Temptation at Twilight: Lords of Pleasure (30 page)

Arron had just dispatched the last of them. He braced a booted foot on the shoulder of the deceased, yanking the blade from his chest.

In the middle of the carnage, Leila stood laughing like a loon, her high-pitched cackle raising the hair on the back of Soren’s neck.

“Bravo, darlings! I knew those dimwits would be no match for such brave warriors.” Dropping her voice low, she looked straight through Soren with a knowing smile. “My, look at all the blood you’ve lost from that nasty wound. You must be starving, my love. Why don’t you begin with Zenon?”

“Shut up.” Clenching his fists, he glared at her, hatred for his tormentor—and himself—bringing a hot rush of bile to his mouth.
Don’t think of the hunger!

“Death surrounds you. Can’t you smell the sweetness? Can’t you taste—”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Soren started for her, ready to rip out her throat, to end her miserable existence, when a movement along the wall snagged his attention.
Harley!
She was moaning, holding a hand to her temple, trying to sit up. Joy bloomed, but his happiness was short-lived.

Leila spun with a curse, outraged to see that her rival wasn’t dead after all. She intended to do something about it, but Soren grabbed her arm, jerking her around. Wild power surged through him, and he flung her to the tile with enough force to crack the surface where she landed. She stared up at him, eyes wide with surprise as he fell on top of her with a snarl, grabbing for her throat.

His fingers wrapped around her neck like a vise. He probably couldn’t kill her by strangling her—if he were still a normal vampire. But now? Fierce, dark satisfaction swelled inside him at the sight of the way her eyes bugged as he turned his black magic on her. Used the power against her that she’d worked so hard to force on him.

It flowed from him like a river of blood, burning the demoness like acid. Her flesh began to sizzle under his hands, and he laughed. “Die, bitch.”

He was unprepared for the blow that sent him flying through the air. His flight ended abruptly as he crashed into one of the support columns, his head smacking against the stone. He slid to the floor, dazed, fighting to stay conscious. He’d used too much of his unpredictable new power and didn’t know how to get it back.

The images before him split double, bouncing. But he could make out Luc, running to place himself between the demoness and Harley. The maniacal wrath on her features twisted them into ugliness. Zen raced after him.

“Get out of my way, before I send you to Hades!” Leila shrieked.

“You first, bitch,” Luc growled. Feet spread, he held the sword in front of him like a born warrior. Behind him, Harley’s green eyes were huge in her small face, taking in the unfolding horror.

Soren blinked, tried to push up, and fell again. With a flick of her wrist, Leila hurled a bolt into Luc that staggered him, in spite of his attempt to deflect it. Stunned, the sword slipped from his nerveless fingers to the floor with a clatter. Lips curled into a sneer, she reached into her cloak.

“I don’t think so. Die, young vampire.”

What happened next seemed like a series a slow-motion clips as Soren pushed to his feet.

Leila’s hand slipped from the folds of her cloak and drew back a bloodstained dagger.

Arron and Zen leaped forward, shouting. Arron was closer, and stepped in front of Luc.

Held out his palm as if to reason with a child.

“Leila, sto—”

Arron’s words broke off on a strangled gasp. He gazed down at himself, dumbfounded. The blade was buried deep in his chest. He took a halting step, then slowly sank to his knees. “Poison,” he whispered. “The blade is poisoned.”

Luc knelt beside him, catching him as he collapsed, cradling him gently. “Easy, dude. You’re going to be okay.”

Arron gritted his teeth hard and began to shake as Luc held him against his chest. A muffled sob from Harley urged Soren forward, step by painful step, until he stood between Leila and those she would have him destroy. Her face was drawn into a cold mask as she raved.

“See what your little whore and your sniveling brother have caused? They’ve made me kill my only friend!”

“Friend? You treated him like your possession,” Soren said. “You’ve used his son against him like a weapon for hundreds of years, and now he’s dying by
your hand.
You’re a vicious whore, and if he doesn’t walk away from here, neither will you.”

Leila glared at him. “A very moving speech, not that it matters. After I kill them all, I will make you my slave. I will rule the Coalition alone as queen.”

“No, you fucking won’t.”

The deep voice that came from behind Leila was filled with deadly promise, like the roll of distant thunder. A chill blew past Soren, as if someone had trailed icy fingers down his cheek.

Leila spun, her face blanching in shock. “No, this can’t be,” she whispered.

Soren looked past her to the altar, and what he saw made his knees go weak with relief. Valafar sucked in a giant breath and strained against the chains binding him. One by one, they snapped in rapid succession, reverberating throughout the temple like gunshots.

With great dignity, he rose. Steady on his feet, he straightened to his full height, stretched his fully healed black wings to their massive span, and approached the small group. The tread of his boots made a slow, ominous click across the marble. He raised his dark head, eyes smoldering. The new, moon-shaped scar on his cheek—exactly like the one on Soren’s hip—added to the effect. He moved like a cat, exuding power, grace, and utter control. The demon prince held no weapon, but Soren knew he wouldn’t need one.

Valafar’s lips turned up, and he spoke to Soren first. “Sorry I’m late. The belladonna took a little longer to work than I expected.”

“I’m just glad you made it,” he admitted. “I could use some gods-damned help.”

“What the devil is going on? How is this possible?” Leila gaped at the prince. “Soren took your blood, read your secrets. He said only the gods are allowed to partake of belladonna!”

Valafar stepped so close to her, she had to tilt her head up to look at him. Very, very softly, he enunciated each word so that there could be no mistaking his meaning.

“Yes, that’s exactly what he said.”

Leila froze, lips parted, terror leaching her color to gray. “But . . . but you were sired by an incubus and a human woman. How do you have the mark of Azrael?”

“Ah, you do not know my true history, thanks to Soren.” He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “I am indeed the son of an incubus who was a descendant of Azrael. The archangel’s mark shows only when I allow it, such as now. But I wasn’t birthed by the human woman you speak of. Soren lied to you about that, just as I trusted him to do.”

Soren didn’t envy Leila’s position. Valafar was toying with her now, a cat with a mouse.

“Y-your mother . . .” she stammered, unable to finish.

“Is Hestia, goddess of Olympus.”

A collective gasp sounded from the small group. Even Arron’s eyes widened in surprise, and he and Valafar exchanged a glance that Soren couldn’t decipher. Leila began to back away, shaking.

“F-former goddess!” She was desperate, grasping at straws. “Hestia resigned her throne on Olympus eons ago! That makes you nothing but the bastard son of a common affair.”

“No, my conniving traitor. It makes me the beloved son of my parents—and a demigod. It makes me your prince, keeper of peace and justice in the Southern Coalition. I was charged thus by the gods of Olympus when they granted me immortality in this very temple, and it’s past time I take my duties seriously. I’ll do it gladly to prevent more parasites like you from squirming into my realm.”

Valafar caressed her check with his palm. Transfixed, gazing into his stony face, she sank to her knees.

“My prince, have mercy,” she begged.

“Your request comes centuries too late, demoness.” Retrieving Soren’s bloodied sword from near his feet, the prince lowered it, resting the tip at the V of her neck and shoulder. “Leila Maria Doucet, for your crimes—including the murders of countless innocents, the attempted murder of my beloved brother, Arron, and for treason against my throne—I hereby sentence you to death.”

“Valafar, please! I’ll do anything—”

“Soren Fontaine, for the wrongs you and your beloved have suffered at her hands, you have earned the right to choose the method of execution—and the right to carry it out.”

Soren was struck temporarily speechless. He didn’t deserve such an honor. He could no longer recall the vampire he’d been.

“No!” she screeched. “He betrayed you! He tried to kill you with the belladonna.”

“Belladonna is a healing agent to a demigod. Soren saw my secrets, but he chose to reveal the one that would strengthen and free me, not destroy me. In spite of your pitiful attempts to crush the remaining good in him, you failed. I owe him a great debt. Sentence her, Soren. That’s an order.”

He studied Leila. Next to Valafar’s awesome presence, she appeared beaten, small. How could he have allowed her to control the beast inside him? Was he so weak?

Considering her fate, he took no satisfaction in it. He believed only that the punishment should fit the crime. Death by beheading was too swift. This required something more in keeping with her hideous acts.

“Take the vial hidden in your robe, the one you took from Zenon.”

She did, holding it aloft with a puzzled frown. “Valafar’s blood? I don’t see—”

“Drink it.”

The prince nodded his approval of the sentence. “The judgment is fitting. So that there can be no question of subterfuge, the blood in the vial is Zenon’s, not mine. You wanted my blood to strengthen you. As Zen is a pure demon, his blood will kill you. Do as Soren says.”

“You tricked me!” Her fingers tightened around the vessel.

“You believed what you wished out of greed for my power, evil one. Proceed with the sentence,” the prince ordered.

Her eyes cast about the area, frantic for an out. Soren tensed, and Valafar shifted on his feet. Whatever she had in mind, it didn’t include going quietly into eternity.

Suddenly, she threw the vial to the floor. It shattered, the poisonous demon’s blood spilling harmlessly. With lightning speed, she sprinted the short distance to Luc’s discarded sword and snatched it up.

“Halt!” Valafar bellowed.

Instead, she spun toward Harley with a snarl, shedding her human form to appear as the hideous monster she truly was.

Soren’s heart leaped to his throat as she went after Harley. He ran faster than he ever had, caught her by the head of writhing snakes streaming behind her, and wrapped his fist in the squirming bodies. Jerking hard, he yanked her off her feet and threw her to the ground.

“Soren, look out!” Harley cried.

Leila brought the blade upward, intending to shove it under his breastbone. He captured her wrist and they rolled, each fighting for control. Fighting to the death.

He rolled atop her, straining with all his strength. The tide began to turn in his favor, her grip weakening. Gradually, he twisted the knife into the soft flesh of her abdomen. And as their eyes met, hers widened. Before she could turn him to stone, he plunged the weapon forward, the blade parting her snake’s skin like a knife filleting a fish. Sickened, he pushed off her and knelt, hands gripping his thighs. Her muscles contracted and she screamed. A slow, agonizing death for an evil being felled by the enchanted sword.

But she wasn’t finished. Turning her head to look at him, she gave him a malicious smile, blood bubbling to her lips.

“My demise changes nothing. The beast will move within you always. Growing, filling you until you no longer care who you once were. I should know.” She coughed, shuddered, and went on. “A part of me now lives in your soul. You are trapped, a slave to the evil inside you. Go forth in my stead, for that is your burden to bear . . . forever.”

S
oren pushed to his feet, lurching away from the damning truth. From all of them. “Oh, gods.”

A slender hand touched his back, and the sweet scent of his mate teased his nose.

“Get away from me, Harley. I’m dangerous.”

“I don’t believe that. You have good left in you. Even Valafar said—”

He whirled, grabbing her by her arms, shaking her. He had to make her understand. “I nearly killed you! Any second I could lose control again to this—this
thing
inside me. There’s only one way out for me. Don’t you see?”

The stricken look in her green eyes almost felled him. “It’s not hopeless. Valafar is a god. He can help. Can’t you?” she said, turning to the prince.

Soren hung his head in shame. He’d given his body and soul to darkness and broken her heart, and would do so again. Still, she pleaded for his life.

Everyone waited. Seconds passed. Val shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”