Gena Showalter - The Darkest Seduction

Dear Reader,

At long last, Im pleased to bring you the story of Paris, keeper of the demon of Promiscuity. Yes, I finally feel as though Ive tortured him enough. After all, since the Lords of the Underworld were first introduced, Paris has

1) Lost the only woman he was able to bed more than once

2) Given up his chance to find her by choosing to save one of his friends instead

3) Formed an addiction to an illicit substance

4) Choked out any light of goodness inside himself

5) Turned into a war/fighting machine

His road to happily ever after has been paved with blood, sweat and tears. Mostly mine. Fine. Mostly his. Whatever. Semantics. 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 laterwith three hundred pages in the trashhe showed me exactly what he wanted. Okay, fine (again). I finally gave in and did things his way. And you know what? He got the special I wanted for him.

The characters had so much more depth than I expected, and as they interacted the puzzle pieces began to fall into placeI 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.) Hed found his mine, and she was and is exactly what hes needed all along.

Will I ever stand in my characters way again? Well, yeah. (Hey, at least Im honest.) But this one time, giving in proved to be the best thing I could have done.

I hope you are as satisfied with Pariss story as he is.

All my best!

Gena Showalter

Throughout the years Ive learned that family matters. Ive been blessed with one of the most amazing families EVER. 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? Thats what I have with my family, and I am beyond grateful. 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!

From family to friends, I am blessed. To Jill Monroe, Kresley Cole and P.C. Cast. I love you, ladies!

HIS RAGE

I know.

High in the heavens, Zacharel watched the world below him. 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. Hed long since lost count. 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 gracefulas 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. Theyd come eagerly, happily, intending to steal the vile demon tethered inside him and finally end 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.

He is like a poisoned apple, Zacharel said to the angel beside him. And because Paris was bonded to the demon of Promiscuity, his pruning belonged not to the humans he lived amongst but to the Deitys angels, who policed different realms of evil. Poison of this nature spreads slowly but corrupts absolutely.

Beads of ice fell around Zacharel, as they always fell around him these days, his breath misting in front of his face. 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.

In his quest to destroy the demons that had ruined his life, he had slain innocent humans, and this was to be his punishmentto carry his Deitys displeasure with him always.

As succulent as others consider this particular apple, Lysander proclaimed, they will be willing to taste anything he offers.

Zacharel moved his gaze to the man who had taught him how to survive on the battlefield. The elite warrior was a muscled tower of unwavering strength. He wore a long white robe, his majestic wings like rivers of molten gold. Zacharels ice raged around him, too, though not a single flake dared land on the man. Perhaps, like myriad other creatures, the crystals feared himand rightly so. In their world, he was judge and jury, his word law.

Do we remove temptation? Zacharel asked. For centuries he had acted as Lysanders executioner.

I will not order his assassination, no, Lysander said, resolute. At the moment, Paris is redeemable.

Unexpected. 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.

What will you have me do, then?

Paris searches for his woman, intending to free her from the Titan kings enslavement. 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.

Even more unexpected. The command smacked of leniency, something Lysander had shown to only one other demon-possessed immortal in all the millennia of his life: Amun, Pariss friend. And only because Bianka, Lysanders Harpy mate, had asked.

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? Horrifying.

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.

Paris will protest her loss. After everything the warrior had done to find and save her already, everything he would soon dooh, yes, he would protestusing those dripping blades to make his case.

You must convince him that he will be better off without her, Lysander said.

Will he be?

Of course. There was no hesitation in the pronouncement, lending it an edge of fiery truth. An unnecessary edge, for Zacharel knew Lysander would not, could not, lie.