The Darkest Seduction

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“COME. I WILL ESCORT YOU to the exit.”

Sienna gaped at Zacharel, who had just appeared in front of her. Paris and the angel had been standing in front of her, bucking up against each other, ready to throw down as testosterone charged the air, only to disappear without warning. The angel had returned the very next second. Without Paris.

“Where is he?” she demanded, though she wasn’t too worried about the answer. Paris and Zacharel were friends despite their differences, and Wrath had yet to make a peep.

“I took him to the castle and dropped him on the bridge.”

Reevaluation time. Paris and Zacharel were not friends on any level. Wrath, on the other hand, must think angels could do no wrong. “Why would you do that?” Sure, Paris would be carried inside and locked up. Sure, he would escape, and he would be fine. But none of that mattered to her just then. Fury rose, dark and hot and dangerous.

Calm down. Before she whipped out that crystal blade Paris had given her and went to town on angel flesh. She’d so had enough of males and their abuse of supernatural abilities.

Zacharel blinked as if the answer should be obvious to one and all. “That, as you called it, is what one male does to another when they are arguing.”

“No. No, it’s not.”

His lips edged down in the slightest of frowns. “That is what your Paris did to William of the Dark only this morn.”

Well, she had no comeback for that, did she?

Zacharel shook out his wings, the white-and-gold feathers lifting slowly, elegantly. Snow glistened between the down. Her anger did nothing to lessen the impact of his beauty, the murky landscape somehow providing a suitable backdrop for him, dark where he was light.

No, not light, she mused. An aura of dawn radiated from him, causing him to glow.

“Well?” she prompted. “Will you take me to him?”

“Your eyes…” he said, his frown deepening.

“What about them?”

“I can see that Paris’s darkness has taken root inside you already.”

He spoke the words and somehow she knew they were true, the knowledge simply becoming a part of her. Paris’s darkness, the one his demon had given birth to, was indeed inside her. A small twinge of worry was quickly followed by a shrug of unconcern. Wrath lived inside her. What was one more entity?

“You’ve ignored my first question long enough. Now I’m taking over. Listen up, and listen good. I want you to take me back to the castle.”

The demand was unwise, unnecessary and counterproductive to her screw-Cronus plan, followed by her bagging and tagging of Galen, as well as her search for her sister, but that wasn’t going to stop her. Paris would fight to reach her, that protective side of his demanding he witness her escape from the realm, she knew that now. If that happened, he would be harmed.

“You intended to part company in two days,” he said, unwavering. “I merely sped things along.”

She’d been looking forward to those two days with Paris, had wanted to make love to him again and again and brand him inside her mind, her body, until her every cell smelled like him.

“You keep reminding us that we can’t be together.” Suspicions tangoed with her thoughts as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is that?”

“Because you both need reminding.” Simply stated, as if she should be ashamed for asking.

“Why?” she insisted.

“Why would you want to be with him?” Zacharel’s dark head tilted to the side, his study of her intensifying. “Do you love him?”

Did she, when doing so would cause their break to hurt that much more? “I like him.” A lot. Like, really, really a lot. And she respected him. Admired him. Craved him like a drug. He was witty and kind and protective and loyal, and even though he had every reason to despise her, he hadn’t once treated her as if she were the enemy.

“We need you in the heavens, Sienna.”

Did they, now? “Well, get in line. Lately, everyone needs me.” And no one would explain the reason. She fisted her hands and propped them on her hips. “What is it you think I can do for you? Because right now, I’m having trouble taking care of myself.”

“All I know is that you will herald our victory in the most gruesome war this world has ever seen.”

Forget sputtering. She gaped. Her, responsible for winning a war. No pressure, though, right? She so couldn’t deal with this right now.

Zacharel stiffened, glanced over one strong shoulder. “Cronus comes,” he said. “He has the answers you seek, though I would not trust him were I you.”

Stomach cramp. Not Cronus, not now, and not outside the castle. He would flip. Although, keeping him out of the castle would keep him away from Paris, so… “Get lost, angel boy.”

At that, he quirked a brow. “I will allow you to leave with him. I don’t think you will thank me afterward, however. Until we meet again, demon girl.”

He was gone a moment later, and what do you know, Cronus appeared a moment after that. No longer dressed as a Goth reject from hell, he now wore a gray silk suit tailor-made for his frame, all elegant lines and overflowing bank account.

Wrath stopped prowling and started slamming at her skull, very much wanting a go at him, but unable to figure out why. What he didn’t do was fill her mind with images of the king’s sins. Weird.

Cronus glanced left, right, and frowned. “Why are you outside the castle? For that matter, how did you get outside the castle?”

“Wrath took over,” she said, lest he puzzle out that she had been aided by other immortals.

“Ah.” Smiling, revealing his dazzling pearly whites, he extended a crimson rose in her direction. “For you.”

“I, uh…” Not just stunned but completely flummoxed, she accepted the dewy bloom. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head ever so slightly as he accepted her appreciation. “And that’s not the only gift I come bearing. I have what you need.” A clear vial filled with glittering violet liquid followed the same path as the rose. “My apologies for the tardiness in its delivery.”

His apologies? Seriously? “Don’t worry about it?” A question when it should have been a statement.

Cronus cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Drink.”

Because she had no desire to confess that she’d already been fed, she took a small sip of what she now knew was ambrosia. What she didn’t know was why she needed ambrosia, or why Paris had looked ill when he’d handed her that flask.

Cool coconut flowed down her throat, sprouted wings and flew through her entire body. And wow, it packed a powerful punch. Both strength and weakness blazed through her, cannibalizing off each other and leaving her in a fog.

“That’s a good slave girl,” he mumbled.

I love being patronized, I really do. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, swaying as she returned the vial to him.

He waved his hand and the glass disappeared. “I must show you something,” he said, and with another wave of his hand, her surroundings fell away. From warm to cold, dark to light.

From salvation to damnation.