Текст книги "The darkest seduction"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“Massster?” Her forked tongue swiped over too-thin lips.

“I will not take you out here.” Or anywhere. Bang, bang.Damn it. His demon needed to settle the hell down. “So, build me a tent.” Bang.“All of you.” Bang.And hell, maybe, with his present run of good luck, he wouldn’t have to wait for its completion. Maybe the females would be so distracted during the building of the tent, he could stomp out of the cavern while yelling, whistling, whatever, and they wouldn’t notice.

“Tent?” she asked, still so clearly confused.

“Yes. I want one. Build the tent now, and you can have babies later.” With someone else.

Bang! Bang!

Most of the minions rushed away to gather the necessary supplies, shoving each other out of the way, but a few stragglers remained behind, staring at him. And by a few,he meant a little over one hundred. He sighed. So, there’d be no stomping, yelling or whistling his way out.

He wished he were more like Paris. Wished he could plow through them—in bed and out—and be stronger for it while remaining emotionally distanced and unconcerned with the consequences.

Of course, then he’d also be a drug addict obsessed with finding the woman who’d tried to kill him, but at the moment, drugs and obsession seemed like a nice change of pace. And damn. When Kane got home, he was gonna be teased mercilessly about his precious seed, his needy harem girls, and his refusal to fertilize their petunia patches.

Bring it, boys.At least he’d be home.

Home…The word echoed through his mind, a wave of foreboding slamming through him.

Something was about to happen, he realized with a twist of sickness. Something terrible was about to happen. A disaster…a tragedy of the worst sort…inside the fortress in Buda, where all the Lords and their significant others lived. Hisfortress. His demon knew it, sensed it, and in turn, so did Kane.

He was on his feet and running for the exit, not slowing even when multiple females latched on to him and held on for the ride.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

VIOLA TRAILED AFTER the gorgeous warrior named Maddox as he carried his very pregnant wife, Ashlyn, up the stairs, past naked portraits of his friends holding rainbow-colored ribbons and stuffed teddy bears. This was the fourth time one of the Budapest residents had foisted her off on someone else, and she couldn’t understand why no one wanted to spend more time with her.

From Lucien to Anya, whom she’d met in Tartarus centuries ago. They’d been cell-block-B mates. Anya had always been jealous of her, of course. Who hadn’t—and wasn’t? Earlier today the minor goddess had pretended not to recognize her, but Viola had taken the lie for what it was. A plea to hear all about Viola’s magnificent life.

An hour later, Anya had handed her off to Reyes and his Danika. Viola was still puzzling over Anya’s parting words to the couple. “Here you go. Take her. And you’re welcome. You won’t need to stab yourself to please your demon for at least a year, Reyes.”

Just how was Viola supposed to have pleased an anguish-happy fiend like Reyes? He was possessed by the demon of Pain, yet she was perfectly…perfect, a joy to look upon and listen to, a veritable fount of shiny, priceless pearls of wisdom, with a keen sense of fashion and a knack for home decorating.

Speaking of those little life skills, she’d already decided to put them to good use. From now on she would be dressing everyone here, as well as redesigning their mansion’s interior and exterior. And she wasn’t even going to charge them—more than a few hundred thou.

Her eyes filled with tears as her hand fluttered to her heart. She was sucha giver.

At one time, centuries ago, she’d done something not so giving and sent herself catapulting into a shame spiral, but she couldn’t recall what that something was. She never did. Her demon stored negative memories away, hiding them from her. Anything to continue her love affair with herself. As if she would ever end it.

Anyway. An hour into theirconversation, Reyes had handed her off to Aeron’s angel, Olivia. And fifteen minutes after that, Olivia had sweetly suggested that Viola shouldn’t deny Maddox the pleasure of her company. Five glorious (for him) minutes later, Maddox had stomped away, muttering something about finding his wife and Viola could join him if she insisted. So, here they were, headed to the couple’s bedroom.

“I’m sure I could whip up some kind of mechanical chair that would cart your wife around,” Viola told the warrior. He was shirtless, and the crimson butterfly tattoo stretching across his shoulder blades—the mark of his demon—seemed to be scowling at her. “I’m handy with tools, as you probably guessed, and your back is probably strained from her massiveweight.”

Ashlyn smothered a laugh with one hand, but she failed to smother Maddox’s snarl with the other.

“She is light as a feather,” he snarled. “I enjoy carrying her. I also enjoy having her all to myself.”

“Okay, but it’s your back’s funeral. In a few years, you’ll probably need a brace.” Oh, yes. His tattoo was indeed scowling at her. A gnarled, skeletal face had formed between the wings, fangs extending from a tiny mouth. The edges of the wings sharpened into daggerlike points, curling toward her.

Cool, but in no way comparable to hers. The front of her butterfly stretched along her chest, stomach and legs. The back of her butterfly stretched along her shoulders, thighs and calves. A total body tat that glimmered with the radiance of crushed pink diamonds.

Ashlyn’s honey-colored eyes found her over Maddox’s muscled shoulder. “He’s not trying to get rid of you—”

“Yes, I am,” Maddox said.

“—he’s just cranky,” the human finished.

Viola’s brow wrinkled as she attempted to figure out how the poor, addled pregnant woman could have come up with such a preposterous idea. Get rid of her? Please. Men, women and children, mortals and immortals, fought to keep her by their sides. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” she said. Wasn’t that what humans said to one another to prove they weren’t offended by stupid ideas? “I’m sure he’s simply overwhelmed by my magnificence.”

Maddox was the one to scowl this time, tossing the dark expression at her before stopping in front of a closed door. But then Ashlyn giggled and his gaze shot to her face. His entire body softened, melting like an ice cube in the summer heat.

A pang throbbed in Viola’s chest. She thought back, but couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at her like that, as if she were the morning sun, the midnight moon, and every star perched in the endless sky. Even though she’d had thousands—no, bazillions!—of admirers.

“Where’s your dog?” Ashlyn asked.

“Princess Fluffikans is exploring these new surroundings without any hindrance from mommy.”

“That explains the screaming downstairs,” Maddox muttered.

Ashlyn kissed her husband on the lips, then reached out to twist the knob. The door creaked open, and Maddox carried her inside. Fresh, clean air wafted to Viola. Out of habit, she scouted every inch in a single sweep, searching out all the mirrors and reflective surfaces. To the left was a vanity, and she made a mental note to avoid it, even as her demon urged her to close the distance…to take a teeny-tiny peek…just one, just for a second, because she would look so very beautiful....

She gritted her teeth. Dewy flowers spilled from colorful vases balanced on every piece of furniture in the room except the bed. Flowers hadbeen woven in the wrought-iron bedposts, though, twining and clinging like ivy.

A portrait hung in the center of the far wall. And sweet heavens. Viola approached the thing slowly. The attention to detail was stunning. She could only take in a little at a time, studying one small section, looking away, then turning back to study another, repeating the process again and again until she’d gone over every inch.

In it, Ashlyn lounged in a lush, jewel-toned garden, flower petals in her hair, draping her body and dripping all around her. But the petals were not actually petals; they were faces. So many faces. The warriors here, their women, faces Viola didn’t recognize and others she did—including her own. She quickly looked away from her own image, deciding to ponder its presence at a safer time.

One of Ashlyn’s arms was bare, her skin tattooed to her elbow. Flames and snowflakes twisted together, and while the flames should have melted the flakes and the flakes should have doused the flames, the two somehow fed off each other, growing in color and intensity the higher up her arm they moved.

There was a reflective pool in front of her, and Maddox peered at her from its murky depths. Ashlyn reached for him with that tattooed arm, a silver ring winding along her index finger, glowing majestically.

Viola’s nerve endings tingled. She’d seen paintings like this one before, but couldn’t recall where or when. What she did know: every color, every face, every inch meantsomething. For real. This was symbolism at its finest. Only she didn’t know how to decipher it.

“Who painted this?” she asked, her awe unmistakable. She straightened, turned away from the portrait before she lost hours of her life puzzling over the thing. Same as she lost hours every time she caught sight of her own image.

“Danika, Reyes’s woman,” Maddox muttered.

Danika. Hmm. Now that the painting was behind her, Viola allowed herself to question her inclusion in it. She’d met Danika for the first time this morning. The female appeared human, but after seeing this, she knew there had to be more to her. “It’s an exquisite piece.”

“Her work always is,” Ashlyn said proudly.

“She sees into the future?”

“We will not discuss that,” Maddox said.

So yes, she did. “She’ll want to paint one of me all by myself, of course. I’ll have to check my schedule and make sure I have the time to pose for her.” If not, I’ll make time. Must question her. Must learn more about myself.

Another giggle from Ashlyn. Another scowl from Maddox.

He’d placed his female on the bed and tucked the covers around her. Now he smoothed the hair from her brow, as gently as if he were caring for a fragile infant. “What do you need, sweetheart? Name it, and it’s yours.”

Dainty fingers rubbed at that swollen belly even as a soft smile played at her plump lips. “I would really, reallylove an orange. Just one this time, though. Last time this particular craving hit, you brought me the entire grove.”

“I will bring you the best, most succulent orange you have ever tasted.” He caressed her cheek for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to look away from her. Then he forced himself to do so and shot Viola a threatening glare.

“You will guard her with your life. And if you hurt her, even accidentally…” His hands fisted at his sides.

“Can’t think of anything vile enough?” Viola thought for a moment. “May I suggest disembowelment? You can hang me from the ceiling with my own intestines. That would be really gruesome.”

He gaped at her.

“Word of warning, though. Intestines are pink and pink is my best color. Wait. Who am I kidding? All colors are my best color. So, if you go that route, be ready to fall in love with me all over again.”

His mouth snapped shut, a grimace contorting his lips. “That’s it. I’m staying. Viola, you go find the orange.”

“No way. Unless we go together and you carry me.” All that walking had caused her feet to throb.

He looked at the door, then Viola, then the door, then Viola again.

Oh, come on.“Your resident angel already told you that I’m pure of heart, can be trusted, blah, blah, blah.” That had surprised Viola, because she wasn’t sure she’d ever been pure of heart. The fact that the warriors believed the dark-haired girl without a moment’s hesitation had reallysurprised her. Supposedly, they were the most suspicious beings on earth. “Oh, and bring me an orange, too, but put it beside a hamburger and fries. I skipped lunch.”

After issuing a few more threats to her life, he finally stalked from the room.

“Overprotective momma grisly,” she muttered. “Geez.”

“Have you never been in love?” Ashlyn asked.

“Hello. I’m not a fool.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“Um, yeah, that’s a no.”

A serene smile met her vehemence. “Why so much horror at the prospect?”

The ache in her chest returned. She rubbed and rubbed, nearly peeling off her shirt and the skin underneath, but the damn ache persisted. “I don’t know.” Time to change the subject. “I’m thinking about planning a singles’ night here at my new home—fingers crossed it’s forever—and letting the unattached warriors court me.” She strolled to the bed and eased onto the edge. “Maybe a speed-dating-type thing, since I usually can’t stand a man for more than a few minutes at a time. Afterward, I’ll give the ones I like a rose and the others will have to pack their bags and leave the fortress permanently.”

“Hmm. Well.” Ashlyn tapped a finger against her chin, the corners of her lips twitching as if she were fighting another laugh. “Believe it or not, there are only a few singles left.”

“Like who?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s Torin.”

His image rose in Viola’s mind. White hair, black brows, brilliant green eyes. Gorgeous face and muscled body. “He’ll do. You may continue.”

“Well, not that he’s not wonderful, but I should warn you there’s a potential drawback to dating him. He’s the keeper of Disease, and he can’t touch another living creature skin-to-skin without causing a plague. You wouldn’t get sick from him because you’re immortal, but in turn you also wouldn’t be able to touch another living creature without passing on the illness. Besides him, that is.”

Viola rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You’re right. I wouldn’t get sick if I touched him. I’m sure you noticed how killer my immune system is. But even still, I’m not sure I want someone so flawed worshipping at my temple. Who else is there?”

“There’s Kane, but he’s…” Sadness dulled Ashlyn’s amber eyes. “He doesn’t date. Says it’s not worth the hardship.”

“He’d change his mind for me, of course, but that’s not why you’re sad, right? I believe I heard something about him being missing.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry. As soon as he finds out I’m here, he’ll find his way back. Even if he’s dead. I don’t like to brag, but that’s happened a few times before. I’ll just shoot out a quick little Screech, and boom. The race to reach me will begin.”

Rather than cheer the girl up, her reassurances tossed worry into that storm of sadness. “Uh, you’re not supposed to Screech,” Ashlyn said. “Remember?”

Viola’s shoulders slumped. That’s right. Within five minutes of arriving here, Lucien had dragged her to the luscious Torin’s bedroom and told the guy to check out her blog and website—evidently he was the resident computer guru. Afterward, both men had issued the same warning. Screech or post anything online about her location or her new BFFs and she would never be allowed back.

“Who else?” she asked.

Ashlyn nibbled on her bottom lip. “There’s Cameo, but I’m pretty sure she likes men.”

Viola shook her head. “I could change her mind, no problem, but I’m so over that stage of my life. Who else?”

“There’s William the Ever Randy. He’s not a demon keeper, but he’s some kind of immortal.”

William the Naughty Boy Toy. Oh, yes, she knew him. Like Anya, Viola had met him in Tartarus. “He’s more than immortal, but whatever.” He was also arrogant, conceited and highly annoying. “I’ll put him in the maybe category.”

“More than immortal? What does that mean? He’s claimed to be some kind of god a few times, but I always assumed he was bragging, padding the truth. Which is—”

“Enough about him. We’re talking about me. Who else can I date?”

Annnd a return of the nibbling. “There’s Paris, but he’s kind of obsessed with another woman right now.”

“The dead one. Yeah. I know. I could still change his mind, but I don’t think I want to, because…” There was a reason, wasn’t there? As Viola pondered the answer, she clinked her teeth together.

Paris had asked her how to see the dead, and she had told him. Then he’d asked her something else, but Lucien arrived and ended their conversation. What had he asked? She tuned her mind’s radio in to their past conversation, and her eyes widened as the answer at last slammed into place.

Consequences. He’d wanted to know if there would be consequences for tattooing himself with Sienna’s ashes. Oops. She’d let him get away without telling him that yes, there would be.

Oh, well. It wasn’t her problem. It was his.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DAZED, SIENNA WALKED down a long hallway. Just as her past had played along the walls of the castle, Paris’s past played here,a concerto of colors, faces, voices…limbs. On both sides of her, above and below her, women writhed, so many women. At first, she saw them smiling, heard them laughing, each one eager for what he offered, quickly falling for his charming facade.

Why wouldn’t they? Whatever they wanted, he gave them. A touch, a kiss, a lick. A gentle ride. A rough pounding. He made love to all of them, knew exactly where to stroke and taste for maximum pleasure. He knew precisely the right amount of pressure to use as he kneaded their breasts, their thighs. Soft for some, firm for others.

He knew what position to place them in. On their backs, their hands and knees, right side up, upside down. Knew some wanted slow, and some wanted fast. They loved him for it, their pleasure unparalleled.

Then he left them and they cried with gut-wrenching sobs, their bodies heaving, their hearts breaking as the grief overcame them. Interspersed throughout the females were males. Paris had been with men, too, and he’d left them in the same condition as the women. They wanted him, and though they were not his preference, he took them so that he might survive. Afterward, they asked him to stay and he bailed.

One woman, Susan, was a beauty he’d truly cared for. He’d tried to make a relationship with her work, but Paris, being Paris, had hurt her in the worst way, choosing survival, as always, over her heart.

When Sienna caught an image of herself, she stopped, gasped. There, practically overshadowed by the other images, Paris was strapped to her boss’s table, naked, the lights dim, and she was on top of him. She didn’t need the vision to serve as a reminder. She would never forget.

She had been unable to see him, needing the darkness to relax, and he had alternated between snapping at her, hating her, hating himself, and aiding her, moving his hips to increase her pleasure. Now, however, she saw into his mind. Part of him had hoped to punish her afterward. Part of him—the deepest, most secret part—had wanted to hold on to her and never let go. To him, she had been a balm unlike any other.

Nausea rose, threatening to erupt. He had thought such beautiful things about her, and still she had condemned him.

Wrath slammed into her frontal lobe, urging her forward. To see more, to see all. She stumbled along, her feet as heavy as boulders.

Other scenes bled into the image of her and Paris, and someone must have cranked the volume control because suddenly she heard grunts, groans, moans and screams. Screams of pleasure, of pain and even of fury. Accusations were hurled, followed by pleas.

The pleas were followed by curses.

Sometimes, when Paris could find no one willing to be with him, his strength would wane, his will to live would wither and his demon would pull free of his reins. A dark, rich scent would seep from Paris’s pores, intoxicating everyone nearby, luring them closer. These people would flock to him, regardless of their previous reservations about him or their disgust for casual sex. They would take him, or allow him to take them.

When this happened, Paris always battled intense guilt, because he knew the dastardly thing he was doing—but he took whatever was offered anyway.

These bedmates did not cry when he left. They watched him through narrowed eyes, detesting him, shamed by what they’d done with and to him, horrified by what they would soon lose. A loved one’s respect.

He hadbroken up marriages, had committed adultery and performed sexual acts that left him cold and shaken. He then allowed those same sexual acts to be performed on him. A self-imposed punishment of sorts, she thought. All of that she could have guessed. But what astonished her? He detested himself far more powerfully than any of the humans ever had or could.

Oh, Paris, she thought. He was heaven and hell, just as Wrath had said, wrapped in the same luscious package.

Sienna wanted to cover her eyes to block the sights. She wanted to scream and scream and scream to block the sounds. Everyonein the crowd was crying now. Even Paris. Their tears poured from the ceiling, raining down, battering at her. But her hands remained at her sides and her mouth remained shut, her feet moving automatically. Her body was no longer connected to her brain.

Wrath wanted her to know, and so she would know.

The volume cranked up another notch, a shriek resounding at her left, spine-chilling, nauseating. All of the tears ceased. Another shriek sounded, then battle scene after battle scene came to life. Blood, a canvas of scarlet. Blades glinting with menace. Guns firing one after the other. Bombs exploding. Limbs separating from bodies, guts spilling. Death, so much death. Each delivered by Paris.

Paris, the FedEx deliveryman of Pleasure and Fatality.

There was no guilt here, however. No shame. Only cold, hard logic. Kill or be killed. No room for emotions or regrets. No hope for something better. This was it; this was the card he must constantly play. Fight for what he wanted or curl up and die.

He would not curl up and die.

Even though Sienna’s own demon seemed to like Paris on some level, Wrath, being Wrath, still hoped to castigate him for all the wrongs he’d committed. The demon urged her to sleep with Paris and leave him. To break his heart. To make him sob and beg for another chance with her. Then, of course, would come the stabbing, hurting him as he had hurt so many others.

No! No, no, no. She jerked free of whatever leash the demon had used to bind her to his will and flattened her hands against her stomach, as if the puny action could settle the sickness still churning there.

“I will not punish him,” she shouted, proud of her strength and conviction. Paris had done all those things, yes. And no, there was no excusing him. Though he’d been influenced by the evil creature inside him, he was responsible for his own decisions. He could have found another way.

But who was she to condemn anyone? Had sheyet found another way? No.

Wrath offered no argument, and she frowned. That was unlike him. Usually he threw fits until she caved. But then, perhaps Aeron, Wrath’s former keeper, had already fought and won this particular crusade. After all, Aeron and Paris had lived together for centuries, plenty of time for the demon to have either gotten a taste of what he desired or to have been berated into submission.

If ever she met Aeron—and if he could actually see her and didn’t try to kill her—she would ask. She would do anything to return Wrath to him, too, despite the fact that such an action would kill her.

“Sienna.” Warmth drifted over her cheek, sliding along the line of her jaw.

Her nerve endings perked up, firing back to life, making her skin tingle.

“Wake up for me. Come on, that’s it, that’s the way.”

Yes. That voice…sexual and primal, blatant in its masculinity…a summoning finger she must follow. Where the voice originated, pleasure awaited her. So much pleasure.

She blinked open her eyes. Things were hazy at first, but the more she blinked, the better she could see. She was inside one of the second-floor bedrooms of the castle. The air was musty and yet chocolaty and—Paris loomed above her, peering down at her.

Breath snagged in her throat. He was just so beautiful, his face flawlessly chiseled. He could seduce anyone, anywhere. His hair was the richest shade of black, the purest shade of brown, with lighter strands woven throughout like ribbons of gold. His eyes were a wanton crystal, his lashes so thick and black they weighed down his lids, keeping them at half-mast, forever come-to-bed tempting. His lips were lush and red, and perhaps the most decadent part of an already decadent man. His skin was like crushed diamonds mixed with honey and cream. Pale, yet kissed with shimmers of the sun.

He bore a few scratches and had shadows under his eyes, but neither acted as an imperfection. They simply enhanced his appeal, adding depth. Lover, warrior…protector of those of his choosing. And he was here. With her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, the words scratchy now, as if there were glass shards stuck in his throat.

Was that a note of concern she detected? If so, this must be a hallucination. Paris wouldn’t care for her well-being. Not after everything that had happened between them. With a shaky hand, she reached up and pressed her fingertips into the rose tinting his cheeks. Solid, warm. Real.

She gasped out a startled, “You really are here.”

“Yes. I… Yes.” His pupils expanded, concealing all the blue with a spiderweb of black, before snapping back into place. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” There was a slight twinge in her stomach, a definite ache in her wings, but nothing that was unmanageable. A perk of being undead as well as Wrath’s host, she supposed. No matter the severity of her injuries, death had no hold on her and she healed quickly.

“I cleaned you up, bandaged the worst of your wounds.” Guilt layered his tone, a deeper flush blooming across his cheeks. Those pupils expanded again, staying that way—nope, they snapped back.

She’d never seen eyes do that. “Thank you.” She moved her hand to her hair, grimaced when she encountered tangles. She must look like total crap. “And you? How are you?” Her question trembled with the same intensity as her hand.

“Fine,” he parroted, offering no more than she had.

He straightened, increasing the distance between them, though his hip remained pressed against hers. One of his arms slid forward and stopped beside her rib cage, taking the brunt of his weight.

They stayed like that for a long while, silent, looking at each other, then looking away.

This was…awkward. Really, reallyawkward. They hadn’t seen each other in so long, and the last time they had, well, things had not ended well. No one but yourself to blame,she thought sadly.

“A lot has happened since we were last together,” he began, then lapsed into silence as if contemplating all that had occurred.

“Yes,” she agreed, though she had spent too much time contemplating it already.

“I know you were given a demon. What I don’t know is how you’re handling him,” he said, staring somewhere far, far beyond her shoulder.

“We have our moments.”

“He shows you the sins of others?”

“Yes.”

“And forces you to punish the wrongdoers?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Aeron, the guy who had Wrath before you, used to hate that. He would resist for as long as he could.”

“And then Wrath would overtake him,” she grumbled.

“Yeah.”

“I have the same problem.” Usually she saw the images of a person’s sins while she was awake, and things would progress from there. She would fight the urges and win, or she would fight the urges and fail. She wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she’d seen Paris’s transgressions while she was asleep.

Another bout of uncomfortable silence ensued. There was so much to say, but she didn’t know where to begin.

“Paris,” she breathed at the same time he sighed and said, “Sienna.”

They stared at each other now, searching, unsure. Annndonce again silence reigned, so heavy she could feel the weight of it pressing her deeper into the mattress. Her heart careened against her chest in a useless attempt at escape. If the damn thing had been hooked to a battery, she would have pulled the plug. Anything for relief from this suspended, anxious sensation, fear of sending Paris fleeing preventing her from saying all the things she’d imagined saying to him.

“You go first,” he said, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Very well. She could do this. She could.“I just wondered how you got here and why you…why you came for me.” And he had definitely come for her, and her alone. Why else would he have shouted her name like that? Did he hope to punish her for what she’d once done to him?

His eyes narrowed. “I changed my mind. I’ll go first. Tell me why youcame to me,that night in Texas when William saw you at my feet. William being my homelyfriend.” Through those slitted lids, she saw that his irises had frosted over, the darkness still evident. His expression became granite-hard, ruthless determination cloaking him.

The man who sat before her now was not the one who’d fought the Gargl to reach her; he was not the one who’d taken such care with her wounds. And he hadcared for her wounds. She’d been cleaned, bandaged, just as he’d said.

No, the man who sat before her was the one she’d first met in Rome. The one who had kissed her one minute and woken up strapped to a torture table the next. The one who had cursed her with one breath, and praised her with the following.

Whoever he was, she wouldn’t lie to him. She would never lie to him again. “I needed help,” she admitted, “and Wrath knew where you were, how to reach you. He had taken over, and I came to there at your feet.”

“Do you still need help?”

“With Wrath? Yes.”

He nodded, losing that knife edge of ruthlessness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you that night.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Anyway,” he said after clearing his throat. “I figured you would have trouble adapting, though you’re doing far better than I did at this stage, so I asked Aeron if he had any tips for you. He said you’ll have an easy time of things if you feed the bastard a little bit every day. Someone lies to you, you lie back. Someone cheats you, you cheat them back. Someone hits you, you hit back.”

How willingly he offered the information. He didn’t make her beg. Didn’t taunt her because he knew and she didn’t. And Aeron hadn’t withheld the information, when he had to hate her for taking his companion—and they hadbeen companions. Wrath had been an extension of him, still missed him to this day. But as grateful as she was for the advice…what a terrible way to live, she thought. “Thank you for that.”