The Darkest Passion

This morning, when he’d woken up and realized she was fully healed, the desire he’d denied only a few days ago had sparked to life. Ever since, it had refused to fade. She’d fallen to the floor, robe bunched at her waist, and her panties—shit, her panties. Too white, too pure. Made a man want to rip them apart with his teeth and dirty the wearer up a bit. He’d wanted to tear her robe away, too, and devour her.

Somehow, some way, he’d managed to stop himself.

Maybe because he’d realized—and reminded himself, over and over again—that Lysander had been the voice he’d heard the day before. That Lysander had been the one to heal Olivia, the one who wanted her happy and whole.

“Unsoiled,” he muttered.

And Lysander would be a terrible enemy to have.

The Lords could fight Hunters, yes. But Hunters and an angelic army? Hardly.

So Aeron had finally gotten himself under enough control to leave the bed without falling on top of Olivia in a desperate rush to touch and taste her. He’d finally convinced himself to get rid of her. He’d finally, blessedly forgotten there was a throbbing erection between his legs while she wiggled on his lap and made love to her food.

Only to have Wrath insist on “more.”

“I liked you better when you were merely a presence. An urge,” he told the demon now.

A snort was the only reply. At least there was no more of the demon’s pleading. Wrath had only quieted a few minutes ago, when realizing what Aeron planned.

Aeron scrubbed his face so hard his calluses scratched his cheeks. He was in Gilly’s apartment in town. A spacious three-bedroom on the wealthier side. Gilly was a young friend of Danika’s who now lived in Budapest. Torin, their first line of defense at the fortress, had loaded her apartment with state-of-the-art security, just in case Hunters ever discovered her connection to the Lords. Even though she was fully human and as innocent as a person could be—a miracle in and of itself, given what Danika had told the Lords about Gilly’s troubled childhood—those bastards wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.

She was currently at school—high school, that is—and undoubtedly happy for the distance between them. She still wasn’t comfortable around him. Understandable. Though Gilly was only seventeen, she’d seen the dark side of man and had been on her own for years. They’d offered her a room at the fortress, but she’d desired a place of her own. Good thing, too. Now Aeron wouldn’t have to roam aimlessly until dark; he could summon Legion at last.

He stood in the center of the living room, the couches and chairs pushed back to make space for the circle of salt and sugar he’d sprinkled just in front of him. He was going to summon her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

He splayed his arms and said, “Legion, Quinientos Dieciséis of the Croisé Sombres of Neid and Notpeбhocil,” just as Legion had taught him. It was her name, number, and title in a mix of different languages. Legion, Number Five Hundred and Sixteen of the Dark Crusaders of Envy and Need. If he didn’t say it all, he could accidentally summon someone else. “I command you to appear before me. Now.”

There was no flashing light as Cronus liked to employ when materializing, nor did time stop. One minute Aeron was alone, the next Legion was inside the circle. Simple, easy.

She collapsed to the floor, panting, sweat glistening on her scales.

“Legion.” He bent down and scooped her up, careful not to let a single grain of salt or sugar touch her. It would burn, she’d told him.

Wrath purred, happy again.

Immediately Legion snuggled into his arms. “Aeron. My Aeron.”

The action reminded him of Olivia. Sweet, beautiful Olivia, who was now with Kaia, a demented Harpy with a warped sense of humor, and Cameo, a ruthless killer with a tragic voice. He’d leave William and Paris, two unabashed sex addicts, out of the equation. Because if he didn’t, he would destroy Gilly’s apartment in a fit of rage. Rage, not jealousy, just to be clear. If they messed with the angel, they’d be inviting Lysander’s wrath—and it was that prospect, not the thought of Olivia being attracted to one of his friends, that infuriated him. Of course.

Gilly’s wall would look better with a few holes, he thought then. He’d be doing the girl a favor, helping her decorate.

Plus, as leery as Olivia was with others—anyone but himself, that was, not that he was proud about that— she might not be faring well. Even now she could be hiding, crying, praying for his return.

Surely Gilly’s couch would be more comfortable if it were sawed in two.

Harden your heart, as you so unflinchingly told Paris you could do. Olivia’s state of mind didn’t matter. Her tears didn’t matter. They couldn’t. Actually, they would help. She would leave the fortress that much faster.

Legion was the most important thing to him. The child he’d secretly wanted but had never been able to have. Not just because he’d never committed to a woman, but because he knew how weak babies could be. Becoming a father, something he’d never had himself, hadn’t been worth the agony of watching his own child wither and die.

With Legion, he didn’t have to worry. She would live forever.

“What’s wrong, precious girl?” he asked, carrying her to the couch and falling into its cushions. The scent of sulfur clung to her, and Wrath sighed, clearly homesick. Once his demon had hated that aroma. But now that the fiend knew the horrors of Pandora’s box, hell seemed like Paradise.

“They chassse me.” She rubbed her cheek against his pectoral, abrading skin, and purred. “Almost got me thisss time.”

Her forked tongue always caught on and prolonged her S’s, something he found endearing. When he’d first met her, she’d even spoken like a baby, using the wrong tenses and pronouns. At her request, they’d been working on her grammar, and he was very proud of her progress.

“You’re here now. You’re safe.” He rubbed the two little horns atop her head, knowing how sensitive they were and how much she liked it. “You don’t have to go back.”

“Angel dead?”

“Not exactly,” he said, sidestepping the question for the moment.

They sat like that, silent, for several minutes, while she fought for control of her breathing. Finally, she calmed and the burning heat of her scales cooled. She sat up and that red gaze looked around.

“Thisss isssn’t home,” she said, confused.

Aeron scanned their surroundings, trying to see the place as she must. Furniture in a rainbow of colors: red, blue, green, purple and pink. A wood floor draped with a floral-print rug. Walls dripping with different-sized portraits of the heavens, gifts from Danika.

“We’re in Gilly’s apartment.”

“Pretty,” she said, the awe in her voice unmistakable.

Her sense of femininity had ceased surprising him. When he moved back to the fortress, he would give her a room of her own. A room she could decorate as she wished. He wasn’t sure how much more pink he could stand in his own.

“I’m glad you like it. We might be here awhile.”

“What?” Her awe was replaced by fury as she faced him. “You’re living with Gilly now? Isss ssshe… Doesss ssshe love you?”

“No.”

Slowly she relaxed. “Okay, then, but I wanna go home now. I missss it.”

Me, too. “We can’t. The angel is there.”

Legion stiffened, fury returning. “Why isss ssshe there and not usss?”

Excellent question. “She’s going to help the others with the Hunters.”

“No. No. I help with Huntersss.”

“I know, I know.” She might be little, but she was fierce. And killing was a game to her. But she’d endured so much strife in her life that Aeron desired only peace for her now. He didn’t want to drag her into yet another battle. He wouldn’t.

She meant too much to him.

“We can be alone here,” he said.

“Fine.” Again, she relaxed against him. “We’ll stay, but I will help more than