Текст книги "The darkest seduction"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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“That’s too big a commitment for me. I kill him, or I do nothing to him.”

“Galen is an immortal warrior who has spent thousands of years on a battlefield. How do you propose you kill him, hmm?”

“Just leave that to me,” she said, mimicking his earlier words. “And, hey, here’s another idea. Why can’t youkill him? I thought you were all-powerful.”

“Enough!” With a scowl as dark as a moonless night, Cronus slammed his fists on either side of her temples, creating holes in the wall and causing bricks to fall and dust to plume in the air.

Rattle…rattle…

Great. The entire castle was shaking again.

“How dare you, a slave, question me? I am your master, your owner. The arbiter of your fate. I answer to no one.”

Except to your wife.With the royal sovereigns, hurting one always hurt the other, pain slithering across the bond between them. But Sienna wasn’t going to remind him of that little gem. “I don’t care who you are. I will not align myself with Galen.”

Before she could so much as blink, Cronus fit his hands around her neck and squeezed until she could no longer breathe, until her lungs burned and her throat felt scaled by acid. Rattle, rattle,went the walls, as if the entire structure might collapse from within. “I can be the executioner of your soul, and you will cease to exist in every way, or I can be your savior, granting you a measure of peace at long last.” Tighter…tighter…then, abruptly, the pressure eased. “Remember that, for you are the one who will decide your ultimate fate.”

She barely curbed the urge to feed him both of her knuckles. “Whatever I decide,” she snapped, uncaring of the consequences, “you’re still an asshole.”

Surprising her, he gave a grin full of teeth. “Aren’t I, though?”

At one time, Sienna had been mild mannered, afraid of hurting anyone’s feelings, desperate to smooth any and all ruffled feathers. Maybe the demon’s bad mood had bled into her. Or maybe the waspishness came courtesy of knowing just how worthless her entire life had been. Either way, she had never had more to lose—or cared so little.

“You should have picked someone else to host Wrath. Because…wait for it… my answer is still no.”

Rather than adding fuel to the seething cauldron of his temper, her words seemed to make him back down. His features softened, the murderous rage draining from his gaze, his taut lips sliding back over his teeth. He lowered his arms.

Shocking.

“No,” he said, gentle, so gentle now. “There was no better choice than you.”

Her heart drummed fitfully in her chest. Though she was dead, her spirit self had developed a heartbeat, a need to breathe, the moment the demon had entered her soul-body. Unfortunately, this meant she could feel pain and if cut she would bleed.

“Why me?” she finally asked. “You have to tell me something.”

“Do I?” He turned, offering his profile and ignoring her question. “In this realm hidden from the rest of the heavens, where no one will ever find you, I don’t have todo anything.”

A muscle drummed rapidly in his jaw, and before she could reply he added, “Do you enjoy living here, Sienna?”

“No.” Not because she was magically compelled to remain inside this castle, but because he’d done what he could to make her time here a misery. Including digging deep inside her mind and yanking out the worst of her memories. Those memories played out like movies in every room, a never-ending stream of persecution, guilt and shame.

Every day she relived Skye’s abduction. How she’d failed to save her sister from the man dragging her away. Every day she witnessed the loss of the baby she’d been unable to bring to term, something she hatedremembering, would never willingly dwell on. Every day she saw her foolish betrayal of the beautiful Paris. How she’d hurt the first man to ever make her crave more.How she’d condemned him simply because of his race.

“That’s too bad. Because you will remain here until you agree to return to your flock and become my spy.”

Back in the air went her nose. “If those are my choices, I’ll stay here forever.”

Cronus tossed her another grin, a cruel twist of his lips that lacked any hint of amusement. “Is that so? What if I told you that I picked you becauseof your sister?”

“I would demand to know why.” Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, the king of Titans in their crosshairs. He was tricky, without morals and utterly devious. She had to be careful. “I would also point out that you could have played that particular card sooner.”

“Not if I feared you would obsess over her and forget my purpose. Now, however, you have left me no choice.”

She feigned nonchalance and buffed her nails.

He hissed at her. “What if your precious Skye once lived with Galen? What if she bore him a child?”

Take me swimming, Enna. Please, please, please. I’ll never ask for anything ever again.

“I don’t believe you.” The denial gasped from her, a croak of dismay. He’s lying. He has to be lying.“Show her to me.” She forced herself to add, “Please,” though the word was gritted.

He wasn’t done. “What if Galen is the only one who knows where they are? What if he tortures them? What if becoming his whore is the only way for you to learn the truth? The only way to save them?”

“I—I—” Had no answer. He’s lying!The scream of desperation echoed through her mind—her own, not her demon’s. She had to stay strong. Had to insist he present at least a modicum of proof before she reacted.

“Think about all I have told you, my darling Sienna. I will return soon and we will discuss any new duties you might wish to take on.” With that, he disappeared, there one moment, gone the next.

Sienna sank to her knees, her strength leaving with the king. Her eyes burned, her chin trembled. Her wings pulled and folded in ways they shouldn’t, and a sharp cry escaped her. Everydamned daywas a new lesson in horror for her.

Tears trickled down her cheeks, scalding her skin. How much more could she take? How much longer until she broke?

For Skye, she’d do just about anything, and Cronus knew that. Skye was all she had left, having somehow become both sister and daughter in her mind. Made sense, though. She’d only known her sister as a little girl, and the baby she’d lost, a girl as well, had never gotten the chance to grow out of infancy. And the possibility of a niece or nephew? Yeah, she’d do anything.

Cronus knew that. No wonder he’d reined in his temper. He didn’t have to hurt her physically to get what he wanted. No wonder he’d chosen Sienna for his games. She was still a puppet, the strings she thought she’d cut anchored to another master’s hand.

Worse, there was no way to fight this one.

CHAPTER SIX

PARIS SPRAWLED IN an unfamiliar bed, one hand at his side and gripping a crystal blade, the other draped over his forehead, shielding his eyes. After a few days of traveling, closer than ever to his goal, he was in another motel in Titania, with Zacharel…somewhere, and William snoozing peacefully on the bed beside his.

In quiet moments like this, Paris’s mind always hopped the Memory Train, taking him back to when he’d first met Sienna, and tonight was no different. He remembered walking the streets of Rome, in desperate need of a lover, every woman he encountered shooing him away as if he were repugnant. Then someone had rammed into him from behind, and weak as he’d been from the lack of sex, he’d nearly fallen flat on his face before he’d managed to right himself.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d heard her say, the sensual rasp of her voice thrilling him on every level.

He turned slowly, afraid that if he moved too quickly he would frighten her and she would run away like the others. Papers were scattered around her feet, and she crouched, trying to gather them. First thing to register was dark hair curtaining a face hidden by shadows.

“That’ll teach me to read and walk at the same time,” she muttered.

“I’m glad you were reading,” he said, bending down to help her. “I’m glad we ran into each other.” More than she would ever know.

Her heavily lashed lids lifted, and her gaze met his. She gasped. He reeled. She was on the plain side, with eyes and lips too big for her face and skin dotted with uncountable freckles, but she possessed a grace and presence so few mortals could ever hope to attain.

“Your name doesn’t start with an A, does it?” he asked her, suddenly suspicious of fate and master plans. Maddox had recently become a sap for a woman named Ashlyn. Lucien had abandoned his manhood for Anya. Paris refused to do the same for anyone.

Her brow puckered in confusion, and she shook her head, that fall of dark hair waving around her delicate shoulders. “No. My name is Sienna. Not that you care and not that you really asked. Sorry. I didn’t mean to just blurt it out.”

“I care,” he replied huskily, thinking he would have the best time stripping her. One, her clothes bagged on her, hiding the secrets of her femininity. Two, she was skittish, her babbling charming, and he expected a similar reaction in bed. “You’re…American?”

“Yes. Vacationing here to work on my manuscript. Again, not that you asked. I can’t place your accent, though.”

“Hungarian,” he said, giving her the simplest answer. The Lords had been living in Budapest for a while, and there was no way to explain—without sounding crazy– that he spoke languages she’d never even heard of. “So you are a writer?”

“Yes. Well, I hope to be. Wait, that’s not right, either. I ama writer, but I’m not published yet.”

Now, of course, he knew the truth. She wasn’t a writer. The pages of her romance novel had merely served as a launch pad for their sensual conversation, nothing more.

When she’d next asked him to grab a coffee with her, he’d said yes, already throbbing with need for her. They’d talked and laughed the entire time, and he’d enjoyed every moment of it. He’d relaxed with her, something he hadn’t been able to do with very many others. But she had a contagious smile, a keen wit, and that grace of motion that matched her demeanor.

Meanwhile, his demon shot out wafts of his pheromones, so there’d been no great difficulty in convincing her to rent a hotel room with him. Or so he’d thought at the time. Along the way, she had pretended to change her mind. Or hell, maybe she hadchanged her mind. Maybe she’d fallen in like with him, too, and had decided not to hand him over to her Hunter brethren. But sex fiend that Paris was, he’d pressed her for more, dragging her into an abandoned alley and kissing the breath out of her.

That’swhen she drugged him, using a needle hidden in one of her rings. He’d woken up strapped to a gurney, naked and groggy. She had crouched in front of him, and he’d assumed the Hunters had taken her prisoner, too. Until she’d said four little words that changed the nature of their relationship.

“ Ilocked you up.”

His brilliant reply? “Why would you do something like that?” He still hadn’t wanted to believe this woman he so craved had something to do with his current circumstances.

“Can’t you guess?” she asked. She angled his head to the side, and, studying his neck, traced a fingertip over a sore spot. Puncture wound, he’d realized, the answer to her question slipping into place, taking root.

“You’re my enemy.”

“Yes.” Then she’d added with a frown, “The wound isn’t healing. I didn’t mean to jab you with the needle quite so forcefully. For that, I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrowed on her, feelings of betrayal and disbelief whisking through him. “You tricked me. Played me like a piano.”

Again, “Yes.”

“Why? And don’t tell me you’re Bait. You’re not pretty enough.” He’d said it to be cruel, but now, remembering, he cringed. No wonder she had later done what she’d done, said what she’d said.

A blush stained her cheeks. “No, I’m not Bait. Or rather, I wouldn’t have been to any warrior but you. But then, you don’t care who you screw, do you, Promiscuity?” Every word had dripped with disgust, his charming, babbling romance writer long gone. But the grace…oh, that she couldn’t banish.

“Obviously not.” When her blush deepened, he added silkily, just to taunt her further, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

“No. You haven’t the strength. I made sure of that.”

Her newfound resistance to him, no matter how poorly he acted, irked. Females adored him, always. Well, almost always. “You enjoyed yourself while you were in my arms. Admit it. I know women, and I know passion. You were on fire for me.”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

Good. He was getting to her. “Want to give me a go before your friends show up?”

After that particular jab, she had stomped away from him, but she hadn’t left the room. Remaining a safe distance away, she admitted her status—Hunter—and detailed exactly what her friends planned to do to him.

“We’re going to experiment on you. Observe you. Use you as Bait to capture more demons. And then, when we find Pandora’s box, we’re going to draw out your demon, killing you and trapping the monster inside.”

Warrior that he was, and as many battles as he’d fought, he’d known to show her only indifference. “That it?”

“For now.”

“You might as well kill me then, sweetheart. My friends won’t surrender themselves to save little old me.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

When he realized antagonizing her wasn’t helping his cause, he switched to seduction, his default setting. He projected sexual images into her head, something he hated to do. Didn’tdo anymore. He couldn’t live with himself afterward. And as she had pictured what he wanted her to picture—the two of them together, naked and straining toward climax—her breathing became choppy, her nipples hard underneath her shirt. A white shirt that did nothing to hide the lace of her bra, proving she had a secret sensual side.

He’d almost had her, but in the end, she’d wised up. He’d made the mistake of continuing to call her sweetheart, an endearment he’d used on countless others, and she’d known it. After that, it hadn’t taken her long to figure out he used the term because he couldn’t remember her name—or anyone else’s.

Finally she’d left him for real, only returning a few days later when he was a few breaths away from death. That’s when she at last stripped for him, at last pleasured him.

That’s when he killed her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE NEXT MORNING, Paris stood at the highest edge of a cliff overlooking the Realm of Blood and Shadows, his body poised for war. Finally, he’d found his destination, hidden in a far corner of Titania, its portal invisible to everyone but William. What do you know? The guy had his uses.

Now Paris would find Sienna.

His blood boiled with the fury he’d suppressed for far too long. His muscles burned with startling ferocity, and his bones vibrated with the need to act, to hurt someone. Multiple someones.

Soon.

Sharp gusts of wind blustered, doing nothing to scatter the shroud of thick, black mist surrounding him, seeping inside of him. The scent of aged copper filled the air, leaving a moist film in his nose. Muted shrieks echoed from every direction, so many shrieks of pain. Above, the moon formed a sallow hook, its ends frayed, hemorrhaging into an endless expanse of unforgiving night. Below, an ocean of crimson tears frothed and hissed, creating a second symphony of anguish.

And there, in the center of it all, perched a nightmare of a castle. Dark stone crumbled. Withered ivy with dagger-sharp tips climbed the walls, every leaf reminding him of a spider. The roof knifed into several points, a body staked through the heart and hanging from each, dripping blood onto the glass panes of every window. There were several balconies guarded by multiple gargoyles of every size.

Gargoyles that would, apparently, come to life.

Writhing shadows, slick and oily in appearance, hovered around the entire structure, but they didn’t touch a single stone. They maintained a generous distance, as if a rod of iron held them in place. The moment they heard the starting bell, whatever that was, Paris suspected they would burst free and attack whoever happened to be nearby.

“She’s inside,” he told his companions. “I know it.” He wanted to go in, guns blazing. Was desperate to go in, guns blazing and knives slashing, but he couldn’t. Not yet, not yet. Information had to come first.

Death was in the details.

“That’s great, wonderful, but why am I here again?” William asked, scratching his head. He consumed the space at Paris’s left, dressed for the runway rather than the front lines. Silk suit, no weapons. A bottle of conditioner in his pocket. Yeah. Conditioner. Again. For split ends. A little jaunt into hell had “damaged some of the precious strands,” so he now carried his “necessary daily treatment” everywhere.

Annnd hearing his voice caused Sex to purr like a kitten. It was disgusting.

“I’m still recovering from agonizing physical and mental trauma,” William added. The warrior had barely escaped from his encounter in hell, true, but being crushed by boulders and clawed by flesh-hungry fiends was hardly agonizing.

“Just, I don’t know, consider this your punishment for abandoning Kane,” Paris said. How many gargoyles would he have to battle? He did a quick head count. Fifty-nine from the front. Probably a similar number waited in back. Half of them were as big as dragons, but some were as small as rats.

As William could probably tell him, size didn’t always matter. Which of the creatures would cause the most damage?

“I didn’t abandon him. Per se.” William brushed a piece of lint from his shoulder. “I was pummeled by falling rock and woke up in a motel in Budapest. In my compromised mental state, I thought some demon damsel in heat had taken one look at my amazing body and rescued us, but then Kane thought to remove her from my rugged animal appeal, and so he dragged her out to get coffee, not yet realizing he was simply energizing her for the mattress marathon to come. A marathon with me, in case I wasn’t clear on that point.”

Paris didn’t bother rolling his eyes. Clearly William was Viola’s male counterpart. Wasn’t that a nice little bouquet of roses?

“Actually, you’re here because you owe Paris a favor.” Zacharel flanked Paris’s other side, the snowstorm now brewing above him. The change had happened the moment he’d stepped into this realm. He still wore his robe, but blades were now strapped all over his muscled body. He was definitely warrior-appropriate. “More than that, you are avoiding your girlfriend.”

William gasped with outrage. “First, I don’t owe anyonea favor. Second, I don’t have a girlfriend, you pansy-ass winged piece of shit.”

“Don’t you?” A blink, all innocence. Zacharel didn’t seem to care about the name-calling. “What is young Gilly to you, then?”

Gilly. A human with a crush on William. The warrior claimed they were just friends and nothing more, but if anyone could see secret longing in someone’s gaze, it was Paris. And William definitely had a lot of secret longing going on for that girl. Shockingly, though, he hadn’t done anything about it. Had only coddled and babied her, which was why Paris hadn’t gutted him. Gilly had been through enough in her short life without William turning his lethal charm on her.

Dangerous as a lightning strike, as lethal as a pair of crisscrossing short swords, William whispered, “You’re about to find out how your liver tastes, my friend.”

“I have tasted it already,” Zacharel said, his voice its usual monotone. The snowflakes began to fall in earnest, tiny at first, but growing in diameter. An arctic wind blustered around him. “It was a bit salty.”

How the hell was a guy supposed to respond to that?

Apparently William didn’t know, either, because he gaped at the angel. Then, “Maybe if you added a little pepper?”

O-kay. It was official. William had an answer for everything.

“Enough,” Paris said. Just then, he had his inner darkness on a leash. That could change at any moment. This was the closest he’d ever come to saving Sienna. To seeing her again, to touching her, and urgency had him in a vise grip. Which was stupid. He knew it was stupid.

He didn’t know her, not really, had only interacted with her those two times, and yet, looking back, he was certain he’d never felt so connected to anyone in his life. He could still remember the delicate rasp of her voice. Soft and lyrical, washing over him, entrancing him. Could still smell her sweet wildflower scent. Could still feel her soft body pressed against his harder one.

Now he wondered if he would even like her on any level but a sexual one. Would he find her annoying? And what about her—would she still view him as evil, even though she herself now carried a demon?

“Let’s focus, ladies.” That includes you,he added for his own benefit. If he could bypass the outside line of the fortress’s defense completely, he’d be in perfect condition when he got inside. “Zacharel, you will flash me inside the castle.”

“No, I will not.”

He scowled but didn’t bother asking why. As always, his ears picked up the web of truth woven through the angel’s tone. Zacharel couldn’t or wouldn’t flash him; the reason didn’t matter. “William?”

“I’ve only recently begun to flash myself, and yeah, I’m damn good for a beginner—not that I need to tell you that since anyone with eyes would have noticed—but I’m still honing my amazing skills. There’s no way I can cart your carcass anywhere.”

Paris stifled a sigh. No flashing with William, either. “Is the water swimmable?”

“Nope. Not only is the water poisonous, but the fiends inside it have a hankering for flesh.” William motioned to the dilapidated bridge leading to the front entrance, thick, arched double doors covered in spikes with a clear liquid dripping from their tips. “You have to use the drawbridge, and you have to let the guards carry you. There’s no other way.”

“I have never battled a gargoyle before.” Zacharel shook his head, a dark lock of hair tumbling into one emerald eye. Damp from the melting snow, the hair stuck to his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. “But I am certain these will murder Paris before willingly carrying him inside.”

As if he were the only intelligent life form left in existence, William splayed his arms. “And the problem with that? He’ll still be inside, exactly where he wants to be. And by the way,” he added, blinking at Paris with lashes so long they should have belonged to a girl. “Your new permanent eyeliner is very pretty. You’ll make a good-looking corpse.”

Do not react.He did, and the teasing about his ash/ambrosia tattoos would never end. “Thanks.”

“I prefer the lip liner, though. A nice little feminine touch that really makes your eyes pop.”

“Again, thanks,” he gritted.

He wants us!

Stupid demon.

William grinned. “Maybe we can make out later. I know you want me.”

Tell him yes!

Not another word out of you, or—

“Paris? Warrior?” Zacharel said. “Are you listening to me?”

“No.”

Zach nodded, apparently not the least offended. “I enjoy your honesty, though I believe you suffer from what the humans call ADD.”

“Oh, yeah. I definitely have attention deficient demon.”

“Now, changing subjects, since I’m not listening to the angel, either,” William said. “Since we’re going with my diabolically genius plan, you’re gonna have to scale down the cliff and step onto the drawbridge.” He tented his hands and drummed his fingers, contemplating the bridge from every angle. “The moment you do, the gargoyles will come to life. They’ll attack you. Oh, and the more you fight them, the harder they’ll bite and claw you. So, if you remain relaxed, they’ll only hurt you a wee bit before they cart you inside to chain to a wall. In theory.”

Wonderful. But this was what his woman had to deal with every day. He could do no less. And if the gargoyles had broken her…

Broken… In, out, in, out, he breathed, oxygen scalding his throat, blistering his lungs. He twisted his head left then right to pop the bones in his neck. His fury bubbled to the surface, riding the waves in his veins. He would save Sienna and torch the castle to the ground—along with every living creature inside it.

Zacharel folded his arms over his massive chest, the snow so thick now that none of the flakes had a chance to melt. His hair now boasted strands of glistening white. “How do you know so much about this place and its protectors, William of the Dark?”

William of the Dark? That was new, yet fitting. “Yeah. How do you?” Paris studied the gargoyles in question. They were hideous. The big ones were winged, with ramlike horns, fangs as long as sabers and probably just as sharp, and daggers for nails—on both their hands and their feet. The small ones just looked hungry. Oh, and infected with rabies.

Another piece of invisible lint was brushed from William’s shoulder. “Maybe I was once co-ruler of the underworld and sought out all the hideaways of Cronus and his followers, intending to blackmail them, and discovered this little love shack. Or maybe I see the future and knew we’d come here one day. Or maybe the gargoyles once served me, calling me Master Hotness.”

Paris read between the lines. “Maybe you once nailed a gargoyle, and she had a big mouth.” If there was a bigger he-slut than Paris, it was William.

William gave another shrug. “Or that.”

White wings threaded in gold lifted, shook and returned to their place of rest against Zacharel’s back. “And what makes you so sure your Sienna is in there, demon?”

Do not react.“I just am.” Arca, the goddess he had seduced in Cronus’s harem, the one he’d vowed to rescue after ensuring Sienna’s safety, had told him there were only two possible locations for her. If Sienna had been taken to the other, her soul would have withered within days. Therefore, she was here. End of story.

“I’ll provoke the guards,” he said, thinking out loud, “but I won’t enrage them. They’ll cart me inside, planning to lock me up. I’ll free myself before they can, search for Sienna, find her and escape with her. Simple, easy.”

Yeah. Right.

“I’ll stay here and act as lookout.” William nodded, clearly satisfied with the idea. “If you don’t return in, say, the amount of time it takes my conditioner to penetrate my scalp, I’ll go for help.” He snickered. “I said penetrate.”

For freakin’ real.“Knowing you, you’ll forget all about me and head to a salon for a mani-pedi.” More than that, Paris wasn’t sure Zach would have his back—or stab it. “So, guess what? You’re going in with me. Zach will act as lookout.”

“Perhaps you’ve been living in Hungary for so long you’ve forgotten English and didn’t understand what I was saying.” First in French, then in Spanish, then in Russian, he said, “I’m staying here, and that’s final.” William tangled a hand through his indigo mane, frowned when he encountered a snag. Scowling, he whipped out his conditioner, squeezed a few drops onto his fingers and combed the creamy mixture through until he achieved the desired smoothness. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Guaranteed you stabbed your mother seconds after she birthed you. So do me a solid and strap on your big-girl panties because here’s the deal. If you walk away now, I will follow you for the rest of your days, seducing every woman you desire away from you.”

A heavy pause, rife with fury as cold as the angel’s snow. “Fine,” William eventually muttered. “I’ll go with you, but only because I’m in need of a decent cardio workout.”

Good. Paris had meant every word. He hadn’t come this far to welcome defeat. He would lie, cheat, destroy, whatever it took. Now, and until Sienna was safe.

He did a quick pat down. All of his blades were in their sheaths. A visual check on his guns ensured the safeties were off.

“Bullets won’t kill them, you know,” William said. “They’ll only cause hissy fits.”

“Don’t care.” Bullets would buy him a few seconds, surely, and sometimes that’s all a guy needed to bring home the victory.

William slapped him on the shoulder, sending Sex into rapturous convulsions. “Before we do this, I’ve got one question for you. And you can’t lie. This is too important.”

A bit sick to his stomach at what such a debaucher could want to know, Paris cast his attention to the black-haired, blue-eyed he-devil. “Ask.”

“Are you going to suggest I kiss you for good luck or strength or whatever it is your sex demon needs?”

That earned the warrior a two-fingered salute.

“So that’s a no?” William asked.

Paris worked his jaw. “Here, let me help you off the cliff to the drawbridge.” With no more warning, he shoved William over the ledge. He thought he heard a fading, “ Sonot cool,” from the bastard as he fell…fell…

Splat.

Sex gasped in outrage.

“Not exactly a nice thing to do,” Zacharel said, but there was a gleam in his eyes, one Paris had never seen before. Something akin to amusement.

“What’s your plan?” Paris asked him.

“Only time will tell.”

“You’ll wait here, right?”

“Perhaps.”

All righty, then. With the angel’s cryptic nonanswer ringing in his head, Paris snapped a blade between his teeth and scaled the jagged rocks, down, down, his hands rapidly torn to ribbons. Vines slithered from cracks, stroking over him, attempting to shackle his wrists and ankles. Dangling by one hand, he stopped long enough to slice through the nearest green stalk.

Another soon came at him, and he sliced through it, too. But damn, they were everywhere. One wound around the arm he was using for balance. His heart tripped over itself with dread—and anticipation. He glanced down at the bridge. No other way.

Paris carved into the vine holding him, kicked the rocks with his legs and fell. When he hit bottom, he really hit bottom, jarring the air from his lungs.

Suddenly William loomed over him, scowling, snarling and bloody, his suit dirt-stained and ripped. “Do you know. How many strands. Of hair I lost. On my way down?”

Whatever. “Math was never my thing, but I’m gonna say you lost…a lot.”

Electric-blues glittered with menace. “You are a cruel, sadistic bastard. My hair needs TLC and you…you… Damn you! I’ve gutted men for less.”

“I know. I’ve watched you.” Paris lumbered to his feet and scanned the rocky bank they stood upon, the crimson ocean lapping and bubbling in every direction. The drawbridge was only a fifty-yard dash away. “Don’t kill the messenger, but I’m thinking you should change your dating profile to balding.”