The Darkest Torment. Gena Showalter

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 your transition.”

      Transition? “Appearing less murdery, as you say, is the true challenge. I’ve forgotten how to smile.”

      “Are you whining?” William set his cup aside and traced a fingertip down 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 currently hunting for Pandora’s box, determined to find it before someone—anyone—else. It could kill them in an instant. Just boom...gone...dead, their demons removed. Normally a good thing. But evil so entrenched had to be cleansed first and replaced by its opposite. Like with Haidee, Hate for Love. Otherwise rot set in. Which was why the Lords were also hunting for the Morning Star—a supernatural being still trapped inside the box, capable of granting any wish. Capable of freeing the demons without killing the warriors.

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

      “That’s right,” William said. “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 a matter of days, 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 any other man she wants.”

      “Me,” William snapped. He’d never been able to mask the intensity of his emotions for the girl. “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. The same can’t be said about me. “Well, boohoo for you.” Survival first, matters of the heart second—if at all. “You’ve been warned. You can be proactive.”

      What. The. Hell. Had he just suggested William kill sweet, innocent Gilly before she had the opportunity to kill him?

      His hands fisted. He needed to put a tighter leash on the beast. So. 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 the beast, keep all his body parts and remain tangible.

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

      “Wow. Just when I think you can’t look any worse, you go and prove me wrong.” Even still, 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 they lined up across the dais.

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

      “Prostitutes.” He should have known.

      The blonde blew him a kiss.

      “They prefer the term freelance pleasure specialists. They are immortal. A Phoenix, siren, nymph and pretty little kitty shifter, to be precise.” William draped a muscled arm 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.”

      “Hate to break it to you, Red, but feigned passion is all you’re going to get.” The warrior 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 at his waist.

      William sighed. “If Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger spawned a love child, I’m certain that nightmare of a kid would look at me just—like—that.”

      More men he hadn’t met. Which annoyed him greatly! He had no need for reminders that the world had ticked along just fine without him.

      “My brilliant sense of humor is lost on you. Noted. Ladies,” William said, reclaiming the bottle of whiskey, “tell Baden what carnal delights you’re prepared to offer him.”

      One by one, they breathlessly described different scenarios. The shy virgin. The naughty librarian. The punishing dominant. The girlfriend experience.

      When Baden had lived in Mount Olympus, he’d dated his fair share of women, but he’d never loved one. He’d wanted an equal, not a weakling merely using him for protection, placing his power before her sentiment. He was tempted to try out the girlfriend experience.

      “Well?” William prompted.

      “I will accept none of the scenarios offered.” Give me truth, or give me nothing. He met each beauty’s gaze. For the chance to tame the beast and return to his friends... “Who will bend over and simply take it?”

      Perhaps he was lacking in charm.

      William shook his head and muttered, “You should be embarrassed.”

      Meanwhile, two feminine hands shot into the air.

      “Me! Pick me!” The brunette. The punishing dominant.

      The blonde elbowed her in the stomach. “I’m the one you want.” The naughty librarian.

      “How are we friends?” William asked him.

      “We aren’t.” Baden had twelve friends. Only twelve. The men and woman who’d suffered demon possession right alongside him. The warriors who’d bled with him and for him—the heroes he’d only disappointed since his return. They wanted him to be the man he used to be, not the bastard he’d become.

      An-n-nd there was another log on the fire of his guilt.

      “Tears. Sadness.” William placed a hand on his chest, as if he’d been stabbed. “Now. Choose your girl. I’m going to do you a solid and take the other three.”

      “What type of immortal are you?” Baden asked the two contenders.

      “Phoenix,” the brunette said, her pride evident.

      “Nymph,” the blonde said, her voice smoky.

      “You.” He pointed to the blonde. “I choose