The Darkest Pleasure (Lords of the Underworld #3)(55)

Death had called him to action. No telling how long his spirit would be gone as he and his demon escorted souls to heaven. Or hell. He could have taken his body, but probably hadn't wanted to deal with his aching neck.

Paris sympathized. What would it take to get the bullet out of his thigh?

When he finally achieved success, his shaky arm fell limply to his side, the compressed metal tumbling out of his fingers. Strider plopped beside him, unharmed, and motioned to his bleeding wound with a tilt of his chin.

"Maybe work on your reflexes for next time."

"Fuck you."

His friend grinned. "I'm flattered, but have to decline. You know I don't swing that way."

Paris's head fell back and he stared up at the lightning storm still shielding the temple. "I walked right into that one."

"Well, not everyone can be as smart and as beautiful as me."

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?

"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.

"The Darkest Pleasure"

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 f*cking 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.