The Darkest Promise

With her hands otherwise occupied, she wouldn’t be able to stop what he did with his own...

He should resist. A man didn’t play with temptation; temptation played with him. Their association could not end well.

In that moment, he simply didn’t care.

Lazarus gripped her by the waist, grunting as skin met heated skin. “So soft,” he intoned. “So perfect.”

A tremor rocked her against him. His hard-on returned with a vengeance.

With a hiss, she pressed the tip of her dagger deeper, drawing a bead of blood. Her jaw dropped. “You’re bleeding. And your heart...I can feel its beat against my thigh. I don’t understand. You’re dead. You died. Didn’t you?”

“I did. I’m not sure what sets me apart. I only know I’m not considered one of the living.” Otherwise he would have returned to the mortal world when he’d passed through the portal.

As a child, he remembered his father telling him, “We are the last remaining descendants of Hydra. Our kind is not supposed to die. Not by fair means, and certainly not by foul.”

Hydra was the first nine-headed water she-beast ever born, with venom so toxic her breath often proved lethal. She could regrow decapitated limbs, even her heads, in seconds.

Why didn’t I?

Lazarus caressed his thumbs up and down Cameo’s quivering belly and circled her navel. “I still bleed, yes,” he said. His voice dipped. “I’m capable of spilling another fluid, too.”

“Stop,” she demanded, breathless.

“Stop giving you pleasure?” He traced his fingertips up, up, and met the undersides of her breasts.

Beneath the fabric of her bra, her nipples hardened into tight little buds.

“Yes. No.” She covered her breasts with her free arm. “Stop screwing with my mind.”

“How about I just screw you?”

One night. He wanted one night with her. His father had spent five years with his mother before the crystals slowed him in battle. Granted, Typhon had visited his μονομανία only when his body’s needs overpowered him. One night would cause little damage to Lazarus. Surely.

In the morning, he would say goodbye.

“No?” Cameo replied, a question when she’d probably intended to make a statement.

Up...up... He slid his hands underneath her arm and cupped her breasts. “Exquisite.” His mind steamed with lust. “Look how responsive you are to me.” Only to me.

Goose bumps broke out over her arms, and the flush in her cheeks deepened. The pressure of the blade eased. “Did you know twenty-one percent of women are unable to achieve an orgasm?”

“Must be the twenty-one percent I haven’t slept with. I’m an orgasm donor.”

“You admit to being a he-slut?”

“I admit to a misspent youth, when anyone in a skirt...or pants...or shorts...or bare skin...would do the trick.”

She licked her lips, the epitome of wanton. “And you pleased them all?”

“Multiple times.”

“You’re sure? Every single woman could have faked it.”

“You forget, it’s impossible to hide the truth from me. I can read minds.” He arched his back, causing the blade to slice into his skin again. But he didn’t care, the motion causing her to slide down and straddle his hips. “Want to test me out, sunshine?”

“I want...” She leaned down, and her breasts smashed against his chest, her nipples still hard little buds. Her heartbeat drummed against his in a too-fast rhythm.

Life. She’s life.

She’s my life.

No! They would have one night. No more.

Her lips hovered over his, and their breath mingled. He inhaled her essence as though she was his last hit of oxygen.

“Lazarus,” she whispered.

Molten desire blistered him. “I want Lazarus. That’s what you said. I’ll allow no take backs.”

She shivered and then she stiffened. Even as her pupils spilled over her irises, reminding him of a storm being chased away by the sun, she said, “Take backs. I will never sleep with a man who dislikes me. I don’t need another reason to hate myself.”

“Don’t sleep with me, then.” Not yet. “I can get you off with my fingers or my mouth. Lady’s choice.” He had to touch her impossibly soft skin, the need as necessary as breathing.

Her expression pinched, and he didn’t have to read her mind to know why. The demon had protested. Loudly.

“Focus on me,” Lazarus commanded softly. When her gaze met his once again, he framed her face and brushed his thumbs over the rise of her cheekbones. “Your circumstances will never be good enough for Misery. If you want to be happy, you have to purposely fight him. Victory won’t happen by accident.”

She dropped the dagger and circled her fingers around his wrists. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t fought him every hour of every day for centuries?”

“Want a different outcome, do something different.” So easy to say, so difficult to do.

“What? What can I do?” she snapped.

He...wasn’t sure.

Fury crackled in her eyes, but it soon gave way to utter heartbreak. “If I sleep with you, I’ll forget you. Once again, you’ll know what I look, sound and feel like in the throes of a passion I’ve always longed to experience, while I’ll know nothing about you. I’ll lose another piece of myself. I’ll lose the kind of memory others take for granted. Thoughts to keep me warm on cold winter nights when I’m alone. Always alone.”

A pang slicked through his heart. “Cameo—”

In the distance, a twig snapped. Someone approached.

Protective instincts surged, overriding his desire. He rolled his woman underneath him and prepared to attack and defend.

7 (#uef6602c5-8df6-5939-8ee9-9d411bca3f6e)

“Step four: Study the enemy. i.e., Study everyone.”

—How to Achieve Victory