The darkest seduction - Showalter Gena - Страница 27

These bedmates did not cry when he left. They watched him through narrowed eyes, detesting him, shamed by what they’d done with and to him, horrified by what they would soon lose. A loved one’s respect.

He hadbroken up marriages, had committed adultery and performed sexual acts that left him cold and shaken. He then allowed those same sexual acts to be performed on him. A self-imposed punishment of sorts, she thought. All of that she could have guessed. But what astonished her? He detested himself far more powerfully than any of the humans ever had or could.

Oh, Paris, she thought. He was heaven and hell, just as Wrath had said, wrapped in the same luscious package.

Sienna wanted to cover her eyes to block the sights. She wanted to scream and scream and scream to block the sounds. Everyonein the crowd was crying now. Even Paris. Their tears poured from the ceiling, raining down, battering at her. But her hands remained at her sides and her mouth remained shut, her feet moving automatically. Her body was no longer connected to her brain.

Wrath wanted her to know, and so she would know.

The volume cranked up another notch, a shriek resounding at her left, spine-chilling, nauseating. All of the tears ceased. Another shriek sounded, then battle scene after battle scene came to life. Blood, a canvas of scarlet. Blades glinting with menace. Guns firing one after the other. Bombs exploding. Limbs separating from bodies, guts spilling. Death, so much death. Each delivered by Paris.

Paris, the FedEx deliveryman of Pleasure and Fatality.

There was no guilt here, however. No shame. Only cold, hard logic. Kill or be killed. No room for emotions or regrets. No hope for something better. This was it; this was the card he must constantly play. Fight for what he wanted or curl up and die.

He would not curl up and die.

Even though Sienna’s own demon seemed to like Paris on some level, Wrath, being Wrath, still hoped to castigate him for all the wrongs he’d committed. The demon urged her to sleep with Paris and leave him. To break his heart. To make him sob and beg for another chance with her. Then, of course, would come the stabbing, hurting him as he had hurt so many others.

No! No, no, no. She jerked free of whatever leash the demon had used to bind her to his will and flattened her hands against her stomach, as if the puny action could settle the sickness still churning there.

“I will not punish him,” she shouted, proud of her strength and conviction. Paris had done all those things, yes. And no, there was no excusing him. Though he’d been influenced by the evil creature inside him, he was responsible for his own decisions. He could have found another way.

But who was she to condemn anyone? Had sheyet found another way? No.

Wrath offered no argument, and she frowned. That was unlike him. Usually he threw fits until she caved. But then, perhaps Aeron, Wrath’s former keeper, had already fought and won this particular crusade. After all, Aeron and Paris had lived together for centuries, plenty of time for the demon to have either gotten a taste of what he desired or to have been berated into submission.

If ever she met Aeron—and if he could actually see her and didn’t try to kill her—she would ask. She would do anything to return Wrath to him, too, despite the fact that such an action would kill her.

“Sienna.” Warmth drifted over her cheek, sliding along the line of her jaw.

Her nerve endings perked up, firing back to life, making her skin tingle.

“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, reallyawkward. 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.”