The bastard waited in the throne room.
Once inside, he dismissed every guard with a wave of his hand. Booted footsteps rang out. The doors shut, one after the other, sealing him inside. He saw no hint of the leopard who’d stolen Cameo’s belongings, but the dark presence remained, a thorn inside his mind.
Like Cameo, Rathbone had erected a shield, hiding his thoughts.
“Show yourself. I know who and what you are.” He’d realized the truth at first glance.
The leopard appeared in a puff of smoke, a wide grin revealing razor-sharp teeth. He approached Lazarus slowly but methodically, his form shifting into a very tall, very muscled man with long black hair, eyes like diamonds and skin as dark and red as blood.
He wore no shirt, but black leather pants sheathed his legs. He had thousands of tattoos, even more than Lazarus, who was covered. While Lazarus had thorny roses to represent the ones found in the Garden of Perpetual Horror, skulls to represent the enemies he’d slain—and would slay—as well as butterflies and sky serpents to represent his followers, every image on Rathbone was the same. A closed human eye.
An odd choice. A distinctive choice. Lazarus had guessed correctly. This was Rathbone the Only, one of nine kings of the underworld. He’d earned his moniker by being the last man standing in every battle he’d ever fought. He could shape-shift into any form, no matter how big or small. Animal, human and even inanimate objects.
Lazarus had heard the male once shifted into another man’s wrist cuff, forcing him to beat his entire family before beating himself.
“You have much to answer for, warrior.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s Majesty to you.” A careless shrug. “I always have much to answer for.”
“Cameo’s weapons and boots. Give them to me. Now.”
“And cheat the vendor who bought them from me? For shame.”
“You’d rather cheat my woman?”
When the words escaped, he cursed. My woman. He’d just struck a powerful verbal claim and offered sufficient ammunition for any enemy intent on overseeing his destruction. He’d also proved he’d done a deplorable job of resisting Cameo’s carnal appeal.
Perhaps the bastard wouldn’t notice.
Rathbone’s smile widened. Oh, he’d noticed. He wisely chose to remain quiet on the subject.
“I know why you’re in my realm.” Lazarus traced his fingertips over the hilt of the kris.
“Do tell.”
“The war between Hades and Lucifer brews hotter.”
The very reason Lucifer continued to send emissaries. Every leader of every immortal army had to pick a side. “Who do you fight for?”
“With. I fight with Hades. And so do the Lords of the Underworld.”
Meaning Cameo fought for Hades. Meaning, siding with Lucifer would make his μονομανία his enemy.
Isn’t she already?
Lazarus stalked a circle around Rathbone, a predator deciding the fate of his prey. The male remained in place, never turning. But then, he had no need to turn. Those eyes were tattooed all over his back as well, and as Lazarus moved behind him, the lids flipped open, the irises following his every movement.
A stab of envy. Such a singular power...
“Let Hades know I’ll render my decision by the end of the week.” All personal feelings aside, only one question mattered. Who would get him closer to his vengeance?
Rathbone inclined his head in agreement. “Very well.”
“And now that that’s settled.” Lazarus tossed the kris without any warning. The blade cut through the male’s torso and came out the other side—with his liver. “I vowed to Cameo I would punish the one who hurt her. Now my vow is complete.”
Rathbone winced before a new smile bloomed. “The first organ is free. The next one will cost you. Dearly.”
“So you understand there will be a next. Excellent. We’re on the same page.”
A bark of laughter echoed from the walls. Used to intimidating his foes, Lazarus had no idea how to proceed with this one.
“I think I like you,” Rathbone said. “I think we’ll be great friends.”
“I have no need of friends.” Though he did sometimes yearn for someone to trust, to guard his back and back his cause. “I don’t dislike you, but I’ll remove the rest of your organs, one at a time, if you steal from Cameo again.”
“I now know I like you. If ever you need me—”
“I need no one.” The statement rushed from him. A reassurance for himself as well as the underworld’s shape-shifter king.
“But if ever you do—”
“I won’t.”
“—say my name.” A second later, Rathbone vanished.
Lazarus stood in place, his hands curled into fists. Breathing became a little more difficult as he struggled to rein in his temper...and his lust.
With the king gone, he had no distraction from Cameo’s magnetic allure. She was here. In his home. The woman against whom he would forever measure all others. The fever in his flesh, the ache in his bones.
The weakness he had to excise, one way or another.
“Step two: Threaten...and follow through.”
—How to Achieve Victory
Subtitle: Except with Lovers
Cameo remained seated on the bed as an unfamiliar female bustled about in the bathroom. Rejection still rattled inside her brain like a barbed metal ball.
I don’t hate you. But I don’t like you, either.
Lazarus had told her what had transpired between them, but instead of setting her free of Misery’s shackles, he’d wrapped a new chain around her neck. The man had kissed and touched her...had given her pleasure. To her knowledge, he was the first. Also, he had no issues with Misery. And yet he couldn’t get rid of Cameo fast enough.
Destined to be alone with me. Misery’s poison dripped from every word, searing hidden corners of her mind.
Fate would not be so cruel. Fate—
Could be far crueler. Her shoulders rolled in, her head bowing. A small flame of hope snuffed out, and a drop of wax seemed to splash onto her heart, burning a hole in the center. No matter how horrid her life, things could always get worse.
At least her wounds had stopped stinging when Lazarus applied salve. Torn flesh had even woven together. He was right; no love buttons for Cameo.
Of course, when he applied the salve, her pride had started stinging. His touch had been impersonal and rough, his expression twisted with repugnance.
A sniffle wafted from the bathroom. Cameo stiffened. Never fails. Not a single word had left her mouth, and yet Misery had managed to infect the other woman.
Poor servant girl, the demon said, his voice soft and sad. Your presence is torture for her.
Wah, wah, wah. Cameo would not accept guilt for this. She wouldn’t! She wasn’t responsible for anyone else’s feelings.