The Darkest Passion (Lords of the Underworld #5)(105)
Author: Gena Showalter

“How are you…how are we…?” Still the questions wouldn’t form, so great was his astonishment.

“You’ve changed. A lot.” Baden grinned, revealing straight white teeth, and rather than answer, he raked Aeron with his gaze. “But gods, I’ve missed you.”

And then they were running toward each other, wrapping their arms around each other. Aeron held tight. He’d never thought to see this man again. Yet here he was, holding his best friend close.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he managed to choke past the hard lump in his throat.

A long while passed before they pulled back. Aeron still couldn’t believe this was happening. That he was here, with Baden. Touching him, seeing him.

Last time they’d been together, before Baden’s beheading, Aeron had wanted to set the man on fire. Or rather, Wrath had wanted him to do so. Baden had torched an entire village, certain they plotted his murder, and Aeron’s demon had yearned to repay him in kind, fire for fire, even though guilt had ravaged Baden, perhaps even leading to his “trust” in Hadiee, the Bait who’d led him to his slaughter.

Now Aeron felt…nothing but kinship. No menace of any kind. No urge to grab a match. There were no images inside his head, either. No screams in his ears. Actually, he didn’t sense Wrath at all.

That made no sense. He still had his head, so Wrath had to be inside him. Right?

“Where are we?” he asked. “And how are we here?”

“Welcome to the afterlife, my friend. Created by Zeus after our possession, just in case our demons killed us. He didn’t want our tainted souls able to reach him. And yeah, I know it would have been nice to know we had a place to stay, but the old bastard never breathed a word.” Baden pivoted and waved his hand over their surroundings. “I call it Bad’s Land. Get it? Baden.”

“Yes, I get it.”

“Still no sense of humor, I see. We’ll have to work on that. Anyway, I know it’s not much to look at and the place is boring as shit, but it’s better than the alternative.”

The alternative? “So I really am dead?”

“Afraid so.”

His shoulders slumped, a paltry motion for the sense of crushing loss suddenly plaguing him. No chance to search for Olivia, then.

And no Wrath, he realized with a sharp inhalation. His demon had been taken from him, released when he died. He was alone. Truly alone, for the first time in centuries.

He was…saddened. Yes, saddened. There at the end, they’d reached an accord.

“Are you and I the only ones here?”

“No. There are a few others, but they keep their distance from me. I don’t know why. I’m as sweet as a sugar cookie. Not that I’ve gotten to enjoy one lately,” Baden grumbled. “Pandora, though…” He shuddered. “She also resides here and she does not keep her distance. Unfortunately.”

Again Aeron battled back his shock. Pandora. The woman who’d been given charge of dimOuniak, the box holding all the escaped demon High Lords captive. The woman who had taunted him and his friends with her elevated status, reminding them over and over again that the gods had overlooked them.

Once he’d despised her. Now…so many years had passed since he’d even thought of her, he couldn’t dredge up the hate. Was he overjoyed to know she was here and nearby, however? Hell, no.

“Why haven’t you killed her?” he asked. “Again.”

“He’s not strong enough,” a female said from behind them.

In unison, they spun. Pandora rested against one of the columns, arms crossed over her chest.

Seeing her, even though he’d been warned of her presence, was like being punched in the face with brass knuckles. Aeron looked her over. Like him and Baden, she was tall and muscled, though on a much smaller scale. Her brown hair hit her chin and trapped her face. A face too harsh to be pretty. Her eyes were gold. Too gold. Too bright. Otherworldly. And filled with disdain.

The same look she’d always given him in the heavens.

Ah. There was his old sense of loathing, rising inside him, filling him. Even in death he was to have an enemy, it seemed.

“Must be my birthday,” she said with a cruel smile. “One by one the men who sent me here have decided to join me.”

“You’re mistaken. The gift is mine. Now your eternal torment can be ensured.”

She stepped toward him—to attack?—but stopped herself and offered another smile. “So. How’s Maddox? Dying, I hope.”

Maddox had been the one to kill her. The warrior had been lost to his demon, Violence, and had stabbed her, over and over again. “You’ll be disappointed to know he’s well. He’s even expecting a child.”

Breath hitched in her throat. “Is he now? How wonderful.” She exhaled, and with the release, a dam seemed to break inside her. “That bastard! He doesn’t deserve to be happy! He killed me, allowed my box to be stolen, and now no one knows where it is. It’s our ticket out of here, but nooo. Even I can’t find it. He ruined everything and now his dreams are coming true? You think I didn’t know that he always wanted a family? I knew! But he was supposed to die! He was the one who—”

“Oh, get over yourself already.” Baden tossed Aeron a see-what-I’ve-had-to-endure look. “Gods. You’re just as much of a bitch now as you were then.”

Silence. Panting. Her eyes narrowed on the redhead. “Feeling invincible now that you have a friend to protect you?”

“Hardly. I’m invincible either way.”

They continued to bicker, but Aeron tuned them out, his attention locked on part of Pandora’s impassioned speech. Finding the box, dimOuniak, would free them from this realm? Truth or lie, he didn’t know. What he did know? If he could escape, he could search for Olivia, as he’d wanted.

Would she be able to see him?

Yes or no, he didn’t care. He would be able to see her.

That box is mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

OLIVIA STOOD in front of the Heavenly High Council, life and death in their hands for the second time. For days she’d pleaded her case, refusing to give up or leave, but they’d continued to reject her, too satisfied with the outcome. Aeron was dead, as they’d wanted, and Legion returned to hell. Her home. Something Lysander hadn’t fully explained to Aeron.

She splayed her arms, her wings, and turned, letting them see her. All of her. Aeron’s blood had been cleaned from her robe, but not her hands. She hadn’t let her hands even graze the material. She wanted those in charge to see what they had wrought.Her gaze locked with every member, perched as they were atop their thrones. They were beautiful, each of them. Strong and proud and pure. They felt justified. They felt exonerated. They did not flinch under her probing stare.