Текст книги "The darkest seduction"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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Amun was the keeper of Secrets, and there was no greater warrior to have on your side. The man was like a worm in your brain, able to ferret out in seconds information you’d buried for years. In fact, there was nothinganyone could hide from him. So Kane’s location? No prob.

Aeron was the former keeper of Wrath. He’d recently been beheaded and given a new body, and that’s when his demon had merged with Sienna. But even without his darker half, Aeron liked to make his prey squeal before he moved in for the kill. Anyone who’d hurt Kane would pay. Repeatedly.

Sabin was the keeper of Doubt, a warrior of unparalleled strength and determination, and he had a vicious streak that caused hardened criminals to soil their pants in fear. He got into your head, reminded you of your weaknesses, and basically turned you into a slobbering bag of self-recrimination before he savagely murdered you—with a grin on his face.

And Gideon, well, he was the keeper of Lies. He dyed his hair blue, was tattooed and pierced, and had a warped sense of humor very few others got. His new favorite game involved casting his demon from his body and into his enemy’s, then sitting back and watching the human destroy himself as the evil consumed him.

Paris almost felt sorry for whoever had taken Kane.

Almost.

“So, you in?” Lucien asked.

“I—” Hate this.He wanted to say yes. He did. He loved his friends. More than he loved himself, even more than Viola probably loved herself. (Speaking of, the damn woman was still typing, and from her mutterings, she was telling the world how the Lord of Death found her far more attractive than the goddess of Anarchy.) His friends had fought beside him, bled for him and always had his back.

They’d do more than take a bullet for him. They’d take a life—even their own. But… “I can’t,” he said, whether he’d be able to forgive himself or not. “Not right now. There’s something I have to do first.” His resolve, that cloud of darkness, still swirled inside him, driving him. He’d come this far; he couldn’t back out now.

Lucien nodded without hesitation. “Understood.” There was no trying to change Paris’s mind, no making him feel guilty, which meant there was no better friend. “You want help with your mission?” he added, and damn if Paris didn’t start to feel guilty anyway. “If you’re headed into something dangerous, I’m happy to volunteer William.”

William, Anya’s best friend and someone Lucien would love to see stabbed in the back. And heart. And groin. Willy wasn’t possessed by a demon, but according to gossip he was the devil’s blood-brother, as well as related to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Gossip was probably right. Nothing scared William. Nothing bothered him. And the cherry on top? If Willy ever opened a closet door and the boogeyman jumped out, it was only the boogeyman who’d be scared.

“Bring him to me,” Paris said. “He owes me.” William had let Cronus take Sienna without a fight. As far as Paris was concerned, the guy was now his slave for life.

“Done.” Lucien’s gaze shifted to Viola, who was stilltyping. “What about her? We can’t let her run around on her own. Cronus andthe Hunters would doubtless love to snatch her.”

Cronus hated the Hunters, and the Hunters hated Cronus. Both sides were searching for the remaining demon-possessed immortals, each hoping to recruit more than the other, and neither would shy away from using brute force to get what they wanted. Paris enjoyed the idea of screwing both parties over.

“Take her,” he said, placing his hand on Viola’s shoulder, meaning to shake her and gain her attention.

The action, innocent though it was, startled her, and between one heartbeat and the next, she went from gorgeously angelic to looking like the demon inside her. Two horns extended from her scalp. Red scales replaced her skin, and her eyes glowed like radioactive rubies. Sharp, deadly fangs protruded over her lips. Her nails grew into claws. The scent of sulfur overpowered the scent of roses, a scarlet mist wafting from her, stinging his nostrils, making hisdemon whimper like a newborn baby.

With a roar of white-hot rage, she sank those claws into Paris’s wrist and tossed him so hard he smacked into the building next door, its solid gold bricks cracking and plumping filigree into the air.

Oxygen abandoned his lungs. Stars returned to his line of vision. What. The. Hell?When he was able to focus clearly, he saw that Viola was Viola again, exquisite, blonde and innocent.

“Oops. My bad.” With a tinkling chuckle, she stuffed her phone into her boot. “Touching the merchandise isn’t allowed. Ever. Now, did you need something from me?”

Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is gonna be fun. I can tell.”

“Do you mind going with Lucien?” Paris asked her as he lumbered to his feet. Every new breath scraped his lungs against his ribs. Worse, the wound in his neck had opened. With one toss, she’d done far more damage to his body than the three amigos inside the bar had. “He’ll take you to Anya and you two girls can, uh, catch up.” He’d thought to force her to go. Now? He’d beg if necessary.

“Seriously?” Viola clapped, twirled and threw herself into Lucien’s arms. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! I’m going with you, but only if you promise to stop and pick up my pet, Princess Fluffikans, on the way. Small word of warning, though. You’re about to fall madly, passionately in love with me, and Anya will be utterly heartbroken.”

It was far more likely that one of the other—single—warriors would fall madly, passionately in bed with her, but now wasn’t the time to point that out.

Lucien fought off her octopus-like arms, scowled at Paris, and vanished with Viola jabbering about her majorly awesome awesomeness. Paris didn’t bother staying where he was. Death could follow the spiritual trail he left behind, easy, and meet him somewhere else.

Time to do a little tattooing.

The mortal and immortal worlds were scarily alike. Titania was a thriving metropolis of shopping centers and restaurants, brimming with entertainment of any and every kind. Didn’t take Paris long to gather the necessary tattooing equipment and a spare set of clothes, and settle into one of the motels he’d been amused to discover existed here. Apparently even immortals liked to have secret assignations.

As he waited for Lucien, he ate because it was de rigueur. A sandwich, and he had no idea what was strapped between the bread. He got himself off because that was necessary for his demon. He hadn’t had sex today, and the orgasm was like an injection of strength. Strength that wouldn’t last, not like the adrenaline rush that accompanied intercourse, but whatever. He’d take what he could get.

He showered, cleaned off the blood and the wealth of other things clinging to his skin. A lot of humans had died under his blade today. Hunters, his enemy. Mostly males. More and more, they were recruiting females. Paris wondered what would have happened if he’d met Sienna on the battlefield, or if he’d ever attempted to interrogate her.

If she’d lived long enough, that’s what he had planned to do to her. Afterhe’d bedded her again. Would he have hurt her? He liked to think no, but…damn. He couldn’t be sure. She’d known things she shouldn’t. Where he was, why he was there. How to distract him, what to use to drug him, an immortal unaffected by human toxins. Now he knew she’d gotten her info from Rhea, Cronus’s wife and the true leader of the Hunters. Not directly, he didn’t think, but filtered down through the ranks. But even if he hadn’t known, he wouldn’t have concerned himself with questioning her this time around. He just wanted her.

Safe, right? You just want her safe?A sneer from Sex.

Whatever. Paris toweled off and looked himself over in the steam-fogged mirror. He’d lost a little weight, had bruises under his eyes, a few scratches on his cheeks and neck. His hair wasn’t exactly even. He’d trimmed the strands himself, just kind of chopping anytime a piece fell into his eyes. What would Sienna think of him now? Despite everything, she’d been attracted to him before. Would she still be attracted to him? Right now, he might be a little too feral for anywoman. Very mountain-man meets post-traumatic stress survivor.

But what if the impossible happened and she did, in fact, want him again? For real, with no hidden agenda. What if she simply craved his body inside of hers? After all, she’d fought her way free of Cronus’s prison and come looking for him.

Lowering his guard would be stupid. He couldn’t trust her. Not really. He could take her, yeah, that was still on the menu. If he could still get hard for her while he was around her. Only time would tell. And if he could—and he thought he could, considering he was hard merely from thinking about her—maybe he could even stay with her a few days. If so, would his hunger for her finally wane? Or would it continue to intensify? Would he be able to let her go when the time came?

What if she wantedto stay with him?

He yearned for that. So damn badly he yearned for that. But like Zacharel had said, Paris would ruin her if he kept her. Not for the reasons the angel had given, but because if he and Sienna were ever separated and he couldn’t get to her, he would cheat on her. He would have to. His other choice would be death, and on the scales of life-versus-death, cheating—surviving—won every time.

He knew that firsthand, had once tried to sustain a relationship with a woman. Susan. He’d had her, knew he couldn’t have her again, but had craved something more and had pleased her in other ways. He’d genuinely liked her, had enjoyed her company—but had ultimately cheated on her, hurting her worse than anyone else ever had.

And here was another slap of truth: if he cheated on Sienna, he would destroy everything they had managed to build, as well as her heart, her sense of trust and any hint of innocence. He would be worthy of every dark deed she then committed against him—yet still he wanted her.

The situation was somessed up.

Scowling, he slammed his fist into the mirror. Jagged pieces of glass fell, shattering further when they hit the floor, surrounding his discarded weapons and glistening like diamonds in a sea of destruction. Blood dripped from his knuckles as he palmed and sheathed the blades at his wrists and ankles and holstered the guns under his arms. At this rate, he’d soon be carving himself up like Reyes, the keeper of Pain. Anything for release, for a moment when he didn’t have to wonder or worry about anything but his injuries.

Whatever.He’d gotten used to wondering and worrying. They were his constant companions now, and without them, he’d be utterly alone. Paris dressed in the new clothes he’d bought, a black shirt and black pants. Where he was going, night reigned no matter the time of day. He needed to blend.

Not long ago, he’d snuck into Cronus’s secret harem and seduced one of the concubines, trading sex for information. Paris now knew Sienna was being held in the Realm of Blood and Shadows, part of Titania but…not. The realm was a kingdom within this heavenly kingdom, invisible to most and protected by evil. To enter was to die, blah, blah, blah.

Paris could find the realm on his own, no problem. He’d gotten very good at bribing his way through the heavens, even the hidden areas. Finger-combing his wet hair, he padded to the desk in the living-room-slash-bedroom. He sat down and spread out his new tattoo equipment. Part of him wished he was out there, killing Hunters or already making his way into the Realm of Blood and Shadows. These delays sucked.

To his immense relief, Lucien found him a short while later, appearing in the center of the room. “I felt bad for stiffing you with Willy, so I brought you a prize.”

Death shoved the drenched, protesting William in Paris’s direction, then motioned to Zacharel, who stood at his other side. The “prize,” as though he was something out of a Cracker Jack box.

“Actually,” Zacharel said in that cold voice of his. “I brought myself. Lucien was hunting you, and I saved him the time and trouble.”

Paris popped his jaw. “Thanks tons,” he said to Lucien, ignoring the angel. “Mean that.”

William, my sweet William! I want him,Sex said, practically spraying drool through Paris’s mind. Sex alwayswanted a piece of the guy. Not that Paris had ever admitted that aloud. Not that he ever would.

“So sad I can’t remain,” Lucien said with mock pity. “By the way, Viola’s pet, Princess Fluffycakes or whatever, is a Tasmanian devil anda vampire. You’re lucky I’m leaving without slitting your throat.” Once again, the warrior vanished.

As tiny snowflakes swirled around him, Zacharel eyed the room with distaste. “What are you doing here?”

“Seriously man, it’s a dump,” William added. “When I’m in the heavens, I only ever stay at the West Godlywood. Can we at least request a suite?”

No, they wouldn’t be playing either man’s version of the Q-and-A game. They would be playing Paris’s. “Why is it always snowing around you lately?” he demanded of Zach.

“There is a reason.”

So not helpful on any level. “Will you share it?”

“No.”

“Are you following me?”

“Yes.”

At least he didn’t try to deny it. Not that he could have. Angels spoke the truth, and only ever the truth, which made Zacharel’s earlier threat to kill him all the more real. “Why?”

“You are not yet ready to hear the answer.”

Paris loved that kind of cryptic crap, he really did. “If you’re going to stick around, make yourself useful and tattoo the rest of me.” For the lines around his eyes, he needed a steady hand. “Then you can help me kick ass and not bother with names.”

Zacharel leveled him with a frown as fierce as the flurry of snowflakes storming from the ends of his wings. “I have never tattooed anyone before. I’m likely to mar you.”

And yet, he would still do a better job than William, no question. “The worst you can do is poke out my eyes, but that’s hardly a concern since they’ll grow back. Eventually.”

That frown deepened, minutes ticking by. “Very well. I will do this for you.”

“Yes, you make yourself useful, angel boy. Meanwhile, I’ll be in the bathroom.” William’s jet-black hair was dripping wet and plastered to his face. There was a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, displaying muscles that rivaled Paris’s own, and a tattooed treasure map that led to his man junk. Looking at him, you could see the makings of a temper so savage anyone who miraculously survived an encounter with him would end up needing therapy. And diapers. “I’ve gotto finish deep conditioning my hair.”

Or maybe notso savage.

No matter. Paris had never been closer to finding and saving Sienna. With these two warriors at his side, he’d succeed. Guaranteed.

CHAPTER FIVE

SIENNA BLACKSTONE, newly crowned Queen of the Beasts, Princess of Blood and Shadows, and Duchess of Horror, stood with her back pressed into the crumbling stone wall of the castle she unwillingly called home. Her wings were heavy, constantly pulling at recently formed tendons and bones, making her ache, cringe and, humiliatingly enough, sometimes cry.

The wings arched over her shoulders and draped down her sides in a cascade of midnight, their spiky tips now reaching the floor. She remembered seeing these very wings on Aeron, the previous host for the demon of Wrath. On his muscled, grimly tattooed body, they had appeared soft, gossamer, as weightless and beautiful as storm clouds. On her slight frame, they overpowered and overwhelmed and she had trouble finding her balance.

Sadly, that wasn’t the worst of her problems. Cronus, god of gods (according to him) and all around asshat (according to her), paced in front of her, ranting and raving. Saying he was “upset” would be the equivalent of saying the Atlantic was a rain puddle.

When she’d first met him, he’d looked like a codger of an old man, complete with gray hair, wrinkled skin and stooped shoulders. Now he was GQflawless and barbarian tough. Dark chestnut hair hung to strong, wide shoulders. Skin of the smoothest texture was tanned to the perfect shade of bronze. He’d also ditched his prissy toga in favor of a black mesh shirt and black leather pants.

The change was gargantuan—and creepy. She wanted to ask why he’d gone this route, then offer to punish his stylist free of charge. Did she dare? Heck, no. The ranting and raving would morph into a straight-up savage beating. At least, that’s the impression he gave.

“I saved you,” he snapped, death in his timbre as he stomped one foot in front of the other, back and forth, back and forth. “I strengthened you. Gifted you with your demon. And how do you repay me? By constantly refusing to obey me. It’s unconscionable!”

Gifted? Really?If the new definition of giftedwas cursed forever and ever with misery and pain,then yeah, he had. “I obeyed you,” she reminded him. At first.

“At first,” he said, parroting her thoughts. Hiswas an accusation that lashed like the sharpest of whips. “And only because you were compelled. You’ve since learned to block me.”

True. And that she had was a testament to the iron-hard rigidity of her stubborn core. With only a thought, this huffing, puffing being could render unending pain. With a wave of his hand, he could vaporize entire cities. Something she would do well to remember.

Sienna chose her next words carefully. “To be fair, you tricked me.” Okay, so maybe she hadn’t chosen carefully. At least her tone had been as flat and unaccusatory as possible.

A narrowed flick of his gaze nearly buckled her knees. “How so?”

She pressed more of her weight into the wall. “You promised I would see my younger sister.”

You look so pretty, Enna.

Really?

Really. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world!

Skye, her only sibling, a little girl she’d adored with her whole heart, had been abducted years ago, never to be seen or heard from again. Sienna missed her terribly, prayed she was healthy, whole and that she hadn’t suffered incomparable cruelties.

“Yet you merely teased me with a glimpse of her,” she added, rubbing her stomach as she always did when she thought of her sister, reminded of yet anothergirl, someone else she’d loved and lost, the– She cut that thought off before it could form. I won’t break down in front of this creature.

Cronus ground his molars. “That glimpse… I should have known it would come back to haunt me.” He paused, a low growl bubbling from his throat. “I guess I should at last admit the truth, then. I showed you an illusion of your sister, nothing more.”

Wait, wait, wait. An illusion?Sienna bit her tongue. Why would he… How could he…? No matter the question, the answer was simple. To play her like a piano, as Paris had once said to her abouther. Bastardwasn’t a vile enough word for this beast.

Steady, calm.“Is she even alive?” Sienna gritted out.

“Of course.”

There was no of coursewith Cronus. He lived by his own set of rules, and he didn’t always abide by those.

Every time he appeared before her, her demon showed her the despicable things he’d done throughout his life. The lives he’d taken, striking down not just his enemies, but his own people, humans, anyonewho dared defy him. And he’d stolen, oh, had he stolen. Ancient artifacts, powers that belonged to others, women. He had no shame. No limits.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth now?”

“You won’t. Your demon will.”

A suspended moment as she searched inside herself. Wrath was calm, not worked into a frenzied need to punish him for lying. That glimpse of Skye had indeed been an illusion, but Cronus did believe she was still alive. Sienna gritted her teeth, saying, “Bring her to me, the realSkye, and let me keep her, thenI’ll do anything you ask.”

“No.”

“Why?” She stamped her foot. It was childish, sure, but she had no other way to express her displeasure with this man. “Do you, a supposedly all-knowing being, not know where she is?”

In a blink, he was a mere whisper away, scowling down at her, his breath fanning over her. “Enough about your sister! Aren’t you curious why I gifted you with Wrath? You, a fragile, dearly departed female who had upset one of my strongest warriors? Aren’t you curious about my desire for your willing participation in my war?”

Do not suggest the king of the Titans needs a breath mint.She gulped. And don’t you dare think about the warrior you upset. Don’t you dare think about Paris.Oh, no, no, no. “Y-yes.” And now she was stuttering? Grow some lady balls, Blackstone!

Red flashed in Cronus’s eyes. Demon-red. A fiendish crimson that made her think of blood mixed with nuclear toxins. Not only was he the king of the Titans, but he was also possessed by Greed—and right now, his demon was at the wheel, driving his actions, his words. Around her, the castle shook, his anger rattling its very foundation.

“You know the Hunters. You know how they operate. You were once a part of their cause.”

“I know.” As if she could ever forget or absolve herself. Once she’d even borne the symbol of infinity on her wrist, their mark. A permanent reminder of their “goals.” In this spirit form, she had no tattoos but the butterfly around her wings, and for that, she was immensely grateful. “The same is true for thousands of others.”

Except those thousands of others actually had no idea they were fools, or that they were expendable, nothing more than puppets on strings. Like she had been—until she’d gotten a bitch slap of truth and clipped those strings with brutal proficiency.

Soon after Wrath’s possession of her, Cronus had whisked her to a Hunter compound. Because Cronus could shield himself from prying eyes and humans could not see her, no one had noticed them. Just as she’d seen the king’s sins play through her mind, she’d seen the transgressions of the Hunters. Thefts, rapes, murders, all in the name of “good.” That she had once been a (supposedly vital) part of their cause, that she had once aided them…

Punish them… Steal, rape, murder…

There he was. Wrath. Her dark companion. Even remembering what he’d seen, and being worlds apart from those responsible, he urged her to seek vengeance against the Hunters. To show no mercy, no forgiveness for even the innocent among them, for all the harm they had caused, to hurt them far worse than they had hurt others.

Punish…

Cringing, she covered her ears with her hands. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she chanted. Sometimes she could resist him; sometimes she could not. That’s when he would overtake her, and her world would go black. For a little while, at least.

Though she was cursed to remain inside this deteriorating monstrosity of a castle, somehow Wrath was not. When he was in control of her mind, they could leave. He would use her body to castigate others however he wished.

Days later, she would wake up with blood on her hands, coating her skin. Of course, memories of what the demon had done would then deluge her. Sadistic, stomach-curdling things. And yet, nothing– nothing!—he had forced her to do was more disgusting than what the Hunters were doing to innocent humans.

Humans. How odd her new vernacular was to her. Once she’dbeen a human. Such a foolish human. How could I ever have thought the goal of the Hunters was theelimination of evil?

Well, okay, that was easy. As a teenager, she’d seen a vile demon in action—or what she’d thought was a demon—and the experience had freaked her out, convinced her that such evil was the reason her sister had been taken. Combine that with the shock of learning that humans were not alone, that there was an entire world of creatures at work around them…

The whole other-world thing had proven to be true, at least. But the rest, the demon she’d seen? While they did in fact exist, she hadn’t encountered one that night. Her Hunter boyfriend had drugged her—his preferred method of recruiting—created the perfect atmosphere to elicit fear, and her hallucinating brain had filled in the rest. Afterward, he’d fed her fear with stories of the evil they could fight and the good they could do, saying she might even be able to find and save her sister.

What he’d failed to tell her: humans made their own decisions, influenced by demons or not. They decided to embrace the dark or run into the light.

Not all Hunters cloaked their malevolence with righteous determination; she knew that, she did. Some were genuinely sincere in their desire to rid the world of evil, and wouldn’t create their own to do so. But the fact that she had once willingly contributed to such a warped cause, well, she would never get over that fact. Worse, shehad hurt Paris, a warrior who would give his life to protect the ones he loved.

There was no stopping the next flood of thoughts, each revolving around the man she had once harmed beyond repair. She had struck at Paris when he was at his weakest. Worse, she would have aided in his cold-blooded murder if he hadn’t escaped with her.

During that escape, she was shot down and she’d even blamed him for that, thinking he had used her body to shield his own. Oh, how she had despised him. Now, she despised only herself.

No, that wasn’t exactly true. She also hated the Hunters and everything they represented.

Cronus wanted her to punish them. Her demon wanted to punish them. Shewanted to punish them. But Cronus refused to simply unleash her. Instead he demanded she return to their midst and spy on Galen, the leader’s right-hand man, as well as the keeper of Hope. Yep, a demon was second-in-command of the demon slayers, and none of them knew it. They thought he was an angel.

“As devoted as you were to the Hunter cause in life, Galen will believe you wish to rejoin him in your death,” Cronus said, as though reading her thoughts. Maybe he had. “He will welcome you with open arms.”

“He won’t be able to see me.”

“He will. Leave that to me.”

“He won’t wonder why I’m demon-possessed? HowI’m demon-possessed?”

“He knows. My wife, hisleader, told him. But he is overly confident of his appeal and his strength, and he will think heis watching you.”

“In that case, he’ll never tell me anything.”

“No, he’ll feed you false information, and the truth can be garnered from that.”

“What if he asks me to prove my loyalty to him?”

“He will.”

And she would be forced to comply to continue her ruse. Would he ask her to hurt the warriors she now wished to aid? To hurt innocent humans? Well, the answer to both was the same. Never!

Look at me. Once a human who didn’t know about the supernatural, then a Hunter in the midst of it all, hating the demons I chased, and now I’m one of those demons—and hoping to aid the others.“Sorry, but I’m gonna have to stick with my first answer.”

Another flash of red streaked through Cronus’s eyes, brighter than before. If she was intelligent, she would view that red as a stoplight for her resistance.

Why start acting like a smartie now? “That’s a big-time no, in case you forgot,” she said more firmly.

“Your human superior ordered you to sleep with Paris,” he growled, “and you did. Do not try and act self-righteous with me.”

Yes, but her attraction to Paris had been immediate and overwhelming. She had yearned for him.

Yearnedfor him, even though she believed his demon was responsible for infidelity, the breakup of marriages, teen pregnancies, rapes and the rampant spread of STDs. Even though Paris had been, and would always be, at the head of a never-ending parade of lovers. A fact driven home by a coworker who had watched him for days, snapping pictures of all the women he bedded, then showing those pictures to Sienna after she’d brought him in. And yet she’d still had to fight a wave of jealousy, an emotion she never should have felt in the line of duty.

Had she mentioned her mental incompetence?

“If he asks you to kill for him, seduce him into bed instead,” Cronus said. “That will save you from having to do something unpleasant.”

They certainly had different definitions for unpleasant!“You’d be better served demanding I bring you Galen’s head in a magical box of starlight while riding on the back of a Pegasus through a rainbow, because he won’t want me sexually. I’ve never been the type to attract a man’s attention.”

She knew what she looked like. Hazel eyes too big for her face—ordinary. Lips also too big for her face—unappealing. Freckled skin—unfashionable. And wavy brown hair that was neither silky-straight nor perkily curly—ordinary, unappealing andunfashionable.

Cronus remained undeterred. “You’re right. You haven’t.”

The truth can’t hurt you,she told herself—while hurting.

“But then,” he went on, “your looks will not matter. Galen will be attracted to your demonic power. He’ll want to control you, to feed you all that false information, to use you. Yes, the more I think on this, the more I like it. You will sleep with him.”

She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Killing Galen will destroy the heart and soul of the Hunters far more effectively than pleasuring him.”

“Yes, but dying is not his fate.”

“What’s his fate, then? What is it, exactly, you think he can do for you?”

Silence.

Deep breath in…out… “Okay, there are two problems with your plan. Galen’s a douche bag, and I suck in bed.” Wait. That hadn’t come out right. “I mean, even if he only wants me for my demonic power—” just saying the words grated “—or because he thinks he can feed me false info, or control me or whatever other reason you think up, he’ll never come back for seconds because we’ll both be embarrassed by our performances, and the entire plan will be moot.”

The only reason she’d garnered Paris’s interest was because he’d been desperate to get laid—by anyone!—in order to survive. “Galen is more likely to laugh at me than tell me his secrets.”

Perfectly trimmed brows arched, fixing the king’s features in a patronizing expression. “You can be trained.”

“So can dogs, but they’ll only bite you.” She would do far worse.

A beat of silence as he absorbed her taunt. “Woman, you frustrate me! I’m not asking you to willingly submit to torture. I’m merely asking you to allow a man to have you in the name of duty—as you have allowed before.”