The Darkest Seduction

“Wake up for me. Come on, that’s it, that’s the way.”

Yes. That voice…sexual and primal, blatant in its masculinity…a summoning finger she must follow. Where the voice originated, pleasure awaited her. So much pleasure.

She blinked open her eyes. Things were hazy at first, but the more she blinked, the better she could see. She was inside one of the second-floor bedrooms of the castle. The air was musty and yet chocolaty and—Paris loomed above her, peering down at her.

Breath snagged in her throat. He was just so beautiful, his face flawlessly chiseled. He could seduce anyone, anywhere. His hair was the richest shade of black, the purest shade of brown, with lighter strands woven throughout like ribbons of gold. His eyes were a wanton crystal, his lashes so thick and black they weighed down his lids, keeping them at half-mast, forever come-to-bed tempting. His lips were lush and red, and perhaps the most decadent part of an already decadent man. His skin was like crushed diamonds mixed with honey and cream. Pale, yet kissed with shimmers of the sun.

He bore a few scratches and had shadows under his eyes, but neither acted as an imperfection. They simply enhanced his appeal, adding depth. Lover, warrior…protector of those of his choosing. And he was here. With her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, the words scratchy now, as if there were glass shards stuck in his throat.

Was that a note of concern she detected? If so, this must be a hallucination. Paris wouldn’t care for her well-being. Not after everything that had happened between them. With a shaky hand, she reached up and pressed her fingertips into the rose tinting his cheeks. Solid, warm. Real.

She gasped out a startled, “You really are here.”

“Yes. I… Yes.” His pupils expanded, concealing all the blue with a spiderweb of black, before snapping back into place. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” There was a slight twinge in her stomach, a definite ache in her wings, but nothing that was unmanageable. A perk of being undead as well as Wrath’s host, she supposed. No matter the severity of her injuries, death had no hold on her and she healed quickly.

“I cleaned you up, bandaged the worst of your wounds.” Guilt layered his tone, a deeper flush blooming across his cheeks. Those pupils expanded again, staying that way—nope, they snapped back.

She’d never seen eyes do that. “Thank you.” She moved her hand to her hair, grimaced when she encountered tangles. She must look like total crap. “And you? How are you?” Her question trembled with the same intensity as her hand.

“Fine,” he parroted, offering no more than she had.

He straightened, increasing the distance between them, though his hip remained pressed against hers. One of his arms slid forward and stopped beside her rib cage, taking the brunt of his weight.

They stayed like that for a long while, silent, looking at each other, then looking away.

This was…awkward. Really, really awkward. They hadn’t seen each other in so long, and the last time they had, well, things had not ended well. No one but yourself to blame, she thought sadly.

“A lot has happened since we were last together,” he began, then lapsed into silence as if contemplating all that had occurred.

“Yes,” she agreed, though she had spent too much time contemplating it already.

“I know you were given a demon. What I don’t know is how you’re handling him,” he said, staring somewhere far, far beyond her shoulder.

“We have our moments.”

“He shows you the sins of others?”

“Yes.”

“And forces you to punish the wrongdoers?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Aeron, the guy who had Wrath before you, used to hate that. He would resist for as long as he could.”

“And then Wrath would overtake him,” she grumbled.

“Yeah.”

“I have the same problem.” Usually she saw the images of a person’s sins while she was awake, and things would progress from there. She would fight the urges and win, or she would fight the urges and fail. She wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she’d seen Paris’s transgressions while she was asleep.

Another bout of uncomfortable silence ensued. There was so much to say, but she didn’t know where to begin.

“Paris,” she breathed at the same time he sighed and said, “Sienna.”

They stared at each other now, searching, unsure. Annnd once again silence reigned, so heavy she could feel the weight of it pressing her deeper into the mattress. Her heart careened against her chest in a useless attempt at escape. If the damn thing had been hooked to a battery, she would have pulled the plug. Anything for relief from this suspended, anxious sensation, fear of sending Paris fleeing preventing her from saying all the things she’d imagined saying to him.

“You go first,” he said, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Very well. She could do this. She could. “I just wondered how you got here and why you…why you came for me.” And he had definitely come for her, and her alone. Why else would he have shouted her name like that? Did he hope to punish her for what she’d once done to him?

His eyes narrowed. “I changed my mind. I’ll go first. Tell me why you came to me, that night in Texas when William saw you at my feet. William being my homely friend.” Through those slitted lids, she saw that his irises had frosted over, the darkness still evident. His expression became granite-hard, ruthless determination cloaking him.

The man who sat before her now was not the one who’d fought the Gargl to reach her; he was not the one who’d taken such care with her wounds. And he had cared for her wounds. She’d been cleaned, bandaged, just as he’d said.

No, the man who sat before her was the one she’d first met in Rome. The one who had kissed her one minute and woken up strapped to a torture table the next. The one who had cursed her with one breath, and praised her with the following.

Whoever he was, she wouldn’t lie to him. She would never lie to him again. “I needed help,” she admitted, “and Wrath knew where you were, how to reach you. He had taken over, and I came to there at your feet.”

“Do you still need help?”

“With Wrath? Yes.”

He nodded, losing that knife edge of ruthlessness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you that night.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Anyway,” he said after clearing his throat. “I figured you would have trouble adapting, though you’re doing far better than I did at this stage, so I asked Aeron if he had any tips for you. He said you’ll have an easy time of things if you feed the bastard a little bit every day. Someone lies to you, you lie back. Someone cheats you, you cheat them back. Someone hits you, you hit back.”

How willingly he offered the information. He didn’t make her beg. Didn’t taunt her because he knew and she didn’t. And Aeron hadn’t withheld the information, when he had to hate her for taking his companion—and they had been companions. Wrath had been an extension of him, still missed him to this day. But as grateful as she was for the advice…what a terrible way to live, she thought. “Thank you for that.”

“Welcome,” he said stiffly. Then, “Do you still think I’m evil and in need of snuffing out?”

“No! You’re not evil.” That she had ever placed the man in the same category as the demon… She was so very ashamed. How foolish she’d been. How gullible. “I’m sorry that I ever thought you were.”

The visual perusal he next gave her peeled away her clothing, leaving her bare, trembling. “And I should believe you?”

He would never trust her, but then, why should he? “Being paired with Wrath, well, my eyes were opened. I saw the truth for the first time. The things I did…the things I’m urged to do…you’ve been dealing with that for thousands of years, and still you fight. Doubt me all you want, but I vow to you now.” To stop herself from reaching