Crimson leaped, flaring his wings and bracing to attack. Too late. Brochan materialized a few feet away, a seven-foot tower of pure strength, his claws long, sharp and already arching through the air. Her captor’s head flew to the ground, joining Gangrene’s. Blood spurted as the rest of him toppled.
Mouth drying, Viola peered up at the male who’d tracked her for so long. Such power. Sometimes, he struck her as monstrous. Other times, magnificent. Today, he was somehow both at once, and she kind of, sort of...liked it. Black horns had grown from his skull, curling backward with sharp tips pointing down. His forehead seemed more prominent than before. His cheeks and chin, too. Broad shoulders led to well-defined pecs and row after row of strength. Blue skin now possessed swirling designs that ran the length of his arms and over his hands. Claws grew from his fingertips and toes. And how cute was that?
She frowned. He had no right to showcase such smoldering sex appeal at a time like this. She had too much work to do, and distractions wouldn’t be tolerated.
Viola exhaled with determination. Must play this cool. “Um, Brochan? Hi. It’s me, the glorious object of your greatest obsession.”
Looking as if he’d just returned from a century-long bender of steroids, testosterone and undiluted evil, he shifted his blazing silver gaze to her and raised an arm, pointing.
“I’m Forsaken,” she said before he had a chance to speak. “Yes, I know. Be a dear and release me?” She batted her lashes, doing her best to appear distressed. “I’m so vulnerable…in such terrible danger, and I’m willing to bargain for my safety. I’ll trade anything. Surely, I have something you want? Your friends mentioned a key. I have so many. What do I care about parting with one?”
He remained in place, unmoving, not seeming to breathe. Deciding whether to kill her now or offer aid as he’d done in the past?
Either way, he died today. He was a danger to Fluffy—and to Viola.
“If you wish to aid me without receiving compensation, that’s fine, too,” she continued, playing her role to perfection. Meanwhile, she slid the metal bracelet from her wrist and gripped one end. She wouldn’t feel bad about Brochan’s demise. Not even a little. “Although, my happiness is probably the best compensation in town.”
He stared at her intently, as if determined to peer into her soul.
“Why have you aided me in the past, anyway?” she asked. Why not take advantage of this prime opportunity? “What do you plan to do with me?”
Minutes passed. He didn’t move a muscle. Finally, he spoke. “You’ll know what I decide to do with you as soon as I do.”
The most words he’d ever uttered to her. And in such a guttural voice. Wow! The tones and nuances washed over her, drawing white-hot goose bumps to the surface of her skin. Then he stomped over…
My plan is working? Of course, my plan is working. I’m brilliant!
The beginnings of her grin peeked out when Brochan leaned down to undo her manacles. Without hesitation, she swung her arm. Target? His throat. With her movement, the bracelet unfolded section by section, locking into a long, thin sword. Whoosh.
Like Gangrene and Crimson before him, Brochan lost his head. Shock etched into every feature. His body crashed to the floor.
“Sorry, but I went ahead and decided what you’ll do to and with me,” she told his bleeding corpse as she liberated her ankles. “You’ll be doing nothing. Enjoy.”
Unfettered at last, she stood. Swiping her hands together in a job well done, she stepped over each Fallen One and strolled away without looking back. Now, to finally see to her darling.
Chapter Two
Brochan opened his eyes amid a chorus of cursing, courtesy of the other two Forsaken who’d lost their heads this day. Reality crystalized. Killed again. By her hand. This was his fourth death, each one caused by the goddess in some way. Not that she knew it. This was the first time she’d overseen the deed personally, using a breathy plea and a razor-sharp blade he hadn’t seen coming.
Even as he lamented her very existence, he admired her creativity and cunning. Her beauty and charm. But then, his reactions to her had always swung from one extreme to another. From longing to resentment, disdain to desire, mercilessness to tenderness.
Hate her.
Crave her.
No doubt she believed she had slain Brochan for good. Soon, however, she would learn better. Fallen Ones like Brochan, Midian, and Joseph—those known as the Forsaken—were deathless. No injury, not even a beheading, kept them down for long.
After a demise, any demise, their minds flicked off for a short period, and their bodies transformed in some way. The first time, Brochan’s bronze skin had turned blue. The second, his navy eyes had lightened to silver. Then the feathers had fallen out of his wings. Horns had grown. What horrifying change awaited him today?