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The Darkest Kiss
Gena Showalter


Doomed to escort the souls of the innocent – and the wicked – to their final resting place… Lucien walks alone, even among the other Lords of the Underworld.His curse allows him little time or inclination for pleasure.Then Anya arrives.Anya is the goddess of anarchy and chaos, and she delights in wreaking havoc on Lucien’s ordered life.But her playfulness hides a dark secret. She may be drawn to the Keeper of Death, but she isn’t going to let him get too close. When Lucien is ordered by the gods to kill Anya, their flirtation becomes a battle – one that can only end when Lucien takes her soul…




Praise for the novels of New YorkTimes and USA TODAY bestselling author



Gena Showalter



“A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and nonstop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest, and a fabulous start to an imaginative new series.” —New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning



“Showalter delivers another smart and sexy romance

brimming with hilarious pickup lines, fiery banter

and steamy sensuality. A wickedly well-matched hero

and heroine mix with an entertaining, creative and

tremendously fun premise.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4½ stars, on Catch a Mate



“Smart-alecky, wicked, and hilariously funny…

sure to please the most jaded reader.”

—Contemporary Romance Writers on Catch a Mate “A world of myth, mayhem and love under the sea!” —New YorkTimes bestselling author J. R. Ward on The Nymph King



“I want to visit Atlantis! Deliciously evocative and

filled with sexy men, The NymphKing is every woman’s fantasy come to sizzling life. A must read.” —Award-winning author P.C. Cast



“Wow… Gena Showalter always takes us on

a fantastic ride.”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Merline Lovelace on Playing with Fire



“The versatile Showalter takes the nail-biting elements

of her exciting paranormals…and blends them with

the wit and humor of her contemporary romances…

to make a delicious offering spiced with the best

ingredients of both.”

—Booklist, starred review, on Playing with Fire



“Charming and hilarious…

I was hooked from page one.”

—New York Times bestselling author MaryJanice Davidson on Playing with Fire



“Another sizzling page-turner from one of the premier

authors of paranormal romance. Gena Showalter

delivers an utterly spellbinding story!”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Kresley Cole on Playing with Fire



“Showalter writes with a sparkling humor that keeps

the story light without losing poignancy.”

—Booklist on Animal Instincts



“Bold and witty, sexy and provocative,

Gena Showalter’s star is rising fast!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips on Animal Instincts



“Shines like the purest gem…. Rich in imagery

and evocative detail, this book is a sterling example

of what makes romance novels so worthwhile.”

—A Romance Review, 5 stars, on Jewel of Atlantis



“Lots of danger and sexy passion give lucky readers

a spicy taste of adventure and romance.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Heart of the Dragon



“This couple is dynamite and Tristan’s intense sensuality

will have you sweating. [The Pleasure Slave] is definitely going on my keeper shelf.” —The Romance Studio



“Sexy, funny and downright magical! Gena Showalter

has a lyrical voice and the deft ability to bring

characters to life in a manner that’s hilarious and

absorbing at the same time.”

—New York Times bestselling author Katie MacAlister on The Stone Prince



Dear Reader,



I’m thrilled to present my brand-new paranormal trilogy, Lords of the Underworld, which began with The Darkest Night and continues with The DarkestKiss. In a remote fortress in Budapest, six immortal warriors—each more dangerously seductive than the last—are bound by an ancient curse none has been able to break. When a powerful enemy returns, they will travel the world in search of a sacred relic of the gods—one that threatens to destroy them all.



Join me on a journey through this darkly sensual world, where the line between good and evil blurs and true love is put to the ultimate test.



Wishing you all the best,



Gena Showalter



Gena Showalter




THE DARKEST KISS







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Karen Marie Moning. Thank you! Your talent constantly amazes me, and your generosity blesses me.



To Kresley Cole. You would let me wear your skin if at all possible—and I won’t mention what you’d let me do to your eyeballs, though I will thank you for it—and for that, I will always be in your debt. Also, sorry I stole your bike pump and blamed it on Slurpie!



To Marjorie Liu. Because you spank on and there’s nothing cooler!



To Jill Monroe. You are a sister of my heart— hearter? sisart?—and even though you stole my gnome, I can’t imagine a life without you. For realsies.



And to Tracy Farrell, Margo Lipschultz and all the wonderful people at Harlequin Books who have blessed me in countless ways. You’re making all my dreams come true! Art director Kathleen Oudit and designer Juliana Kolesova—I owe you big-time! The lips on this cover…Shiver! And you didn’t blink twice when I mentioned one brown eye and one blue eye.




Acknowledgements


Thank you, Low Down members, for your support! And thank you to Kerensa Wilson and Elaine Spencer for all you do! You are both amazing women.




PROLOGUE


HE WAS KNOWN AS THE Dark One. Malach ha-Maet. Yama. Azreal. Shadow Walker. Mairya. King of the Dead. He was all of those things and more, for he was a Lord of the Underworld.

Long ago he had opened dimOuniak, a powerful box made from the bones of a goddess, unleashing a horde of demons upon the earth. As punishment, he and the warriors who aided him were forced to house those demons inside themselves, melding light and darkness, order and chaos, until they were barely able to retain any tether on the disciplined warriors they’d once been.

Because he was the one to open the box, he had been given the demon of Death. A fair exchange, he supposed, for his action had nearly caused the demise of the world.

Now he was charged with the responsibility of collecting human souls and escorting them to their final resting place. Even if he opposed the idea. He did not like taking innocents from their families, found no joy in delivering the wicked to their damnation, but he did both without question or hesitation. Resistance, he’d soon learned, brought something far worse than death to his door. Resistance brought an agony so complete, so inexorable, even the gods trembled at the thought.

Did his obedience mean he was gentle? Caring? Nurturing? No. Oh, no. He could not afford softer emotion. Love, compassion and mercy were enemies to his plight.

Anger, though? Rage? Those he sometimes embraced.

Woe to anyone who pushed him too far, for man would become fully demon. A beast. A sinister entity who would not hesitate to curl his fingers around a human heart and squeeze. Squeeze so tightly that human would lose his breath and beg for the sweet kiss of eternal sleep only he could offer.

Oh, yes. Man had a very short leash on demon. And if you weren’t careful, they would come for you….




CHAPTER ONE


ANYA, GODDESS OF ANARCHY, daughter of Lawlessness, and dealer of disorder, stood on the edge of a crowded dance floor. All of the dancers were human females, beautiful and nearly naked, chosen specifically by the Lords of the Underworld to provide the night’s entertainment. Both vertical and horizontal.

Wisps of smoke cast a dream-fog around them, and pinpricks of starlight rained from the swirling strobe, illuminating everything inside the darkened nightclub in slow, sweeping circles. From the corner of her eye, she caught a scintillating glimpse of a taut immortal ass pounding forward, back, forward, into an ecstatic female.

My kind of party, she thought with a wicked grin. Not that she’d been invited.

Like anything could have stopped me from coming, though.

The Lords of the Underworld were delectable immortal warriors who were possessed by the demon spirits that had once resided inside Pandora’s box. And now, with a few rounds of hard liquor and even harder sex, they were saying goodbye to Budapest, the city they’d called home for hundreds of years.

Anya wanted in on the action. With one warrior in particular.

“Part,” she whispered, fighting her intrinsic compulsion to

shout “Fire” instead and watch as the humans raced away in a panic, screaming hysterically. Let the good times roll.

An erratic pulse of rock music that matched the erratic beat of her heart blasted from the speakers, making it impossible for anyone to hear her. They obeyed, anyway, compelled on a level they probably didn’t understand.

A path cleared, slowly…so slowly….

Finally the object of her fascination came into view. Heated breath caught in her lungs, and she shivered. Lucien. Deliciously scarred, irresistibly stoic and possessed by the spirit of Death. Right now he sat at a table in back, expression blank as he stared up at Reyes, his friend and fellow immortal.

What were they saying? If Lucien wanted the keeper of Pain to procure one of those mortal women for him, a false declaration of “fire” would be the least of their worries. Teeth grinding together, Anya tilted her head to the side, zoned in on them while discarding all surrounding noise, and listened.

“—she was right. I checked the satellite photos on Torin’s computer. Those temples are rising from the sea.” Reyes knocked back the contents of the silver flask he held. “One is in Greece and one is in Rome, and if they continue to rise at such a swift rate, they’ll be high enough to explore sometime tomorrow.”

“Why do humans not know about them?” Lucien scrubbed his jaw with two strong fingers, a habit of his. “Paris has watched the news stations and there has been nothing. Not even speculation.”

Silly boy, she thought, relieved sex was not the night’s topic. You know about them only because I wanted you toknow. No one else would—or could—see them. She had made sure of that with a sweet little thing called chaos, her strongest source of power, hiding the temples with storms to

keep humans away, while at the same time feeding the Lords enough information to draw them the hell out of Buda.

She wanted Lucien out of Buda and off his game. Just for a little while. A disconcerted man was easier to control.

Reyes sighed. “Perhaps the new gods are responsible. Most days I am sure they hate us and long to destroy us, simply for being half-demon.”

Lucien’s expression remained blank. “Does not matter who is responsible. We will travel in the morning as planned. My hands itch to search one of those temples.”

Reyes tossed the now-empty flask onto the table. His fingers curled around the top of one of the chairs, his knuckles slowly bleaching of color. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find that damned box while we’re there.”

Anya ran her tongue over her teeth. Damned box, aka dim-Ouniak, aka Pandora’s box. Constructed from the bones of the goddess of Oppression, the box was powerful enough to contain demons so vile even hell had not been able to hold them. Itwas also powerful enough to suck those same demons out of the Lords, their once unwilling hosts. Now these wonderfully aggressive warriors were dependent on the beasts for their survival, and needless to say, they wanted the box for themselves.

Again, Lucien nodded. “Do not think about that now; there’ll be time enough for that tomorrow. Go and enjoy the rest of your evening. Do not waste another moment in my boring presence.”

Boring? Ha! Anya had never met anyone who excited her more.

Reyes hesitated before ambling off, leaving Lucien alone. None of the human women approached him. Looked at him, yes. Cringed when they saw his scars, sure. But none of them wanted anything to do with him—and that saved their lives.



He’s taken, biyatches.

“Notice me,” Anya commanded softly.

A moment passed. He didn’t obey.

Several humans glanced in her direction, heeding her demand, but Lucien’s gaze latched on to the empty flask in front of him and remained, becoming a wee bit wistful. Much to her consternation, immortals were immune to her commands. A courtesy of the gods.

“Bastards,” she muttered. Any restrictions they could place on her, they did. “Anything to screw with lowly Anarchy.”

Anya hadn’t been favored during her days on Mount Olympus. The goddesses had never liked her because they assumed she was a replica of her “whore of a mother” and would jump their husbands. Likewise, the gods had never respected her, again because of her mother. The guys had wanted her, though. Well, until she’d killed their precious Captain of the Guard and they’d deemed her too feral.

Idiots. The captain had deserved what she’d done to him. Hell, he’d deserved worse. The little shit had tried to rape her. If he had left her alone, she would have left him alone. But noooo. She didn’t regret cutting the black heart out of his chest, didn’t regret placing said heart on a pike in front of Aphrodite’s temple. Not even a tiny bit. Freedom of choice was precious, and anyone who tried to take hers away would feel the sting of her daggers.

Choice. The word rang inside her mind, bringing her back to the present. What the hell would it take to convince Lucien to choose her?

“Notice me, Lucien. Please.”

Once again, he ignored her.

She stomped her foot. For weeks she’d cloaked herself in invisibility, following Lucien, watching, studying. And yes, lusting. He’d had no idea she lurked nearby, even as she willed him to do all sorts of naughty things: strip, pleasure himself… smile. Okay, so the last wasn’t naughty. But she’d wanted to see his beautifully flawed face light in humor just as much as she’d wanted to see his naked body glisten with arousal.

Had he granted even that benign request, though? No!

A part of her wished she’d never seen him, that she hadn’t allowed Cronus, the new king of the gods, to intrigue her with stories about the Lords a few months ago. Maybe I’m theidiot.

Cronus had just escaped Tartarus, a prison for immortals and a place she knew intimately. He’d imprisoned Zeus and his cohorts there, as well as Anya’s parents. When Anya returned for them, Cronus had been waiting for her. He had demanded Anya’s greatest treasure. She’d declined—duh—so he’d tried to scare her.

Give me what I want or I’ll send the Lords of the Underworldafter you. They are demon-possessed, as blood-hungryas starving animals, and they will not hesitate to peel thelovely flesh from your bones. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever.

Far from frightening her, his words had caused excitement to bloom. She’d ended up seeking out the warriors on her own. She’d thought to defeat them and laugh in Cronus’s face, a sort of look-what-I-did-to-your-big-scary-demons kind of thing.

One glance at Lucien, though, and she’d become instantly obsessed. She’d forgotten her reasons for being there and had even aided the supposedly malevolent warriors.

It was just that contradictions tantalized her, and Lucien had so very many. Hewas scarred but not broken, kind but unbending. He was a calm, by-the-book immortal, not blood-hungry as Cronus had claimed. Hewas possessed by an evil spirit, yet he never deviated from his own personal code of honor. He dealt with death every day, every night, yet he fought to live.



Fascinating.

As if that wasn’t enough to prick her interest, his flowery fragrance filled her with decadent, wicked thoughts every time she neared him. Why? Any other man who smelled like roses would have made her laugh. With Lucien, her mouth watered for a taste of him and her skin prickled with white-hot awareness, desperate for his touch.

Even now, simply looking at him and imagining that scent wafting to her nose, she had to rub her arms to rid herself of goose bumps. But then she thought about him rubbing her, and the delicious shivers refused to go away.

Gods, he was sexy. He had the freakiest eyes she’d ever seen. One was blue, the other brown, and both swirled with the essence of man and demon. And his scars… All she could think of, dream about, crave, was licking them. They were beautiful, a testament to all the pain and suffering he’d survived.

“Hey, gorgeous. Dance with me,” one of the warriors suddenly said at her side.

Paris, she realized, recognizing the promise of sensuality in his voice. He must have finished screwing that human against the wall and was now looking for another bimbo to sate himself on. He’d just have to keep looking. “Go away.”

Unaffected by her lack of interest, he grabbed her waist. “You’ll like it, I swear.”

She brushed him aside with a flick of her wrist. Possessed by Promiscuity, Paris was blessed with pale, almost glittery skin, electric-blue eyes, and a face the angels probably sang hallelujahs over, but he wasn’t Lucien and he did nothing for her.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” she muttered, “before I cut them off.”

He laughed as if she were joking, unaware she’d do that and more. She might deal in petty disorder, but she never uttered a threat she didn’t plan to see through. To do so smacked of weakness, and Anya had vowed long ago never to show a single hint of weakness.

Her enemies would love nothing more than to exploit it.

Thankfully, Paris didn’t reach for her again. “For a kiss,” he said huskily, “I’ll let you do anything you want to my hands.”

“In that case, I’ll cut off your cock, too.” She didn’t like having her ogling interrupted, especially since she rarely had time to indulge. Nowadays, she spent most of her waking hours dodging Cronus. “How’s that?”

Paris’s laughter intensified and managed to snag Lucien’s attention. Lucien’s gaze lifted, first landing on Paris, then locking on Anya. Her knees almost buckled. Oh, sweet heaven. Paris was forgotten as she fought to breathe. Did she imagine the fire that suddenly sparked in Lucien’s mismatched eyes? Did she imagine the way his nostrils flared in awareness?

Now or never. Licking her lips, never removing her gaze from him, she eased into a sensual bump and grind and made her way toward his table. Halfway, she stopped and motioned for him to join her with a crook of her finger. He stood in front of her a moment later, as if he’d been pulled by an invisible chain, unable to resist.

Up close, he was six-feet-six of muscle and danger. Pure temptation.

Her lips edged into a slow smile. “Wemeet at last, Flowers.”

Anya didn’t give him time to respond. She ground her left hipbone against the hard juncture between his legs, turning erotically and presenting him with a view of her back. Her ice-blue corset was held together by nothing more than thin ribbons and a wish, and she knew her skirt hung so low on her waist that it failed to cover the bands of her thong. Oopsie.



Men, mortal or otherwise, usually melted when they caught a glimpse of something they shouldn’t.

Lucien hissed in a breath.

Her smile widened. Ah, sweet progress.

Her unhurried movements were completely at odds with the fast-pounding rock, but she never ceased the slow gyrations of her body as she raised her hands over her head then leisurely ran them through the thick mass of her snow-white hair, down her arms, stroking her own skin but imagining his hands instead. Her nipples hardened.

“Why did you summon me, woman?” His voice was low, yet as disciplined as the warrior himself.

Listening to him speak was more arousing than being touched by another man, and her stomach clenched. “I wanted to dance with you,” she said over her shoulder. Bump, bump, slllooow grind. “Is that a crime?”

He didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ve always enjoyed breaking the law.”

A confused pause. Then, “How much did Paris pay you to do this?”

“I get paid? Oh, goodie!” Stepping back, grinning, she brushed her ass against him, arching and swinging as sensually as she was able. Hello, erection. The heat of him nearly liquefied her bones. “What’s the currency? Orgasms?”

In her dreams, he always grabbed her and meshed the hard length of his cock into her at this point. In reality, he jumped backward as if she were a bomb about to detonate, creating more hated distance between them.

A sense of loss immediately blanketed her.

“No touching,” he said. He’d probably done his best to sound calm, but he had sounded on edge. Strained. More tense than arousing.

Her eyes narrowed. All around, people watched their interaction

and his rejection of her. This isn’t prime time, she projected at them with a scowl. Turn the fuck around.

One by one, the humans obeyed. However, the rest of the Lords closed in on her, staring intently, no doubt curious as to who she was and what she was doing here.

They had to be careful, and she understood that. They were still pursued by Hunters, humans who foolishly believed they could create a utopia of peace and harmony by ridding the world of the Lords and the demons they carried inside them.

Ignore them. You’re running out of time, chica. She returned her attention to Lucien by twisting her head to face him without actually turning all the way around. “Where were we?” she asked huskily. She ran a fingertip over the top band of her thong, not stopping until she drew the hot focus of his gaze to the glittery angel wings in the center.

“I was just about to walk away,” he choked out.

At his words, her nails elongated into little claws. He still thought to deny her? Seriously?

She’d shown herself to him, even knowing that the gods would be able to pinpoint her exact location—something it was best to avoid since they planned to snuff her out like a mangy animal. She would not leave this club without a reward.

Determination intensifying, she swung around with another roll of her hips, the length of her pale hair caressing his chest. As she nibbled on her bottom lip, she plumped her breasts. “But I don’t want you to leave,” she said with a practiced pout.

He backed up another step.

“What’s wrong, sweetness?” Merciless, she moved forward. “Afraid of a little girl?”

His lips thinned, but he didn’t reply. Thankfully, he didn’t move farther away, either.



“Are you?”

“You have no idea at what game you play, woman.”

“Oh, but I think I do.” Her gaze swept over him, and she stilled in renewed amazement. He was utterly magnificent. Rainbow-colored strobe lights rained down his face and body, a body so finely sculpted it could have been chiseled from stone. He wore a black tee and stone-washed jeans, and both hugged rope after rope of hand-over-your-panties muscle. Mine.

“I said no touching,” he barked.

Her gaze snapped back to his and she held up her hands, palms out. “I’m not touching you, sweetcakes.” But I wantto…I plan to…I will.

“Your gaze suggests otherwise,” he said tightly.

“That’s because—”

“I’ll dance with you,” another warrior said, cutting her off. Paris again.

“No.” Anya didn’t switch her attention. She wanted Lucien and only Lucien. No one else would do.

“Could be Bait,” a different Lord piped in, probably eyeing her with suspicion. She recognized the deep timbre of his voice. Sabin, keeper of Doubt.

Please. Bait? As if she would try to lure anyone anywhere for reasons that weren’t completely selfish. Bait, stupid girls that they were, were all about self-sacrifice; their job was to seduce a Lord to distraction so Hunters could sneak in and slay him. And really, what kind of moron wanted to kill the Lords rather than make out with them a little?

“I doubt Hunters were able to assemble so quickly after the plague,” Reyes said.

Oh, yes. The plague. One of the Lords was possessed by the demon of Disease. If he touched any mortal skin-to-skin,

he infected that person with a terrible sickness that spread and killed with amazing swiftness.

Knowing this, Torin always wore gloves and rarely left the fortress, willingly keeping to himself to protect humans from his curse. Not his fault a group of Hunters had sneaked inside the fortress a few weeks ago and cut his throat.

Torin had survived; the Hunters had not.

Unfortunately, there were many, many more Hunters out there. Seriously, they were like flies. Swat one away, and two more soon took its place. Even now, they were out there somewhere, waiting for a chance to strike. The Lords had to remain cautious.

“Besides, there’s no way they could have figured out a way to bypass our security,” Reyes added, his harsh voice drawing Anya from her thoughts.

“Just like there’s no way they could get into the fortress and nearly behead Torin?” Sabin replied.

“Damn this! Paris, stay here and watch her while I check the perimeter. Sabin, come with me.” Footsteps, muttered curses.

Well, shit. If the warriors found any trace of Hunters out there, there’d be no convincing them of her innocence. Of that crime, at least. Lucien would never trust her, never relax around her. Never touch her except in anger.

She didn’t allow her trepidation to play over her face. “Maybe I saw the crowd and snuck in,” she told Paris and another Lord who was studying her, adding tightly, “And maybe the big guy and I can go the next few minutes without an interruption. In private.”

They might have gotten the hint, but they didn’t leave.

Fine. She’d work around them.

As she began to once again rock softly to the beat, she kept her gaze on Lucien and caressed her fingers down the planes of her stomach. Replace my hands with yours, she projected.



Of course, he didn’t. But his nostrils did that delicious flare as his eyes followed every movement of her palms. He swallowed.

“Dance with me.” This time, she said the words aloud, hoping he would not so easily ignore her. She licked her lips, moistening them.

“No.” Hoarse, barely audible.

“Pretty please, with a cherry on top of me.”

His eyes flickered with fiery provocation. Not her imagination, she realized. Hope flooded her. But when several seconds ticked by and he failed to reach out for her, that hope turned to frustration. Time really was her enemy. The longer she stayed here, the greater her chance of being caught.

“Do you not find me desirable, Flowers?”

A muscle ticked below his eye. “That is not my name.”

“Fine, then. Do you not find me desirable, muffin?”

The ticking spread to his jaw. “What I find you matters little.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” she said, close to pouting again.

“Nor was it meant to.”

Grrr! What an infuriating man. Try something else. Somethingblatant.

As if I haven’t been blatant already.

Alrightie, then. She turned and bent down to the floor. Her skirt rode up her thighs and gave him another, better, glimpse of her blue thong and the wings stretching from the center. As she pushed to a stand, mimicking the motions of sex as she did so, she slowly circled, offering a lingering full-body shot.

He sucked in a breath, every muscle in his powerful body tense. “You smell like strawberries and cream.” As he spoke, he looked like a predator about to pounce.

Please, please, please, she thought. “Bet I taste like it, too,”

she said, batting her lashes despite the fact that he’d made the fragrance seem like a horrendous affront.

He growled low in his throat and took a menacing step toward her. He raised his hand to—grab her? Hit her? Whoa, what was that about?—before stopping himself and fisting his fingers. Before remarking on her scent, he’d been distant but maybe-kinda-sorta interested. Now he only seemed interested in throttling her.

“You’re lucky I do not strike you down here and now,” he said, proving her thoughts. Still, his hand lowered to his side.

Anya ceased moving, staring up at him in open mouthed astonishment. Because she smelled like fruit, he wanted to hurt her? That was—that was supremely…disappointing. Her mind had tried to supply the word devastating, but she’d cut it off. She barely knew the man; he couldn’t devastate her.

Wasn’t like she’d expected him to fall at her feet, but she had expected him to respond favorably. At least a little.

Men liked women who threw themselves at them. Right? She’d observed mortals for too many years to count, and that had always seemed to be the case. Key word, chica—mortals. Lucien wasn’t, and had never been, mortal.

Why doesn’t he want me?

In all the days she’d watched him, he hadn’t favored a single woman. Ashlyn, his friend’s lover, he treated with kindness and respect. Cameo, the only female warrior in residence here, he treated with gentleness and almost parental concern. Not desire.

He didn’t prefer men. His gaze didn’t linger on males with hunger or any hint of softer emotion. Was he in love with a specific woman, then, and no other would do? If so, the bitch was going down!

Anya ran her tongue over her teeth, and her hands clenched at her sides. Smoke continued to billow through the building,

hazy, dreamlike. The human females began to crowd the dance floor again, trying to lure the Lords back to their sides. But the warriors continued to observe Anya, waiting for the final verdict of just who and what she was.

Lucien hadn’t moved an inch; it was as if his entire body were rooted in place. She should give up, walk away, cut her losses before Cronus found her. Only the weak giveup. True. Determined, she raised her chin. With only a thought, she changed the song blasting through the speakers. The beat instantly slowed, softened.

Forcing her expression to follow suit, she sauntered the rest of the way to him, closing that hated distance between them. She trekked her fingers up his strong, hard chest and shivered. No touching—ha! He would learn. Anarchy was hardly an obedient lapdog.

He didn’t pull away, at least.

“You’re going to dance with me,” she purred. “That’s the only way to get rid of me.” Just to taunt him further, she stood on her tiptoes and gently bit his earlobe.

There was a rumble in his throat as his arms finally wrapped around her. At first she thought he meant to push her away. Then he jerked her deeper into the curve of his body, flattening her breasts against his torso and forcing her legs to straddle his left thigh. That quickly, she was wet.

“You want to dance, then we will dance.” Slowly, decadently, he swayed her side to side, their bodies staying meshed together, her core rubbing just above his knee. Spears of pleasure ignited, traveling through her bloodstream and leaving no part of her unaffected.

Gods in heaven, this was better than she’d imagined. Her eyes closed in surrender. He was big. Everywhere. His shoulders were so wide they dwarfed her; his upper body so muscled it enveloped her. And all the while, his warm exhalations caressed her cheek like an attentive lover. Trembling, she moved her hands up his back and tangled them in his dark, silky hair. Yes. More.

Slow down, girlie. Even if he wanted her the way she wanted him, she couldn’t have him. Not fully. In that respect, she was as cursed as he. But she could still enjoy the moment. Oh, could she enjoy it. Finally, he was responding to her!

His nose nuzzled her jawline. “Every man in this building wants you,” he said softly, yet his words were so sharp they could have cut like a knife. “Why me?”

“Just because,” she said, inhaling his heady rose perfume.

“That answers nothing.”

“Nor was it meant to,” she said, parroting his earlier words. Her nipples were still hard, so hard, and rubbing against her corset, enhancing her desire. Her skin was wonderfully sensitive, her mind hyperaware of Lucien’s every move. Had anything ever felt so erotic? So…right?

Lucien gripped her hair tightly, almost pulling some of the strands from her scalp. “Do you find it amusing to tease the ugliest man here?”

“Ugliest?” When he appealed to her as no one else ever had? “But I’m nowhere near Paris, sugarpop.”

That gave him pause. He frowned and released her. Then he shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “I know what I am,” he growled with the faintest trace of bitterness. “Ugly is being kind.”

She stilled, peering into his seductive bi-colored eyes. Did he truly have no idea of his attractiveness? He radiated strength and vitality. He exuded savage masculinity. Everything about him enthralled her.

“If you know what you are, sweetness, then you know you’re sexy and deliciously menacing.” And she needed more of him. Another of those shivers raked her spine, vibrating into her limbs. Touch me again.

He glared down at her. “Menacing? Does that mean you want me to hurt you?”

Slowly she grinned. “Only if it involves spanking.”

His nostrils flared again. “I suppose my scars do not bother you,” he said, completely devoid of emotion now.

“Bother me?” Those scars didn’t ruin him. They made him irresistible.

Closer…closer… Yes, contact. Oh, great gods! She glided her hands over his chest, luxuriating in the feel of his nipples as they reached for her, savoring the ropes of strength that greeted her. “They turn me on.”

“Liar,” he said.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, “but not about this.” She studied his face. However he’d gotten the scars could not have been pleasant. He’d suffered. A lot. The knowledge suddenly angered her as much as it entranced her. Who had hurt him and why? A jealous lover?

Looked like someone had taken a blade and carved Lucien up like a melon, then tried to put him back together with the pieces out of order. Still, most immortals healed quickly, leaving no evidence of their injuries. So even if he had been carved up, Lucien should have healed.

Did he have similar scars on the rest of his body? Her knees weakened as a new tide of arousal flooded her. She’d watched him for weeks, but she hadn’t gotten a single peek at his delectable form. Somehow, he’d always managed to bathe and change after she left.

Had he sensed her and kept himself hidden?

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you were Bait, as my men do,” he said tightly.

“And what makes you know better?”



He arched a brow. “Are you?”

Had to venture down that road, did you? If she assured him she wasn’t Bait, she would seem to be admitting that she knew what Bait was. She thought she knew him well enough to know that, in his eyes, the acknowledgment would negate the claim that she wasn’t. He would then feel obligated to kill her. If she claimed that she was Bait, well, he would still feel obligated to kill her.

Total lose-lose.

“Do you want me to be?” she said in her most seductive tone. “’Cause I’ll be anything you want, lover.”

“Stop,” he growled, that ever-calm mask loosening its hold on his features for the briefest of moments and revealing a stunningly intense fire. Oh, to be burned. “I do not like this game you are playing.”

“No game, Flowers. I promise you.”

“What do you want from me? And do not dare lie.”

Now, there was a loaded question. She wanted all of his masculinity focused on her. She wanted hours to strip and explore him. She wanted him to strip and explore her. She wanted him to smile at her. She wanted his tongue in her mouth.

At this point, only the last seemed achievable. And only by playing unfairly. Good thing Devious was her middle name.

“I’ll take a kiss,” she said, gazing at his soft, pink mouth. “Actually, I insist on a kiss.”

“I didn’t find any Hunters nearby,” Reyes said, suddenly standing beside Lucien.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sabin replied.

“She’s not a Hunter and she is not working with them.” Lucien’s attention never wavered from her as he waved his friends back. “I need a moment alone with her.”



His assurance stunned her. And he wanted to be alone with her? Yes! Except his friends stayed put. Jerks.

“We are strangers,” Lucien told her, continuing their conversation as if it had never ceased.

“So? Strangers hook up all the time.” She arched her back, pressing the core of her into his erection. Mmm, erection. He hadn’t lost it, was still aroused. “There’s no harm in a little bittie kiss, is there?”

His fingers sank into the curve of her waist, holding her still. “You will leave? After?”

His words should have offended her, but she was too caught up in the tide of pleasure that simple embrace elicited to care. All of her pulse points began a wild dance. A strange, luscious warmth fluttered inside her stomach.

“Yes.” That’s all she could have from him, anyway, no matter how much she desired more. And she’d take it any way she could get it: coercion, force, trickery. She was tired of imagining his kiss and craved the reality of it. Had to have the reality of it. Finally. Surely he would not taste as amazing as she dreamed.

“I do not understand this,” he muttered, eyes closing to half-mast. Dark lashes cast shadows over his jagged cheeks, making him appear more dangerous than ever.

“That’s okay. I don’t, either.”

He leaned into her, hot, floral-scented breath scorching her skin. “What will a single kiss accomplish?”

Everything. Anticipation beating through her, she traced the tip of her tongue along the seam of her lips. “Are you always this talkative?”

“No.”

“Kiss her, Lucien, before I do. Bait or not,” Paris called with a laugh. Good-natured as the laugh was, it was still edged with steel.



Lucien continued to resist. She could feel his heart beating against his ribs. Was he embarrassed by their audience? Too bad. She’d risked everything for this, and she wasn’t about to let him back out now.

“This is futile,” he said.

“So what. Futile can be fun. Now, no more stalling. Only doing.” Anya jerked his head down to hers and smashed her lips against his. His mouth instantly opened, and their tongues met in a deep, wet thrust. There was an intense rush of heat through her as the addictive flavor of roses and mint bombarded her.

She pressed deeper, needing more of him. All of him. Plumes of fire infused her entire body. She rubbed against his cock, unable to stop herself. He fisted her hair, taking complete control of her mouth. Just like that, she was caught in a whirlwind of passion and thirst only Lucien could quench. She’d entered the gates of heaven without taking a single step.

Someone cheered. Someone whistled.

For a moment, she felt as if her feet were swept off the ground and she was without any kind of anchor. A moment later, her back was shoved against a cold wall. The cheers had somehow suddenly died. Frigid air nipped at her skin.

Outside? she wondered. Then she was moaning, unconcerned, and winding her legs around Lucien’s waist as his tongue conquered hers. One of his hands crushed her hip in a bruising grip—gods, she loved it—and the other tunneled through her hair, fingers once again curling tightly around the thick mass and angling her head to the side for deeper contact.

“You are—you are—” he whispered fiercely.

“Desperate. No talking. More kissing.”

His control vanished. His tongue thrust back inside her mouth, their teeth banging together. Passion and arousal were a hot blaze between them, a raging inferno. Truly, she was on fire. Frantic. Achy. He was all over her, already a part of her.

She never wanted it to end.

“More,” he said roughly, palming her breast.

“Yes.” Her nipples tightened, throbbing for his touch. “More, more, more.”

“So good.”

“Amazing.”

“Touch me,” he growled.

“Am.”

“No. Me.”

Understanding dawned, and with it an intensification of her desire. Maybe he did want her. After all, he yearned to have her hands on his skin, which meant he longed for more than just a kiss.

“My pleasure.” With one hand, she gripped the hem of his shirt and lifted. With the other, she caressed the ropes of his stomach. Scars. She felt scars and shivered, the jagged tissue wonderfully hot.

His muscles clenched against each stroke, and he bit her bottom lip. “Yes, like that.”

She almost came, his reaction like fuel to an already blazing fire. She did moan.

Her fingers traced the circle of his nipples before dabbling at the tips. Each time she grazed them, her clitoris throbbed as if she were touching herself. “I love the feel of you.”

Lucien licked his way down the column of her throat, his tongue leaving a trail of sensual lightning. Her eyelids cracked open, and she nearly gasped when she realized they were indeed outside, leaning against the club’s exterior in a shadowed corner. He must have flashed them there, the naughty boy.

He was the only Lord capable of transporting himself from one location to another with only a thought. A skill she possessed, as well. She only wished he’d flashed them to a bedroom.

No, she forced herself to add, fighting a wave of despair. Bedroom bad. Bad, bad, bad. Bad Anya for thinking otherwise, even for a second. Other women could enjoy the electric press of skin against skin and naked bodies straining for release, but not Anya. Never Anya.

“I want you,” he bit out roughly.

“About time,” she whispered.

He raised his darkly haloed head, blue and brown irises intense, before pinning her with another scorching kiss. On and on it continued, until she was willingly, blissfully drowning in him. Branded to her very soul, where she was no longer Anya but Lucien’s woman. Lucien’s slave. She might never get enough of him, would have allowed him to penetrate her then and there if she’d been able. Gods, reality was so much better than fantasy.

“I need to feel more of you. I need your hands on me.” She dropped her legs from him, standing, and was just reaching for his fly, wanting to free his cock and wrap her fingers around its swollen thickness, when she heard a nearby echo of footsteps.

Lucien must have heard them, too. He stiffened and jerked away from her.

He was panting. So was she. Her knees almost buckled as their gazes locked together, time momentarily suspended. Passion-lightning still sparked between them; never would she have guessed a kiss could be that combustible.

“Right your clothing,” he commanded.

“But…but…” She wasn’t ready to stop, audience or not. If he’d just give her a moment, she could flash them someplace else.



“Do it. Now.”

No, there would be no flashing, she realized with disappointment. His hard expression proclaimed he was done. With the kiss, with her.

Tearing her gaze from him, she looked down at herself. Her top had been anchored underneath her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, so the hardened pink tips of her nipples were visible, two little beacons in the night. Her skirt was around her waist, showing off the front of that barely-there thong.

She smoothed her outfit, blushing for the first time in hundreds of years. Why now? Does it matter? Her hands were shaking, an embarrassing weakness. She tried to will them to stop, but the only command her body wanted to hear was to jump back into Lucien’s arms.

Several of the Lords rounded the corner, each glaring and sullen.

“I love it when you disappear like that,” the one called Gideon said, his irritated tone making it clear he didn’t love it at all. He was possessed by the spirit of Lies, Anya knew, so he wasn’t capable of uttering a single truth.

“Shut up,” Reyes snapped. Poor, tortured Reyes, keeper of Pain. He liked to cut himself. Once, she’d even seen him jump from the top of the warriors’ fortress and luxuriate in the feel of his broken bones. “She might appear innocent, Lucien, but you failed to check her for weapons before you swallowed her tongue.”

“I’m practically naked,” she pointed out, exasperated. Not that anyone paid her any heed. “What weapon could I possibly be hiding?” Okay, so she was hiding a few. Big deal. A girl had to protect herself.

“I had everything under control,” Lucien said in that unaffected voice of his. “I think I can handle one lone female, armed or not.”



Anya had always been fascinated by his calmness. Until now. Where was his lingering passion? Wasn’t fair that he’d recovered so quickly while she still struggled for breath. Her limbs hadn’t even stopped trembling. Worse, her heart pounded like a war drum in her chest.

“So who is she?” Reyes asked.

“She might not be Bait, but she’s something,” Paris said. “You flashed her, but she isn’t screaming.”

That’s when all of their narrowed gazes finally shifted to Anya. She’d never felt more raw, more vulnerable, in all the centuries of her life. Kissing Lucien had been worth the risk of capture, but that didn’t mean she had to endure an interrogation. “All of you can just shut it. I’m not telling you a damn thing.”

“I didn’t invite you, and Reyes told me no one here claims you as a friend,” Paris said. “Why did you attempt to seduce Lucien?”

Because no one would freely consort with the scarred warrior, his tone proclaimed. That irritated her, even though she knew he hadn’t meant it to be rude or hurtful, was probably just stating what all of them considered fact.

“What’s up with the third degree?” One by one, she glared at them. Everyone but Lucien. Him, she avoided. She might crumble if his features were still cold and emotionless. “I saw him, he appealed to me, so I went after him. Big deal. End of story.”

Each of the Lords crossed their arms over their chests, a yeah-right action. They’d formed a semicircle around her, she realized then, though she’d never seen them move. She barely managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“You don’t really want him,” Reyes said. “We all know that. So tell us what you do want before we force you to tell us.”

Force her? Please. She, too, crossed her arms. A short while ago, they’d cheered for Lucien to kiss her. Hadn’t they? Maybe she had cheered for herself. But now they wanted a play-by-play of her thought process? Now they acted as if Lucien could not tempt a blind woman? “I wanted his cock inside me. You get it now, asshole?”

There was a shocked pause.

Lucien stepped in front of her, blocking her from the men. Was he…protecting her? How utterly sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet. Some of her anger evaporated. She wanted to hug him.

“Leave her alone,” Lucien said. “She doesn’t matter. She’s unimportant.”

Anya’s happy buzz evaporated, too. Doesn’t matter? Unimportant? He’d just held her breast in his hand and rubbed his erection between her legs. How dare he say something like that?

A red haze winked over her vision. This must be how mymother always felt. Nearly all the men Dysnomia had taken to bed had hurled insults at the woman when their pleasure had been sated. Easy, they’d said. Not good for anything else.

Anya knew her mother well, knew Dysnomia had been slave to her lawless nature, as well as simply looking for love. Mated gods, single gods, it hadn’t mattered. If they had desired her, she had given herself to them. Probably because for those few hours in her lovers’ arms, she had been accepted, cherished, her darker urges sated.

Which made the betrayal afterward all the more painful, Anya thought, eyeing Lucien. Of all the things she’d expected and yearned for him to say, unimportant hadn’t been close. She’s mine, maybe. I need her, perhaps. Don’t touch myproperty, definitely.

She hadn’t wanted the same life as her mother, much as she loved her, and had vowed long ago never to let herself be used. But look at me now. I begged and pleaded for Lucien’skiss, and he never saw me as anything more than unimportant.

Growling, channeling all of her considerable strength, fury and hurt, she shoved him. He propelled forward like a bullet from a gun and slammed into Paris. Both men hmphed before ricocheting apart.

When Lucien righted himself, he whipped around to face her. “There will be none of that.”

“Actually, there’s going to be a lot more of that.” She stalked toward him, fist raised. Soon he would be swallowing his perfect white teeth.

“Anya,” he said, her name a husky entreaty. “Stop.”

She froze, shock thickening every drop of blood in her veins. “You know who I am.” A statement, not a question. “How?” They’d spoken once, weeks ago, but he’d never seen her before today. She’d made sure of it.

“You have been following me. I recognized your scent.”

Strawberries and cream, he’d said earlier, accusation in his voice. Her eyes widened. Pleasure and mortification blended, spearing her all the way to the bone. All along, he’d known she was watching him.

“Why did I get the third degree if you knew who I was? And why, if you knew I was following you, didn’t you ask me to show myself?” The questions lashed from her with stinging force.

“One,” he said, “I did not realize who you were until after the discussion about Hunters had taken place. Two, I did not wish to scare you away until I learned your purpose.” He paused, waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, he added, “What is your purpose?”

“I—you—” Damn it! What should she tell him? “You owe me a favor! I saved your friend, freed you from his curse.” There. Rational and true and hopefully would move the conversation away from her motives.



“Ah.” He nodded, his shoulders stiffening. “Everything makes sense now. You’ve come for payment.”

“Well, no.” Much as it would have saved her pride, she suddenly realized she didn’t want him thinking she gave her kisses away so easily. “Not yet.”

His brow furrowed. “But you just said—”

“I know what I said.”

“Why have you come, then? Why stalk my every waking moment?”

She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, her frustration renewed. There was no time to reply, however, as Reyes, Paris and Gideon closed in on her. All three were scowling. Did they think to grab her and keep her still?

Rather than answer Lucien, she snapped at the men, “What? I don’t recall inviting you into the conversation.”

“You are Anya?” Reyes eyed her up and down, his revulsion clear.

Revulsion? He should be grateful! Hadn’t she liberated him from the curse that had forced him to stab his BFF every night? Yes, damn it. She had. But his look was one she knew well, and one that never failed to raise her hackles. Because of her mother’s amorous past and the widespread expectation that she, with her free-spirited ways, would follow suit, every Greek god in Olympus had projected that same sort of revulsion at her at one time or another.

At first, Anya had been hurt by their smug disdain. And for several hundred years, she’d tried the good-girl thing: dressing like a freaking nun, speaking only when spoken to, keeping her gaze downcast. Somehow she’d even squelched her desperate need for disaster. All to earn the respect of beings who would never see her as anything more than a whore.

One fateful day, when she’d come home from stupid goddess training, crying because she’d smiled at Ares and that bitch Artemis had called her ta ma de, Dysnomia had pulled her aside. Whatever you do, however you act, they are goingto judge you harshly, the goddess had said. But we all mustbe true to our own nature. Acting as anyone other thanyourself merely brings you pain and makes you appearashamed of who and what you are. Others will feed off thatshame, and soon it will be all that you are. You are a wonderfulbeing, Anya. Be proud of who you are. I am.

From then on, Anya had dressed as sexily as she pleased, talked whenever and however she wanted and refused to look at her feet for any reason other than admiring her strappy stilettos. No longer had she denied her need for disorder. An offhand way of saying “fuck you” to the ones who rejected her, yes, but more importantly, she liked who she was.

She would never be ashamed again.

“It is…interesting to see you in the flesh after all the research I’ve done on you lately. You are the daughter of Dysnomia,” Reyes continued. “You are the minor goddess of Anarchy.”

“There’s nothing minor about me.” Minor meant unimportant, and she was just as important as the other, “higher” beings, damn it. But because no one knew who her father was—well, she did, now—she had been relegated as such. “But yeah. I am a goddess.” She raised her chin, showing him no emotion.

“The night you made yourself known to us and saved Ashlyn’s life, you told us that you were not,” Lucien said. “You told us you were merely an immortal.”

She shrugged. She hated gods so much she rarely used that title. “I lied. I often do. It’s part of my charm, don’t you think?”

No one replied. Figured.



“We were once warriors for the gods and lived in the heavens, as I’m sure you know,” Reyes said as if she hadn’t spoken. “I do not remember you.”

“Maybe I wasn’t born yet, smartie.”

Irritation flickered in his dark eyes, but he continued calmly. “As I told you, since your appearance weeks ago I have been researching you, learning everything I can. Long ago, you were imprisoned for murdering an innocent man. Then, a hundred years or so after your confinement, the gods finally agreed on the proper punishment for you. Before they could carry out the verdict, however, you did something no other immortal had ever managed to do. You escaped.”

She didn’t try to deny it. “Your research is correct.” For the most part.

“Legend claims you infected the keeper of Tartarus with some kind of disease, for immediately after your escape he weakened and lost his memory. Guards were placed in every corner to fortify security, as the gods feared the strength of the prison depended on the strength of its keeper. Over time the walls did begin to crumble and crack, which eventually led to the escape of the Titans.”

Gonna blame that on her, was he? Her eyes narrowed. “The thing about legends,” she said flatly, “is that the truth is often distorted to explain the things that mortals cannot understand. Funny that you, the subject of so many legends, don’t know that.”

“You hid here, among humans,” Reyes said, ignoring her. Again. “But you weren’t content to live in peace even then. You started wars, stole weapons and even ships. You caused major fires and others disasters, which in turn led to mass panic and rioting among the humans, and hundreds of people being imprisoned.”

Warmth suffused her face. Yes, she’d done those things. When she’d first come to earth, she hadn’t known how to control her rebellious nature. Gods had been able to protect themselves from it, humans hadn’t. Besides that, she’d been almost…feral from her years in prison. A simple comment from her—you aren’t going to let your brother talk to you like that, are you?—and bloody feuds erupted between clans. An appearance at court—perhaps laughing at the rulers and their policies—and loyal knights attempted to assassinate their king.

As for the fires, well, something inside her had compelled her to “accidentally” drop torches and watch the flames dance. And the stealing…she’d been unable to fight the voice in her head that whispered, Take it. No one will know.

Eventually she’d learned that if she fed her need for disorder with little things—petty theft, white lies and the occasional street fight—huge disasters could be averted.

“I did my homework on you, too,” she said softly. “Did you not once destroy cities and kill innocents?”

Now Reyes blushed.

“You are not the same man you used to be, just as I am not—” Before she’d completed the sentence, a sudden wind blustered around them, whistling and harsh. Anya blinked against it, confused for only a moment. “Damn it!” she spat, knowing what would come next.

Sure enough, the warriors froze in place as time ceased to exist for them, a power greater than themselves taking hold of the world around them. Even Lucien, who’d been carefully watching her exchange with Reyes, turned to living stone.

Hell, she did, too.

Oh, no, no, no, she thought, and with the words, the invisible prison bars fell away from her like leaves from a winter tree. Nothing and no one could hold her prisoner. Not anymore. Her father had made sure of that.



Anya walked to Lucien to try to free him—why, she didn’t know, after the things he’d said of her—but the wind ceased as suddenly as it had appeared. Her mouth dried, and her heart began an unsteady tango in her chest. Cronus, who had taken over the heavenly throne mere months ago, bringing new rules, new desires and new punishments, was about to arrive.

He’d found her.

Freaking great. As a bright blue light appeared in front of her, chasing away the darkness and humming with unimaginable power, she flashed away. With a sense of regret she had no business feeling, she left Lucien behind—taking the taste and memory of their kiss with her.




CHAPTER TWO


A BLACK FOG HAD DESCENDED over Lucien, locking his mind on a single thought: Anya.

He’d been in the middle of a conversation with her, trying to forget how perfectly she had fit against him, how razor-sharp his desire for her had been, and how, in the too-short minutes she’d been in his arms, he would have betrayed everyone he knew for a little more time with her.

Never had a kiss affected him more. His demon had actually purred inside his head. Purred. Like a tamed housecat. Such a thing had never happened before, and he did not understand why it had tonight.

Something must be wrong with him.

Why else would saying Anya meant nothing, was nothing, have nearly killed him? But he’d had to say it. For her benefit, and for his own. Such need was dangerous. And to admit to it, lethal to his infamous control.

Control. He would have snorted if he’d been capable of movement. Clearly he’d had no control with that woman.

Why had she pretended to want him? Why had she kissed him as if she’d die without his tongue? Women simply did not crave him like that. Not anymore. He knew that better than anyone. Yet Anya had practically begged him for more.

And now he could not remove her image from his head. She was tall, the perfect height, with a perfect pixie face and perfect sun-kissed-and-cream skin, smooth and shimmering, mouthwateringly erotic. He imagined laving every inch with his tongue.

Her breasts had nearly spilled from the cerulean half corset she’d worn, and mile after mile of delectable thigh had been visible thanks to her black miniskirt and high-heeled black boots.

Her hair was so pale it was like a snowstorm as it tumbled in waves down her back. Her eyes were wide and the same cerulean shade as her top. Uptilted nose. Full and red, made-for-sucking lips. Straight white teeth. She’d radiated wickedness and pleasure, every male fantasy come to glittery life.

Actually, he had not been able to remove her from his head since she’d entered their lives weeks ago and saved Ashlyn. She had not revealed her luscious beauty then, but her strawberry scent had branded him all the way to the bone.

Now, having tasted her, Lucien felt his heart pound in his chest and breath burn in his throat, blistering, sizzling. He experienced the same sensation when he glimpsed his friends Maddox and Ashlyn together, cooing, snuggling close, almost as if they were afraid to let go of each other.

Unexpectedly the fog lifted, at last freeing his mind and body, and he saw that he was still outside. Anya was gone, and his friends were seemingly frozen around him. His eyes narrowed as he reached up and wrapped his fingers around one of the daggers sheathed at his back. What was going on?

“Reyes?” No response. Not even the flicker of an eyelid. “Gideon? Paris?”

Nothing.

There was a movement in the shadows. Lucien withdrew the weapon slowly, waiting…prepared to do what was necessary…even as a thought slid into his mind. Anya could have taken his blades and used them on him, and he wouldn’t have known. Wouldn’t have cared. He’d been too consumed by her. But she hadn’t taken them. Which meant she truly hadn’t wanted to harm him.

Why had she approached him? he wondered again.

“Hello, Death,” a grave-sounding male said. No one appeared, but the weapon was jerked from Lucien’s grip and sent flying to the ground. “Do you know who I am?”

Though Lucien gave no outward reaction, dread slithered through him, devouring everything in its path. He had not heard the voice before, but he knew who it belonged to. Deep down, he knew. “Lord Titan,” he said. Not so long ago Lucien would have welcomed acknowledgment from this god. Now he knew better.

Aeron, keeper of Wrath, had received such acknowledgment a month ago. He’d been ordered to kill four human women. Why, the Titans refused to reveal. Aeron had declined the assignment and was now the unwilling guest of the Lords’ dungeon, a menace to himself and the world. Bloodlust consumed the warrior every minute of every day.

Lucien hated seeing his friend reduced to such an animal state. Worse, he hated the growing sense of helplessness inside himself, knowing that, as strong as he was, there was nothing he could do. All because of the being materializing before him now.

“To what do I owe this…honor?” he asked.

Fluid as water, Cronus stepped into a beam of amber moonlight. He had thick silver hair and a matching beard. A long linen chimation swathed his tall, thin body, so well-woven it could have been silk. His eyes were dark, fathomless pools.

In his left hand he held the black Scythe of Death, a weapon Lucien would have loved to seize and use on the cruel god, for it could cleave the head from an immortal in only an instant. As Death incarnate, the Scythe should have belonged to him, anyway, but it had disappeared when Cronus was imprisoned. Lucien wondered how Cronus had managed to find it—and if he could find Pandora’s box so easily.

“I do not like your tone,” the king finally replied, deceptively calm. A timbre Lucien knew well, for he used it himself while trying to keep his emotions under control.

“My apologies.” Bastard. Despite the weapon, Cronus did not look powerful enough to have broken free from Tartarus and overthrown the former king, Zeus. But he had. With brutality and cunning, proving beyond any doubt that he was not someone to antagonize.

“You met the wild and elusive Anya.” Whisper-soft now, the god’s voice drifted through the night, yet it was a lance of power so strong it could have felled an entire army.

Lucien’s dread increased a hundredfold. “Yes. I met her.”

“You kissed her.”

His hands clenched—in headiness at the memory, in fury that the passionate moment had been watched by this hated being. Calm. “Yes.”

Cronus glided toward him, as silent as the night. “Somehow she’s managed to evade me for many weeks. You, however, she seeks out. Why is that, do you think?”

“I honestly do not know.” And he didn’t. Her attention to him still made no sense. The ardor of her kiss had been faked, surely. And yet, she’d managed to burn him, body, soul and demon.

“No matter.” The god reached him, paused to stare deeply into his eyes. Cronus even smelled of power. “Now you will kill her.”

At the proclamation, Death rattled the cage of Lucien’s mind, but for once Lucien wasn’t sure whether the demon did so in eagerness or resentment. “Kill her?”



“You sound surprised.” Finally releasing Lucien’s gaze, the god brushed past him as though the conversation was over.

Though it was only the barest of touches, Lucien was knocked backward as if he’d been hit by a car, muscles clenching, lungs flattening. When he righted himself, trying to catch his breath, he wheeled around. Cronus was walking into the darkness, soon to disappear.

“If it pleases you,” he called, “may I ask why you want her…dead?”

The god did not turn as he said, “She is Anarchy, trouble to all who encounter her. That should be reason enough. You should thank me for this honor.”

Thank him? Lucien popped his jaw to quiet the words longing to burst from his lips. Now, more than before, he wanted to cleave the god’s head from his body. He remained in place, though, knowing just how brutal the gods’ retribution could be. He, Reyes and Maddox had only just been released from an ancient curse where Reyes had been forced to stab Maddox every night and Lucien had been compelled to escort the fallen warrior’s soul to hell.

The death-curse had been heaped upon them by the Greeks after Maddox had inadvertently killed Pandora. How much worse would the Titans’ punishment be if Lucien assassinated their king?

While Lucien did not care what they would do to him, he did fear for his friends. Already they had endured more torment than anyone should know in a hundred lifetimes.

Still, he found himself saying, “I do not wish to do this deed.” I will not. Destroying the beautiful Anya would be a curse all its own, he suspected.

He never saw Cronus move, but the god was in his face a heartbeat later. Those bright, otherworldly eyes pierced Lucien like a sword as his arm extended, the Scythe hovering before Reyes’s neck. “However long it takes, warrior, whatever you have to do, you will bring me her dead body. Fail to heed my command, and you and all those you love will suffer.”

The god disappeared in a blinding azure light, gone as quickly as he’d appeared, and the world kicked back into motion as if it had never stopped. Lucien could not catch his breath. One flick of Cronus’s wrist and he could have—would have—taken Reyes’s head.

“What the hell?” Reyes growled, looking around. “Where did she go?”

“She was just here.” Paris spun in a circle, scanning the area and clutching his dagger.

You and all those you love will suffer, the king had said. Not a boast. Absolute truth. Lucien fisted his hands and swallowed a surge of bile. “Let us go back inside and enjoy the rest of the evening,” he managed to get out. He needed time to think.

“Hey, wait a sec,” Paris began.

“No,” Lucien said with a shake of his head. “We will speak of this no longer.”

They stared at him for a long, silent moment. Eventually, each of them nodded. He didn’t mention the god’s visit or Anya’s disappearance as he strode past them. He didn’t mention Cronus or Anya as they entered the club. Still he didn’t mention them as the men scattered in different directions, their gazes lingering on him in puzzlement.

When Reyes tried to move past him, however, he held out a restraining hand.

Reyes stopped short and glanced at him in confusion.

Lucien motioned to the table in back, the one he had previously occupied, with a tilt of his chin. Reyes nodded in understanding, and they strode to it and sat.



“Spill,” Reyes said, reclining in his seat and staring out at the dance floor as casually as if they were merely discussing the weather.

“You researched Anya. Who did she kill to earn imprisonment? Why did she kill him?”

The music was a pounding, mocking tempo in the background. Strobe lights played over Reyes’s bronze skin and dark-as-night eyes. He shrugged. “The scrolls I read gave no mention of why, only who. Aias.”

“I remember him.” Lucien had never liked the arrogant bastard. “He probably deserved it.”

“When she killed him, he was Captain of the Immortal Guard. My guess is Anya caused some sort of disaster, Aias meant to arrest her, and they fought.”

Lucien blinked in surprise. Smug, self-serving Aias had taken his place? Before opening Pandora’s box, Lucien had been captain, keeper of the peace and protector of the god king. Once the demon had been placed inside him, however, he’d no longer been suitable and the duty had been stripped from him. Then he and the warriors who helped him steal the box had been banished from the heavens altogether.

“I wonder if she means to strike at you next,” Reyes said offhandedly.

Perhaps, though she’d had the opportunity to do so tonight and hadn’t taken it. He would have deserved it, though, no doubt about it. When they’d first come to earth, he and his friends had caused nothing but darkness and destruction, pain and misery. They’d had no control over their demons and had killed indiscriminately, destroyed homes and families, brought famine and disease.

By the time he’d learned to suppress his more menacing half, it had been too late. Hunters had already risen and begun fighting them. At the time, he hadn’t blamed them, had even felt deserving of their ire. Then those Hunters killed Baden, keeper of Distrust as well as Lucien’s brother-by-circumstance. The loss had devastated him, shaking him to the core.

Understanding the Hunters’ reasoning had no longer mattered, and he’d helped decimate those responsible. Afterward, though, he’d wanted peace. Sweet peace. Some of the warriors had not. They’d desired the destruction of all Hunters.

So Lucien and five other warriors had moved to Budapest, where they had lived without war for hundreds of years. A few weeks ago, the remaining six Lords had arrived in town, hot on the heels of Hunters who had been determined to wipe Lucien and his men from the world once and for all. Just like that, the blood feud reignited. There would be no escaping it this time. Part of him no longer wanted to escape it. Until the Hunters were eliminated completely, there could be no peace.

“What else did you learn about Anya?” he asked Reyes.

The warrior shrugged. “As I mentioned outside, she is the only daughter of Dysnomia.”

“Dysnomia?” He worried two fingers over his jaw. “I do not remember her.”

“She is the goddess of Lawlessness and the most reviled immortal among the Greeks. She slept with everything male, no matter if he was wed or not. No one even knows who Anya’s father is.”

“No suspicions?”

“How could there be when the mother in question had several different lovers each and every day?”

The thought of Anya following her mother’s path and taking multiple men to her bed infuriated Lucien. He hadn’t wanted to want her, but want her—desperately—he had. Did. Truly, he’d tried to resist her. And would have, until he’d realized who she was and rationalized that she was immortal. He’d thought, She cannot die. Unlike a mortal, she cannot betaken from me if I indulge in her. I will never have to take hersoul.

What a fool he’d been. He should have known better. He was Death. Anyone could be taken. Himself, his friends. A goddess. He saw more loss in a single day than most endured in a lifetime.

“Surprised me,” Reyes said, “that such a woman could produce a daughter who looks so much like an angel. Hard to believe pretty Anya is actually wicked.”

Her kiss had been sinful. Delightfully so. But the woman he’d held in his arms had not seemed evil. Sweet, yes. Amusing, absolutely. And, shockingly enough, vulnerable and wonderfully needy. Of him.

Why had she kissed him? he wondered yet again. The question and its lack of answer plagued him. Why had she even danced for him? With him? Had she wanted something from him? Or had he merely been a challenge to her? Someone to seduce and enslave, then abandon for someone more attractive, laughing at the ugly man’s gullibility all the while?

Lucien’s blood chilled at the very idea. Do not think likethat. You’ll only torture yourself. What was he supposed to think about, then? Her death? Gods, he wasn’t sure he could do it.

Because she had aided him all those weeks ago, he now owed her a favor. How could he kill a woman he was indebted to? How could he kill a woman he’d tasted? Again? He gripped his knees, squeezing, trying to subdue the sudden rush of darkness flowing through him.

“What else do you know of her? Surely there is something more.”

Reyes gave another of those negligent shrugs. “Anya is cursed in some way, but there was no hint as to what kind of curse.”

Cursed? The revelation shocked and angered him. Did she suffer because of it? And why did he care? “Any mention of who was responsible for cursing her?”

“Themis, the goddess of Justice. She is a Titan, though she betrayed them to aid the Greeks when they claimed the heavenly throne.”

Lucien recalled the goddess, though the image inside his head was fuzzy. Tall, dark-headed and slender. An aristocratic face and fine-boned hands that fluttered as she spoke. Some days she’d been gentle, others unbearably harsh. “What do you remember of Themis?”

“Only that she was wife to Tartarus, the prison guard.”

Lucien frowned. “Perhaps she cursed Anya to punish her for hurting Tartarus in order to escape?”

Reyes shook his head. “If the scroll’s timeline was correct, the curse came before Anya’s imprisonment.” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Perhaps Anya is exactly like her mother. Perhaps she slept with Tartarus and infuriated the goddess. Isn’t that why most women wish ill upon other females?”

The suspicion did not settle well with Lucien. He scrubbed a hand over his face, the scars so puckered they abraded his palm. Had they scratched Anya? he suddenly wondered. Beneath the damaged tissue, his cheeks heated in mortification. She was probably used to smooth perfection from her men, and would remember him as the ugly warrior who had irritated her pretty skin.

Reyes traced a fingertip over one of the empty glasses perched on the tabletop. “I do not like it that we are in her debt. I do not like it that she came to the club. As I said earlier, Anya leaves a trail of destruction and chaos everywhere she goes.”

“We leave a trail of destruction and chaos everywhere we go.”

“We used to, but we never enjoyed it. She was smiling as she seduced you.” Reyes scowled. “I saw the way you looked at her. Like I looked at Danika.”

Danika. One of the humans Aeron had been ordered to slay. Reyes wanted her more than he wanted to take his next breath, Lucien suspected, but had been forced to let her go in hopes of saving her from the gods’ brutality. Lucien thought perhaps the warrior had regretted the decision ever since, wishing to protect her up close and personal.

What am I going to do? Lucien knew what he wanted to do. Forget Anya, and ignore Cronus as Aeron had. To ignore the king of gods, however, was to invite punishment—just as Aeron had. His friends could endure no more. Of that, he was certain. Already they were poised on the edge between good and evil. Any more and they would fall, just give in to their demons and stop fighting the constant urge to destroy.

He sighed. Damned gods. The heavenly command had come at the worst possible time. Pandora’s box was out there, hidden somewhere, a threat to his very existence. If a Hunter found it before he did, the demon could be pulled out of him, killing him, for man and demon were inextricably bonded.

While Lucien did not mind the thought of his own demise, he refused to allow his brethren to be hurt. He felt responsible for them. If he had not opened the box to avenge his stinging pride at not being chosen to guard it, his men would not have been forced to house the demons inside their bodies. He would not have destroyed their lives—lives they had once enjoyed as elite warriors to the Greeks. Blithe, carefree. Happy, even.

He exhaled another sigh. To protect his friends from further pain, he would have to kill Anya as ordered, Lucien decided with a pang of regret. Which meant he would have to hunt the goddess down. Which meant he would have to be near her again.

The thought of being in Anya’s presence once more, of smelling her strawberry scent, of caressing her soft skin, both tantalized and tormented him. Even forever ago, when he’d fallen deeply in love with a mortal named Mariah, and she with him, he had not desired like this. A hot ache that infused every inch of his body and refused to leave.

Mariah …sweet, innocent Mariah, the woman he’d given his heart to shortly after learning to control his demon. By then, he’d lived on earth a hundred—two hundred?—years, time seemingly nonexistent, one day the same as any other. Then he’d seen Mariah, and life had begun to matter. He’d craved something good, something pure to wipe away the darkness.

She’d been sunshine to his midnight, a bright candle in merciless gloom, and he’d hoped to spend an eternity worshipping her. But all too soon, disease struck her. Death had known immediately she would not survive. Lucien should have taken her soul that very moment, but he had been unable to force himself to do it.

For weeks, the sickness ravaged her body, destroying her piece by piece. The longer he’d waited, hoping she would heal, the more she’d suffered. Toward the end, she’d begged, sobbed and screamed for death. Heartsick, knowing they would never again be together, he’d finally broken down and done his duty.

That was the night he’d obtained his scars.

Lucien had carved himself to ribbons using a poisoned blade; every time the wounds had tried to heal, he’d prayed for scars and carved himself up again. And again. He’d even burned himself until the skin no longer rejuvenated. In his grief, he’d hoped to ensure that no female would ever again approach him, that he would never again have to suffer the loss of a loved one.

He’d never regretted the action. Until now. He’d ruined any chance of being a man Anya could truly desire. A woman as physically perfect as she deserved a man equally so. He frowned. Why was he thinking like that? She had to die. Desire on either side would only complicate matters. Well, complicate them more.

Once again, Anya’s image etched itself into his mind, consuming his thoughts. Her face was a sensual feast and her body a sexual high. As a man, he howled with rage at the thought of destroying that. As an immortal warrior, well, he howled, too.

Perhaps he could convince Cronus to rescind his command. Perhaps… Lucien snorted. No. That would not work. Trying to bargain with Cronus was more foolish than ignoring him. The king of gods would only order him to do something worse.

Damn this! Why did Cronus want her dead? What had she done?

Had she spurned him for another?

Lucien ignored the haze of jealousy and possessiveness that fell over his eyes. Ignored the mine ringing in his ears.

“I am waiting,” Reyes said, breaking into his thoughts.

He blinked, trying to clear his mind. “For?”

“For you to tell me what happened out there.”

“Nothing happened,” he lied smoothly, and hated himself for the need.

Reyes shook his head. “Your lips are still bruised and swollen from kissing her. Your hair is in spikes around your head from where she plowed her fingers through. You stepped in front of her when we meant to take her, and then she disappeared altogether. Nothing happened? Try again.”



Reyes had enough to worry about without having to carry Lucien’s burden, as well. “Tell the others I’ll meet them in Greece. I won’t be traveling with them as planned.”

“What?” Reyes frowned. “Why?”

“I’ve been commanded to take a soul,” was all he said.

“Take a soul? Not just escort it to heaven or hell? I don’t understand.”

He nodded. “You do not need to understand.”

“You know I hate when you turn cryptic. Tell me who and why.”

“Does it matter? A soul is a soul, and the outcome is the same no matter the reason. Death.” Lucien slapped Reyes’s shoulder and pushed to his feet. Before the warrior could utter another word, Lucien strode out of the club, not stopping until he reached the very place he’d kissed—and lost—Anya.

In an unwieldy corner of his mind, he could almost hear her moaning. He could almost feel her nails digging into his back and her hips rocking into his erection. An erection that had not dissipated. Despite everything.

Need still clawed through him, but he shoved it aside and closed his right eye. Surveying the area with his blue eye—his spiritual eye—he saw a rainbow of glowing, ethereal colors. Through those colors he could interpret every deed that had occurred here, every emotion ever felt by visitors. Sometimes he could even determine exactly who had done what.

Having done this infinite times before, he easily sorted through the morass to find signs of the most recent activity. There, against the freshly erected and painted boards of the brand-new building, were sparkling stars of passion.

The kiss.

In this spiritual realm, Anya’s passion appeared a blazing pink. Real. Not faked, as a part of him had assumed. That pink trail glittered with a dazzle unlike anything he’d ever seen. Had she truly desired him, then? Had a creature so physically perfect found him worthy? That did not seem possible, and yet the proof was shining at him like a pathway to salvation in the middle of a storm.

His stomach tightened, heat shooting through him. His mouth watered for another taste of her. His chest ached, a sharp and hungry throb. Oh, to hold those breasts in his hands again and feel the nipples stiffen against his palms. To sink his fingers into her wet sheath this time and pump in and out, slowly at first, then faster and faster. She would come, maybe even beg for more. He groaned.

She has to die by your hand. Do not forget.

As if he could, he thought, hands fisting. “Where did you go?” he muttered, following the sparks to where she’d stood when she’d pushed him. Blue winked at him. Sadness. She had been sad? Because he’d said she did not matter? The knowledge filled him with guilt.

He studied the colors more closely. Interspersed with the blue was a bright, pulsing red. Fury. He must have hurt her feelings, and that in turn must have angered her. The guilt intensified. In his defense, he had assumed she’d been playing with him, that she hadn’t really wanted him. He hadn’t thought she would care whether he wanted her or not.

That she had utterly amazed him.

As he continued to sort through the colors, he found the faintest trace of white. Fear. Something had scared her. What? Had she sensed Cronus? Seen him? Known he was about to deliver her death sentence?

Lucien didn’t like that she’d been scared.

Every muscle tensed as he followed the muted trail of white. As he moved, he allowed his body to fuse with the demon of Death, becoming nothing more than a spirit, a midnight mist that could flash from one location to another in an instant.

Anya’s essence led to his fortress, he was startled to find. His bedroom, more specifically. Clearly she hadn’t stayed long, but seemed to have paced from one side of the chamber to another, then had flashed away to—Maddox and Ashlyn’s bedroom. Lucien’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why here? The couple was asleep in bed, twined together, cheeks rosy and flushed from a recent sexual marathon, he was sure.

Lucien tried to tamp down a sudden rush of envy before picking up Anya’s trail and flashing—Into an apartment he did not recognize. Moonlight seeped inside through cracks in the black window coverings. Still dark. Was he still in Budapest, then? The furnishings here were sparse: a brown, threadbare couch pushed against the wall, a wicker chair with slats that had come unraveled and would poke the sitter in the back. No TV, no computer or any of the other modern luxuries Lucien had grown accustomed to over the years.

From the next room echoed the clatter of one dagger slapping against another. It was a sound he knew well. He allowed himself to float toward it, knowing whoever was inside would not be able to see him.

He reached the doorway and gaped, waves of shock pummeling through him. Danika, the doomed woman Reyes lusted after, was thrusting two daggers repeatedly into a mansized dummy hanging from the wall. A dummy that, surprisingly, looked like a cross between Reyes and Aeron.

“Kidnap me, will you?” she muttered. Sweat trickled down her temples and chest, soaking her gray tank to her body. The long length of her blond ponytail was plastered to her neck. To work up such a sweat in so cold an apartment, she must have been at the exercise for hours.



Why had Anya come here? Danika was—or had been—in hiding. Temporarily letting her go had been the only way to give the mortal some semblance of a life before Aeron hunted her down on the wings of Wrath as the gods had ordered. And he would. It was only a matter of time before Aeron escaped the dungeon. Not one of the warriors had been able to bring themselves to take any more of his freedom by binding him with the only thing that could truly hold him: unbreakable links forged by the gods. So yes, Aeron would eventually escape.

Lucien was tempted to reveal his presence and talk to Danika, but didn’t. She had no good memories of him and would not be willing to help in his search for Anya. He worried two fingers over his jaw. Whatever the goddess of Anarchy’s purpose, she had clearly taken an interest in all things Underworld.

He was more baffled than ever.

There were no answers here, only more questions, so he didn’t waste another minute. He followed Anya’s lighted trail, which was now a bright red—anger was taking root again—and found himself flashing to—A convenience store. He believed that was what mortals called the small shop.

His eyebrows furrowed together. He was no longer in Budapest, he knew, for sunlight glowed brightly through the store’s windows. A multitude of people milled about, paying for fuel and buying snacks.

Unseen, Lucien ventured outside. A horde of yellow cars sped along a nearby street, and mortals rushed along the crowded sidewalks. He found a shadowed alley and materialized without anyone the wiser. Curiosity propelling him, he strode back into the store. A bell tinkled.

A woman gasped when she saw him, then looked away as quickly as possible. A child pointed at him and was reprimanded by his mother. Everyone backed away from him, inching as far from him as they could without seeming blatantly rude. There was a line leading to the cash register, which he bypassed without apology.

No one protested.

The cashier was a teenager, a boy who looked a lot like Gideon. Blue hair, piercings, tattoos. However, he lacked Gideon’s savage intensity as he smacked his gum and shuffled the money in his drawer. A quick glance at the tag on the boy’s shirt provided his name.

“Dennis, did you notice a pale-haired female in a short black skirt—”

“And ice-blue barely-there top? Hell, yeah, I noticed,” Dennis finished for him as he closed the register. Lucien recognized the accent. Hewas in the States. The boy’s gaze lifted, and he stilled. Gulped. “Uh, yeah.” His voice shook. “I did. May I ask why?”

Three emotions skidded through Lucien, none of them welcome: jealousy that another man had enjoyed the sight of Anya, eagerness that he was closer to finding her and dread that he was closer to finding her. “Did she speak to anyone?”

The boy took a step backward and shook his head. “No.”

“Did she buy anything?”

There was a heavy pause, as if he was afraid his answer would send Lucien into a rage. “Kind of.”

Kind of? When Dennis failed to elaborate, Lucien gritted his teeth and said, “What did she kind of buy?”

“Wh-why do you want to know? I mean, are you a cop or something? An ex-husband?”

Lucien pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Calm,stay calm. He fixed his eyes on the paling human, capturing Dennis’s gaze and refusing to release it. The scent of roses began to drift from him, thickening the air.



Dennis gulped again, but his eyes began to glaze over.

“I asked you a question,” Lucien said softly, “and now you will answer. What did the woman buy?”

“Three strawberry-and-cream lollipops,” was the trancelike reply. “But she didn’t buy them. She just grabbed them and walked off. I didn’t try to stop her or anything, I swear.”

“Show me the lollipops.”

With people moaning and muttering in protest at the delay—until Lucien glared at them and they quickly hushed—Dennis left the register and led him to the candy aisle. He pointed to a half-empty box of lollipops.

Lucien pocketed two, not allowing himself to smell them as he so badly wanted, and withdrew several bills. Wrong currency, but giving the boy something was better than nothing. “How much do I owe you?”

“They’re on me.” Dennis held up his hands in a pretend show of friendship.

He wanted to force the boy to take the money, but did not want to cause even more of a scene. In the end, he stuffed the bills back inside his pocket. “Return to your register,” he said, then pivoted to slowly survey the rest of the store. On the spiritual plane, there were millions upon millions of colors. Sorting through them proved tedious, but no one dared bother him and he was finally able to locate Anya’s unique essence.

His blood heated.

Everything about her, even the minute mist she left behind, called to him, drew him. And, if he wasn’t careful, would ensnare him. She was just so…captivating. A beautiful enigma.

Lucien left the store and returned to the abandoned alleyway, where he once again dematerialized into the spirit realm. He flashed to Anya’s next location—

And found her in a park. Finally.

Looking at her, the sharp ache returned to his chest and he suddenly had trouble drawing in a breath. Right now, she appeared serene, not at all like the temptress in the club. She sat on a swing, sunlight bathing her in a golden halo. Back and forth she rocked.

She seemed to be lost in thought, her temple resting against the chain that anchored the swing to the rail. That silky, silvery hair cascaded down her arms, wisping across her pixie face every few seconds as the wind rolled.

He was struck by a nearly inexorable urge to fold her in his arms and simply hold her.

Had a woman ever looked so vulnerable? Had a woman ever looked so alone? She licked one of the lollipops she’d stolen, the pink tip of her tongue flicking out, circling the rosy candy. His cock jumped in response. No. None of that. But the command failed to lessen his desire.

However long it takes, whatever you have to do, you willbring her to me, Cronus had said. Or all those you love will suffer.

Lucien felt a spark of anger leap through himself, but he quickly tamped it down. No anger. He was Death. Right now he had no other purpose. Emotion would only hinder him; he knew that well.

However longs it takes. Cronus’s voice once again echoed in his mind.

For a moment, only a moment, Lucien entertained the possibility of taking forever. An eternity. You know what happenswhen you hesitate. The one destined to die suffers a far worsefate than originally intended. Do it! Or your friends, too, willsuffer a far worse fate.

Determined, Lucien materialized and stepped forward. Gravel crunched under his boots, and Anya’s head snapped up. Instantly their gazes locked. Her crystalline eyes widened, filling with such intense heat and longing they singed him.



Her mouth fell open in shock as she popped to her feet. “Lucien.”

The sweetness of her voice blended with the strawberries-and-cream scent she emitted. As his body tensed erotically, his resolve weakened. Again. Stay strong, damn you.

Not realizing the danger she was in, she remained in place, still peering over at him through the thick shield of her lashes. “How did you find me?”

“You are not the only being capable of tracking an immortal,” he replied, giving her only half of the answer.

Her gaze traced over him, so hot he thought she might be mentally stripping away his clothing. Women simply did not look at him like that. Not anymore. And that this one did… He was having more and more trouble controlling his reactions. His cock grew harder with every second that passed.

“So you’ve come to finish what we started, have you, Flowers?” She sounded eager.

“That is not why I’ve come.” He spoke the words precisely. There is no other way. You must do this deed.

Her lush red lips edged into a frown. “Then why—” She gasped and anchored one hand on her suddenly cocked hip. “Did you come to insult me some more? Because you should know, I’m not going to tolerate it. I am not unimportant!”

Oh, yes, he had hurt her, and the knowledge once again filled him with guilt. Foolish to feel guilt when he’d come here to hurt her irrevocably, but the emotion proved too strong to fight. Still he repeated, “That is not why I’ve come,” this time adding, “I’m sorry, Anya, but I’ve come to kill you.”




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. Shewas 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. Ihope 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 nothingto 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 hestrikes 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. Youaren’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 afighter, Anarchy. You’ve battled immortals stronger thanDeath. 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’mpathetic.

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.




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 diewithout 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 canbe taken care of later, when I’m not reeling from the tasteand 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 herout 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.




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