The Darkest Promise. Gena Showalter

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      Rather than speak, Cameo gave Blondie a gentle push...she stumbled but quickly dug in her heels.

      Had Lazarus ordered her to spy? Fear of his wrath must be great.

      Fine. Whatever. Keeping Blondie within sight, Cameo stripped. A miraculous feat, considering she retained her hold on the weapons. After walking up the stairs backward, she entered the welcoming water and placed the weapons around the rim of the tub.

      With a sigh akin to contentment, she eased onto a waiting bench, where multiple jets massaged sore muscles.

      Blondie sniffled again, ruining the moment.

      Misery kicked against Cameo’s skull, a flash of memory consuming her mind.

      “Maybe I’ll kill you and gift her with your head,” Cameo had said. She sat in the thick of a forest, glaring up at the warrior.

      She’d threatened him? Why? Damn it. Did the demon hope to taint her feelings for Lazarus?

      And what had she meant? Gift her. Her who?

      Juliette, Misery said. The Harpy who once enslaved him.

      The demon loved to parse out the details he’d stolen from her, giving just enough info to send her imagination into a tailspin.

      “Maybe I’ll cut out your tongue and do the world a favor,” Lazarus had replied. He sat at her side, a tower of menace and strength, sexy beyond imagining.

      Whoa. He had dared to threaten Cameo?

      Obviously. At least she’d gritted her teeth in irritation instead of fear and said, “Maybe I’ll gut you just for giggles.”

      “Maybe I’ll stab the life out of you and do myself a favor.”

      Oh, yes. He’d dared. But he’d been amused rather than enraged.

      Cameo had jumped to her feet and motioned him closer. “You want to do this, warrior? Because I’m ready. Anytime. Anyplace.”

      His big body had unfolded as he’d stood, the movement graceful, his strength on display...and fascinating. “You don’t want to take me on, little girl. You’ll lose.”

      Little girl? She would hack him into a thousand pieces.

      “I think differently,” she’d said, surprising her present self. Stop baiting him and start attacking! Maybe take him on the worst date of his life...to a karaoke bar. “On both counts.”

      She hadn’t attacked. She’d pressed her chest against his and reveled in his hardness.

      Well. Attraction had clearly addled her brain. Despite everything, she’d wanted his strong arms wrapped around her, his warm breath on her nape.

      “Do your worst, then,” he had said. “But have no doubts, I’ll then do mine.”

      The memory began to dwindle. Nooo! Cameo scrambled to keep the playback front and center. She had to know more! What was his worst? What had followed his newest threat? Had they apologized to each other? Or had they split up?

      Her mind blanked. With a frustrated shriek, she slammed her fist into the rim of the tub.

      Blondie heaved a great sob.

      Fighting the crush of defeat, Cameo slunk deeper into the water. Not knowing the minute details of her life killed her. Especially because the tricky demon only ever unveiled bits and pieces of her past, and always completely out of context, forcing her to speculate about why, what and how.

      Cameo washed from head to toe, and wondered about Lazarus. He claimed she’d writhed in his arms and begged for more. If anyone could rock her world, it was that male. Beauty and strength wrapped in smoldering sensuality, sprinkled with ferocity.

      Finished, she gathered her weapons and descended the stairs. Blondie rushed over to dry her, but she snatched the towel to dry herself. The material wasn’t cotton or silk, but something a thousand times softer.

      Blondie gathered clean clothing, and Cameo dressed without complaint while cringing inside. A diamond-encrusted bra and blink-and-you’ll-miss-them bottoms? Really?

      Brow arched, she pointed to the gossamer cloth.

      “Shorts,” Blondie said and hid a chuckle behind her hand.

      Silly me for not knowing. Call her old-fashioned, but Cameo believed her shorts should be longer than her butt crack.

      Whatever. She secured the weapons and headed for the door. Blondie raced in front of her to motion to the vanity. Wanted to brush and style her hair, did she? Deep down, Cameo wanted to say yes, despite the foolishness of the act. She wanted Lazarus to take one look at her and basically shit himself. Don’t like me? Fine. But you’ll wish I liked you!

      Problem: Blondie would have to stand at Cameo’s back to—

      Oh, who cared? What kind of warrior couldn’t protect herself from a single person?

      Cameo placed a dagger on the vanity—in plain sight—and eased onto the chair.

      Blondie trembled as she lifted a brush. One minute bled into another, zero attacks launched, and Cameo began to relax...until the mirror in front of her moved.

      With a yelp, she jumped to her feet. Blondie stumbled back, confused.

      Cameo pointed to the liquefied glass, and waves rippled over the surface.

      “The mirror once belonged to the goddess of Many Futures,” Blondie said softly. “Its power fuels legends...and nightmares.”

      Siobhan, the goddess of Many Futures. The youngest of the Erinyes, or Furies.

      As a Greek, she’d fallen under the leadership of Zeus. Rumors claimed the goddess had been cursed soon after her sixteenth birthday, forced to spend the rest of her days trapped inside a glass prison.

      Cameo had encountered the teenage girl only once before her curse. Siobhan had been a beauty with hair as white as snow and skin as dark as night. She’d looked Cameo up and down, and said, “Must you always frown? Laughter is the best medicine. Unless you have diarrhea.”

      A wave of trepidation swept through Cameo as she returned to the chair—from the demon, or from her own sense of self-preservation, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she refrained from peering into the glass a second time.

      Glass prison...mirror...if the goddess were trapped inside...

      I don’t want to know what fresh misery awaits me.

      Over the next half hour, Cameo’s hair was brushed, dried and fashioned in a complicated half braid she would never be able to replicate. Her face was sprinkled with something sparkly.

      “This is stardust,” Blondie said. “It is very expensive.”

      Who, exactly, had Lazarus spent his big bucks on? A favorite mistress? Was Cameo receiving her leftovers?

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