The darkest seduction - Showalter Gena - Страница 49

Remaining silent, he once again schooled his features, unwilling to give her any more of a reaction.

“And did you truly think I would do nothing when I learned you’d given the demon of Wrath to a dead human girl, and she was growing wings of midnight?” Another grin, devious in its joy. “Well, what I did, husband, was learn everything I could about her. About her missing sister, Skye, and Skye’s mate. The two people you just killed.”

A moment passed as he digested her claim. When he did, he stumbled backward, shaking his head vehemently. “No. No.”

“Why do you think I allowed you to capture me, hmm? Why do you think I allowed you to capture my people? How else do you think your spies learned where they were hiding? I have been waiting for just this day. The day you brought about your own ruin, the day you realized that because you carry the All-Key inside of you, I do, as well. Think your Sienna will aid you now?”

With that, Rhea vanished from the bed, the chains that had bound her thudding onto the vacant mattress.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LEGION PACED HER BEDROOM floor as if her feet were on fire. The Lords had already left the fortress, destination Rome, determined to find and kill Galen, thereby saving Ashlyn and the babies. That they hadn’t come for her…she knew they’d never once considered trading her.

They were thathonorable.

How did Legion repay them? By hiding herself away. And because of her actions, Ashlyn would suffer.

Sweet, sweet Ashlyn. What was Galen doing to her? If he hurt her the way the demons had hurt Legion… Stomach rebelling, she raced to her bathroom and hunched over the toilet. As many times as she’d thrown up the past day—week?—she was surprised when her lungs remained in her chest. Surprised, and disappointed.

She wanted to die. She would rather die than go through another pawing, having hands rip at her clothing, having things…done…to… “Argh!” She cut off the venomous thoughts before they could fully form. One unbidden image and she would collapse, hysterical, useless for days to come.

With a shuddering sigh, she rested her temple on the lid of the toilet. That beautiful blonde minor goddess had asked her a question. Who did she love most? The men who had saved her, or herself? Finally she copped to the answer. The men, definitely. They could have left her in hell, but they’d come for her, rescued her. She owed them. But…if she gave herself to Galen, he would torture her. She’d poisoned him, after all. Had tried to kill him.

He would expect her to warm his bed. She knew that. Before she had poisoned him, she had slept with him. Her first time with a man, and she had liked it, had craved more, until…

She gulped, once again forcing her mind to blank.

If she went to Galen, she would willingly place herself in another version of hell. But then, that’s what sacrificing yourself meant, didn’t it? Enduring pain so that someone else wouldn’t have to.

That’s what the warriors had done for her, time and time again. Could she really do any less for them?

A shudder of revulsion worked through her, and she closed her eyes. She was decided, then. She would go to Galen. She would trade herself for Ashlyn.

There was no other way, no other choice.

And now that the decision was made, she had only to close her eyes and think of him, and she would appear before him. The Lords had forgotten that, like Lucien, she could move from one location to another with only a thought. Only difference was, she didn’t have to follow a spiritual trail. Once she knew someone, she could appear before him anytime, anyplace.

Someone knocked on her door gently, as if afraid to startle her. She sniffed the air, recognized the sky-drenched scent of Danika, Reyes’s woman. She must have come to talk to her. Probably meant to reassure her that she was protected and safe, that no one thought to use her as Bait.

“Go away,” she shouted.

“No, I need to— Wait. You’re speaking. You’re speaking to me. It’s been so long—”

“I said go away!”

“Legion, let me in. Please. I need to talk to you. Need to tell you—”

“Goodbye,” she whispered, knowing she had to leave now or she would lose her nerve. Knowing she would never return. After the trade, after Ashlyn was safely returned, she would kill herself. She would rather die than be touched.

She pictured Galen—blond, beautiful and wicked. A moment later, the floor beneath her fell away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SIENNA RIGHTED THE CLOTHING Cronus had given her when he’d first brought her to the castle. The shirt fit around her arms while tucking under her wings without having to wrap around the tops and drape over her shoulders. No fuss, no strain, but complete coverage. She was shaking.

What she’d just done with Paris…she’d never experienced anything like it. Not even with him. Nothing could have prepared her for the total body awakening. He’d pleasured her with soul-shattering thoroughness, had known exactly where to touch her, how to kiss her, what to say to ramp her desire up, up, oh, sweet heaven, up. She’d been completely into him, her mind focused on him, the rest of the world forgotten.

And yet, as beautiful as the loving had been, they were now, half an hour later, steeped in all kinds of awkward. For her, that had been way more emotional and meaningful than she’d been equipped to handle, and she had to wonder. Was it always like that for him, with everyone?

“So, uh, did being with me work?” she asked, then wished she could swallow her tongue, both dreading and excited about the answer. “For your demon?”

He nodded as he sat at the edge of the spring. “Yes. I’m strong now.”

Despite the affirmation, her dread increased. He’d closed off his expression, hiding his feelings behind a blank mask.

“Do you know how to use a weapon?” he asked abruptly. And clearly, that was the end of the demon conversation.

O-kay. So they weren’t going to talk about what had happened. Which meant they wouldn’t be talking about what came next in their relationship.

Two days does not a relationship make, idiot.

“What kind of weapon?” Dumb question. Whatever he said, the answer was the same.

“Any.”

“Not really. When Wrath overtakes me, he kills using my body or whatever’s available. I’m never aware when he does it—it’s only after the fact that the memories flood me—so the skills aren’t something I’ve retained.”

“What about before your possession?”

“I was always a behind-the-scenes girl.” Oh, damn. Why’d she have to go and mention the one thing sure to turn him into Mr. Distant? Or rather, Mr. Way More Distant.

But he surprised her. He showed her a small handgun thingy, then how to flip the safety. He released the clip, revealed the bullets and taught her how to put everything back together. “All you do is point and tap the trigger,” he said. “Hollow points will do enough damage to whatever you’re aiming at, no matter where you hit.”

And what about when she missed, which was a very real possibility? Because just thinking about holding the gun made her hands shake. “So, you want me to buy one and carry it, like, all the time?” She’d never, in all her life or death, fired one.

“No.” He leaned over and stuffed the metal in the waist of her pants. Cold, heavier than she would have guessed. “I want you to carry this one. The safety’s on, so you won’t hurt yourself.”

“You’re not afraid I’ll shoot you in the back?” The joke fell flat, their relationship—or whatever—too new, and she blushed

Of course, he surprised her yet again. “No. I’m not.” Utter confidence coated the words.

Relief swept through her. “I’m glad.”

He cleared his throat. “Do I have your full attention?”

“Yes. Of course.” And right then she knew, reality crashing into her hard enough to hurt. This was his way of saying goodbye. His way of preparing her to live without him. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she managed to remain upright. “Yes,” she reiterated.