment. The box stays with me until my boy is safe. And right now, he’s being followed.”

The man hesitated for a long while. Finally, he said, “Go to him. Help him. But I expect to hear from you before morning. If I do not…” His voice trailed off. Then he added calmly, “I do not want to, Farrah, but I will hunt you down and kill you. Your friend River will be next. Neither death will be quick or easy. Feel me?”

He knew their names. She’d never told him; none of her other clients knew. She’d gone to great lengths to keep them hidden. Lightheaded, Farrah nodded.

The man released her. She spun on her heel and ran. Just ran, shoving people out of the way in her haste. I’m in way over my head this time, she thought, as she flung open the front door and sprinted into the night. This was not exciting.

Breath burning in her lungs, she hastily searched the cars. When she found an older, unlocked vehicle, she tossed her bag in the passenger seat and jumped inside. She quickly jerked off the dash cover and rerouted the wires. The engine roared to life.

“River,” she said, “you still good?”

Her ear was suddenly filled with the sound of screeching tires, then a muttered curse. “I can’t shake my shadows, Farr, and they’ve stopped taking turns. They’re both on my ass now.”

Who the hell was following him? She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Danger directed at herself, she enjoyed. Danger directed at River…different story. She stomped her foot on the gas and sped from the parking lot. “Where are you headed? Maybe I can cut them off.”

He rattled off his location and described the cars.

“Slow down, okay, and let them stay close to you. Just not close enough to take a shot if that’s their goal.” She made the drive in seven minutes, each one ticking slower than the last. She finally spotted River; he was several cars ahead of her. She also spotted his shadows. Black, nondescript sedans, just like River drove. Their windows were tinted, so she couldn’t make out the drivers. “I’m here,” she said. “I see them.”

“What do you want me to do?” There was an edge to the words, a quiet desperation.

I got him into this. I have to get him out. No matter what. “When I tell you, make a sharp one-eighty and hop into the opposite lane. Don’t look back, just gas it.” Farrah increased her speed, sidling up to one of the cars. “Now,” she said, and rammed it. One sedan slammed into the other, and her own car was knocked off course, swerving left and right.

As she fought for control, she heard the squeal of tires, saw River doing as she’d instructed, and felt a wave of relief. The sedans tried to turn, tried to follow him, but she rammed them until they collided with other vehicles, the sound of crunching metal blasting across the highway.

Farrah didn’t take her foot off the gas, even whiplashed as she was, but continued north. She was panting, her fingers throbbing from gripping the wheel so tightly, and her skin felt too tight on her bones.

“Farrah? Farrah, are you okay?”

“All’s well,” she managed to say without any hint of emotion. “Shadows are gone, and I’m on my way home.”

At first, he didn’t respond. Then he expelled a shaky breath. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the box, maybe not. Let’s worry about it tomorrow. Right now, I’m wiped.”

“Just…ditch the car as soon as you can, and I’ll do the same.”

“Will do. See you in thirty, Riv.”

“Yeah, see you in thirty.”

He was upset, she could tell. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and they’d done many, many jobs together. Maybe it was time to get out of the business, go somewhere sunny and safe and relax for the first time in her life. River could “bag the babes” he was always talking about. He could work a normal job, maybe start his own computer business.

Farrah sighed. Yeah, it was time. Past time, probably. She’d miss the rushes, the danger, the excitement, but River was more important. Tomorrow, she’d deliver the box to its new owner—his death threat still rang in her ears—then she’d begin planning a new life for herself and River.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN FARRAH ENTERED the motel room, she was happy to see that River was already there. He lounged on the bed, flipping channels on the TV. He looked so young, lying there, the stained red comforter fluffed around him, big white pillows under his feet.

The door snicked shut behind her. Their eyes met, his a worried green, hers a relieved blue. Without the contacts, her gaze would have been a relieved brown.

“I’m sorry,” she said, locking the door behind her. “So very sorry.”

Frowning, he dropped the remote and sat up. “Why? You did nothing wrong.”

“I introduced you to this lifestyle. I—”

“Saved me,” he interjected. “Time and time again.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off with a quick shake of his head. “Nope. Not another word on the subject. You’re going to relax, catch some Zs, and I’m going to decompress. There’s a bar about a block over. They’ve got pool and loose women, and as you know, that’s my favorite combination.”

Her lips pursed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You aren’t old enough to get in to a bar.”

He hopped from the bed and slipped his feet into his boots, shooting her a wicked grin and suddenly appearing much older than his nineteen years. “My I.D. says otherwise.”

True. She’d forged the I.D. herself. But he did not need to be drinking beer, which fogged his brain and made him giggly; he’d proposition everything breathing and—wait. Up close, she could see the lines of tension around his eyes, the tight pull of his lips. She lost her steam. He really did need to decompress.

“Just be careful, okay. Phone if there’s any trouble.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

She anchored her hands on her hips. “Whoever chased you is still out there, smarty.”

He nodded, his expression growing fierce. “That’s why you’re not going to open the door for anyone, no matter who they claim to be.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she mimicked.

Chuckling, he tossed a pillow at her. She easily ducked, the foam bouncing off the door. River was in front of her in the next flash, kissing her cheek.

“If I’m not back by morning, it’s because I’ve finally found the easy woman of my dreams.”

“At least pick one who’s had all her shots.”

He didn’t respond, but whistled under his breath as he left. “Incorrigible,” Farrah muttered, bolting the door again. No wonder she loved him so much.

With a sigh, she trekked past the bed and—stopped abruptly. Her gaze had snagged on the mound of black velvet perched atop one of the pillows. Pandora’s box. Just seeing it made her tingle, made her blood heat and her stomach flutter. But she forced herself to look away, to pad into the bathroom.

She needed to text the buyer. Should do so now. But…not yet, she thought. There was still time.

After removing her contacts, she stripped and showered, the steamy water washing away the dark tint she’d applied to her skin. All the while, she thought of the box. What would the voice—her subconscious—say if she touched it again?

Would only silence greet her?

Maybe she was crazy, but she wanted to know. Had to know. She wanted to hear that deep, sensual timbre again. Yes, she had to hear it.

Farrah shut off the water and wrapped herself in a stiff white towel. The long length of her hair dripped down her back. Chewing her bottom lip, she exited the bathroom on a cloud of steam and approached the bed. For a long while, she simply stared at the dark bundle. How innocent it looked…how beguiling…

Practically in a trance, she stepped forward. She was reaching down…down…but her toe stubbed on—she tore her gaze away and glanced to the floor—her overnight bag. She and River had stored their belongings here early this morning, having moved from their previous location in preparation for the job.

In and out she breathed. Dress first, and get your silly compulsion under control. This need is ridiculous. Still eyeing the box, she dressed in a pink tank and matching sleep pants. Her desire to hear the voice was a little frightening. Adrenaline was rushing through her as if she was about to break into a heavily armed fortress.

While a gunfight played on the TV behind her, she reached out once more and clasped the velvet. Slowly she unwound the soft material, inch by agonizing inch. The dark wood finally came into view, and her mouth flooded with moisture.

Open it, woman. I have lost patience with you.

Hearing that, her nerve endings electrified. He hadn’t abandoned her. He was still here. But he was no longer seductive, he was now commanding. Wait, she thought, frowning. She was thinking of the voice as a real man now, not a figment of her long-ignored hormones.

Open it! Do not make me tell you again.

“The owner will—”

Not know. I promise you.

How tempting…irresistible. “Fine,” she found herself saying. God, she was having a conversation with a nonexistent person. Crazy did not begin to describe her. “I’ll open it, but the guy threatened to kill me and the only person in the world that I love. If he realizes what I’ve done, he’ll be pissed and might just try to kill us anyway.”

He will not touch you. I’ll make sure of it.

A shiver trekked along her spine. The voice was fierce, feral, deadly. And right. She would text the owner, let him know the box was safe and that she would mail it to him before disappearing. Even if he decided to come after her and River, he would never find them. They would be long gone, hidden.

With that thought, opening the box was no longer a question. It was a certainty.

Farrah eased onto the edge of the bed and gently placed the box on her lap. The wood was heavy, warm, just as she remembered. The beautiful male face seemed to stare up at her, into her. She untied the golden ribbon and placed her shaky hands over the center seam.

Open, open, open.

She slowly raised the lid. Before she’d raised it two inches, however, it was ripped from her fingers, springing open of its own accord. Something—a butterfly?—gusted from the hollowed center, its flowing cobalt wings flapping furiously.

Farrah watched, open mouthed. Yes, it was a butterfly. But…how? How long had it been inside? How had it survived? As the thoughts poured through her mind, the insect’s wings began to grow, expand.

Right in front of her eyes, the insect lengthened…lengthened…taking a solid shape. Bright blue wings became bronzed muscle and sinew, scars and tattoos. Piercings and skin. Skin!

Shock rolled through her. Shock and awe and disbelief. She rubbed her eyes, knowing the incredible sight would be gone by the time she refocused. Nope, still there. Shit. Shit! She scrambled backward, all the way to the other side of the bed. She hit the edge and tumbled to the floor, knocking the air from her lungs.

“Woman,” the seductive voice said, no longer in her mind but here, with her. Alone with her.

Dear God. She jumped to her feet, knees banging together. There was now a man in her room. A freaking man. Oxygen burned in her throat as she studied him. He was amazingly tall, shirtless and ripped with corded row after corded row of strength. He had hair as black and silky as the velvet on the bed. His eyes were the same color as the butterfly’s wings had been, a pulsing blue. Otherworldly. Surreal. They were fringed by spiky black lashes, a deliciously perfect frame.

His face…it was the face on the box. Savage, raw, elemental. Stripes of blue paint slashed his sharp cheekbones. His nose was slightly bent and his lips were too full, but he was exquisite nonetheless.

The rest of him, well…she gulped. Both of his nipples were pierced, completely at odds with the butterfly tattooed on his chest, its wings stretching over his pectorals, his collarbone, and onto his shoulders. He wore crudely made black leather pants and well-worn boots that reached the middle of his calves. A silver cuff circled his left bicep.

He splayed his arms wide and roared. Roared with rage and frustration, relief and need. Her knees almost buckled. Never had she been faced with a more primal, erotic picture: terrifying, yet unbelievably arousing.

“You’re…you’re…” She didn’t know what to say, could hardly breathe. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t possibly be happening. Who was he? What was he? She would have liked to tell herself he was a dream, a hallucination, but couldn’t. Real, every cell in her body shouted.

“Violence,” he purred in that deep, wine-rich voice. There was rage in his eyes, such rage. “I am Violence, and I am hungry.”

As he spoke, his blue eyes locked on her face, intense, consuming, and she knew, knew, he wasn’t talking about food. He radiated heat. Scorching heat. Blistering heat. A hum of zinging energy traveled the length of her body. Her nipples hardened painfully, and a delicious heat pooled between her legs.

She gulped. Who he was and what he was no longer seemed to matter. Slowly she inched backward, trying to reach the door without alerting him to the fact that she meant to bolt.

“Where do you think you are going?” he demanded.

Okay, he’d noticed—and he now looked ready to kill her. Farrah didn’t waste another second. She whipped around and sprinted to the door. Locked. Damn it! With her unsteady grip, working the simple lock proved more difficult than the tubular she’d battled only a few hours ago. Finally, though, she made it outside. Cold air bit and nibbled at her exposed, damp skin.

Panting, trying not to panic, she raced through the moonlit parking lot, her bare feet slapping at the frigid cement. Rocks sliced at the sensitive skin, and she grimaced. But she didn’t slow. The best way to escape him, she thought, cornering the side of the building, was to lose him in the shadows, in the twists and turns of the back allies. When she was totally safe, she would call River and tell him to meet her in another location.

There were no footsteps behind her, so she dared a quick peek. No sign of him. Good. Maybe he’d decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. As she returned her attention in front of her, she slammed into a hard wall—a wall that enveloped her in aroused heat. She was thrown backward and landed on her ass with a hard thump.

“Woman, you cannot escape me. I have your scent in my nose.”

How had he gotten ahead of her? How, how, how? With a gasp, she jolted to her feet and bolted in the opposite direction, the same way she’d come. Before she managed three steps, he was blocking her path.

Eyes widening, she ground to a halt. How was he doing that? “Who are you?” she managed to squeak out.

“King Maddox. Violence, as I told you.” He paused, peering at her with determination. “The man who is going to know the taste of you.”

King? Violence? Shaking her head, Farrah backed away from him. “You’re crazy. I’m crazy. This is crazy. Just…leave me alone.” With that, she spun on her heel and ran as fast as her feet would carry her. Again.

MADDOX WATCHED HER GO. He didn’t materialize in front of her this time, for he knew that at any time, with a simple snap of his fingers, he could find her. Oh, yes. Wherever she went, he could—and would—find her. He hadn’t lied. Her erotic scent, a fragrance of wild passion and sweet female, would instantaneously lead him to her location. The beast’s magic gifted him with the ability.

He was hard for her, his blood a molten river inside his veins. For a moment, one breathless moment, she had looked at him and there had been desire in her eyes. Stark, needy desire that had intensified his own.

He could find another woman to slake his body’s centuries of denied desires—he smelled several nearby—and maybe he would. Soon. Right now, he wanted that one, with her silky fall of midnight hair, with her dark eyes and lush, red lips. With her delicate curves and siren’s voice. Her breasts and their hard little nipples had been made for his mouth. The long length of her graceful legs had been made to wrap around his waist.

At the moment, no one else would do.

Farrah, she was called. An elegant name for a woman of many contradictions. In the time span of a few hours, he’d heard her angry, fierce, tender, teasing, incredulous and afraid. He’d liked the fierceness best. Had wanted it directed at him. In bed.

She’d stolen his box with a skill that surprised him. Tempted and aroused him. He wanted those expert hands on his body, stroking him to full awakening. Yes, he mused again, he would have that woman. Under him, over him, a part of him. But he would have her a little later. Outside now, he simply reveled in the fact that he was free. At last, he was free from the constrictions of that hated box.

He was Pandora’s prisoner no more.

He breathed deeply of the night air, its crisp coolness a caress to his skin. And still rage filled him, consumed him. Such rage. How long had he wished for a moment such as this? How long had he prayed to gods who had refused to listen? Eternity, it seemed.

A roar gusted past his lips. Fists tightened, he pounded on the closest wall. The entire structure shook. He kicked metal bins and bent the bars of a staircase. He was glad Farrah was not here to witness his tantrum. But he wanted to destroy everything around him. Everything except, perhaps, the woman. Her, he wanted to fuck. Hard and long. Until the rage was spent.

When he calmed, his eyes closed and he tried to savor the night. He did not know where his men were or what Pandora had done to them when they’d escaped. Were they still alive? He must know, for he was responsible for them. No matter where he had to look or for how long, he would find them.

“Free,” he shouted to the heavens. Pinpricks of light winked down at him. “Free.”

Locked away these many years, with no one but the beast inside of him for company, he had finally learned to control his need for blood and retribution. He was still dangerous, still more of a weapon than a man, but he could operate in this modern world. He could, at last, forge a life for himself and his men. A life they had been denied because of one foolish mistake. His mistake.

He strode back to the room he’d abandoned. As the walls closed around him, he mourned the loss of the outdoors. He hurriedly gathered the box, the material Farrah had covered it with, and her bag. He grinned. She would want that back, he was sure.

“I’m coming for you,” he said, knowing she could not hear him. But perhaps she would feel the warning in her bones.

He did not know where Pandora was, but he would find her, too. She would know the taste of his beast at long last. He would kill her as he’d dreamed all these years, without thought, without hesitation, heaping yet another sin upon his already heavy shoulders—a sin for which he must atone when the guilt invariably hit him. But he did not care.

Go. Find the little thief and sate your desires. Afterward, he would begin to hunt down Pandora and his men. One by one.

AT HOME WITH THE
Lords of the Underworld

YEAH. SO. WILLIAM THE Extraordinarily Amazingly Handsome and Brilliant here. You know, Anya’s BFF and an honorary—if not the best—Lord of the Underworld. I thought it’d be entertaining enlightening to sit down with the Lords and ask some hard-hitting questions. You know, like what kind of underwear they prefer. So I did what any celebrated journalist would do and kidnapped invited them to the dungeon my office one by one and got the goods. I figured the gods had written an entire book about yours truly—a book Anya continues to hold hostage like the greedy thief she is—so it’d be nice if the Lords had a book of their own. Maybe Anya can steal theirs and give me back mine. Fingers crossed!

Anyway, they didn’t always cooperate, the bastards, but I sure had fun. Warning: let’s just say things get a little sappy at times. Gag! And yeah, I know you’d rather hear about me—I don’t wear any undies—but sit back, relax and enjoy. That’ll be easy to do since I’m right there with the Lords. And yes, I know you’re imagining me naked. Naughty girls. (Call me!)

Maddox

KEEPER OF VIOLENCE

William: What’s your nickname?

Maddox: I do not have one.

William: I’m happy to give you one. Captain Ass. What do you think?

Maddox: I can leave.

William: New nickname: Big Baby. Anyway, let’s continue. What’s your zodiac sign?

Maddox: What is that?

William: Moving on. Choice of weapon?

Maddox: Fists. A fight is more satisfying that way.

William: What are you looking for in a woman?

Maddox: Someone the color of honey from head to toe. Someone who hears past conversations wherever she stands. Someone named Ashlyn Darrow.

William: Favorite food?

Maddox: Ashlyn. And honey. Combine them—heaven.

William: Suddenly I’m starving!

Maddox: Go near her and I’ll slice your godsdamn throat!

William: Yep. Big Baby. Moving on again. Favorite moment in the series so far?

Maddox: When Ashlyn came back to life after dying.

William: Least favorite?

Maddox: When Ashlyn died. Showalter almost lost her head for that one. Literally lost her head.

William: Describe yourself.

Maddox: No. That’s ridiculous. What does my appearance matter?

William: Uh, it means, like, everything. But of course you wouldn’t think so.

Maddox: What does that mean?

William: Nothing. So…any hobbies?

Maddox: Carving wood and building furniture for my future child’s nursery, reading romance novels, snuggling—among other things—with Ashlyn Darrow, the love of my life.

William: Household chores?

Maddox: Home repairs.

William: Least favorite household responsibility?

Maddox: Rebuilding whatever Violence made me break.

William: Who is the smartest Lord?

Maddox: We are all equally smart.

William: What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Maddox: I couldn’t be more pleased, as long as none of them does something to hurt Ashlyn. And I take full credit for starting the trend.

William: If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Maddox: Find ways to ensure Ashlyn’s—and my child’s—eternal safety.

William: What kind of underwear do you prefer?

Maddox: I am not answering that.

Final thoughts from William: Big Baby is stubborn, disgustingly protective of his woman—would it kill him to share?—and weirdly modest.

Lucien

KEEPER OF DEATH

William: Nickname?

Lucien: The Grim Reaper, the Dark One, Malach ha-Maet, Yama, Azreal, Shadow Walker, Mairya, King of the Dead. And Flowers—but only Anya can call me that.

William: Fine. I’ll call you Roses.

Lucien: You won’t.

William: I will. Zodiac sign, Roses?

Lucien: First, how does my woman stand you? Second, I don’t think I have a sign. I was created rather than born, and I am unsure of the day, much less the month.

William: I’ll just mark your sign as “Roses.” Choice of weapon, Roses?

Lucien: You are a bastard. But I like knives. I like to get up close and personal with my kills. Care for a demonstration?

William: Later. What are you looking for in a woman, Roses?

Lucien: Why don’t I call you Moron? Anya does. Anyway, I was not looking, but I certainly found my perfect match in Anya, supreme goddess of Anarchy. Do not call her a “minor” goddess if you know what’s good for you.

William: Favorite food, Roses, mate to the minor goddess of Anarchy?

Lucien: You are asking for a beating, you know that? But the answer is, I like anything Anya steals—er, cooks for me.

William: Favorite moment in the series so far, Roses?

Lucien: You are irritating. I shouldn’t admit this, but I loved the time Anya and I were in bed—after we’d been fighting—and she proved just how much she, uh, liked me.

William: Tell me more.

Lucien: No. That would be ungentlemanly.

William: All the fun things are.

Lucien: Next question. Now.

William: Least favorite moment in the series, Flowers?

Lucien: I hope someone stabs you. Again. As for my least favorite moment, that was when Anya couldn’t remember who I was. Talk about tearing my heart in two.

William: Hobbies, Flowers. Besides annoying me.

Lucien: You annoy me! But anyway, taking care of Anya is a full-time job. Someone has to put out the fires.

William: Household chores, Flowers?

Lucien: Paperwork.

William: Least favorite household responsibility, Flowers?

Lucien: Escorting Maddox to Hell each night before his curse was broken.

William: Describe yourself, Flowers. Or, if you’d rather, I could do it for you.

Lucien: I can handle this one. I’m ugly, distanced, hard.

William: I would have added annoying.

Anya: [entering the room] What did I tell you about calling yourself ugly, Flowers? Punishment time, big boy, and Mama’s not showing any mercy. Although you get bonus points for “hard.”

William: What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women, Flowers?

Anya: Allow me to answer the rest of these questions for my man—he’s currently…tied up. What does he think about the invasion of estrogen? He loves it. And if you call him Flowers again, I’ll rip another page from your precious book.

William: You annoy me, too. Who do you think is the toughest Lord?

Anya: Flowers.

William: Why do you get to call him Flowers but I can’t?

Anya: Because I’m special.

William: This isn’t even your interview. Get lost.

Anya: There goes another page.

William: Bitch. If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Anya: Trick question. No one would be dumb enough to kill him because they would know they’d soon feel the sting of my wrath.

Final thoughts from William: Someone should spank Anya. Hard!

Reyes

KEEPER OF PAIN

William: Nickname?

Reyes: Painie

William: Zodiac sign?

Reyes: Danika is a Virgo, if that helps.

William: Choice of weapon?

Reyes: Blades. Though I have been known to use a Sig Sauer to get the job done.

William: What are you looking for in a woman?

Reyes: I’ve found my angel, Danika. She’s all I need.

William: Really? That’s, like, weird to me. Men should need many girls. No one girl should be so important.

Reyes: How sad for you.

William: I’m not sad. You’re sad!

Reyes: Why are you so defensive about this?

William: Let’s move on. Favorite outfit?

Reyes: First, you said girls rather than women. Why is that, I wonder? Because you care about one girl in particular? Anyway, clothes are clothes. I don’t have any favorites.

William: Go to hell. I care about no one and I’m proud to admit that! Favorite moment in the series so far?

Reyes: The first time Danika looked at me with trust and acceptance in her eyes. I’m still reeling.

William: And just so you know, girl was a slip of the tongue. Now. Least favorite moment in the series?

Reyes: Every time I had to kill Maddox.

William: Really? That would have been my favorite. Anyway, hobbies?

Reyes: Do you really have to ask? Yes? Fine. Cutting myself. I’ve started to draw shapes. Like hearts.

William: You actually admitted that aloud. [snicker] Household chores?

Reyes: Replenishing weaponry.

William: Least favorite household responsibility?

Reyes: When Aeron makes me clean the furniture I’ve bled on. Cleaning is supposed to be his territory. Right?

William: I bet you’d look pretty in a maid costume. On that note, describe yourself.

Reyes: Happy for the first time in what seems an eternity.

William: Not that you deserve it. Really, I didn’t say girl for any particular reason. So what do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Reyes: As long as I have Danika, I don’t care who lives with us.

William: Who do you think is the smartest Lord?

Reyes: Me. Look who I picked to spend eternity with.

William: I think you’re the dumbest! Seriously, girl was meant to encompass everyone old enough to be bedded by me. Now, if you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Reyes: Not even death can keep me away from my angel. I would find a way to change such a fate. Again.

William: What kind of underwear are you wearing?

Note from William: Bastard flipped me off and left.

Final thoughts from William: Reyes’s thoughts about me and my slip of the tongue were ridiculous and unfounded!

Paris

KEEPER OF PROMISCUITY

William: Nickname?

Paris: Oh, God. Gorgeous.

William: Hey, I’ve been called both names, too. Zodiac sign?

Paris: I’ve checked those out. I’m probably a Gemini.

William: Choice of weapon?

Paris: A long, hard sword. Yeah, I went there.

William: So far, you’re my favorite Lord. What are you looking for in a woman?

Paris: Here’s a better question—who am I looking for? And that’s Sienna. I don’t know if I love her or hate her, but I want her like crazy.

William: Favorite food?

Paris: Female.

William: Me, too! Were we separated at birth? And do you have a favorite outfit?

Paris: Skin.

William: Seriously, what are you doing after this interview? We should head into town and bond some more.

Paris: I’ll probably pass out. So, no town for me.

William: Party pooper. Favorite moment in the series so far?

Paris: Having sex with the same woman twice.

William: Who do you think is the cutest Lord?

Paris: Dumb question. Me.

William: Current hobbies?

Paris: Ambrosia, ambrosia and more ambrosia. Got any on you?

William: Yes. And now we’ve got a date. Reyes said some really dumb stuff to me, and if I share my stash, you can help me kick his ass.

Paris: Count me in.

William: Former hobbies?

Paris: Reading romance novels, watching skin flicks, whipping my boys at Xbox and PlayStation 3. By the way, Willie, you suck at Guitar Hero.

William: Actually, I excel. You just have no rhythm. What are your household chores?

Paris: Grocery shopping and meal preparation.

William: We’re out of Cheetos.

Paris: I have a bag in my room. We can trade.

William: Deal. So let’s hurry and finish up here. Least favorite household responsibility?

Paris: Cooking. Thank the gods Ashlyn and Danika live here now and actually know how to make things more complex than PB and J.

William: Describe yourself.

Paris: The only way I know to answer that is by using the words women have whispered to me throughout the centuries. Delicious, beautiful, handsome, delicious, extraordinary, brilliant, delicious, strong, brave and delicious.

William: Definitely separated at birth. What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Paris: We need even more women. Not enough of them are putting out.

William: I hope you haven’t tried anything on Gilly because she’s too young for you, and I would have to take my blade and—

Paris: Like I would sleep with a teenager! Much less Danika’s best friend. Even I’m not that desperate.

William: I was wrong. We weren’t separated at birth, because your dad is the devil!

Paris: What crawled up your ass? I just stated a fact.

William: Moving on. If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Paris: Get high.

William: What kind of underwear do you prefer?

Paris: I like thongs.

William: You like wearing thongs? I pictured you as a, I don’t know, boxers kind of guy. You know, so your boys can hang free.

Paris: No, shithead. I like when women wear thongs. The ones that come up over their jeans. You know what I mean?

William: You’ve redeemed yourself. I now think you are a man of good taste. Just for that, you get a bonus question. Who would you like to oil-wrestle next?

Paris: Fuck you.

Final thoughts from William: Paris is arrogant, moody, doesn’t like girls too young for him and is an ambrosia addict. I may have just found my new BFF.

Aeron

KEEPER OF WRATH

William: Nickname?

Aeron: Once, in the earlier days, they called me Wings. Well, my friends did. Humans called me Harbinger of Death.

William: Zodiac sign?

Aeron: Sign? I’m not holding a sign. My hands are empty.

William: Are you embarrassed by your cluelessness? Because I’m embarrassed for you.

Aeron: What are you talking about?

William: Never mind. Choice of weapon?

Aeron: Whatever’s strapped to my body.

William: What are you looking for in a woman?

Aeron: I’m not. They are too fragile to bother with.

William: Clue. Less. What’s your favorite food?

Aeron: Who cares as long as it nourishes?

William: Favorite outfit?

Aeron: Any shirt that tears easily when my wings spontaneously emerge.

William: Favorite moment in the series so far?

Aeron: I do not have one. Too much torture, too much pain. When will it end?

William: And morbid. Least favorite?

Aeron: I’m surprised I have to spell this out. The blood-curse heaped upon me.

William: Hobbies?

Aeron: Punishing wrongdoers.

William: Household chores?

Aeron: Maid duty.

William: Least favorite household responsibility?

Aeron: Ditto.

William: You know, it’s okay to elaborate sometimes. Describe yourself.

Aeron: On edge. All the damn time. There. Was that enough of an elaboration for you?

William: Let’s just finish this. You’re boring me. What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Aeron: I like that my brothers are happy. But do I wish they’d found another way to be happy? Yes.

William: Who do you think is the strongest Lord?

Aeron: Paris. He gave up everything for me. The strength such a gesture required…I am still humbled.

William: If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Aeron: I would never allow the Hunters to put me in such a position. Death is for humans.

William: What kind of underwear do you prefer?

Aeron: Did you really just ask me about underwear? This is silly. Hunters could be outside our door right this minute and you call me in here like you’re dying and you need my help and I….

Note from William: The rant continues for, like, an hour. I end up having to walk away.

Final thoughts: I’m just glad it’s over.

Torin

KEEPER OF DISEASE

William: Nickname?

Torin: TorTor, and I Need You To— Fill in the blank. Does it matter if I gave them to myself? No? Well, then, there’s also Hotness, and The Awesome.

William: Zodiac sign?

Torin: Cancer. Get it? Disease…cancer?

William: Funny. But next time don’t ruin the joke by explaining it to me like I’m a two-year-old child.

Torin: Well, I’ve been watching you, and I’ve noticed you watching a certain child yourself. Just thought I’d accommodate your preferences.

William: I have not been watching Gilly! And she’s seventeen, for gods’ sake. Hardly a toddler.

Torin: She’s been seventeen for, what, two minutes? Besides, how old are you?

William: Fuck you. Choice of weapon?

Torin: Yeah, I wish. Gods, I love to fight. But I haven’t gotten to beat anyone into pulp in thousands of years.

William: What are you looking for in a woman?

Torin: I’m not. Looking, that is. What good would it do me? Not like I can do anything if I see something I want.

William: Things got grouchy fast. Favorite food?

Torin: Anything I haven’t had to prepare myself.

William: Favorite outfit?

Torin: Why? It’s not like anyone sees me anyway.

William: Grouchy again. Why is that? From what I hear, Cameo gets to see more than just your tightie whities.

Torin: We’re just friends. But another word about her, and you’ll get to meet my demon.

William: Wow, you’re really touchy about this subject. Get it? You can’t touch me? Anyway, favorite moment in the series so far?

Torin: I can’t say.

William: Translation: you won’t say. But tell me, does it involve Cameo?

Torin: Yes, now change the subject.

William: Things were just getting interesting, but whatever. Least favorite moment?

Torin: Every time one of my boys comes back injured. I hate knowing I wasn’t there to protect them.

William: Hobbies?

Torin: In my spare time, which equals never, I like to bake cakes. Fine, I only bake them in my head, but I’ve been collecting recipes from the Internet and trying to convince Ashlyn to bake me something with blueberries. Real freaking blueberries. Can you imagine? They’d just explode against your taste buds, man.

William: Household chores?

Torin: Managing stocks and bonds, technology guru, security specialist.

William: Least favorite household responsibility?

Torin: Work keeps me busy, so I’m pretty much grateful for all my responsibilities.

William: Describe yourself.

Torin: Well, I don’t like to brag but I am pretty spectacular.

William: Wow, you’ve got an ego. Everyone knows I’m the most spectacular one here. What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Torin: Freaking torture, man. My poor, neglected body needs a break from the estrogen.

William: Who do you think is the cutest Lord?

Torin: Uh, let me think about that one. Hello, Cameo. And you better keep your mouth shut about her!

William: Put your gloves back on. My mouth is shut. But feel free to describe her breasts and—sit back down. All right, fine. I’ll move on. If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Torin: Find a woman who’s dying and alone and romance the hell out of her and finally lose my stupid virginity.

William: You’re a virgin? Wow. Just wow. I probably would have killed myself by now.

Torin: Let me help you with that….

William: Yep, you are too touchy for sure. So what kind of underwear do you prefer?

Torin: Briefs. And no, you can’t see them.

Final thoughts from William: Find out for yourself what Cameo looks like naked.

Sabin

KEEPER OF DOUBT

William: Nickname?

Sabin: Doubtie-poo

William: Zodiac sign?

Sabin: Aries.

William: Why?

Sabin: Because I’m independent and courageous.

William: And short-tempered and impatient.

Sabin: You say tomato, I say shut the hell up.

William: I rest my case. So, what are you looking for in a woman?

Sabin: Straight up hot. With a vicious dark side. Red hair, of course. And breasts that fill my hands. Oh, and those breasts have to have hard, pink nipples that are always ready for my mouth. And the woman herself must have legs that—

Gwen: [who decided to sit in on the entire interview, refusing to leave, even after I begged] I apologize for Sabin. Also, I’ve decided to answer the rest of the questions for him.

William: Favorite sexual position?

Gwen: Pass!

William: Women. No fun. Favorite food?

Gwen: Cheese tots. He’s even got me addicted to them.

William: Favorite outfit? Please say “naked” and then offer to model for me.

Gwen: Pervert! The crazier the T-shirt, the more he likes it. But then, he’s weird like that.

William: Choice of weapon?

Gwen: Me. But if the weapon kills, he likes it.

William: Favorite moment in the series so far?

Gwen: No question. When he met me.

William: Least favorite?

Sabin: Taking my own interview back over for a sec, and I’m just gonna say it. When Galen got away. Sorry, baby!

William: Hobbies?

Gwen: First, no need to apologize. Second, he loves making me happy.

William: Household chores?

Gwen: Are you kidding? He can’t even clean his own room.

William: Least favorite household responsibility?

Gwen: How can he have a least favorite when he doesn’t do anything?

Sabin: Hey, now. Who took you shopping? Who helped you plan a wedding? Who calmed you down when you went off the deep end a few thousand times?

Gwen: “Went off the deep end” better be code for “got sweeter by the day.”

William: I actually think “off the deep end” means you were a total bridezilla. But we digress. Describe yourself.

Gwen: Sensitive, charming, and utterly caring. When he’s not making me angry.

Sabin: None of that is true! I’m a badass, and she knows it. Did you hear the part about how I make her angry? Woman, what are you trying to do to me?

William: What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Gwen: He loves it, of course! He can’t imagine his life without me.

William: Who do you think is the toughest/strongest/smartest/cutest Lord?

Gwen: Me. I may not technically be a Lord, but I’m still his favorite everything.

William: If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Sabin and Gwen (simultaneously): Kill our enemies. Every single one of them.

William: What kind of underwear do you prefer?

Gwen: My sisters stole all of his underwear.

Sabin: Along with my weapons. And my cash. And my—

Gwen: But he preferred briefs.

Final thoughts from William: I am never getting married.

Gideon

KEEPER OF LIES

William: Nickname?

Gideon: It’s not Lies.

William: Big surprise. Zodiac sign?

Gideon: Capricorn.

William: I’ll take that to mean you’re a Cancer like Torin. Choice of weapon?

Gideon: I hate every weapon I can get my hands on.

William: That’s not what I hear. Especially since your hands are still growing back.

Gideon: [middle finger]

William: Ah, so a few of your fingers have completely regenerated. Thanks for the visual. So, what are you looking for in a woman?

Gideon: Yeah, ’cause I’m all about permanent. I like ’em ugly, stupid and clingy.

William: Well, aren’t you the open-minded one?

Gideon: [middle finger]

William: You wish. Favorite food?

Gideon: Fish. Put a plate of sushi in front of me and watch me inhale.

William: Favorite outfit?

Gideon: A dress with ruffles and bows.

William: I’d love for you to show me.

Gideon: [middle finger]

William: Favorite moment in the series so far?

Gideon: Let’s see. Let me think. I loved the time I got my hands cut off. That was a real party in a box.

William: Is that why you’re so fond of showing me your middle finger?

Gideon: [both middle fingers]

William: Look at you! Both fingers grew back. Least favorite moment?

Gideon: The moment of my rescue. I wanted to stay strapped to that bed forever, being tortured by Hunters.

William: So you enjoy pain, like Reyes? Interesting. Hobbies?

Gideon: You are a darling man, you know that? As for your question, if I were to say sex, that would be a lie.

William: I’ll write down “knitting.” Household chores?

Gideon: I can’t wait until I’m assigned one.

William: Great. I’ll let Lucien know when we’re done here.

Gideon: Actually, I’ll be busy kissing you silly when we’re done.

William: I knew it! I knew you were lusting for me.

Gideon: I love you, man.

William: I know. Now. Least favorite household responsibility?

Gideon: I really hate disposing of my enemies.

William: Describe yourself.

Gideon: Ugly, stupid and clingy. Oh, and weak. Yeah, I’m a real pussy.

William: Sorry, but I have to call off our romance. I don’t date ugh-ohs. What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Gideon: I can’t stand looking at all that babe candy every day.

William: Who do you think is the smartest Lord?

Gideon: None of us. We’re all dumb as shit.

William: Well, we do agree on that.

Gideon: [middle finger]

William: If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Gideon: Cry, and then go peacefully, without any protest.

William: What kind of underwear do you prefer?

Gideon: I really like it when Leftie and Rightie are bound real tight.

Final thoughts from William: Best interview yet. Gideon let me know on numerous occasions that he’s my number one fan.

Cameo

KEEPER OF MISERY

William: Nickname?

Cameo: Tears. Though no one has called me that in a long time. Maybe because I tend to stab first and ask questions later.

William: I like violence in a woman. What do you think of heading to my room after this?

Cameo: You aren’t my type.

William: You don’t like beautiful, intelligent, warrior gods?

Cameo: I prefer someone less aware of his appeal.

William: So you admit that I’m appealing. Excellent. Now. Zodiac sign?

Cameo: Why bother?

William: Choice of weapon?

Cameo: Semiautomatics and long-range rifles. I prefer distance with my kills. I don’t like when the enemy’s misery blends with my own.

William: I like women who prefer long-range rifles. What do you think about heading to my room after this?

Cameo: Never.

William: Just think about it. Now, what are you looking for in a woman? Uh, sorry. I mean, what are you looking for in a man? Unless you are looking for a woman, and in that case, you’ll need to describe everything you want to do to her.

Cameo: I’m looking for happiness that I can’t destroy.

William: Not exactly the answer I was hoping for. Favorite food?

Cameo: Everything is tasteless. I hate every bite, but know eating is necessary.

William: I like women who think food is tasteless. What do you think about heading to my room after this?

Cameo: No.

William: That’s better than “never.” We’re making progress. Now. Favorite outfit?

Cameo: I wore a dress once. It was silly, frivolous and no good for fighting. But wow, I felt sexy.

William: And I’m sure you looked it. Favorite moment in the series so far?

Cameo: It was nice reuniting with Lucien’s team. I guess. I hadn’t seen them in thousands of years, but I’d thought about them. A lot. And I wondered how they were, what they were doing. So seeing them—

William: Wait. Maybe you should keep your answers short and sweet. It’s just…your voice…ugh. Least favorite moment?

Cameo: When Club Destiny was blown up—while we were inside it.

William: Short and sweet, woman! Hobbies?

Cameo: I haven’t really found anything I enjoy doing. Maybe one day. Well, that’s not true. I do enjoy spending time with Torin. I think I remember laughing the other day. Maybe. I’m told I forget when I laugh.

William: Gods, the pain. Do you have a knife handy?

Cameo: No. Why?

William: I would really like to stab myself in the ears.

Cameo: You mean you don’t want to head to your room after this?

William: No. Now, household chores?

Cameo: I sometimes help Ashlyn with the cooking.

William: “None” would have sufficed. Least favorite household responsibility?

Cameo: I sometimes help the boys clean their rooms. Pigs.

William: Again, a single word would have done the job. Describe yourself in as few words as possible.

Cameo: The phrase most often tossed at me is “Debbie Downer.”

William: What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Cameo: The more the merrier. I guess.

William: Who do you think is the cutest Lord? Please just tell me the name and nothing more.

Cameo: At one time, I had a crush on Strider. Seeing Torin again changed that, however. So my answer is Torin. I just wish he could touch me.

William: We’re done here. You can go.

Cameo: But I was told there would be more questions. I’m not leaving until I hear them.

William: I’ll give you the final two questions if you promise to kill me afterward.

Cameo: Deal.

William: If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Cameo: I doubt my routine would change. Death is much the same as life. You simply are or you aren’t.

William: What kind of underwear do you prefer? Now, I know I asked you to be brief before, but as this is the last question, please feel free to elaborate, giving us size, color and just how slowly you pull them on.

Cameo: Supportive.

William: I can honestly say I’ve never been this disappointed.

Final thoughts: With a roll of duct tape, she’d be the perfect woman.

Amun

KEEPER OF SECRETS

Note from William: Amun remained silent when I asked him these questions. I handed him the questionnaire and a pen, and he walked away. So I went ahead and filled it out for him. I knew, deep down, that he would want me to do so.

Nickname: Spoilsport

Zodiac sign: Half moon (because that’s what William showed me as I walked away).

Choice of weapon: Magic wand and fairy dust.

What are you looking for in a woman? I’m not. I’m too attracted to William. He’s gorgeous.

Favorite food: Raspberry truffles…spread over William.

Favorite outfit: William. I want to wear his skin.

Favorite moment in the series so far: When William entered my life. I thank the gods every day.

Least favorite: As long as I know William is nearby, I don’t care what happens.

Hobbies: Watching William. I even like to watch him while he sleeps. Yes, I’m creepy.

Household chores: If William will let me, I’d love to clean up after him.

Least favorite household responsibility: Anything that doesn’t involve William.

Describe yourself: The one thing that defines me is my love for William.

What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women? Have you not heard me? Nothing matters but William.

Who do you think is the smartest Lord? William.

If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live? Whatever William wanted me to do.

What kind of underwear do you prefer? Whatever William prefers.

Final thoughts from William: Amun might just be the most intelligent Lord in residence.

Strider

KEEPER OF DEFEAT

William: Nickname?

Strider: Stridey, courtesy of Anya. I suggested Lucien muzzle her, which is why my upper lip is the size of a baseball. Lucien’s is the size of a football, though, so it was all good.

William: Sweet! Now, zodiac sign?

Strider: Dude, I’m Sagittarius. For sure. Ruled by the Lucky Star since I’m beauty, brains and talent.

William: Funny, that’s my sign, too. Choice of weapon?

Strider: Dumb question. Next.

William: Why?

Strider: Any weapon is good. Jeez, when was the last time you actually fought someone?

William: I stabbed your good friend Lucien in the stomach once. Does that count?

Strider: Sure, but if you do it again, I’ll gut you.

William: Not if I challenge you to only ever make me smile.

Strider: You’re a shithead, you know that?

William: Yes. Now, what are you looking for in a woman?

Strider: Where to begin? I tend to get a bit…possessive with my shit, so I have to be careful with the girls I choose to honor with my manliness. Plus, I’m sick to death of girls realizing I hate to lose and then challenging me to keep them happy. So, okay, I think it’s safe to say I prefer the clueless variety.

William: First, I’m very glad you realize that saying girl doesn’t mean teenager. Second, excellent choice. Favorite food?

Strider: Red Hots. Those candies are like heaven in your mouth, man.

William: Favorite outfit?

Strider: Are you kidding? I look awesome in everything.

William: We’re both lucky in that regard, I guess. Favorite moment in the series so far?

Strider: Shit. I don’t know. Rejoining the other boys, maybe? Next! You’re getting mushy on me.

William: Let’s see if we can change the vibe. Least favorite?

Strider: You’re, like, wanting to make me think and shit, and my brain already hurts. Maybe when I saw what had been done to Gideon, when Sabin handed him over to me while we were at that school for Hunter kids. Damn it. I don’t like thinking about that. Thanks a lot. Next!

William: There’s no winning with you, is there? Get it. You…winning?

Strider: You’re lame, dude.

William: Now you’re lying like Gideon. Hobbies?

Strider: Winning. I don’t play cards and other games for obvious reasons, but man, I do love to win. It’s a rush.

William: Household chores?

Strider: Aeron tried to get me to help him clean up one day. I dodged that bullet, though, and pretended I’d just lost a challenge. I dropped to the ground and didn’t get up for an hour. Nice little nap, I must say.

William: Least favorite household responsibility?

Strider: Would be cleaning, if anyone could corner me into doing anything. Can you imagine losing a challenge to a stain?

William: Like the one on your shirt?

Strider: What are you—damn it! Stupid mustard.

William: Describe yourself.

Strider: We already covered awesome. I’m made of the stuff. Intelligent, witty, modest.

William: What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Strider: My entertainment meter hasn’t been this high in a long time. My boys are whipped, and it’s funny as shit.

William: Who do you think is the cutest Lord?

Strider: Did you ask everyone this question? What’d Paris say? Himself? Shithead. Everyone knows it’s me.

William: If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Strider: Fuck myself silly, then take a whole bunch of Hunters with me.

William: What kind of underwear do you prefer?

Strider: Boxers. I like me some freedom.

Final thoughts from William: Follow through with that threat to challenge the man to make me happy. Might prove to be amusing.

Kane

KEEPER OF DISASTER

William: Nickname?

Kane: Plaster, Unlucky.

William: Zodiac sign?

Kane: Libra maybe.

William: Choice of weapon?

Kane: I most often use long-range rifles. Cameo and I have a stash of them. The further away I am from my target, the less likely I am to meet with a deadly disaster of my own.

William: What are you looking for in a woman?

Kane: I stopped looking a long time ago. I’m no good for anyone, least of all someone I could grow to love.

William: And you let a little thing like that stop you? Five words: You don’t want it enough. Now, favorite food?

Kane: Anything without plaster or burns or debris.

William: Favorite outfit?

Kane: Anything without plaster or burns or debris.

William: Your new nickname should be Picky. Favorite moment in the series so far?

Kane: Each time one of my friends has fallen in love and made it work. That means there’s hope for the rest of us. Maybe.

William: Least favorite?

Kane: Every time I’m left behind from battle because I’m too dangerous to have around.

William: Why don’t you just go anyway? I would.

Kane: I care about my friends.

William: Yeah, but you should love yourself more. That’s my philosophy. Any hobbies?

Kane: Don’t tell anyone, but I like to draw. I swear to the gods, if you tell anyone, I will rip out a page of your book. Yeah, Anya told me where she keeps it.

William: Like that scares me. You’re not the first to threaten me today. Or even in the last hour.

Kane: Anya! Anya, get in here!

[short recess while a fight breaks out]

Note from William: We return to our regularly scheduled programming, now that a wall has crumbled to dust and our chairs are in tatters. Oh, yeah. And I won. Or would have, if that chunk of rock hadn’t bashed right into my temple.

William: What are your household chores?

Kane: First, the fight was a tie. Second, I’ve been helping Aeron with the cleaning.

William: What’d he bribe you with?

Kane: Bribe? He didn’t bribe. He asked and I agreed.

William: Sucker! Least favorite household responsibility?

Kane: I don’t mind any of it, really. The chores make for a clean, well-run home and a clean, well-run home is a happy home. Except when people trying to interview you say they’re going to spill your secrets to everyone.

William: It shouldn’t surprise you that I don’t do off-the-record.

Kane: Anyone ever tell you that you’re the male version of Anya?

William: No, but thank you! Describe yourself.

Kane: Catastrophe walking.

William: What do you think of the fact that your home has been invaded by women?

Kane: Honestly? I wish they’d leave. Not to be cruel, you understand, but I’m just afraid I’ll hurt them. I should be able to relax at home, you know?

William: Agreed. A man’s home is his love nest. And if you can’t relax in your love nest, life isn’t worth living. Who do you think is the strongest Lord?

Kane: Sabin. He always has been, always will be. That’s why I follow him. Boy is ruthless, and you gotta love that in a leader.

William: If you knew you only had twenty-four hours before the Hunters found Pandora’s box and killed you, what would you do in the time you had left to live?

Kane: Strider told me you asked him this, as well. He also told me his answer, taking as many Hunters as he could with him. I like that.

William: Copying answers is not allowed.

Kane: What are you going to do? Give me an F?

William: Moving on. What kind of underwear do you prefer?

Kane: It’s actually best if I wear a cup.

Final thoughts from William: I had no idea Kane would prove to be the most frustrating of the Lords.

Final final thoughts from William: The Lords of the Underworld are loyal, brave and fierce—boring!—as well as ill-mannered, shady and borderline nymphomaniacs. I know, I’m as shocked as you are. But suddenly I’m feeling like a proud papa, as if I somehow corrupted them just right. There might even be a tear in my eye.

But if this interview taught me anything, it’s that I actually like the men here. Not that I’ll ever admit that out loud. What I will admit: they are a shitload of fun to tease. And yeah, I think I’ll stick around for a while longer. Hell, maybe I’ll even start helping with their little war. Bashing a few heads in could be interesting….

ROUND TABLE:
The Women of the Underworld Speak

GILLY CLAPPED HER HANDS, drawing everyone’s attention. Her friends, Ashlyn, Anya, Danika, Gwen, Bianka and Legion, were sitting around her at the dinner table. No food was present. Every morsel would have been flying in seconds, she knew, so she’d purposely trashed the hors d’oeuvres before anyone arrived.

Anyway, she’d called the girls together because, well, William had asked her to do so. And what William wanted, William got. He was hot and smart and funny and— Sorry. Digressing.

Anyway, he’d just interviewed the men, and had asked her to do the same to the women. He’d also told her to ignore any rumors about him and some girl. Whatever that meant. So, here she was, and here they were. Much as she lov—uh, liked William as a friend—a very sexy friend—her interview was going to be way better than his. After all, everyone knew it was the women of the Underworld who made the series what it was….

Gilly: First, everyone should know I’m videotaping this for posterity, but don’t let that deter you from getting personal. A few of you sat through William’s interviews with the men, and you know they spilled their guts. Now I’d like you to spill yours. Not literally, of course. Crap! I’m making a mess of this already. I’m so lame!

Anyway, to kick off this round table, I have to admit something. When Danika first brought me to stay in the Budapest fortress, I thought she was insane for getting involved with a group of men who were so clearly dangerous, barely able to control themselves and the demons inside them. I was maybe kinda sorta even a little afraid of them. Okay, I still am. But every day I see exactly how tender and affectionate they are with you, and, well, I guess I’m learning to be a little more open-minded in my definition of happiness.

So along those lines, my first question is, what’s the best part about dating or marrying a Lord of the Underworld? And remember, no topic is too personal here. Feel free to give us all the juicy details. [wiggles eyebrows]

Ashlyn: Well, for me, it’s feeling loved for the first time in my life. And the incredible sense of peace. And finding a place I belong. And creating a baby with my soul mate. And—

Anya: If you’re not going to mention the sex, then it’s someone else’s turn. Gilly said juicy details, darling. Juicy. I, for one, think we should play by her rules.

Bianka: Anya, follow the rules? Funny! What next? Angels mating with demons? Hey, wait a sec…

Ashlyn: [blushes] Obviously the sex is amazing. Maddox was—okay, I feel really weird talking about this in front of you, Gilly. You’re only sixteen.

Gilly: Just turned seventeen, thank you, and believe me, I already know a lot more than I should on the subject.

Ashlyn: All right, well, Maddox was my first, my only, and wow. Just wow. He knows what I want before even I know.

Anya: Me, too! Well, not with Maddox, but with Lucien. He was my first, and sweet heaven, he rocked my world. The things that man does with his tongue are—

Danika: TMI, goddess. TMI. Reyes wasn’t my first, but I’m glad he’s my last. No one else could ever compare. The intensity of his touch…[shivers]

Legion: Well, I lovesss Aeron ’cause he knowsss how pretty I am. Essspecially when I wearsss tiarasss.

Anya: Tiaras that do not belong to you, by the way.

Bianka: [laughs] Like you can chastise someone for thievery, Miss Sticky Fingers.

Anya: You either, Pecan Pie.

Gwen: Girls, stop arguing. It’s my turn to talk about Sabin. [props elbows on table] I always pictured myself marrying a nice, normal, nonthreatening human man—

Anya: Boring!

Gwen: Exactly right. That’s why I’m glad I ended up with my strong, fierce, brave warrior. Who won’t let me out of bed until I’m deliciously satisfied.

Anya: I hope you do the same for him. After everything you put him through while planning your wedding, well, you owe him. Big time. I will be a much calmer and more level-headed bride when I walk down the aisle with Lucien.

Bianka: Having strippers at your wedding does not equate with level-headedness. Anyhoodles, I want to talk about Lysander. He’s not a Lord, he’s a do-gooder angel, but he does turn into a devil while we’re in bed. You should all be jealous.

Danika: [grinning] I think it’s safe to say we’re all very satisfied women.

Gilly: Not all of us. But okay, moving on. Why don’t you tell us what you find sexiest about the Lords—either your mate in particular or the group as a whole?

Anya: Ooh, me first on this one. Although, I can’t just name one thing. Lucien smells like roses, has that deliciously scarred face, and then there are those shiver-inducing mismatched eyes.

Danika: With Reyes, well, you wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he is so…sweetly vulnerable. It amazes me sometimes.

Ashlyn: Maddox, too! I know this is a weird thing to say about the man who houses Violence inside him, but I really think the sexiest thing about him is his kindness.

Gwen: Poor things.

Ashlyn: What do you mean?

Danika: Yeah. Do tell.

Gwen: Well, Sabin is anything but kind, and I love it. He goes total warrior on my body, like it’s a battleground to be conquered, and I—

Bianka: Eww. Please, no more sex details from you. There are just some things you do not want to imagine your baby sister doing. Or having done to her. But I’m sure you’d love to hear about your older sister and her angel. So I don’t mind telling you that what I find sexiest about Lysander is the surprised delight that claims his expression every time I do something naughty to his body. Like last night, when I introduced him to—

Gwen: You were wrong. You can’t dish if I can’t dish.

Bianka: Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just follow ’em. Like

Anya. And I’m getting good at that, now that I’m with Lysander. He does like to reward me when I do something nice. Like last night, when I introduced him to—

Legion: Ssshut it, Harpy. I getsss to talk about my Aeron now. He isss sssexy becaussse he hasss them pretty portraitsss on hisss body and sssometimesss I just want to tassste them and—

Anya: Triple eww. If baby sisters can’t talk about sex, neither can demon minions. Stick to tiaras next time, ok?

Bianka: Will no one let me tell my story about last night?

Everyone: No.

Gilly: I’m willing to admit I was wrong. Some details I do not want. So maybe this is a good time to change the subject. We’ve talked about some of the good things about life with the Lords. But I bet there are some downsides, too. It can’t be all sunshine and naked roses living with men like these. Anyone want to give an example of something that’s especially difficult to deal with?

Ashlyn: Well, obviously the Hunters can make life difficult sometimes.

Anya: There’s the understatement of the century.

Gwen: Yeah, it’s tough to deal with the idea that Sabin is constantly on the battlefield and that the enemy is getting increasingly harder to defeat.

Anya: You know what I hate most, though? That Lucien still has to visit Hell on a daily basis because of his soul-escorting duties. He deserves only heaven.

Danika: I know what you mean. Sometimes watching Reyes hurt himself hurts me.

Gwen: Yeah, those demons…I’ve tamed Doubt, but Sabin hates that the beast can hurt his loved ones so deeply. And what Sabin hates, I hate.

Bianka: Yeah, but at least now he has a secret weapon—you! Not to mention the rest of the Skyhawks. Harpies plus Lords equals bye-bye, Hunters.

Ashlyn: I have never loved a math equation more.

Bianka: I know, right? But I’d say a bigger problem here at Chez Demon is just making sure the Hunters don’t find Pandora’s box before we can.

Legion: Well, I don’t like all the visssitsss from rotten angelsss and dumb godsss.

Anya: Hey, watch it. I’m a goddess, remember?

Bianka: Yeah, but only a minor one, so you don’t count! And angels aren’t that bad, minion. They’re actually kind of sexy.

Legion: Take that back!

Bianka: Hell, no! I love my man, and no one calls him rotten but me.

Gilly: Before you come to blows, let’s move on to the next question. They say that women in love want to see everyone around them happy and in love, as well. But there are still, what, eight unmated Lords in the fortress? Nine if you count William [blushes]. Any predictions for who might be the next to find happiness? Anyone you especially want to set up or see happily settled down?

Anya: Was that a blush, Gilly darling? Well, maybe in a few years, when you’re older, something can happen with Willie—but gods know that with his prophecy, he’s not destined to have good luck with his chosen woman, so be careful.

Gilly: What do you mean? Tell me everything!

Anya: I just did. That’s all I know.

Ashlyn: Hey, guys. I think something’s wrong with Danika.

Everyone but Danika: What?

Danika: [gaze fixed] Aeron. Aeron is next, I think. I see clouds. Flames. Dark hair. White wings. And…blood. So much blood.

Legion: [bangs table with fist] You better sssee that dumb angel dying and me in Aeron’sss armsss becaussse he dessstined to marry me.

Danika: [blinking] I—I—I don’t know. Those wings…they were paired with a flowing white gown and dark curly hair. And Aeron was holding her, and she had a humanlike body.

Legion: I get a white gown, no problem. And a wig. I do that right now. And I can paint myssself peach. [storms away]

Anya: Poor Legion.

Bianka: Let’s pretend that didn’t happen—and that trouble isn’t heading for our doorstep if Aeron does end up wanting an angel. Legion will fight to the death for him, I think.

Ashlyn: I’d love to see Cameo settled down—she’s so lovely and so sad. I was really hoping something would come of all the sparks flying between her and Torin, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to pan out. Maybe I can make some friends in town and, I don’t know, set her up, as Gilly suggested. But is there anyone who’s good enough, or strong enough, to deal with Cameo’s voice? Anyone our boys would accept?

Danika: Probably not. She’s like their kid sister. And you know how brothers protect their sisters.

Bianka: And what about poor Paris? He’s so hawt and so miserable—it’d be great to see him happy and settled with one woman. Personally I vote for one of the other Skyhawks—Taliyah or Kaia. Then we can keep it in the family.

Anya: Nah. Kaia’s a ho—said with love—and Taliyah, even after all her centuries alive, still isn’t in touch with her feminine side. After everything Paris has been through, he needs a soft, sweet, very feminine woman.

Ashlyn: Maybe one of the Skyhawks could date Amun. I want to see him settled down, too. And Kane. And Torin—God, poor Torin. All of them deserve to be as happy and content as I’ve been blessed to feel.

Gwen: Well, I admit I have a soft spot for Strider. He was one of the first Lords who was actually nice to me—and he’s cute, too. Like Ashlyn, I wish I knew someone to set him up with. My year of captivity kind of severed all my human relationships.

Anya: All your choices are well and good, but I can tell you that Gideon’s turn is coming, and soon. [rubs hands together] That boy isn’t going to know what hit him.

Ashlyn: Details, please!

Anya: That’s all I know.

Bianka: Yeah. Right. When did you become so secretive?

Anya: When I realized it’s fun to know stuff and taunt everyone with the details.

Gilly: On that note, it’s time for our next question. Ashlyn, you’re pregnant with Maddox’s baby. Yay! How do you feel about bringing a new generation of Lords into the world? For that matter, how do all of you feel at the prospect of children?

Ashlyn: [beaming and softening] I’m beyond excited, and can’t wait to hold my child in my arms. [grows sober, clears throat] But am I nervous? Hell, yeah. First, Maddox and I still don’t know exactly what kind of baby this will be—a demon? A human with “extra” abilities, like me? A normal human? Some combination thereof? But we do know we’ll love it, no matter what. And I swear that this child will have a happier upbringing than I did.

Danika: You know all of us will love this baby as our own. You’re going to have more babysitters than you know what to do with. Even the men are getting mushy at the prospect of a child in the house. I think I caught Reyes knitting baby booties the other day—he swore he was just using the knitting needles to cut himself, but I have my doubts.

Ashlyn: [beams from ear to ear] That’s so sweet.

Gwen: Sabin and I are going to wait awhile. I mean, he’s afraid his demon would turn on our kids, and the thought tears him up. What he doesn’t realize is, I’d rip through that demon if I even suspected a dark whisper had reached our child’s ear. And anyway, with the Hunters out there, willing to capture and kill our offspring—

Bianka: I told you, that’s not going to be an issue now that the Lords have the Skyhawks on their team. But Ashlyn, I should warn you that Lysander’s had some kind of prediction about your pregnancy. He won’t give me the scoop, but he did say you’re going to get more than you bargained for.

Ashlyn: Seduce the info out of him! I have to know.

Bianka: On it! Believe me.

Anya: Meanwhile, I don’t know about kids. They don’t do anything you tell them to do! It’s frustrating. Like that one kid we rescued from the Hunter compound? The one who can walk through walls and hurt you when he ghosts through you? Well, I left him with my mom and dad, and I visit him from time to time, and I told him to polish my shoes. Do you know what he said to me? “Polish them yourself.” The nerve of the boy!

[everyone stares at her]

Anya: What?

Gilly: I think Anya’s delusion is a great place to conclude our discussion. I want to thank you guys for meeting with me and sharing way too much. Even though I asked you to do so. But you can’t blame me. I’m a teenager, and someone should have told me that was a dumb idea.

So go on. Go get your men and do what I know you’re all dying to do. You nymphos! I’ll just sit here and think of Will—no one in particular.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

HEARING FROM READERS is one of my favorite things about being a writer. You guys are supportive, kind, unerringly sweet and my biggest cheerleaders. I can never thank you enough! But I can answer your questions [grin]. So, I thought I’d share my answers to the top ten most frequently e-mailed questions.

How do I get the butterfly from the Lords of the Underworld covers so I can have a tattoo made?

Unfortunately neither my publisher nor I can supply you with the actual butterfly artwork. Our best advice is to take the book with you and show the artist. Hopefully, he or she can draw a butterfly to match. Good luck! (By the way, I’m thinking about getting one myself! I’ll post pictures on my blog if I do.)

Will all the Lords get a story? Even Paris, who you have tortured and tortured—when are you going to stop torturing him?

Absolutely, all of the Lords will get a story! I want each Lord—and my sweet, sweet William—to get a happily-ever-after. As you said, they’ve been tortured enough. Well, for the most part. (I’m grinning while I type that because a lot more torture is on the way!)

But I don’t know exactly when Paris’s story will be told. As I mentioned before, I have finally figured out the direction I want him to go. Not so good news: I have to plant the seeds of his story in other books first. Great news: He deserves the best, and I want to make sure I deliver!

Is Sienna alive?

As you might have read in The Darkest Prison, Sienna’s soul has been saved and she is in the heavens with Cronus. In the upcoming The Darkest Passion and The Darkest Lie, you will be given glimpses of what has been happening to her since getting up there. And what Cronus plans to do with her….

Do you design the book covers yourself?

The publisher designs and creates the covers, and I actually have very little say. But I have been beyond happy with the covers for the Lords of the Underworld series. And by “beyond happy,” I mean they are covered in my drool. I’m only sad I haven’t gotten to meet the models. (Hint hint, Harlequin.)

You should make the Lords of the Underworld into a movie. Why haven’t you?

Getting a book made into a movie is a very long process that the writer actually has no control over. I wish, though! I would love to see my big, strong warriors on the big screen. And while writing their books, I try to think of which actors would play them. Weird fact: I can do this for every book I’ve written but the Lords of the Underworld books. I’m utterly stuck. Who do you see playing them?

The women of the series are easier for me to pick. Here’s my dream list:

Ashlyn—Jessica Alba

Anya—Charlize Theron

Danika—Sienna Miller

Gwen—Isla Fisher

Bianka—Rachel Bilson

Olivia—Scarlett Johansson

Scarlet—Kate Beckinsale

There’s a rumor floating around that you and Harlequin author Jill Monroe actually acted out a scene of The Darkest Night for your Internet show, Author Talk. Is that true? And if so, why haven’t you posted it?

As embarrassed as I am to admit this, yes, it’s true. She played Ashlyn and I played Maddox. We filmed it for Author Talk, and then decided our viewing public was not ready for such…outstanding acting. However, we have been talking about one day posting a clip.

Why did you originally only publish The Darkest Fire, The Amazon’s Curse and The Darkest Prison as e-books? I hate e-books.

The publication of The Darkest Night was pushed back by something like eight months and The Darkest Kiss close to six to give me time to write The Darkest Pleasure. We hated making readers wait and wanted to offer something earlier. The best and only way to go about that was with an e-book.

Why didn’t you give Torin and Cameo a happily-ever-after together?

I played with the idea. I did. The sparks are certainly there. He makes her laugh, and he doesn’t mind her voice. But in the end, I realized they weren’t right for each other long-term. They just didn’t…consume each other. He doesn’t wipe away her misery and she doesn’t make him forget what he is, what he can and can’t do. As much as they’ve gone through, they both deserve a love beyond anything they’ve ever known. And that’s what I plan to give them.

Is Torin going to end up with Nucking Futs Nïx?

I never say never. Except for those times I say never. But this isn’t one of those times. Although it might be. Maybe.

Actually, the amazing Nïx will end up with a man in Kresley Cole’s Immortals After Dark world, and Torin will end up with a woman in the Lords of the Underworld world. If Torin were to touch Nïx, and Nïx were to get sick, then the Valkyries would have to fight the Lords, and the Lords would, well, possibly die. Therefore, Torin has yet to meet—or see—his lady love. But don’t worry, she’s on her way!

You’ve never told us straight-up about the curse concerning William. We only know it involves a woman. So, what’s the curse?

To be honest, I don’t know yet. The answer will come to me one day, but until then, I’m clueless. And believe me, I want to know about his curse more than I want to know where Pandora’s box is. Trust me, that’s a lot.

Sneak Peek

AT LONG LAST, IN June and July 2010 respectively, Aeron and Gideon will find the women of their dreams. Or nightmares, in Gideon’s case. I had such a wonderful time with these warriors. In The Darkest Passion (June), Aeron—stubborn Aeron, who thinks humans are weak—is not prepared for Olivia, an angel who has lost her immortality and is therefore weaker than a human. In The Darkest Lie (July), Gideon—sarcastic Gideon, who loves his freedom and thinks himself invulnerable to other people’s lies—has no idea what to make of the woman claiming to be his wife.

There are plot twists I didn’t see coming, passion that nearly burned the pages and action that left me at the edge of my seat. I hope you’ll join me for their journeys! To whet your appetites, here’s a preview of chapter two of The Darkest Passion.

CHAPTER TWO

“AERON! AERON!”

At the fortress, Aeron’s booted feet hit the balcony that led into his bedroom. Jolted by the unfamiliar female voice, he released Paris.

“Aeron!”

At that third ear-piercing feminine cry of terror and desperation, both he and Paris spun to face the hill below them. Thick trees knifed toward the sky, obscuring visibility, but there, amid the dappled greens and browns, he could just make out a figure draped in white.

A figure rushing toward their home.

“Shadow Girl?” Paris asked. “How the hell did she make it past our gate so quickly? And on foot, no less?”

Aeron had explained what happened with the woman from the alley along the way. “That’s not her.” This voice was higher, richer and far less confident. “The gate…I don’t know.”

Weeks ago, after he and Paris had recovered from battle wounds inflicted by Hunters, they had erected an iron gate around the fortress. That gate stretched fifteen feet tall, was wrapped with barbed wire and had tips sharp enough to cut glass. It also vibrated with enough electricity to send a human into cardiac arrest. Anyone who attempted to climb it wouldn’t live long enough to reach the other side.

“Think she’s Bait?” Paris tilted his head, his study of her intensifying. “She could have been dropped from a heli, I guess.”

Hunters had been known to use beautiful human females to lure the Lords out into the open, distract them and capture them for torture. This one certainly seemed to meet the criteria, possessing long, wavy hair the color of chocolate, skin as pale as a cloud and a curved, ethereal body. Aeron couldn’t make out her facial features just yet, but he would bet they were exquisite.

His wings folded into their slits as he answered, “Maybe.” Just his luck to have to deal with Hunters when half of his friends weren’t around to help.

Several of his fellow warriors were in Rome, searching the Temple of the Unspoken Ones. They hoped to find anything that would lead them to missing godly artifacts. Four artifacts that, when used together, would then lead to the location of Pandora’s box.

Hunters hoped to use that box to lock the demons back inside, destroying the Lords, since man could no longer live without demon. The Lords simply hoped to demolish it.

“There are trip wires out there.” The more Paris spoke, the more Aeron noticed a tremor in his tone. Because of Shadow Girl, as Paris had called her, there hadn’t been time for him to bed anyone in town, so his strength must be draining. “If she’s not careful… Even if she is Bait, she doesn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Aeron!”

Paris fisted the balcony railing and leaned down for a better look. “Why’s she calling for you?”

And why was she using his name with such familiarity? “If she’s Bait, Hunters are probably out there right now, lying in wait for me. I’ll try to help her and they’ll attack.”

Paris straightened, face suddenly bathed in moonlight. Bruises had formed under his eyes. “I’ll get the others, and we’ll take care of her. Of them.” He was off before Aeron could reply, striding out of the bedroom, boots thumping against the stone floor.

Aeron kept his focus on the girl. As she continued to race upward, closer and closer to him, he realized the white cloth draping her was actually a robe. And the back of it, which he hadn’t been able to see before, was bright red.

She wasn’t wearing shoes, and when her bare toe slammed into a rock, she fell, that mass of chocolate hair cascading around her face. There were flowers woven through the curls, some of the petals missing. There were also twigs, but he didn’t think she’d placed those there intentionally. Her hands were shaking as she reached up and pushed the strands away.

Finally, her features came into view, and every muscle in his body jumped, tensed. She was exquisite, just as he’d supposed. Even splotchy and swollen from tears as she was. She had huge sky-blue eyes, a perfectly sloped nose, perfectly sculpted cheeks and jaw, both just a little rounded, and perfect lips that formed a lush heart.

He’d never met her before, he would have remembered, but there was something almost…familiar about her.

She lumbered to a stand, grimacing and groaning, then started forward. Once again, she fell. A pained sob escaped her, but still she persisted, rising, edging toward the fortress. Bait or not, such determination was admirable.

Somehow she managed to dodge all the traps, weaving around them as if she knew where they were, but when she hit another rock and tumbled to the ground for a third time, she stayed down, shuddering, crying.

His eyes widened as he studied her back. The red…was that…blood? Fresh, still wet? The metallic tang of it drifted on the breeze and into Aeron’s nostrils, confirming his suspicions. Oh, yes. It was.

Hers? Or someone else’s?

“Aeron.” No longer a scream, but a pathetic wail. “Help me.”

His wings expanded before he could think things through. Yes, Hunters would purposely injure Bait before sending her into the lions’ den, hoping to gain sympathy from the target. Yes, he’d probably end up with arrows and bullets in his back—again—but he wasn’t going to leave her out there, injured and vulnerable. Wasn’t going to allow his friends to risk their lives to save—or destroy—his little visitor.

Why me? he wondered as he shot from the balcony. Up, up he soared before falling toward her. He zigzagged to make himself less of a target, but no arrows whizzed by and no gunshots sounded. Still, rather than land beside her, he increased his speed, reached out his arms and scooped her up without ever slowing his pace.

Perhaps she was afraid of heights and that was the reason for her sudden stiffening. Perhaps she’d expected him to be killed before ever reaching her and, when he’d actually managed to latch on to her, had stiffened from terror. Either way, he didn’t care. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He had her.

“Be still, or by the gods, I will drop you.” He had her by the stomach, her face aimed toward the ground. That way, she could see just how far she would fall.

“Aeron?” She craned her neck to see him. The moment their gazes connected, she relaxed. Even smiled slowly. “Aeron,” she repeated on a sigh of pleasure. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

That pleasure, undiluted and untouched by malice, surprised—and confused—him. Women never looked at him like that. “Your fear was misplaced. You should have feared I would come.”

Her smile faded.

Better. The only thing that disturbed him now was the radio silence from his demon. As with Shadow Girl, images and urges should have bombarded him by now. Worry about it later.

Continuing to zigzag, he flew into his bedroom, not stopping on the balcony as usual. He needed cover as quickly as possible. Just in case. Except, just as he was retracting his wings, they slammed into both sides of the doorway and fire rushed from the tips to the arches.

Aeron ignored the pain as he skidded to his feet. When he righted himself, he strode to the bed and gently laid his charge atop the mattress, facedown. He ran a fingertip along the ridge of her spine and her heart-shaped lips parted in an agonized gasp. He’d hoped she had been doused with someone else’s blood, but no. Her injuries were real.

The knowledge wouldn’t soften him. She’d probably inflicted the damage herself, or allowed the Hunters to do it—just for the sympathy it would evoke. No sympathy from me. Only irritation. As he stomped to his closet, he drew his wings into his back, but broken as they now were, they wouldn’t fit under their flaps. That only increased his irritation with her.

He didn’t have rope and didn’t want to leave the room to find some, so he grabbed two of the neckties Ashlyn—Maddox’s woman—had given him in case he ever wanted to “dress up.” He stalked back to the bed.

She had turned her head toward him, pressing her cheek into the mattress, her gaze tracking his every move, as if she couldn’t help but peer at him—and not in revulsion as most females did. She watched him with something akin to desire.

An act, surely.

And yet, that desire…there was something familiar about it. Something unsettling. That’s what he’d noticed earlier, he thought. When she’d called his name, that same desire had been evident, and deep down, he’d known he’d encountered it before. When? Where?

From her?

He continued to stare down at her, and Wrath—was still silent, he realized. This was, supposedly, the first time he’d ever been in her presence, yet his demon still wasn’t flashing her sins through his mind. That was…odd. Had happened only once before. With Legion. Why, he’d never figured out. Gods knew his baby girl had sinned.

So why was it happening again? With possible Bait, no less?

This woman, had she never sinned? Had she never said an unkind word to another? Never purposely tripped someone or stolen something as simple as a piece of candy? Those pure sky eyes said no. Or, like Legion, had she sinned but for whatever reason flew under Wrath’s radar?

“Who are you?” His fingers wrapped around one of her fragile wrists—mmm, warm, smooth skin—and anchored it to a bedpost with the tie. He repeated the action with her other wrist.

Not once did she protest. It was as if she’d expected—and already accepted—that she would receive such treatment. “My name is Olivia.”

Olivia. A pretty name. Fitting. Delicate. Actually, the only thing that wasn’t delicate about her was her voice. Layer after layer of…what was that? The only word he could think to describe it was honesty, and so much drifted from her, he was knocked backward.

That voice had never told a lie, he would bet. It couldn’t have.

“What are you doing here, Olivia?”

“I’m here…I’m here for you.”

Again, that truth…it was a force that flowed into his ears, through his body, and sent him staggering. There wasn’t room for doubts. Not a single one. He was simply compelled to believe her.

Sabin, keeper of Doubt, would have loved her. Nothing pleased the warrior’s demon more than tearing down another’s confidence.

“Are you Bait?”

“No.”

Again, he believed her; he had no choice. “Are you here to kill me?” He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at her, waiting.

He knew how fierce he looked, but again, she didn’t react as females usually did: trembling, cowering, crying. She fluttered her long, black lashes at him, seemingly hurt that he’d maligned her character.

“No, of course not.” She paused. “Well, not anymore.”

Not anymore? “So. At one time, you meant to slay me?”

“I was once sent to do so, yes.”

Such honesty… “By whom?”

“At first, I was sent by the One True Deity to merely watch you. I didn’t mean to scare your little friend away. I was only trying to do my job.” Fresh tears filled her eyes, turning those beautiful blue irises into pools of remorse.

No softening. “Who is the One True Deity?”

Pure love lit her expression, momentarily chasing away the sheen of pain. “Deity of you, Deity of me. Far more powerful than your gods, though mostly content to remain in the shadows, and so rarely acknowledged. Father to humans. Father to…angels. Like me.”

Angels. Like me. As the words echoed in his head, Aeron’s eyes widened. No wonder his demon couldn’t sense any wickedness in her. No wonder her gaze felt familiar to him. She was an angel. The angel, actually. The one sent to kill him, by her own admission. Though she didn’t plan to end him “anymore.” Why?

And did it matter? This delicate creature had been, at one point, his appointed executioner.

Suddenly he wanted to laugh. As if she could have overpowered him.

You couldn’t see her. Would you truly have been able to stop her, had she gone for your head?

The thought hit him and he lost his amusement. She was the one who had been watching him these many weeks. She was the one who had followed him, unseen, driving a pained Legion away.

Which raised the question of why Wrath wasn’t reacting as Legion always did. With fear and even physical agony. Perhaps the angel controlled which demons sensed her, he considered. That would be a handy ability to possess, keeping her intended victims ignorant of her presence—and intentions.

He waited for brutal rage to fill him. Rage he’d promised to unleash on this creature time and time again should she ever reveal herself. When the rage failed to appear, he waited for resolve. He must protect his friends at any cost.

But that, too, remained hopelessly out of reach. What he did get instead? Confusion.

“You are…”

“The angel who has been watching you, yes,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “Or rather, I was an angel.” Her eyelids sealed shut, tears catching in her lashes. Her chin trembled. “Now I am nothing.”

He believed her—how could he not? That voice… Seriously, he wanted to doubt her about something, anything, but couldn’t manage it. Aeron extended a shaky hand. What are you, a child? Man up.

Scowling at his display of weakness, he steadied his hand and flipped away her hair, careful not to touch her injured skin. He pinched the scooped neck of her robe and gently tugged. The soft material ripped easily, revealing the expanse of her back.

Once again his eyes widened. Between her shoulder blades, where wings should have protruded, were two long grooves of broken skin, tendons torn to the spine, ripped muscle and even a peek at bone. They were savage wounds, violent and unmerciful, blood still seeping from them. He’d had his own wings forcibly removed once, and it had been the most painful injury of his very long life.

“What happened?” The hoarseness of his voice threw him.

“I’ve fallen,” she rasped, shame dripping from her tone. She buried her face in the pillow. “I’m an angel no more.”

“Why?” Never having encountered an angel before—well, besides Lysander, but that bastard didn’t count because he refused to speak to the Lords about anything of importance—Aeron didn’t know much about them. He only knew what Legion had told him, and of course, there was a very good chance her recounting had been colored by her hatred of them. Nothing she’d described fit with the female on his bed.

Angels, Legion had said, were emotionless, soulless creatures with only one purpose: the destruction of their darker counterpart, the demons. She’d also claimed that, every so often, an angel would succumb to the lures of the flesh, intrigued by the very beings he—or she—was supposed to loathe. That angel would then be kicked straight into Hell, where the demons she had once defeated were finally allowed a little vengeance.

Was that what had happened to this one? Aeron wondered. A trip to Hell where demons had tormented her? Possible.

Should he untie her? Her eyes…so guileless, so innocent. Now they said help me. And save me.

But most of all, they said hold me and never let go.

He’d been tricked by such innocence before, he thought, stopping himself before he could act. Baden had been tricked, as well, and had died for it.

A smart man would learn a little more about this woman first, he decided.

“Who took your wings?” The question emerged as a gruff bark, and he nodded in satisfaction.

She gulped, shuddered. “Once I was cast—”

“Aeron, you stupid shit,” a male voice said, hushing her. “Tell me you didn’t—” Paris stalked into his bedroom, but ground to a halt when he spotted Olivia. His eyes narrowed and he ran his tongue over his teeth. “So. It’s true. You really flew out there and grabbed her.”

Olivia stiffened, keeping her face hidden from view. Her shoulders began shaking as if she were sobbing. Was she finally scared? Now?

Why? Women adored Paris.

Concentrate. Aeron didn’t have to ask how Paris knew what he’d done. Torin, keeper of the demon of Disease, monitored the fortress and the hill it sat upon twenty-eight hours a day, nine days a week—or so it seemed. “I thought you were gathering the others?”

“Torin texted me, and I went to him first.”

“And what did he tell you about her?”

“Hallway,” his friend said, motioning to the door with a tilt of his chin.

Aeron shook his head. “We can discuss her here. She’s not Bait.”

Another swipe of his tongue over his straight, white teeth. “And I thought I was stupid when it came to females. How do you know what she is? Did she tell you and you couldn’t help but believe her?” His tone was sneering.

“She’s an angel, despot. The one who’s been watching me.”

That wiped the scorn from Paris’s expression. “An actual angel? From heaven?”

“Yes.”

“Like Lysander?”

“Yes.”

Very slowly, Paris looked her over. Female connoisseur that he was—or used to be—he probably knew everything about her body by the time he was done. The size of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the exact length of her legs. That did not annoy Aeron. She meant nothing to him. Nothing but trouble.

“Whatever she is,” Paris said, far less angry than he’d been, “it doesn’t mean she’s not working with our enemy. Need I remind you that Galen, the world’s biggest blowhard, says he’s an angel.”

“Yeah, but he’s lying.”

“And she can’t be?”

Aeron scrubbed a hand down his suddenly tired face. “Olivia. Are you working with Galen to harm us?”

“No,” she mumbled, and Paris stumbled backward, just as Aeron had done, clutching his chest.

“My gods,” his friend gasped. “That voice…”

“I know.”

“She’s not Bait, and she’s not helping Galen.” A statement of fact from Paris now.

“I know,” Aeron repeated.

Paris shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Still. Lucien will want to search the hills for Hunters. Just in case.”

One of the many reasons Aeron had always followed Lucien. The warrior was smart and cautious. “When he finishes, call a meeting with whoever’s here and tell them about the other woman. The one from the alley.”

Paris nodded and suddenly there was a sparkle in his blue eyes. “Quite an evening you’ve had so far, huh? I wonder who else you’ll meet tonight.”

“Gods help me if there’s another,” he muttered.

“You shouldn’t have challenged Cronus, my friend.”

Aeron’s stomach clenched as his gaze swung back to the angel. Had the god king actually answered his dare? Was Olivia to be the one who led him on a merry chase? His heart was pounding, he realized, and his blood was heating.

He ground his teeth. Didn’t matter whether she was or not. She could try to tempt him, but even she, with her fall of chocolate hair, baby blues and heart-shaped lips, would fail to do so.

“I don’t regret my words.” Truth or lie, he didn’t know. He hadn’t thought Cronus had any power over the angels. So how then would the god king have sent her here? Or was he not responsible? Perhaps Aeron was mistaken and Cronus had nothing to do with this.

Again, it didn’t matter. Not only would the angel fail to tempt him, he would ensure she left before she had time to cause a single moment of concern.

“Just so you know,” Paris said, “Torin saw this one on the hill with his hidden cameras. Said she dug her way out of the ground.”

Out of the ground. Did that mean she had been tossed into Hell, and had then been forced to claw her way free? He couldn’t picture the fragile-looking female capable of such a thing—and surviving, that is. But then he recalled the determination she’d displayed while running toward the fortress. Maybe.

“Is that true?” He looked her over with new eyes. Sure enough, there was dirt under her fingernails and smeared on her arms. Besides the blood, however, her robe was perfectly clean.

In fact, as he watched, the tear he’d made wove itself back together, much like his body did when wounded. A piece of cloth with healing properties. Would wonders never cease?

“Olivia. You will answer.”

She nodded without glancing up. He heard a sniff, sniff. Yes, she was sobbing.

An ache bloomed in his chest, but he ignored it. Doesn’t matter what she is or what she’s endured. You will not soften. She frightens and hurts Legion and has to go.

“A real, live angel,” Paris said, clearly awed. “I’ll take her to my room, if you’d like, and—”

“She’s too injured for bed sport,” Aeron snapped.

Paris eyed him strangely for a moment, then grinned and shook his head. “I wasn’t sizing her up or anything, so let go of your jealousy.”

That didn’t even deserve a response. He’d never experienced jealousy, and wasn’t about to start now. “So why were you offering to take her to your room?”

“So I can bandage her wounds. Who’s the despot now?”

“I’ll take care of her.” Maybe. Could angels tolerate human medicine? Or would it hurt them? He knew well the dangers of giving one race something meant for another. Ashlyn had almost died when she’d drunk wine meant only for immortals.

He would have called for Lysander, but the elite warrior angel was currently living in the heavens with Bianka and if there was a way to reach him, Aeron hadn’t been told what it was. Besides, Lysander didn’t like him and wasn’t the type to willingly offer information about his race.

“You want to be the responsible one, fine. But admit it.” Paris tossed him another grin. “You’re staking a claim on her.”

“No. I’m not.” He didn’t have even the smallest desire to do so. It was just that she was injured and couldn’t take care of herself, and was therefore in no position to be anyone’s bedmate. And that’s all Paris would want her for. Sex. No matter what the warrior claimed.

Besides, she’d called for Aeron. Screamed Aeron’s name.

Undeterred, Paris continued, “An angel isn’t technically human, you know? An angel is something more.”

Aeron popped his jaw. Of all the things for the man to remember from their earlier conversation. “I said I’m not staking a claim.”

Paris laughed. “Whatever you say, compadre. Enjoy your female.”

Aeron’s hands curled into fists, his friend’s laughter not so welcome now. “Go and tell Lucien everything we’ve discussed, but under no circumstances are you to inform the women that there’s a wounded angel here. They’ll raid my room wanting to meet her, and now is not the time for that.”

“Why? Do you plan to make out with her?”

His teeth ground together with so much force he feared they would soon be nothing but a fond memory. “I plan to question her.”

“Ah. So that’s what the kids are calling it these days. Well, have fun.” With that, a still-grinning Paris strolled from the room.

Alone once more with his charge, Aeron gazed down at her. Her silent sobbing had ended, at least, and she faced him again.

“What are you doing here, Olivia?” Saying her name shouldn’t have affected him—he’d said it before, after all—but it did. His blood heated another degree. It must be those eyes of hers…piercing him….

A shuddering breath escaped her. “I knew the consequences, knew I was giving up my wings, my abilities, my immortality, but I did it anyway. It’s just…my job changed. Joy was no longer mine to give. Only death. And I hated what they wanted me to do. I couldn’t do it, Aeron. I just couldn’t.”

His name on her lips, uttered with such familiarity, affected him, too. He sucked in a breath. What was wrong with him? Toughen up. Be the cold, hard warrior you claim to be.

“I watched you,” she continued, “as well as those around you, and I…ached. I wanted you, and I wanted what they had—freedom and love and fun. I wanted to play. I wanted to kiss and to touch. I wanted joy of my own.” Her gaze met his, bleak, broken. “In the end, I had a choice. Fall…or kill you. I decided to fall. So here I am. Yours.”

The Sacred Scrolls

AS I TOLD YOU EARLIER, I, Cronus, King of Kings, was not mentioned nearly enough in this guide. By now, I’m sure you concur.

But as this compilation began with me, it’s only fitting that it end with me, as well. That is why I’m unveiling my ancient scrolls at long last. These scrolls list the contemptible demons unleashed from Pandora’s box—well, the demons still at large….

Pay no attention to those who have been crossed out. That is a command! They mean nothing and are of no consequence.

Now then, I’ve tasked the Lords with finding these…abominations. Better the warriors under my control than those despicable Hunters, after all.

What my men do not know, however, is that a few of these demons are already searching for them….

Cronus

KING OF THE TITANS

THE MISSING DEMONS FROM PANDORA’S BOX

Distrust—to regard with suspicion; have no trust in

Greed—excessive or rapacious desire, especially for wealth or possessions

Hate—to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward; detest

Indifference—lack of interest or concern

Intolerance—lack of toleration; unwillingness or refusal to tolerate or respect contrary opinions, beliefs or persons of different races or backgrounds, etc.

Irresponsibility—said or done with, or characterized by, a lack of a sense of responsibility

Jealousy—resentment against a rival, a person enjoying success or advantage, or against another’s success or advantage itself

Narcissism—inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity

Nightmares—a terrifying dream in which the dreamer experiences feelings of helplessness, extreme anxiety or sorrow

Obsession—the domination of one’s thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image or desire

Selfishness—devoted to or caring only for oneself; concerned primarily with one’s own interests, benefits and welfare, regardless of others

Strife—vigorous or bitter conflict, discord or antagonism

LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD
Glossary of Characters and Terms

Aeron—Keeper of Wrath

All-Seeing Eye—Godly artifact with the power to see into heaven and Hell

Amun—Keeper of Secrets

Anya—(Minor) Goddess of Anarchy

Ashlyn Darrow—Human female with supernatural ability

Baden—Keeper of Distrust (deceased)

Bait—Human females, Hunters’ accomplices

Bianka Skyhawk—Harpy, sister of Gwen

Cage of Compulsion—Godly artifact with the power to enslave anyone trapped inside

Cameo—Keeper of Misery

Cloak of Invisibility—Godly artifact with the power to shield its wearer from prying eyes

Cronus—King of the Titans

Danika Ford—Human female, target of the Titans

Darla Stefano—wife of Dean Stefano, Sabin’s lover (deceased)

Dean Stefano—Hunter, Right-hand man of Galen

dimOuniak—Pandora’s box

Dr. Frederick McIntosh—Vice President of the World Institute of Parapsychology

Galen—Keeper of Hope

Gideon—Keeper of Lies

Gilly—Human female, friend of Danika

Greeks—Former rulers of Olympus, now imprisoned in Tartarus

Gwen Skyhawk—Harpy, wife of Sabin

Hera—Queen of the Greeks

Hunters—Mortal enemies of the Lords of the Underworld

Hydra—Multiheaded serpent with poisonous fangs

Kaia Skyhawk—Harpy, sister of Gwen

Kane—Keeper of Disaster

Legion—Demon minion, friend of Aeron

Lords of the Underworld—Exiled warriors of the Greek gods who now house demons inside them

Lucien—Keeper of Death, Leader of the Budapest warriors

Lysander—Elite warrior angel and consort of Bianka Skyhawk

Maddox—Keeper of Violence

Olivia—Fallen warrior angel

Pandora—Immortal warrior, once guardian of dimOuniak (deceased)

Paring Rod—Godly artifact, power unknown

Paris—Keeper of Promiscuity

Reyes—Keeper of Pain

Sabin—Keeper of Doubt, Leader of the Greece contingent of warriors

Scarlet—Keeper of Nightmares

Sienna Blackstone—Female Hunter

Strider—Keeper of Defeat

Taliyah Skyhawk—Harpy, sister of Gwen

Tartarus—Greek god of Confinement, also the immortal prison on Mount Olympus

Titans—Current rulers of Olympus

Torin—Keeper of Disease

William—Immortal, friend of Anya

Zeus—King of the Greeks

ISBN: 978-1-4268-5479-8

INTO THE DARK

Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holder of the individual works as follows:

THE DARKEST FIRE
Copyright © 2008 by Gena Showalter

THE AMAZON’S CURSE
Copyright © 2009 by Gena Showalter

THE DARKEST PRISON
Copyright © 2009 by Gena Showalter

Excerpt from THE DARKEST PASSION
Copyright © 2010 by Gena Showalter

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