The Darkest Seduction

Sienna affected him in a way no one else ever had. She accepted him as he was, good, bad and ugly. But if she ever betrayed him, if she ever lied to him, if she ever fought him or turned against him, he couldn’t predict how he would react. Especially now that he knew the thrill of her complete surrender.

What are you doing, pondering the worst? He’d given her a small measure of his trust. By succumbing to these fears, he would dishonor them both. He’d never minded dishonoring himself, but the thought of dishonoring her weighed heavily on his shoulders.

She’d taken him in her mouth, tasted all that he was, and loved his body with such shattering sweetness he would never be the same. She’d seen him at his worst. She knew his past, his future, and yet she still watched him with awe in her eyes, as if he meant something to her. He would not diminish that gift. And it was a gift.

A stumble over a rock propelled her into the side of his body and jerked him out of his head. He caught her with his free hand before she fell.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to space out,” she muttered as she straightened. While the sex had strengthened him, it had clearly tired her.

He shouldn’t have felt such pride about that, but he did. “You don’t hear me complaining about having you in my arms.”

Her lush, lovely grin flashed up at him. “True.”

Zacharel might have rolled his eyes.

Paris gave him a mental bird before scanning the stretch of land ahead. There were miles of dark yet to travel, filled with lots of little landmines. Like the puddle he next had to jump over, then help Sienna do the same. His nose wrinkled. The water smelled like rotting corpses. Probably because…yep, he saw a pair of dull, dead eyes floating underneath.

A fly as big as his fist darted past, then another. One landed on his arm and immediately bit his biceps. He slapped the insect, meaning to fling it away from him, but he ended up smashing it, the damn thing splattering all over him.

The entire realm was a cocktail of creepy from some of his favorite worst horror movies ever. Yeah. He dug the cheese. He also enjoyed romance novels, bench pressing buses and baking chocolate chip cookies.

He hadn’t had time for that stuff in a while, and now…now he realized just how much he’d missed it. How cool would it be to throw in a DVD, kick back with Sienna beside him and watch the bloody good times roll. After that, they could curl up together and maybe read a few scenes from a romance novel.

None of that would happen, though. He and Sienna were parting as soon as they reached the exit. And what do you know. Now he wanted to kill something—simply hurting was no longer good enough—with his bare hands. Was actually praying some feral, foaming-at-the-mouth male would jump out and attack him.

This wasn’t good. Meant his obsession with Sienna had reached the next level.

Paris maybe could have forced himself to let her go without much of a fuss before their time in that cavern. Now? Not likely. She was everything he’d ever wanted for himself and everything he hadn’t known he needed, all rolled into one sexy little package. A warrior when she needed to be, a siren when he needed her to be, yet always soft and sweet and giving. And brave, so brave.

When that pink-haired punk had invaded their private space, she hadn’t run. She’d stayed put. In case Paris needed her, and to keep Zacharel out of his face when things got dicey. He admired that about her. Hell, he was beginning to admire everything about her.

Suddenly Paris understood his man Amun in a way he never had before. Amun’s woman was a former Hunter, too, and once upon a time she had helped murder their bestie Baden. Because of that, every single Lord of the Underworld had despised her and had wanted to see her guts spilled all over their fortress, Paris included, but Amun had stood his ground and defended what was his, and everyone eventually—reluctantly—climbed on board the welcome train.

Maybe, after he’d taken care of Cronus, he would do the same for Sienna—take her home and play house. Things would be difficult at first, sure. She hadn’t killed anyone, but the Lords still didn’t and wouldn’t like her. They’d seen his cut and bruised body after her comrades had finished torturing him. They’d watched him suffer over her loss—and heard him curse himself for caring about her when she had never felt the same for him.

Until now. She’d changed her mind about him, and he’d changed his mind about her. He wasn’t sure what had done the changing on his end, though he suspected it had more to do with simply wanting to believe in her, as he’d claimed. He wasn’t even sure when the change had happened. All he knew was that she wasn’t out to get him.

Accepting that once again drove home the point that his earlier fears, planted by Zacharel, were foolish.

Paris knew women, and he knew sex, and he thought he was pretty good at reading the former’s emotion while engaged in the latter. More than that, he’d been with Sienna before. She might have wanted him back then, but that want had nothing on what she felt for him now. Total, all-encompassing and real.

He wasn’t sure what had changed her mind, either, but he was glad that something had. He loved being with her. She eased him. In so many ways, she eased him. So what the hell was he supposed to do without her, while he hunted Cronus?

Who would he take to bed when the first wave of weakness hit him?

Oh…damn. The thought of being with someone else made him sick. Like, vomit blood sick. He wanted Sienna and only Sienna, and when they parted, and they would because he couldn’t take her with him to hunt Cronus—too dangerous for her, considering the ambrosia in her system—he would have to take someone.

If he continued on this thought path, he would break down.

Maybe she sensed his turmoil. She twined her fingers with his, brought his hand to her mouth, and kissed the pulse hammering in his wrist. The world came back into focus with a whoosh.

“—did you do with that other guy, the fallen you called him?” she was saying to Zacharel. “Did he, uh, survive?”

“He lives, yes,” the angel said, but offered no more.

“He’ll come back for me.” That kind of blame and hatred wouldn’t fade. But by the time the fallen healed, Paris and Sienna would have already parted. She would be safe.

“Yes,” Zacharel said. “He will.”

A spike of fear added a layer of spice to the sweetness of Sienna’s scent. Paris traced his thumb over her knuckles, reveling in the softness of her skin as much as in her worry for him. “He won’t get the drop on me.”

Suddenly a shadow at his left surged into motion, darting at Sienna with the speed of an arrow. The only color in the six-foot slash of darkness was the flash of bloodstained fangs inside its mouth.

Without missing a beat, Paris stepped in front of her, whipping out of Sienna’s clasp to grasp the creature by the neck. He was surprised by the solid feel of flesh and heat. He commanded his crystal dagger to become whatever was needed to destroy a living shadow and stabbed, going deep into that mouth and feeling those fangs cut into his skin.

The dagger began to pulse with the light of the sun, bright enough to cause his eyes to tear. There was a howl of pain, a gurgle, before the writhing mass exploded into particles of mist and scattered on the breeze.

“Thank you,” Sienna said on a wispy catch of breath. The roses had faded from her cheeks, making her freckles stark.

“We don’t thank each other for this kind of thing, remember?” Protecting her would never be about the accolades.

Those exquisitely plump lips curled into a radiant smile he would see in his fantasies for the rest of eternity. Desire for her spun to new life.

She reached up, perhaps planning to trace a fingertip along the seam of his now aching mouth. Then Zacharel said, “May the Deity save me from such nonsense,” and she dropped her arm to her side.

“I don’t think your deity will have to worry about saving you,” Paris snapped. “I’m pretty sure females will recognize the fact that you’re not worth the effort from glance one.”

The angel seemed pleased by that.

Polar opposites, Paris thought; that’s what he and the angel were. Zacharel had never experienced a spark of arousal, so he had no idea what he was missing. Paris pitied the poor girl who finally gained his notice. She’d have