The Darkest Kiss (13 page)

“I hate it,” he admitted.

“Really? Why?”

“It is the mark of the demon. After Death was thrust inside my body, the tattoo simply appeared.”

“Well, FYI. It's a babe magnet. Maybe I'll get one. A dagger or maybe even angel wings. Oh, oh. I know. I'll get a matching butterfly. We'll be twinkies!”

Anya, tattooed. A design for his tongue to trace. He gulped.
Touch me. Please touch me.
“To answer your earlier question, you cannot help us because you will distract us from our purpose,” he said a little more forcefully than he'd intended. He was barely able to concentrate on anything but her scent and her beauty every time she neared him. “I'm sorry.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “You're not sorry, but whatever,” she said tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now I won't tell you where the box is.”

He was gripping her arms in the next instant. “You know where it is?”

She grabbed his wrists and squeezed. Not to push him away, but to hold him in place. “Would you stop trying to kill me if I did?”

“No.”

Scowling, she stomped her foot. The action caused her breasts to bounce gently against his arms. “I don't even know why I'm bothering with you.”

“You said that before.”

“Well, it's important enough to be mentioned twice.”

He sighed. “Why
are
you here, Anya?”

Her expression became mulish. “None of your business, Flowers.”

“Trying to butter me up some more?”

Her eyes closed off like blinds drawn over a window, but he could see the blue fire banked there through tiny slats of inextinguishable emotion. “You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

Unable to stop himself—would it always be so?—he jerked her up and into him, body to body, placing them nose to nose. He had not felt this out of control since those early days with the demon. Anya's nipples poked at his chest deliciously. “So are you. You are driving me insane.”

“Boo fucking hoo.
You're
driving
me
insane.”

He shook her and she suddenly gasped, losing all hint of anger. She moaned. Moaned! “Mmm. Must be my lucky day. You have another erection.”

His nostrils flared, potent desire heating his blood. Well,
more
desire.
Concentrate.
“What do you know about the box, Anya?” She had mentioned it, yes? He couldn't recall. Could only remember the way she tasted, hot and wild.

Her luscious little tongue flicked out and traced the seam of her lips. “Confession. I don't know where it is, but I do know you'll never find it.”

No emotion. No damn emotion. “Why not?”

“Even the gods don't know where it is. If they did, it would have been found and put to use by now.”

Yes. That made sense. “What else do you know?”

She arched her hips, brushing against him softly, and groaned. “After the Titans defeated the Greeks…well, defeated
most
of the Greeks—some got away. Anyhoo, there was a nasty game of torture and interrogation. Cronus and his crew want those artifacts back. Zeus told him what had been done to them, and Cronus got his search on, but didn't have any luck.”

Lucien ground his teeth against the pleasure-sensations she was sparking inside of him. “Why does Cronus want them?”

“Better question—who wouldn't want them? They're a great source of power. If they fell into the hands of his enemies, little Cronie could very well be defeated again. But if Cronus has them, he's pretty much assured of eternal success.”

“But how do the artifacts lead to the box? Why would the gods even want the box? It houses demons, nothing more.”

“Uh, wrong. Think about it. That box is made from the bones of the goddess of oppression. It can suck the spirit out of
anything.
With Tartarus falling to pieces and Cronus having to use his soldiers to keep the Greeks locked inside, the box would be the perfect solution, a home for his enemies
and
your demons. What better revenge? The gods that caused him trouble locked away with the demons that caused
them
trouble.”

For a moment, a red haze fell over Lucien's vision. Death had endured a thousand years of confinement in that damned box, an existence that hadn't truly been an existence. There'd been screams, so many screams. Darkness, so much darkness. The demon would not be placed back inside willingly. Death would destroy Lucien first, of that he was certain.

“You look ready for a battle, Flowers. Want to fight me? Huh, huh, please?”

Calm down.
He released her arms and tried to back away. Fighting her…pinning her…tonguing her…
Calm down!
She retained a grip on his wrists, not letting him get very far.

“Why doesn't Cronus simply kill the Greeks?”

“You've spent some time with the gods, right?”

“Long ago.”

Unexpectedly she released him. Neither of them moved farther away. No, they stepped closer. “They're obsessed with their amusements, you could say. That, and they live by a code of revenge. Zeus will not suffer as Cronus has suffered if he's dead. And Cronus would have no one to brag about his victories to, no one to taunt, no one to challenge him, without Zeus. Eternity would be boring, no surprises on the horizon.”

“Why isn't Cronus here, searching?”

Anya grinned. “Why should he? You're doing all the work for him.”

Which meant the god would not want Lucien and the other warriors dead. Which in turn meant Lucien had a little time to figure out what to do about Anya. Suddenly he wanted to grin as Anya was doing. The only thing ruining the spark of happiness inside his chest was the fact that Cronus would snatch whichever artifacts Lucien found. Unless, of course, he figured out a way to hide them.

“How do the Cage and Rod, Eye and Cloak lead to the box?” he asked.

“Now that, I don't know.” She shrugged, brushing her shoulder against him.

He bit the inside of his cheek, Death purring wildly. The pleasure of her touch, even one so innocent, rocked him to the core.

“Maybe they're like a key or a map, and point a person in the right direction,” she said breathlessly. “So what are we going to do, you and I?”

The touch must have affected her, as well.

“I do not know.”

Her features softened, her eyes glowing. “What do you
want
to do?”

He forced himself to say, “Continue my search of the temple,” when he wanted to beg her for a kiss. How he suddenly envied Gideon, who spun a web of lies with such ease. No guilt.

Eyes narrowing, Anya stepped away from him. He felt bereft without her nearby, and heard the demon growl inside his head.

“You were using me for information, huh? Leading me on, looking at me as if you wanted me, but it was only to get me to spill my knowledge.”

“Yes,” he lied.

Her features fell.

He experienced another wave of shame. He had to stop being cruel to her. She might be as promiscuous as Paris, might be—was probably—using Lucien for her own gain even as she accused him of doing the same. But she was sweet and funny and challenging.

“You rebuff me, fine,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You think you're better than me, whatever. But you know what? You're not. You're sitting back, doing nothing as the gods pull your strings. I, at least, am trying to fight them.”

“Anya—”

She wasn't finished. “What are you going to do when your little friend Aeron escapes that dungeon and slaughters the human girl Danika and her family? Still nothing? When he comes to his senses, his life will be forever ruined because of his actions. And you'll have helped him. You'll have taken their souls to heaven even though their lives were cut short.”

She was right, he realized, and he hated himself for it. What kind of man was he? All this time, he had been Cronus's puppet. He had not fought the god as a warrior should have, hadn't tried to cut those damned strings in any way.

“Perhaps the women are not innocent,” he said, knowing the words were a lie. He simply didn't know what else to say. “Perhaps there is a good reason Danika and her family were chosen for extermination.”

“You're right about that. There
is
a reason they were chosen.”

“Tell me.” Thinking about the mortals was easier than thinking about himself and his failure.

“Figure it out on your own, asshole. I think I've told you enough.”

He turned away from her. He'd seen the lie in her eyes—she didn't know. But she was clearly hurting, and he wanted to comfort her and had no right to do so. “At least tell me if I'm wasting my time looking for direction here.” She owed him nothing, but he couldn't stop himself from asking.

For a long while she didn't speak. He doubted she moved, either, for she made no noise. “You're not wasting your time here.”

“Thank you for that. What—”

“Nope. No more questions; I'm not telling you what to look for and I'm not telling you how to find it. Even though that
thank you
was pretty damn awesome.” Sarcasm dripped from those last few words, though mercifully, they had not been edged in steel.

“You're welcome,” he said, hoping to tease her into a good mood.

She stepped in front of him, her hips swaying. Expression relaxed once more, she leaned against another column. “Let's get back on track,” she said. “How long before you start trying to murder me again?”

Murder. A sharp pain lanced through his chest. That's what he would be doing to her, he thought, murdering her. Ashamed, he bent down and resumed his futile sifting through the rock and sand. “I do not know.”

“Won't it piss off Cronie Wonie if you wait too long?”

“He did not give me a deadline.”

“Maybe we could, like, discuss this again in a hundred years.”

Lucien snorted, even as he realized she was teasing
him
into a good mood.

“That's not gonna work for you, then? You're all booked up?”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

“What about tomorrow? You free?”

“I am booked for the next few weeks.”

“And you can't squeeze in a fight with me?” She almost sounded eager.

For you, anything.
“Sorry.”

“I'm starting to think you aren't taking this killing business seriously.”

“Oh, I am serious about it.” Unfortunately. “Do not worry.”

She sighed, mournful. “What about scheduling time to make out? Can you do that?”

An image sparkled inside his mind: Anya chained to his bed, legs parted, core glistening. His cock swelled. Again. “Sorry. Not that, either.”

She shrugged as if she didn't care, but he saw hurt in her eyes. She stared down at her sandaled feet and kicked a rock. “Don't be surprised if I sneak up on you and take your head.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“My pleasure. Shit!” she suddenly cried.

He stiffened, going for a weapon. “What is wrong?”

“I was looking at my feet.”

Gradually he relaxed. “And that is bad?”

“That's horrible! The worst thing ever. I never look at my feet.”

His gaze shifted to her toes, painted a wild shade of red. “I think they are adorable.” He didn't give her time to respond. Cheeks heating, he said, “Perhaps I will make time in my schedule to sneak up on
you.
”

A slow grin lifted her lips, her expression tender. “You are so cute, thinking you have that kind of skill.”

He had to press his mouth together to keep from returning the grin. The woman amused him as much as she aroused him.

“Maybe I'll look for those artifacts, too,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “If I find them, I might lock you inside that cage. Then you'd
have
to be nice to me.”

Before he could growl a response, she grinned again, gave him a finger wave and disappeared.

F
OR THE NEXT WEEK
, A
NYA
dogged Lucien's every step when she wasn't stealing to keep herself sane. Even when he was escorting souls. She hated when he visited hell. Hated the heat, the smells, the taunts and jeers that emerged from the dark yet fiery pit. Always Lucien tried to act unaffected by them, but she could see the unease in his eyes. That saddened her. He'd seen the worst the world had to offer over and over again, and had had to anesthetize himself to survive.

Now she wanted him to see the best; now she wanted him to feel.

She told herself she wanted those things because it would be entertaining to watch the prince of doom and gloom let some light into his life. She didn't look deeper than that because she was afraid of what lurked beneath the explanation.

She sighed, knowing she should have given up on Lucien days ago. Attacked him, at the very least, or drawn him away from the temple for a flash-chase. But she suspected he wouldn't raise a hand against her and knew he would refuse to follow her. So she remained invisible and stayed close. Besides, whatever he learned about those artifacts, she learned, too.

After she'd mentioned looking for them herself, she'd realized she did indeed want them. Once she had one of those babies in her hot little hands, she'd make him beg for it. Gods, his expression was going to be priceless. Especially when she turned him down and bargained with Cronus. Her life for an artifact. Talk about a win-win situation!

“Go away, Anya,” Lucien whispered.

He couldn't see her, but she stuck her tongue out at him, anyway. Those were the only words he'd spoken to her all week. If he said them again, she planned to materialize and slap him across the face, then quickly disappear.

“I am serious.”

He always knew when she arrived. Once he'd told her that he smelled her. She'd been pleased, because it meant he was aware of her. She was still pleased by it, but damn if it didn't ruin her element of surprise.

Right now, the warrior stood in the Temple of the All Gods, peering at the bare, cracked walls with savage intensity. He and the other Lords had come here every day, their determination awe-inspiring in the face of their failure to find anything.

No wonder I want him so badly.

Lingering at Lucien's side was foolish and dangerous. It only intensified her desire for him. Seeing his butterfly tattoo on a regular basis was causing all kinds of naughty fantasies to play through her mind. Like: spending hours licking it. Like: taking Lucien's cock into her mouth while caressing it. Like: finger painting it with chocolate sauce and having it for dessert.

He'd probably try to stab her if she suggested any of those things. She'd never met a man less sure of his appeal and more outraged when a woman tried to tell him of her desire. How could others not see how mouthwateringly sexy he was? How rugged? How he tempted feminine instincts on every level?

Lucien bent down and once again sifted through rock and sand, looking for gods knew what. Sunlight stroked him lovingly, the bitch.
He's mine.

“Go away, Anya,” he repeated.

Grrr! She materialized. Rather than slap him, though, she sat on a boulder beside him. He was shirtless again, his skin slightly burned, cut up and bruised.

He didn't face her. “I said go away.”

“Like I'm going to obey you. You aren't my daddy. Unless you want to be. 'Cause I've been a bad, naughty girl and I need a spanking.”

A pained groan escaped him. “Anya. Please.” Sweat trickled over his spine, illuminating a few of the scars scattered there.

She reached out to caress them, but froze when one of the warriors called out.

“Lucien. Your woman…” The speaker was Paris, she realized. His voice was strained, even more so than before. Not getting any out here, was he? Poor man. Without sex, Paris weakened. If he could have brought a woman with him to fulfill his needs, all would have been well in his world. But he couldn't sleep with the same woman twice. Promiscuity, the lecherous demon, wouldn't let him.

Anya knew the trials of a sex-curse and sympathized. While hers was the opposite of his, preventing her from ever going all the way, both curses dictated their actions and jacked with their free will. It sucked rotten eggs.

Nothing can bind me but that curse,
she thought darkly. She'd been bespelled before she'd acquired the ability to escape confinement, so the curse had already been a part of her. There was no escaping it.

Her gaze returned to Lucien and her shoulders sagged. No, much as she might wish otherwise, there was no escaping it.

“Just stay where you are,” Lucien shouted to Paris. “She is my responsibility.”

His responsibility? She didn't know whether to be delighted or insulted. “Why not let your friends come over here and play with us?”

He glanced at her through slitted eyelids, a fast look/look-away motion. Still, the moment his gaze hit her, moisture flooded between her legs. Her stomach tingled and her skin ached for him. He was pure sex appeal, all sweaty and dirty and manly. Yum.

“What are you wearing?” he croaked.

“A maid's uniform. You know, to help you dust.”

He cursed under his breath. “Just as before, my friends are beyond the stone,” he told her, “and they will remain there, working. They do not need a distraction.”

How many times would he tell her she was a distraction? She eyed the crumbling stone cupped in his palms and frowned. Maybe, if she proved useful, he'd see her as something more. “I remember this place in its prime. Before it was moved down to earth, we were taught here, the other deities and I. How to control our powers, how to act properly, blah, blah, blah.”

Lucien couldn't hide the interest that colored his face. “I was never allowed inside,” he admitted. “We went only where Zeus did, and he didn't choose to spend time here.”

Eck. To be bound to that temperamental shithead would have been torture. “A pity the place is so damaged now. You might have liked it.”

“What did it look like?” he asked, dropping the chunks and sifting through another handful. Each pebble he found he held up to the light, turned to study every side for markings then discarded over his shoulder.

“Towering statues circled the entire temple. Ivy rode some of the walls, and diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies glistened from the floors. I'm sure old glory-seeking Cronus will spruce everything up when he and his brethren of assholes take over.”

Lucien snorted. Even though she hated herself for it, she rejoiced in the sound. His amusement was like an aphrodisiac to her, and
she
had caused it.

“What else?”

“Let's see.” She tapped her chin with a nail painted ice-blue. “Every doorway was flanked by two white columns. Pillars of strength, they were called.”

“And how many rooms were there?”

She allowed her mind to return to the days she'd spent here. While she'd loved the beauty of the temple, she'd hated the beings inside it. How many times had the goddesses-in-training complained to the teacher, “Why does
she
get to study here? She's not one of us. She only causes trouble.” How many times had the young gods jeered, “I don't know why she bothers to wear a robe. Everyone knows she spends more time out of it.”

She pushed aside the remembered hurts. “There was the main altar room, of course, which you're now crouching in. There was a meeting hall where worshippers washed and gathered before sacrificing. Then the interior chamber and the priests' lodgings.”

He nodded as though he was soaking in her every word. “Tell me more about this altar room.”

Happy to oblige, she said, “If we traveled back in time, there'd be a white marble table in front of you. And there would be murals on the walls. Gods, those were cool. I need to redo one of my apartments and have the images painted—”

“Murals? What did the murals depict?” Lucien asked, cutting her off. He stood and pinned her with a hard stare, urgency radiating from him.

Wow. If she'd known she only needed to talk about boring temples to elicit his full attention, she would have done it days ago.

“Well?” he insisted.

She shrugged, pretending a casualness she suddenly didn't feel. “Godly feats of strength, victories. Even a few defeats.”

His eyes glinted. “And was the box here, Anya?”

“No. I'm sorry.” She hated to disappoint him.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. She approached him, wanting to touch, but stopped halfway, unsure of his reaction. This close, she could see that even more dirt than she'd realized streaked his chest and arms and his pulse hammered wildly. Her mouth watered at the sight. His butterfly tattoo vibrated with…awareness? Was it alive?

“What thoughts tumble through your head?” he asked.

“Naughty ones.”

His brown eye darkened and his blue eye swirled. Both fixed on her minuscule, black-and-white lacy uniform, pupils dilating. “You enjoy tormenting me, do you not?”

She pinched her fingers together and said, “Just a wee bit. But don't worry—I'm not singling you out or anything. It's just a little quirk of mine, tormenting the men who want to kill me.”

A brilliant beam of light broke through a cloud—cloud? On this hot day? Had she accidentally summoned it? She didn't look up. Couldn't. That beam had struck his face, illuminating his scars and casting shadows under his eyes. In that moment, he appeared as evil and sinister as a man could be. He appeared otherworldly. Wicked.

Delicious.

Her heartbeat sped up and her nipples beaded into tight little knots.
Reach for me. Please.

He didn't.

She had to tear her gaze from him. Wanting him like this was foolish. Not just because of her curse, but because he wouldn't do anything about it.
Nothing wrong with buttering him up, though, like you told him you were doing.

Unless she fell for him in the process.
That
would be a problem. A big one. Already the intensity of her desire was staggering. Any more…

“Anya,” he said, drawing her from her thoughts.

“What?” She didn't face him, but withdrew a strawberry lollipop from the link of her belt, unwrapped it and ran her tongue over the tip. A little moan of pleasure escaped her. Scrumptious. She'd discovered the lollipops years ago after one of her human friends had died in a car wreck. Ever since, they'd been her comfort food of choice.

Lucien was in her face a second later—she was beginning to hate when he did that!—and swiped the candy from her hand. Her eyes widened as he tossed it to the ground.

“Hey! That was uncalled for.”

He was scowling. “Do not eat those things in front of me.”

“Why?” She threw up her arms in confusion.

“Because,” he replied mulishly.

The scent of flowers was growing stronger, wafting from him, twining around her and drawing tight. “If you want one for yourself, just freaking ask me next time.”

“I don't.”

“Then—”

“No more talking. I must work.” He spun away from her and went back to his mound of sand.

But not before she saw the fire blazing in his eyes.

Almost afraid to hope, she studied him more closely. His shoulders were stiff and his back ramrod straight, as if he were fighting desire. For her?

A hotter, deeper arousal bloomed inside her. Maybe, like her, he didn't mean half of the things he said. Maybe he truly did yearn for her.

She couldn't ask him. He'd just deny it. But that begged the question of why. Why did he not want her to know? Why did he not want to want her? Obviously, he thought she was easy. Why not take what he assumed she'd given to a thousand others? And what would he do if he knew how laughable that idea really was?

“You're wasting your time in that sand,” she said in an airy tone, finally deigning to help him so he would pay attention to her again.
Come over here and kiss me.

“No more talking.”

“Well, you are.”

“Disappear.”

“Make me.”
Please. Want me like I want you. Don't let me be wrong about this.

He didn't reply.

Frustration ate at her, and she plopped onto the nearest boulder with a huff. “I want those artifacts as much as you do,” she grumbled, “and your cold-shoulder treatment isn't helping our cause.”

That snagged his attention. He flashed to her, knocking her off the boulder and onto the ground. Air shot from her lungs as his heavy muscular weight suddenly restrained her.

Note to self—mention the artifacts more often.
Short as her costume was, she was able to spread her legs and welcome him into the cradle of her body. Instant pleasure speared her, shooting from head to toe and lingering in between.