Who was she kidding? She'd already picked a side. As a young child, she'd taken one look at the beautiful but reviled Hades, fallen in love, certain he was simply misunderstood and she could save him, and asked him for his hand in marriage. He'd been a big, bad warrior, even then, but he'd said, "Sure thing, kid. We'll set the date for four thousand years from now."
Over the next decade, her love for him had only magnified. He was such a strong, capable male and, if she were being honest, his dark side had thrilled a secret part of her.
Finally she could wait no longer. As a teenager, she'd returned to him, certain she was old enough to be with him. Just as certain he would accept her.
Instead, he and his current lover had laughed at her pathetic attempt at seduction. Humiliated and angry, Siobhan had kinda sorta ripped out the woman's heart.
Oops. My bad. Accidents happened.
At Hades's command, a powerful witch then cursed her to live inside the mirror.
Siobhan had spent the last four millennia trapped behind the glass, growing from teenager to woman alone, denied the touch of another.
Only by manipulating those who'd gazed upon her glass had she managed to escape the underworld. But as the centuries passed, she'd dreamed of returning, of ruining Hades's life.
Once again she'd had to scheme and manipulate, until she'd finally ended up in the Realm of Grimm and Fantica, a land ruled by a known associate of Hades's.
Would the king of the underworld visit? Would he remember her? Perhaps sense her behind the glass?
She didn't blame the witch for her predicament; the woman had simply followed her master's orders. It was Hades who deserved to know the pain of imprisonment and the horror of watching the world live on without him.
He deserved to switch places with Siobhan.
Vengeance, she knew, corrupted in the worst of ways. In fact, one of the ends she foresaw for Lazarus and his quest to destroy Hera and Juliette was the destruction of everyone and thing he loved. Only poisonous fruit could grow from a poisonous tree, and in all honesty, there were no greater poisons than bitterness, hatred and sorrow.
Deprived of contact, comfort or camaraderie, those tainted fruits had grown inside Siobhan, anyway.
Her motto? Strategize. Lead. Strike.
I'm ready to strike!
Problem: she could foresee the paths others could, should and would take, and the ultimate results of their choices...but she couldn't foresee her own possibilities.
However, she didn't require a magical gift to know she needed to gain her freedom. To do so, she had to help other people fall in love. Every time she succeeded, a hundred years was subtracted from her sentence. But every time she tried and failed, a hundred years was added to her sentence.
You think you understand matters of the heart, Hades had said. Prove it.
Should she attempt to help Lazarus the Cruel and Unusual? As stubborn as he was, Siobhan had crossed him off the list of potentials the first time she met him. With Cameo here, she reconsidered.
Cameo had many choices and many possible outcomes.
Death...so much death. Betrayal. Sadness. Rage.
Happiness...a glimpse, only a glimpse. Quickly stolen away.
Victory, defeat.
Darkness, light. Tears. Laughter. A field of vibrant butterflies.
Everything jumbled together. Siobhan's head ached, and she forced her mind to blank, the images to clear.
Would Cameo ultimately choose to be with Lazarus? Would she do whatever proved necessary to save their relationship?
Siobhan focused on the warrior woman who hurried around her bedroom, readying tools she'd demanded the guards bring her after Lazarus had exited--two chisels, anvils, a rasp and a file. She loved her friends, would die to protect them; she sought joy.
Reminds me of the girl I used to be.
Once Siobhan would have done absolutely anything to win Hades. If she and Cameo were alike...
Decision made. New plans forged. Yes, I will aid her.
9
"Step six: Slaughter your enemy, as well as everyone he loves--then celebrate your triumph."
--How to Achieve Victory
Subtitle: Except with Lovers and Their Family
Lazarus endured a torturous night. Perhaps the worst of his life. Definitely worse than the time a female had fed him a poisoned kiss, weakening him. She'd restrained him while he couldn't fight back and gloatingly hacked off all his limbs.
Look at the mighty Lazarus now.
Turned out, she was an assassin sent by one of his father's old enemies.
She would have succeeded in killing the Monster's son, if not for two fatal mistakes. The As and Bs of defeat. (A) she'd believed him helpless without his arms and legs, and (B) she'd taunted him with a second kiss. A goodbye.
Pride--believing lies about oneself to inflate self-worth--often heralded a nasty fall.
As the female had lifted her head, ending the kiss with a smirk, Lazarus had ripped out her trachea with his teeth. She had bled to death, and he had lived. Afterward, he'd poisoned himself over and over again until he'd developed an immunity.
Why had Cameo kicked Lazarus out of her room? How could she be so blind to the truth? He could enjoy a night with her and achieve his vengeance against Hera and Juliette. One did not negate the other.
With a curse, he stalked from bed. A fly buzzed around him, but no matter how swiftly he swatted, the pesky insect eluded him. Irritated, he escaped into the bathroom, where he showered and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and battle leathers. As usual, he would be sleeping fully clothed.
The pants covered the crystals that wound through his legs from thigh to calf. The shirtsleeves hid the crystals now intersecting his biceps.
The weakness had spread.
Fury burned through him. He strode into the bedroom, crossing over the unicorn-skin rug that had been prized by the former king. His pace was slower than usual. Did he have a limp? He better not have a limp!
His metamorphosis hadn't just spread, it had sped up. He was changing faster than his father.
Lazarus pounded his fists into the punching bag hanging in the corner. His knuckles cracked and blood welled, but he continued to whale on the bag until it exploded, sand spilling everywhere.
Did he want Cameo more than his father had wanted his mother? Was that the problem?
He couldn't be sure. His mind refused to analyze anything but the woman's bra size--perfect. His every thought revolved around a single question. How do I get her into bed? Ragged hunger gnawed and clawed at his insides, insatiable. Obsession ruled him.
He had to have her. Once, only once. Then he could let her go, his body safe from further harm.
He stuffed the diamond knuckles and dagger pendant in his pocket and moved to the window to peer down at the Garden of Perpetual Horror. Dawn approached.
A three-day journey loomed, each one a compendium of minutes and seconds he had to use to his advantage. Surely he could win his prize. He'd started and ended wars in less time.
The fly returned, buzzing around him. He remained still, listening, his ear twitching--Whack!
Damn it! He'd missed.
Lazarus combed a hand through his hair, the muscles in his shoulders knotted and strained. She had two objections to him. One, he put vengeance before pleasure and two, she would forget him.
The first he could easily assuage. For their night together, he would concern himself only with her pleasure. The second was the problem.
Lazarus had done his research. He knew two of her brothers-by-circumstance had survived the loss of their demons. Kane, once the keeper of Disaster, and Aeron, once the keeper of Wrath.
Kane...Lazarus wasn't sure how he'd recovered. Aeron was given a new body--a new house for his spirit--by the One True Deity, leader of the Sent Ones and angels. But then, Aeron had wed a Sent One, so the gift made sense. Cameo was single, and if Lazarus had anything to say about it, she would remain that way for the rest of eternity.
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My possessiveness matters more than her happiness? Going to let her go.
Little growls rose from deep in his chest as he started pacing. He needed to see her. Was she asleep? Did she dream of him?
He opened his mind, saw her puttering around her bedroom, and hardened. Tools were strewed across the table where they'd dined; she hammered, chiseled and filed a small dagger. Already she'd made two helmets and two breastplates, size small. For the children, he realized. She feared an attack on the journey to the portal, and this was a preemptive strike.
Had she stayed up all night?
Such a wickedly smart woman, his monomania. And talented. The magnificence of the craftsmanship stunned him.
Before they parted, he would have a sword made by her, a blade to cherish throughout an eternity spent alone.
*
By the time morning arrived, Cameo's eyes burned and her limbs trembled with fatigue. At least she'd finished the armor for the children, using skills she'd acquired under Alex's tutelage.