The Darkest Pleasure

Strider had to have the last word, so Paris pressed his lips together and didn't comment. To distract himself, he scanned the temple to see what the others were doing.

Amun stood off to the side, observing as usual. Blood coated his left hand. His bullet had gone straight through, lucky bastard. Lucien's body was still vertical, still unmoving. Sabin was polishing one of his blades.

Just like home.

He rubbed his temples in an attempt to assuage the on-coming ache, idly studying the rest of the occupants. Danika was laughing at—

Paris's eyes widened. What the hell? Danika? Here? Shock pounded through him as he lumbered to his feet. A wave of dizziness joined the shock, causing him to sway, but he managed to remain upright. In the trail of blood and water leading to his feet, shimmery images had formed a living wall.

'Do you see that?'

'See what?' Strider asked. 'Lucien? Dude should've taken his body with him. Why'd he leave it, anyway?'

'No. That.' Shock only intensifying, Paris pointed.

Strider arched a brow. 'Sabin? Yeah. Ugly as always, but that's no reason to look ready to vomit.'

'No, the woman.'

There was a heavy pause. Then, 'What woman?' Now Strider sounded confused.

Paris was confused. The images were in full color, different scenes playing throughout, as though separate movie screens had been erected. The only common thread, he realized, was the star of the show: the lovely Danika.

In all of them, she hovered in the shadows, merely watching those around her. Much like Amun. In some, angels frolicked happily. In others, demons laughed evilly. In the final scene, however, Danika stood front and center. Her left arm was outstretched—and Pandora's box rested in her palm.

He hadn't seen the box in thousands of years, but he remembered every corner, every embossed jewel, every facet of the object that had led to his downfall. Nothing about the box had changed. Ivory bones taken from the body of the dying goddess of oppression were fused together, forming a deceptively small square. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires sparkled from their midst.

When Promiscuity realized what it was looking at, the demon roared, clanging through Paris's mind, desperate to destroy the very thing that had bound it so torturously for so long.

Smash the box. Smash it!

'I can't. It's not real.'

The demon paid no heed to his words. Smash!

Despite the screams inside his head, Paris hobbled closer. In that final, living portrait, Danika stretched the box out farther, as if offering it to him. She even winked at him.

His jaw nearly hit the floor, the pain of his wound forgotten. What the hell?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

'HOW ARE YOU FEELING, Danika?'

Danika perched on the edge of Reyes's bed, her head between her legs, her breathing shallow and rough. She couldn't seem to fill her lungs, only seemed to scratch them with what little air she dragged in. An hour had passed—an eternity, maybe—since Aeron had delivered his 'I think I killed her' when speaking of Danika's grandmother.

She'd demanded every detail from Aeron, and what he'd said had meshed with what Stefano's men had seen. I carried her into a building. She was already bleeding, already hurting. I raised my claws. She screamed. That is all I know.

Danika's shock had worn off, and grief, sorrow and fury had taken its place, blending together inside her. She couldn't remember leaving the cell. Didn't recall walking into Reyes's bedroom. He must have carried her here. As Aeron had carried her grandmother to her death?

'I need to see them,' she managed to gasp out. 'I need to see my mother and my sister.' Did they know about Grandma Mallory? Had they witnessed the terrible event? Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God. Tears flooded her eyes. She would find them, tell them if they didn't know, and then she would come back here and stab Aeron in his blackened heart.

No, scratch that. She would stab Aeron first. Then she would have at least one piece of good news to pass on to her family. The thought failed to cheer her.

Warm, strong hands curled on her upper arms and slowly dragged her up. The dark that haunted her dreams was suddenly weighing down her present. But Reyes loomed in front of her, determined to save her. 'I am sorry this happened, angel. I am.'

Her chin trembled and her throat constricted. 'You're sorry?' she said, her fury blooming ahead of all the other emotions in an effort to save herself. 'You played a part in this, you fucking bastard, so you can leave me the hell alone. She was a good woman. Caring and tender. Loving. Admit it. You're happy she's gone, aren't you? Aren't you?' she screamed when he didn't reply.

'I am not happy. Your pain hurts me.'

'And you love to be hurt, right?'

'Danika, I—' A pause, heavy, oppressive. 'Aeron said he thinks he killed her. Perhaps he did not. Perhaps she survived.'

'An eighty-year-old woman against a supernaturally strong demon?' She laughed without humor. 'Please.'

Reyes's fingers bit deeper, almost painfully, as he shook her. 'Don't you dare give up hope.'

'Hope.' She uttered another of those humorless laughs. 'Hope is a demon worse than your Pain.'

Reyes released her as if she'd suddenly sprouted horns and stabbed him with them. Wait. He would have liked that, she thought darkly, and wouldn't have moved away. Guess he'd released her as if she'd tried to kiss him again.

'Answer me true. Did you make that comparison because of your hate for what might have been done or because you believe Hope truly is a demon?'

'Does it matter?'

'Yes.'

She shrugged, going numb again, so numb she couldn't make herself care about the conversation anymore. 'Both.' What a roller coaster she'd been on these past two days. It was too much.

'How do you know Hope is a demon?' he demanded. 'Humans always think of Hope as good and wonderful and right.'

'So it's true?' What else was out there, stealing joy and destroying lives? 'I should be surprised.'

'How?'

Another shrug. 'Grandma Mallory used to tell me stories. I thought they were harmless, her mind's way of coping with the chaos of her life.'

'In this,' he admitted reluctantly, 'she was right. Hope is indeed a demon. A monster now housed inside an equally treacherous immortal warrior.'

Like you, she almost said but stopped herself. Reyes had not proven himself to be evil. 'You know him—it?' Her lips curled in distaste. 'Again, why aren't I surprised? Grandma told me Hope purposely raises expectations, makes people believe there's a potential for a miracle, and then he crushes those expectations, leaving nothing but ash and despair.' Stefano was right. The world would be a better place without a demon like that.

'We are not all like that,' Reyes said, as though he'd read her mind. 'Hope was given to a warrior like me, yes. Galen was his name. But he was a corrupt man possessed by a corrupt demon and combined they are more dangerous than anything in this fortress. When I knew them, they delighted in uplifting and then crushing those around them.'