Lords of the Underworld : Fan fiction
The Darkest Memory
Chapter One
Paris was a wreck. It had been exactly nine days since Reyes' woman Danika had the vision of Galen and the hunters in Egypt, looking for one of the two remaining artifacts: the cloak of invisibility. It had been exactly a week since they had arrived in Cairo and traveled to countless pyramids in Giza looking for the cloak. It had taken exactly five minutes in the extreme heat of the desert to drive Paris insane. He hated extreme heat - unless of course, it was with a woman. And not just any woman.
Torrin had given them the provisions they needed, but they were starting to run out. Maddox had sent Paris and Gideon into the nearest village to go for supplies. Good thing too, for Paris had gone too long without a woman.
"This weather is absolutely perfect" Gideon mumbled after a few minutes silence. Gideon, the keeper of lies, could never tell the truth. For that was his curse, just as Paris was cursed with the demon of promiscuity. Gods, he never hated his curse until a few months ago.
"The supplies shop should be around this corner... aha! There it is." Paris and Gideon turned the corner of a run-down mud building and stalked towards a broken up booth where an old, dark skinned, weather-worn woman sat, face wrinkled like an old rag. She was selling water canteens, rope, and an assortment of other supplies that the Lords could find us too in the search for the cloak. The woman smiled as they approached, her gaze obviously appreciative. Paris rolled his eyes. To most women, the Lords may seem like angels, to others... they were THE most dangerous beings that ever breathed. But they're wrong, he thought. The Titan gods are worse, especially Cronus. Cronus, the all-powerful Titan king who had made Paris have to decide between the one woman that could sane him from his curse and his friend Aeron, keeper of wrath who had been ordered to kill Danika and her family. Gods, he hated his curse.
"How much for the canteens?" He asked in her native tongue.
"For you, half-price" her voice cracking and she smiled with lust in her eyes. He disregarded the lust as best as he could, but he was weak. He needed to find a woman and soon, or else he would be sick beyond repair. He smiled and payed her, taking Gideon away from a booth of desserts to go find food. They stopped at a little shop where bags of rice and loaves upon loaves of bread were sold, buying enough to feed an army - which they were now, sort of. They stopped at other shops - a butcher shop, a place with strange vegetables - until their carts were over-flowing with food and other supplies. Gideon took the carts back to where Lucien was, so as to flash the goods to the base camp without anyone trying to follow them, while Paris went looking for a woman.
It didn't take him long to find a gaggle of girls around twenty-one years of age that were willing to sleep with him. Tourists. You could always count on them for adventure. Of course, he couldn't truly enjoy them. They weren't aspiring writers with plain, freckled faces, hazel eyes too big for their faces and they didn't pull on his heartstrings the way a certain woman did. They weren't Sienna. They weren't HIS Sienna
It had been in Greece over two months ago when he had been tricked by hunters and captured, held against his will for a full week without sex, dying. And it was Sienna - the very woman he now craved, needed, more than ever - that had been set as bait for him to take. And, like the fool he was, he took it. And after having her, he was hard again. For the first time in thousands of years, he had wanted to have sex with the same woman more than once. And now, whenever he took a woman, he HAD to think of her to get hard. She plagued his mind every second of every hour of every painful day. And it was HIM who had let her die in his arms. He hated himself just as much as he hated his curse. He felt like crying, He felt like punching a wall. He felt like taking a blade and cutting out his heart, and hadning it to Cronus, if only he could get his Sienna back.
It was ridiculous, really, that he regarded her as his. He had let the hunters shoot her when they escaped the church where they were hidden and it was he who had chosen Aeron's freedom instead of Sienna when Cronus came for the decision. Cronus had restored Sienna, body, spirit and mind. Raising her from the dead for Paris. But when Aeron was faced against Reyes and Danika, he had to choose the latter. Because he loved his friends. And because he would not let Reyes suffer the same thing he did every second of every day. Of feeling incomplete. Of loosing his love.
Paris walked over to the wall and collapsed there, too sad to move on. He hadn't cried in over a millennium, but within the past few weeks, all he HAD done was cry in his room. He even caught Danika watching him (although SHE didn't know he had caught her watching him). He felt worthless. It was all his fault. He let her get shot. He'd let her die in his arms. He had wanted to punish her for tricking him, for being a hunter. But when he saw her blood soaked shirt and when she had used her last breath to curse him, he felt like HE was the one who had been shot countless times; as if HE were dying slowly.
It was well past midnight when he finally reached the base camp. He passed Maddox and Ashlyn's tent, hearing his snoring. He passed Reyes' tent, which was open and he could see Danika kissing his forehead as the keeper of pain (her man) slept, and his chest constricted. He felt like crying again. Gods, he was a pitiful excuse for a warrior. Hell, he was a pitiful excuse for a man. But Gods, did he miss her. If it were the last thing he'd do, he would bring her back. She would hate him, sure, but he could teach her, show her, that he could be a good guy. He would make her like him. If only he could get Cronus' attention once more. If only he could get the Invisibility cloak and leave this hell-hole so he could think straight. If only, if only. If only he hadn't let the plain Sienna die. If only he weren't so hopeless. If only.