The Darkest Pleasure (Lords of the Underworld #3)(72)

Still, the seconds passed with no result.

"God King, I need you. I beg an audience."

The crimson continued to flow...and flow...He'd set a glass of water on the floor before deciding to continue the ritual. Just in case. It was Anya's rainwater, the tears of the earth.

Paris soaked one of his hands inside, then wiped the droplets across his wound. Blood and water mixed, the crimson fading to pink as it slid along the ropes of his stomach and onto the floor.

"I beg for a glimpse of you. I humbly wait on my knees." He raised his hand again, the dagger still clutched there, before slashing another wound on his chest, a direct crisscross. Pleading was more difficult than he'd imagined. Last time he'd fallen to his knees like this, his cries had been ignored and a demon shoved inside his body. "I will wait forever if you so deem."

"Is that so?" The quiet voice echoed throughout the bedroom, wry, a little angry.

Paris's eyelids popped open. The murky light hadn't brightened, a halo didn't surround the god king's thin form, but there he was. Cronus. Shock nearly felled Paris, and he was immensely glad he was already on his knees.

The god had thick silver hair and a regal beard. His eyes were dark, fathomless pools. Clean white linen draped one of his shoulders and cascaded down his body. He clutched a staff in one hand. The Scythe of Death - a weapon not even Lucien possessed.

He was tall and lean, aged, but power radiated from him.

Paris didn't dare stand. He bowed his hand, heart racing all the faster. Cronus had come. He'd truly come. "Thank you for deigning to appear."

"I did not do it for you. I am...curious."

Tread carefully. "If that pleases you, it pleases me."

"It does not please me. I do not like puzzles."

Not a good start. "I offer my sincerest apologies for disturbing you, my king."

Cronus chuckled, the sound still wry but no longer laced with anger. "You have learned something of control and diplomacy in all your thousands of years, I see."

"No thanks to the Greeks," Paris said. One thing he and Cronus shared was a common enemy. A common hatred.

As he'd expected, the words delighted the new king. "Zeus was never my equal." Cronus stepped forward, the scent of stars and sky radiating from him. "I am pleased you realize this."

Paris noted the king's toes peeked out from under the long chimation he wore. They were framed by pristine sandals and tipped by clawlike nails completely at odds with the dignified appearance the god presented.

Perhaps they were not so different, god and demon.

Cronus walked around him but never touched him. "You are Paris, unwilling keeper of Promiscuity. My sympathies to your demon, for I know what it is like, being imprisoned."

Oh, yes. They were alike. "Then you also know what it is to suffer."

"Yes." Another pause. Fingers sifted through Paris's hair. "Did you summon me because you wish to be free of your demon?"

With one wave of his hand, Cronus could separate man and beast. If he did so, Paris would die.

Paris could barely remember his life without the demon. Yes, he wanted peace. Yes, he wanted freedom inside his own mind, wanted his thoughts to always be his own, but Promiscuity was the other half of him. "No, my king," he finally said.

"A wise choice. That pleases me."

"As your servant, I pride myself on pleasing you."

A soft chuckle. "Well said."

Paris kept his head bowed and watched as his blood coated the bottom of the god's linen. The stain seemed to take the shape of a heart. "I must admit, I expected..."

"A monster?"

"Yes." He didn't dare lie. This was too important. "I thought you would be happy to end the Lords."

There was a rustle of clothing, the god no longer in front of him, then warm breath was caressing Paris's ear. "You expected correctly," the king whispered. Another rustle, and the warm breath disappeared. "I am a monster. I am what prison made me."

"Now you crave the worship of your people. I will worship you all the days of my life if only you will - "

A gust of wind slammed into Paris's back, knocking him face-first into the floor. His blood had clotted and now splattered his cheek, too thick to fall.

"The Darkest Pleasure"

"Face me, demon."

Slowly Paris raised his head. There was Cronus, in front of him once again. He wasn't used to obeying anyone but himself and the demon. Instinct demanded he refuse simply on principle. To obey was to invite more demands.

For Sienna, anything.

Without further hesitation, his eyes latched on to the god's face. The room's shadows had seemed to grow arms, reaching out and wrapping Cronus in their midst, shielding him. But his gaze, dark as it was, glowed.

"You cannot begin to know my wants."

"My apologies."

An eternity ticked by in silence, but the tension in the room never eased.

"I must admit I have been unsure what to do about you and the other Lords," the god finally said. "You are abominations, that much I know, and yet you do serve a purpose."

Abominations? Spoken like a Hunter. Truthfully, Paris had once thought the very same thing. He and the others had done terrible wrongs. To the world, to mortals. Even to the Greeks by betraying their trust. But they had spent centuries trying to absolve their sins. "Purpose?"