have it. What kind of future awaited him? One dark rage constantly bleeding into another? Like before...
Another memory he’d never lived played through his mind.
He stood outside the dungeon he’d occupied for a torturous eternity, a sea of bodies and body parts all around him. Blood soaked his hands...hands tipped by sharp claws, bits of flesh and other things.
Footsteps thumped in a nearby hallway. A survivor?
Not for long.
Grinning with anticipation, he climbed through the debris and—
The music cut off abruptly, drawing Baden back to the present. He opened his eyes in time to see the last stripper exit the room.
William tsk-tsked at him before flashing away...and returning with two glasses and a bottle of ambrosia-laced whiskey.
Ambrosia, the drug of choice for immortals.
The warrior filled the cups to the brim. “Here. Lubricate your brain.”
The sweet scent wafted to Baden, causing his stomach to churn. For a moment he was a child again, trapped in the burning field, running...running...his heart galloping like a horse at a race.
Not me. The beast.
Trembling, he drained the cup. A tide of warmth spread through him quickly, calming him despite the adverse association, grounding him deeper in the here and now.
“There. Isn’t that better?” William reclined at his end of the white couch, the only piece of furniture in a room of white.
White walls, white floor tiles. White dais with a trio of mirrors in back. Baden’s reflection—the only real source of color—glared at him in challenge. He’d become a soldier he no longer recognized, with shaggy red waves in desperate need of a trim. Dark eyes once filled with welcome only offered silent threats. A mouth that used to quirk up in amusement only ever curved down in anger. Laugh lines had been replaced by scowl lines.
No, not better. “I’m ready to leave.”
“Too bad. I won’t remember how to flash you somewhere else until you’ve gotten laid. And as soon as you appear less murdery, you will get laid. The girls will love you.” William drained the contents of his glass in a single gulp. “Just do me a solid and inform your face this is supposed to be a good time.”
“Skin-to-skin contact is painful.”
The beast snarled at him for daring to voice such a damning vulnerability, even to one of Hades’s children.
William frowned at him. “If you think the wreaths are responsible—”
“I don’t.”
“—think again. They’re not. So grin and bear it or you won’t live through your transition.”
Transition? “Appearing less murdery, as you say, is the true challenge. I’ve forgotten how to smile.”
“Are you whining?” William set his cup aside and traced a fingertip down his cheeks, mimicking tears. “Your new life sucks. So what? Do you think you’re the only one with problems?”
“Certainly not.” His friends were currently hunting for Pandora’s box, determined to find it before someone—anyone—else. It could kill them in an instant. Just boom...gone...dead, their demons removed. Normally a good thing. But evil so entrenched had to be cleansed first and replaced by its opposite. Like with Haidee, Hate for Love. Otherwise rot set in. Which was why the Lords were also hunting for the Morning Star—a supernatural being still trapped inside the box, capable of granting any wish. Capable of freeing the demons without killing the warriors.
Lucifer had mounted a search for the Morning Star, as well, though he had no plans to spare the Lords. He was at war with Hades and determined to win whatever the cost. He’d made no secret of his desire to eliminate his father’s allies: William, Baden and all the others. And as the master of Harbingers—messengers of death—he might just be powerful enough to succeed.
“That’s right,” William said. “You’re not. In fact, my life makes yours look like a picnic hosted by naked forest nymphs.”
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
“Under-exaggerating, perhaps. In a matter of days, Gillian will celebrate her eighteenth birthday.”
“So?” Baden wanted the guy to say the words aloud—to admit to a vulnerability of his own. Tit for tat. “She’ll be an adult. Old enough to handle you.” He couldn’t help but add, “Or any other man she wants.”
“Me,” William snapped. He’d never been able to mask the intensity of his emotions for the girl. “Old enough to handle me. Only me. But I can’t have her.”
When the guy said no more, Baden prodded him. “Because you’re cursed?”
A pause. A stiff nod. “The woman who wins me will kill me.”
Wins. As if he were the prize. The same can’t be said about me. “Well, boohoo for you.” Survival first, matters of the heart second—if at all. “You’ve been warned. You can be proactive.”
What. The. Hell. Had he just suggested William kill sweet, innocent Gilly before she had the opportunity to kill him?
His hands fisted. He needed to put a tighter leash on the beast. So. He would pick a girl, have sex with as little bodily contact as possible, and maybe, for a little while, his head would clear. He would be able to think, to figure out a way to remove the wreaths, and the beast, keep all his body parts and remain tangible.
“Enough conversation.” He forced the corners of his mouth to lift. “I’m less murdery. See?”
“Wow. Just when I think you can’t look any worse, you go and prove me wrong.” Even still, William clapped his hands. “Ladies.”
Hinges creaked as the door opened. A new crop of scantily-clad females sauntered into the room—a brunette, blonde, redhead and ebony-skinned beauty. Smiles abounded as they lined up across the dais.
The mirror suddenly made sense. Baden had a perfect view of the front and the trunk. His long-denied body stirred at last, even as a new heaping of self-disgust assailed him.
“Prostitutes.” He should have known.
The blonde blew him a kiss.
“They prefer the term freelance pleasure specialists. They are immortal. A Phoenix, siren, nymph and pretty little kitty shifter, to be precise.” William draped a muscled arm over the top of the couch. “Which one do you want to jones for your scones? Your wish is her command.”
“I have no interest in feigned passion.”
“Hate to break it to you, Red, but feigned passion is all you’re going to get.” The warrior offered him a sorry-not-sorry smile. “Right now, you have only two things in your favor. You’re rich, thanks to investments Torin made over the centuries, and you’re a dead ringer for Jamie Fraser.”
“Who?”
