The Darkest Kiss (32 page)

“Perhaps it is nothing,” Lucien said.

William's head fell back and he stared up at the starless sky. Praying? “Maybe we should turn back.”

“Hell, no,” Anya said, releasing Lucien and stepping forward. “Lead the way or step aside, Willie. We're going through that thing.”

P
ARIS HAD BEEN SHOCKED
when Sienna actually stripped. That's all it had taken to fill his cock with blood and lust: the sight of her naked body. She was too thin, as he'd suspected, her breasts small. But they were tipped with the prettiest nipples he'd ever seen. Pink, ripe, made for sucking.

He'd been shocked further when she'd climbed onto the table and straddled him. Shocked still when she'd slid down his swollen shaft without preamble, without any type of foreplay, her hot sheath swallowing him whole.

And yet, a woman had never been so wet or ready for what he offered. As she'd pumped her way up and down his shaft, he'd roared and roared and roared. He'd hated his chains because he hadn't been able to plump her breasts. He'd hated his chains because he hadn't been able to rub her clit.

Most of all, he'd hated his chains because he hadn't been able to pull that plain little face down for a bruising, punishing kiss of teeth and tongue.

Didn't matter, though, he now thought darkly. He'd be able to punish her soon enough.

She'd gotten off quickly, exploding with a fury that surprised him. So had he. In a matter of minutes, an orgasm had rocked him to the core—right along with a healthy dose of humiliation. He'd never come so quickly.
Shouldn't care,
he'd told himself, because what none of his human captors could know was that, with every stroke of Sienna's inner walls, he'd felt his strength returning. Felt himself grow stronger and stronger and stronger.

Right now she was collapsed on his chest, panting and sated, silent, body slicked with sweat.
Do it. It's time.
Eyes narrowed, he gave a mighty jolt. The chains around his wrists and ankles broke, freeing him. After all his unsuccessful struggling, he was amazed by how easy it was.

At the
clink,
Sienna bolted upright. Her hair had come undone and fell all around her face in a wild tangle of browns. Her eyes were big and vulnerable, her skin flushed a rosy pink. Before she could jump off him, he grabbed her by the waist and hopped off the table, holding her under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

An alarm instantly screeched to life.

Yeah, the Hunters had been watching. He bent down and snapped up Sienna's shirt. He shoved it over her head. “Dress.”

“Paris,” she gasped, struggling against his hold. “Don't do this. Please.” She no longer sounded like the unemotional traitor who'd drugged him. She sounded like a woman who'd just had the best orgasm of her life and was scared for the life of her lover.

What a good little actress she was.

“You better keep your mouth shut, woman.” He didn't bother with clothes for himself as he strode to the cell doorway. “I
will
hurt you. Quite happily, too.”

“If you try to escape, they might forget about unleashing your demon and kill you!”

“It's not like you really care, and they're welcome to try.” He hoped they did. He couldn't hurt Sienna—yet—but he needed to hurt
someone
and release some of the tension inside him. Who better than a Hunter?

Some kind of dry spray rained from the ceiling, filling the cell with mist. It didn't affect him, just caused his eyes to tear a little, but Sienna began gagging. “How do I open the door?”

She rattled off some kind of code. He punched the numbers into the small, glowing box on the wall and the door slid open. Lights suddenly popped on, drowning the shadows.

Paris maintained a tight hold on his bundle as he stepped into the hallway. Red velvet walls surrounded him; naked white statues towered from marble daises.

A cathedral? Seriously?

There was no time to ponder his location. A flood of Hunters raced toward him, each firing a gun.
Pop. Whiz.
No longer willing to keep him alive, were they? They were using silencers, he realized. Probably concerned with the noise level, which meant they were afraid to draw a crowd—which meant they were in a well-populated area.

The demon inside him snapped and snarled in rage, quickly and easily propelling him out of the line of fire. Sienna bounced at his side. Once, she gasped. But that was it, the only noise she made. Better, she stopped fighting him.

Barreling forward, he kicked two Hunters in the stomach and sent them sailing into a sculpture of the Virgin Mary. The sculpture wavered on her perch, and one of the Hunters dropped his semi-automatic. Paris snatched it with his free hand and began shooting, continuing to move forward at a rapid pace.

He turned a corner, found more Hunters and kept firing. More shots were aimed at him, but he dodged. Only three managed to graze him. When he ran out of bullets, he tossed the gun aside and grabbed another. They lined the halls—as did dead bodies. He flew around another corner, and Sienna's breasts brushed his skin. He felt…no, surely not. He'd just had her. He could
not
get hard again. Not by her. But blood began to fill and harden his cock.

Never, in thousands of years, had he desired the same woman twice. He wasn't even sure what would happen if he gave in to the urge. Would the demon inside him go crazy? Would
he
go crazy?

“Which way?” he demanded of Sienna when he came to a fork in the hall.

“Left,” she gasped out.

“If you are lying…”

“I'm not.”

He turned left and leapt into a full sprint. A towering double doorway loomed ahead, three Hunters racing from it. They raised their guns at him, their expressions intent. He tried to fire, but he had used the last bullet.

He ducked and dove, shouting, “Hang on,” to Sienna.

She did, winding her legs around his waist. He hit the ground and she bounced, and together they rolled into the Hunters, knocking them down like pins in the path of a bowling ball.

While they were down, he swiped up another gun and shot them in the skulls. Blood and brains splattered. Sienna whimpered, but didn't speak. Paris experienced a twinge of guilt that she'd witnessed his most violent side, but quickly tamped it out. Her opinion of him no longer mattered.

He shoved through the doors and found himself outside. The warm night air was sweet, innocent. Looking around, he realized that he was still in Greece and that he had indeed been inside a cathedral. Humans stood on the steps, gaping at his blood-stained nudity and muttering about the commotion.

In the distance, he could hear the wail of a siren.

Steps swift, he made his way to the side of the building and into a darkened ally. Sienna moaned, and it was a pain-filled sound. His gaze sought her. She was limp as a doll.

“Look at me.”

She turned her head slowly, and he saw that her eyes were pooled with unshed tears, her features bright with anguish. He felt something warm run down his hip and frowned.

When he was certain they were alone, he set her down and looked her over. She'd managed to work her arms through the shirt and the material hung to her thighs.

His chest constricted. She was bleeding profusely, the shirt already plastered to her stomach in a wide crimson circle.

She'd been shot.

“Sienna,” he said, upset in a way he didn't understand. He shouldn't care. He'd meant to punish her. Had wanted to hurt her.

“Paris,” she gasped. “I should…have…killed you.”

As if the words had sucked the last of her strength, her head lolled to the side. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace. Only a heartbeat later, she died.

 

L
UCIEN GRABBED
A
NYA'S ARM
and stopped her just before she crossed through that thick, dappled patch of air. She glanced at him curiously, and he shook his head.

“You first,” he told William, just in case they were stepping into some sort of trap.

At first, the warrior gave no reaction. But then his eyes narrowed, and he shrugged. “Very well. I'll go first.” Without another word, William walked past them into the glistening shimmer.

He disappeared as if he'd never been on the mountain.

Dear gods. It
was
a doorway. Lucien experienced a moment of joy. They might find the Cage of Compulsion after all. With the thought, his joy was tempered by apprehension. To win the cage, they might have to fight the mighty Hydra. He'd expected to do so, but the possibility had never been so real.

“After me,” Lucien told Anya and stepped forward before she could protest. “Be ready to fight.” He gripped a dagger in each hand, a little shaky and a lot weak, though he refused to succumb to either.

Whatever he'd expected the shimmers to feel like, they didn't. They were dry and as light as air. There was no moment of suspension, no dizziness. One minute he was surrounded by snow and ice, the next he was in paradise.

Warm air beat around him, heating him, melting the frost and making him sweat.

“Wow,” Anya gasped behind him. She stepped up beside him, gripping the sword she'd stolen from William. “This is, like, amazing. Who would have thought a place like this was actually up in these mountains?”

William was—where? Lucien looked around the tropical island. There were lush emerald trees and blooming flowers of every color. The aroma of coconuts and pineapples scented the air, almost drugging. Definitely lulling. Beguiling. His brow wrinkled in confusion as his muscles relaxed of their own accord.

You were doing something. What?
The answer—
William,
he suddenly remembered. The grass climbed up to Lucien's knees. He kept searching, fighting past the languor still beating through him. There! William leaned against a giant silver boulder at the far left.

He'd removed his coat, hat and gloves. He wasn't holding a weapon, but had his arms crossed over his chest. Determination gleamed on his face, though he did his best to appear nonchalant.

Lucien removed his own mask and coat and dropped them, not wanting the bulk to hinder him. With Cronus's curse looming over his head, he was slow enough.

Anya stripped down to a skin-tight white shirt and shorts that stopped just below the curve of her ass. Despite his condition, he was instantly hard for her.

“This is where we need to honeymoon,” she said. Laughing, she skipped forward and danced through the flowers, their soft petals caressing her skin as
he
wanted to do. “I don't see any sign of our monster. Do you? And do you care? This is the best I've ever felt!”

“No, I do not see her.” Watching her, Lucien felt his lips curl into a grin.
She's captivating,
he thought.
She's mine.
And if they managed to win the cage, he might just get to live and keep her.

Suddenly she stopped, gasped and pointed. “Lucien, look look look!” she said excitedly. “The Cage of Compulsion.”

He gazed across a crystal lake stretching before her. Sure enough, there was indeed an ordinary-looking cage perched on a boulder on the other side. Rather unspectacular for a godly relic, Lucien couldn't help but think. But those polished bars were tall enough to house a human and wide enough that the human could lie down and not touch the other side. Who was he supposed to lock in there, to learn about Pandora's box? he wondered. Anya had thought Hydra.

“It's not as glamorous as I'd anticipated,” Anya remarked, echoing Lucien's thoughts.

“No.”

“Hydra should
thank
us for taking it.”

Hydra. He should be worried about her. Shouldn't he? “Be careful,” Lucien said, trying to force his body to prepare for war. “The monster could be near.”

Unconcerned, William stepped forward, plucking strands of tall grass along the way. “You vowed to give me back the book if I brought you here,” he said to Anya. “And as you can see, I brought you.”

“Yes, I did and yes, you did. As soon as we return, you'll have your book. You have my word.”

A wave of dizziness worked its way through Lucien. He drew in a deep breath, but that only increased the dizziness. By the time he thought to cease breathing it was too late. He was nearly incapacitated. What was wrong with him?

“I'm sorry,” Lucien heard William say, and then a sword was slicing through Lucien's middle, cutting through skin, organs and even bone, every point of contact burning as the warrior twisted, slicing deeper. “I had hoped it would not come to this.”

Had he been his normal self, Lucien would have seen the blow coming and flashed. He would have healed. As it was, he couldn't move. Didn't care to move. He felt what little energy he possessed draining. Then his knees gave out, and he crumpled to the ground. Did William wield some sort of power?

Anya.

He heard her scream, a bloodcurdling cry of rage and fury, hate and fear. Suddenly he cared.