Текст книги "The darkest seduction"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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Torin would do anything to touch a female human without hurting her. Even accept a gift that wasn’t a gift. A gift that was a curse. A gift that was a death sentence. A gift that would ruin Rhea’s own plans. Not that he would know it. Cronus grinned.

Unlike Lucien, Cronus did not have to touch an individual to move him. Cronus simply spoke, and Torin appeared in front of him.

The warrior palmed two blades in his gloved hands and spun, searching for the culprit, even as he oriented himself to his new surroundings. He stilled when he noticed Cronus, though his gaze continued to rove, memorizing the details, the exits.

A field of ambrosia stretched for miles, scenting the air oh, so sweetly, the violet petals glistening under the gleam of a sun that offered the perfect amount of light and heat.

“Cronus,” Torin said with a nod of his head. If he was upset or even thrilled about being pulled from his Budapest fortress for the first time in centuries, he didn’t show it. No bowing, either, so of course, no scraping.

All of his current problems stemmed from his leniency with the Lords, Cronus mused. They issued commands and expected him to obey. Then, when he issued commands, they refused him, sometimes openly, sometimes by more stealthy means. His mistake was trying to connect with them, to become one of them. He should have proven his strength and demonstrated the consequences of defying him from the beginning. He wasn’t their friend, would never be their friend. He was their king, their master.

And now he would prove it.

“You rang?”

Oh, yes. He would prove it. Cronus studied him, this warrior he was about to use. Torin had white hair that shagged around a wicked face humans craved for the rest of their lives if they were unlucky enough to catch a single glimpse of it. Emerald eyes, more sinful than anything. Lips that had never known a female’s taste.

“Walk with me,” he commanded, expecting absolute compliance.

And getting it. When the warrior reached his side, he pivoted and strode through the field, the lush leaves caressing his suit-clad legs. He ran scenarios through his mind, gauging the pros and cons of his decision.

“So…what’s up?”

The impudent tone irritated him, but he made no comment. For now. “I have a new task for you.”

A groan. “You and your tasks. Torture so-and-so. Kill so-and-so. Rally my boys and send them into the danger zone. So, fine. Let’s hear this new one. I’m sure it will delight me as much as the others.”

“Tone,” he snapped.

“Yes. I have one.”

Calm.“And you’ll lose your tongue if you use it again.”

Silence.

Excellent. “Today, Disease, I give you a gift. The greatest treasure in my possession. Despiteyour disappointing, offensive attitude.”

Those green eyes rolled. “All right. I’ll bite. What’s this gift?”

“My…All-Key.” He needed to give it away, but doing so irked considering the lengths he’d gone through to get it.

“Great, but I have no flippin’ idea what that is.”

Of course not. Save for four others, Cronus had murdered everyone who knew about it. The four? Anya, the minor goddess of Anarchy and its former possessor; her father, Tartarus, who had given it to her; Lucien, who knew every one of Anya’s secrets; and Reyes, who had once dared to shackle Cronus and barter for his woman’s freedom. And the quartet lived only because Cronus had a use for them. Had they ever spoken of the key, he would have stopped caring about their usefulness, and they knew it.

“This key unlocks any door, any prison, any curse. Anything. Nothing can bind you. And if anyone tries to take it from you, they will die.” That did not mean Torin would be free of his demon. The two were bonded, two halves of a whole. One could not live successfully without the other.

“Sounds cool, but why me?”

Because Torin was solitary, spending more time alone than with his friends. Because he would never fall in love, nor betray his secrets to a female while they whiled away too much time in bed. Something that happened far too much for Cronus’s liking. Something he himself had once been guilty of doing.

“Should you tell anyone about this gift,” he continued, not deigning to reply aloud, “I will kill you as well as the one you told. Should you try and give it away, I will kill you and all those you love. And, when I ask you to return it to me, you will do so without hesitation. One moment of resistance, just one, and I will do more than kill your loved ones. I will hurt them in ways you cannot imagine.”

Torin’s purposeful stride never faltered. “Yeah, well, thanks for thinking of me, but I’d rather eat dirt.”

Cronus sent a wave of power slamming into the man’s temples, knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground, writhing from the pain of it, blood soon spurting from his ears.

Looming over him, Cronus said, “You were saying?” A wave of his hand, and the pain eased.

Torin lay there, panting, dripping with sweat. “I was saying dirt is delicious, thanks for the mouthful.”

His lips pursed. Breaking the Lords would clearly take more than his usual strong-arm tactics. They smiled when he hurt them, laughed when he threatened. As much as that frustrated and angered him, it also fascinated him. Despite everything, they were honorable. When they gave their word, they stood by it. A foolish practice, really, but one he’d come to rely on where they were concerned.

Only when he threatened those they loved did they fall in line with him. But Torin could not simply cooperate because of fear. Not this time. Not with something as important as the All-Key.

“Do this, keep the key safe for me, and I will grant you a boon,” Cronus said. “Anything you wish. Anything that is in my power to give, of course.”

Suspicion danced in the warrior’s eyes, and Cronus knew he was weighing his options. Refuse the king, and face punishment. Accept, and face potential trickery. Betrayal. But for the prospect of such a reward, he would not say no.

“I think we both know what you want,” Cronus pressed. “A chance to touch a woman without sickening her and starting a plague.”

Breath caught in Torin’s throat, and Cronus knew that he had him. “Can you give me that chance?”

“In a way. What happened to the vial of water the angel Lysander gave you?” If there was but a single drop left, Torin could touch a woman, then feed her the droplet and save her, for the water healed any wound on any creature. Would he be able to touch her after that? No, but his condition would have been met.

“Gone. And the angels won’t give us any more.”

Unfortunate, but understandable. The angels had to endure terrible, terrible things to even approach the River of Life from whence the water came. Cronus himself had never dared go near it. “There is a woman…I will force her to meet with you. You can touch her all you desire, and she will never sicken.”

“Yeah, uh, no thanks. I want to pick my own woman.”

“That, I cannot give you, and that was not the bargain. You wanted a woman to touch. I can give you one.”

A long while passed in silence while Torin considered the offer. “Is she dead?”

“No. She lives.”

“Old? A child?”

“No. She is neither too old nor too young.”

“How will I be able to—”

“Answers were not part of the bargain, either. Decide!”

Finally Torin nodded, as Cronus had known he would. “Very well. You have a deal.”

He did not allow himself to smile. When the All-Key left him, its powers would leave Rhea. He could imprison her. Have her at his mercy—or lack thereof.

What he did not mention to Torin: the All-Key wiped the memory of the one who gave it away. Except Cronus’s, and probably, because of their connection, Rhea’s. Cronus had created the key, and so had ensured it would never adversely affect him. However, no one else, Torin included, was extended the same courtesy.

When Torin bent his knees, as if to push himself into a stand, Cronus shook his head and reached down. “Stay there. This might hurt a bit.”

ON THE OTHER SIDE of the heavens, Lysander stepped from the cloud he shared with his Harpy mate, Bianka, his wings spread and gliding just enough to leave him hovering in place.

“I am failing you,” Zacharel said, the words gritted. The snowstorm that followed him constantly increased in ferocity, the flakes catching in his eyelashes, between the feathers of his wings, weighing them down.

“You have not failed me, and you will notfail me. I have complete faith in you. Now, what report do you have of the girl?”

He rallied and said, “While she thinks she will be able to walk away from Paris in a few days, the pair has grown closer. Worse, she now carries his darkness.” He’d seen the shadows swirling in her eyes after he’d carted Paris away from her.

“The war grows ever closer,” Lysander replied. “She will still be of great use to us.”

“Are you sure? Cronus has tricked her, convinced her to aid him. I expected him to lie to her, but I also expected her demon to catch on. He hasn’t. And now that Paris has learned of his marriage to her, he will fight for her to the death.” He’d thought Paris would never learn of the connection, which was the only reason Zacharel had helped tattoo him. Had he refused, Paris would have done it anyway and begun resisting him ahead of schedule.

“Cronus is a greedy fool, but Paris has surprised me. He might have shared his darkness with her, but she has shared some of her light with him.” Lysander thought for a moment. “If he wants her as I want my Bianka, he will not part from her easily.”

Too true. Passion, desire, lust, whatever you wanted to call that wild craze to mate, still remained completely out of Zacharel’s realm of understanding, yet he could not deny somethingtook hold of the pair whenever they so much as looked at each other.

Like magnets, Paris and Sienna were drawn to each other. They fought for each other, and parting would destroy them on some fundamental level. That he’d once thought to convince Paris to willingly walk away from her had been foolish. Force would be needed.

“Whatever you wish me to do,” he said, bowing his head, “I will do.”

Lysander expelled a weary sigh. “We need her. No matter what, we need her. Do whatever you must to convince her to side with us. If that’s not enough, simply take her.”

IN THE DEPTHS OF HELL, Kane sank in and out of consciousness. As vulnerable as he was when he slept, he much preferred it to the crippling pain of having his guts tucked back inside his body and his flesh stapled back together. Then, when the staples failed, having that battered flesh cauterized with liquid fire. He felt like someone had parked a bus on his chest, done some donuts, then let the passengers stampede off.

And the laughter…oh, the laughter from his demon. Disaster loved this. Loved the pain, and the degradation, and the helplessness. Kane imagined this was exactly how Legion had felt when she’d been stuck down here.

He should have supported her better. Should have tried to help her. Not that Kane wanted help himself. Part of him still wanted to die.

The horsemen—Black and Red—were saviors as well as tyrants. When he’d screamed as they “doctored” him, they’d next taped a ball gag in his mouth. When he’d thrashed, they had chained him down. They weren’t cruel about it, though; they were matter-of-fact, as if they were doing him a favor. A reason he wouldn’t take them with him when he kicked it.

Red stood over him now, blowing cigar smoke in his direction. “You up for a little poker yet?”

Whenever the pair realized he was awake, they always asked the same question. That one. He shook his head, unsure why a game of cards was so important to them.

“Bummer.” Genuine disappointment shone in his features. “Soon, though.”

Kane nodded in agreement because he didn’t know what else to do, and closed his eyes. Without any resistance on his part, he drifted back to his favorite place, a black void of nothingness.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER spending the entire night making love to Sienna, Paris showered, threw on clothes someone had brought him from home, weaponed up and ensured Sienna’s crystal dagger rested on the nightstand, ready for her use if it proved necessary. Though he hated leaving her, he exited the bedroom and entered a whole new world.

Apparently Danika, the current All-Seeing Eye, had foreseen that terrible things would take place at the fortress in Budapest, and she’d sensed staying close to William was the only way to survive. So here they all were, one happy family—though how his friends had so quickly installed a weight room, a wet bar and a media room in the castle, Paris might never know.

He concentrated on the changes as he stalked the halls, so he wouldn’t think about his woman sleeping peacefully in his bed. Naked, sated, rosy from his mouth and his hands and his body. Wouldn’t think about the breathy sounds she’d made, the way she’d cried his name and begged for more. Wouldn’t think about the way she’d made himbeg for more. The way they fit, so damn perfectly.

Maybe at first he’d been obsessed with her without really knowing her. But he was learning her. Underneath her prim and proper exterior, and even underneath that iron spine of stubbornness, she was soft and gentle. Delicate. She loved with her whole heart, and she fought to protect what she considered hers. Hell, she sacrificed her body, her time and her life for what she considered hers.

She was dedicated. That temper of hers was a huge turn-on. Every time she’d tossed a drawer at him, he’d gotten harder. How many females were brave enough to challenge him in a contest of strength? Not many. But she had, because when she looked at him, she saw past the face and the hair and the stained, corrupt past. She saw a man. Just a man.

He almost turned around and strode back to his room. He wanted her arousal on his face, and her nails going down his back. He wanted to be branded by her in every way. Then, anyone who looked at him would know. Hebelonged to her.And—

What the hell was that hanging on the wall? He skidded to a stop. Just like at the fortress in Buda, there were portraits lining the corridor walls. Only, every single portrait was of Viola.

Viola in a gown. Viola in leather. Viola lying down. Viola standing up. Viola looking over her shoulder. An endless stream of poses.

“Breathtaking, aren’t I.” A statement, not a question, coming from directly behind him. Viola moved to his side, a vision of loveliness in a pink tank and hip-huggers. “I fetched them from one of my homes.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Breathtaking.”

“Which one is your fave?” She tapped a fingertip against her chin, studying them. “I’m having a hard time picking between that one and—all the others.”

“Uh…let me think about it.”

While he pretended to look them over, Sex purred, wanting to be closer to her. A second later, Paris was sporting massive wood. Shit. He raked a hand through his hair, shamed. Even this was like a betrayal to Sienna.

Why are you doing this to me?he demanded of his demon. I thought we talked about this.

Cheating feels good. I want to feel good.

Well, cheating’s not gonna happen. And I want you to think about this for a moment. Every time we’re with Sienna, it’s a two-for-one deal. Or hell, maybe more than that. She’s a human, a ghost, an ambrosia supply, a former Hunter and a demon, all wrapped into one tasty package. And if we are untrue to her, we lose her. And you will never get a quintupping again.

Why, she’s an orgy waiting to happen.

Exactly.

A layered pause. Oh…well…hmm.

“Well?” Viola insisted.

Right. What would pacify her? “I can’t actually pick. They’re all equally amazing.”

“I know, right. I’ll have one delivered to your room. You and your hand can spend countless hours studying the details. I had a few surprises painted throughout. You’re welcome.” She whistled as she skipped away.

He stood there a moment, thinking about the fallen angel who desired her. He really should help throw the two together. Because really, was there a worse punishment for the guy than ending up with thatfor eternity? Food for thought.

He beat feet to the next hallway, and wasn’t surprised to find Anya taking down the pictures of Viola and replacing them with pictures of herself. The decorator wars were on, he supposed.

“Gwen, Kaia, seriously,” the (minor) goddess snapped, having trouble hanging on to a frame and a hammer at the same time as she balanced on a ladder. “This is the most important mission of your lives and you’re riding pine on the sidelines? Get in here, you lazy bitches!”

Not wanting to be recruited, Paris ducked his head and kept walking, hands shoved in his pockets. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the Harpy sisters in one of the bedrooms, studying a life-size—and warped—drawing of Galen. Guy had horns, crooked teeth and three fingers on each hand. His clown feet were too big for his body, and rather then genitals, he had an X. A really small X.

Gwen was pretending to pull back a crossbow, aiming for his heart, and Kaia was shaking her head no and pointing to the man’s groin.

Sex started in with his purring. Out of habit, maybe, because a few seconds later, those purrs faded. Best part? Paris never got hard.

A wary sigh echoed inside his head. If we do this relationship thing, I’ll need her often.

The demon was willing to try. Paris couldn’t help himself. He gave a fist pump toward the ceiling. Believe me, I know. And we’ll have her a lot more than just “often.”

What an amazing damn day this was turning out to be. A megawatt smile bloomed. Yeah, he had a whole lot of shit to do. Talk to Cronus, spank the guy’s wife, kill Galen while he was at his weakest and find Kane, but first, he wanted to catch up with his friends and visit the newest additions to the family.

Down on the next floor, there was a table piled high with snacks. Without slowing, he snagged an apple and a box of Strider’s Red Hots. A bite of apple followed by a few of the cinnamon candies, and you had a mouthful of delicious.

A lot of his boys were congregated in the hallway outside of Ashlyn’s room, eating, talking, laughing and more relaxed than he’d seen them in a long time. This was what their lives should always be like, he mused.

William was in the corner, a dark-haired girl tucked into his side, the pair of them locked in earnest conversation. Gilly was a teenager on the cusp of womanhood who’d suffered unimaginable abuse as a child. Danika had taken her in, and the girl had been leery around everyone but William. For some reason she’d adored the bastard from day one.

Maybe because she didn’t yet know that William had recently slaughtered her entire family. Paris wondered how she’d react when the truth came out. And it would; it always did.

Gilly had hated her mother, stepfather and brothers, but deep down she’d probably loved them, too, and it was hard to forget that kind of feeling. Most likely scenario: she would leave, and William would follow her, protect her. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. The need to protect ingrained itself in a man’s very soul, and once he felt it, it was hard to forget, too.

Now that William had shed blood for her, that need would be even stronger, as Paris well knew. Every time he’d taken a life, his desperation to reach Sienna had increased. But he had her now. They were together, and he wasn’t letting her go.

When Paris reached the pair, he tapped the girl on the shoulder to gain her attention. She yelped in surprise, slapped him out of reflex and sank deeper into William’s side. Not wanting her to assume he was angry or that he would retaliate, he kept his gaze on the warrior. “What’s the word on the three immortals?”

He could have stopped by their rooms, they were just down the hall, but he’d rather find out through the gossip train that was William’s mouth and save time.

Willy frowned at him. “For frick’s sake. Apologize.”

Frick? “She doesn’t need to apologize to me.” He gave her a reassuring grin. “I was recently informed that I have a very slappable face.”

“I wasn’t talking to her, I was talking to you. Apologize for startling her.”

Oh. “Sorry, Gilly.”

She offered him a soft smile in return. She was a pretty little thing, with dark hair and dark eyes, a sun-kissed complexion and the kind of curves no father ever wanted his daughter to have. “No worries. My bad. I lost track of my surroundings.”

“Well, I can see why you’d want to tune things out rather than pay attention to Willy’s ugly mug.”

She chuckled and Paris faced William, saying, “So, the immortals?”

William shrugged. “No change. I’ve tried everything I can think of, and believe me, it was very impressive sh—uh, crap, but a no-go all the same. They’re locked tight in those bedrooms.”

“Any word on Kane?”

“Uh, yeah, about that.” With his free hand, William massaged the back of his neck. “He’s alive and he’s in hell, but he’s out of enemy hands. You guys want him back, though, you’ll have to go down there and get him.”

Something was off in the guy’s tone. “How do you know this?” Not even Amun had been able to get to the truth.

“Just do. Group’s leaving tomorrow, and by the way, you weren’t invited. My guess is they think you’re a crazy psycho who makes out with himself, but that’s just a guess.”

Whatever. “Who’s going?”

“Amun, Haidee, Cameo, Strider and Kaia.”

Mostly girls. Were their taskforces changing or what? “You’re not going down there with ’em?”

“As if. I mean, sure, the captors kind of made it a condition to Kane’s release, but…nah. I don’t think I will. Got stuff to do, you know. Me and my Aussie have an intimate evening planned.”

Intimate with his conditioner. Figured. “Who are the captors?And why are they insisting you go?” He didn’t bother touching on William’s refusal, because honestly? That didn’t mean shit. If his appearance was a condition for obtaining Kane’s freedom, he’d make an appearance. End of story.

William looked down at Gilly, his expression all gentleness and reverence, and gave her a little push. “Be a darling and find me some gummy bears.”

Her eyelids, usually at half-mast and always halfway to the bedroom when she gazed at the warrior, narrowed. “So patronizing.” Still, she stomped away, just as he’d wanted, affording them a bit of privacy.

“Be sure to watch your mouth while you’re searching for my sweets,” William called after her. That’s when Paris caught sight of his T-shirt. It read, Save a Virgin, Do Me Instead. “Talking back isn’t attractive.”

“You’re right. I should respect my elders.” She didn’t turn back, but she did extend a hand and flip him off.

Paris chuckled. “What are you teaching that girl?”

Suddenly serious, William gritted, “How to survive. Now, returning to our convo. Kane’s captors happen to be some serious badasses I used to know down there.”

Badassestripped a memory. “You’re talking about the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, right? Because yeah, Amun might have mentioned you’re their baby daddy.”

“That damned Amun.” Electric eyes gleamed with the promise of retribution. “What a sissy gossip!”

Back to cussing were they, all the darns and fricks out of the equation?

“Oh, and speaking of gossip,” William continued, his expression now anticipatory. “Have you seen Blood and Gore yet?”

“Who?”

“Pistol and Shank. I rename them every hour or so. Keeps things fresh.”

Yeah, but what were their real names? “That’s why I’m here. I want to meet them.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” William threw an arm around his shoulders and ushered him through the sea of familiar bodies. “Out of the way, mutants. My boy P is going in next.”

“But it’s my turn,” Cameo said, and damn if that wasn’t a whine in her voice, mixing with all the world’s misery. She stepped in front of them to block their path to the door, her arms crossed over her chest. “Did you know that seven thousand babies die every year of—”

“ That’swhy you’re getting skipped.” William offered her a sugar-sweet smile. “Besides, I delivered those hellions and almost had to take an eternal dirt nap because of it. I pick the order, and I say Paris is next.”

Cameo frowned. She was one of the most beautiful women Paris had ever seen. More beautiful, even, than Viola, with long black hair and liquid silver eyes. Lips as plump and dewy as a rose.

“Did you know that about one percent of all births are stillborn?” she asked. The whine was gone, leaving only the misery.

She was also a major downer.

Stab me in the heart already,Paris thought. Because she played hostess to the demon of Misery, the sound of her voice was always enough to tear a guy up. Throw in her death statistics, which she’d been offering unsolicited more and more, and watch a party deflate like a balloon.

“Someone get this girl a lollipop and shove it deep in her mouth, stat,” William shouted, urging Paris past her to the door. He didn’t knock, but barreled inside. “All right, ladies. Our turn.”

Reyes was sitting beside the bed, dark and menacing, with Strider the blond giant at his left. Both warriors were cooing at the thickly blanketed bundle of joy Reyes held.

Ashlyn was propped up on the bed, pale, shaky and clearly weak. Maddox sat beside her, holding the other bundle.

“Out,” William added. “Paris wants to see Smith and Wesson.”

“Don’t call them that,” Maddox said. Paris had never heard the keeper of Violence use such a gentle tone. It was more startling than being punched in the face.

“What do you want me to call them? Shits and Giggles? Fists and Kneecap? Nah, I don’t like that one. Hammer and Nails? Dude, these kids are hard-core gangster. They need kick-A names, not that blah, blah sh—crap you gave them.”

Slowly Reyes stood, waited for William to close the distance and gently placed the bundle in his arms. The dark warrior patted Paris on the shoulder as he left, and Strider did the same. Only, he stopped and said, “Meet me in the gym when you’re done,” before leaving.

Battling a wave of foreboding, Paris nodded. Then the two were gone, the door closed behind them, and he pushed the upcoming chat from his mind. He made his way to William, who seemed perfectly at ease holding such a fragile being. Only in secret had Paris ever allowed himself to contemplate having a family, because no way had he wanted to father a kid with a one-night stand. Now, with Sienna, who had been denied the chance to be a mother…

He wanted to give her this.

At William’s side, he peered down at the first demon-human hybrid infant to join their crew—and what he saw nearly shocked the piss out of him.

“Gorgeous little fiend, isn’t she?” William said, beaming down. He tickled her belly. “Oh, yes, she is. Yes, she really is.”

Gurgling happily, the baby waved her little fists. Her eyes were open and clear, a vibrant, crackling orange-gold, and so freaking intelligent, despite the fact that she peered up at William with total, absolute adoration. And yeah, she was gorgeous. Already had a cap of honey-colored hair, the corkscrew curls spiking up from her head. But the real shocker? She had a mouthful of teeth. Really, really sharp teeth. And those cute little fists? Topped off by curling claws.

“Will she ever be able to pass as human?” he asked quietly, not wanting the probably sensitive mother to hear.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ashlyn answered anyway. “Time will tell. Either way, they are both beautiful beyond imagining.”

Figured that she’d heard him. She herself might be human, but she could hear any conversation anywhere, no matter how many years had passed. That was her curse. And weren’t the twins in for a real treat, never able to hide anything from mom.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Ever,” William said with no small amount of disgust.

Ever did a fist pump in the air. With pride? Or anger?

“The name is perfect, just like her,” Ashlyn said. Her eyelids were fluttering closed, as if she were having trouble staying awake.

“Go on to sleep, sweetheart,” Maddox told her. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“Thank you,” she said as she sighed, head already lolling to the side.

“Want to hold her?” William asked Paris.

“Ashlyn? No, thanks.” Maddox would brain him, same as Paris would brain any warrior who tried to hold Sienna. Not that any besides William and maybe Lucien could even see her at the moment.

William rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant. The baby.Ever.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I totally knew what you meant.”

“Do you have to be so loud?” Maddox snapped in that quiet, gentle voice so at odds with the roughness of his features.

Paris held up his hands, palms out, whispering, “No way on the holding of the kidlet.” He was too big, and too hard to do anything but bruise the little girl. Besides, Ever growled in his direction, her lips peeling back from her fangs, and it was very clear she was happy where she was.

He moved around to the other side of the bed, where Maddox held the boy. Of course, the warrior beamed with pride as he smoothed the blanket from the kid’s face. Like Ever, the baby looked months old. He had a cap of black hair and his eyes were the same shade of violet as his daddy’s and diamond-hard. Two little horns peeked from his skull, and there were patches of scales on his hands. Those scales were black and as smooth as glass.

With focused intensity, the boy studied Paris. And Paris had no doubt the kid had sized him up in a single heartbeat, learning his weaknesses, his flaws, and his bad habits, and was preparing for attack.

“What’s his name?”

“Urban,” William answered before Maddox could, and again he was all about the disgust.

Ever and Urban. Cute, in a Hollyweird sort of way. “What made you pick those particular names?”

“We didn’t,” Maddox said. “They did.”

His eyes widened. “They can speak?”

“No, but they are very good at communicating.”

And that would be…how? “So, I hear the birth was troublesome. How’d William save the day?”

Maddox stiffened, even as William shook his head and placed Ever in the bassinet beside the bed. When he straightened, William rocked his hand over his neck in a slicing motion. A kill-that-line-of-convo– nowgesture.

“That goshdarn mothertrucking a-hole cut my woman up, ripped the babies out and sewed her back together.” Maddox’s nostrils flared, so heavily did he breathe. “Without anesthesia.”