What the first Eye had told him—and the newest did not yet know—was that there was a way for him to save himself. A woman with wings of midnight, who had lived among his enemy but craved a life with his allies, was to be his salvation.
That woman was Sienna. Everything about her fit the Eye’s description, from her appearance to her circumstances.
Therefore, she had to do as the Eye had said she must do. Reign by Galen’s side, despite her desire to aid the Lords. Only she could keep Galen’s attention, though she didn’t yet know how or why and Cronus wouldn’t tell her. Only she could hold her own against Rhea, if ever his wife got free. Only she could stop the Lords from attacking Galen, for killing the keeper of Hope would not stop the prophecy from coming to pass. His demon would be given to someone else, and that someone else would then become the white-winged slayer of the Titan king.
“I will escape, you know,” Rhea said, and she sounded confident.
Whether that confidence stemmed from her abilities or his capitulation, he wasn’t sure. Didn’t care. He rubbed a thumb over one brow, another dismissive gesture. “No, I do not know. I’ve never seen so weak a goddess.”
Only he could unlock her chains, and he planned never to do so. Among her most recent crimes, she had convinced her sister to become his mistress and spy on him. Another reason for Cronus’s insistence that Sienna do the same to Galen.
“One day…” she gritted out.
He moved to the side of the bed, away from the dead body and closer to his hated wife. “You will ruin me. You will imprison me. You will… What other threats have you issued, hmm?”
“I will peel away your skin, spit on your bones and dance in a pool of your blood.”
“Sounds like a truly spectacular evening. Until then, I think I’ll have a bit of fun.” With a single wave of his hand, he summoned one of the countless females currently residing in his harem. A redhead with deeply tanned skin and roses in her cheeks appeared beside him. Unlike some of the others he owned, she truly enjoyed attending to his needs.
Today she wore a transparent drape of silk and lace, jewels that had once belonged to Rhea and a smile brighter than any sun. Seeing the Titan queen so helpless on the bed, and knowing she herself was a favorite of his, she puffed with pride, flipped her hair over one shoulder, and waved smugly.
Rhea hissed.
And that’s why I chose her, he thought with an inward grin.
Recognizing the diamonds curling around the girl’s neck, Rhea released a spew of curses.
“Majesty,” the girl said with a curtsy, talking over the queen to prove how little she mattered. The fragrance of citrus wafted from her. “What can I do for you?”
“You can show the woman on the bed how much your man pleases you.” He waved her in front of him, where he bent her over, her face right in front of Rhea’s.
“Does she not please you?” the girl asked.
The queen gave another hiss and tried to bite her.
“Enough of that.” His gaze on his wife, he lowered the zipper to his leather pants. He despised wearing such constrictive clothing, but Rhea found this type of garment attractive, and his need for vengeance far surpassed any desire for comfort. “You know what you must say to stop this from happening,” he told his wife. Rhea must only concede defeat, vowing to forever obey him.
“I’ll die first.”
“Very well.”
He took the servant, and the pleasure was intense—and he would never admit it was so satisfying only because he kept his eyes on his wife. She, however, closed her eyes to block his image. No matter. She felt every sensation along with him, and that was enough. For now.
When he finished, he righted his clothing with hands trembling from the force of his release—which was humiliating; a king should recover swiftly—and sent the grinning servant away.
“Bastard,” Rhea said on a panting breath. “I hate you. With all of my being, I hate you.”
“As I hate you.”
A smile of genuine amusement suddenly curled the corners of her mouth. “You know, Cronus, darling. You did not enjoy your whore half as much as I enjoyed mine.”
The words were carefully calculated, a stinging blow to his masculine pride. But he was careful to keep his own expression equally amused. “You know, darling,” he said. “You might have enjoyed your men, but you only ever had them once before I found and killed them. I, on the other hand, am already looking forward to having the redhead again tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TEN
FANGS IN HIS ARMS. Claws in his legs. Horns jabbing into his stomach. At least, Paris seriously hoped that it was horns jabbing into his stomach. For a while, some of the gargoyles had ground on him like dogs in heat as their friends attempted to chain him down. Won’t gag. He would have allowed the restraints—if he hadn’t seen Sienna. She was here. Alive. Unfettered.
She’d looked at him, had met his gaze, and sadness had wafted from her. Sadness and regret, and even horror. The horn-rimmed glasses she’d once worn were gone, her eyesight probably perfect in the afterlife, but her features were the same. Big hazel eyes, plump red lips. A flow of mahogany waves, now to her waist.
His woman. His mine. One by one his friends had fallen in love, and he’d been so jealous. Now, here was the woman who’d fascinated him as no other. He’d thought, Must reach her…must wipe away the horror…
Sex had thought, Must have her.
Now his demon retreated into the back of his mind, the coward, as Paris fought his way free of the gargoyles to run after her. In an instant, his captors swarmed him, their fervor intensified. He tossed one, then another, then another still, slamming the rigid stone bodies into walls. They recovered instantly and returned to him. More clawing, more jabbing.
They slowed him, but they didn’t stop him. He was weak and growing weaker, because he hadn’t had sex all day. Didn’t think he’d had sex yesterday, either. He’d already forgotten. Whatever. Sienna was here, and with one glance, he’d gotten hard for her.
He could have her again. No question about that now.
He just had to reach her.
As the darkness rose up inside him, clouding his mind with thoughts of destruction and death, he offered no more resistance, allowing it to drive him deeper and deeper into the place where only demolishing the obstacles in his path mattered. These gargoyles wanted to keep him from his woman. They did not deserve to live.
One step, two, three, the things clawing at his thighs, his calves, hanging on to his ankles, he eked his way into the ballroom. All the while he punched at heads, kicked and stabbed at middles. Stone cracked. Pieces scattered on the floor.
“Sienna! Where—”
She flew around the far corner, her dark hair tangled behind her, her hazel eyes wild and bright. In a blink, the world slowed down and he noticed details he’d missed before. Her lips were more swollen than usual, with droplets of blood dried at the corners. A bruise colored her cheek, a blue-black testament of the pain she had been forced to endure. One of her obsidian wings was bent at an odd angle, clearly broken.
She’d been hurt. Someone had hurt her.
Red mixed with the black, both swimming so thickly in his brain they compromised his line of vision. Shimmers of rage sparked a thousand must-kill-must-protect fires, each one warring with the others. In his veins, his blood was molten, turning jerky movements into fluid, lethal arcs.
With a roar, he tossed away two other gargoyles. He grabbed another by the neck and punched, punched, punched, creating a hole in the creature’s cheek, the rest of the stone chipping away bit by bit. Still the creature fought Paris’s hold, teeth chomping at his fist.
“Let them chain you,” Sienna shouted. “Please, just let them chain you.”
She wanted him bound? Hated him as much as he’d feared? No matter. Her command and plea were discarded, his determination unwavering. Must kill… Punch, punch. Enemy must die. Punch, punch, punch. Stab. Obstacles must be eliminated. Punch, stab. Debris flew in every direction. The gargoyles forgot about their desire for pleasure, or whatever they’d felt while writhing on him, and went on full attack, no longer going easy on him.
Sienna reached him, smelling of wildflowers and…ambrosia? He inhaled deeply. Oh, yeah. Ambrosia’s sweet, sweet perfume permeated his skin, overshadowed everything else, including the need to kill, but oh, he now wanted to imbibe. Had to imbibe. His mouth watered, even as he wondered why she would smell of the immortal drug he had forced himself to stop using not too long ago, when he was hurt during a fight he would have won if he’d been clearheaded. His injuries had almost caused him to miss his appointment with a goddess to purchase his crystal blades, and he’d decided then and there to stop using. Thankfully, he had gone through the worst of the withdrawal already; he couldn’t afford to go through it again. He would stop caring about anything but his next fix.
Want her. As close as she now was, Sex perked up, pouring strength straight into Paris’s system and changing the direction of his own thoughts. Must touch her…must have her…
For once, they were in agreement.
“You have to let them chain you.” When she attempted to jerk two of the gargoyles away from him, they turned on her, some biting, some clawing, some head-butting her. Her knees collapsed under their weight.
Another roar ripped from his throat. She had tried to save him? The very idea was foreign to him. Ignoring the beasts still attempting to subdue him, he concentrated on the ones climbing on top of her. He grabbed one and threw. Grabbed another, threw.
“Run!” he commanded her.
The beasts returned to him in a snap. He tried to knock them away, clearing a path for her, but she didn’t run. She lay panting, her limbs unmoving, not even trying to shield herself.
Her watery gaze pleaded with him. “Please, Paris. Be still. Don’t fight.”
Heated breath caught in his throat, and though every instinct he possessed screamed to continue fighting, continue hurting anything and everything in his way, he planted his heels on the floor, sheathed his blades and lowered his arms. She had tried to save him; he would trust her.
