4

      “How to win a war in six easy steps. One: Taunt.”

      —The Fine Art of Decapitation

       —How to Achieve Victory

      Lazarus marched through the towering front doors opened by the guards he’d stationed there, a shockingly docile Cameo hanging over his shoulder. The last time she’d entered the spirit realms, he’d sensed her and caught her as she’d hurtled to the ground. Why hadn’t he sensed her today?

      “Did you fall through a portal?” he asked. “Or did you enter the realm another way?”

      “The portal,” she grumbled. “Landing sucked.”

      Had he somehow blocked her from his mind, the way she’d blocked him from hers? Or had she blocked him from the start?

      Well, he wasn’t blocking her now. He could think of nothing and no one but Cameo.

      In the spacious entryway, servants stopped cleaning to bow to him...and watch him with wonder. He’d never handled a female so publicly before.

      Cameo was more beautiful than he remembered. Silken ebony locks, sterling-silver eyes, ruby-red lips. Her eyes said come closer while her demon said that’s close enough. She was his own personal temptress. She enchanted him, and she had no right!

      Even now, his legs tingled and burned, the first sign the crystals were expanding.

      Did she know how terribly she affected him? Or how greatly she could weaken him, making him easy prey for his enemies? Did she care?

      He opened his mind to hers only to bump against her shield. His questions remained unanswered, a familiar frustration seething inside him. Frustration, rage and that ever-present desire.

      His hunger for this woman was insatiable, but he couldn’t have her. Unless, of course, he abandoned his vengeance against those who had viciously wronged him and accepted an eternity entombed in indestructible crystal.

      Never! Why not kill her, here and now? Removing her head would be an act of self-defense.

      With the thought, Lazarus physically recoiled.

      Damn her!

      “Whoa, big guy.” Cameo patted his ass, calm when she should have been hysterical. “Is one hundred and fifteen pounds too much for you?”

      Smart-mouthed female.

      Was there any better kind?

      Patch her up and send her home without ravishing her beautiful body. “Someone is suffering from another convenient bout of memory loss, isn’t she?” The words left him with more force than he’d intended. Perhaps he was a wee bit bitter? “She’s forgetting about an extra five pounds.”

      The little she-devil beat her fists into his lower back. “You might or might not have intimate knowledge of my body. You definitely know things I’ve said and done. The good, bad and ugly. You know if we parted as friends or foes. You know where we left off. I don’t. That isn’t a convenience for me but a nightmare.”

      Her fury doused his own, the need to comfort her rising. Memories offered a form of protection; they told you whom to trust and whom to revile, saved you from repeated mistakes, and created a clear path for your future.

      Compassion bloomed, and he cursed. Another weakness, thanks to this woman.

      Beyond them, servants sobbed. He glared at the sorry bunch. He might have to invest in earplugs for his entire staff—or slay them all.

      “Back to work,” he snapped.

      A flurry of motion erupted as everyone obeyed.

      He pounded up a flight of stairs, his hand flush against Cameo’s ass as he maneuvered through different hallways. He couldn’t wait to see her surrounded by his things, knew he would enjoy having her luscious scent—a mix of bergamot, rose and neroli—infuse his sheets... He would take great pleasure in presenting her with the gifts he’d collected for her. Would her face light up with delight? Or would she frown at him, all the world’s sadness in her gaze?

      Did it matter? After she departed, he had to do everything in his power to end his body’s obsession with her. That meant erasing every trace of her from his home.

      Can’t share my bedroom with her. Not now, not ever.

      He entered the room beside his. One he’d saved for—

      A guest. Any guest.

      With a swift kick, he shut the door behind him. He tossed his beautiful bundle onto the bed. Look away! The sight of Cameo splayed atop a mattress, any mattress, would only damage his defenses against her.

      Lazarus focused on the bed itself. Each of the four posters had been uprooted from the forest and potted. Lush red leaves thrived, forming a canopy above. The comforter was made from flower petals imbued with summer Fae dust; those petals were softer than silk yet far more durable.

      Cameo scrambled to an upright position and scanned the room.

      He knew she’d cataloged every exit as well as everything she could use as a weapon, and he did the same. There was only one exit—the one he’d shut. At the hearth, a marble sky serpent stood sentry at each side, heat wafting from their open mouths. Weapons—the pokers balanced between their claws.

      The dresser had been cut from an amethyst geode. Pieces could be chipped off and used to cut through vulnerable flesh.

      The vanity had a solid gold top, too heavy for her to lift. The legs had been hand-carved to resemble sky serpents. Rubies lent an unnatural life to their eyes, while their tails curled into glimmering diamond points. The jewels could be removed with little effort.

      The gilt mirror had once belonged to Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures and supposedly the most vicious of the Erinyes. Lazarus had been told simply peering into the glass would reveal the different paths to finding true love. So far he’d seen nothing but his reflection.

      If Cameo desired weapons, she would have weapons. He would never interfere with her efforts to protect herself.

      When her gaze landed on Lazarus, a flush painted her cheeks. He knew just how hot her flawless skin could burn, and his fingers itched to touch.

      Resist! “You want a memory, sunshine. Here you go. Last time we were together, we kissed.”

      No, kissed was too mild a word. She’d been fire in his arms, with no hint of sadness or sorrow. She’d sucked on his tongue as if it were her favorite candy, had breathed his breath as if she’d needed him to survive, as if she would always need him. She’d been a live wire of passion.

      She’d forgotten him so easily while his remembrance of her had the power to scorch him.

      She stared at his lips and whispered, “We kissed. Nothing more?”

      That voice! A burst of sorrow accompanied every word.

      He comprehended the reason other people flinched and cried. They’d never experienced such a fervent punch of undiluted sadness. Lazarus had. Many times. First, after the brutal loss of Echidna. Then his inability to find and kill his father for the crimes committed against his mother. Then his centuries-long enslavement. Cameo’s voice simply couldn’t compare.

      “We stripped and rolled around like two teenagers in an empty house.” He hid the intensity of his desire for her behind a glib tone. “You writhed against me, begging for more, but I stopped before penetration.” He’d had to work, trick and cajole to get her that far, and the wait was torturous...but the agony was worth every second of ecstasy.

      He’d