The Darkest Warrior

by Gena Showalter

  What Sin had done--"gifting" his brother with Indifference--he'd considered a necessary evil. But there was no such thing as a necessary evil, was there? Only evil pretending to be good. Excuses, excuses.

  Had he let the prophecy dictate his actions? Yes. Had he turned a supposition into a self-fulfilling prophecy? Perhaps.

  Would he do it again? Unequivocally.

  No other way to save us both.

  Except, what if there had been another way? What if he could have spent these centuries with Puck, working together as planned?

  No, no. Impossible. Puck's greatest weakness was also his greatest strength: his possessiveness. Despite what he'd claimed--that he would co-rule with Sin--he'd considered the Connacht clan his. The other clans, too. The entire realm, in fact. His, his, his.

  Puck had tried to circumvent the prophecy by never sleeping with the same woman twice, never staking a claim, never risking falling in love, never stoking the desire to marry a loving queen. But one day, he would have caved.

  The moment their father announced Puck's betrothal to the princess, Sin had seen his brother jolt, and he'd known the truth. Puck had just thought: she's mine.

  I helped him let go of such foolish proclivities. I gave him peace. He knows no fear, impatience, guilt or failure.

  And how had Puck thanked him? By bringing a group of immortals into Amaranthia to usurp him.

  Did the wife love him?

  As Sin passed a mirror, he caught sight of an image he hated above all others--the butterfly tattooed on his chest.

  The mark of his demon. The mark of Paranoia.

  Puck had no idea Sin was possessed. Sin hadn't known, either. Not at first. Not until the Red Queen had appeared to him a second time and explained what had happened to him.

  In the neighboring realm, Sin's peace talks had been unfruitful. The other realm had not feared him, had laughed in his face, whatever suggestion he made. He'd hated the thought of returning to Puck a failure. Oh, the humiliation!

  The night before he was to return home, the Red Queen had appeared to him for the first time and offered a solution: a bejeweled box containing the power necessary to make any realm fear him. All he had to do in return? Present his brother with a box of his own, on a night of her choosing.

  Hoping to impress Puck with his skills--wanting Puck to have the same power--Sin accepted and opened the box. Moments later a black mist with red eyes had risen and jumped into his body.

  The demon of Paranoia had possessed him, dominated him, and Sin had erupted into a maddened rage, slaughtering his own men.

  Everything Puck had experienced during his possession, Sin had experienced weeks before. Horrifying darkness. Unending gloom. The total loss of control. But so worth it. The power! The fear he'd inspired in others! The Red Queen had not lied.

  Now Sin gave a bitter laugh. He'd never meant to hurt Puck. Had only wanted to live in Amaranthia together, forever. If Puck no longer considered the Connacht crown his, and no longer yearned to unite the clans, then the prophecy would be voided and all would be well.

  But after his possession, Puck hadn't cared about Sin.

  Must kill him before he kills me.

  No! Sin banged his fists into his temples. Never! "Be silent!"

  What thoughts originated in his mind, and what thoughts came from the demon? He couldn't tell the difference anymore. Had he ever?

  Kill Puck. Killpuck. KILLPUCK.

  Spittle spraying from the corners of his mouth, Sin unleashed a stream of magic, causing a wall of sand to form in front of the mirror. In the center, an image of Puck and his entourage appeared. The group of five trekked through Sin's maze, so close to the end. Only one more challenge, and a door would open, leading to a Connacht outpost--a safety measure in case Sin himself ever got trapped.

  A king had to plan for every eventuality.

  Besides, a part of Sin--the boy he used to be, perhaps--had hoped Puck would find a way through.

  There had to be a way to live together in harmony. Think! Sin had worked far more complicated puzzles in the past, and succeeded.

  The problem was the prophecy. Which meant the solution was the prophecy, as well. Keep something from happening, and nothing could happen. Change one variable, change all variables.

  The variable on which the entire prophecy hinged? The loving wife.

  If Sin removed the Dune Raider from the picture...

  Could he truly hurt his brother's female?

  No other way, the voice inside his head whispered. A dark voice. Beguiling. Otherwise he'll kill you, or you'll kill him. Is that what you want?

  No, no. Of course not.

  Very well, then. It was decided. The girl had to die.

  First problem: Puck and Gillian were bonded. If she died, Puck would die. Maybe Sin would capture her instead and lock her in the dungeon, where she could spend the rest of eternity.

  Would Puck be willing to bargain for her safety?

  Sin would have only two demands. (1) Puck forgave him. (2) Puck loved him again.

  Option two. Sin killed the wife--and Puck. He could marry his princess at last; she would love him, then. She would have to. The Oracles had said so. Sin would unite the clans on his own.

  Thought I wanted to avoid this?

  Fool! Once he fulfilled the prophecy, all of his problems would go away.

  So. It was decided. He would kill the wife--and his brother.

  Though a pang ripped through his chest, Sin exited his room and called for his guards. Determination directed his steps. It was time. Past time to end the war with Puck. One way or another.

  The guards would accompany him and serve as a shield as Sin tracked the Oracle. Hopefully she hadn't found and warned Puck of Sin's intentions--yet. If she had, well, he would deal.

  Two of his men marched around the corner, but neither would meet his gaze.

  "King Sin," one said, shifting nervously. "How may we help you, O Great One?"

  Nervous? They've betrayed me in some way. Will probably try to kill me on our journey, while I least expect it.

  Change of plan. Sin would go alone.

  As he came upon the soldiers, he withdrew his short swords. Without a pause in his step, he removed their heads. "Betray me now."

  *

  Hades lounged atop his throne, his arms rested on his middle, his legs extended in front of him, his ankles crossed. A deceptively casual pose. His men were gone, dismissed for the day. The other kings had returned to their kingdoms, protecting their subjects from Lucifer's wrath and the increasingly violent war taking place in the underworld. But Hades wasn't alone.

  His gaze bored into his favorite mirror. Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures, was trapped inside, her hatred for him emanating from the glass. She had the ability to look into forthcoming days, weeks, years and see the different paths a person could take. She then had a choice: to show the outcomes, or not to show them. So far, she'd shown Hades nothing of importance.

  Had she lived in Amaranthia, she would have been touted as an Oracle.

  Once, as a teenager, she'd asked Hades to marry her. Told him they were fated. Of course, Hades had rejected her. Wed? Him? Laughable! Wed a child? Never! He might be a man without a moral compass, but even he had a line.

  Although, this particular teenager had then proceeded to coldheartedly murder all of Hades's lovers. Past, present and--apparently--future. So, like any rational male, he'd arranged for her to be cursed in the mirror until she learned her lesson: do not mess with Hades.

  "You're still learning, obviously," he said.

  So badly he wanted to know what was coming for him. Would William save Amaranthia--and himself?

  Hades had sent Rathbone and Pandora to help, only to add Galen as a last-minute tagalong. If an air evac was needed, wings would come in handy. Besides, the keeper of Jealousy and False Hope would do anything for the woman he desired...and Hades had her tucked away where the warrior couldn't reach her without permission.

 
; Do as I say, and visits are encouraged. Betray me, and watch as I seduce the one you desire.

  For the right to see Legion, Galen would do anything to keep William safe. Even kill the girl, Gillian, if such an action proved necessary.

  Even still, Hades should have gone himself. Instead, he'd returned home to quell another rebellion spurred by Lucifer.

  Now Hades couldn't enter Amaranthia. The shield stopped his every single attempt. He needed Rathbone, but couldn't communicate with the warrior, only William, and William had no idea where Rathbone was. William had even flashed back to the last location he'd seen the male, but Rathbone, Cameron and Winter had already moved on.

  "You must know I'm the type of man who will gather your family and loved ones and murder them right in front of you," he said. "If this is what you want, continue showing me nothing. I'm happy to oblige. Or, perhaps you still consider me your fated male? Perhaps you'd object to watching me plow through a battalion of females."

  Nothing. No reaction.

  Very well. He would do as promised. Because he never made idle threats, only promises.

  The back of Hades's neck suddenly prickled. Someone approached.

  Cloaking the mirror with invisibility, he glided to his feet. Just in time. The Red Queen appeared in the center of his throne room, a vision of cray-cray loveliness with her pale hair in rollers and her body clad in only a lacy pink bra and panty set. One leg had shaving cream slathered from thigh to ankle.

  He smiled a genuine smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my sweet?"

  She humphed. "First, I'm not your sweet. I never was, or you wouldn't have sold me for a barrel of whiskey and happily continued on with your life while I was tortured and imprisoned."

  "Trifling offenses. I've done much worse to others."

  "You aren't wrong. But. I'm Torin's sweet, and he's quite mad for me." Puffed with pride, she fluffed her rollers. "Second, I came to warn you."

  His shoulders squared with a single, jerky movement. "Tell me." Keeley, too, would have been known as an Oracle in Amaranthia. Once, she'd had quick glimpses into the future. Lately she'd had long stares.

  "Someone we love is going to die," she said. "I sense it."

  Hades tensed. There was only person they both loved. William.

  37

  Puck knew he'd reached a serious crossroads.

  Only hours before, he'd experienced utter and complete satisfaction. His first climax inside a female in centuries. His first climax inside his female, ever. Need had governed him. A need to possess Gillian, to claim and brand her. To fill her, two bodies made one.

  He'd been crazed with lust for her. Still was. He'd longed to enjoy the afterglow. Deserved it. One day, I will murder William for interrupting the best moment of my life.

  The son of Hades stayed away from camp most of the night, Galen with him. Pandora patrolled the perimeter, and despite the demon's loud bellows inside Puck's head, he remained on alert for any sign of Sin's magic.

  He felt a looming sense of doom, which only made him want to gather Gillian in his arms and never let go. But when he'd tried to embrace her a few minutes ago, she'd pulled free in order to pace around the campfire.

  She agonizes--over him. Over the man she loved; the man she would always love.

  Gutted, Puck could only watch her and long for his ice. With every minute that passed, he was scraped raw inside--rawer--wounded in ways he'd never thought possible.

  He'd once thought himself done with all familial ties. No ties, no betrayal. Gillian had changed his mind.

  Having a tie to another person, the right person, didn't make you vulnerable to attack; it made you stronger. Look at what had happened with Indifference. Gillian had helped reduce the fiend to a whiny toddler. Family gave you a solid foundation on which to stand. When storms came, you had someone there to prop you up if you fell.

  And perhaps Puck's emotions were not so bad, after all. The satisfaction in his chest every time he gazed at his wife...the completion he found in her arms...worth any hardship.

  But William remained a problem. Gillian's feelings for the other male weren't romantic, or so she believed. But romantic or not, that love bonded the two together. And, at the end of the day, her bond to William was greater than her bond to Puck. Because she'd chosen William with her heart; she'd made a choice without duress.

  No matter. Puck had decided to fight for her, and he would. Nothing, not even this, would stop him. He would make her love him, even without the bond. Would ensure she chose him, now and forever.

  Always follow through.

  But how? How did he reach her?

  *

  Gillian paced before the campfire, her head a maze as dangerous as Sin's. Her tasks were set. Acquire everything Puck wanted, appease William, fulfill or override both prophecies with satisfactory endings for everyone involved, make other clans like her, and help everyone live happily-ever-after for the rest of eternity.

  Each one alone was impossible, but all?

  First, she would have to stop William from winning the Connacht crown. If she failed, if Puck refused to accept it, she would have to find a way to force him. Also, she had to operate under the assumption that he would want her after he used the shears--no other outcome was acceptable. Which meant she still had to find a way around her predicted unhappy ending.

  Forget about making the clans like her. They could hate her all they wanted. They just had to do whatever she commanded.

  Okay. One task crossed off her list.

  Now to figure out how to keep Puck without jeopardizing his future. And she had to keep him. He was her man--her pulse.

  He must love her as deeply as she loved him. More than once he'd put himself at risk just to be with her. In so many ways, they balanced each other. Sometimes he felt too little, and she felt too much. He got her and all her silly "what ifs." He respected her battle skill and never attempted to leave her behind.

  A presence behind her, heat, her husband's unique fragrance. Gillian whirled and came face-to-face with a savage-looking Puck. His chest rose and fell in quick succession, every breath labored and shallow.

  For a man who'd felt nothing but hollow and empty for centuries, he projected a lot of emotions right now. Utter starvation. Desire. Adoration. Affection.

  He definitely loves me.

  "You. Are. Mine." His voice was so rough, it scraped her ears. "You said so, and you do not lie. I will be yours, all you want, all you need. Forever." He pulled at her clothes. Top, gone. Skirt, shed. Panties, ripped. "Naked this time."

  Forget the turmoil, the uncertainty. Seize the moment! "Naked," she agreed, and tugged at his clothing as desire scorched her.

  When he was bare, he slipped his palms to the backs of her thighs, picked her up and walked her to the sleeping bags, where he sank to his knees. Never relinquishing his hold, he pressed his lips against hers, and thrust his tongue into her mouth, stroking.

  She met him stroke for tantalizing stroke, pouring herself into the kiss, giving him everything but taking it, too. Surrendering, but also demanding surrender. Ceding her heart while doing her best to conquer his. And she thought...she thought he was doing the same to her.

  Tension radiated from him, his every action aggressive. More. Lost in pleasure, Gillian clawed at his back, rubbed her breasts against his chest, and grinded upon his erection.

  With a growl, he pushed her to her back. He remained on his knees, drinking in every inch of her, and even that was aggressive. His gaze devoured. He traced a fingertip around each of her nipples, along the plane of her stomach...between the wet, tender flesh at the apex of her thighs.

  Eyelids hooded, he ran his tongue over his teeth. "My wife is more exquisite every time I look at her. I want to see more." He set her feet outside his hips and pushed her knees farther apart, opening her, leaving her vulnerable.

  Tremors spilled through her. She gasped his name. "Your wife needs." As his gaze devoured her, her gaze devoured him. He was
all hard muscle and delectable sinew. Flawless brown skin, and gorgeous tattoos. Between his legs, the tip of his mouthwatering shaft glistened.

  "Needs more pleasure? Or me?"

  "You are pleasure. You, only you."

  He leaned forward, his weight braced on his hands, his expression fierce. Sweat glistened on his skin as firelight flickered over him. His eyes--she gasped. How had she ever thought them like frosted coal? Those eyes burned.

  Those eyes made promises. I will love you always. I will cherish you. I will fight to give you the world.

  Pucky is soooo going to get lucky.

  He crawled backward, pausing to tongue and suck her nipples into hard little points. As she writhed, lifting her hips in an attempt to grind on him, he kissed the center of her stomach. He moved lower, his beard stubble leaving pink scratches behind--marking her.

  He let his mouth hover just over her pubic bone, and anticipation nearly killed her. Her temperature rose, fever setting in, turning the air in her lungs to vapor.

  "Must have another taste." He lowered his head, warm breath caressing her most intimate place. Then he settled in, getting comfortable, as if he planned to be there awhile. Then he licked.

  He made little growling noises in response. "My honey. My wine."

  Mercy! Tremors rocked her, stroking already electrified nerve endings.

  He licked some more, sucked. He pressed his tongue on the throbbing heart of her and thrust two fingers all the way in, staking an undeniable claim; she bucked against his mouth.

  Still he licked. Still he sucked. "Will never get enough," he said, punctuating every word with another thrust of those fingers, another press of his tongue. With every motion, he became even more aggressive.

  She couldn't...she was going to... "Puck!" His name burst past her lips as she climaxed, as pleasure filled her, shattered, killed and remade her. She was overcome, overwhelmed.

  He surged to his knees. Leaning over, he used his hips to wedge himself between her thighs. "Can't wait." After positioning himself at her entrance, he slammed inside her.

  He grunted in approval. She cried out in bliss, shocked into a second orgasm. She was no longer Gillian Shaw, Gilly Bradshaw or any other name she'd used in the past. She was Puck's woman. She belonged to him, and he belonged to her. My man.

  My home.

  "So wet. So tight." He paused, peering down at her with concentration, as if memorizing her features. He was panting, every breath ragged. A bead of sweat trickled from his hair, down his cheek, and fell from his jawline, splashing onto her shoulder. Even that acted as a stimulant, the droplet sizzling before evaporating.