The Darkest Kiss (29 page)

“Lucien, you're on fire!”

Anya's voice penetrated his mind, shattering the death-craze, and he settled. She was all right. Unharmed. Alive. He drew in a calming breath as soft hands settled over his shoulders, patting him down. “I'm here, baby. I'm here.”

His knees buckled, weakness suddenly slamming into him again. He hit the ground and cold seeped into him.

“You're going to be okay, lover,” she continued to coo. “You're going to be okay. Say it. Tell me you're going to be okay.”

“Okay.” He felt the burn all the way inside him. He'd felt this way before, when he'd torched himself out of grief for Mariah. He had cried then; he smiled now. Anya was with him. Black winked in and out of his vision, the red haze completely gone.

“Lucien.”

Anya.
His sweet Anya. He realized he didn't have to fear his temper around her. He could let go completely with her. Being near her always managed to soothe the demon and his own dark thoughts in ways nothing and no one else ever had.

“Close your eyes, baby. I'll take care of everything.”

His eyelids obeyed of their own accord.
Stay awake. Don't leave Anya alone with William.

“Sleep.”

Once again, he couldn't help but obey.

 

A
NYA GAZED AT
L
UCIEN
as he slept.

“He may not even live out the rest of the night,” William said with an unconcerned shrug, never pausing as he searched the Hunters' bodies. What he was looking for, Anya didn't know.

She nearly flashed to him and stabbed him. Only the need to be near Lucien held her in place and saved William's life. “Don't talk like that. He's going to be fine.”

“What's wrong with him, anyway? Isn't he supposed to be immortal? Every time I look at him, he's weaker.”

“Fucking Cronus cursed him.”
I deserve a slow and painful death for allowing things to reach this point. Me, not Lucien.
She hated seeing him like this.

“Why?”

“The god king is a bastard. That's why.”

William looked from her to the sleeping Lucien, from Lucien to her. “Well, if I were you I'd go to the Big Guy and beg. Otherwise, your man is going to eat dirt for eternity.”

“I told you not to talk like that,” she snapped. She stared down at Lucien, remembering the way he'd jumped to her defense. All because she'd been burned. A burn that hadn't even reached her skin. Her heart skipped a beat. He'd erupted for her, and she was letting him suffer for it.

His breathing was labored, his skin charred.
What kind of woman am I?
Despicable, that's what. Not worthy of this man and his precious love. But even so, she couldn't live without him.

She loved him.

There. She'd finally admitted it. He was everything to her, and she couldn't imagine a single moment without him. Didn't
want
to imagine a moment without him. He was joy and he was passion. He was complex and honorable, sweet and tender, and the part of her that had always been missing.

She would have given Cronus the key then and there, but knew she would lose Lucien if she did so. She would not remember him, and she
needed
the memory of him. He was more a part of her than the key.

She was going to make love with him. Willingly. Without hesitation. Her eyes widened with the realization. Yes. That's exactly what she'd do. Maybe bonding with him would give him some of
her
strength, melding them body and spirit. Even the slightest chance overshadowed her fear of her curse.

Right now Lucien was unconscious, covered in blood and bruises and that blackened skin. One of the Hunters had managed to cut him across the forearm and shoot him in the stomach and neither wound was healing. Both were dripping blood all over the ice.

“I'm going to take him back to your house,” she told William. “The search for Hydra will have to wait until his wounds are tended.”

“Hell, no.” The warrior jerked upright and scowled over at her. “You're not welcome at my house anymore.”

“Well, you're going to have to find a way to flash there and drag me out because I'm going with or without your permission.”

“I'll retaliate!”

“Don't forget who has your book, and that I wouldn't mind tossing it in a nice toasty fire,” she warned, lying next to Lucien. She wound her arms around him, holding him as close as possible.

“Like I'd forget,” William grumbled. “Fine. Go to my house. The vamps'll take one look at his wounds and make a meal of him. Or maybe I'll find Hydra while you're gone. Maybe I'll bribe her to eat you and spit out your bones.”

“Just for that, I'm ripping ten pages out of the book before I give it back.” Anya flashed the still-sleeping Lucien into the warm bedroom they'd shared only a few days ago, rolled him to his back and began cutting the clothes from his injured body.

P
ARIS STARED AT THE PADDED
white wall, his vision blurry, his mind foggy. He knew he'd been stripped and strapped to another table. He knew he hadn't had sex in days. But he didn't even have the strength to lift his head anymore. He'd been poked and prodded, and the Hunters had even sent in a blonde to arouse him so they could watch how the demon operated, but he hadn't been able to get hard for her.

This had happened only once before.

Long ago, immediately after his possession, he'd reached this point of desperation. He'd reached this point of weakness. Too feral for any mortal woman to approach, he'd been forced to accept the first person willing to fuck him.

He'd vowed never to let such a thing happen again.

He didn't want a male Hunter giving him strength. All he could think about was the brunette with the freckles. Sienna. He'd finally remembered her name and it was now branded into his every cell. If he couldn't have her, he just wanted to die. Somehow, some way, and for reasons he didn't understand—or perhaps didn't
want
to understand—she'd entranced the demon.

No other would do.

Why? Little Sienna had lied to him and betrayed him, drugged him and locked him up, but still he wanted to fuck her. Wanted her wet for him and only him. Wanted his name roaring past her lips and pleasure consuming her face.

Afterwards, he wanted the demon to enslave her, to make her so mad with lust for him that she would do anything he asked. Follow him wherever he went. Even beg him for another touch. He would deny her, of course, unable to take her again. And so she would suffer with her desires. He would laugh.

He might even fuck another woman in front of her.

Just the thought made him grin. Paris wanted her to suffer as he was suffering. He'd never wanted or hated a woman more, and both were only growing with every moment he spent inside this padded room.

All he had to do to make his dream a reality was convince the Hunters to send her to him. How, though? The answer seemed just out of his reach.

“What should we do with him now?” someone asked.

Paris closed his eyes, the lids so heavy he could no longer hold them up. There had been a parade of doctors in the room, but he was past the point of caring who came and went.

“At this rate, he'll be dead in a few days. Then he's no good to us, and the demon will escape him, terrorizing the world.
That
mistake was made once already. We can't allow it to happen again. No telling what catastrophes Promiscuity would cause. Rapes, the breakup of every marriage in the world, a rise in STDs and teen pregnancies.”

“If nothing more, we have to keep him alive until we figure out how to contain that demon.”

A pause. Then a sigh. “Sienna's the only one he's ever even spoken to and the only person he's remotely responded to.”

Sienna's image flashed inside his mind. Mousy hair, plain features. Pale, freckled skin. A body so thin she barely had breasts. His cock twitched, though, showing the first sign of life in days. Delicate hands…soft lips…all over his body.

“Did you see that?” one of the men remarked.
“Sienna.”

His cock moved again.

“Go get her. Now.”

“Are you sure? She's—”

“Get her.”

Footsteps suddenly reverberated. There was the slide of a door.

Were they going to bring Sienna to him? Have her suck him off or welcome him into her body? Either way…He almost smiled. He hadn't had to say a thing. They were simply giving him what he'd wanted, gift-wrapped with a bow on top. Perhaps he'd used his gift of projection to touch their minds and just didn't know it. Perhaps his desire for her was
that
strong.

Would she actually do it or would she refuse?

No, she wouldn't refuse, he thought, excitement pushing past his fatigue. He wouldn't let her. Whatever he had to do, whatever he had to say, she would be his.

Afterward, he would escape—and he would take her with him. Until this, he'd never been one for revenge. He loved women. They were his life's blood. For Sienna, however, he was going to make an exception. He would…Darkness shrouded over his mind, cutting off his thoughts.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, warm fingertips were moving over his chest, bringing an electric tingle that jolted through him.

“Hello, Paris,” he heard, and the words alone offered more pleasure, more strength, than he'd experienced in days.

How much time had passed, he didn't know. He only knew that when he pried his eyes open, Sienna was hovering over him, hazel eyes unsure. She'd taken off her glasses. The room was dimmed, not bright like it usually was, surrounding her in shadows.

But he could see that she was dressed exactly as she'd been before: baggy, bland clothing and hair pulled into a severe twist. She exuded a vulnerability he wanted to exploit as she jerked her hand away from him.

She wrung her fingers together in apparent nervousness.

“Come to pleasure me, did you?” he sneered before he could stop himself.

Her cheeks pinkened, and she looked away. “If you'd rather have someone else, I can leave.”

“You'll do,” he said, and breath hitched in her throat. He hoped his words hurt her. He hoped she hurt for a long, long time. “You realize this makes you their whore, right? Screwing a man for your friends, for a cause, for money even, since I'm sure you're on their payroll.”
Shut up! Don't push her away.

Her lips thinned as she eyed him again and whatever she saw on his face made her already fair skin pale. Once more, she lowered her gaze. This time, however, she began to back away. “I wouldn't have come if I wasn't attracted to you.”

“A Hunter attracted to a Lord. How sad for you.”

There was a heavy pause.

Just shut the hell up, man. Before you make her leave. You need her body, not her anger—not yet.
“I'm sorry,” he forced himself to say. “Sienna.”

Shock parted her lips and she gasped, gaze flicking to him, staying. “You know my name.”

“Of course. Like you, I'm attracted. Despite everything.” Sadly, that was not a lie. Stupid demon.

She was shaking as she changed her direction and approached him. There was true desire in her hazel eyes, just as there had been the first time he'd seen her. Paris could feel his dick hardening, rising for her. Still a little vindictive, he tried to stop it. The situation was dangerous, but he wanted to make her work for it.

She reached his bed, stopped and licked her lips.

“Unchain me,” he croaked out.

“I was told not to,” she replied softly.

“Are they watching?”

She shook her head. “I asked them to turn off the cameras, and they agreed.”

So naive she was, he found himself thinking again. He nearly rolled his eyes. No way would Hunters have willingly denied themselves the opportunity to observe the likes of him in action. They were watching. He didn't like the thought of them seeing Sienna pleasure him, but he would deal.

“Unchain me, then. They'll never know.”

“I…can't.”

Well, it had been worth a try. “So what are you waiting for, Sienna? Let's finish what we started at the café.”

 

R
EYES HADN'T NEEDED
A
ERON'S
location e-mailed to him. The bodies left a trail. Death and destruction accompanied Wrath everywhere he traveled and that saddened Reyes, because he knew if Aeron had been in his right mind, he would have been disgusted with himself.

As I am with myself.

For years Reyes had hovered near moral collapse, hating himself for the things he had to do to appease his demon. Killing innocents, torturing, destroying entire cities. This was the worst, though, following his friend, a man he loved like a brother. A man who had once helped him learn to control the monster inside him. Because…Reyes swallowed bile. Because he'd decided to kill the obsessed warrior.

I'm more demon than man, that I could contemplate this act,
he thought darkly, but didn't change his mind. He'd known it would come to this, choosing between Aeron and Danika. He'd always thought he'd choose his friend. Now, when the decision was upon him, he knew that for the lie it was.

He couldn't abide the thought of Danika being hurt. She was the only thing in the world that gave him pleasure, though she'd never even touched him. He didn't deserve her; she probably wouldn't want him, anyway, but he was going to save her.

Hurry. Find her, get to her.

How?
he almost screamed. Reyes was in the States, New York City to be exact, and Aeron's signal was beeping from his phone as if the warrior were flying overhead. But Reyes didn't see or hear him. No flap of wings, no animalistic roar.

All day, news stations had run somber stories of unexplained and violent deaths, of bodies ravaged by claws and teeth that didn't belong to a human. Now Reyes stood on a crowded street, cars honking behind him, people milling along the sidewalk beside him.

Had Aeron already found her? Was he finally sleeping, relaxed and at ease after a month of constant bloodlust?

Reyes barely resisted the urge to grab a mortal and shake, demand, roar.

A body suddenly fell from the night sky, plopping on the ground in front of him. A man. A human. Bloody. Dead. Several people gasped. Some screamed. Muscles tensing, Reyes lifted his gaze skyward. Finally, he caught sight of Aeron, who was grinning down at him tauntingly, wings flapping furiously toward one particular building.

Reyes locked his eyes on his friend—his target—and leapt into motion.

 

D
O
I
HAVE WHAT IT TAKES
to kill?

Danika Ford stared at herself in the dented and chipped bathroom mirror. She'd once considered herself an artist, a painter of—mostly—beautiful things. Everything she'd looked at had been fodder for her art. People: the turn of a wrist, the elegant slope of a back. Animals: fluidity and grace. Flowers: delicate petals and sensual colors.

Now she considered herself a fighter. A survivor.

A—she gulped—killer.

She had to be.

Just over a month ago, she'd been kidnapped while on vacation in Budapest and held hostage by six hulking giants who'd wanted to kill her. They hadn't, though. They hadn't even hurt her, actually, but she'd never felt so helpless, so out of control and desperate. And she refused to feel that way again.

Ever.

Those giants were after her once more; she knew it. Which was why she changed her location every few days. No matter where she was staying, though, she found someone to train her in hand-to-hand combat. She also trained with knives, with guns, with anything she could get her hands on.

Today her newest instructor had knocked her on her ass and told her she lacked the killer instinct required to survive in a life-or-death situation.

Several hot tears rolled down her cheeks now, and she slammed her fist into the glass. It shook but didn't break.
Am I so feeble?
Maybe her instructor was right. And he didn't even know the half of it. One of her kidnappers, Reyes, still plagued her dreams. She didn't want to hurt him, dark, sensual man that he was. She wanted to kiss him, to finally know his taste, to finally feel his strong arms around her.

Every night she dreamed of him.

“I'm a sick woman.”

She stomped to her tiny rented bedroom, fell onto the mattress and picked up her disposable cell. Once she'd lived in a nice, average middle-class apartment, content, comfortable. Now she moved from shacks to motels to cardboard boxes to cars, poor and terrified, constantly looking over her shoulder.

Needing some reassurance, peace,
something,
she dialed her mother's own disposable cell number. Her entire family was in hiding—the four women separated to make the men's search more difficult—but they left their new numbers with friends and made sure to talk every day.

Her mom answered on the third ring, a sobbing rasp that instantly raised bile to the top of Danika's throat. “What's wrong?” she rushed out.

“It's your grandmother…she's…she's…oh, God, baby.”

She was dead. Her grandmother was dead. “Murdered?” she managed to get out.

“I don't know. I can't find her, haven't heard from her. She seems to have disappeared for good. I've been so worried about you.” Her mother sobbed, hiccupped.

Had Danika been standing, she would have collapsed. Rage skittered through her, even shuttered over her eyes. Rage and a strange kind of numbness, like she was standing in the middle of a dream and only needed to wake up. Wake up so that everything would be okay.