The Darkest Passion

chastise him for his impudent tone.

Slowly he relaxed. Lack of sleep was finally catching up with him, he supposed.

Night had long since fallen, moonlight shimmering through the windowed doors leading to his balcony. So peaceful was the sight, so fatigued was his body, he should have finally drifted into slumber. He didn’t. Couldn’t.

What would he do if Olivia died? Would he mourn her as Paris mourned his Sienna? Surely not. He didn’t know her. Most likely, he would feel guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. She had saved him, yet he wouldn’t have done the same for her.

You don’t deserve her.

The thought whispered through his head, and he blinked. It hadn’t belonged to Wrath, the timbre too low, too gravelly—and yet, somehow familiar. Had Sabin, keeper of Doubt, returned from Rome, attacking his self-confidence as was the warrior’s unintentional habit?

“Sabin,” he spat, just in case.

No response.

She’s too good for you.

This time, Wrath rumbled inside his head, prowling through his skull, suddenly agitated.

Not Sabin, then. One, Aeron hadn’t heard Sabin return and, two, he knew the warrior wasn’t due to arrive for another few weeks. Plus, there was no gleeful undertone to these doubts, and Sabin’s demon found great joy in the spreading of its poison.

So, who did that leave? Who possessed the power to speak in his mind?

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

That does not matter. I am here to heal her.

Heal her? Aeron relaxed just a little. There was a ring of truth in the voice, just as there was in Olivia’s. Was this an angel? “Thank you.”

Save your thanks, demon.

Such anger from an angel? Probably not. Or was this a god, perhaps, answering his prayers? No, couldn’t be, Aeron decided. The gods enjoyed their fanfare and would have relished the opportunity to reveal themselves and demand gratitude. And if this were Olivia’s Deity, surely there would have been a hum of power in the air, at the very least. Instead, there was…nothing. Aeron sensed, smelled and felt nothing.

I have every faith that, when she awakens, she will begin to see you for what you really are.

Because of the being’s certainty that she would awaken, Aeron didn’t mind the implied insult. He was too relieved. “And what am I?” Not that he cared. But in the answer, he might learn who this speaker was.

Inferior, wicked, malicious, foolish, single-minded, rotten, unworthy and doomed.

“Tell me how you really feel,” he replied dryly, hoping his sarcasm hid his actions as he slowly edged over Olivia, using his body to shield hers. Wicked and malicious—the beliefs of the Hunters. Yet a Hunter would have attacked Aeron before offering anyone aid. Even their Bait.

Again he wondered if this newcomer was an angel. Despite that anger. And clearly, hatred.

Another growl echoed. Your insolence only proves my point. Which is why I will allow her to get to know you as she desires, for I have a feeling she will not like what she learns. Just…do not soil her. If you do, I will bury you and all those you love.

“I would never soil a—”

Silence. She awakens now.

To prove the words, Olivia moaned. In that moment, the amount of relief that flooded him was irrational. Too much for someone he didn’t know and wouldn’t mourn. One thing he did know: whoever the speaker was, he was indeed powerful, to draw Olivia from that deathly slumber so quickly.

“Thank you,” he said again. “She suffered unjustly and—”

I told you to be silent! If you dare disturb her healing process, demon…actually, I’ve had all of you I can stand for one evening. Sleep.

Though he fought against it, his body seemed unable to refuse the command and sagged against the mattress, a few inches from Olivia. His eyelids closed and lethargy beat through him, dragging him kicking and screaming into the darkness he would have previously welcomed. Still, that darkness couldn’t stop him from reaching for Olivia and drawing her into his side.

Where she belonged.

EYES STILL TOO HEAVY TO OPEN, Olivia stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, the knots unwinding from her muscles. Sooo good. Grinning, she drew in a deep breath that brought with it the scent of exotic spice and forbidden fantasies. Her cloud had never smelled this… sexy before. Nor had it ever been this warm, almost decadently so.

She wanted to stay just like this forever, but laziness wasn’t the way of the angels. Today she would visit Lysander, she decided. If he wasn’t away on a secret mission as he often was, and if he hadn’t locked himself away with his Bianka. Afterward, she would head to the fortress in Budapest. What would Aeron be doing today? Would his contradictions fascinate her once again? Would he sense her again, as he shouldn’t have been able to do, then demand she reveal herself so that he could kill her?

Those demands always hurt her feelings, though she couldn’t blame him for his anger. He didn’t know who she was or what her intentions were. I want him to know me, she thought. She was likeable; she really was. Well, to other angels, she was. She wasn’t sure what a demon-possessed immortal warrior would think of the real her, his supposed opposite.

Only, Aeron didn’t seem like a demon to her. Not in any way. He called Legion his “precious baby,” bought her tiaras and decorated his room to fit her tastes. He’d even had his friend and fellow Lord Maddox construct a lounge chair for her. A lounge chair that rested beside his bed and was draped with pink lace.

Olivia wanted her own lacy lounge chair in that bedroom.

Envy is not a good look for you, she reminded herself. You might not have a lacy lounge, but you have helped countless people laugh and rejoice and learn to love their lives. Yes, she took a great amount of satisfaction from that. But…now she wanted more. Maybe she’d always wanted more, but just hadn’t realized it until her “promotion.”

So greedy, she thought with a sigh.

The rock-hard yet smooth mattress underneath her shifted and moaned.

Wait. Rock-hard? Shifted? Moaned? Jarred into lucidity, Olivia now had no trouble prying her eyelids apart. She jerked upright at the sight she beheld—or didn’t behold. The indigo haze of a rising sun and fat, puffy clouds were nowhere to be seen. Instead, she saw a bedroom with jagged stone walls, a wood floor and polished cherrywood furniture.

She also saw a lacy pink lounge chair.

Realization slammed into her. Fallen. I’ve fallen. She’d descended into hell, and the demons—do not think about them. Already, with only that small memory, her body had begun trembling. I’m with Aeron now. I’m safe. But if she truly was mortal, why did her body feel so…fit?

Another realization: because she wasn’t truly human.

Fourteen days, she recalled Lysander saying, before she lost all of her angelic traits. Did that mean… Could her wings have…

Biting her lower lip, afraid to hope, she reached behind and felt her back. What she encountered caused her shoulders to slump with both relief and sadness. No injuries remained, but her wings had not regrown, either.

Your choice. Your consequences. Yes. She accepted that. It was strange, though. This wingless body belonged to her. A body that would not live forever. A body that felt both the good and the bad.

And that was okay, she rushed to assure herself. She was in the Lords’ fortress, and she was with Aeron. Aeron, who was underneath her. How fun. So far this body had only experienced the bad, and she was more than ready for the good.