The Darkest Promise

She’d scowled, revealing her perfect white teeth, and he’d actually trembled as if he were a young lad with his first female. “You will never know.”

He’d never stopped burning for Cameo. Never stopped aching. But now that they were separated by life, death and a thousand different realms, he had new perspective. He’d been a fool, allowing sexual desire to dictate his actions. Nothing mattered more than strength.

A harried knock sounded at the door, breaking into his thoughts. His mind beat him to the exit, ensuring he wasn’t walking into an ambush.

The guard wrung his hands, unwilling to meet Lazarus’s gaze. “The sky serpents... Majesty, we just received word. Someone...” Gulp. “Someone not only injured the two...but came close to killing...”

Rage exploded inside him, but when next he spoke, his voice conveyed only calm. “Where are they?”

“The garden, Majesty. The healer has been summoned.”

Lazarus could have flashed to the garden—moving from one place to another with only a thought—but he liked walking. Liked his ability to move about unimpeded by crystals.

He stalked through the palace, the opulence of stolen treasures and the luxury of hand-carved furnishings whizzing past him. The ceiling was high and tiered, embellished with a frieze that arced across two marble fireplaces. Colorful stained glass glinted in the windows, and elaborate mosaics decorated the floor.

Outside, waning sunlight cast golden rays over a hilly terrain that overflowed with flowers.

What would Cameo think of such lush beauty? Would she smile at last?

Desire joined his rage, seething inside him.

“Majesty.” One of his advisers raced to his side, short legs working overtime to keep up with Lazarus’s swift pace. “Lucifer sent another emissary, demanding an answer to his query.”

Lucifer the Destroyer, known for deriving pleasure from the torment of others, was one of the nine kings of the underworld. He ruled over demons and Greek gods, and he was currently at war with his father, Hades, another king of the underworld.

Weeks ago, Lucifer invited Lazarus to join his alliance. In exchange, he’d vowed to return Cameo to the Realm of Grimm and Fantica.

Lazarus had toyed with the idea of accepting. Cameo...once again within reach...driving him insane with desire...

Weakening me. “Have the emissary escorted to the dungeon. I’ll slay him at my earliest convenience.” Tempt him and suffer.

“Yes, Majesty. Of course.” The adviser raced away.

A family of butterflies joined Lazarus, fluttering overhead. Along with the sky serpents, butterflies had come to the realm in droves, as drawn to him in death as they’d always been in life. He’d never known why.

An older woman—the healer—joined him, as well. She carried a basket of salves and bandages.

Together they topped the hill, the injured sky serpents coming into view at last. One was splayed on the ground, black blood streaming from his left eye. The other writhed in pain, a petrified branch holding open his jaw.

The rage inside Lazarus darkened. Sky serpents were extremely loyal but equally predatory, with the instincts of a sociopath. But they were his sociopaths, the equivalent of a cowboy’s prized horse. They fought for him without hesitation.

He worked the branch free and, alongside the healer, patched up both creatures. Within a few days, the two would be as good as new. In the meantime, they would suffer as torn muscle and flesh wove back together.

“Whoever did this will pay. You have my word.” Finding the culprit would be easy. Sky serpent blood always left blisters behind.

The pair mewled in thanks.

Determined, Lazarus left them in the hands of the healer and headed to the stables to join the contingent of soldiers he’d instructed to arm up.

The hunt was on.

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

“The opponent you allow to live is the opponent who will stab you in the back.”

—The Fine Art of Decapitation

Cameo limped through a crowded village fair as the vendors hawked different wares, a gaggle of voices producing a jumbled sound track. The scent of spicy meats and candied sweets filled the air.

She stopped abruptly. There, on a table shaded by an azure fruit tree, rested her boots. And her weapons!

With an angry huff, she approached the seller, a tall man with a long, gray beard. The pain in her ankle flared, and the blisters on her hands stung.

He spotted her and proudly waved his hand over her belongings. “See something you want?”

“Yes. Your heart on a platter.”

Tears welled in his eyes. And thanks to Misery, the influx of sorrow blinded him to her threat. “Today only, I’m offering each item for the bargain price of...of...” He quieted, his body suddenly vibrating with eagerness. “You live. You are living. Your body is alive!”

Surprise danced hand in hand with her own ever-present sorrow. How did he know she’d passed through the Paring Rod without experiencing death?

He attempted to mask his excitement with a faux aura of boredom. “I’ll buy the body from you. What would you like in exchange? The daggers? You’ll never find a better made pair.”

“I know. Because I made them,” she grated.

He flinched, the tears coming faster. “You want them, you have to buy them. I must recoup my losses, considering your friend charged me an arm and a leg. My servant won’t regrow the limbs for another month, which means I have to do all the heavy lifting myself.”

Her friend? The only person she’d spoken to was—She hissed at Rathbone. “You stole my stuff?”

The mangy feline who’d escorted her into town prowled around her ankles. “Meow?”

Cameo bent down to grab him by the scruff, but he darted out of range. “You left me defenseless, you miserable excuse for a cat. I had to fight with sticks. Sticks! I will not pay your escort fee.” Wait. That sounded wrong. “I owe you nothing for your aid.” Not that the prick had aided her.

“What can I say? Even I have to pay to play.”

As a woman who’d been created fully formed by a king who’d demanded her service—Kill for me or be killed by me—she’d encountered many perverted immortals. Rathbone had to be the worst.

“You.” Staring at the blisters now marring her hands, the vendor stumbled backward. “You’re the one. You harmed the sky serpents.”

Gasps of dismay erupted from the crowd, buyers and other vendors moving to form a wall around her.

As she scanned the masses, confused, Misery cackled with glee. Ten out of ten people agree. You’re a horrible person, and the world will be a better place without you.

Depression oozed over her like boiling tar, adhering to her soul. A sensation manufactured by the demon. He wanted to control her.

Calm. Steady.

The click-clack of horse hooves hit her awareness, a welcome distraction. The crowd parted down the center, revealing an army of scowling soldiers.