All she could think about was Paris’s death. Paris, dying. Paris, dead. Paris, gone forever.
Cronus added, “Before you think that my faithless wife had the right idea when she conspired to lock me away, before you think to put in place any plot that would result in finding a way for my wife alone to reign—” his voice went low, harsh “—know that if Rhea rules, your sister’s killer will control the fate of your world.”
Her head spun with even more disbelief, fury and dread. Cronus had just said…had just claimed… “But you told me she was alive,” Sienna croaked.
“She was.”
Was. Not “is.” Was. “And now?” Another croak.
Wrath chose that moment to get his slam on, and this time, he snarled. Something is wrong. I don’t like this.
His voice jolted her. He’d spoken to her before, of course, but usually he limited himself to words like punish, kill, heaven and hell.
Is he lying? As Zacharel had implied. Please, tell me he’s lying.
I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now.
A whimper slipped from her.
“I have done my research. Skye became a Hunter,” Cronus said. “Perhaps for the same reason you did—to right the wrong of her abduction. You could have met her, talked to her, and never have known it, for she was a child when you saw her last. Nor would she have known you. She eventually got out, but she was married to a Hunter. She was trying to get him out, as well. She…died with him.”
“No.” This was too much to take in. She couldn’t process it all.
“And when Rhea learned that you, my winged savior, were searching for the girl, she had her…” His gaze skittered away. “Rhea had her killed.”
Wrath released another snarl. Something is wrong.
“You’re lying. You have to be lying.” Sienna’s knees shook and she barely managed to remain upright. That she could have been so close to Skye and not even realized it…that now she would never have another chance… “Prove it. Prove she’s…that she’s…gone.” A lump of grief congealed in her throat. Her eyes burned, tears bubbling at the backs.
“Very well.”
The air in front of her shimmered, crystallized, and then, as if she were looking through a magical peephole, she saw a bedroom, a black-haired girl sprawled on the floor, her throat slit, her body resting beside a man who’d clearly met a similar fate. A lake of crimson pooled around them, thick and black at the edges.
Sienna fought down her instinctive revulsion—how many gruesome images of those she cared for would she be forced to endure this day?—and pushed herself to think back. To the best of her recollection, she had not interacted with this girl during her time with the Hunters, but then, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of Hunter compounds and cells, and she’d never had access to the database of members.
“That’s not her,” she said with a violent shake of her head. “My Skye had blond hair.”
“So does this girl. You know the black is not her natural color. Her lashes prove this.”
Sienna made herself look closer. Long brown lashes framed dulled brown eyes.
Enna, when you grow up and get married, will you still love me? Brown lashes fluttering innocently as Skye awaited her answer.
I’ll always love you more than anything or anyone.
“No.” Plump lips, soft and pink, and as big as Sienna’s. A delicate bone structure, a stubborn chin. “No.” Acid created a toxin of rage and sorrow in her stomach.
“Yes. When I…found her like this, I scoured her mind, her memories. This is your Skye.”
“No!”
Her sister…lying on the floor. Ruined. Dead. Gone forever, like Paris would be. No longer a little girl, but a woman. Gone…forever… The words echoed in her mind, horrifying and shocking and sickening. Gone…
Is that truly her? she asked Wrath.
Yes. I can see her life, and you in it, but I cannot see her death. Why can’t I see her death?
Sienna locked on the affirmation, nothing else registering. Skye was…was…dead. Dead. Her precious Skye was dead. “Bring her back.” She pushed through the shimmering air and fisted Cronus’s lapels, shaking him. “Bring her back the same way you brought me back.”
“It is not always so simple, even for me.” Guilt, so much guilt in his tone, all over his features, radiating from him.
Wrong, so wrong.
Enough with the babbling! “You’re the self-proclaimed king of the gods.” She shook Cronus all the harder. “Ruler of the Titans. Jailer of the Greeks. Leader of the Lords of the Underworld. What’s one little soul compared to all that? Bring. Her. Back.”
“There are laws of life and death even I must obey.”
“Her soul—”
“Is no longer savable.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That doesn’t change the circumstances.”
“Bastard!” Her palm darted out of its own volition, slapping his cheek so sharply she would not have been surprised to find she’d peeled away his skin. “You lied to me. Said she was Galen’s prisoner.”
When he failed to retaliate, or block himself from further abuse, she struck again.
“You lied!”
“To ensure you obeyed me and kept Galen under control, I did what I felt I had to do,” he at last admitted. “I knew you would not kill him if you thought only he knew where your sister was. And as I said, I have my reasons for wanting him protected for now. But no, Galen never imprisoned her. She never had a child with him.”
Another slap, this one so hard she thought she fractured her own bones. Still he accepted the abuse without comment. “Her death could be another of your lies. Anything to jerk my chains, right?”
Wrong, so wrong, but she is dead. She is dead.
A blink and Sienna was standing in the very room Cronus had shown her. The woman’s body, motionless at her feet. She could smell the coppery tang of blood and death. And here, in this chamber of fatality, there was no missing the resemblance to her mother.
To their mother.
Wrath released another snarl, another and another, something “wrong” continuing to prod at him. But he didn’t know what the problem was, and Sienna didn’t have the strength to reason things out with him. Grief slammed through her hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Breath she couldn’t steal back, no matter how hard she tried. The fog thickened in her mind. Razors dipped in flames razed her chest, burning her up.
Her surroundings faded as she waded in and gathered the girl to her chest, clutching her close, letting her heart beat for both of them. The tears finally cascaded, falling, falling, a never-ending river of pain.
“I will return you to the castle,” Cronus said, voice as gentle as if he were speaking to a babe, “and I will give you time to come to terms with what has happened. Your memories will no longer haunt you, and you will be able to leave the realm, should you wish it. In this, you have my word. But I will come back for you, Sienna, wherever you are, and I will expect you to aid my cause. And now…now that you’ve seen what my wife, Galen’s ruler, is capable of, I think you’ll want to, yes?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD were here, on the island in Rome, and nearing the Temple of the Unspoken Ones at that very moment.
They would have a plan of attack, Galen thought. The most likely: all but one warrior would surround him, staying hidden in the shadows, and that one would approach him to speak to him. Unless, of course, they all thought to hide, shooting him full of arrows and bullets now and asking their questions later.
Wouldn’t matter either way. The warriors must know they were walking into a trap. That Galen would not have set the meeting here if he could not use the Unspoken Ones to his benefit.
Once the Lords reached the threshold of the temple, the Unspoken Ones would have them, would whisk them here into their inner sanctum, as one, right in front of Galen, and lock them in place with invisible bindings, allowing hi
m to do his thing.
However, Galen didn’t want to go that route. It was too time-consuming, with too much risk. Not to his life, but to theirs. If he killed one of the Lords, none would ever complete the trade he’d demanded. All he wanted right now was Legion.
His hands fisted. If the warriors had failed to bring her, he would honor his word for once in his life. As he had told Lucien, he would take another loved one from the Lords, and another and another—until they broke down. He would not kill, but he would harm.
Every day Galen’s need for Legion worsened. Hope had built up dreams of having her, of punishing her, of taming her…of owning her. Jealousy had tossed fuel on an already smoldering fire of resentment as he wondered where she was and what she was doing.
A rustle behind him had him tensing.
He whipped around. Standing between fat white pillars were all five of the Unspoken Ones. The furred one with a headful of hissing snakes in place of hair. The scarred one, with more muscles than three roided-up boxers fused together. The female, with the face of an ugly bird and horns lining the length of her spine. Lastly, the tallest two—one with shadows seeping from his skullet, and the other with blades that dripped poison spiking from the crown of his head.
Each creature was bound by chains they couldn’t break. And yet, the tenuous bonds mattered only as long as Cronus lived. The moment he kicked it, these beings would be loosed upon an unsuspecting world. No one, not even Galen, would be able to stop the destruction they would undoubtedly mete out.
On an altar in front of them lay Ashlyn, pale and panting, sweating, like a virginal sacrifice of old. Only this virgin was heavily pregnant and about to give birth. The fright he’d given her had caused her to go into labor.
Oddly enough, Galen didn’t like that she was in pain. She wasn’t a bad sort, and hurting the fairer sex had never been a particular favorite of his. He’d do it, had done it—he’d do anything—but he never enjoyed it.
“Cut the babes from her belly,” the horned, beaked she-devil commanded him. “I would have them for my own.”
Babes? As in more than one?
“They must die,” the scarred male snapped.
“No. We will use them as barter,” one of the mountains of muscle said.
Ashlyn moaned in pain, in supplication, her glassy gaze pleading as she looked to Galen. “Please. Don’t do this.”
Begging the enemy. To do so, she must love those babies with her whole heart, even though she had yet to meet them. He thought he understood that. Nearly twenty-nine years ago, he’d inadvertently fathered a daughter; he had not learned of her existence until she was fully grown. Knowing she was of his blood had been all that was needed for him to…not love her, he didn’t think he’d ever experienced that emotion, but to feel a sort of kinship with her despite the fact that she was as different from him as he was from the Lords.
His Gwendolyn. A Harpy. A female he could not bring himself to hurt. A female who would cut him down without a moment’s hesitation. He liked that about her, felt pride in her ruthlessness.
Galen had done terrible things throughout his life. Betrayed his friends, killed for power, razed cities, purposely addicted his own people to drugs so that they would need him, follow him. He had destroyed their families when they dared to disobey him—or even so much as thought to betray him. He’d slept with females he shouldn’t have, in ways he shouldn’t have.
There was no line he hadn’t crossed. No line he wouldn’t cross. He had done all of that—and would do a thousand times worse—yet he had never cared about the consequences. Still didn’t. Unlike the warriors he’d been created with, he hadn’t come with a sense of honor, a bond of brotherhood or a need to help anyone but himself.
Baden, the first to be created, had gotten most of the goodness and the rest a mere trickle. Galen, the very last to be created, had gotten what remained—nothing but the cold and the dark.
Perhaps that was why he had gone after Baden first.
None of the Lords knew he had spoken with Baden before he’d sent his Bait to lure the man to his death. A private meeting Baden himself had arranged. None of them knew Galen had vowed to leave the immortal army alone, to stop the war, if Baden sacrificed himself.
Possessed by the demon of Distrust, Baden had not believed Galen’s vow, but he’d made the bargain anyway, just in case. Galen knew it was because he’d blamed his demon for his instinct to mistrust, and hoped for the best—because of Galen’s demon.
The Bait—Haidee, one of the keepers of Hate—had gone to the warrior, unaware that her victim knew where she would lead him. Baden had not wanted his friends to know he willingly rushed to his grave. He had not wanted them to witness the event, either, but of course they had followed him. There had been no stopping the war after that, even if Galen had wanted to. Which, of course, he hadn’t.
“Gaaaaaleeeen.” A low, pained moan echoed as Ashlyn writhed atop the stone. Her face was red, swelling, her breaths coming in shorter puffs.
“Don’t look to me for aid, female.” The next half hour was mission critical, and he could not allow her to distract him. “I told your man what he must do to save you.”
“Please. Pleeeease.”
A pang in his chest. If he told her the only way to ensure he would give the babies to their father was for her to crawl to him, she would find the strength to do so. She’d even kiss and lick his boots. She would do anything and everything he asked, no matter how vile.
Oh, yes, she loved her children. They were flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood, and they would love her in return.
Nothing and no one had ever belonged to him and only him—except Legion. Not that she would do anything necessary to save him, nor would he do anything necessary to save her. But. Yeah, there was always a but with him. He had been her first lover—and he wanted to be her last.
He wasn’t sure what had happened to her during her forced stay in hell. Didn’t know what she had welcomed, and what she hadn’t. But she would no longer be his alone, that much he knew. Something else to punish her—to punish all of them—for.
“The babes,” the female Unspoken said again. Was that…yearning he detected in her voice? Did she actually crave a chance at motherhood? “Give. Me.”
The males turned on her, scowling, tossing obscenities, arguing over what should be done versus foolish desires. Whatever happened to the mother, Galen decided in that moment, he would not allow the Unspoken Ones to have or hurt those children.
Finally, a decent act on his part. One of goodness, without guile or selfishness. Never let it be said he was all bad all the time.
“G-Galen. I am h-here, as requested.”
Every muscle in his body went taut, his blood instantly firing, blistering through him. A hallucination? He sniffed, taking in the earth, a hint of hellfire and the subtlest trace of sea salt. No hallucination.
Legion was here.
The wealth and variance of emotion he felt nearly overwhelmed him as he spun to search her out. And there she was, a few feet away. She stood at the edge of the temple grounds, trees stretched out behind her. She was lovely, though not exactly as he remembered. Tall, buxom, with a fall of pale hair and eyes of the smoothest brown. Her lips were chapped, as if she’d been chewing them, and she’d lost so much weight her T-shirt and sweatpants bagged on her.
The Lords hadn’t taken proper care of her. For that, they would suffer more than he’d originally planned. She was to be punished, yes, but by his hand and only his hand. Anger became the front-runner inside him.
“Are you armed?” he asked, not expecting the truth.
“I—” Her hand fluttered to her throat, and her gaze skittered past him, widened. “Ashlyn.” She raced forward, only to jolt backward when he stepped in her path, her desperation to avoid him palpable.
“You will stay where you are.”
“L-let her g-go.” The stutter told him more than her words. She was afraid of him. “You said y-you would.”
> “Legion, gooooo!” Ashlyn screamed, speaking through a contraction. “Tell Maddox—”
“Silence!” Galen snarled. He would accept no interference in this matter.
Legion grabbed her stomach, her skin taking on a greenish tint. Her chin trembled.
This fear of hers scraped at his nerves. Before, she had been brave and full of the fire she had been raised in.
“The warriors are almost upon us,” one of the Unspoken said. “We will whisk them here the very moment we can. Now, give the females into our care, so that you may fight without distraction.”
That had been their plan, and one he’d pretended to agree with. Then and now, the thought of allowing anyone to touch his woman grated. And when he noticed Legion’s reaction to the idea—a cold wash of horror in eyes glassy with unshed tears—he was decided.
“Back away,” he told her. “Stand in the rubble at the edge of the trees. And if you so much as think about flashing away or running, I’ll hurt the human.”
The tears finally fell, but she did as commanded. He hated the increased distance between them, and blamed the Unspoken Ones.
“What are you doing?” one growled.
“Give them to us,” another shrieked.
They had only one weakness that he knew of. They could not take what they wanted; it had to be given to them. Usually they used trickery to ascertain free will, as they had done to obtain the Cloak of Invisibility from Strider. When trickery failed, they resorted to scaring their victims into submission.
They would learn. Galen feared nothing.
“Don’t move from that spot, no matter what happens,” he told Legion, peering at her until she nodded to acknowledge she had heard him.
Then she gulped, raised her chin. “But only if…only if you give Ashlyn and the babies back to Maddox. Alive.”
Of course, the Unspoken Ones reacted first.
“No!”
“Never!”
“She will leave you the moment you comply!”
The Darkest Seduction lotu-10 Page 26