The Darkest Pleasure (8 page)

Or perhaps not.

Danika slept fitfully, eyes rolling behind her lids, body twisting, small moans of alarm escaping her. Did she dream of what the Hunters had done to her? What
had
they done? Torture her for answers? Rape?

She had not answered him when he’d asked, had told him
nothing, in fact. He hadn’t pressed her, for her pulse had quickened at the base of her neck, her skin had lost any semblance of color and panic had glazed her lovely eyes.

Fists clenched, he pounded down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Soon.
He would see her again, talk to her again and learn the truth. He had to know. And perhaps by then he would forget the horror he’d seen in her expression when she realized he had enjoyed being bitten.

Gods, that bite. His heartbeat had yet to slow from the pleasure of it. He’d held Danika, her sharp little teeth in his neck. For a single moment, she’d responded to him sensually; she’d wanted him, had been unable to stop herself from grinding against his cock. Then he’d realized it wasn’t him she desired but pain, the demon already clouding her judgment, and he had commanded her to stop. She’d wrenched away. The physical agony he’d experienced in that moment had been the worst of his life—and the best.

Pain wanted more.

Hands shaky, Reyes opened the refrigerator. Paris did the shopping, so Reyes never knew what he’d find. Today’s selection was shaved meats and loaves of bread. A sandwich, then.

“Where is Aeron?” Lucien asked behind him. “I kept my part of our bargain. The time has come for you to keep yours.”

Reyes didn’t turn. “I will take you to him. In the morning.”

“No. You will take me to him
now.
”

Reyes withdrew a package of turkey and a package of ham, looked from one to the other, then shrugged. He didn’t know which Danika would prefer, so he would make her both. “Danika is weak and hungry. After I see to her needs, I will be at your disposal.”

The usually calm Lucien uttered a low growl. “Every minute he is locked away is probably absolute agony. Our demons cannot stand to have their hosts restrained, and you know it. Wrath is likely screaming for release, even now.”

“Need I remind you again that he begged for it? And what I know is that when Aeron is brought here, he will have to be…what? Locked away. What is the difference if the prison is somewhere else? Besides that, he does not want to be near us.” Reyes tossed the packages onto the counter and grabbed one of the loaves of bread. Wheat.

Did she like wheat or white? After a moment’s deliberation, he decided to use both. Just in case. He pinched the plastic covering the white and slid the loaf in front of him. “I’m only asking for one more night.”

“What if he’s dying? We are immortal, yes, but under the right circumstances we can die like any other living thing. Another fact you already know.”

“He’s not dying.”

“How do you know?” Lucien insisted.

“Somehow I can feel his desperation burning inside of me every minute of every day. It is stronger with every second that passes, as I’m sure
he
is weaker against Wrath.” Reyes drew in a breath, held…held…then slowly released it, letting his sudden burst of anger leave him, too. “Just a few more hours. That’s all I ask. For me, for Danika. For him.”

There was a heavy pause. He fit two slices of meat atop each slice of bread, smashed them together.

“Very well,” Lucien said. “A few.” His boots clomped as he strode away.

Reyes studied the sandwiches. “Not enough,” he muttered. Humans needed variety. Isn’t that what Paris always said about his lovers? Frowning, Reyes opened the refrigerator again and searched inside. His gaze landed on a bag of purple grapes. Yes, perfect. Last time Danika had stayed here, she’d plowed through a bowl of the fruit in minutes.

He withdrew the entire bag, washed the contents and spread them around the four sandwiches.

What would she like to drink? Back to the fridge he went.
He saw a bottle of wine, a pitcher of water and a carton of orange juice. He knew better than to give Danika wine. The wine here was laced with ambrosia stolen from the heavens and had once almost killed Maddox’s human woman, Ashlyn.

Reyes scooted the chilled bottle aside and latched on to the juice. He poured every drop into a tall glass.

“Damn, boy. You feeding an army?”

Reyes tossed a quick glance over his shoulder. Sabin leaned against the door frame, thick arms crossed over his chest. He was as modern as Paris with his silly
Pirates of the Caribbean
shirt, but he lacked Paris’s finesse. “She is hungry.”

“I guessed. Tiny as she is, I don’t think she’ll be able to eat all that. Besides, she just spent three days with Hunters. You should starve her, question her about what went down, and only then, when you have answers, should you feed her.” Arm outstretched to claim one of the squares, Sabin moved forward.

Reyes latched on to his friend’s wrist and squeezed. “Make your own or lose the hand. And she is not in league with the Hunters.”

Sabin arched a sandy brow, the picture of pique. “How do you know?”

He didn’t have an answer, but he would not allow
anyone
to hurt her in any way. “Just stay away from her,” he said, “and leave the food alone.”

“Since when are you so giving?” Gideon asked at his other side, swiping a sandwich before Reyes could do anything about it.

“Giving”
equaled
“stingy”
in Gideon’s messed-up world.

“Back off,” Reyes growled.

Both warriors chuckled.

“Yeah. Whatever,” Sabin said, and grabbed a sandwich with his free arm.

Reyes ground his teeth together.
I will not pull a weapon on my friends. I will not pull a fucking weapon on my friends.

“Oh, goodie! Food.” Anya skipped into the room, Ashlyn at
her side, their arms linked. “I thought I smelled the sweet scent of culinary genius.”

Red spotted Reyes’s vision as he gathered the plate and the glass before the women could confiscate a single crumb or drop. “Danika’s,” he said tightly.

“But I really like turkey.” Anya pouted up at him. She was tall for a woman, but even in four-inch heels she only reached Reyes’s chin. “Besides, when I slap a sandwich together, it never tastes as good as when you do it. There’s something so delicious about food prepared by a man.”

“Not my problem.” He tried to step around her, but she leapt in front of him, hands fisted on her hips. He sighed, knowing she would trip him if he attempted to pass her. “Lucien will cook something for you.”

Another pouting frown. “He’s out collecting souls.”

“Paris, then.”

“He’s doing some chick in town, the nympho.”

“Starve,” Reyes told her unsympathetically.

“I’ll make us something,” Ashlyn offered, rubbing her slightly swollen belly. She was pregnant, just beginning to show. “While I do, I want to hear all about Danika.”

Reyes wasn’t sure how he felt about the coming birth. Would the baby be a demon? A human? He couldn’t decide which would be worse. Constant inner torment or mortality? “She’s well. Nothing more to say.”

“Make me something, too,” Sabin told Ashlyn. “I’m ninety-seven percent famished. That sandwich I stole only helped a little.”

“I’m totally full,” Gideon said, which meant he was on the verge of starvation. He wiped his hands to dislodge any remaining crumbs.

“Shame on you boys for making a pregnant woman do all the work,” Anya scolded.

“Hey!” Sabin wagged a finger at the gorgeous goddess.
“You’re letting a pregnant woman make your sandwich. How is that any different?”

“Pregnant or not, I’ll let her make me one, too.”

At the sound of that scratchy voice, everyone stilled. Turned. A collective gasp rang out. Then a collective, “Torin!”

Grinning, Ashlyn stepped toward the now-healed warrior, arms opening to hug him. Anya latched on to her shoulder and jerked her back.

“He’s Disease, sweetness,” the goddess said. “You can’t touch him without getting sick, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Ashlyn smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re better.”

Torin smiled in return, though his expression was tinted with sadness and yearning. “Me, too.”

He looked just as Reyes remembered—before the man’s neck had been cut from end to end by Hunters, that is. White hair, black brows and bright green eyes. Beautifully masculine and utterly eerie. He wore black gloves that stretched from fingertips to armpits, for he could not touch another living being skin to skin without infecting it with disease. Not even an immortal. The warriors would not become ill themselves if they touched him, but they
would
spread the disease to humans.

“How are you feeling?” Reyes asked him.

“Better.” That green gaze lowered to the plate Reyes held. “Hungry.”

“Back off,” Reyes said. “I’m glad you’re better, but not enough to share.”

Torin’s grin lost its edge of sadness. “You almost make me wish I were still bed-bound. You’d have to bring me food with a smile. Oh, guess what?” he said, pivoting toward Anya. “Your friend is climbing the hill. He keeps shouting that he wants to put you over his knee and spank you, so I decided not to kill him as Lucien instructed. Guy has a blade strapped to his left thigh, but that’s the only weapon I detected. He should reach the door any—”

Knock. Knock.

Grinning, Anya clapped her hands. “William’s here!”

“What is he doing here?” Reyes asked. “Lucien told him never to return or he’d kill him, and you hate him.”

“Hate him? I adore him! Even made sure he’d come back by holding his favorite book hostage. And FYI, Lucien was only teasing about killing him. They’re BFF’s now, I swear.” She bounded off, clapping happily.

“William!” the group in the kitchen heard a moment later.

“Where’s my book, woman?”

“Where’s my hug, you big teddy bear?”

“Is this the same William who drove Lucien crazy while Anya was recovering from the loss of her key?” Ashlyn asked, just as Maddox strode up behind her and enfolded her in his arms. “And what book?”

“The very same,” Maddox said, nuzzling her cheek. “The book, I don’t know. This William did not strike me as the intellectual type. What’s a BFF?”

“A best friend forever.”

Maddox frowned. “I did not get the impression the two were best friends forever or even temporarily. Someone should lock the man up until Lucien returns.”

Ashlyn melted into her man. “Anya seems to like him. I say we leave him alone. The more, the merrier, right?”

Reyes rolled his eyes. Every day in the fortress was a party now, it seemed.

While Ashlyn and the men engaged in a heated discussion about who would cook what, as well as what they should do about the mysterious William, Reyes finally made his escape, careful to hold the plate straight and the glass of juice steady as he stalked from the kitchen.

I hate you,
Danika had said.

I know,
he’d told her, and he’d meant it. He’d once held her and her loved ones prisoner. He’d helped bring her to the
Hunters’ attention. She had every reason to despise him. But now, he wanted to give her something good. Something she could smile about in the years to come. Even if it was only a simple meal.

Up the stairs he climbed, and still, he did not spill a drop. Most likely, she was still sleeping. He hated the thought of waking her, but knew it was for the best. The paleness of her skin and the shadows under her eyes concerned him. She needed sustenance.

While she’s here, I’ll see to her every need. She’ll want for nothing.

He sailed into the bedroom, but stopped abruptly when he reached the edge of the bed. His mouth dried and the haze of red returned to coat his vision. The black sheets were rumpled. Empty.

Danika was gone.

A
ERON CROUCHED
in his underground prison, fury flowing through his veins. Fury with himself, the gods, his demon. Reyes.
He should have killed me. Too late now. I
want
to live. I want to taste the death of those women.

Darkness would have enveloped him completely, but he’d long since given over to his demon. His eyes glowed bright red, throwing crimson beams wherever he looked. Mud and rock surrounded him. He was buried so deep in the earth he could hear the screams of the damned, could smell the sulfur and rotting flesh wafting from hell’s gates. He’d thought Lucien was the only warrior with access to the hereafter, but apparently Reyes had it, as well.

Wrath, his demonic companion, foamed at the mouth and chomped at the edges of Aeron’s mind, desperate to escape this hated place. To act.

Too close to home,
the demon shouted.
Won’t go back.

“No, you won’t go back.”

Aeron couldn’t survive without his demon; they were now one being, two halves of a whole, incomplete without the other. No longer was Aeron ready to die. Craving his own demise had been a momentary burst of madness, surely. Now he knew, now he accepted. He couldn’t allow himself to be killed until the blood of those four women stained his hands, coated his arms and filled his mouth.

Mallory, Tinka, Ginger and Danika.

He smiled, practically tasting their deaths already.
Cut their throats,
Cronus, the king of gods, had commanded him.
Do not leave their sides until their hearts stop and their lungs still.
Aeron thought he might have resisted at first—innocent, they were innocent—but he could not be certain. Allowing those women to live seemed…abhorrent.

“Soon,” he promised himself. He trembled with anticipation.

He’d killed recently. He knew it, deep in his bones, but his memory was hazy. All his mind would provide was the image of an old woman splayed on the cold ground, blood crusted on her temples. There were tears in her eyes and cuts on her right arm.

“Don’t hurt me,” she begged. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

In one hand, Aeron clutched a dagger. His other hand was pure claw, sharp and lethal. He lunged forward—

And then, as always, the vision faded completely. What had happened after that? What had he done? He wasn’t sure. His only certainty was that he would not have backed away from the kill. He would not have left her alive.

Want out. Want up! Want to stretch wings and fly.

“I know.” Aeron jerked at his chains. They rattled and cut his already scabbed wrists, but they didn’t budge. He bared his teeth in a scowl. Fucking Reyes.

Fucking Pain.

Aeron could not recall how Reyes had defeated him and carted him here, only that he had. A tortured “Forgive me” still rang in Aeron’s ears.

They were the same words Aeron used to mutter as he stood on the outskirts of Budapest, watching the humans, amazed that they blithely went about their days unconcerned about their inherent weaknesses and the knowledge that they would soon die. Some by his hand.

Aeron had sometimes erupted into blood-rages, Wrath judging and executing those who deserved his particular brand
of punishment. Rapists, molesters. Murderers.
Like me.
Some, though, did not deserve what he did to them.
Like the women.

He frowned. The thought was out of place in the chaos of his mind, a notion he would have considered before the gods tasked him with the beautiful death of the Ford women.

Suddenly rocks crumbled, falling from the far cavern wall and disrupting his brooding. Aeron’s attention whipped to it, eyelids slitting. There was a narrow hole in the center, a pair of glowing red eyes—demon eyes like Aeron’s—pulsing through it.

Aeron growled a warning. He was chained and weaponless, but he was not helpless. He had teeth. He would eat his foe, if necessary.

More rocks fell, widening the hole. Then a bald, scaled head pushed through. Those bright red eyes looked right and left before landing on Aeron. Sharp, glistening fangs appeared in a feral smile.

“I sssmelled you, brother.” The creature spoke with a lisp, forked tongue flickering. It sounded happy rather than menacing.

“I am not your brother.”

Thin lips slithered into a pout. “But you Wrath.”

Aeron’s claws elongated to razor points. “Yes, I am.”
You know him?
he asked his demon.

No.

There was a third tumble of rocks as scaled shoulders emerged, followed by a short scaly body.

“Come any closer and you will die.”

“No, I won’t. Me never die.” The creature planted hoofed feet on the ground and stood. It was so short it couldn’t have reached any higher than Aeron’s navel. A tremble passed through its small body, scattering dust from its dull green scales.

“How can you be so sure?”

“We friendsss.”

“I have no friends. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Massster used to call me Legion before he called me Ssstupid Idiot.” It moved one step closer, humming with giddiness. Grinning, fangs making another appearance. “Want to play?”

Legion. Interesting. “One of a thousand what?”

“Minionsss.” Another step.

Servants of hell,
Wrath supplied with disgust.
Useless, disposable, unworthy. Eat him.

Aeron drew his knees up to his chest, preparing to attack. “Stop.” Now why had he said that? He
wanted
the thing to approach. Wanted to feast on it.

It obeyed, the pout returning to its lips. “But we friendsss now. Friendsss get to sssometimesss ssstand next to each other. I ssseen them do it.”

He didn’t bother reiterating that they weren’t friends. “Why are you here, Legion?” Questions first, dinner second.

Anticipation brightened those crimson eyes. “Me want to play. Will you play with me? Pleassse, pleassse, pleassse.”

“Play what?” Saliva dipped from the corner of Aeron’s mouth, and he licked at it. The more he considered the option of eating his foe, the more he liked the thought of having the demon for a snack. Aeron had enough slack in his chains that he’d been able to catch and sustain himself on rats. The demon would make a tasty change. Mustard would have been nice, though. Fucking Reyes. “What game?”

“Catch the demon! Massster stopped playing with me. Kick me out of home.” It looked down and punted a pebble with its hoof. “Me did a bad, bad thing and don’t get to play with him no more.”

“What bad thing?” He asked the question before he could stop himself.

Those fangs emerged, chewing away at that thin bottom lip. “Ate Massster’sss hand. Want to play?”

And perhaps lose one of
his
hands? He thought about it, shrugged. “We can play.” Turnabout was only fair.

“Goody!” Claws clapped together in excitement, though the fiend remained a good distance away. “Can we change rule?”

There were rules? “What rule is that?”

“Winner never can beat me with ssstonesss.”

“Agreed.” Aeron would just bite him with teeth.

Laughing eerily, Legion leapt into the air. He bounded from one side of the cave to the other, a mere blur to Aeron’s eyes. Twice he whizzed past, cackling happily, and twice Aeron reached out, the metal bonds cutting deeper. The creature arched just out of reach.

Aeron stilled and pondered his options. He had limited range of motion, and Legion moved too quickly to see. He’d have to wait, a spider weaving a web, using his other senses.

Determined, he closed his eyes, welcoming total darkness. He placed his hands on his upraised knees, hoping he was the picture of tranquility.

Legion’s gleeful laughter echoed in his ears, closer…closer…Fingertips scraped his forehead, but Aeron didn’t even twitch.

“Catch me, catch me, if you can.”

Stones fell from the far wall a split second before the laughter increased in volume and a breeze ruffled the humid, ash-soaked air. Any moment…wait…wait for it…Something hot brushed his arm, and Aeron snapped his fingers closed.

A gasp, a squeal. Legion wiggled against his grip, laughter ceasing.

“I win.” Aeron’s teeth sharpened and he threw his head forward. Contact. Acid blood filled his mouth, burning, blistering.

“Ow!”

Coughing and spitting, Aeron released the demon. His eyelids popped open but soon narrowed to slits.
Why didn’t you tell me he was poison?
he barked at Wrath.

Didn’t know,
was the pouting reply.

“You bit me.” There was accusation in the creature’s tone. Accusation and hurt. Tears filled those red eyes.

“You taste like bile, you disgusting maggot.”

“But…but…you made me bleed.” Legion rubbed at his neck, black blood seeping from between his scaled fingers. “You promisssed not to.”

“I promised not to
beat
you.” Something almost like…remorse? Yes, remorse sparked to life in Aeron’s chest, overshadowing his constant anger and overwhelming death-lust. “I—” What? Nearly gnawed you to bits but I’m sorry now? “I thought that’s how the game was played.”

“You thought wrong.” Legion sniffed and turned away. He—no longer an “it” in his mind, Aeron realized—stalked to the corner and buried his face in the rock, sulking.

Dear gods.
How did I stumble into this situation?

Minions are such babies,
Wrath growled, as if
it
wasn’t a baby.

“I didn’t know the rules,” Aeron said, shocked that he felt more like himself in that moment than he had in months and unsure of why.

Legion peeked over his shoulder, scales glistening like polished rubies in the red glow of Aeron’s demonic irises. His scales had been green before, hadn’t they? “If we going to be friendsss, you have to promissse not to bite anymore. My feelingsss got hurt, too.”

Friends? “Legion, I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but—”

“Sssee!” Grinning again, the tiny demon spun and clapped his clawed hands. “You not wisssh to hurt me anymore. We friendsss already. What ssshould we do, what ssshould we do? Want to play another game?”

Aeron’s head tilted to the side, and he eyed his new…friend thoughtfully. “I know another game we can play.”

“Oh, what? What?” The clapping became happily frantic. “Me want to play. What’sss it called? Me win thisss time, I jussst know it!”

“It’s called break-the-chains.”

P
ARIS LAY SPRAWLED
beside the human woman on the rented bed. He’d been inside this room countless times before. A king-size mattress, white walls with classic paintings hanging strategically. A black desk, golden lamp. Number fourteen of the Boutique Hotel Zara. Only he’d been with a different woman each time.

He didn’t know his companion’s name, he mused, and he didn’t care to know. She was a tourist, and he’d never see her again.

He never saw his bedmates again.

Usually he left immediately after the sex was finished. Lingering promoted feelings, and since he couldn’t screw the same woman twice, feelings were nothing but a nuisance.

Tonight, however, he’d stayed. Now the woman was snoring softly at his side. His mind was restless, his body tense, but he didn’t want to go home. Maddox had Ashlyn, Lucien had Anya and now Reyes had Danika. Seeing them together reminded Paris of the woman
he
wanted—the woman he had killed.

Sienna.

Adorably plain Sienna with her freckled skin, thick glasses and dark curly hair. Thin, too thin, with barely any curves, barely any breasts. Yet she’d snared him from the first. He’d desired her, romanced her as best as he was able and seduced her. And she’d quickly betrayed him. Had planned to betray him from the beginning.

She’d been a Hunter, his worst enemy, and she’d used his arousal against him, distracting him and drugging him, then leaving him for her coworkers to find. They had locked him up, chained him. Studied him. He’d almost died and they’d had to throw Sienna into the lion’s den, so to speak, to keep him alive.

Promiscuity couldn’t survive without sex. The longer Paris went without it, the weaker he became. Those Hunters hadn’t wanted him dead. How, then, could they have studied his abilities? How, then, could they have used him to lure his friends into Hunter territory? More than that, to kill him was to unleash
his demon onto the world, crazed and blood-hungry, insane without its host.

Hunters didn’t want that. Oh, they wanted the demons sucked out, but not until they found Pandora’s box. As yet, no one was close to finding it. Not even the Lords.

So they’d sent Sienna into his cell. She had ridden him hard, just right, just the way he liked, and he’d regained his strength—more than usual, in fact. For the first time since his bonding with Promiscuity, he’d gotten hard for the same woman twice.

Paris had decided to keep her. Punish her, yes, but keep her for the rest of her life all the same. Because for the briefest of moments, he’d thought he’d found a woman who could save him. He’d no longer cared that she was a Hunter and that she thought the world would be a better place without him and his friends in it. He’d only cared about finally, blessedly having the same woman over and over again. Savoring her, learning her. Maybe even loving her.

He’d foolishly assumed they were meant to be together, that the gods had at last decided to relieve his inner torment. He was tired of searching for a new woman every day, tired of making love without really loving, not remembering who he kissed and touched, never really discovering what they liked or didn’t like because there were so many faces, bodies, preferences and requests swimming in his memories.

So he’d escaped that Hunter prison with Sienna at his side. Like an untrained soldier, he’d allowed her to be shot. Not once, not twice, but three times.

She’d died in his arms.

Should have protected her.
Weeks had since passed, but Paris couldn’t scrub her face from his mind. Could no longer get hard unless he thought of her.

She wanted me.
She hadn’t
wanted
to want him, but want him she had. She’d been dripping wet as she slid down his swollen
shaft. Despite everything, ecstasy had glazed her eyes. Over and over she had moaned his name.
His
name. Not another man’s.