The Darkest Promise

Leave! Now!

Concern for her rooted him in place. Her wounds needed tending. Would his control snap when he got his hands on her?

“Why did you stop?” she rasped.

“We were—are—enemies,” he croaked. Kick me out.

Her eyes widened. “Enemies. Because you hate me...hate what I am?”

“I don’t hate you.” He feared her and the power she wielded over him. He hungered for her like a man who’d been denied proper sustenance for years. “But I don’t like you, either.”

He expected her to recoil with hurt. Instead, she exuded acceptance.

His black heart shattered. How many times had this woman faced rejection?

My μονομανία will be respected at all times!

He cursed his growing sense of possession. This woman would never belong to him. He would always choose strength over weakness.

“Why are we enemies?” she insisted.

“I want you too much,” he admitted with a snarl.

She gaped at him. Then she pressed her lips together. A habit he’d noticed before. And he got it, he really did. People despised her voice, and she despised their reaction to it.

“Use your words like a big girl,” he said, purposely taunting her. He believed in the law of displacement. Like a glass set underneath a dripping faucet. Eventually it would fill up, and the liquid would spill out, leaving the container empty...and ready for something new. It had worked in the past, allowing him to manipulate her mood. Misery for anger, anger for passion. “Little girls get spanked.”

She reached for a dagger no longer in her possession, then shook her empty fist at him. “Try and lose a hand.”

“Only one?” He tsk-tsked. “Someone is practically begging to get spanked.”

“Someone is wondering why she thought it would be a good idea to spend time with you.”

“That’s easy. You are addicted to my massive...”

She bowed up, preparing to attack.

“Wit,” he finished, trying not to smile. Teasing her had always been a source of delight. For him.

With calculated grace, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “No worries, warrior. I can get wit anywhere.”

An-n-nd he lost the desire to smile. Any male who dared wit her would be met by Lazarus’s—

Handshake and hero’s send-off. I will let her go.

Determined, he focused on the worst of her injuries. “You have multiple wounds, but I’ll ensure you heal before you go. You’ll have no scars, or what I like to call love buttons.” There would be nothing to remind her of their newest interaction. If the demon decided to wipe her memory clean once again.

Now hurt twisted her expression, and the sight was nearly his undoing. Did she want to stay with him?

She rebounded quickly and buffed her nails. “Don’t bother with patch work. I refer to bandages as sissy support.”

“I’ll bother. Otherwise you won’t heal.” He strode into the en suite, where he found the salve made with winter Fae ice.

He hadn’t saved it for Cameo. Of course he hadn’t. Helping the only female capable of hurting him? No! Such an action would have been foolish.

What are you doing now?

Ensuring she lived long enough to travel home. Nothing more.

He swallowed a growl and returned to the room to crouch before the dark-haired beauty. Her intoxicating scent enveloped him, his mouth watering for a taste. Perhaps he’d steal a kiss, a single kiss, before he began his “patch work.” He’d promised to pick up where they’d left off, and he always kept his promises...

The rest of the world faded as he leaned into her...

Her breath hitched, maddening him further, but also returning him to reality.

Damn her appeal!

With his attention fixed anywhere but her too lovely face...and perfectly rounded hips...and the long, lean legs she’d once wrapped around his waist...he cleaned her wounds and applied the salve.

“Must get you home,” he grated.

“When we part,” she said softly, “I’m not going home. Not until I find the goddess of the Afterlife and—” She pressed her lips together.

And...what? Or who? If she sought another man, Lazarus would—

Nothing.

“Your moods change lightning fast,” she said. “Are you manstruating?”

He suppressed a laugh. Then he probed the outer recesses of her mind a final time, nearly grunting with relief and triumph when he realized she had inadvertently lowered the shield.

She also searched for Pandora’s box.

He experienced a flare of guilt. Should he admit she’d come close to finding it? The last time they were together, the artifact had been inches away.

He’d stopped her from making a play for it, and in the process stopped its guardian from awakening, and Cameo from dying, her spirit forever stuck in the phantom realms.

Lazarus would have been stuck with the key to his downfall.

So he’d led her away from the box, knowing he could return for it at any time. He’d even played with the idea once or twice. But why mess with a working system?

He ignored the guilt, remained silent and dug deeper into her mind. Well, well. She had secrets of her own. The little minx hadn’t mentioned the box because she didn’t trust him and she didn’t know how he would react to Misery. She actually believed he would seek her destruction.

Deeper still. She—

Screeched with fury and horror and shoved him out of her thoughts. Then she erected the shield.

She raised her fist, as if to hit him. Their gazes collided as he clasped her wrist. The delicacy of her bones, so different from his, the warmth and softness of her skin. The feel of her wild pulse hammering against him...