The Darkest Promise

Everyone knelt and pointed at her. Accusing voices rang out.

“Her!”

“She did it!”

“She’s the one you seek!”

Cameo lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “You don’t want to fight me. I’m a highly respected friend of your king.” At least, she hoped they’d parted as friends. “Also, if you attack me, I will kill you.”

Finding Lazarus had become her reason for breathing. Basically, he was the equivalent of an organ donor. If he shed light on specific memories Misery had stolen, he would give her a new heart.

The warriors flinched as if they’d been punched. Scowls gave way to tear-glazed eyes and trembling lips. From the crowd, a chorus of sobs rang out.

Only one soldier rode closer to her. Fading sunlight shone at his back and bathed his face in shadows.

When he stopped to dismount a rare Pegasus—a winged warhorse—those shadows vanished, and bolts of electricity arced through her.

He was utterly magnificent, the most beautiful male she’d ever seen. He radiated raw masculinity and sexual arrogance.

His mass of jet-black hair spiked in wind-blown tangles. His eyes were dark, fathomless, with tiny pinpricks of light. Like stars! His features could have been chiseled from stone. He had a proud, blade-sharp nose, prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw darkened by stubble. His unnatural but oh, so delicious height was perfectly balanced by an abundance of muscle and sinew.

Underneath the collar of his shirt, a wealth of tattoos peeked out. Roses with bloody thorns, a snake eating its own tail, a skull—several skulls—butterflies. On one hand, he had the word LOVE tattooed over his knuckles. On the other hand, he had the word HATE.

Unease prickled at the back of her neck.

His gaze raked over her, slowly, almost brutally, devouring her. As if she were a last meal and his only means of salvation. She shivered even as her blood heated.

Misery hissed and kicked at her skull. Run! Run now!

Afraid, demon? What an interesting development.

Did the man possess power over evil? Or over Cameo specifically? Could he be the one she sought?

Better question: Did she want him to be?

“At last.” Ferocious tension and undiluted aggression radiated from him, making the most feminine parts of her soften. “We meet again.”

Another shiver, courtesy of his voice. The husky timbre was as carnal as the rest of him. She licked her lips. “Again?”

Unlike the leopard, the vendor, and everyone around them, the brute merely arched a brow at the sound of her voice. “Are you going to pretend we’re strangers?”

“I wish I were pretending.” Her heart fluttered, and her knees trembled. “Who are you?”

His study of her intensified, his dark eyes mesmerizing her so thoroughly she almost missed the phantom fingers brushing across her mind. Almost. She recognized the sensation and frowned. Was he attempting to read her thoughts?

Anger sparked. Must protect my secrets.

The few times she’d encountered an immortal with such an intrusive and dangerous ability, she’d slayed first and asked questions later.

With a concentrated effort, she gave a mental push. The second he was out, she erected a mental shield.

“You truly don’t remember me.” Steps clipped, he closed the distance...and oh, wow, he smelled good. Like expensive champagne and honey-glazed chocolate.

She grew light-headed. When he cupped her face with big, callused hands and forced her gaze upon his, the sensation worsened, the simple touch searing her.

“I am the one you seek,” he rasped. “I am Lazarus.”

Confirmation shook her to the bone. She waited for a spark of recognition, prayed for it, but her mind remained a dark abyss of sadness, sorrow and...arousal? Her nipples puckered, her belly quavered and warmth pooled between her legs.

Misery killed the wanton feelings in a hurry, leaving her bereft.

Satisfaction teased Lazarus’s features...and Cameo. “Your body remembers me, at least,” he said.

Electric currents charged through her, sizzling in her marrow.

This time Misery flooded her with a boiling ooze of depression, and her shoulders slumped.

“Well.” Lazarus sneered. “You’re still a bitter crone, I see.”

A crone? Her hands fisted. The need to find Lazarus had plagued her, a sickness...a fever...and all along he’d thought the worst of her. “You’re a bastard, I see.”

Gasps and wails rose from the crowd.

He smiled slowly, wickedly. “That’s right. But I’m your bastard, sunshine.”

Sunshine? Her? She nearly choked. “I’m only using you for your brain. Tell me about our time together.” Please!

“Answer a question for me first.”

She gave a clipped nod.

“What would you do if a man kissed you? Asking for a friend.”

He dared to tease her, and she dared to like it. Desire suddenly overshadowed her curiosity. Does he want to kiss me?

Before Cameo had returned to this realm in search of Lazarus, her friend Anya had said, “We don’t chase men, we erase. Fine, you can make this one the exception. Just remember to hide your beef. Why buy the cow when you can steal it and eat for free?”

Cameo had replied, “You mean, why buy the pig when you’re only going to get a little sausage?”

“Your hands,” Lazarus said, drawing her back into the present. Eyes narrowed, body stiff as a board, he clasped her wrists and lifted her hands into the light to study her multitude of blisters. “You fought the sky serpents.”

She jerked from his grip. “I protected myself from becoming an all-you-can-eat dinner buffet, if that’s what you mean.”

Those dark eyes narrowed further. “I vowed to make the person who injured my pets pay a terrible price.”

His pets? “You may try.” He would soon learn she could take a licking and keep on ticking.

A new chorus of gasps and wails rose from the crowd.