souls? If they’re still here, they’re causing trouble and—oh, oh, wait.” Clap, clap, jump, jump, twirl. “I’ve already figured this little mystery out because I’m highly intelligent. You want to see your slain human lover.”
Instantly his fury flashed to the surface, hot enough to blister. He didn’t like anyone speaking of Sienna in any fashion. Not Zacharel, and certainly not this strange minor goddess with a penchant for gossiping. Sienna was his to protect, even in that capacity. “I—”
“Tsk, tsk. No need to confirm my genius assumption.” Viola patted his cheek, all syrupy sweetness for his mental handicap. “Especially since I can’t help you.”
She tried to walk away.
He caught her wrist. “Can’t or won’t?” There was a big difference. The first he could do nothing about. The second he could change, and if she pushed him, she would discover the lengths he was willing to go to, to do just that.
“Won’t. See ya.” Oblivious to the rage she threatened to unleash, she jerked from his hold and practically skipped to the back of the bar, her perfect ass swaying, the heels of her boots clicking.
Incensed, he followed her, shoving aside anyone who got in his way. Grunts, groans and growls abounded, the predators in the crowd taking exception to his brute-force tactics. No one attempted to stop him, however. They sensed a far greater predator in their midst.
“How do you know who I am?” he demanded the moment he reached Viola. They’d start there and work their way to the mind changing, just in case one was dependent on the other.
She performed another twirl, making a production of it, as if she were a model at the end of a runway. He was a tall man used to towering over women, but Viola was a tiny fluff of five feet nothing and he dwarfed her.
Sienna, on the other hand, was just the right height. Standing, or on his knees, or lying down, he’d reach all the best parts of her, no problem.
“I know everything there is to know about the Lords of the Underworld,” Viola said. “I made the entire horde of you my business when I escaped Tartarus and learned you were responsible for my condition.”
She did blame him for the demon she’d been stuck with, then. And she smelled of roses, he realized with a jolt, the gentle scent suddenly clinging to his sinuses, very nearly drowning him in a warm sense of peace.
Lucien, the keeper of the demon of Death, could do the same thing to his enemies, calming them just before he struck a life-ending blow.
Paris’s fury and frustration quickly chased that peacefulness away. “Stop that.”
“Wow, that’s a dark scowl. And not a very good look for you, I must say,” she added, then caught a glimpse of her coral-painted fingernails and studied them in the light. “So pretty.”
Touch her.
He tuned out his demon and decided he’d give the charm/sucker thing one more shot. Because, honestly? He had yet to intimidate this female in any way. If this next attempt failed, he would let loose his beast in full force—and he wasn’t talking about Sex. There was darkness inside him now, so much darkness, and that darkness would drive him to do what was necessary, no matter how vile.
He had no one but himself to blame, for he’d opened himself up to it. Just a fraction at first, like a crack in a window. But the funny thing was, once you welcomed in a breeze, there was no stopping what came next. A wind, a storm, thunder and lightning, until you could no longer reach the window to close it—and didn’t really want to anyway. That’s what this new darkness was. Evil in its purest form, an entity very much like Sex, urging him on.
Lie, cheat, betray, Paris thought. Here, now, like all the other times before.
He leaned down, softening his expression, forcing his demon’s desires to seep through his pores. Forcing his blood to heat and the musky scent of arousal to drift from him, as sultry as champagne, as heady as chocolate. If Sex wouldn’t use those pheromones, Paris would. He hated doing this, because, like everyone else, both he and Sex became mindless, flesh-hungry beings at the first whiff. Worse, the memories of what he forced people to do … to crave …
“Viola, sweetness. Talk to me. Tell me what I wish to know.” His tone was a sensual caress, blissful and sure, and yet, even with the pheromones affecting Paris, he wanted only one woman and Viola wasn’t her.
“I meant to thank you for my demon,” she went on, as if he’d never spoken. As if he did not currently smell like pleasure walking. “He’s the best! But then halfway to Budapest to track down your fortress, I forgot all about you. I’m sure you understand.” She fluffed her hair, looking away from him as she waved to someone at her right. “So, anyway, now that you’re here, thanks. Feel free to relay that to the others. Now you’ll have to— Argh! Who put a mirror there?” she ended in a screech.
Undiluted rage blazed from her expression for a single heartbeat, followed by rapturous ecstasy as she studied her reflection.
“Look at me.” She angled one way, posed, then angled another and posed again. “I’m gorgeous.”
“Viola.” Seconds passed, but she never stopped admiring herself. She even blew herself a kiss. Fine. They’d do this the other way. “I can make you beg for my touch, Viola. In front of everyone. And believe me, you will beg. You will cry, but relief will never be yours. I’ll make sure of it. But do you know what else? That’s not even the worst of what I’ll do to you.”
Several seconds ticked by, but she never offered a reply.
Fury …
Frustration …
Darkness … rising … He wanted to strike, to hurt, to kill.
He inhaled, held, held … smelled an infusion of roses … released the breath. Okay. Good. This time he was able to allow both emotion bombs to fizzle before detonation, calming him.
Perhaps Viola couldn’t help herself, he realized suddenly. As he knew very well, all of Pandora’s demons came with a major flaw. This could be hers. She was Narcissism, after all, a lover of self.
Testing his theory, he stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the mirror. Her entire body stiffened. Her gaze darted left and right, as if searching for interlopers who might have tried to harm her while she’d been incapacitated. No one had approached, and the tension drained from her. She breathed easier.
“I will gut the culprit!” she whispered fiercely.
Bingo. Her flaw, and one she clearly reviled.
“Concentrate on me, Viola.” He gripped her by the shoulders, squeezing harder than he’d intended and shaking her until those cinnamon eyes rose to meet his. “Tell me what I want to know and you’ll walk away from this unscathed.”
Still not the least bit intimidated, she shrugged off his hold. “So impatient. I should be used to it by now, but alas. Men falling all over me … still a burden.”
“Viola!”
“Fine. Let’s see what my worshippers have to say sooner rather than later, shall we?” She lifted her phone
