The Darkest Pleasure (Lords of the Underworld #3)(21)
Author: Gena Showalter

Aeron’s claws elongated to razor points. "Yes, I am." You know him? he asked his demon.

No.

There was a third tumble of rocks as scaled shoulders emerged, followed by a short scaly body.

"Come any closer and you will die."

"No, I won’t. Me never die." The creature planted hoofed feet on the ground and stood. It was so short it couldn’t have reached any higher than Aeron’s navel. A tremble passed through its small body, scattering dust from its dull green scales.

"How can you be so sure?"

"We friendsss."

"I have no friends. Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Massster used to call me Legion before he called me Ssstupid Idiot." It moved one step closer, humming with giddiness. Grinning, fangs making another appearance. "Want to play?"

Legion. Interesting. "One of a thousand what?"

"Minionsss." Another step.

Servants of hell, Wrath supplied with disgust. Useless, disposable, unworthy. Eat him.

Aeron drew his knees up to his chest, preparing to attack. "Stop." Now why had he said that? He wanted the thing to approach. Wanted to feast on it.

It obeyed, the pout returning to its lips. "But we friendsss now. Friendsss get to sssometimesss ssstand next to each other. I ssseen them do it."

He didn’t bother reiterating that they weren’t friends. "Why are you here, Legion?" Questions first, dinner second.

Anticipation brightened those crimson eyes. "Me want to play. Will you play with me? Pleassse, pleassse, pleassse."

"Play what?" Saliva dipped from the corner of Aeron’s mouth, and he licked at it. The more he considered the option of eating his foe, the more he liked the thought of having the demon for a snack. Aeron had enough slack in his chains that he’d been able to catch and sustain himself on rats. The demon would make a tasty change. Mustard would have been nice, though. Fucking Reyes. "What game?"

"The Darkest Pleasure"

"Catch the demon! Massster stopped playing with me. Kick me out of home." It looked down and punted a pebble with its hoof. "Me did a bad, bad thing and don’t get to play with him no more."

"What bad thing?" He asked the question before he could stop himself.

Those fangs emerged, chewing away at that thin bottom lip. "Ate Massster’sss hand. Want to play?"

And perhaps lose one of his hands? He thought about it, shrugged. "We can play." Turnabout was only fair.

"Goody!" Claws clapped together in excitement, though the fiend remained a good distance away. "Can we change rule?"

There were rules? "What rule is that?"

"Winner never can beat me with ssstonesss."

"Agreed." Aeron would just bite him with teeth.

Laughing eerily, Legion leapt into the air. He bounded from one side of the cave to the other, a mere blur to Aeron’s eyes. Twice he whizzed past, cackling happily, and twice Aeron reached out, the metal bonds cutting deeper. The creature arched just out of reach.

Aeron stilled and pondered his options. He had limited range of motion, and Legion moved too quickly to see. He’d have to wait, a spider weaving a web, using his other senses.

Determined, he closed his eyes, welcoming total darkness. He placed his hands on his upraised knees, hoping he was the picture of tranquility.

Legion’s gleeful laughter echoed in his ears, closer…closer…Fingertips scraped his forehead, but Aeron didn’t even twitch.

"Catch me, catch me, if you can."

Stones fell from the far wall a split second before the laughter increased in volume and a breeze ruffled the humid, ash-soaked air. Any moment…wait…wait for it…Something hot brushed his arm, and Aeron snapped his fingers closed.

A gasp, a squeal. Legion wiggled against his grip, laughter ceasing.

"I win." Aeron’s teeth sharpened and he threw his head forward. Contact. Acid blood filled his mouth, burning, blistering.

"Ow!"

Coughing and spitting, Aeron released the demon. His eyelids popped open but soon narrowed to slits. Why didn’t you tell me he was poison? he barked at Wrath.

Didn’t know, was the pouting reply.

"You bit me." There was accusation in the creature’s tone. Accusation and hurt. Tears filled those red eyes.

"You taste like bile, you disgusting maggot."

"But…but…you made me bleed." Legion rubbed at his neck, black blood seeping from between his scaled fingers. "You promisssed not to."

"I promised not to beat you." Something almost like…remorse? Yes, remorse sparked to life in Aeron’s chest, overshadowing his constant anger and overwhelming death-lust. "I – " What? Nearly gnawed you to bits but I’m sorry now? "I thought that’s how the game was played."

"You thought wrong." Legion sniffed and turned away. He – no longer an "it" in his mind, Aeron realized – stalked to the corner and buried his face in the rock, sulking.

Dear gods. How did I stumble into this situation?

Minions are such babies, Wrath growled, as if it wasn’t a baby.

"I didn’t know the rules," Aeron said, shocked that he felt more like himself in that moment than he had in months and unsure of why.

Legion peeked over his shoulder, scales glistening like polished rubies in the red glow of Aeron’s demonic irises. His scales had been green before, hadn’t they? "If we going to be friendsss, you have to promissse not to bite anymore. My feelingsss got hurt, too."

Friends? "Legion, I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but – "

"Sssee!" Grinning again, the tiny demon spun and clapped his clawed hands. "You not wisssh to hurt me anymore. We friendsss already. What ssshould we do, what ssshould we do? Want to play another game?"

Aeron’s head tilted to the side, and he eyed his new…friend thoughtfully. "I know another game we can play."

"Oh, what? What?" The clapping became happily frantic. "Me want to play. What’sss it called? Me win thisss time, I jussst know it!"

"It’s called break-the-chains."

PARIS LAY SPRAWLED beside the human woman on the rented bed. He’d been inside this room countless times before. A king-size mattress, white walls with classic paintings hanging strategically. A black desk, golden lamp. Number fourteen of the Boutique Hotel Zara. Only he’d been with a different woman each time.

He didn’t know his companion’s name, he mused, and he didn’t care to know. She was a tourist, and he’d never see her again.

He never saw his bedmates again.

Usually he left immediately after the sex was finished. Lingering promoted feelings, and since he couldn’t screw the same woman twice, feelings were nothing but a nuisance.