Possessed by the demon of Promiscuity, immortal warrior Paris is irresistibly seductive — but his potent allure comes at a terrible price. Every night he must bed someone new, or weaken and die. Newly possessed by the demon of Wrath, Sienna Blackstone is racked by a ruthless need to punish those around her. Until a blood feud between ancient enemies heats up. Will the battle against gods, angels and creatures of the night bind them eternally — or tear them apart?
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Possessed by the demon of Promiscuity, immortal warrior Paris is irresistibly seductive—but his potent allure comes at a terrible price. Every night he must bed someone new, or weaken and die. Newly possessed by the demon of Wrath, Sienna Blackstone is racked by a ruthless need to punish those around her. Until a blood feud between ancient enemies heats up. Will the battle against gods, angels and creatures of the night bind them eternally—or tear them apart?
Mostly mine. Mostly his. Anyway, I knew he deserved something, and someone, special. In fact, I had an idea for him and sat down to write it. Four tries later—with three hundred pages in the trash—he showed me exactly what he wanted. Okay, fine again. I finally gave in and did things his way.
And you know what? The characters had so much more depth than I expected, and as they interacted the puzzle pieces began to fall into place—I saw why he wanted what he wanted, and for the first time in a very long time I heard Paris laugh. I heard this in my head, of course, but laughter is laughter. Well, yeah. But this one time, giving in proved to be the best thing I could have done.
All my best! They love me, support me, and they are always there when I need them. The bond you see between the Lords, as well as the bond between the Harpy sisters? So this one is to my husband and children, my mom and dad, sisters and brothers, in-laws who are so much more than that , nieces and nephews and crazy aunts and uncles. I love and adore you all! Acknowledgments From family to friends, I am blessed. I love you, ladies! I speak, and the humans tremble in fear.
I speak, and my people rush to obey—and yet still they seek to destroy me. My salvation rides the wings of midnight, and my burden she carries. My rage she unleashes, delivering damnation to all with a single swing of her sword.
I speak. Watched as the once genial Paris murdered yet another of his enemy, the Hunters. How many victims that made in the past hour alone, the angel could not say. And even if he paused to do the tally, the answer would have changed a second later as yet another body fell to the slick, blood-coated blades the warrior wielded.
Of course, the panting, sweat-soaked Paris spun to engage two others, his motions fluid, lethally graceful…as unstoppable as an avalanche.
At first, he played. A punch, cracking bone. A kick, smashing lungs. Laughing, spouting the worst of curses. Soon none of that was enough for the demon-possessed soldier, and he danced his blades over the tendons in their ankles, hobbling his prey for easier elimination.
Paris had made himself Bait to purposely draw these Hunters to him. So Zacharel could not fault the warrior for what he did to defend himself, even as several new bodies joined the already mountainous pile enveloped by a sea of crimson and black. And yet, he could not commend the warrior, either.
These were not mercy slayings or even carried out in the name of a cold and calculated vengeance birthed in the bowels of an equally cold rage. No, these were a spew of fire, hate and desperation hotter than anything hell had ever created. Every crystal was to be a reminder of his own crimes, so recently brought to his attention. But unlike Paris, he did not wear misery like a winter coat, hugging it close to his body, relying on it, feeding it, helping it grow. Zacharel cared for nothing, not anymore.
The elite warrior was a muscled tower of unwavering strength. He wore a long white robe, his majestic wings like rivers of molten gold. Perhaps, like myriad other creatures, the crystals feared him—and rightly so. In their world, he was judge and jury, his word law. Even with the great distance between the heavens and the earth, Zacharel could hear the grunts and groans Paris elicited, the screams of his enemies.
The pleas for mercy that would echo into eternity, forever unheeded. And as determined as this Lord of the Underworld was, this was only the beginning. You will aid him, protect him and protect the girl. The moment her ties to Cronus are cut, however, you will bring her here, where she will live out the rest of eternity.
She must have requested this second favor, as well, for it was widely known that Lysander was powerless against her wiles. But even a besotted groom, tasked as he was with governing the heavens, responsible for all that transpired there, should not have asked another angel to do this deed.
Aid a demon? Bring another here to live? Zacharel offered no objection. And despite the fact that he had never experienced desire himself, he would do his best to cure Paris of his so that, when the inevitable break with the female came, the warrior would not return to his rage. An unnecessary edge, for Zacharel knew Lysander would not, could not, lie. The girl will lead us to our victory—or our enemy to theirs. When the time came, Zacharel would take her.
No matter how Paris was affected. Paris would hate him, and would, perhaps, do more than rage. There was no stopping that, not when so much darkness swirled inside him, a rot in his soul, far worse than any spiritual poison.
Nothing would. Fury and frustration were living entities inside him, frothing and bubbling despite his recent fighting. Hell, suddenly Paris doubted every drop of alcohol in a ten-mile radius would do the trick, but hey. Desperate times. Anything you say. He looked that dangerous? He looked down.
Crimson streaked him from head to toe. He was in Olympus, though the heavenly kingdom had recently been renamed Titania. A nice little screw you to the previous king, Zeus. Call the bartender back, Promiscuity said. I want him. Promiscuity—the demon trapped inside him, driving him. Irritating him.
Remember when I wanted fidelity? Paris replied in his mind. A familiar growl sounded in his head. Whaa, whaa, pout, pout. He downed the second alcoholic offering and quickly chased it with a third.
Both scorched so good he enjoyed a fourth. The potent alcohol razed his chest, burned holes in his abdomen, and flooded his veins.
And yet, his emotions remained as dark as ever, the edges of that bone-deep fury and frustration unsmoothed. His inability to save a not-so-innocent woman he should hate—did hate, at least a little—but also hungered for, body and soul, drove him, a constant whip against his flank. A voice accompanied by a blast of arctic air. Had old Zach actually succeeded, two crystal blades would have been drilling into his spine at that very moment.
I want him, the demon said. Screw you. Really hate you right now. Once upon a time, the demon had spoken to Paris with annoying frequency. Now, the talking had started up again and it was worse than before, because he wanted everyone, especially the ones Paris felt no desire for. Bejeweled chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The walls were rose-colored marble, veined with glittering ebony, the floor a sparkling stretch of crushed diamonds.
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Possessed by the demon of Promiscuity, immortal warrior Paris is irresistibly seductive—but his potent allure comes at a terrible price. Every night he must bed someone new, or weaken and die. Newly possessed by the demon of Wrath, Sienna Blackstone is racked by a ruthless need to punish those around her. Until a blood feud between ancient enemies heats up.
The Darkest Seduction (Lords of the Underworld #9) by Gena Showalter
Underworld Abridged Dictionary, 6th Edition Definition: The demon High Lord of Misery ensures his immortal host remains in a constant state of mental, emotional and physical anguish; through his host, he is able to harm others. Example: The demon flooded Cameo with sorrow, and when she cried out, her misery-soaked voice broke the heart of everyone around her. Symptoms: Angst, anxiety, chronic RBF--resting bitch face--dejection, depression, desolation, despair, despondency, distress, gloom, grief, heartache, heartbreak, melancholy, pain, sadness, sorrow, stress, suffering, torment, unhappiness, woe, wretchedness. Cure: Death not currently doctor recommended. Stay behind him with a knife. When the bottom finally appeared, she braced for impact The cavern walls vanished, and she spilled from a midnight sky--straight into a new realm.
The Darkest Seduction
He has to have it. It does not matter if the sexual partner is male or female. A second time is NOT allowed. Even if he does not feel like it, even if he is tired or sick, he must go hunting for sex every single day. Thankfully his fellow Lords are helping him and encourage him often. Sienna Blackstone: Keeper of Wrath. She used to be a Hunter.
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