The Darkest Passion (Lords of the Underworld #5)(47)
Author: Gena Showalter

If she didn’t, she would receive no more than that, but most assuredly less. “I have to be prettier than the angel, with pale hair, golden skin, brown eyes and big br**sts.” All the opposite of the little bitch. “I want the entire nine days, with no time warpsss.” As she spoke, her excitement grew. She was really going to do this. She was really going to try and win Aeron’s heart. “And I want to be awake when I’m with him.”

“Damn,” Lucifer said, an amused twinkle in those fiery eyes. “You caught me on that one. I planned to put you into a coma until your time was up.”

And she had stopped him from doing so. She was feeling very proud of herself at the moment. See? She wasn’t stupid, after all. “You can’t kill him, either. If he diesss before time runsss out, the bargain diesss, too.”

“Agreed. Now, are those your only demands?” he asked, ever the indulgent lord.

“I don’t want to ssspeak with a lisssp, asss you sssaid. I want to firssst appear before Aeron, not halfway acrossss the world, jussst asss I am, and then I want to change bodiesss in front of him.” That way, he wouldn’t think she was Bait or a Hunter and try to get rid of her before she could seduce him.

“Very doable. Is that all?”

She gulped, considered, then nodded.

Once more, he stood. He splayed his arms, fire leaping from his fingertips. “Then it’s agreed. You shall have everything you named. But if you fail to lure Aeron, Lord of the Underworld and keeper of the demon of Wrath, to your bed and inside your body within those nine days, you will return to this throne room, where you will willingly consent to my possession of your body.”

Another nod.

“Say it,” he demanded, no longer the kind and benevolent man he’d pretended to be.

“I agree.”

The moment the words left her mouth, a sharp pain tore through her. Grunting, she doubled over. She couldn’t breathe, was fading, every muscle she possessed spasming. But just as quickly as the pain had sprouted, the bargain birthing to life inside her, it left her and she straightened.

“And so it is done,” Lucifer said. Then he gave her the same smile he’d bestowed on her when he’d first brought her here. Wicked, satisfied. “Did I forget to mention that, when you fail, my first order of business will be to murder each of the Lords of the Underworld and set their demons free?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

AS THE NIGHT GAVE WAY to dawn, the citizens just now awakening and emerging to begin their days, Aeron stalked the streets, Paris at his side, both remaining in the shadows, silent. Perhaps Paris, who hadn’t hesitated in his choice of companion this time—did that mean he was finally getting over Sienna?—was as lost in thought as Aeron was as they headed back to the fortress.

Olivia had cried herself to sleep, and he’d held her through those tears. When she’d finally fallen into unconsciousness, he’d flown her to Gilly’s apartment, thinking that things would be easier that way. If she couldn’t talk to him, she couldn’t tempt him to forget his purpose. But he hadn’t left right away. Paris had needed time with his chosen, so Aeron had snuggled in next to the angel.Once again, he’d found that he liked holding her. Which was all the more reason to finally get rid of her. But as he’d walked away from her, meaning to do so permanently, he’d no longer been sure he wanted to get rid of her. Not that he’d ever been sure, but damn, his resolve had been shaken.

Seeing her in Gideon’s arms had given life to a possessive streak he hadn’t known he possessed, the earlier incidents with William and Paris paltry in comparison. The thought of Olivia roaming these roads, determined to have “fun,” alone, so easy for the plucking… His teeth ground together, a common occurrence whenever he thought of her.

A man passed, claiming his attention. A human. Mid-twenties. Large. Instantly Wrath began growling, chomping for freedom, conveying images of meaty hands swinging at—and connecting with—a sobbing female face.

Wifebeater, Aeron realized as Wrath flashed more of those images through his mind.

You’re worthless, the man liked to yell, spittle spraying from his mouth. I’m not sure why I married you. You were a fat cow then and you’re a fatter cow now.

For once, Aeron didn’t try to stop himself. What if Olivia had been the target of that rage? What if Legion had been? Allowing Wrath to pull his strings without any resistance, loving his demon more than he should, without the taint of guilt, he turned on his heel, raced forward and closed the distance between himself and the man. A man who gasped when Aeron grabbed him and spun him around.

“What the hell?”

“Aeron,” Paris called, weary.

Aeron ignored him. “You disgust me, you insignificant little shit. Why don’t you try beating me?”

The man paled, trembled. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but you better get out of my face, ass**le.”

Tourist, he thought, or he would have been recognized. “Or what?” Aeron smiled slowly, cruelly. “You’ll call me another bad name?”

There was a snarl low in the man’s throat. He had a knife in his pocket, Aeron suddenly knew. He wanted to stab Aeron in the stomach, in the neck, and watch him bleed to death.

Without any warning, Aeron struck. His right fist connected with the man’s nose. There was a grunt, a howl of pain. Blood sprayed. He didn’t pause, but swung his other hand. His left fist connected with the man’s mouth, splitting tissue. The howl became a scream.

Aeron wasn’t done.

Can’t fight fair. Have to hurt. Wrath was in total control.

Still, Aeron didn’t mind.

As the man tried to orient himself, tried to struggle free, Aeron kneed him in the groin. His opponent doubled over, air shooting out of his crimson-soaked lips. No mercy. This bastard had never shown any. Aeron kicked him in the shoulder, and he flew backward. After that, he was in too much pain to stand or even defend himself.

He gazed up at Aeron through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me.”

“How many times has your wife said something similar to you?” Aeron dropped to his knees, straddling the man’s waist.

Drawing on a reservoir of strength he probably hadn’t known he possessed, the white-faced man tried to scoot backward. Aeron merely tightened the grip of his legs, holding the bastard in place.

“Please.” The man’s voice was shaky, desperate.