THE DARKEST ANGEL (14 page)

“So...you’re not curious about the serpentine wreaths? Their side effects...”

The wreaths. He loved the wreaths. He
hated
the wreaths. They were a gift from Hades, ancient and mystical, and they were responsible for Baden’s tangible form.

Hades and Keeley, now the wife of one of Baden’s friends, had come to him in what he’d thought was a dream. Through some kind of mystical power, they’d switched the bands Lucifer—his jailer at the time—had forced on him and replaced them with bands that belonged to Hades.

As long as you wear
my
wreaths
, Hades had said,
you will be seen...touched.

The friendly gesture of an ally he supported in the war of the underworlds? He’d thought so in the beginning. Now he wondered... The trick of an underhanded foe?

The day after Baden had donned the gift, William had looked at him with pity and said, “Just ask
Pet Sematary
. Sometimes dead is better.”

William wasn’t wrong.

By that point, Baden had already begun to change. Not physically—maybe physically—but definitely mentally. Once even-tempered, he struggled for control. He despised anyone who might be stronger than him. As proved. Memories plagued him, but they weren’t his own. They couldn’t be. He’d never been a child, had been created fully formed, an immortal soldier tasked with protecting Zeus, and yet he clearly remembered being five years old, running through an ambrosia field set aflame, thick smoke billowing as he was captured by a pack of wild dogs.

Those dogs had dragged him, kicking and screaming, into a cold, dank dungeon, where he’d stayed for centuries, alone and starving, deprived of every creature comfort.

The wreaths weren’t just an object, he’d realized, but a being. Not a demon, but worse. A being who’d once lived; an immortal who wanted to continue living through Baden. A monster who always teetered on the edge of rage, violence and distrust.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Baden.

“Yesterday,” he said, “you told me you knew nothing about the wreaths.”

William hiked his shoulders in a shrug. “That was yesterday.”

“And now you know...what, exactly?”

“Only everything.”

He waited for the warrior to say more. “Do you want another beating? Tell me!”

“
Beating
is too strong a word for what just transpired. I’d go with
massage
.” William buffed his nails. “Just so you know, the wreaths’ side effects are numerous and horrifying.”

“I figured the horrifying part out on my own, thanks.” Removing the wreaths wasn’t an option. He’d tried, and he’d failed. To succeed, he would have to hack off his arms with, say, a meat cleaver.

Before his death, his arms would have grown back. Now? He wasn’t sure and wasn’t willing to experiment to find out. His hands were his first line of defense.

“What else?” he asked.

“Well, if you want to keep your new temper tantrums at bay but don’t want to give out any more massages, you’ll need sex and a lot of it.”

The pronouncement was a joke. Had to be.

Baden arched a brow. “You offering, oh great and mighty randy one?”

William snorted. “As if you could handle me, Ginger.”

To be honest, he couldn’t handle
anyone
. When he wasn’t fighting, the sensitivity of his skin caused him to avoid any kind of contact. Every brush of flesh against flesh was excruciating, like a dagger being raked against exposed nerve endings.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” William said. “Leave Budapest—today—and go...somewhere else. You’ll collect a harem of immortal women, and you’ll spend the next decade...maybe two...concerned only with pleasure.”

Leave his friends? After they’d only just been reunited? He was here to help them, to guard their backs the way he’d longed to do all their centuries apart. “I’m going to pass.”

“And I’m going to insist. You can’t beat the darkness, Baden.”

“I am the darkness.”

The warrior canted his head in agreement. “Maddox has a wife and children. Gideon’s wife is pregnant. Kane’s wife is pregnant. Not to mention the other females living in the house. You go after any of them the way you went after me, and your brothers-by-choice will gut you. No matter how much they love you.”

“I would never—”

“Wouldn’t you?”

A new rage sparked to life. He slammed a fist through the wall, then cursed. The beast took advantage of every opportunity. “All right. I’ll leave.” The words pained him, but he even added, “Today.”

“Good boy.” William beamed at him. “Any idea where you’ll go?”

“No.” He had very little experience with the modern world.

“I’ll probably regret this later,” William said, stroking two fingers over his jaw, “but what the hell. We only live twice, right?” With barely a pause, he added, “For the bargain price of a favor to be named later, I’ll give you one of my homes and set up a private carnal buffet for you. Thanks to my efforts, even a man with no game will be able to score a ten.”

* * *

A pair of double Ds hit Baden in the face, making him hiss in pain. A hiss that went unnoticed or unheeded as Bambi with an
i
—giggle giggle—gyrated on his lap. She reached out to cup his nape, intending to draw him closer so that he could “motor boat.”

He batted her hand away as gently as possible, preventing any more contact.

She grinned at him, though there wasn’t a single hint of amusement in her eyes. “Performance anxiety? Don’t worry, gorgeous, I know the perfect cure.” She hopped off and spun, shoving her ass in his face to twerk to the rapid beat of rock music blasting from surround-sound speakers.

Baden turned to glare at William, the only other male in the room. The prick was certainly living up to his reputation as the original playboy as he stuffed a hundred-dollar bill in the G-string of his own stripper, a blonde bumping and grinding with absolute abandon.

“Even though
you
should be paying
me
, I’m feeling generous.” William gave her another hundred. “Don’t think I failed to notice your orgasm. The first
or
the second.”

She was too busy having a third to respond.

“This isn’t helping me,” Baden snapped.

William never even glanced in his direction. “Don’t doubt my pimposity just yet. This is only the appetizer.”

Pimposity?

“Listen to him, honey buns.” Miss Twerk turned again, brushing her fingertip along the curve of Baden’s jaw. “You’re supposed to eat me up.”

The pain! He clasped her by the wrists and set her away from him once and for all. “No touching. Ever.”

His unintentionally harsh tone sent fear careening through her.

“Go.” He waved her off. “Now.”

As she raced from the room, he leaned against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He needed sex—supposedly—but he couldn’t bring himself to have it. What kind of future awaited him? One dark rage constantly bleeding into another?

The question opened the door to another memory he’d never lived.

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 long sharp claws. Bits of flesh and...
other things
hung from every protrusion.

Footsteps sounded beyond the 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.

Baden opened his eyes and focused on the here and now. The last stripper skipped across the room and exited.

William frowned at him before flashing away...and returning a few seconds later with two glasses and a bottle of ambrosia-laced whiskey.

Ambrosia, the drug of choice for immortals.

The warrior filled the glasses to the brim. “Here. Lubricate your brain.”

The sweet scent wafted to Baden, causing his stomach to churn, and for a moment he was a child again, trapped in the burning field, running...running...his heart racing.

Not me.
The beast.

Trembling now, he drained the contents. A tide of warmth spread through him quickly, calming him, grounding him deeper in the here and now.

“There. Isn’t that better?” William reclined against 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 now offered only 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 after 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 the transition.”

Transition? “I’ll grin and bear it, no worries. Appearing less murder, as you say, is the true challenge. I’ve forgotten how to smile.”

“Lord save me. Are you
whining
?” William set his glass aside and traced a fingertip down each of 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 hunting Pandora’s box, determined to find it before someone—anyone—else. The thing had the power to remove all demons and kill the hosts. In an instant. They were also hunting for the Morning Star—a supernatural being still trapped inside the box, capable of granting any wish...in other words, capable of freeing the demons without killing the warriors.

Lucifer had mounted a search for the Morning Star, as well. And he had no plans to spare the Lords. He was at war with Hades and determined to win whatever the cost. He fought to eliminate his father’s allies—William, Baden and all the others. As the master of Harbingers—messengers of death—he might just be powerful enough to win.

“That’s right,” William said, pulling Baden back into the conversation. “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 one week, 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 another man.”

“Me,” William snapped. He’d never been able to hide the intensity of his emotions whenever the girl had stepped into a room. “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.
Same can’t be said about me.
“Well, boo hoo for you.” Survival first, matters of the heart second—if at all. “You’ve been warned, at least. You can be proactive.”

Wait, wait, wait. Had he just suggested William kill Gillian?

His hands fisted. He needed to put a tighter leash on the beast. 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 remain tangible.

“Enough conversation.” He forced the corners of his mouth to lift. “I’m less murdery. See?”

“Wow. That’s an even worse look for you. Let’s move on before I curl into a little ball and start sucking my thumb.” 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 the females lined up across the dais.

The mirror suddenly made sense. Baden had a perfect view of the front and the trunk, and his long-denied body stirred at last, even as self-disgust bombarded him.

“Prostitutes.” He should have known.

The blonde blew him a kiss.

“They prefer the term
freelance pleasure specialists
,” William said. “They are immortals. A Phoenix, Siren, nymph and pretty little kitty shifter, to be precise.” He leaned back, draped his muscled arms 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.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Ginger, but this is all you’re going to get.” William 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?”

“The male these females are going to pretend you are,” William said. “Because you, my dear man, are lacking in charm and sophistication, which means your fat wallet and chiseled features are all you have to get you to the finish line.”

“I’m not lacking in charm.” Sometimes he was. Maybe. Probably always.

William ignored him. “Ladies, tell Baden how pretty his wallet and face are.”

“
So
pretty.”

“The prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

“More beautiful than pretty.”

“I’ll ride your wallet
and
your face!”

Baden glared at William while stroking the hilt of the dagger hidden in a sheath under his jacket.