The Darkest Seduction. Gena Showalter
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vow, even as the thought of letting her go made him want to howl.
“Nice to see you again, Sienna,” William said, as pleasantly as he was able. The frost in his eyes belied his endearing facade.
Paris tensed. If the warrior hurt her …
“We’ve met?” she asked.
For a moment, William radiated absolute bafflement. Then his expression cleared, and he offered a sugar-sweet smile. “It distresses me that you don’t remember, but I don’t mind reminding you. Allow me to paint the scene. We were in Texas, and you were crouched on the concrete like a dog, holding on to Paris like a leech.” His cruel, sneering pitch was meant to intimidate her, to put her in her place for everything she’d done to Paris.
“Tone,” Paris snapped. She might have done him wrong, but he would not allow her to be disrespected.
Sienna shrugged, apparently unconcerned by what the warrior had said. “You’ll have to forgive me for not noticing you back then. Next to him, you’re kind of homely.”
William choked on his own tongue.
For the first time in forever, Paris grinned with true amusement. The only other time he’d witnessed such spunk from her was when she had drugged him. He hadn’t liked it then, but he liked it now, especially since it was directed at someone else.
William caught his breath and added, “Just so you know, I’ll kill you if you harm him in any way. And I don’t care how much it will upset him.” So calmly stated, there was no arguing the warrior’s intent. “Paris has proven to be stupid where you’re concerned, and that means his friends have to pick up the mental slack.”
There went his amusement. An animalistic growl left him, his lips peeling back from his teeth. Darkness rising again … rage returning … Paris struggled to free his arms, intending to wrap his fingers around William’s neck and squeeze. No one threatened Sienna. No one. Ever.
You don’t really want to injure him. Stop. A plea from deep inside himself, where remnants of the old Paris must still reside. William’s loyalty was a nice surprise, and something he appreciated on a visceral level.
Where Sienna was concerned, however, Paris was not exactly rational, and his struggling intensified. Must defend her …
The gargoyles stopped dragging him, stopped humping him and returned to fighting him, shoving him to the floor and into a pile of bones. They raked at him with their claws and teeth.
“See?” William splayed his arms, his point proven. “Stupid.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Paris forced himself to chill a second—third?—time. He huffed and he puffed like the big, bad wolf he was, knowing he would be given a chance to make his point about Sienna later, when he could get to his knives. His friends could do and say anything they wanted to him, but not to her.
Once again the creatures lost interest in the battle and resumed the trek to the prison.
Sienna and William continued to follow, and soon Paris’s wrists and ankles were shackled to a crumbling stone wall in a four-by-four chamber devoid of any luxuries. Claws scraped the floor as the creatures filed out, each squawking happily about what they clearly considered a job well done.
Sienna severed visual contact and collapsed at his side, her trembling fingers working at one of the metal bands. He could have freed himself. Or hell, William could have freed him, but Paris liked having those soft, elegant hands on him. They were his favorite part of her body, every movement an exotic dance.
On a raspy catch of breath, she said, “They’re tasked with chaining anyone who survives the walk from drawbridge to castle, and once that’s accomplished, they lose interest. You’ll be free to move about the place as much or as little as you want.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting her voice drift through his mind. Husky, low, a caress he’d missed more than he’d realized. He could listen to her forever.
Did part of him still hate her? Yeah. Definitely. Hated what she’d done to him, hated what he’d done for her. Hated how strongly she affected him. And beneath all the hate, he resented that she hadn’t seen beyond her own hatred to choose him all those months ago, the way he’d chosen her.
He would have taken her home. He would have pampered her. At least, that’s what he told himself now. He wouldn’t contemplate what he would have done to her before the pampering commenced. Wouldn’t think about the interrogation he’d planned or the chains he’d imagined buying for her.
“I’m having trouble … I can’t … The fall must have hurt worse than I realized.” Her voice had thinned to a mere wisp of sound, barely audible. “So … sorry …” Her hands fell away from him, and she slumped forward, her slight weight resting on his chest.
“Sienna?” he demanded, but there was no response. Anyone who could see and touch her could injure her spirit form; he knew that. And the gargoyles had certainly been able to see and touch her. But without a heartbeat or need to breathe, she should rebound quickly. Right? Except, the bloodstains around her mouth … how had she bled? he wondered now.
“Must have fainted from the sight of my beauty,” William remarked with a sigh. “There goes the tickle fight I had planned.”
Ignoring him, Paris yanked one of his arms, ripping the chain from the wall. He wrapped that arm around Sienna’s waist, holding her against him, keeping her steady.
She fit him perfectly.
After he ripped the other arm free, he eased her to her back and peered down at her, his heart causing a riot of sensation in his chest.
Her head lolled to the side, and she was pale, paler than before. Another rip, followed by another, and his ankles were free. Then he jerked at the cuffs themselves until they fell away. Then he did what he’d wanted to do since the first moment he’d seen her. He touched her, smoothing the hair from her brow. Her skin was as soft as it appeared, and warm, so wonderfully warm. He’d craved a moment like this so desperately, had dreamed of it over and over again, and had nearly killed himself a hundred times over to have it. To his delight, reality was so much better than the dream. More than feeling her heat, he smelled her scent all around him, enveloping him. The wildflowers, the coconut sweetness of ambrosia, both creating a heady musk of arousal.
Why ambrosia? He couldn’t get past that. Was she a user? If so, he’d bet someone, like, say, Cronus, had forced her to become one. She wasn’t the type to willingly fall into drugs. From what little he knew about her, she liked order and craved control.
I’ll protect her from further abuse, he thought next. She was his. For just a little while, she was his.
Sex jumped up and down. Take her, take her, take her.
Instinct demanded he obey. Still he resisted. Not like this. Not while she’s out.
A sigh of frustration, maybe even a muttered you’re no fun as Paris looked her over, shielding her from William’s gaze as he moved her clothing out of the way to check for injuries. Every newly revealed inch of skin acted as a lick of flame to Sex, causing the demon to hiss and shake. Or maybe you are fun.
Though Paris admired the body beneath him just as fervently as his dark companion, he hissed and shook for a different reason. Another rise of darkness, another increase of boiling rage. Beneath fading bruises, his woman was as fang-and-claw-mark-ridden as he was, blood oozing from her in tiny rivers of pain.
His next mission crystallized. Finding out how to hurt the gargoyles and then making them pay for every mark.
Really making them pay, he decided when he spied a deep, angry gouge in her side. He sucked in a breath to try and calm himself down, but he inhaled so sharply his lungs felt like mini-vacuums, drawing the air in with commando force. His muscles tensed, his head fogged all over again and his mouth watered. He could actually taste the ambrosia in the air. Frowning, he bent down and