The Darkest Pleasure (Lords of the Underworld #3)(88)
Author: Gena Showalter

"I am sorry for every way I’ve ever wronged you, Anya," he rushed out. "You have only to tell me what to do to atone for my sins, and I’ll do it. But please, help me first. Cronus demands I prove I can protect Danika before he’ll give her back to me."

Gods, I’m a sucker for love. Anya studied the warrior in front of her. He’d lost weight, maybe because he’d stopped eating and only poured ambrosia-enhanced alcoholic beverages down his throat, and hadn’t showered or changed in what seemed like forever. He was pale, his unwashed hair standing on end from the many times he’d plowed his fingers through.

Frankly, he was a mess.

What drew her attention most, however, was the fact that for the first time since she’d met him, he was not riddled with cuts. "Hey, why aren’t you hurting yourself?"

He looked down at his arms, turning them in the light to study them, as if he hadn’t realized he’d stopped. "I hurt every minute of every day. There has been no need to cut myself."

"But what if, when she returns, your pain leaves and you have to cut yourself again? Would you still want her?"

"I will happily cut myself to ribbons if only I can have her."

"Interesting." She propped her hip against the vanity beside her, tapping her nails on the marble top. Click, click, click. "Obviously you’ve spoken with King Craphead. What exactly did he say to you?"

William leaned forward, listening.

Reyes relayed the conversation, word for word, unconcerned by his rapt audience.

"And how did he take the news of Danika’s paintings?"

"With fury. Fear, I think. What if he never gives her back to me?" Suddenly his knees gave out, and he crumpled to the floor. He stayed there, waiting. "Damn. I don’t think I’ve ever been this weak."

"Well, you’re not going to prove anything but weakness in this sorry condition." She raised her hand and tapped her nails against her chin. "He said demon hordes are after her. Maybe you should, like, battle them. Kill them."

"To war with them would require centuries," William pointed out.

"Yeah, but he’s got nothing but time. Jeez." She rolled her eyes. "Rain on my parade of smartness, why don’t you? If you don’t want to go that route…" she added to Reyes.

"I don’t."

"Fine. Whatever. Let’s see, let’s see. There has to be something else. Think, Anya, think. You, too, Willy. Put that fat head of yours to work."

Silence. Hours of silence.

"Maybe slap Cronus around a bit," William finally suggested. "That would convince me of your strength."

Anya clapped happily. "That’s it! Defeat Cronus, and you’ll end this little game right now, as well as rid the world once and for all of his nastiness."

Reyes’s eyes widened. "You’re kidding. Defeat Cronus?"

Hearing him say it dimmed her excitement. "You’re right. Probably not possible. Sadly, he’s the most powerful being living and you’re, well, not."

"What I am is a man in love." A crazed gleam entered Reyes’s eyes, a glint that scared her. If he went after the god king, Lucien would be upset. And she didn’t like when Lucien was upset.

"Uh, Reyes, baby, let’s put our heads together and come up with something else. Something – "

If he heard her, he gave no notice. He’d lumbered to his feet and limped from the room. Anya wished like hell she’d kept her big mouth shut.

AFTER STUFFING HIMSELF with more food than his stomach should have been able to hold, Reyes had Lucien flash him to the storage facility where Danika kept all of her paintings. Her mother, sister and grandmother had come along for the ride, a comfort to him. He was grateful Hunters hadn’t beaten him to it.

Every hour he sorted through the stacks of canvas, his determination to win Danika increased. Though Cronus had never reappeared, Reyes could always feel the god’s eyes on him, boring, watching, waiting for a glimpse of the mysterious painting.

But Reyes didn’t offer it to him. Not yet. Since that night upon the roof, he had ceased playing the tapes of Danika’s childhood. And though he longed to see them again, he knew it was for the best.

"Just a little more time, angel, then we’ll be together again. I swear it." He’d already uttered the words at least a hundred times. For her. For him. Her family had stopped shaking their heads in surprise when he did so.

Ginger dusted her hands together. "I can’t believe the nightmares my little sister has had to deal with."

Tinka wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist. They made a beautiful pair, sandy hair gleaming, cheeks glowing rosily. Danika should be here, enjoying them.

Pain grunted an agreement.

"She’s stronger than I ever knew," Ginger continued, glancing at the stacks of art. "A better painter, too. I mean, I knew she was good, but I had no idea."

Tears poured from Tinka’s green eyes, eyes so very much like Danika’s his heart wanted to explode every time he looked into them. "I can’t believe I shamed my daughter into hiding these in storage. They should be in a gallery. They’re hauntingly lovely, aren’t they?"

Like Danika herself. "Yes. They are."

Mallory pulled a plastic bag from her purse, opened it and offered half of a peanut-butter sandwich to him. "Before we left, your friend Anya told us we had to help you keep your strength up."

He accepted it gratefully and had it consumed in two bites, liking the thoughtfulness of the woman’s gesture. Danika’s family – not to mention Anya herself – seemed to have forgiven him for his crimes against them. "When Danika is returned to us, she will find joy in her paintings. This I swear to you."

"I so wanted to hate you," Ginger said on a sigh.

His lips twitched. Her tart tongue amused him, reminding him of Danika.

Would everything remind him of Danika? he wondered then. He didn’t mind the reminders, he loved them, but many more and he might break down, give in to the misery of being without his woman.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Tinka asked, suddenly beside him.

"Ask Mallory," was all he said, unwilling to cease his search to explain. He would not give up. If necessary, his last breath would be expended finding Danika.

"Look for anything involving Cronus, King of the Titans, and set it aside for Reyes to study. And before you ask, Cronus is tall, with thick silver hair and a beard, and always wears a white toga."

One of the portraits caught his eye, a colorful depiction of angels and demons, life and death, blood and smiles. Like Ginger, he was amazed by what she had seen in her young life. Amazed even more that she had thrived despite her burden, emerging as the determined yet gentle warrioress he knew.