The Darkest Seduction

out to him, she fisted her hands at her sides. “I will never hurt you again.”

In his hooded eyes she saw flecks of anger, a blaze of arousal. Then, nothing.

He looked away from her, gaze landing on the room’s only window. There was a crack in the thick, black curtains, a single ray of moonlight slipping inside. Then he offered a shrug of one strong shoulder. “You asked why I came for you.”

Disappointment rocked her. A response to her vow would have been nice. But then, she didn’t deserve it. “Yes.”

“I— Damn it. I couldn’t let you suffer.”

He couldn’t…let her…suffer…oh… Here was a mercy she was no longer capable of offering to others, so she knew how precious it was. Tears sprang to her eyes and tracked down her cheeks, a trickle at first, then a flood. Until her body was heaving with the same force as the women in that dream hallway. Until she couldn’t see the bedroom or Paris.

What happened to growing a pair of lady balls? Breaking down now, in front of him, was humiliating, but she couldn’t stop.

Her shame exploded, little pieces tossed into every corner of her body, saturating her. All her life, she’d only ever been able to rely on herself. Her mom’s alcoholism, which had started right after Skye’s abduction, had eaten away at any love the woman had felt for Sienna. Her dad had eventually taken off and started another family, forgetting the little girl he’d left behind.

Then in college, she’d begun dating Hugh. He’d listened to her stories about her past, offered sympathy and aid. He’d told her about himself, and his belief in the supernatural. When she expressed doubt, he promised to show her—and he had. She’d been scared yet thrilled at the same time, because then she’d had someone to blame for every single one of her troubles.

How freeing that had been. How marvelous to realize that her mother wasn’t at fault. Her father wasn’t at fault. She wasn’t at fault. How soothing to think her parents would have loved her still if not for the evil the Lords had brought into the world. So, yeah, she’d jumped headfirst into the good-versus-evil game.

And yet, the Hunters had gunned her down to get to Paris.

Paris, who hadn’t wanted her to suffer.

Her sobs emerged so powerfully, she was soon hiccupping, eyes and nose running freely, and that sent her embarrassment to a new level. Stalwart arms wrapped around her, careful not to brush against her fragile wings, lifting her, drawing her into a hot, muscled chest. His heartbeat hammered as swiftly as hers.

And wouldn’t you know, that made her cry even harder.

“Calm down,” he commanded, clearly uncomfortable. And wow. You would think a man who’d been with as many women as Paris had would know how to finesse one who was nearing hysteria, but no. He patted her back a little too roughly, then glared down at her when she failed to obey him.

How could he not want her to suffer? How could she ever have judged him so harshly?

“Sienna. Stop this.”

“Can’t…help…it. Did such…terrible things to…you. And you…you’re here. And you’re being so nice.”

A pause, as if he couldn’t quite digest her words. Then, very gently, he said, “But I did terrible things to you, too. Didn’t I?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SIENNA TOLD HERSELF TO SHUT UP, to lock down tight, but the words poured out of her of their own accord. “You were going to have sex with me and walk away. Not the most chivalrous behavior, but that hardly justifies being drugged, tortured and nearly killed. I tricked you, let them hurt you. And then I raped you. I think I raped you.” She choked, but still the words kept coming. “I’m sorry, Paris. I’m so sorry. I know that’s not good enough. Nothing I say will ever be good enough, but—”

“Sienna.”

“I’m sorry. I am. And afterward, when I was dying, I blamed you, but it wasn’t your fault. I told you I hated you, and I’m so very sorry for that, too. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Another pause. His hands began to move down her back, caressing now, before sliding back up again, soothing her. “You didn’t rape me,” he said, and there was a surprising tinge of amusement in his tone. “I wanted you. I wanted you so damn badly, even though I didn’t want to want you.” Or maybe she’d imagined the amusement. His timbre was now an abrasive rasp.

“I slept with you because I was told to, because I wanted to destroy you,” she said.

“I slept with you to strengthen myself.”

“But I still wanted you,” she added in a soft whisper.

His fingertips pressed into the muscles just under the rise of her wings, but the pressure eased all too soon. “And I still wanted you. That’s one of the reasons I took you with me when I got free, because I wanted to be with you again.”

Another sob left her. “I thought you used me as a shield, and I…I…” Well, crap. The sobs became so great her voice box finally closed up.

He pressed a kiss into her temple. “I didn’t use you as a shield. Not intentionally, at least. I’m sorry for how things ended, so very, very sorry. If it helps, I’ve punished myself a thousand times, will probably punish myself a thousand more. Had I known what would happen, I would have left you there…and come back for you later.”

The last was offered hesitantly, as if he feared her reaction to such a truth. “I’m glad.”

An eternity passed just like that, the two of them clutching at each other, the silence no longer prickly but calming. And, okay. Maybe she was the only one doing the clutching, but he didn’t seem to mind. He continued to caress her.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d craved contact with another body until just that moment. That the body belonged to Paris, well, that made it even better. He was so strong, and smelled so sweet, and if she wasn’t careful, she would soon be rubbing her cheek against his chest, burying her nose in the hollow of his neck and twining herself around him like a vine.

When at last she quieted, exhaustion set in and she just kind of sagged against him, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes were swollen, heavy, her nose stuffed up, and her throat raw from her tears.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. I…I… Paris.” Her lips parted, and she inhaled through her mouth. “Despite everything, you came here to help me. You put yourself in danger.”

“Danger is nothing to me.” His voice had become gruff, as if he disliked the direction the conversation had gone in.

Danger might be nothing to him, but she’d seen him with his friends. They were everything to him, and still he’d left them to save her. A surreal—and even more shaming—realization.

What did his unwillingness to let her suffer mean? Did he, dare she hope, have feelings for her? Crave something more with her? Though she wasn’t ready to release him, she did just that, pulling back, taking another deep breath and drawing in the dark-chocolate scent of him. If the movement hadn’t disrupted the angle of her wings, lancing a sharp pain through her, she would have sat there, savoring him, drowning in a sudden burst of arousal, for hours.

Frowning, Paris maneuvered the gossamer extensions of her wings into a more comfortable position. He was infinitely careful, his every motion checked. When he finished, he eyed her warily. “Better?” he asked again.

He had to have feelings for her. Impossible, and yet, possible all the same. “Yes, thank you.” She looked down at her hands. They were wringing her shirt, twisting and wrinkling the material, yet she hadn’t realized she’d moved them. She should ask him about his feelings. She should—

“Why did you walk away from me when you first saw me?” he asked, his tone curious rather than accusatory. “When the gargoyles had me.”