The Darkest Promise--A Dark, Demonic Paranormal Romance

by Gena Showalter

  Cameo’s breath mingled with his, until they were inhaling the same air. Until she—

  Heard a feminine sigh of annoyance?

  Lazarus released her and stepped back, no part of him touching her. A travesty. Cameo panted, her knees quaking, her limbs fighting to return to their solid state.

  Fury darkened his features, and he spat, “Distraction kills.”

  Wait. He blamed her for the kiss?

  “—can’t ever get enough of me,” Viola was saying. “The same isn’t true of you two. Can we go now? I’m late for a very important date.”

  Lazarus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As if the taste of Cameo were suddenly repellent to him. He focused on his men. “If any harm comes to the children, you had best run. Not that it will do you any good. I’ll give chase.”

  Misery snickered, and Cameo wither—

  No! Not this time. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Lazarus had given her undeniable pleasure, muting the effects of the demon. She would forgive his brutish behavior, whatever the reason for it.

  But will I forget?

  She flattened a hand on her stomach. His rejection had stung, yes, but it had come as a result of their kiss. The single greatest experience of her life. She would rather lose a limb than her memory.

  To Viola, he said, “Tell me how to use the ring.”

  “Sorry.” The goddess held out her hand, palm up. “I need to show you.”

  He opened and closed his mouth. With a blistering curse, he relinquished control of the band. “If this is a trick...”

  “Why would she trick you?” Cameo demanded. “Right now, we all have the same goal.”

  He ignored her, wouldn’t even glance in her direction.

  Viola blew her pet a kiss. “There’s no reason to worry. Mommy will return.” She waved the ring through the air, and a rift sliced into the landscape. An opening between one realm and another, wide enough for the seven-foot-tall Lazarus to step through with ease.

  Cameo followed on his heels, and the goddess followed on hers. The rift closed with an audible snap.

  A barren wasteland surrounded them, the heat nearly unbearable. Sweat beaded over Cameo’s skin. The ground had been scorched, the dirt black and layered with char, while tendrils of smoke curled from red-veined cracks. The sky fared no better, thick clouds leaking an oily black substance.

  Viola skipped to a boulder and sat down to file her nails. “I’ve decided to bench myself. Go on without me.”

  What! She’d insisted on coming, only to skip the action?

  Lazarus marched over, unceremoniously removed the ring from her finger and stalked onward, all without speaking a word. And she was the one referred to as the Mother of Melancholy. He should be the Father of Pity Parties.

  Cameo raced to catch up then kept pace at his side. Charred earth soon gave way to a cobbled path.

  “Have you ever fought an automaton?” she asked.

  “When I was a child, my father dropped me in the middle of a horde. Literally. He told me not to come home without a piece of metal and pushed me off the back of a sky serpent.”

  “That’s horrible, Lazarus!”

  “No. That’s life. My past forged me into the man I am today. Strong and fearless.”

  “And humble?”

  He nodded. “My humbleness is one of my favorite things about myself.”

  A smile attempted to bloom on her face. “Would you do something so coldhearted to your own son?”

  “I’ll never have children,” he replied easily.

  “Because you can’t or because you don’t want any?”

  “Don’t want?”

  He wasn’t sure?

  “Do you want children?” he asked.

  She imagined herself as a mother, and Lazarus as the father. He would be protective of his brood. He would tease his little boys and girls when they cried, turning tears to laughter.

  Her heart squeezed with longing.

  “I do,” she admitted. “One day. But only if I’m demon-free.”

  They reached a bank of gnarled trees. With Lazarus’s aid, the limbs softly slapped her cheeks. His own personal joke? Or a means of keeping her on edge rather than saddened?

  He helps me, doesn’t he?

  If only she could keep him. Thanks to the mirror, she knew she would lose him if she stayed here.

  But what would happen after she left him?

  Would she return, as planned? Would he find a way to pass through the portal? Could he?

  She wished the mirror had shown her the outcome of the second option.

  As she trudged forward, she made sure to step only where Lazarus stepped, but his tread was so light she often had trouble detecting his footprint.

  At the end of the path, they stopped. Lazarus kept one hand in his pocket, rattling something, and used the other to hold her at his side. She shivered as she studied the terrain—a mountain with a yawning mouth, the opening of a cavern.

  “I sense only one presence inside the cave,” he whispered, “but a whole lot of power.” A pause. A wicked smile to drive her mad. “Mine is stronger.”

  “Since I’m more powerful than you, the metal beast doesn’t stand a chance against me.”

  He snorted.

  “You saying you’re more powerful than me?” she demanded.

  “No, I’m not not saying you’re more powerful than me. There’s a difference.”

  Funny man.

  He marched inside the cavern, a dagger in hand, and once again she followed. As they moved through the darkness, the fetid stench of rot clung to the air. Severed limbs in different stages of decay tripped her.

  You won’t survive the coming battle, Misery taunted. I’m going to miss you when you’re dead.

  Ignore him, she told herself. Carry on.

  Lazarus pressed against a rocky wall before inching around the corner, and Cameo did the same. As they moved down an incline and around another corner, odd sounds began to penetrate her awareness. Slurping? Scraping?

  A light flickered at the end of the corridor. A glowing torch, she realized. They turned another corner, and discovered the walls were lined with rows of torches leading to a massive room filled with sheets and shards of what looked to be steel, titanium, tungsten and Inconel, and yet the metals possessed a light glow, as if mystical.

  Like called to like.

  A mighty roar blasted through the enclosure, and an enormous beast dropped from the ceiling to perch on a pile of metal. A femur dangled from the side of his mouth like a cigarette. A human femur. Eyes of crackling red flame searched...searched...

  Her heart rate jacked up. An automaton of a griffin with the body, tail and back legs of a lion, but the head, front talons and wings of an eagle.

  When he opened his beak to squawk, she spotted teeth. Metal spikes extended from the top of his head, jaw and underneath his chin, even flaring along the entire length of his spine. What flesh he possessed was a mix of feathers and fur. His wings could have spanned an entire football field; they glinted in the torchlight and looked as if a thousand swords had been welded together.

  With a single swipe, he could sever anything in two.

  “Surprise!” a voice bellowed behind them. “I’m here to help...myself to the metals.”

  Cameo spun to find a grinning Viola in the cavern. “Shh.”

  The griffin unleashed a bloodcurdling roar and flew toward them.

  Lazarus grabbed both Cameo and Viola and flung them to the side with a single flick of his wrist. They smacked into one of the piles, knocking it down. The cold metal rained over them, and Cameo yelped.

  No wonder Lazarus hadn’t complained about her company. He’d planned to incapacitate her all along.

 
Another roar echoed, one of excitement. A whoosh of air, the flap of wings. A grunt.

  Lazarus was fighting the griffin on his own. Any other day, he might have won. Today, a butterfly had landed on him.

  She had to help him.

  “Wow. This is the thanks I get?” Viola muttered. “I prefer flowers.”

  Cameo fought her way free of the weight. Daggers still in hand, she stood. Where were—There! Lazarus had climbed atop one of the piles. Or he’d been dropped there. The griffin hovered above him, spitting poison. Lazarus dived out of the way while tossing the spiked dagger he so often stroked. That dagger cut through the griffin’s throat and came out the other side—with a trachea caught in one of the hooks.

  The loss would have killed any other creature. This one shook his head, injured but alive—and angrier. He chomped at Lazarus, trapping his wrist. As Lazarus had done to her and Viola, the dragon did to him, tossing him across the room.

  My cue. Hurt my man and suffer. Cameo threw herself into the fray.

  12

  “Fear isn’t your friend and it won’t keep you safe. Fear is the first stage of self-destruction.”

  —Living on Your Own Terms, Damn It

  —Eternal Truths for Every Man

  Lazarus had made several tactical errors, each of them critical.

  Oh, he’d done everything he’d set out to do. He’d hidden the females under a pile of steel. He’d forced the griffin to focus solely on him while opening his mind to the beast’s thoughts—erratic, dark, vile—in order to predict every move against him. But he’d underestimated Cameo’s resolve, and his own growing weakness. He’d thought the fight would end swiftly, so he hadn’t given her the gifts currently burning a hole in his pocket. He’d expected her to stay down and safeguard the weaker Viola.

  Instead, Cameo attacked the griffin, moving too quickly for Lazarus and his crystalized veins to block her.

  She soared past the griffin and slashed at his ankles. The second she hit the ground, she rolled and stood.

  Thump. The beast’s foot detached. A high-pitched squawk nearly busted Lazarus’s eardrums. At the same time, rage consumed him; through his connection with the beast, he felt the white-hot burn of the emotion in every cell.

  To the griffin, Cameo had just been marked for a bloody death.

  As Lazarus shouted, “No,” leaping at her with every intention of sheltering her body with his, the griffin flared his wings. One wing swiped at Lazarus and nearly tore him in two. The other swiped at Cameo. She jumped out of the way and—yes! She reached the safety zone. Or she would have, if other blades hadn’t unfolded from the tip of the wing, drawn to her as if she were a magnet.

  Lazarus watched in horror, helpless, as the blades cut through her midsection.

  Her eyes widened, and she grunted with shock and pain. Trembling, she dropped her weapons and clutched at the gaping wounds.

  Blood and organs spilled to the floor as her knees collapsed.

  No. No!

  The griffin loved the sight and smell of her injury. He clicked his teeth together and inhaled deeply.

  That. Very. Second. The tether to Lazarus’s control snapped, his own rage overtaking him. He became the stuff of nightmares.

  For the first time in his life or death, fangs sprouted from his gums, more lethal than any sword. Claws grew from his fingertips, sharper than any weapon. His veins burned as if molten lava rushed through them, even where the crystals had grown.

  A thousand times as a child, he’d witnessed this transformation overtake his father, making him strong. Invincible. In all his years with Juliette, he’d prayed for this to happen.

  Lazarus was every inch the Monster’s son.

  As he raced forward, the griffin chomped at Cameo’s neck. She shouldn’t have the strength to move, but by some miracle she managed to roll over, the creature’s teeth sinking into her shoulder. Her back bowed, and she screamed.

  Lazarus grabbed hold of matted fur, his claws slicing all the way to bone. He swung himself around—a move he’d watched Cameo execute against his sky serpents when he’d first invaded her mind and witnessed her memories of the battle—and dropped down in front of her, at the same time using his momentum to snap the griffin’s spine in two.

  Hurt...more.

  The creature’s head hung at an odd angle. However, the lack of muscle control didn’t stop him from flinging his weight at Lazarus.

  Expecting the action, Lazarus blocked, buried sharp claws in the griffin’s chest and tossed him across the cavern.

  Lazarus flashed, greeting the griffin when he landed by punching fangs into his vulnerable neck. He shook his head and ripped out the bastard’s regrown trachea, black oil spraying from the wound.

  More!

  Lazarus used his claws to slice those metal wings into ribbons...to cut through scales as easily as butter.

  A flicker of rational thought. Careful, need the heart.

  He flung the dead, withered organ aside. Then he railed, overcome by madness once again. There went the face. The shoulders. The entire chest cavity, what remained of the organs ripped into so many pieces they were unrecognizable.

  At first, the griffin fought, desperate to fend off Lazarus’s relentless brutality. As black oil continued to spray, the source of his afterlife drained, along with his strength. Bones snapped and shattered, until the griffin couldn’t move.

  “I’m keeping this!” Viola called. “And this. And this. This, this and this. Oh! Cameo, did you see this? We’ve hit the mother lode of metals. Am I weeping? I think I’m weeping. I can build armor...the home of my dreams. I can protect myself and my Fluffikans from everyone.”

  Panting, Lazarus scanned the cavern until he found Cameo. She’d managed to stuff her internal organs back inside her torso, her flesh in the process of weaving back together.

  A cool tide of relief swept over him. She would heal. And now she would forever know the truth. He could defend her from any danger.

  Despite my weakness, I am stronger than ever.

  The realization bolstered him. Did this mean... Could he dare to keep her?

  “Over here, Lazarus,” Viola called. “Come help me. It’s the least you can do since I’m letting you borrow my ring, right? You kind of owe me one. A big one. And this small one. Oh! And this one. And by kind of I mean definitely.”

  “My ring.” Lazarus pushed to his feet.

  He couldn’t go to Cameo like this, not while she was in such a fragile state. He breathed in and out with purpose, focusing on a single thought in an effort to calm himself. He would be kissing his woman at some point today. Would finish what they’d started...

  His veins sizzled as rage bowed to arousal. He grew rock hard, his erection straining against his leathers, throbbing, desperate for the clasp of her hand, her mouth. Her beautiful red mouth, with lips so plump and soft. Her hot, wet inner walls. How tightly she had squeezed his finger.

  The woman had been made for him. She came to life within the circle of his arms. He and he alone could bring her to climax.

  He just had to prove it to her.

  The red waned from his vision. The bitter taste of griffin dulled, and his fangs and claws retracted.

  I’ll give her pleasure every day, every hour, every—

  Between one heartbeat and the next, his weakness returned. His veins constricted, the rivers of crystal spreading.

  His hands balled into fists.

  No, he couldn’t keep Cameo.

  “Lazarus?” Her raspy voice beseeched him.

  He picked up the kris and closed in on her. She hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor. He thrust his arms under her and gently lifted her, cradling her against his chest.

  Going to part soon. Must enjoy her while I can.

  With a sigh, she re
laxed against him. “Did you know you have griffin meat under your fingernails?”

  He scoffed at her. “You mean the must have accessory of the spirit realms?”

  She snorted, then she sniffled. “I’m sorry. I meant to help, not hinder. I thought you were doomed, and I didn’t want...I’m sorry.”

  Doomed? He probed her thoughts.

  She stiffened, only to release another sigh. “Fine. Do your thing.” The shield fell, her mind opening up to him, filling him with satisfaction and possessiveness.

  A clip of her life played inside his head. Earlier, a butterfly had flown through camp and landed on Lazarus. She’d panicked. Over the centuries, butterflies had become a sign of impending catastrophe to her.

  Made sense in a warped way, he supposed. Upon her demon-possession—an action forced upon her—a butterfly had been branded into her flesh.

  Lazarus had seen the mark on her fellow warriors, but never on her. Had to be hidden under her clothes...

  Will trace my tongue over every inch of that brand.

  “Butterflies are drawn to me,” he told her. “Always have been. They’ve aided me, never doomed me.”

  Her brow furrowed. “But why are they drawn to you?”

  “Must be female.”

  She barked out a laugh. Then her eyes widened with surprise.

  He wanted to pound his chest with pride. I amused her. Now to soothe her fears. “Butterflies are signs of impending success, sunshine. If one leaves her chrysalis too easily, her wings are weakened. She must struggle to exit or she will never have the strength to fly. But because she flies, she brings her strength to you.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  In a rare show of affection, she petted his chest. The simple action nearly drove him to his knees.

  He’d wanted her for so long, and now he had her. In his arms. In his realm. Take her!

  Not here, not now.

  He carried her to Viola, who was so weighed down by pieces of metal she couldn’t straighten her spine. “You’ll never be able to walk through a portal.”

  “Then I’ll run. And I’ll create a portal right here, thank you very much.” She waved her hand, the ring she’d given him then taken back then ceded to him once more on her finger yet again. When a rift failed to form, she sputtered. “It’s not working.”