The Darkest Craving (Lords of the Underworld)

By: Gena Showalter




First, to my editor, Emily Ohanjanians. Your insight never ceases to amaze me. Thank you so much for all your hard work and dedication.

Second, to my agent, Deidre Knight. I am so blessed to have you in my corner. No matter what I throw at you, you’re always there to help me!

To Carla Gallway, for all that you do! You are generous with your time and resources and so wonderfully kind, and I’m so thankful to know you!

To the winners of the blog contest: Sabrina Collazo, Lizabel Rivera-Coriano, Charlayne Elizabeth Denney, Seemone Washington and Joni Payne. I hope you love Kane’s story as much as I do.

To Michelle Renaud and Lisa Wray. You’re my girls, and I couldn’t ask for a better team!

To my favorite restaurant, The Stuffed Olive, for feeding me while I was on deadline!

No dedication would be complete without mentioning my beloved Jill Monroe. You’re stuck with me, because I won’t ever let you go!







“I’ve been told I’m almost as dangerous as a tsunami.”

—Kane, Lord of the Underworld

“I’ve been told I’m a tsunami.”

—Josephina Aisling





CHAPTER ONE

New York City

Present day

JOSEPHINA AISLING PEERED down at the male splayed across the motel room bed. He was an immortal warrior, beautiful in a way no mortal could ever hope to be. Silky hair of jet, chestnut and flax spilled over the pillow, the multicolored strands forming a flawless tapestry, inviting the eye to linger a minute, then a minute more...sweet mercy, why not forever?

His name was Kane. He had long, boyish lashes, a strong nose and a stubborn chin. At six feet four, he was cut with the kind of muscle only earned on the bloodiest of battlefields. Though he wore stained and dirty pants, she knew a large butterfly tattoo dominated the right side of his hip, the ink thick and black, a little jagged. The tops of the wings stretched over the material and every so often tiny waves rippled through them, as though the insect struggled to lift from his skin—or burrow deeper.

Either was possible. The tattoo was a mark of absolute, utter evil, a visible sign of the demon contained inside Kane’s body.

Demon...she shuddered. Rulers of hell. Liars, thieves. Murderers. They were darkness without any hint of light. They lured and tempted. They ruined, tortured and destroyed.

But Kane wasn’t the demon.

Like all of her race, the mighty Fae, she had spent a good portion of her life studying Kane and his friends—the Lords of the Underworld. In fact, at the command of the Fae king, spies had spent countless centuries following the warriors, watching and reporting back. Scribes had then printed books with stories and pictures of what they’d witnessed. Mothers had bought those books and read them to their children. Then, when those children had grown up, they had made their own purchases, the need to know what happened next too strong to ignore.

The Lords of the Underworld had become the stars of the best and the worst soap opera in Séduire, the realm of the Fae.

Josephina always ate up every detail. Especially those about the ultra sexy Paris and the devastatingly lonely Torin. Kane, the beautiful tragedy, was a close third. She could probably recite his life history better than she could her own.

He was thousands of years old. He’d only had four serious girlfriends in his lifetime. Although, for a while, he’d had a string of meaningless one-night stands. He’d fought in bloody battle after bloody battle with his enemy, the Hunters. Three times, they’d managed to capture and torture him—and she’d waited, breathless, to hear of his escape.

Going back even further, to the beginning, he and his friends had stolen and opened Pandora’s box, unleashing the demons from inside. The Greeks had been in power at the time, and they’d decided to punish the warriors by turning their bodies into receptacles for the very evil they’d freed. Kane carried Disaster. The others carried Promiscuity, Disease, Distrust, Violence, Death, Pain, Wrath, Doubt, Lies, Misery, Secrets and Defeat. Each creature came with a nearly debilitating curse.

Promiscuity had to sleep with a new woman every day or he weakened and died.

Disease couldn’t touch another living creature without starting a plague.

Disaster caused catastrophes everywhere Kane went, a fact that sliced at Josephina’s heart and resonated deep. Her entire life was a disaster.

“Don’t touch me,” he muttered, his voice a sharp, callous rasp. Powerful legs kicked the already battered sheets away. “Hands off. Stop. I said stop!”

Poor Kane. Another nightmare plagued him.

“No one’s touching you,” she assured him. “You’re safe.”

He calmed, and she released a relieved breath.