CHAPTER THREE
I'VE COME TO KILL YOU.
The words echoed through Anya's mind, a bleak promise she couldn't quiet. Lucien never joked. She knew that well. Had watched him all these weeks without seeing a single smile or hearing a hint of humor pass his exquisite lips. More than that, the spirit of Death radiated from him now, a skeletal mask glowing underneath his skin.
The scent of roses thickened the air, almost mesmerizing, beseeching her to do anything and everything he asked. Even die.
Her heart skipped a beat. She'd seen him take a soul before; it had been a morbidly beautiful sight, yet one she'd never thought to experience firsthand. She was immortal, after all. But she knew better than most that even immortals could be slain.
The night she'd cut the heart from the Captain of the Guard, ending his miserable existence once and for all, the prospect of mortality had become very clear. Of course, it had become even clearer after her arrest and subsequent imprisonment while the gods debated what to do with her.
Every day inside her cell, the bars had seemed to tighten around her and the screams and moans of the other prisoners had seemed to grow louder. Maybe they'd been her screams. Being unable to nourish her need to create disorder had hurt unbearably.
She'd quickly realized life, even for an immortal, could be ruined or ended too soon. And she'd decided to fight for hers, then and always. No matter what. Freedom, whether physical or emotional, would never be taken from her again.
The gods had thought otherwise. Ultimately they'd decided to make her a sex slave to their warriors. A fitting punishment, they'd said. She'd taken their captain; now she could comfort the captain's army.
It would have destroyed her - mind, body and soul. Her determination might have withered. But her father had come for her, rescued her, despite the retribution he would heap on himself. Once again, she'd been free. Once again, she'd had a chance at the happiness she'd always craved.
And now Lucien, a man she desired, a man she'd kissed, wanted to end her, take everything from her? A thousand different emotions bubbled inside her, and she wasn't sure which to concentrate on first. Fury? Confusion? Hurt?
"Why do you want to hurt me?" she demanded.
"I do not want to hurt you. I must. Apparently, you are too wild to roam free."
Oh, those words rankled! It was one thing for all Olympus to rebuff her - she was used to that. But for some reason, despite everything, Lucien's opinion of her mattered.
"How did you find me?" she repeated.
Not a flicker of feeling touched Lucien's cold expression. "That doesn't matter."
"I could disappear in the blink of an eye."
"Run and I will find you again. No matter where you go, I will always find you."
Both seductive and frightening. "Why don't you attack me, then? Get it over with so there doesn't have to be another chase?"
He raised his chin, his jaw squaring stubbornly. "I will. I want you out of my mind first."
Doing her best to appear casual, she leaned back against the swing's chain. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted, honey. Is wild little Anya so bad a kisser the disgust of knowing you've had your tongue in her mouth refuses to leave you?" She sounded as unconcerned as she looked - she hoped - but inside, she trembled.
How did the sight of him still manage to affect her? Worse, now that she knew the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against hers and the sensation of his hands clutching her, drawing her closer, all of her reactions to him seemed to be intensified.
She craved more. Perhaps it's time to visit a therapist.
"I'm sure you know how good your kisses are." There was a trace of bitterness in the words.
"You make that sound like a crime."
"It is."
Anya's eyelids narrowed to tiny slits. She'd been alive a long time; she hadn't lived as a complete innocent, but she hadn't lived promiscuously, either. Why would she, even before her curse, when she knew the pain of being labeled easy?
Like anyone, however, Anya craved admiration and affection. She liked the way men looked at her and had often lain awake in bed, wishing for the sexual relationship she could never allow herself.
"We can do this easily, Anya."
"What, kiss again?"
He gulped forcefully. "See to your death."
Don't give him a reaction. A good warrior always used an adversary's emotions against him, and Lucien was a damn good warrior. But so was she. "Tell me again why you want to kill me, sweetcakes. I've forgotten."
A muscle ticked under his eye. "I told you. I do not want to slay you, but the gods have ordered me to do so."
And no one, not even a Lord of the Underworld, could disobey the gods without severe consequences. Dread curdled her stomach. Still, she had to admit she was glad Lucien had not come eagerly.
"All gods or one?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"One. Cronus."
"The bastard king," she said, just for the god's benefit. I hope you're listening, you greedy coward.
Lucien cringed, proving he did indeed fear the wrath of the god. He should. Cronus had clearly skipped school the day mercy was explained.
The moment the Titan had broken free of his heavenly prison, he'd quickly and brutally conquered the Greeks and imprisoned the survivors. That's when Anya had returned to the heavens and freed a few. That's also when he'd caught her and locked her back up, demanding her greatest treasure in exchange for her freedom. Before he could punish her for her refusal, she'd escaped. Score one for Team Anya. Shortly after, he'd found her a second time and threatened her with the Lords. Now here she and Lucien were, about to go Halo 3 on each other. Score one for Team Cronus.
"Sure you want to obey such a meanie?" she asked.
Lucien's gaze met hers, ensnaring her, disrupting her determination. "I must, and nothing you say can sway me from my purpose."
She arched a brow, doing her best to appear confident. "Wanna bet?"
"No. That would only give you false hope." A gentle breeze swirled between them, and strands of his dark hair brushed his face. He hooked them behind his ears, allowing nothing to obstruct the invisible cord between them.
With the action, the dark slashes of his eyebrows, the strong slope of his nose and the hard cut of his scarred cheeks became more prominent. But it was his eyes she kept returning to. His brown iris seemed to anchor her, while his blue iris swirled, drawing her deeper and deeper into a world where only he existed.
Obey me. Submit.
The words whispered through her mind.
Her jaw clenched, right along with the rest of her. She knew, knew, what he was trying to do. Lull her into a sense of calmness and force her to willingly accept his death blow.
Hell, no. Not her. If there was one skill she'd mastered in the centuries since she'd been cursed, it was the art of resisting a man. She shook her head, breaking free of his sensual hold. Take that.
Don't give him a reaction, she reminded herself. She moved her gaze to his massive chest and considered what to do next, all the while sucking on her favorite strawberry lollipop. "You owe me a favor, Flowers, and I'm calling it in. You are not to kill me."
There was a torturous pause. Then, "You know I must." He stiffened, as if fortifying himself. "Ask me to make it painless. That I can do. Ask me to kiss you before I take your soul. That, too, I can do."
"Sorry, babydoll. I think I'll stick with not killing me. And as a reminder, I told you a few weeks ago that I'd kill you if you tried to renege on your favor."
Another pause, this one heavier, longer. He tangled a hand through his hair, his expression one of agony. "Why does Cronus want you dead?"
"You already answered that. I'm too wild." She sat back on the swing, slid one hand slowly, covertly, down her leg and dug into her boot, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of one of her daggers. She might be crazy-aroused by this man despite his mission, but she wasn't going down without a fight.
"I do not believe that is the only reason," Lucien said.
"Maybe he tried to score and I laughed at him." A lie. She refused to admit the truth, however, so the lie would have to do.
Some emotion finally took center stage on Lucien's features; what, she didn't know. All she knew was that it was hard and uncompromising. "Maybe he was your lover and you spurned him. Maybe you chose another over him. Maybe you purposefully aroused him and left him, making him feel like a fool."
Her eyes narrowed once more, focusing on him with razor-sharp intensity. She popped to her feet, hiding the blade behind her back. "That's a very rude thing to say. As if I would lower myself to playing a man I had no interest in."
Lucien uttered something that sounded very much like, "You played me."
Her brows furrowed as her anger spiked. "Believe what you want to believe, but you have no reason to feel hurt."
"You are Anarchy. I doubt you concern yourself with other people's feelings."
"You don't know anything about me," she snapped.
"I know you dance like you're having sex, and I know that you taste like every man's downfall."
Damn him. The words alone would have aroused her. Paired with his husky, wine-rich voice, and she lost her anger, suddenly ready to tumble straight into his arms. Rather than admit that, she said, "I stand corrected. You aren't rude. You're diabolical." What did it say about her that she now found him all the more appealing?
"Nevertheless, it is true." His head tilted to the side as he studied her. Though he'd donned that emotionless mask again, there was a white-hot, dangerous aura to him. "Are you always so free with your affections?"
There had been no condemnation in his tone, but the comment still bothered her. She could recall several gods asking her mother the same question, just as she could recall the flicker of hurt in her mother's eyes each and every time a lover suggested she was not good enough for him. Lucien would pay for that.
Anya ran her tongue over the lollipop's round tip, lingering over the fruity flavor in a pretend show of indifference. Meanwhile, her hidden fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt, her nails reaching skin and cutting deep.
"So what if I am?" she finally said. "Most men are easy with their affections and they're praised, thought of as sexual gods."
He ignored her comment. The Lords were good at that, obviously. "Before I - " He pressed his lips together, shook his head. He must have changed his mind about what to say to her because he didn't finish the sentence. "Explain something to me." As if realizing he would get no answers from her otherwise, he added, "Please."
She batted her lashes at him flirtatiously. "Anything for you, dumpling."
"Tell me the truth. Why did you kiss me? You could have had Paris, Reyes, Gideon or any of the others. They would not have objected. They would have wanted you in return."
First, grrr! They would have wanted you in return, she inwardly mocked. Unlike him, who would never want her. She wasn't dog food, damn it. Second, why couldn't he accept that she'd simply desired him and no other?
Maybe it was for the best that he thought her passion faked, she decided. Saved her pride, at least, since she meant nothing to him and he hadn't wanted her. Jackass.
"Maybe I knew Cronie Wonie was going to tell you to kill me, and I hoped to butter you up like a breakfast muffin so you wouldn't be tempted to obey." There. How'd he like that?
Understanding lit his rough, savage features. "Something makes sense at last," he said with only the barest trace of disappointment.
Or was the disappointment wishful thinking on her part? The man had come to kill her, after all. Softer emotions he couldn't possibly feel.
Submit to me.
Ah, shit. She'd looked at his face and was once again snared. His blue eye still swirled, and the brown one was so rich and deep she could have willingly drowned in it. Her stomach quivered.
No, no, no! She bared her teeth at him and jerked her gaze away. Hurt him to slow him down, then get out of here. Now, that was a thought she didn't mind acting on. He was an immortal; he'd heal. But damn it all to the fires of hell, she wasn't ready to leave him. She hadn't talked to anyone in weeks. She'd been too busy following him, watching him. Lusting after him.
Doesn't matter what you want. Strike at him before he strikes at you.
"One last chance to pay up the favor you owe me by protecting me from Cronus," she told him.
"I'm sorry."
"All right, then. Now that we've cleared the air," she said, using her sultriest tone, "let's get this party started." She licked the lollipop and shifted her weight to the left, causing her skirt to ride up on the right and drawing his gaze to her bared skin as she'd hoped.
There was the faintest flicker of desire in his eyes, desire he couldn't hide. Too late. She tossed the dagger.
Silver metal flew end over end and embedded in his heart before he even guessed her intentions. His body spasmed and his eyes went wide as saucers.
"You stabbed me," he said, incredulous. Grimacing, he jerked out the now-bloody dagger and rubbed a hand over the wound, then looked down at his drenched, crimson-stained fingers. Anger overrode the incredulity.
"Feel free to keep the dagger as a souvenir." She blew him a kiss and flashed to an icy boulder in Antarctica, knowing he'd follow her and wanting him to suffer for it. Frigid wind instantly slammed into her, cutting through the flimsy clothing she wore. Past skin, past muscle and straight into bone. Her teeth chattered.
Penguins waddled by, scampering to get away from her. Water swirled and churned all around her. Mile after mile of black night greeted her eyes, the only light provided by golden moon rays reflecting off the glaciers.
If she'd been mortal, she would have frozen to death in seconds. Goddess that she was, Anya simply felt miserable. "Worth it, though," she said, breath forming a thick mist in front of her face. If she was miserable, how much worse would it be for the injured Lucien when he -
Materialized right in front of her, so clear to her the sun could have been shining.
He was scowling, his perfect white teeth bared. He'd removed his shirt, and she saw that rope after rope of muscle lined his stomach. He had no chest hair, not even the happy trail that most men possessed. His skin was the shade of pearlized honey, smooth on one side, like velvet over steel, and jagged and scarred on the other. Both sides were so lickable her mouth watered.
His nipples were tiny, brown and hardened like arrowheads. They would feel amazing against her tongue. His chest was smeared in blood, and a long wound marred the skin just over his heart. The tissue had already begun to weave itself back together.
Seeing him like that, bloody from battle, angry and ready for more, turned her on. Her knees did that stupid weakening thing. You hate weakness. But damn, it felt good. Would he always have this effect on her?
Silly girl.
When the wind hit him, she knew he experienced a moment of miserable suspension, where blood and oxygen froze inside him. "Anya," he growled.
"Nice to see you again, Flowers." She didn't waste another moment. Using all of her strength, she shoved him into the water.
He could have grabbed hold of her to stop his fall, but he didn't. He allowed himself to tumble backward, rather than risk taking her with him. How...sweet. Bastard! He had no right to be sweet now.
He gasped when he hit, the sound a blend of rage, shock and icy torment. A few droplets splashed onto her thigh, and she gasped at the cold.
"Anya!" he shouted when he sputtered to the surface.
"No need to thank me for the bath. I mean, the least I could do after bloodying your chest was to help you clean up the mess. See ya!"
"Don't leave," he rushed out. "Please."
Unable to help herself, she paused. "Why not?"
Rather than flash to the boulder, he treaded water and glared up at her. "You do not want to anger me." A cloud moved and thicker golden beams poured from the silky, inky sky, straight onto him.
"Or what? You'll turn into a hulking green beast? Hate to disappoint you, Flowers, but that kind of revs my engine. Have fun defrosting." Laughing, she gave him a finger wave and flashed to her favorite private beach in Hawaii.
Warmth and sunlight instantly enveloped her, melting the sheen of ice that had glazed her skin. Usually when she came here, she stripped and lounged on the sand, soaking in the tranquility. Sometimes she barricaded herself inside the house a quarter mile up, surrounded by towering palms, where she vegged out and watched movies.
This time, she stayed on the beach and kept her clothes on, dropped her lollipop and withdrew two more daggers from her boots. She held them at her sides and waited.
A scowling, shivering Lucien entered her line of vision a moment later. His lips were tinted blue and thinned in displeasure. His hair was frosted around his head, his skin glistening with crystallized moisture.
"Thank you. For the beach," he said through chattering teeth.
"How the hell are you following me?" she demanded, raising her chin and returning his murderous glare with one of her own.
Finally, for whatever reason, he deigned to answer. "You leave traces of energy everywhere you go. I simply follow them. Had you not revealed yourself inside the club, I never would have been able to lock on you."
Great. Now she'd never be able to lose him. Stupid urges, prompting her to dance with him. She should've stayed in the shadows. I must be more like my mother than I realized. "I won't make this easy for you," she told him.
He lost some of his anger, his lips twitching into the semblance of a smile. "I suspected as much."
How dare he show an irresistible sense of humor now, softening his face and adding all kinds of sexy. Where had this amusement been yesterday or the day before?
"I told you once but I will tell you again," he said. "I do not want to hurt you."
"Oh, well." She shook her head, pale hair dancing over her shoulders. "That makes this okay, then. Go ahead and kill me." Sarcasm dripped from each word.
"Anya."
"Hush it. I've been nothing but nice to you, helped you and your friends, and this is how you thank me?"
A muscle ticked under his eye. Had she, perhaps, hit a nerve?
"I would change the circumstances if I could. I would - "
"You have a choice. You can walk away."
"I can't."
"Whatever, Flowers. Let's just get this over with, 'kay. All this talking is giving me a headache."
His brows arched into his forehead. "You are going to let me take your soul, then?"
"Hell, no. I thought I made it clear I'm going to fight you to the death. Yours, in case you need more clarification. Here and now. I've killed an immortal before. Doing it again should be no hardship."
"Yes, Reyes mentioned Aias." Lucien made no move in her direction. "Why did you slay him?"
She lifted one of her shoulders in a casual shrug. Inside, though, she was anything but serene. The memory of her clash with Aias was not a pretty one. What could have been, what could have happened, still sometimes haunted her. "He wanted to fuck me, and I didn't want him to. He decided to go ahead and do it, anyway, so I decided he'd look good with a hole in his chest."
Lucien popped his jaw. "I hope you inflicted pain."
Her eyes widened. Okay, back up. An immortal - a former Captain of the Guard at that - was glad she'd killed an elite warrior? First time that had happened. The knowledge twisted through her, profoundly affecting everything it touched. Finally someone, and a virtual stranger at that, was taking her side.
"No worries there," she managed to work past the sudden lump in her throat.
Lucien's hands curled into fists. Why? Didn't matter, she supposed. She was just proud of herself for noticing because it meant she wasn't staring into those otherworldly eyes like a lovesick puppy.
"It doesn't have to be this way," he said, his tone stiff, flat.
"You said that already. But news flash - yes, it does. I'm not going to bend over and take it just because new gods are running the show and they don't like how I do business. I'm not going to bend over and take it because the big cheese is greedy and wants to steal from me."
Lucien's gaze sharpened. "What does he hope to steal?"
Her lips pursed. Damn her runaway tongue. Of course Lucien had latched on to that last bit of her speech. "Don't listen to me. I spout all kinds of nonsense when I'm scared. Remember when I told you I liked to lie?"
"You are not scared of me or anything, I would bet, and I doubt you were lying this time." He didn't give her a chance to respond. "So you did not spurn Cronus or cheat on him?"
"Does that matter?" She twirled the end of a lock of hair, making sure the point of her dagger glistened in the sun. "Does it make a difference in what you're planning to do to me?"
"No."
"Then I see no reason to answer." If he wouldn't give an inch, neither would she.
He raked a hand down his face, looking utterly exhausted all of a sudden. "I can give you a day, perhaps, to say goodbye to your loved ones."
"Oh, that's so sweet," she said drily. Her sarcasm didn't last long, though. Her short list of loved ones played through her mind, sparking a pang inside her chest. Her mother. Her father. William, her only friend. If Lucien managed to defeat her, they would most likely never know what had happened to her. They might look for her, worry. "Do you extend the same courtesy to all your victims?" Do not think like that. You aren't and won't be a victim.
Again, "No."
"So I'm just a lucky girl?"
His lush lips once more thinned in displeasure. No matter how scarred his cheeks were, nothing could detract from the beauty of those lips. Maybe because she knew how soft they actually were. Maybe because they'd branded her all the way to her soul and she'd forever bear their imprint.
"Yes," he finally said.
"I'm going to decline your oh so generous offer, lover. I think I'd just prefer to kill you now rather than wait. See, your presence is really starting to offend me."
He stiffened, and if he'd been anyone other than the (nearly) unemotional warrior she knew him to be, she would have suspected that she'd hurt him. "Now who is rude?" he said flatly.
Did he think she was talking about his scarred appearance? Dummy. Answering him would have opened the topic for discussion, however, so she said, "How shall we do this, hmm?" She gave her blades a little toss, caught the hilts and twirled them in her hands.
He leveled a frown of resignation at her, as if anything else in the world would have been preferable to this inevitable showdown. "Just remember. You chose this. Not me."
"You followed me, sugar. You chose it."
She'd barely finished the sentence when he materialized two inches from her face, placing them nose to nose. She gasped, sucking in a deep whiff of his rose scent. He slapped one of the knives out of her grip then quickly moved to take the other.
The first action caught her unaware, but she was prepared for the second. She flashed several feet behind him and knocked his skull with a sharp, upward kick. Why she didn't just stab him in the back, she didn't know.
He stumbled forward, caught himself and whipped around to face her, eyes slitted.
"I've seen you kill," she said, trying not to sound impressed. "I know your moves. Taking me down won't be easy." She flashed behind him again, but he was smarter now, on to her tricks, and spun, banding one of his arms around her waist the second she materialized and finally whacking the other blade from her hand.
She almost moaned at the heady sensation of being back in his embrace, the violence somehow only adding to her arousal. She lingered far longer than she should have, savoring the feel of his...erection? Oh, baby, yes. So he liked their sparring, too? Interesting. Exhilarating. And absolutely delicious.
"So strong my little Lucien is. I'm almost sorry I have to fight dirty," she added, just before kneeing him between the legs.
Howling, he doubled over.
A chuckle escaped her as she flashed a few feet away. "Bad, naughty Anya would have been a lot nicer to that area of your anatomy if you'd come after her for different reasons."
"For the last time, woman, I do not want to hurt you," he gritted out. "I'm being forced."
She gazed down at her nails and yawned. "Are you going to put up a fight or not? This is becoming boring. Or, wait. Are you always this weak?"
Perhaps she shouldn't have taunted him. Light a fire, get burned. He was in front of her a moment later, kicking at her ankles and shoving her to the ground. Her back hit and breath wheezed from her lungs, momentarily cutting off her air supply and leaving her dizzy.
Next his weight pinned her down. Her arms were free, so she balled a fist and slammed it into his nose. His head lashed to the side as cartilage snapped and blood poured. But the cartilage realigned in seconds and the blood ceased flowing.
He glared down at her. "Fight like a girl, for gods' sake," he said between shallow breaths, struggling to grab her wrists. Then, finally, he caught them.
That easily, he had her restrained. Aias had held her down like this, but only for a moment. She'd quickly managed to buck him off. Lucien, she couldn't budge no matter how hard she tried. And yet, she wasn't filled with the same sense of murderous rage. She was excited. "You're hurting me," she lied.
He made the mistake of releasing her wrists. She punched him again, this time in the eye. The bone cracked from the impact, swelling - she laughed; turning black - she laughed harder. Healing - she pouted.
"You are not going to flash," he ground out. His gaze was boring into her and that rose-fresh scent was clouding her mind, urging her to relax, to stay where she was and not fight him any longer.
She softened into the ground and licked her lips. Two could play the seduce-me game. Not because it would be fun, she assured herself. "No, I won't flash. I'm too busy imagining my thighs wrapped around your waist."
His pupils dilated, and he groaned. "Stop that. I command you."
"Stop what?" she asked innocently.
"Stop saying things like that. And stop looking at me like that."
"You mean, like you're going to be my dinner?"
He gave a single jerk of his head.
"Can't," she said with a slow grin.
"Yes, you can. You will."
"When you stop looking so edible, then I'll obey." But as she issued the sultry promise, her mind was racing. You're a fighter, Anarchy. You've battled immortals stronger than Death. Playtime is over.
Forcing herself from Lucien's erotic pull and drawing on the instincts that had kept her alive through the darkest days of her existence, she flashed behind him. Without her body to hold him up, he smashed facefirst into the sand.
It has to be this way. As he came up sputtering, she kicked him, swiftly sending him back down. Then she leapt on top of him, straddling his hips and wrapping her fingers around his jaw to twist and break his neck.
But he, too, flashed, appearing in front of a palm tree several feet away from her. Her knees hit the dirt before she was able to right herself and stand. He made no move toward her. Panting, she brushed the sand from her legs. The gentle breeze was filled with the mockingly serene aroma of coconuts and salt water. Roses. I almost killed him, she thought, shaken.
"At this rate, neither of us will win," he said.
She pasted a cocky grin on her face. "Who are you trying to fool? I'm totally winning."
He slammed a fist into the tree, knocking several pieces of red fruit to the ground. "There must be another way. Surely there is a way around your death."
His vehemence made her tingle; his sudden willingness to try to save her made her ache. She sighed. The man could shove her from one end of the emotional gauntlet to the other in seconds. "If you're thinking of petitioning Cronus, don't. He won't change his mind, and he'll punish you for attempting it."
Lucien splayed his arms wide, the very picture of exasperated male. "Why can't he kill you himself?"
"You'd have to ask him." She shrugged as if she didn't know the answer.
"Anya," Lucien said, a warning. "Tell me."
"No."
"Anya!"
"No!" She could have flashed to her knives, but didn't. She could have flashed to him, but didn't do that, either. Instead she waited, curious as to what the warrior would do or say next.
He expelled a sigh, the perfect mimic of her own, as his arms fell back to his sides. "What are we going to do about this, then?"
"Make out?" she suggested cheekily. She'd meant the words as a taunt, a jest, hating that she would have gone to him in a heartbeat if he'd given her any encouragement. I'm pathetic.
He blanched as if she'd struck him.
Irritated, she ran her tongue over her teeth. Was the thought of kissing her again that abhorrent? "Why do you hate me?" she found herself asking before she could stop the words. Damn it. She sounded ashamed, as if the woman she was didn't deserve to be loved. Sorry, Mom. Dysnomia had taught her better.
"I do not hate you," Lucien admitted softly.
"Oh, really? You look ready to vomit at the thought of touching me."
A wry smile greeted her words, there one moment, gone the next. Anya nearly fell to the ground in awe. Finally, a true smile from him. She should have known it would be sensually potent, decadent. Addicting. Already she craved another. His grin was as radiant as the sun.
"And yet I have an erection," he said in a tone as wry as his expression.
Okay. Who was this man? First a smile, and now he was teasing her. Her blood heated and her nipples hardened (again). "A man doesn't have to like a woman to want her." He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "Just hush it, okay. I don't want to hear your response." He would ruin the happy buzz she had going, she just knew it. "Stand there and look pretty while I think."
"You're purposely trying to provoke me, are you not?"
Yes, she was. A foolish move on her part, really. He'd been ordered to render her death blow. Every time she incited him, she probably made the thought of it a little easier for him to bear. But she couldn't help herself. That smile...
"Have you no answer for me?"
"Not one I'm willing to share." Why did he have to look so sexy standing there? The sun was acting like his lover, caressing him, weaving an angelic halo around his dark head. Yes, angelic. He was a fallen angel just then, causing her pulse points to throb and her stomach to quiver.
Why couldn't they have been simply a man and a woman?
Why couldn't he have wanted her the way she wanted him?
Why wouldn't her obsession with him wane, now that he was bound to snuff her out for eternity?
"You are making this difficult."
"You won't break the rules for me?" she asked, batting her lashes. "You won't do me this one teeny-weeny favor? You owe me."
"No. I can't."
He hadn't even hesitated in the delivery of his answer and that pissed her off. The least he could have done was take a few minutes to think about it. Bastard. She scowled. "I'm giving you one more chance to agree. We'd be even, the chalkboard clean."
"I am sorry. I must again decline."
Fine. That meant there was only one way to end the madness.
Finally she did flash to her knives. She did flash to him. His eyes widened in surprise as she materialized in front of him. With the hilt facing him, she chop-blocked him in the throat, spun while he struggled to breathe and slammed the other hilt into his temple to render him unconscious.
Contact.
Only, he didn't sink into unconsciousness. He fell to his knees with a groan. Didn't matter. Either way, the outcome was the same. Disappointed that it had come to this, she twirled the daggers in her palms so that the sharp tips pointed directly at him.
Her hands trembled as she stared at the top of his head. Everything inside of her was screaming not to do this, but she swung the blades into a crisscross, anyway. There were only a few ways to kill an immortal permanently and decapitation was one of them. Do it...no other way... She'd already placed the blades at his neck, needing only to slam her wrists together. Do it before he flashes!
Oh, gods, oh, gods. She did it. Moved to cut him. Instead of flesh, however, her weapons encountered only air.
He'd flashed.
Frustration and elation battled for supremacy. Before she had time to act on either, strong, viselike fingers jammed into her shoulders, spinning her around. Searing lips slammed over her mouth, prying it open and stealing her breath.
Lucien's tongue thrust against hers in a white-hot kiss that would haunt her waking and sleeping for thousands of years to come. Dead or alive. It was bliss and it was agony. It was heaven and it was hell. Having his flavor drown her so perfectly, his strength and heat at the ready, craving more.
"Lucien." She gasped and moaned and reached for him, dropping the weapons in her haste to have his skin under her palms.
"Not another word. Kiss me like before."
His fervency excited her all the more. Apparently, dancing for him and throwing herself at him weren't enough. Apparently, she had to nearly commit murder to arouse him enough to attack her.
His arms snaked around her waist and hauled her snugly into the heat of his body. The action rubbed his swollen penis against the wet, needy juncture between her thighs, and they both groaned in ecstasy.
She wanted to jump into him and devour him whole. She settled for gripping his head, fisting his hair and tilting him to deepen the kiss. A part of her suspected that he was doing this to distract her, but he never went for her throat. He just kept tonguing her as if he couldn't stop himself.
Her nipples were so hard they were probably as sharp as her knives - which she kicked away with the last vestiges of her common sense. "Lucien," she said on another moan, meaning to demand he remove her corset. Skin to skin. She was desperate for it. Dumb, so dumb, to allow skin to skin, but in that moment she wanted it more than she wanted freedom. "Lucien, my shirt."
This time, her voice seemed to snag him from whatever spell he'd been under. He jerked away from her. Without him to hold her up, she almost fell flat on her face as he had done earlier.
"What are you doing?" she demanded as she righted herself.
"I can't think straight right now." Panting, he stepped backward. "I need to get away from you."
There was an angry glint in his eyes, a glint that was dark and violent and utterly menacing. A shiver of fear spread the length of her spine. Fear and even deeper arousal.
What's wrong with me?
He'd told her never to anger him, that bad things would happen if she did. Well, he'd been telling the truth. She'd angered him somehow and he'd stopped kissing her. Nothing was worse than that.
"You're going to leave me like this? Without even giving me an orgasm?" Whoops. She'd meant to sound flippant. She'd sounded needy and whining instead. And breathless.
The glint darkened further. "We will see each other again, Anya. Soon." With that ominous promise, he disappeared.
The Darkest Kiss - novel English hot
Re: The Darkest Kiss - novel English hot
CHAPTER FOUR
LUCIEN WAS AT A LOSS as he escorted three human souls to the heavens later that night. He was still at a loss as the pearled gates opened wide, revealing golden streets and bejeweled, arched lampposts hanging like diamond-studded clouds. White-clothed angels lined the sides, singing a melodious welcome, their feathered white wings gliding gracefully behind them.
Once the souls crossed the threshold to paradise, the gates closed, blocking him out, and there was only silence.
He was still at a loss.
Usually the beauty and peace he encountered here filled him with twinges of jealousy and resentment, for he would never be allowed inside. Tonight, he did not care. Anya occupied every corridor of his mind; he had no idea what to do about her.
Lucien flashed to his chambers in Buda, his body solidifying at the foot of the bed. He stood unmoving, locked in thought and chaotic emotion he should not have felt. When it came to Death, he knew well the consequences of hesitation. But earlier today he had not only hesitated, he had nearly made love to his intended victim. Tongued her hard, caressed her. He'd had the opportunity to finish her off, so he damn well should have finished her off.
"I am a foolish man," he muttered.
She had come at him with every intention of slaying him. But he'd spun her around, seen the way her glistening red lips parted on a gasp, felt her warm breath on his skin, smelled strawberries and cream, heard his demon purr and had been consumed by the greatest surge of lust he'd ever experienced.
How could he want Anya more than he'd ever wanted Mariah, a woman he'd loved?
How?
Anya had nearly killed him, yet he'd thought, I cannot die without another kiss from her. He hadn't cared about anything else. Just her lips. Her body. Her.
She was using him to thwart Cronus. She'd admitted as much, which made Lucien's lust all the more foolish. She hadn't seemed to mind his kiss, though. No, she'd seemed to enjoy it, to hunger for more.
"Damn this," he railed, stalking forward and slamming a fist into the wall. Stone instantly cracked and dust plumed around him, clouding his vision. It felt good so he punched again, his knuckles splitting and throbbing. Relax. Now.
Nothing good ever came of his anger.
He exhaled slowly as he turned and surveyed his bedroom. Morning had already arrived, he realized with surprise. With all that flashing, he'd lost track of the different time zones. Sunlight streamed through the room's only window. Except for Maddox and Torin, all of the warriors had, most likely, left for their respective destinations in Greece and Rome. I need to do the same. Anya can be taken care of later, when I'm not reeling from the taste and feel of her.
He strode to his closet, along the way noticing three vases perched on his vanity. Each overflowed with white, winter flowers and emitted a honey scent. They hadn't been here last night, which meant Ashlyn had been here this morning. Sweet, tenderhearted Ashlyn had probably thought to brighten his day with them, but seeing the blooms caused a pang of regret to tear through his chest.
Mariah used to pick flowers and weave them in her hair.
His door suddenly swung open and Ashlyn rushed inside, concern lighting her pretty face. Maddox, as always, was right behind her, a slash of black menace and lethal grace. He held two blades, poised and ready for attack.
"Everything okay?" Ashlyn asked when she spotted only Lucien. Light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her arms. Arms clutched together in worry. For him? "We were walking down the hall and heard a bang."
"Everything is fine," he assured her. But he kept his attention on Maddox, whose violet eyes were narrowed. Get her out of here, he silently willed, not wanting to hurt Ashlyn's feelings. I am not myself.
Lucien was dangerously close to losing all semblance of his legendary control. The strain had to show on every line of his face.
Understanding, Maddox gave a nod. "Ashlyn." He curled a hand around her shoulder. "Lucien is preparing for his journey to the temple. Let's leave him to it."
She didn't shrug off the warrior's hold. Rather, she leaned into him. She also refused to budge. Her gaze dipped over Lucien, scrutinizing, gauging. "You don't look fine."
"All is well," he lied. How many would he tell? He bent down, clasped the handles of his bag and threw it onto the bed.
"Your hand is bleeding and your bones are...Dear God." Frowning, she reached out.
Maddox grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her. He was keeper of Violence, yet he was gentle with his woman, so protective and possessive of her it was almost comical.
"Maddox," she said, exasperated. "I just want to see how bad his injuries are. We might have to reset the bones."
"Lucien will heal, and you need to rest."
"Rest, rest, rest. I'm four weeks pregnant, not sickly."
The proud couple had announced the news mere days ago. Then and now, Lucien was happy for them, but he also wondered what the offspring of a demon-possessed warrior and a mortal female with unusual powers would be. Half-demon? Fully demon? Completely mortal? Once, he'd wondered the same thing about a child of his own. His and Mariah's. But she had been taken from him before they'd even decided to try to conceive.
"Your man is correct," he said. "I am fine."
Determination radiated from Ashlyn, her large brown eyes never leaving Lucien. Tenderhearted she might be, but she was also stubborn to her very core.
She had grown up in a science lab, studied and used for a unique ability she'd only just learned to control. Wherever she stood, Ashlyn could hear every conversation that had taken place there, no matter how many years had passed. She could not, however, hear prior conversations between him and the other immortals, which had to irk her when she desired answers they wouldn't give.
"Word has already spread about you and a woman at the club," she said, blinking innocently. "Who is she?"
"She is no one." Except the new center of his world. Anya, beautiful Anya. His hands curled tightly at his sides. Even her name excited him, caused his blood to simmer deliciously and his body to ready for sex. She's not for you. "Warriors should not gossip."
He and Anya probably looked silly together. Her, the epitome of lush femininity. Him, an ugly beast of a man. Still, he could not stop himself from imagining his hand fisted in her hair, his body pounding in and out of hers. Hard, fast. Slow, tender.
Pretty, Death suddenly growled.
Lucien blinked in surprise. Usually the demon remained a compulsion rather than a voice; always a part of him, yet always distanced. Why it would speak up now, he didn't know. Still, he found himself replying. Yes, she is. Four times he had seen her. Four times he had spoken to her. For these past few weeks, he had scented her. Already she was ingrained in his cells - his thoughts, his desires, his purpose - more than anyone else, even his beloved Mariah, had ever been.
Want her. Death again.
Yes.
Tastes good. Have her before we kill her.
No! Even as he shouted the word inside his head, he felt the demon tugging at him, trying to force him to find Anya.
He planted his feet into the ground. Not yet.
"Lucien," Ashlyn prompted, drawing his attention back to her. The pressure inside of him eased. "I'm not a warrior, so I can gossip. You kissed her. Everyone said they saw you - "
"I am fine, and the woman is of no concern," he lied. Gods, another. Usually he abhorred lies. He reached out to tweak Ashlyn's nose, heard Maddox growl and dropped his arm. Maddox did not like for anyone else to touch his female. Ever. And for the first time, Lucien understood that. He despised the thought of other men touching Anya.
Idiot. The woman manipulated with a smile on her perfect face, and he was willing to bet that, like her mother, she had been intimate with legions. Whether she'd used those lovers for pleasure or power, he didn't know. Shouldn't care.
What if she were seducing another right now, trying to secure protection from Lucien?
A roar shoved from his throat and he found himself twisting, moving to confront the wall again, punching, punching, his knuckles throbbing insistently. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maddox whip Ashlyn behind his back.
What are you doing? Anya can well take care of herself. She doesn't need a man to protect her.
Perhaps she was alone on the beach, as needy and confused as he was. The thought softened the edges of his anger, even as it made his body incredibly hard. But as much as he wished to believe it, he knew a woman like her would not crave a scarred man like him. Not truly. No matter how hot her kisses. How many had turned away from him over the centuries? How many had cringed when he neared?
Countless.
And that had been - was - just the way he liked it.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. "How is Torin?" he asked, changing the subject as he stalked to the bed. "I do not like how slowly he is healing."
Ashlyn shoved Maddox aside, and the big warrior scowled, but let her. "I think I figured out why he hasn't bounced back as quickly as the rest of you do. He's Disease, right? Well, I think his cells are affected by that sickness. They have to fight the virus as well as the wound. Anyway, he is healing. He's eating on his own now."
"Good. That's good." Lucien still felt guilty about the attack Torin had endured. He should have been here. Should have sensed Torin's pain.
If the Hunters who had sneaked inside hadn't touched Torin's skin, infecting themselves with disease and weakening their forces, Torin would have died. Lucien had thought he'd taken the necessary precautions to prevent such an event, for he would rather his neck be sliced than one of the others. Yet his necessary precautions had failed.
"And how is Aeron?"
"Well." Ashlyn faltered, sighed. She bit her lip. "He's not so good."
"The bloodlust is so great he's taken to clawing himself," Maddox said, his voice grave. "Nothing I say penetrates his dark thoughts."
Lucien massaged the back of his neck. "Are you two going to be all right on your own?"
"Yes." Maddox wrapped his arm around Ashlyn's waist. "Torin is able to monitor the grounds on his computers and now that my death-curse is broken," he said, hugging his woman close, "I can leave at any time to defend us or procure items we might need."
Lucien nodded. "Good. I'll let you know what we find." He swiped up his bag and said over his shoulder, "Thank you for the flowers, Ashlyn." Without another word, he flashed to the Cyclades Islands in Greece.
Silver stone walls gave way to white stucco. The home he had already purchased and furnished was open and airy, with towering white columns and gauzy white material draping the windows.
He dropped his bag and stepped to the nearest balcony, an airy terrace that looked out onto the clearest water he'd ever seen. Smooth, no waves. Not even a ripple. The sun glowed lovingly - it was already midday - and lush green bushes with bright red blooms framed the edges of the building.
Perhaps he and the other warriors should have stayed in Athens or Crete to be closer to the ancient temple they meant to search, but there was more anonymity on the islands. Fewer tourists and even fewer locals.
"The fewer the better," he muttered.
He did not remember much of his time here, all those thousands of years ago, so he could not compare then with now. Those days had been dark, filled with screams and pain and acts so evil he didn't want to remember them.
I am a different man now.
And yet, he felt as if he would soon commit his most evil act yet. Slaying Anya. Do not think about her death. Not now.
What should he think about, then? he wondered, refocusing on the crystal water. Whether or not she would like the view? He rubbed his jaw with a sigh - and found that he was truly curious. Would she?
Doesn't matter. You can't let it matter. He forced his attention to the left - do not think about Anya - and marveled at the newest sight: emerald mountains laced with white and violet. Surely this was the gods' greatest creation.
No, that would be Anya.
His teeth gnashed together. What must he do to wipe her from his mind? He knew what he wanted to do. Strip her right here on the balcony and push her naked body against the iron railing, sunlight caressing her as he meant to do. He would touch her so exquisitely she wouldn't care about his scarred face. He would make her climax, over and over again, shouting his name. Desperate for more of him. So desperate she would forget every other man she'd slept with and think only of Lucien. Crave only Lucien.
The chances of that happening were as slim as those of Lucien's face returning to its former glory. Not that he wanted it to. He'd earned every one of his scars. They were a part of him now, a permanent reminder that loving a woman equaled pain and suffering.
He had never needed the reminder more.
He could not put off thinking of Anya's death, he decided. She would haunt him until he figured this out. Get it over with. How should he kill her? He didn't want to hurt her, so it would have to be quick. When should he do it? At night, while she slept? His stomach churned with acid. What exactly would the Titans do if he failed? Like Aeron, would he be driven mad with bloodlust? Would his friends fall, one by one? Fury stabbed at him with the thought.
Lucien withdrew one of the candies he still carried in his pocket, discarded the wrapper and sniffed. Instant arousal obliterated his anger as strawberry fragrance filled his nose. Why had he done such a foolish thing? The anger returned, but now it was directed at himself.
Scowling, he pitched the lollipop over the railing. Heard a splash as it hit the water. Ripples disrupted that smooth tranquility.
Behind him, a door opened. Closed. Male voices and snickering laughter suddenly reverberated. Lucien turned, unconcerned. There was Paris, tall and pale and perfect, radiating sexual contentment. The warrior had just bedded a woman, that much was obvious.
Beside him was Amun, silent, dark and simmering with untold secrets.
Strider, whose ruthlessly handsome face glowed with amusement, was punching Gideon in the shoulder. "You know you're jealous," he was saying.
"Don't hate the player," Paris said, grin widening. "I can't help it if both flight attendants wanted to see to my needs midair."
Lucien strode inside the spacious home, warm air replaced by cool. "We paid for a private jet, not a private bedding for Paris."
All four men withdrew a weapon as his voice cut through their good-natured ribbing. As soon as they realized who had spoken, they relaxed. Even smiled.
"Private is the wrong word," Strider said, blue eyes twinkling. "They did it in front of everyone. And I'm not complaining. The movie was crap, so their performance kept me entertained."
Lucien rolled his eyes, doing his best not to appear envious. "Take a look around. Pick a bed." Because he could flash, he was the only one who had been here before. He hadn't yet picked a room because he'd wanted to give the others first choice. He was happy to take whatever was left.
Bags were suddenly thrown aside as the men toured their temporary new "digs," as Paris would say.
"Nice," Paris said after choosing the room in back. "Chicks will certainly love it."
"Sucks," Gideon said, but everyone ignored him as usual. Everything out of his mouth was a lie. He'd taken the room closest to the front door.
"How long have you been here?" Strider asked Lucien as he came back into the living room.
"Only a few minutes."
"How is that even possible?" Strider and Lucien had only been reunited a month ago, Strider part of the group who had remained in Greece to fight the Hunters after Lucien's men had departed for Budapest. Hundreds of years had since passed, and they were only now getting to know each other again. "You didn't fly out before us, and you damn sure didn't fly with us."
Paris swung an arm over the wide expanse of Lucien's shoulders. "My man here did a little something called flashing." He proceeded to explain how Lucien could enter the spirit world and travel from one location to another in the blink of an eye. "Learned it a few years after we arrived in Buda."
Before then, he hadn't had enough control over the demon to master the ability.
Strider nodded, clearly impressed. "Cool skill. But why didn't you just flash all of us?"
Again, Paris answered for him. "Last time he spread the flashing love, Reyes threw up all over his shirt. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lucien, though, has no sense of humor and vowed never to take us again."
"I'm surprised you didn't mention the part where you fainted," Lucien said wryly.
Strider chortled. "Oh, man. You fainted? What a baby! Shit, look at that view," he added with barely a pause, catching sight of the terrace. "Reminds me of Olympus."
"Hey," Paris said, frowning at Lucien. "I told you I hit my head midflash."
"That doesn't make you any less of a baby," Strider tossed over his shoulder. He braced his arms on the balcony frame and leaned forward. "No matter how many times I see this place, it feels like the first time."
Paris wasn't letting the subject drop. "Let's see your reaction to a flash, Defeat. I bet you - "
"Stop," Lucien interjected with a raised hand. Paris knew better than to issue any type of challenge to Strider. Once the man entered into a competition, be it a knife fight, boxing or even the human game he and Paris liked to play, Xbox, he could not lose without suffering intense, debilitating pain. Needless to say, he did anything necessary to win at everything. "We have work to do."
"Work sucks," Gideon said.
Lucien ignored him. "We need to better secure the building in case any Hunters managed to follow us. After that, we'll prepare for our outing tomorrow."
They had the first done in an hour, placing sensors on the windows and around the building. They were sweating when they reentered the living room.
"I had Torin look a few things up before we left," Paris said, digging weapons from his boots and placing them on the nearest tabletop. "He thinks the temple we're going to search is the Temple of the All Gods. Ever heard of it?"
Lucien shook his head. Anya had not mentioned names. Anya... He ran his tongue over his teeth, his blood heating. In arousal for the woman, in fury at the god who wanted her dead.
"What do you think we'll find?" Strider asked, his features pensive as he peered at Lucien. "And why the hell do you now look capable of murder? These last few weeks the only expression you've given us was bored. I mention the temples and hello, demon."
The others whipped to face Lucien and were obviously shocked by what they saw. "Hopefully we'll find the box," he said, disregarding the other question. "Or at least a clue as to its whereabouts." Unfortunately, he would have to deal with Anya while looking. Anya. Fighting. Dying. Dead.
"Shit. His eyes are red. I've never seen that happen to him before." Paris.
"I remember what he was like back in the demon days, and it wasn't pretty." Strider. "Should we, I don't know, chain him?"
"Yeah, that'll be fun," Gideon said.
"Give me a minute, and I'll be fine." Before they could do anything, Lucien flashed back to Antarctica, right into the frigid water. He gasped, suddenly chilled to the bone. Yet while the icy liquid helped cool the fierceness of his anger, it did little to quench his desire for the woman currently taking up prime real estate inside his head.
He was beginning to think nothing could.
LUCIEN WAS AT A LOSS as he escorted three human souls to the heavens later that night. He was still at a loss as the pearled gates opened wide, revealing golden streets and bejeweled, arched lampposts hanging like diamond-studded clouds. White-clothed angels lined the sides, singing a melodious welcome, their feathered white wings gliding gracefully behind them.
Once the souls crossed the threshold to paradise, the gates closed, blocking him out, and there was only silence.
He was still at a loss.
Usually the beauty and peace he encountered here filled him with twinges of jealousy and resentment, for he would never be allowed inside. Tonight, he did not care. Anya occupied every corridor of his mind; he had no idea what to do about her.
Lucien flashed to his chambers in Buda, his body solidifying at the foot of the bed. He stood unmoving, locked in thought and chaotic emotion he should not have felt. When it came to Death, he knew well the consequences of hesitation. But earlier today he had not only hesitated, he had nearly made love to his intended victim. Tongued her hard, caressed her. He'd had the opportunity to finish her off, so he damn well should have finished her off.
"I am a foolish man," he muttered.
She had come at him with every intention of slaying him. But he'd spun her around, seen the way her glistening red lips parted on a gasp, felt her warm breath on his skin, smelled strawberries and cream, heard his demon purr and had been consumed by the greatest surge of lust he'd ever experienced.
How could he want Anya more than he'd ever wanted Mariah, a woman he'd loved?
How?
Anya had nearly killed him, yet he'd thought, I cannot die without another kiss from her. He hadn't cared about anything else. Just her lips. Her body. Her.
She was using him to thwart Cronus. She'd admitted as much, which made Lucien's lust all the more foolish. She hadn't seemed to mind his kiss, though. No, she'd seemed to enjoy it, to hunger for more.
"Damn this," he railed, stalking forward and slamming a fist into the wall. Stone instantly cracked and dust plumed around him, clouding his vision. It felt good so he punched again, his knuckles splitting and throbbing. Relax. Now.
Nothing good ever came of his anger.
He exhaled slowly as he turned and surveyed his bedroom. Morning had already arrived, he realized with surprise. With all that flashing, he'd lost track of the different time zones. Sunlight streamed through the room's only window. Except for Maddox and Torin, all of the warriors had, most likely, left for their respective destinations in Greece and Rome. I need to do the same. Anya can be taken care of later, when I'm not reeling from the taste and feel of her.
He strode to his closet, along the way noticing three vases perched on his vanity. Each overflowed with white, winter flowers and emitted a honey scent. They hadn't been here last night, which meant Ashlyn had been here this morning. Sweet, tenderhearted Ashlyn had probably thought to brighten his day with them, but seeing the blooms caused a pang of regret to tear through his chest.
Mariah used to pick flowers and weave them in her hair.
His door suddenly swung open and Ashlyn rushed inside, concern lighting her pretty face. Maddox, as always, was right behind her, a slash of black menace and lethal grace. He held two blades, poised and ready for attack.
"Everything okay?" Ashlyn asked when she spotted only Lucien. Light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her arms. Arms clutched together in worry. For him? "We were walking down the hall and heard a bang."
"Everything is fine," he assured her. But he kept his attention on Maddox, whose violet eyes were narrowed. Get her out of here, he silently willed, not wanting to hurt Ashlyn's feelings. I am not myself.
Lucien was dangerously close to losing all semblance of his legendary control. The strain had to show on every line of his face.
Understanding, Maddox gave a nod. "Ashlyn." He curled a hand around her shoulder. "Lucien is preparing for his journey to the temple. Let's leave him to it."
She didn't shrug off the warrior's hold. Rather, she leaned into him. She also refused to budge. Her gaze dipped over Lucien, scrutinizing, gauging. "You don't look fine."
"All is well," he lied. How many would he tell? He bent down, clasped the handles of his bag and threw it onto the bed.
"Your hand is bleeding and your bones are...Dear God." Frowning, she reached out.
Maddox grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her. He was keeper of Violence, yet he was gentle with his woman, so protective and possessive of her it was almost comical.
"Maddox," she said, exasperated. "I just want to see how bad his injuries are. We might have to reset the bones."
"Lucien will heal, and you need to rest."
"Rest, rest, rest. I'm four weeks pregnant, not sickly."
The proud couple had announced the news mere days ago. Then and now, Lucien was happy for them, but he also wondered what the offspring of a demon-possessed warrior and a mortal female with unusual powers would be. Half-demon? Fully demon? Completely mortal? Once, he'd wondered the same thing about a child of his own. His and Mariah's. But she had been taken from him before they'd even decided to try to conceive.
"Your man is correct," he said. "I am fine."
Determination radiated from Ashlyn, her large brown eyes never leaving Lucien. Tenderhearted she might be, but she was also stubborn to her very core.
She had grown up in a science lab, studied and used for a unique ability she'd only just learned to control. Wherever she stood, Ashlyn could hear every conversation that had taken place there, no matter how many years had passed. She could not, however, hear prior conversations between him and the other immortals, which had to irk her when she desired answers they wouldn't give.
"Word has already spread about you and a woman at the club," she said, blinking innocently. "Who is she?"
"She is no one." Except the new center of his world. Anya, beautiful Anya. His hands curled tightly at his sides. Even her name excited him, caused his blood to simmer deliciously and his body to ready for sex. She's not for you. "Warriors should not gossip."
He and Anya probably looked silly together. Her, the epitome of lush femininity. Him, an ugly beast of a man. Still, he could not stop himself from imagining his hand fisted in her hair, his body pounding in and out of hers. Hard, fast. Slow, tender.
Pretty, Death suddenly growled.
Lucien blinked in surprise. Usually the demon remained a compulsion rather than a voice; always a part of him, yet always distanced. Why it would speak up now, he didn't know. Still, he found himself replying. Yes, she is. Four times he had seen her. Four times he had spoken to her. For these past few weeks, he had scented her. Already she was ingrained in his cells - his thoughts, his desires, his purpose - more than anyone else, even his beloved Mariah, had ever been.
Want her. Death again.
Yes.
Tastes good. Have her before we kill her.
No! Even as he shouted the word inside his head, he felt the demon tugging at him, trying to force him to find Anya.
He planted his feet into the ground. Not yet.
"Lucien," Ashlyn prompted, drawing his attention back to her. The pressure inside of him eased. "I'm not a warrior, so I can gossip. You kissed her. Everyone said they saw you - "
"I am fine, and the woman is of no concern," he lied. Gods, another. Usually he abhorred lies. He reached out to tweak Ashlyn's nose, heard Maddox growl and dropped his arm. Maddox did not like for anyone else to touch his female. Ever. And for the first time, Lucien understood that. He despised the thought of other men touching Anya.
Idiot. The woman manipulated with a smile on her perfect face, and he was willing to bet that, like her mother, she had been intimate with legions. Whether she'd used those lovers for pleasure or power, he didn't know. Shouldn't care.
What if she were seducing another right now, trying to secure protection from Lucien?
A roar shoved from his throat and he found himself twisting, moving to confront the wall again, punching, punching, his knuckles throbbing insistently. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maddox whip Ashlyn behind his back.
What are you doing? Anya can well take care of herself. She doesn't need a man to protect her.
Perhaps she was alone on the beach, as needy and confused as he was. The thought softened the edges of his anger, even as it made his body incredibly hard. But as much as he wished to believe it, he knew a woman like her would not crave a scarred man like him. Not truly. No matter how hot her kisses. How many had turned away from him over the centuries? How many had cringed when he neared?
Countless.
And that had been - was - just the way he liked it.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. "How is Torin?" he asked, changing the subject as he stalked to the bed. "I do not like how slowly he is healing."
Ashlyn shoved Maddox aside, and the big warrior scowled, but let her. "I think I figured out why he hasn't bounced back as quickly as the rest of you do. He's Disease, right? Well, I think his cells are affected by that sickness. They have to fight the virus as well as the wound. Anyway, he is healing. He's eating on his own now."
"Good. That's good." Lucien still felt guilty about the attack Torin had endured. He should have been here. Should have sensed Torin's pain.
If the Hunters who had sneaked inside hadn't touched Torin's skin, infecting themselves with disease and weakening their forces, Torin would have died. Lucien had thought he'd taken the necessary precautions to prevent such an event, for he would rather his neck be sliced than one of the others. Yet his necessary precautions had failed.
"And how is Aeron?"
"Well." Ashlyn faltered, sighed. She bit her lip. "He's not so good."
"The bloodlust is so great he's taken to clawing himself," Maddox said, his voice grave. "Nothing I say penetrates his dark thoughts."
Lucien massaged the back of his neck. "Are you two going to be all right on your own?"
"Yes." Maddox wrapped his arm around Ashlyn's waist. "Torin is able to monitor the grounds on his computers and now that my death-curse is broken," he said, hugging his woman close, "I can leave at any time to defend us or procure items we might need."
Lucien nodded. "Good. I'll let you know what we find." He swiped up his bag and said over his shoulder, "Thank you for the flowers, Ashlyn." Without another word, he flashed to the Cyclades Islands in Greece.
Silver stone walls gave way to white stucco. The home he had already purchased and furnished was open and airy, with towering white columns and gauzy white material draping the windows.
He dropped his bag and stepped to the nearest balcony, an airy terrace that looked out onto the clearest water he'd ever seen. Smooth, no waves. Not even a ripple. The sun glowed lovingly - it was already midday - and lush green bushes with bright red blooms framed the edges of the building.
Perhaps he and the other warriors should have stayed in Athens or Crete to be closer to the ancient temple they meant to search, but there was more anonymity on the islands. Fewer tourists and even fewer locals.
"The fewer the better," he muttered.
He did not remember much of his time here, all those thousands of years ago, so he could not compare then with now. Those days had been dark, filled with screams and pain and acts so evil he didn't want to remember them.
I am a different man now.
And yet, he felt as if he would soon commit his most evil act yet. Slaying Anya. Do not think about her death. Not now.
What should he think about, then? he wondered, refocusing on the crystal water. Whether or not she would like the view? He rubbed his jaw with a sigh - and found that he was truly curious. Would she?
Doesn't matter. You can't let it matter. He forced his attention to the left - do not think about Anya - and marveled at the newest sight: emerald mountains laced with white and violet. Surely this was the gods' greatest creation.
No, that would be Anya.
His teeth gnashed together. What must he do to wipe her from his mind? He knew what he wanted to do. Strip her right here on the balcony and push her naked body against the iron railing, sunlight caressing her as he meant to do. He would touch her so exquisitely she wouldn't care about his scarred face. He would make her climax, over and over again, shouting his name. Desperate for more of him. So desperate she would forget every other man she'd slept with and think only of Lucien. Crave only Lucien.
The chances of that happening were as slim as those of Lucien's face returning to its former glory. Not that he wanted it to. He'd earned every one of his scars. They were a part of him now, a permanent reminder that loving a woman equaled pain and suffering.
He had never needed the reminder more.
He could not put off thinking of Anya's death, he decided. She would haunt him until he figured this out. Get it over with. How should he kill her? He didn't want to hurt her, so it would have to be quick. When should he do it? At night, while she slept? His stomach churned with acid. What exactly would the Titans do if he failed? Like Aeron, would he be driven mad with bloodlust? Would his friends fall, one by one? Fury stabbed at him with the thought.
Lucien withdrew one of the candies he still carried in his pocket, discarded the wrapper and sniffed. Instant arousal obliterated his anger as strawberry fragrance filled his nose. Why had he done such a foolish thing? The anger returned, but now it was directed at himself.
Scowling, he pitched the lollipop over the railing. Heard a splash as it hit the water. Ripples disrupted that smooth tranquility.
Behind him, a door opened. Closed. Male voices and snickering laughter suddenly reverberated. Lucien turned, unconcerned. There was Paris, tall and pale and perfect, radiating sexual contentment. The warrior had just bedded a woman, that much was obvious.
Beside him was Amun, silent, dark and simmering with untold secrets.
Strider, whose ruthlessly handsome face glowed with amusement, was punching Gideon in the shoulder. "You know you're jealous," he was saying.
"Don't hate the player," Paris said, grin widening. "I can't help it if both flight attendants wanted to see to my needs midair."
Lucien strode inside the spacious home, warm air replaced by cool. "We paid for a private jet, not a private bedding for Paris."
All four men withdrew a weapon as his voice cut through their good-natured ribbing. As soon as they realized who had spoken, they relaxed. Even smiled.
"Private is the wrong word," Strider said, blue eyes twinkling. "They did it in front of everyone. And I'm not complaining. The movie was crap, so their performance kept me entertained."
Lucien rolled his eyes, doing his best not to appear envious. "Take a look around. Pick a bed." Because he could flash, he was the only one who had been here before. He hadn't yet picked a room because he'd wanted to give the others first choice. He was happy to take whatever was left.
Bags were suddenly thrown aside as the men toured their temporary new "digs," as Paris would say.
"Nice," Paris said after choosing the room in back. "Chicks will certainly love it."
"Sucks," Gideon said, but everyone ignored him as usual. Everything out of his mouth was a lie. He'd taken the room closest to the front door.
"How long have you been here?" Strider asked Lucien as he came back into the living room.
"Only a few minutes."
"How is that even possible?" Strider and Lucien had only been reunited a month ago, Strider part of the group who had remained in Greece to fight the Hunters after Lucien's men had departed for Budapest. Hundreds of years had since passed, and they were only now getting to know each other again. "You didn't fly out before us, and you damn sure didn't fly with us."
Paris swung an arm over the wide expanse of Lucien's shoulders. "My man here did a little something called flashing." He proceeded to explain how Lucien could enter the spirit world and travel from one location to another in the blink of an eye. "Learned it a few years after we arrived in Buda."
Before then, he hadn't had enough control over the demon to master the ability.
Strider nodded, clearly impressed. "Cool skill. But why didn't you just flash all of us?"
Again, Paris answered for him. "Last time he spread the flashing love, Reyes threw up all over his shirt. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lucien, though, has no sense of humor and vowed never to take us again."
"I'm surprised you didn't mention the part where you fainted," Lucien said wryly.
Strider chortled. "Oh, man. You fainted? What a baby! Shit, look at that view," he added with barely a pause, catching sight of the terrace. "Reminds me of Olympus."
"Hey," Paris said, frowning at Lucien. "I told you I hit my head midflash."
"That doesn't make you any less of a baby," Strider tossed over his shoulder. He braced his arms on the balcony frame and leaned forward. "No matter how many times I see this place, it feels like the first time."
Paris wasn't letting the subject drop. "Let's see your reaction to a flash, Defeat. I bet you - "
"Stop," Lucien interjected with a raised hand. Paris knew better than to issue any type of challenge to Strider. Once the man entered into a competition, be it a knife fight, boxing or even the human game he and Paris liked to play, Xbox, he could not lose without suffering intense, debilitating pain. Needless to say, he did anything necessary to win at everything. "We have work to do."
"Work sucks," Gideon said.
Lucien ignored him. "We need to better secure the building in case any Hunters managed to follow us. After that, we'll prepare for our outing tomorrow."
They had the first done in an hour, placing sensors on the windows and around the building. They were sweating when they reentered the living room.
"I had Torin look a few things up before we left," Paris said, digging weapons from his boots and placing them on the nearest tabletop. "He thinks the temple we're going to search is the Temple of the All Gods. Ever heard of it?"
Lucien shook his head. Anya had not mentioned names. Anya... He ran his tongue over his teeth, his blood heating. In arousal for the woman, in fury at the god who wanted her dead.
"What do you think we'll find?" Strider asked, his features pensive as he peered at Lucien. "And why the hell do you now look capable of murder? These last few weeks the only expression you've given us was bored. I mention the temples and hello, demon."
The others whipped to face Lucien and were obviously shocked by what they saw. "Hopefully we'll find the box," he said, disregarding the other question. "Or at least a clue as to its whereabouts." Unfortunately, he would have to deal with Anya while looking. Anya. Fighting. Dying. Dead.
"Shit. His eyes are red. I've never seen that happen to him before." Paris.
"I remember what he was like back in the demon days, and it wasn't pretty." Strider. "Should we, I don't know, chain him?"
"Yeah, that'll be fun," Gideon said.
"Give me a minute, and I'll be fine." Before they could do anything, Lucien flashed back to Antarctica, right into the frigid water. He gasped, suddenly chilled to the bone. Yet while the icy liquid helped cool the fierceness of his anger, it did little to quench his desire for the woman currently taking up prime real estate inside his head.
He was beginning to think nothing could.
Re: The Darkest Kiss - novel English hot
CHAPTER FIVE
ANYA STAYED AWAY FROM Lucien for twenty-four hours. By the end, she seethed with nervous energy, constantly wondering if he'd appear. Every unexplained noise made her jump. Made her gasp. Made her heart kick into overdrive.
She'd paced the floors of her beach home, had tried to watch a movie but couldn't even recall what disc she'd shoved into the DVD player, and then had locked herself in her favorite room. Her treasure room. Usually rifling through the things she'd stolen over the centuries delighted her. Today, not so much.
She'd draped herself in Queen Elizabeth's jewels and played darts with King George V's dagger. She'd sipped strawberry-kiwi juice from an Episcopal chalice and drawn a mustache on the original Mona Lisa. Having spent a little time with Leo, she knew he wouldn't have minded.
What would Lucien think of her treasures? she wondered. Would he stumble back, horrified by the glittering sea of contraband? Probably. He was such a downer sometimes. Or maybe he would have understood, she thought, hopeful. Maybe, after battling his demon for so long, he would have realized that theft was her way of protecting humans from the darker side of her own nature. Well, that, and she liked pretty things.
Anya sighed and returned to the glistening sand outside. He isn't coming, she thought with disappointment, staring into the pristine ocean waves. The sun had long since set, then risen, then set again. Now violet and amber glowed on the horizon, glinting off the azure water. Sand squished between her bare toes, and coconut and orchids scented the air.
She'd both fought Lucien and kissed him here, the most action she'd seen in hundreds of years, so was loathe to leave. Was it dumb to miss him?
"Probably," she muttered, flinging sand with a flick of her ankle.
A little while ago, she had donned a skimpy sapphire bikini with ties on each side of her waist. If he had returned as she'd anticipated, they would have rumbled hardcore and one of her breasts might have "accidentally" popped out. He would have started sweating, the fighting would have turned to loving and they would have kissed again.
They would have touched again.
She sighed. Not going to happen. The gentle breeze whisked a strand of pale hair over her eyes. She hooked it behind her ear and frowned. What was he doing? Did he miss her? Even a little?
Was he plotting the best way to kill her, even now?
The bastard was probably happy to be away from her. "And that just won't do."
Her eyes narrowed as her hands tightened into fists. If he wouldn't come to her, she'd just have to go to him.
HUNTERS HAD BEATEN THEM to the Temple of the All Gods.
The tiny island had only begun to rise from the sea a few weeks before, and so far, the rest of the world did not seem to know about it. Not even with their satellites and other technology. Therefore, Hunters should not have known about it.
Who, then, had told them?
What Lucien knew, he knew because of Anya. When she had helped Maddox, she had helped them all by revealing the location of the ruins and explaining the new gods' intention for them: to bring the world back to the old ways of worship and blood sacrifice. Had she told the Hunters, as well?
Perhaps she'd done so to spite him, he thought. He'd tried to kill her, after all.
And a worse attempt I've never seen. Disgraceful!
His jaw locked in irritation. Now is not the time to think of her.
When is a good time?
Later.
He could almost hear Death clapping happily in his mind, and he didn't think it was because the demon was eager to take Anya's soul. He didn't understand why the demon cared to see her, but he had no time to reason it out.
The Hunters were camped in the surrounding foliage and they had to be disposed of quickly, surely. Once, he had turned away from this war. Once, but not again. Everything the Hunters did, every move they made, was meant to harm and destroy his friends.
Lucien hadn't noticed them this morning when he flashed to the island to look around before bringing the others here. But then he'd only been here a few minutes. Death had begun to pull at him, a spiritual pull that often became a physical tearing if he resisted for long.
He'd ended up spending the day ushering one human after another to their final destination, only returning at twilight, at last able to search as he'd hoped and make sure all was safe for the others.
That was when he'd caught a glimpse of the Hunters. He'd been shocked. Was still shocked. Not only because they'd beaten him to the temple, but also because they had rallied their forces so soon after the plague. Their determination was greater than he'd realized.
Only a little while ago, they had walked away from the ruins and headed back to their camp. A camp they had hidden extremely well, using leaves as roofs and tunnels they'd either dug or found as shelter.
How long had they been here? Whatever the answer, he already knew what they had planned.
"We'll kill them all," he'd heard one of them say as they'd walked. Lucien had been in the spirit world, so they hadn't seen him.
"Make sure they suffer first," another had cackled.
"When those demons are locked up, I think I'll wear one of their keeper's teeth as a necklace. Every time they take a breath, exhaling their evil onto the world, it seems like someone I know or love is struck with sickness or misfortune, and I'm tired of it. If they'd been disposed of years ago, my Marilyn wouldn't have died of cancer. She'd still be here. I know it."
"World won't be right until they're gone. They might have fooled the people of Buda into thinking they're angels, but history has proven otherwise. You guys see the portrait of Death in ancient Athens?" Shudder. "Not a single survivor."
Block his words. Obviously they were searching for the box. For all he knew, they might already have found a trace of its location. He hated that they wanted it, but knew why they did. After they had killed Baden, the demon of Distrust had sprung from the lifeless body and even now wandered the earth, more crazed and destructive than ever before.
That was when the Hunters realized they could not kill the Lords and their spirits. And so, to rid the world of both, they had to capture and subdue the Lords, then secure the demons back inside the box. If they found it.
Time was more of an enemy than ever. Lucien flashed to the warriors, who were watching a movie inside the rented house, waiting for him.
"Finally," Strider said, spotting him. "Was getting worried."
"Hunters," he said, and they instantly sat up.
Paris jumped to his feet, whipping up his weapons in a blink. "How many?"
"I counted thirteen above ground. There could be more in their tunnels, coming and going. Since I can't watch more than one location at a time, my count could be off."
Amun withdrew a semiautomatic from the waist of his pants and checked the magazine.
"There is not going to be a bloodbath tonight," Gideon said with a grin.
Rather than take a boat as originally planned, Lucien flashed them all to the island, one at a time. He would rather prance around Anya in a dress than wait. To everyone's amusement, Paris passed out during their journey and it took several minutes to revive him. Strider handled his first flash with ease, grinning the entire split second required to move from one location to another. Amun didn't show any reaction at all. As Reyes had once done, Gideon vomited but quickly pulled himself together.
All the while, Lucien could feel Anya's eyes on him. The soul-deep burn had returned, stripping him bare. Death even started purring again.
Knowing she was there caused Lucien's muscles to tighten with strain. Not because he thought she'd attack - he expected that, but didn't fear it - but because he could not forget how she felt in his arms. He could not forget the way she moaned when the hot tip of his tongue ran over her throat. The way her nipples hardened, begging for his mouth. The way her legs parted, welcoming him as close to heaven as a man like him could ever hope to get.
Right then, he wanted off the island. He wanted her naked and in his bed. He wanted his hands on her body, and her hands on his body. Wanted his mouth between her thighs, and her mouth on his cock. He just...wanted.
And he could not have.
Concentrate! Crouching in moonlight and dewy foliage, water rushing all around, he muttered, "Do not interfere."
"What?" Strider asked, confused as he crouched beside him.
"Never mind." The moon was high and laced with golden ribbons, caressing the sand and greenery. Insects sang happily. He could have taken the Hunters down on his own. Simply flashed inside their tunnels and attacked, but he did not want to risk one getting away.
"Are you sure they're Hunters?" Paris asked, squatting in the leaves on Lucien's other side.
"Yes. I saw their marks." Every Hunter sect branded themselves with a symbol of Infinity on their wrists. "Infinity without evil" was their credo.
Lucien did not consider himself completely evil. At one time, yes, he had been. His demon had constantly compelled him to take lives, not just souls, and he had. Gladly. But no longer. The desire to kill had thankfully been tamed. Now, he fought only for peace and protection.
Regret struck him that he could not have more, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Were he merely a mortal, he would have married long ago. He and Mariah would have had a dozen children. He would have spent his days caring for his family and his nights loving his wife. And when he died he would have been welcomed into paradise.
But he had not been created to enjoy life. He had been created to guard the god king and to defend the heavens. And then, once he and the demon had joined, even that had been taken from him. You deserved it, you know you did.
"This could be a trap," Strider said, drawing his attention.
"They did not know I was here, nor did they seem to be preparing for any type of battle."
Paris gripped the hilt of a dagger. "How should we do this?"
"We'll encircle their camp. On my signal, we'll rush the tunnels silently, locking them inside with no chance of escape. There are four entrances. I looked earlier. Paris, double with Strider and take the west. Gideon, the east. Amun, north. I'll take south."
Each man nodded and silently obeyed.
"Oh, goodie. A battle." Anya laughed softly, suddenly materializing at Lucien's side. She, too, crouched, every bit the warrior.
He was instantly enveloped by that strawberries-and-cream scent. His blood heated - sizzling, blistering. "Quiet," he growled, refusing to look at her. That might prove to be his undoing.
"Aren't you going to attack me?" she asked, and he would swear he heard a pout.
"I have not the time for you right now." He meant the words as an insult, but they emerged dripping with disappointment rather than rancor. "We can fight later."
"You've been neglecting me, and I don't like it."
"You should be grateful for my neglect."
"Don't flatter yourself." She didn't leave in a huff as he'd half expected. Instead, she shifted closer to him. "Can I help you fight the Hunters? Please, please, please, can I?"
"No. Be silent." If the warriors heard him from their positions, they gave no indication. He could just make them out in the bushes, only the tips of their heads visible as they waited for his signal.
"But I'm an expert fighter."
"I know," he replied drily. His chest still ached where she'd stabbed him. Should have been illegal for a woman who looked like her to be so sexily bloodthirsty. And he should not have found that bloodthirstiness so attractive. "Did you tell these Hunters about the temple?"
"Ugh. Why would I help the Hunters?"
"So that they would kill me, and you would no longer have to worry about being killed by me."
"I don't worry about that now," she said matter-of-factly.
Gods save him. Had women always been this way? "What are you doing here, Anya? I left you because I needed space. Time. Is that too much to ask?"
"Yes." She shifted in the grass, angling even closer to him. "I just...I can't get you out of my mind. I missed you."
Hearing that was almost painful. A lie? "Anya."
"No, no. Don't say anything. You'll only make me mad and then bad things will happen. Oh, my gods," she added with a quiet laugh. "I sounded just like you. Look, let me help. I won't get in the way. Swear. Scouts honor. Witches honor. Or whatever kind of promise you want."
A gentle, salt-kissed breeze swept past them, and a lock of her hair brushed his cheek. He experienced an instant and unwanted hard-on as he swatted the silky strands away. "I told you to be silent. I need to study the land." Not that he could concentrate on anything but Anya as her hair continued to stroke him. "And for gods' sake, do something with your hair."
"Cut it?"
"Shave it." Sadly, he doubted even that would lessen her physical appeal. Concentrate! he reminded himself. The Hunters had been inside the tunnels for over an hour now. They'd had time to settle, to relax. There was no movement around the entrances, no hint of a watchman.
"Really?" Anya asked with surprise. "You want me to shave it like that sexy warlord Vin Diesel?"
Who was Vin Diesel? And why did Lucien suddenly want to slay him? Lucien popped his jaw. "Yes."
"If I do, will you let me help tonight?"
There was so much eagerness in her voice that he suspected she truly would do it, would shave her head completely bald. Obviously, her hair meant nothing to her. The complete lack of vanity surprised him.
Why did that endear her to him even more?
"No," he finally told her.
"You're such a pain," she grumbled. "Well, guess what? I've already flashed inside those tunnels, and the Hunters have obviously been here a while. They even have prisoners."
Every muscle in his body stiffened. "First, you went inside without my permission, endangering yourself and my purpose?"
"Listen, sweetness." Anger now laced her voice. "Despite what you seem to think, I am a powerful being, and I choose whether or not to endanger myself. Besides, you should be happy I went inside. If I'd gotten caught, they could have saved you the trouble of taking my head."
"Second," Lucien continued as if she hadn't spoken. He could barely get the words out, his throat was so constricted. "They have prisoners?"
"Mmm-hmm. Two of 'em."
Finally, he looked at her - and immediately regretted it. She wore a white gossamer gown with gold threaded throughout, and was even lovelier than he remembered. With the golden glow of moonlight crowning her and emerald plants framing her, she was an ancient queen straight out of a storybook.
The top layers of her pale hair were piled on her head, the rest tumbling down and begging for his touch. Hard fists of desire beat through him. "Who are they?" he forced himself to ask.
"Not a word about my appearance?"
"No." Looking at you is like finally entering those gates to heaven. His chest tightened, nearly squeezing his heart to an agonizing stop.
"Seriously, why do I bother?" she grumped. "I could weigh nine hundred pounds, smell like a sewer and wear garbage bags and I'd get the same response from you."
"The prisoners," he prompted grimly.
She shrugged one delicate shoulder and the wispy material of her robe fell to her elbow, revealing inch after inch of creamy skin. Was that...gods in heaven, it was. He could see the plump underside of her breast. He wanted to taste it so badly his teeth actually hurt.
"What about them?" she asked. "They're humans."
He was tempted to offer his own soul to Cronus if the god would spare her and allow Lucien to lick her. A single flick of his tongue. That's all he needed. Please. "And?"
Her full lips curled into a slow smile. "They are people who might possess the very knowledge you seek. Don't ask me anything else, though, because I'm not telling. You didn't even comment about my dress and I went to a lot of trouble to steal it."
"Stealing is wrong. But it is...pretty." An understatement. A lie. It was exquisite on her. Would look even more exquisite on his bedroom floor. Foolish thought. "Do they know about Pandora's box?"
"I told you, I'm not telling," she huffed. "You weren't supposed to tell me it's pretty. You were supposed to tell me to take it off because I'd look better without it. Lucien, I swear to the gods I'm this close - " she pinched two fingers together " - to giving up on you. This close!"
Do not consider her words. The prisoners knew something about the box, he would bet. Yes, much safer topic. Why else would Hunters have them locked up? His eyes narrowed on the tunnels. He couldn't risk hurting the captives. Not only did he want to protect innocent lives, but whatever knowledge they possessed, he wanted to possess.
"You are so frustrating! I'd rather have you try to kill me again than have you ignore me."
With a sigh, he peered at the surrounding foliage. The warriors were still waiting for his signal, most likely wondering about the delay. Without a word to Anya, he flashed to Paris and Strider, told them to be careful of the human prisoners and that he needed a few minutes more. Then he followed suit with Amun and Gideon. Except for the predictably silent Amun, the warriors grumbled.
Then he flashed back to Anya. On top of her, to be exact, trying not to delight in the feel of her warm body pressed to his or the curve of her breasts against his chest when he flipped her over. You could have landed beside her. Yes, he could have; he just hadn't wanted to. This ensured she would not run. At least, that was the reason he gave himself.
"Why you little...mmm." Her voice trailed off and she moaned in delight. Her eyes closed to half-mast, the lashes casting spiky shadows over her cheeks. "You want to make out?"
Yes. "No. Wait here." He flashed to his bedroom in Budapest, her exasperated sputtering in his ears. During the seemingly endless span of Maddox's death-curse, they'd had to chain him to his bed every night to keep him from erupting into a fit of unrestrained violence, his control gone, his friends in danger.
Maddox had wanted the metal destroyed once his curse had been lifted, but nothing they tried had melted or broken the godly links. Unable to get rid of them, refusing to use them on Aeron and afraid Hunters would find and use them against a Lord, Lucien had stored them in his bedchamber.
Right now, he swiped them from the closet, pocketed the key and snapped two ends to his bedposts, leaving two ends open and ready. Determined, he flashed back to Anya. She hadn't moved, and he once again settled on top of her.
When she realized he had returned, she wound her legs around his waist and laved her hot tongue up the length of his throat. "Whatever brought about this naughty streak of yours, I heartily approve."
His cock surged, filling and swelling, catching him on fire. Suddenly he was desperate, needier than he'd ever been. The woman he craved and now constantly daydreamed about was writhing against him in truth, running her hands all over him, as eager for more as he was.
One kiss. That's all.
Whether he thought it or the demon spoke it, Lucien didn't know. He only knew that if he kissed Anya, he would not be able to stop. Kissing this woman had proved to be more arousing than making love to another. And even if the time and place were appropriate, he knew better than to indulge with a woman he would soon be forced to kill. Do not let history repeat itself. End this.
"Lucien," she gasped. "Kiss me."
"Soon," he vowed, and it was the truth. Depraved as it was, much as he knew better and had just tried to convince himself not to, he would not be able to render that final blow until he'd taken her mouth again.
Remaining on top of her, he flashed them both to his bedroom and onto the bed. When the cool mattress met Anya's back, he swiped up her hands and locked them inside the chains. Clink.
She didn't protest as he'd expected.
She glanced around, muttered, "Mmm, your bedroom. I've wanted an invitation real bad." Grinning, she arched her lower body into his - dear gods - and purred straight into his ear. The delicious sound blended with the demon's approving hum. "Is this a kinky new game?" She even bit his earlobe. "What happens in Buda, stays in Buda. Promise."
His erection throbbed as pleasure, so much pleasure, drove into his skin, his muscles. A shiver stole through him, hot and hungry. Again his blood heated; more than burning now, more than blistering. It was lava in his veins, singeing every part of him with desire. His mouth was opening, preparing to ravage her with the kiss he'd promised her, promised them both, but once again he managed to stop himself.
No contact. No kissing. Not yet. There were Hunters to kill.
No falling for her, either. No craving more. Sooner rather than later, she would die. To be her lover, as well as her executioner, would make him as despicable as the demon inside him.
"Aren't you going to play with me?" she asked in that husky voice of hers. "Aren't you going to kiss me? Soon is now."
"Anya." He didn't know what else to say. His heavy weight pinned her down and her legs parted farther, causing him to sink deeper. He was still impossibly hard, and his erection was rubbing at her of its own damn accord, their clothing adding to the electric friction.
She bit the cord of his neck and rocked into him, prolonging the contact. He gripped her hips to still her, and the action cost him dearly. He had to grit his teeth against the wild surge of denied lust.
"I like this game," she said breathlessly. "Any rules?"
"Just one," he forced past a clenched jaw.
"Tell me." Her knees rubbed his sides, beckoning him even deeper.
"The only rule..." He raised his hands and cupped her cheeks, his thumb caressing her velvet-soft skin. Oh, that he could stay here forever. Or that he could bask in her, if only for a little while. "The only rule is that you are to stay here."
"Mmm, I love to break - hey. What?" She frowned up at him. "Stay here with you, right?"
"No." He rose from the bed, severing all contact. His body screamed in protest; his demon cursed at him. Of all Lucien's crimes, leaving her like this suddenly seemed the worst.
Her frown deepened. "Lucien? What - " She tried to raise her arms but couldn't. Her narrowed gaze slid to the headboard, lingered for a moment as she gave another jerk, then returned to him. "I don't understand."
"The only pleasure you will receive in that bed is the pleasure you give yourself." For now.
Gods, don't think like that.
"I'm down with that. But if you want to watch me pleasure myself, you'll have to remove the chains."
Again not the response he'd expected; he wanted to groan. Anya...hand between her legs...rubbing her clitoris...bringing herself to orgasm...If imagining was wholly erotic and utterly breathtaking and caused his knees to weaken like a human's, what would actually witnessing the event be like?
"Stay here," he choked out, "and stay quiet. I'll come back for you. You have my word."
"Come back for me?" Now her eyes widened. "Where are you going? And you had better say to get a whip and a spiked collar because you want nothing more than to be my bitch or you'll regret it."
"I'm going back to the temple. I'll return as soon as the Hunters have been defeated."
A shocked gasp slipped from her. Perhaps there was hurt mixed in, as well, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. "I can flash with you. Chains can't hold me."
"These can. They were made for immortals."
A second passed. Another.
She stared over at him, mouth drawn tight. He much preferred that mouth soft - and all over his body. Any chance of that had been ruined by his actions today, he would not doubt. It was better this way, he told himself, but he couldn't halt a surge of bitter regret.
"You're saying I can't flash?" she gritted out.
"That is exactly what I am saying."
"And you're going to leave me like this?"
"Yes. Behave," he said and left her, materializing in the exact spot he'd abandoned.
The moment those lush blades of grass surrounded him, guilt and need flooded him. Guilt because he'd left her helpless. Need because, well, he had the memory of being on top of her inside his mind, fresh, taunting. Wondrous.
And she had seemed to want him. Until he'd ruined it.
What was he going to do with her? The woman was tying him into knots!
She probably hated him now. She would never forgive him. She - appeared right beside him and punched him the eye.
"Bastard," she snarled.
Amazement and pain pounded through him as he gazed at her. Damn, but she was strong. She'd managed to crack the bone, he suspected, the injury swelling. "How did you get free?" Those chains had been unbreakable for centuries.
"I have my ways."
"How?" he insisted.
"I can't be locked up, okay? No matter what restraints you use, I can't be contained. And if you ever do something like that again..." Her hands tightened into fists. "Freedom is everything. You know that better than most since you were forced to harbor a demon. You were even bound to take your friend's soul every night for centuries. An obligation I helped free you from. Remember that? For you to try and take my freedom...Oh! I could seriously saw you in half with one of my fingernails."
Better this way, remember? "Those chains have been used on gods and have never failed. Only the key can unlock them, and I have that in my pocket."
"Big fucking deal, you son of a bitch. I told you I was powerful - not my fault you failed to listen. I'm helping fight the Hunters now and you'll be lucky if my aim doesn't accidentally-on-purpose veer and kill you. In fact, I don't think I'll wait for you." She glanced over at the tunnels and counted with a point of her finger. "See you in the...second one over, sweetcakes. That's where the biggest, baddest Hunter was, last time I checked. I'll just pretend he's you and nail his ass to the wall."
She disappeared a moment later, leaving only a cloud of strawberries, cream and smug fury. Damn this! He gave a whistle and leapt forward. The now impatient warriors sprang forth, as if tethers had been sliced.
Silent, they kicked aside leaves and twigs. When Lucien reached the second tunnel, Gideon's, he tossed the makeshift roof and let himself fall inside, not wanting to flash and startle his men. Gideon frowned but didn't comment as he followed him down. Each of them had weapons raised and ready.
There was a grunt. A shout. Lucien tensed, looking...looking...damn it, he didn't see Anya, nor did he see -
Hunters. There. Two, over in the corner. One was beating an older human male and the other was subduing a middle-aged male. Both prisoners were begging the Hunters to stop.
"Tell me what I need to know," one Hunter said, his reasonable tone at odds with the violence of his actions, "and the pain ends. That's all you have to do."
"I'm sick of coming back empty-handed," the other - the tallest and most muscled - added just as reasonably, kicking the older man in the stomach.
There was a hmph. The younger man yelled, "Stop. Just stop. He doesn't know anything else!"
"He does. He has to. Tell us or die. Those are your only options right now."
The kicker stepped forward, leaned down toward the prisoners' faces. "You pick death, and it's not going to be quick and gentle, you get me? You'll die, piece by piece."
"Just leave my father alone." The younger man had thrown his arms around the older one, shielding him with his own body. "I swear to you, we've told you everything we know. Just let us go. Please."
"You haven't. You're protecting those demons, might even be working with them."
As if she'd been waiting for Lucien's arrival, Anya appeared beside the biggest Hunter and simply slit his throat before he knew she was there. His body sagged to the ground, and she flicked Lucien a look-what-I-did grin.
She'd just killed a man, violently, without hesitation, and was covered in blood. Seeing her grin about what she'd done shook Lucien's world on its axis. She was a lush and beautiful angel; she was also a killer. Like him.
Though he was intoxicated by the sight of her still, wanted to bask in her, Lucien still managed to toss two daggers at the second Hunter. One embedded in the man's throat, the other in his thigh. Both were kill spots, and rather than choose, he'd decided two were better than one. Just in case. He didn't like how close Anya was to the action, immortal or not. She could be hurt, and the thought of one of these Hunters touching her sparked a deep rage inside him.
"Behind you!" Anya suddenly shouted.
He turned, but not in time. A Hunter had hidden in the shadows and now silently launched himself at Lucien. They clashed together and tumbled to the ground, a blade inching its way toward Lucien's throat. The man didn't seem worried about killing Lucien and unleashing his demon on the world. Looked like he'd snapped, death his only concern.
"Demon spawn!" his opponent spat. "I've been waiting for this day."
Lucien flashed, causing the Hunter to smash into the ground. Bleeding, he reappeared behind the man, reached down and snapped his neck. At the same time, Anya appeared beside him and stabbed the Hunter in the chest.
Panting, Lucien straightened and asked, "Where are the others?"
"I killed two already, and I haven't seen the rest." She wiped her bloody hands on her gown, the crimson stains stark against the virgin white.
Again, the sight was somehow more erotic than having her splayed out on his bed. A delicate-looking beauty, lethal and courageous. A warrior princess. She seemed impressed by him, as well, her gaze sliding over him with lusty heat.
"Good aim," she told him.
Turning away before she saw the evidence of his arousal, he scanned their surroundings. The Hunters had chosen their hideaway wisely and fortified it well. There were multiple rooms and hallways, the muddy walls supported with timbers. There was a table in back, piled high with cans of food and twigs for fire.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Anya bend down in front of the prisoners, who were cowering on the floor, probably afraid the avenging angel would hurt them, too. "Don't worry," she said soothingly. "I'm all about bad guy destruction. You have nothing to fear from me. We're going to get you out of here."
Such gentleness. Even Lucien was charmed.
From down one of the hallways, he heard a grunt, a thump, followed by a piercing bellow of pain. A split second later, the other hallway erupted with human screams - screams that were quickly cut off. Lucien jumped in front of Anya, prepared to battle if anyone emerged.
Then Paris stalked from one of the rooms, face cut and bruised, and Lucien relaxed. "My two are dead," the warrior said proudly, if a bit weakly.
Amun strode from the other side, blood splattered on his cheeks. He didn't speak - he never spoke - but he did nod. His targets were defeated, as well.
Strider and Gideon were behind him and both were grinning. "I nailed three," Strider said, and Lucien noticed he was limping. "Took a blade to the thigh, but victory is ours."
"I failed," Gideon said arrogantly.
"Guess the caves are interconnected," Paris said. Lines of strain now bracketed his too-perfect face. The fight must have drained the last of his strength. Usually he'd had one or two women by this time of day - needed one or two women to sate his demon - but Promiscuity hadn't bedded a woman since the plane ride yesterday.
Anya stepped from the prisoners to Lucien's side, drawing every eye to her. All three men sucked in a - reverent? aroused? surprised? - breath.
"Why the hell is she here?" Strider demanded. "And why would a minor goddess fight Hun - "
"Hey! I'm not minor!" Anya said with a stomp of her foot.
Lucien wasn't given a chance to reply. Death tugged at him insistently, almost painfully, its need to collect the souls stronger than usual. Death was also whining inside his head, conflicted, because it wanted to remain next to pretty Anya almost as much as it needed to act.
What power did she wield over the being? How did she wield it?
"I'll return," he said. He allowed himself to be pulled completely from the physical world and into the spiritual. He could have left his body behind, but didn't want the warriors to have to worry about guarding it. His friends, and even Anya, faded from his line of vision.
He saw only the Hunters, lying on the ground, each bloody and lifeless. Inside the nearly-dead bodies, their spirits writhed, waiting for him.
"Anya," he called. He did not like leaving her alone with the other warriors. No telling what they would try to do - especially Paris.
She didn't appear. She had followed him to this realm before, he knew she had, for he had felt her. Why not now? She can take care of herself. You've seen the proof of that.
Hurry! Lucien wasn't responsible for every soul on earth. Many were actually allowed to remain, roaming the land, invisible. He thought he would go mad if he spent his every waking hour in this realm, doing nothing but traveling from earth to hell or earth to heaven. It was burden enough to be responsible for those whose final resting place had already been determined.
He always felt, deep inside, where he was supposed to escort the souls. Sometimes he even saw the final moments of the person's life, whether those moments were layered with sickening cruelty or unerring kindness.
Lucien sighed, studied his targets. There was a black aura around each of them, revealing the corruptness of their natures. These men would soon burn in the eternal fires. He wasn't surprised. While some Hunters actually made it into heaven, he'd known these would not. They were too fanatical and had indiscriminately tortured innocents for answers.
"Is this the peace you always longed for?" Lucien floated his ghostly self to the first body. Opening his hand and stretching his fingers, he reached inside the Hunter's chest. When he felt an ice-cold block, he snapped his fingers closed.
The spirit realized it was captured and began struggling as Lucien tugged it from the corpse. Their eyes met, and Lucien knew his were glowing with blue-brown fire.
"No," it screamed. "No. Let me stay here."
The man's sins suddenly flickered through the demon's awareness and in turn through Lucien's. As the man had already proven, he had considered himself above the law, slaying anyone who got in his way - men, women, children - all in the name of a better world.
Bastard.
Maintaining a strong grip on the protesting spirit, he flashed to the entrance of hell. Not Hades - that gloomy underworld was reserved for those who did not deserve either the tortures of hell or the glories of heaven. This man deserved the flames. Though the gates to the fire pit were closed, Lucien could feel the intense heat radiating, could hear the symphony of tormented screams inside, the demonic laughter. The jeers. The stifling scent of sulfur permeated the entire area, enough to make a man gag.
He'd brought Maddox here every night for thousands of years, hating himself all the while, wishing there were something he could do to ease his friend's anguish but knowing there was nothing. Until Anya. As she liked to remind him, she had saved them.
"Please!" the spirit cried. "I'm sorry for - "
"Save your pleas," he said flatly. Over the centuries, he'd heard every desperate bargain imaginable. Nothing swayed him.
What will you do if Anya begs you? What then?
Suddenly Lucien wanted to vomit, to rail, to kill at the thought of bringing such a lovely creature here. Whatever her crime, he doubted she deserved to burn, the flesh melting and peeling from her luscious body only to regenerate and melt again.
Perhaps when she died, she would be allowed in heaven.
He could pray, at least.
"Please," the Hunter's spirit screamed as two thick boulders opened up above the pit. Orange-gold flames shot out, crackling and snapping, the smell of sulfur stronger as it blended with the odors of burned hair and rotting tissue.
The spirit's struggles intensified.
When Lucien saw demonic, scaly arms reach through the flames, when he heard the taunting become eager giggles, he tossed the spirit in. The scaly arms caught it and jerked it downward. There was a scream so filled with pain it was deafening, and then the boulders closed.
He didn't know what kept the demons inside, only that something did. Something that had not been able to hold the demon he now housed, which was why it had not been returned to hell after it escaped - thanks to you - Pandora's box.
If you hadn't opened the box, you might never have met Anya. And that would have been best, he told himself, despite the sudden flare of rightness that came with knowing her. He wouldn't have been commanded to hurt her.
He repeated the journey with every slain Hunter, and when he was finished, he opened his eyes to find himself back in the physical realm. The cave walls closed in around him, dark and bleak. There was silence, but he wasn't sure the quiet was any better than the screams of the Underworld. His mind wanted to fill every second of it with thoughts of Anya.
She'd obsessed him.
And she was gone, he noticed. Disappointment filled him.
Having realized what was happening, his men had continued about their business and had patched up the innocents. Or maybe Anya had done it before she left. Where had she gone?
"I don't understand," Paris said to one of the beaten humans. "For what?"
"Artifacts," the old man said through swollen lips. "Priceless, godly, powerful. Each will lead the bearer closer to Pandora's box, helping him to finally procure it."
Pandora's box. Words guaranteed to engage his complete attention. Lucien joined the group. "How will the artifacts help us find the box?"
Amun stood off to the side, watching, but turned his head when Lucien spoke. Strider flicked him a glance, muttering, "Nice to have you back."
"The woman?"
"Still here," Gideon replied, which meant she had indeed left.
He moved beside Amun and waited for someone to explain.
"Just up and disappeared, right after you," Strider said. "Why does she keep showing up?"
Lucien didn't answer, for he didn't know what truly drove Anya. I missed you, she'd said. Had she really? He just didn't know. She was as mysterious as she was beautiful. "Who are these men and how will those artifacts help us find the box?"
Strider shrugged at the abrupt subject change. "They are mortals who've devoted their lives to the study of mythology. And I don't know."
"Can we go home?" the younger man asked. His brown eyes were watery. "Please."
"Soon," Lucien promised gently. "We just need to know what you told the Hunters."
"Hunters?" both asked in unison.
"The men who imprisoned you."
"Bastards," the younger man gritted out. "You plan to kill us after we tell you?"
"No," Strider said with a laugh. "Please. Look at you, then look at me. I don't do puny targets."
The old man gulped. Opened his mouth.
"Don't," the son said.
"It's okay. I'll tell them." The older human drew a heavy breath past his cut and bleeding lips. "According to ancient lore, there are four artifacts. The All-seeing Eye, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Cage of Compulsion and the Paring Rod."
Two rang a distant bell, delighting him. Two were unfamiliar, puzzling him. Mostly the irony of the situation disgusted him. If these humans were correct, they knew more about the world he'd once inhabited than he, a former soldier to the gods, did. "Tell me about them. Please."
With fear in his eyes, the man continued, "Some legends say that all four belonged to Cronus - some say each belonged to a different Titan. Most accounts agree that when Zeus defeated Cronus, he - Zeus - scattered them throughout the world to prevent the former god king from using them again, if he ever managed to escape his prison. For it had been prophesied that the Titans would ultimately destroy the Greeks forevermore."
Why hadn't Zeus killed Cronus to begin with, then, rather than imprison him? For that matter, why hadn't Cronus killed Zeus after his escape? Why choose imprisonment? Gods. He might never understand them, Lucien thought, even were he to devote years to studying them as these mortals had done. "What else do you know about the four artifacts?"
The younger man shrugged, taking over the story. "The All-seeing Eye provides glimpses into the otherworld, illuminating the right path. The Cloak shields the wearer from prying eyes. The Rod may part the ocean, though that is widely disputed, and the Cage enslaves whoever is locked inside. Like we said earlier, all four are needed to find and win the box, or so the legend goes, but we don't know why."
"And where are these artifacts now?" Paris rushed out. All of the warriors crowded around the men in anticipation of their reply.
The old man sighed even as he inched backward, as if fearing the warriors would erupt with his next words. "Again, we don't know." He laughed, the sound bitter. "We've been looking for them a long time and never found any indication they truly existed."
"That's why those bastards brought us here," the younger one added. "To help them hunt for clues."
"Had they found anything?" Lucien asked.
"No." The younger man shook his head. "And they were more frustrated by the day. They have men everywhere, all over the world, searching. Much as I might wish otherwise, I seriously doubt there's anything to find. If there were, we would have found it by now."
He had known the Hunters were everywhere, but he hadn't been aware of the artifacts. It was his fault, really. For so long, he'd purposely cut himself off from the world, content to live quietly in his fortress, the heavens a distant if bitter memory. Never again.
Cronus had to want the items back. Desperately. Perhaps Lucien could use that to his advantage. He made a mental note to visit Sabin and the warriors in Rome so he could alert them. "That is all you know?" he asked the men.
Both nodded warily.
"We are grateful for this information. Let's get you home now," he said, curling his fingers around each of their wrists.
"Our house is in Athens," the younger man said in a trembling voice dripping with hope. "We live together, and we can find our own way."
Tears of relief streamed down the old man's cheeks. "Thank you. Are you - one of them? The immortals? You disappeared earlier."
"Give me the address," Lucien said, pretending he hadn't heard the question. "I will take you there."
When the father told him, reverence blooming in his eyes, he flashed them.
Surprisingly, Anya was waiting in their house. She paced back and forth in the sparse but comfortable-looking living room. Not a flicker of emotion played over her features when she spied him.
"I'll wipe their memories," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as well. "They'll recall nothing of the Hunters, nothing of the Lords."
Despite himself, Lucien was overjoyed to see her and grateful that she still planned to help him. However, he flashed back to the island without uttering a word. One word would have led to another and that word would have led to a plea - kiss me, touch me, please - and then he would have challenged Cronus. I will not kill her. I'll kill you. Because, at that moment, Lucien did not care about the curses Cronus could heap upon him and his friends. He did not care that the god king could make them suffer for all eternity.
Without Anya, he was going to suffer anyway.
ANYA STAYED AWAY FROM Lucien for twenty-four hours. By the end, she seethed with nervous energy, constantly wondering if he'd appear. Every unexplained noise made her jump. Made her gasp. Made her heart kick into overdrive.
She'd paced the floors of her beach home, had tried to watch a movie but couldn't even recall what disc she'd shoved into the DVD player, and then had locked herself in her favorite room. Her treasure room. Usually rifling through the things she'd stolen over the centuries delighted her. Today, not so much.
She'd draped herself in Queen Elizabeth's jewels and played darts with King George V's dagger. She'd sipped strawberry-kiwi juice from an Episcopal chalice and drawn a mustache on the original Mona Lisa. Having spent a little time with Leo, she knew he wouldn't have minded.
What would Lucien think of her treasures? she wondered. Would he stumble back, horrified by the glittering sea of contraband? Probably. He was such a downer sometimes. Or maybe he would have understood, she thought, hopeful. Maybe, after battling his demon for so long, he would have realized that theft was her way of protecting humans from the darker side of her own nature. Well, that, and she liked pretty things.
Anya sighed and returned to the glistening sand outside. He isn't coming, she thought with disappointment, staring into the pristine ocean waves. The sun had long since set, then risen, then set again. Now violet and amber glowed on the horizon, glinting off the azure water. Sand squished between her bare toes, and coconut and orchids scented the air.
She'd both fought Lucien and kissed him here, the most action she'd seen in hundreds of years, so was loathe to leave. Was it dumb to miss him?
"Probably," she muttered, flinging sand with a flick of her ankle.
A little while ago, she had donned a skimpy sapphire bikini with ties on each side of her waist. If he had returned as she'd anticipated, they would have rumbled hardcore and one of her breasts might have "accidentally" popped out. He would have started sweating, the fighting would have turned to loving and they would have kissed again.
They would have touched again.
She sighed. Not going to happen. The gentle breeze whisked a strand of pale hair over her eyes. She hooked it behind her ear and frowned. What was he doing? Did he miss her? Even a little?
Was he plotting the best way to kill her, even now?
The bastard was probably happy to be away from her. "And that just won't do."
Her eyes narrowed as her hands tightened into fists. If he wouldn't come to her, she'd just have to go to him.
HUNTERS HAD BEATEN THEM to the Temple of the All Gods.
The tiny island had only begun to rise from the sea a few weeks before, and so far, the rest of the world did not seem to know about it. Not even with their satellites and other technology. Therefore, Hunters should not have known about it.
Who, then, had told them?
What Lucien knew, he knew because of Anya. When she had helped Maddox, she had helped them all by revealing the location of the ruins and explaining the new gods' intention for them: to bring the world back to the old ways of worship and blood sacrifice. Had she told the Hunters, as well?
Perhaps she'd done so to spite him, he thought. He'd tried to kill her, after all.
And a worse attempt I've never seen. Disgraceful!
His jaw locked in irritation. Now is not the time to think of her.
When is a good time?
Later.
He could almost hear Death clapping happily in his mind, and he didn't think it was because the demon was eager to take Anya's soul. He didn't understand why the demon cared to see her, but he had no time to reason it out.
The Hunters were camped in the surrounding foliage and they had to be disposed of quickly, surely. Once, he had turned away from this war. Once, but not again. Everything the Hunters did, every move they made, was meant to harm and destroy his friends.
Lucien hadn't noticed them this morning when he flashed to the island to look around before bringing the others here. But then he'd only been here a few minutes. Death had begun to pull at him, a spiritual pull that often became a physical tearing if he resisted for long.
He'd ended up spending the day ushering one human after another to their final destination, only returning at twilight, at last able to search as he'd hoped and make sure all was safe for the others.
That was when he'd caught a glimpse of the Hunters. He'd been shocked. Was still shocked. Not only because they'd beaten him to the temple, but also because they had rallied their forces so soon after the plague. Their determination was greater than he'd realized.
Only a little while ago, they had walked away from the ruins and headed back to their camp. A camp they had hidden extremely well, using leaves as roofs and tunnels they'd either dug or found as shelter.
How long had they been here? Whatever the answer, he already knew what they had planned.
"We'll kill them all," he'd heard one of them say as they'd walked. Lucien had been in the spirit world, so they hadn't seen him.
"Make sure they suffer first," another had cackled.
"When those demons are locked up, I think I'll wear one of their keeper's teeth as a necklace. Every time they take a breath, exhaling their evil onto the world, it seems like someone I know or love is struck with sickness or misfortune, and I'm tired of it. If they'd been disposed of years ago, my Marilyn wouldn't have died of cancer. She'd still be here. I know it."
"World won't be right until they're gone. They might have fooled the people of Buda into thinking they're angels, but history has proven otherwise. You guys see the portrait of Death in ancient Athens?" Shudder. "Not a single survivor."
Block his words. Obviously they were searching for the box. For all he knew, they might already have found a trace of its location. He hated that they wanted it, but knew why they did. After they had killed Baden, the demon of Distrust had sprung from the lifeless body and even now wandered the earth, more crazed and destructive than ever before.
That was when the Hunters realized they could not kill the Lords and their spirits. And so, to rid the world of both, they had to capture and subdue the Lords, then secure the demons back inside the box. If they found it.
Time was more of an enemy than ever. Lucien flashed to the warriors, who were watching a movie inside the rented house, waiting for him.
"Finally," Strider said, spotting him. "Was getting worried."
"Hunters," he said, and they instantly sat up.
Paris jumped to his feet, whipping up his weapons in a blink. "How many?"
"I counted thirteen above ground. There could be more in their tunnels, coming and going. Since I can't watch more than one location at a time, my count could be off."
Amun withdrew a semiautomatic from the waist of his pants and checked the magazine.
"There is not going to be a bloodbath tonight," Gideon said with a grin.
Rather than take a boat as originally planned, Lucien flashed them all to the island, one at a time. He would rather prance around Anya in a dress than wait. To everyone's amusement, Paris passed out during their journey and it took several minutes to revive him. Strider handled his first flash with ease, grinning the entire split second required to move from one location to another. Amun didn't show any reaction at all. As Reyes had once done, Gideon vomited but quickly pulled himself together.
All the while, Lucien could feel Anya's eyes on him. The soul-deep burn had returned, stripping him bare. Death even started purring again.
Knowing she was there caused Lucien's muscles to tighten with strain. Not because he thought she'd attack - he expected that, but didn't fear it - but because he could not forget how she felt in his arms. He could not forget the way she moaned when the hot tip of his tongue ran over her throat. The way her nipples hardened, begging for his mouth. The way her legs parted, welcoming him as close to heaven as a man like him could ever hope to get.
Right then, he wanted off the island. He wanted her naked and in his bed. He wanted his hands on her body, and her hands on his body. Wanted his mouth between her thighs, and her mouth on his cock. He just...wanted.
And he could not have.
Concentrate! Crouching in moonlight and dewy foliage, water rushing all around, he muttered, "Do not interfere."
"What?" Strider asked, confused as he crouched beside him.
"Never mind." The moon was high and laced with golden ribbons, caressing the sand and greenery. Insects sang happily. He could have taken the Hunters down on his own. Simply flashed inside their tunnels and attacked, but he did not want to risk one getting away.
"Are you sure they're Hunters?" Paris asked, squatting in the leaves on Lucien's other side.
"Yes. I saw their marks." Every Hunter sect branded themselves with a symbol of Infinity on their wrists. "Infinity without evil" was their credo.
Lucien did not consider himself completely evil. At one time, yes, he had been. His demon had constantly compelled him to take lives, not just souls, and he had. Gladly. But no longer. The desire to kill had thankfully been tamed. Now, he fought only for peace and protection.
Regret struck him that he could not have more, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Were he merely a mortal, he would have married long ago. He and Mariah would have had a dozen children. He would have spent his days caring for his family and his nights loving his wife. And when he died he would have been welcomed into paradise.
But he had not been created to enjoy life. He had been created to guard the god king and to defend the heavens. And then, once he and the demon had joined, even that had been taken from him. You deserved it, you know you did.
"This could be a trap," Strider said, drawing his attention.
"They did not know I was here, nor did they seem to be preparing for any type of battle."
Paris gripped the hilt of a dagger. "How should we do this?"
"We'll encircle their camp. On my signal, we'll rush the tunnels silently, locking them inside with no chance of escape. There are four entrances. I looked earlier. Paris, double with Strider and take the west. Gideon, the east. Amun, north. I'll take south."
Each man nodded and silently obeyed.
"Oh, goodie. A battle." Anya laughed softly, suddenly materializing at Lucien's side. She, too, crouched, every bit the warrior.
He was instantly enveloped by that strawberries-and-cream scent. His blood heated - sizzling, blistering. "Quiet," he growled, refusing to look at her. That might prove to be his undoing.
"Aren't you going to attack me?" she asked, and he would swear he heard a pout.
"I have not the time for you right now." He meant the words as an insult, but they emerged dripping with disappointment rather than rancor. "We can fight later."
"You've been neglecting me, and I don't like it."
"You should be grateful for my neglect."
"Don't flatter yourself." She didn't leave in a huff as he'd half expected. Instead, she shifted closer to him. "Can I help you fight the Hunters? Please, please, please, can I?"
"No. Be silent." If the warriors heard him from their positions, they gave no indication. He could just make them out in the bushes, only the tips of their heads visible as they waited for his signal.
"But I'm an expert fighter."
"I know," he replied drily. His chest still ached where she'd stabbed him. Should have been illegal for a woman who looked like her to be so sexily bloodthirsty. And he should not have found that bloodthirstiness so attractive. "Did you tell these Hunters about the temple?"
"Ugh. Why would I help the Hunters?"
"So that they would kill me, and you would no longer have to worry about being killed by me."
"I don't worry about that now," she said matter-of-factly.
Gods save him. Had women always been this way? "What are you doing here, Anya? I left you because I needed space. Time. Is that too much to ask?"
"Yes." She shifted in the grass, angling even closer to him. "I just...I can't get you out of my mind. I missed you."
Hearing that was almost painful. A lie? "Anya."
"No, no. Don't say anything. You'll only make me mad and then bad things will happen. Oh, my gods," she added with a quiet laugh. "I sounded just like you. Look, let me help. I won't get in the way. Swear. Scouts honor. Witches honor. Or whatever kind of promise you want."
A gentle, salt-kissed breeze swept past them, and a lock of her hair brushed his cheek. He experienced an instant and unwanted hard-on as he swatted the silky strands away. "I told you to be silent. I need to study the land." Not that he could concentrate on anything but Anya as her hair continued to stroke him. "And for gods' sake, do something with your hair."
"Cut it?"
"Shave it." Sadly, he doubted even that would lessen her physical appeal. Concentrate! he reminded himself. The Hunters had been inside the tunnels for over an hour now. They'd had time to settle, to relax. There was no movement around the entrances, no hint of a watchman.
"Really?" Anya asked with surprise. "You want me to shave it like that sexy warlord Vin Diesel?"
Who was Vin Diesel? And why did Lucien suddenly want to slay him? Lucien popped his jaw. "Yes."
"If I do, will you let me help tonight?"
There was so much eagerness in her voice that he suspected she truly would do it, would shave her head completely bald. Obviously, her hair meant nothing to her. The complete lack of vanity surprised him.
Why did that endear her to him even more?
"No," he finally told her.
"You're such a pain," she grumbled. "Well, guess what? I've already flashed inside those tunnels, and the Hunters have obviously been here a while. They even have prisoners."
Every muscle in his body stiffened. "First, you went inside without my permission, endangering yourself and my purpose?"
"Listen, sweetness." Anger now laced her voice. "Despite what you seem to think, I am a powerful being, and I choose whether or not to endanger myself. Besides, you should be happy I went inside. If I'd gotten caught, they could have saved you the trouble of taking my head."
"Second," Lucien continued as if she hadn't spoken. He could barely get the words out, his throat was so constricted. "They have prisoners?"
"Mmm-hmm. Two of 'em."
Finally, he looked at her - and immediately regretted it. She wore a white gossamer gown with gold threaded throughout, and was even lovelier than he remembered. With the golden glow of moonlight crowning her and emerald plants framing her, she was an ancient queen straight out of a storybook.
The top layers of her pale hair were piled on her head, the rest tumbling down and begging for his touch. Hard fists of desire beat through him. "Who are they?" he forced himself to ask.
"Not a word about my appearance?"
"No." Looking at you is like finally entering those gates to heaven. His chest tightened, nearly squeezing his heart to an agonizing stop.
"Seriously, why do I bother?" she grumped. "I could weigh nine hundred pounds, smell like a sewer and wear garbage bags and I'd get the same response from you."
"The prisoners," he prompted grimly.
She shrugged one delicate shoulder and the wispy material of her robe fell to her elbow, revealing inch after inch of creamy skin. Was that...gods in heaven, it was. He could see the plump underside of her breast. He wanted to taste it so badly his teeth actually hurt.
"What about them?" she asked. "They're humans."
He was tempted to offer his own soul to Cronus if the god would spare her and allow Lucien to lick her. A single flick of his tongue. That's all he needed. Please. "And?"
Her full lips curled into a slow smile. "They are people who might possess the very knowledge you seek. Don't ask me anything else, though, because I'm not telling. You didn't even comment about my dress and I went to a lot of trouble to steal it."
"Stealing is wrong. But it is...pretty." An understatement. A lie. It was exquisite on her. Would look even more exquisite on his bedroom floor. Foolish thought. "Do they know about Pandora's box?"
"I told you, I'm not telling," she huffed. "You weren't supposed to tell me it's pretty. You were supposed to tell me to take it off because I'd look better without it. Lucien, I swear to the gods I'm this close - " she pinched two fingers together " - to giving up on you. This close!"
Do not consider her words. The prisoners knew something about the box, he would bet. Yes, much safer topic. Why else would Hunters have them locked up? His eyes narrowed on the tunnels. He couldn't risk hurting the captives. Not only did he want to protect innocent lives, but whatever knowledge they possessed, he wanted to possess.
"You are so frustrating! I'd rather have you try to kill me again than have you ignore me."
With a sigh, he peered at the surrounding foliage. The warriors were still waiting for his signal, most likely wondering about the delay. Without a word to Anya, he flashed to Paris and Strider, told them to be careful of the human prisoners and that he needed a few minutes more. Then he followed suit with Amun and Gideon. Except for the predictably silent Amun, the warriors grumbled.
Then he flashed back to Anya. On top of her, to be exact, trying not to delight in the feel of her warm body pressed to his or the curve of her breasts against his chest when he flipped her over. You could have landed beside her. Yes, he could have; he just hadn't wanted to. This ensured she would not run. At least, that was the reason he gave himself.
"Why you little...mmm." Her voice trailed off and she moaned in delight. Her eyes closed to half-mast, the lashes casting spiky shadows over her cheeks. "You want to make out?"
Yes. "No. Wait here." He flashed to his bedroom in Budapest, her exasperated sputtering in his ears. During the seemingly endless span of Maddox's death-curse, they'd had to chain him to his bed every night to keep him from erupting into a fit of unrestrained violence, his control gone, his friends in danger.
Maddox had wanted the metal destroyed once his curse had been lifted, but nothing they tried had melted or broken the godly links. Unable to get rid of them, refusing to use them on Aeron and afraid Hunters would find and use them against a Lord, Lucien had stored them in his bedchamber.
Right now, he swiped them from the closet, pocketed the key and snapped two ends to his bedposts, leaving two ends open and ready. Determined, he flashed back to Anya. She hadn't moved, and he once again settled on top of her.
When she realized he had returned, she wound her legs around his waist and laved her hot tongue up the length of his throat. "Whatever brought about this naughty streak of yours, I heartily approve."
His cock surged, filling and swelling, catching him on fire. Suddenly he was desperate, needier than he'd ever been. The woman he craved and now constantly daydreamed about was writhing against him in truth, running her hands all over him, as eager for more as he was.
One kiss. That's all.
Whether he thought it or the demon spoke it, Lucien didn't know. He only knew that if he kissed Anya, he would not be able to stop. Kissing this woman had proved to be more arousing than making love to another. And even if the time and place were appropriate, he knew better than to indulge with a woman he would soon be forced to kill. Do not let history repeat itself. End this.
"Lucien," she gasped. "Kiss me."
"Soon," he vowed, and it was the truth. Depraved as it was, much as he knew better and had just tried to convince himself not to, he would not be able to render that final blow until he'd taken her mouth again.
Remaining on top of her, he flashed them both to his bedroom and onto the bed. When the cool mattress met Anya's back, he swiped up her hands and locked them inside the chains. Clink.
She didn't protest as he'd expected.
She glanced around, muttered, "Mmm, your bedroom. I've wanted an invitation real bad." Grinning, she arched her lower body into his - dear gods - and purred straight into his ear. The delicious sound blended with the demon's approving hum. "Is this a kinky new game?" She even bit his earlobe. "What happens in Buda, stays in Buda. Promise."
His erection throbbed as pleasure, so much pleasure, drove into his skin, his muscles. A shiver stole through him, hot and hungry. Again his blood heated; more than burning now, more than blistering. It was lava in his veins, singeing every part of him with desire. His mouth was opening, preparing to ravage her with the kiss he'd promised her, promised them both, but once again he managed to stop himself.
No contact. No kissing. Not yet. There were Hunters to kill.
No falling for her, either. No craving more. Sooner rather than later, she would die. To be her lover, as well as her executioner, would make him as despicable as the demon inside him.
"Aren't you going to play with me?" she asked in that husky voice of hers. "Aren't you going to kiss me? Soon is now."
"Anya." He didn't know what else to say. His heavy weight pinned her down and her legs parted farther, causing him to sink deeper. He was still impossibly hard, and his erection was rubbing at her of its own damn accord, their clothing adding to the electric friction.
She bit the cord of his neck and rocked into him, prolonging the contact. He gripped her hips to still her, and the action cost him dearly. He had to grit his teeth against the wild surge of denied lust.
"I like this game," she said breathlessly. "Any rules?"
"Just one," he forced past a clenched jaw.
"Tell me." Her knees rubbed his sides, beckoning him even deeper.
"The only rule..." He raised his hands and cupped her cheeks, his thumb caressing her velvet-soft skin. Oh, that he could stay here forever. Or that he could bask in her, if only for a little while. "The only rule is that you are to stay here."
"Mmm, I love to break - hey. What?" She frowned up at him. "Stay here with you, right?"
"No." He rose from the bed, severing all contact. His body screamed in protest; his demon cursed at him. Of all Lucien's crimes, leaving her like this suddenly seemed the worst.
Her frown deepened. "Lucien? What - " She tried to raise her arms but couldn't. Her narrowed gaze slid to the headboard, lingered for a moment as she gave another jerk, then returned to him. "I don't understand."
"The only pleasure you will receive in that bed is the pleasure you give yourself." For now.
Gods, don't think like that.
"I'm down with that. But if you want to watch me pleasure myself, you'll have to remove the chains."
Again not the response he'd expected; he wanted to groan. Anya...hand between her legs...rubbing her clitoris...bringing herself to orgasm...If imagining was wholly erotic and utterly breathtaking and caused his knees to weaken like a human's, what would actually witnessing the event be like?
"Stay here," he choked out, "and stay quiet. I'll come back for you. You have my word."
"Come back for me?" Now her eyes widened. "Where are you going? And you had better say to get a whip and a spiked collar because you want nothing more than to be my bitch or you'll regret it."
"I'm going back to the temple. I'll return as soon as the Hunters have been defeated."
A shocked gasp slipped from her. Perhaps there was hurt mixed in, as well, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. "I can flash with you. Chains can't hold me."
"These can. They were made for immortals."
A second passed. Another.
She stared over at him, mouth drawn tight. He much preferred that mouth soft - and all over his body. Any chance of that had been ruined by his actions today, he would not doubt. It was better this way, he told himself, but he couldn't halt a surge of bitter regret.
"You're saying I can't flash?" she gritted out.
"That is exactly what I am saying."
"And you're going to leave me like this?"
"Yes. Behave," he said and left her, materializing in the exact spot he'd abandoned.
The moment those lush blades of grass surrounded him, guilt and need flooded him. Guilt because he'd left her helpless. Need because, well, he had the memory of being on top of her inside his mind, fresh, taunting. Wondrous.
And she had seemed to want him. Until he'd ruined it.
What was he going to do with her? The woman was tying him into knots!
She probably hated him now. She would never forgive him. She - appeared right beside him and punched him the eye.
"Bastard," she snarled.
Amazement and pain pounded through him as he gazed at her. Damn, but she was strong. She'd managed to crack the bone, he suspected, the injury swelling. "How did you get free?" Those chains had been unbreakable for centuries.
"I have my ways."
"How?" he insisted.
"I can't be locked up, okay? No matter what restraints you use, I can't be contained. And if you ever do something like that again..." Her hands tightened into fists. "Freedom is everything. You know that better than most since you were forced to harbor a demon. You were even bound to take your friend's soul every night for centuries. An obligation I helped free you from. Remember that? For you to try and take my freedom...Oh! I could seriously saw you in half with one of my fingernails."
Better this way, remember? "Those chains have been used on gods and have never failed. Only the key can unlock them, and I have that in my pocket."
"Big fucking deal, you son of a bitch. I told you I was powerful - not my fault you failed to listen. I'm helping fight the Hunters now and you'll be lucky if my aim doesn't accidentally-on-purpose veer and kill you. In fact, I don't think I'll wait for you." She glanced over at the tunnels and counted with a point of her finger. "See you in the...second one over, sweetcakes. That's where the biggest, baddest Hunter was, last time I checked. I'll just pretend he's you and nail his ass to the wall."
She disappeared a moment later, leaving only a cloud of strawberries, cream and smug fury. Damn this! He gave a whistle and leapt forward. The now impatient warriors sprang forth, as if tethers had been sliced.
Silent, they kicked aside leaves and twigs. When Lucien reached the second tunnel, Gideon's, he tossed the makeshift roof and let himself fall inside, not wanting to flash and startle his men. Gideon frowned but didn't comment as he followed him down. Each of them had weapons raised and ready.
There was a grunt. A shout. Lucien tensed, looking...looking...damn it, he didn't see Anya, nor did he see -
Hunters. There. Two, over in the corner. One was beating an older human male and the other was subduing a middle-aged male. Both prisoners were begging the Hunters to stop.
"Tell me what I need to know," one Hunter said, his reasonable tone at odds with the violence of his actions, "and the pain ends. That's all you have to do."
"I'm sick of coming back empty-handed," the other - the tallest and most muscled - added just as reasonably, kicking the older man in the stomach.
There was a hmph. The younger man yelled, "Stop. Just stop. He doesn't know anything else!"
"He does. He has to. Tell us or die. Those are your only options right now."
The kicker stepped forward, leaned down toward the prisoners' faces. "You pick death, and it's not going to be quick and gentle, you get me? You'll die, piece by piece."
"Just leave my father alone." The younger man had thrown his arms around the older one, shielding him with his own body. "I swear to you, we've told you everything we know. Just let us go. Please."
"You haven't. You're protecting those demons, might even be working with them."
As if she'd been waiting for Lucien's arrival, Anya appeared beside the biggest Hunter and simply slit his throat before he knew she was there. His body sagged to the ground, and she flicked Lucien a look-what-I-did grin.
She'd just killed a man, violently, without hesitation, and was covered in blood. Seeing her grin about what she'd done shook Lucien's world on its axis. She was a lush and beautiful angel; she was also a killer. Like him.
Though he was intoxicated by the sight of her still, wanted to bask in her, Lucien still managed to toss two daggers at the second Hunter. One embedded in the man's throat, the other in his thigh. Both were kill spots, and rather than choose, he'd decided two were better than one. Just in case. He didn't like how close Anya was to the action, immortal or not. She could be hurt, and the thought of one of these Hunters touching her sparked a deep rage inside him.
"Behind you!" Anya suddenly shouted.
He turned, but not in time. A Hunter had hidden in the shadows and now silently launched himself at Lucien. They clashed together and tumbled to the ground, a blade inching its way toward Lucien's throat. The man didn't seem worried about killing Lucien and unleashing his demon on the world. Looked like he'd snapped, death his only concern.
"Demon spawn!" his opponent spat. "I've been waiting for this day."
Lucien flashed, causing the Hunter to smash into the ground. Bleeding, he reappeared behind the man, reached down and snapped his neck. At the same time, Anya appeared beside him and stabbed the Hunter in the chest.
Panting, Lucien straightened and asked, "Where are the others?"
"I killed two already, and I haven't seen the rest." She wiped her bloody hands on her gown, the crimson stains stark against the virgin white.
Again, the sight was somehow more erotic than having her splayed out on his bed. A delicate-looking beauty, lethal and courageous. A warrior princess. She seemed impressed by him, as well, her gaze sliding over him with lusty heat.
"Good aim," she told him.
Turning away before she saw the evidence of his arousal, he scanned their surroundings. The Hunters had chosen their hideaway wisely and fortified it well. There were multiple rooms and hallways, the muddy walls supported with timbers. There was a table in back, piled high with cans of food and twigs for fire.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Anya bend down in front of the prisoners, who were cowering on the floor, probably afraid the avenging angel would hurt them, too. "Don't worry," she said soothingly. "I'm all about bad guy destruction. You have nothing to fear from me. We're going to get you out of here."
Such gentleness. Even Lucien was charmed.
From down one of the hallways, he heard a grunt, a thump, followed by a piercing bellow of pain. A split second later, the other hallway erupted with human screams - screams that were quickly cut off. Lucien jumped in front of Anya, prepared to battle if anyone emerged.
Then Paris stalked from one of the rooms, face cut and bruised, and Lucien relaxed. "My two are dead," the warrior said proudly, if a bit weakly.
Amun strode from the other side, blood splattered on his cheeks. He didn't speak - he never spoke - but he did nod. His targets were defeated, as well.
Strider and Gideon were behind him and both were grinning. "I nailed three," Strider said, and Lucien noticed he was limping. "Took a blade to the thigh, but victory is ours."
"I failed," Gideon said arrogantly.
"Guess the caves are interconnected," Paris said. Lines of strain now bracketed his too-perfect face. The fight must have drained the last of his strength. Usually he'd had one or two women by this time of day - needed one or two women to sate his demon - but Promiscuity hadn't bedded a woman since the plane ride yesterday.
Anya stepped from the prisoners to Lucien's side, drawing every eye to her. All three men sucked in a - reverent? aroused? surprised? - breath.
"Why the hell is she here?" Strider demanded. "And why would a minor goddess fight Hun - "
"Hey! I'm not minor!" Anya said with a stomp of her foot.
Lucien wasn't given a chance to reply. Death tugged at him insistently, almost painfully, its need to collect the souls stronger than usual. Death was also whining inside his head, conflicted, because it wanted to remain next to pretty Anya almost as much as it needed to act.
What power did she wield over the being? How did she wield it?
"I'll return," he said. He allowed himself to be pulled completely from the physical world and into the spiritual. He could have left his body behind, but didn't want the warriors to have to worry about guarding it. His friends, and even Anya, faded from his line of vision.
He saw only the Hunters, lying on the ground, each bloody and lifeless. Inside the nearly-dead bodies, their spirits writhed, waiting for him.
"Anya," he called. He did not like leaving her alone with the other warriors. No telling what they would try to do - especially Paris.
She didn't appear. She had followed him to this realm before, he knew she had, for he had felt her. Why not now? She can take care of herself. You've seen the proof of that.
Hurry! Lucien wasn't responsible for every soul on earth. Many were actually allowed to remain, roaming the land, invisible. He thought he would go mad if he spent his every waking hour in this realm, doing nothing but traveling from earth to hell or earth to heaven. It was burden enough to be responsible for those whose final resting place had already been determined.
He always felt, deep inside, where he was supposed to escort the souls. Sometimes he even saw the final moments of the person's life, whether those moments were layered with sickening cruelty or unerring kindness.
Lucien sighed, studied his targets. There was a black aura around each of them, revealing the corruptness of their natures. These men would soon burn in the eternal fires. He wasn't surprised. While some Hunters actually made it into heaven, he'd known these would not. They were too fanatical and had indiscriminately tortured innocents for answers.
"Is this the peace you always longed for?" Lucien floated his ghostly self to the first body. Opening his hand and stretching his fingers, he reached inside the Hunter's chest. When he felt an ice-cold block, he snapped his fingers closed.
The spirit realized it was captured and began struggling as Lucien tugged it from the corpse. Their eyes met, and Lucien knew his were glowing with blue-brown fire.
"No," it screamed. "No. Let me stay here."
The man's sins suddenly flickered through the demon's awareness and in turn through Lucien's. As the man had already proven, he had considered himself above the law, slaying anyone who got in his way - men, women, children - all in the name of a better world.
Bastard.
Maintaining a strong grip on the protesting spirit, he flashed to the entrance of hell. Not Hades - that gloomy underworld was reserved for those who did not deserve either the tortures of hell or the glories of heaven. This man deserved the flames. Though the gates to the fire pit were closed, Lucien could feel the intense heat radiating, could hear the symphony of tormented screams inside, the demonic laughter. The jeers. The stifling scent of sulfur permeated the entire area, enough to make a man gag.
He'd brought Maddox here every night for thousands of years, hating himself all the while, wishing there were something he could do to ease his friend's anguish but knowing there was nothing. Until Anya. As she liked to remind him, she had saved them.
"Please!" the spirit cried. "I'm sorry for - "
"Save your pleas," he said flatly. Over the centuries, he'd heard every desperate bargain imaginable. Nothing swayed him.
What will you do if Anya begs you? What then?
Suddenly Lucien wanted to vomit, to rail, to kill at the thought of bringing such a lovely creature here. Whatever her crime, he doubted she deserved to burn, the flesh melting and peeling from her luscious body only to regenerate and melt again.
Perhaps when she died, she would be allowed in heaven.
He could pray, at least.
"Please," the Hunter's spirit screamed as two thick boulders opened up above the pit. Orange-gold flames shot out, crackling and snapping, the smell of sulfur stronger as it blended with the odors of burned hair and rotting tissue.
The spirit's struggles intensified.
When Lucien saw demonic, scaly arms reach through the flames, when he heard the taunting become eager giggles, he tossed the spirit in. The scaly arms caught it and jerked it downward. There was a scream so filled with pain it was deafening, and then the boulders closed.
He didn't know what kept the demons inside, only that something did. Something that had not been able to hold the demon he now housed, which was why it had not been returned to hell after it escaped - thanks to you - Pandora's box.
If you hadn't opened the box, you might never have met Anya. And that would have been best, he told himself, despite the sudden flare of rightness that came with knowing her. He wouldn't have been commanded to hurt her.
He repeated the journey with every slain Hunter, and when he was finished, he opened his eyes to find himself back in the physical realm. The cave walls closed in around him, dark and bleak. There was silence, but he wasn't sure the quiet was any better than the screams of the Underworld. His mind wanted to fill every second of it with thoughts of Anya.
She'd obsessed him.
And she was gone, he noticed. Disappointment filled him.
Having realized what was happening, his men had continued about their business and had patched up the innocents. Or maybe Anya had done it before she left. Where had she gone?
"I don't understand," Paris said to one of the beaten humans. "For what?"
"Artifacts," the old man said through swollen lips. "Priceless, godly, powerful. Each will lead the bearer closer to Pandora's box, helping him to finally procure it."
Pandora's box. Words guaranteed to engage his complete attention. Lucien joined the group. "How will the artifacts help us find the box?"
Amun stood off to the side, watching, but turned his head when Lucien spoke. Strider flicked him a glance, muttering, "Nice to have you back."
"The woman?"
"Still here," Gideon replied, which meant she had indeed left.
He moved beside Amun and waited for someone to explain.
"Just up and disappeared, right after you," Strider said. "Why does she keep showing up?"
Lucien didn't answer, for he didn't know what truly drove Anya. I missed you, she'd said. Had she really? He just didn't know. She was as mysterious as she was beautiful. "Who are these men and how will those artifacts help us find the box?"
Strider shrugged at the abrupt subject change. "They are mortals who've devoted their lives to the study of mythology. And I don't know."
"Can we go home?" the younger man asked. His brown eyes were watery. "Please."
"Soon," Lucien promised gently. "We just need to know what you told the Hunters."
"Hunters?" both asked in unison.
"The men who imprisoned you."
"Bastards," the younger man gritted out. "You plan to kill us after we tell you?"
"No," Strider said with a laugh. "Please. Look at you, then look at me. I don't do puny targets."
The old man gulped. Opened his mouth.
"Don't," the son said.
"It's okay. I'll tell them." The older human drew a heavy breath past his cut and bleeding lips. "According to ancient lore, there are four artifacts. The All-seeing Eye, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Cage of Compulsion and the Paring Rod."
Two rang a distant bell, delighting him. Two were unfamiliar, puzzling him. Mostly the irony of the situation disgusted him. If these humans were correct, they knew more about the world he'd once inhabited than he, a former soldier to the gods, did. "Tell me about them. Please."
With fear in his eyes, the man continued, "Some legends say that all four belonged to Cronus - some say each belonged to a different Titan. Most accounts agree that when Zeus defeated Cronus, he - Zeus - scattered them throughout the world to prevent the former god king from using them again, if he ever managed to escape his prison. For it had been prophesied that the Titans would ultimately destroy the Greeks forevermore."
Why hadn't Zeus killed Cronus to begin with, then, rather than imprison him? For that matter, why hadn't Cronus killed Zeus after his escape? Why choose imprisonment? Gods. He might never understand them, Lucien thought, even were he to devote years to studying them as these mortals had done. "What else do you know about the four artifacts?"
The younger man shrugged, taking over the story. "The All-seeing Eye provides glimpses into the otherworld, illuminating the right path. The Cloak shields the wearer from prying eyes. The Rod may part the ocean, though that is widely disputed, and the Cage enslaves whoever is locked inside. Like we said earlier, all four are needed to find and win the box, or so the legend goes, but we don't know why."
"And where are these artifacts now?" Paris rushed out. All of the warriors crowded around the men in anticipation of their reply.
The old man sighed even as he inched backward, as if fearing the warriors would erupt with his next words. "Again, we don't know." He laughed, the sound bitter. "We've been looking for them a long time and never found any indication they truly existed."
"That's why those bastards brought us here," the younger one added. "To help them hunt for clues."
"Had they found anything?" Lucien asked.
"No." The younger man shook his head. "And they were more frustrated by the day. They have men everywhere, all over the world, searching. Much as I might wish otherwise, I seriously doubt there's anything to find. If there were, we would have found it by now."
He had known the Hunters were everywhere, but he hadn't been aware of the artifacts. It was his fault, really. For so long, he'd purposely cut himself off from the world, content to live quietly in his fortress, the heavens a distant if bitter memory. Never again.
Cronus had to want the items back. Desperately. Perhaps Lucien could use that to his advantage. He made a mental note to visit Sabin and the warriors in Rome so he could alert them. "That is all you know?" he asked the men.
Both nodded warily.
"We are grateful for this information. Let's get you home now," he said, curling his fingers around each of their wrists.
"Our house is in Athens," the younger man said in a trembling voice dripping with hope. "We live together, and we can find our own way."
Tears of relief streamed down the old man's cheeks. "Thank you. Are you - one of them? The immortals? You disappeared earlier."
"Give me the address," Lucien said, pretending he hadn't heard the question. "I will take you there."
When the father told him, reverence blooming in his eyes, he flashed them.
Surprisingly, Anya was waiting in their house. She paced back and forth in the sparse but comfortable-looking living room. Not a flicker of emotion played over her features when she spied him.
"I'll wipe their memories," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as well. "They'll recall nothing of the Hunters, nothing of the Lords."
Despite himself, Lucien was overjoyed to see her and grateful that she still planned to help him. However, he flashed back to the island without uttering a word. One word would have led to another and that word would have led to a plea - kiss me, touch me, please - and then he would have challenged Cronus. I will not kill her. I'll kill you. Because, at that moment, Lucien did not care about the curses Cronus could heap upon him and his friends. He did not care that the god king could make them suffer for all eternity.
Without Anya, he was going to suffer anyway.