The Darkest Kiss lotu-3 Read online

  "Listen, you're not the only one with problems. I'm hunted on a daily basis, remember? Giving up the key means losing my strength, my abilities, my memories—perhaps even my freedom. If I'm ever locked away again, I won't be able to escape."

  "I have offered you my protection in the past. You have always turned me down."

  "And I will continue to do so." He could change his mind. He could demand further payment from her to continue protecting her. He could forget about her.

  "Tell me what you want, then, and it is yours. Things do not have to end badly for you."

  "There's nothing I want." Things were perfect for her right now. No one could bind her, and no one could kill her without severe consequences. She had a kind-of boyfriend who rocked her world, even if they couldn't seal the deal. Why give any of that up?

  Besides, anything she wanted she could procure on her own. And she did have a plan for getting Cronus off her trail. Those artifacts the Lords were searching for. Cronus wanted them back. They were a source of his power, and as she well knew, Cronus loved him some power.

  Once she had them—and used them to find Pandora's box—she'd trade them for that vow of protection. Even from him. For herself, for Lucien. Best of all, she'd still have the key.

  She studied her nails. "Mind if I take off now? This conversation is boring and I have places to go, yada, yada, yada."

  Cronus's eyes narrowed. "One day in the near future I will know what it takes to humble you. I will know what it takes to crush you. And when I do, you will wish you had given the key to me this day."

  He disappeared in a melodramatic flash of blinding blue light. Anya stumbled forward, knees suddenly going weak. She scrubbed a hand down her face, feeling the first tremors of anxiety. Antagonizing the king of gods had not been smart, but it was not in her nature to cower or obey.

  I will know what it takes to crush you, he'd said, and she believed him. All Cronus had to do was threaten to destroy Lucien, and she feared she would give him anything. Maybe even the key. She couldn't let Cronus know how much Lucien was coming to mean to her, that her days and nights were filled with thoughts of him.

  Cronus had to suspect, at least a little, she realized. Why else offer her Lucien's eternal affections?

  Shit, she thought. She'd have to do something to throw the big cheese off. Would ignoring Lucien, painful as it sounded, do the trick? Or would Cronus see the longing on her face, the torment in her eyes? Hell, would she even be able to stay away from Lucien? She hadn't managed the feat yet.

  Wouldn't be wise to keep her distance, she decided. She would find the artifacts faster working with him rather than against him. Relief and need trembled through her. I get to be with him again.

  Yeah, you get to be with him, but you can't let Cronus see how much you care.

  She frowned, relief fading. Did that mean there could be no more physical pleasure?

  The answer proved grim. Kissing would be fine because she'd kissed others. But anything else would merely prove how special Lucien was to her. Her shoulders sagged. I'll have to be my usual flippant self and keep things light. No more touching, no more skin-to-skin contact.

  "Fucking Cronus," she grumbled to cover her sudden tears.

  LUCIEN HAD WORKED HIMSELF into a fit of rage.

  It had happened only once before, a prolonged fury that lasted several days after Mariah's death, and he'd vowed never to let it happen again. The destruction had been too great. But as he'd watched Anya with Cronus, he'd been unable to stop himself from slipping into the dark throes of fury.

  Now red glowed behind his eyes; a cold sweat slicked his skin. Death roared like a banshee inside his mind. His breath was so hot it was like fire as it pushed from his nose. He was more demon than man, darkness clouding his every thought.

  He'd already hacked the bed to bits, freeing the chain from the headboard but not from himself. After that, he'd blazed a path of destruction through the entire house. Because the chain was still attached to his wrist, he couldn't dematerialize. Didn't matter, though. He was too busy seething. Too busy imagining death and blood and killing. Had one of the other warriors walked into the room just then, he would have attacked. Would have been unable to stop himself. And wouldn't have cared.

  Cronus could have killed Anya, and there would have been no way for Lucien to aid her. He hadn't been able to help Mariah, and the guilt had tormented him ever since. Anya, though…He roared, loud and long.

  "Uh, you wanna explain this?" a woman asked when he quieted.

  Hearing the voice, he wheeled around with a snarl. He saw the outline of a lithe female form. Pale hair. Delicate shoulders. He clutched a sword in his hand. Kill, kill, kill.

  Scowling, he stomped toward her.

  She backed away. "Lucien?"

  Lifting the sword high above his head, he gave it a menacing twirl. KILL. The tip flew down, aiming for the woman's neck. She must have moved because the sword hit the floor rather than flesh. He hissed.

  A moment later, something tapped his shoulder from behind.

  He swung around. A fist connected with his nose. His head whipped to the side, and warm liquid rushed down his lips and chin.

  "You better calm down, Death, or you're going to make me mad."

  He lifted the sword again, but it was knocked from his grip. With another roar, he leapt forward, grabbing the woman. He shook her, meaning to snap her in half.

  "Lucien," she said, and this time there was a calming, hypnotic quality to her voice. "Lucien. Seriously. I'm not a rag doll. Calm down. Tell me what's wrong."

  Finally a sense of awareness slithered into his mind and man raced ahead of demon. His captive's skin was hot—he recognized that heat. She smelled like strawberries and cream—he recognized that fragrance.

  "Tell sweet little Anya what's going on in that fat head of yours," she cooed. Soft hands caressed his cheeks. "Pretty please, with a cherry on top of me."

  Anya.

  The name echoed in his mind, cracking the red haze and allowing light inside. He blinked his eyes and a perfect pixie came into focus. A snowfall of hair. Bright blue eyes. Pink cheeks.

  "Anya?"

  "Right here, lover."

  Dear gods. He glanced around the room, saw the destruction and the blood. His blood. He'd cut his hands, he recalled, when he'd punched the walls. Regret slammed into him.

  Not again.

  "Did I hurt you?" He returned his attention to the woman in his arms, studying her intently. Her skin was rosy soft, not bruised, and her eyes were gleaming. She wore a tight black T-shirt and equally tight black pants, neither of which were ripped. Glittery black heels encased her feet, open at the toes and showcasing black-painted toenails.

  "Did I hurt you?" he repeated.

  "Would you care?" she asked, head tilting to the side. "I mean, you've wanted to in the past."

  He pressed his lips together. He could not let her know how much he was coming to admire her. How much he was coming to need her. I think your tongue on her clitoris told her plenty. Only when he'd stolen that key from her and her life was safe would he admit to such feelings.

  "Never mind," she said airily. "The answer wouldn't matter anyway." She turned her back on him, strode to the couch he'd hacked to bits and settled on the tattered arm. "Really, what was that about? I've never seen a more demonic display. Your eyes were red." She shuddered. "Freaky stuff, and not in a good way."

  "I told you once not to make me angry." Gods, he couldn't believe he had journeyed so far toward the dark side of his nature. He was always so careful. The thought of Anya hurt, however…He had to cut off another roar.

  He would never have been able to kill her, Lucien at last admitted. Not even in the beginning. It was disgusting, really, how protective he felt of her. He was as bad as Maddox. "What do you want from me, Anya? Why did you come back?"

  "First, to do this." She was tsking under her tongue as she stood and sauntered to him. She gripped his chained wrist and drew it into a mute
d beam of moonlight streaming in from the window. With her other hand, she waved it over the metal.

  A bright amber radiance glowed from between her fingers. He felt warmth, felt the chain snap open and heard it fall to the floor.

  "The All-Key?" he asked, shocked.

  "Yes." She dropped her arm. "You going to tell me what made you so angry?"

  "I saw you talking with Cronus."

  "What! You saw? How?"

  "I do not know how, just that I saw you, in my mind. What did he say?"

  She blinked at him. "He wanted the key."

  That damned key! "Tell me why it is a light that comes from inside you." He'd expected metal.

  "No. What I will tell you is that if you kill me, the key will drain your powers. There. Now you know. That's why Cronus wants you to do his dirty work. And before you say anything, I never planned to tell you because one, I had no intention of dying and two, you would have thought I was lying to keep you away. But now you know. You can't say I didn't warn you."

  He wasn't going to kill her, so the warning mattered little. "How is Cronus going to take the key from you if it is inside you?"

  "You already know that part. You kill me, you weaken, he swoops in and takes it from my poor dead body."

  "So you have to die for someone else to possess it?"

  "No. I could willingly give it."

  "Then give it to him, woman!"

  "I give it to him, I weaken. Permanently. Worse, I won't be able to flash. Get it now?"

  Oh, yes. Suddenly he did get it, and he almost vomited. He couldn't steal the key from her without killing her and she couldn't give it to Cronus without deteriorating, therefore Lucien had nothing to trade the god in exchange for Anya's life. What in hell was he going to do?

  Unaware of his inner turmoil, Anya glanced around the room. "While throwing your tantrum, did you destroy our supplies for the Arctic?"

  "Yes."

  "I can't believe I once thought you were too controlled. Seriously, learn some self-discipline, for gods' sake. You should be embarrassed."

  "I am."

  "Good."

  Think about the key later, when you are alone and not consumed by the scents of strawberries and destruction. "Before you left, you said you wanted to discuss something with me. What?"

  "I forgot."

  He doubted she had—Anya forgot nothing—but he allowed the lie without comment. "Did you return to spend a few more hours in bed?"

  Her cheeks colored prettily. "I'm here to get my stuff because I'm ready to start looking for those artifacts. I'm bored, after all, and it sounds deliciously dangerous, trekking through snow in search of an ancient relic."

  There was something in her eyes—too bright a gleam, maybe. A forced casualness, perhaps. Again, she was not speaking true. "You left me for Strider to find naked and chained to a bed," he said to lighten her mood. Perhaps then she would tell him the truth. "Have I thanked you for that?"

  "No, you haven't." She grinned slowly, her amusement genuine this time. "Did he likie?"

  "He must have. He took a picture." Mortification heated Lucien from the collarbone up as he remembered.

  Anya laughed outright, and the sound of that laughter was magical. His skin tingled, and he felt as if he'd just conquered the entire world.

  "What did you wish to discuss?" he asked gently. "Tell me true."

  Her smile faded. "I wanted to tell you…I wanted to say…I'm not sure I like your attitude."

  "I am not sure I know what you mean."

  "Just, I don't know. Don't be so ooey-gooey nice to me. It's nauseating."

  "Nauseating?"

  "You an echo now? Yeah. Nauseating. Jeez."

  He crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at her, confused. "Why are you acting like this? After the way you begged me to keep licking you?"

  Her breath hitched, and she backed away from him. Just a step, but he didn't like it. "I realized that was a mistake, that's all," she said.

  What was going on here? "Do you no longer trust me?"

  "No."

  "Why? I could have entered you then, and we both know it. But I didn't. And I think we both know you were close to asking me for more."

  Her eyes glowered up at him. "I was toying with you. Faking it."

  He, too, glowered. "I'll believe a lot of things about you, sweetcakes, but that isn't one of them. Not anymore."

  "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard." She brushed a piece of lint off her shoulder.

  "Do not make me prove my words."

  "Fuck you." Another brush of her shoulder. Her hand was shaking, he noticed.

  "You would like that, would you not? If I fucked you?"

  Giving up her casual facade, she slapped him, palm dragging against his cheek. "One, you shouldn't talk like that. And two, don't make me state the obvious. I…I…felt sorry for you, obviously." The last was croaked. Tears even sprang into her eyes.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. He could feel the urge to hurt building inside of him again. Hot, hungry, begging for a chance to render more damage. To destroy. He'd have liked to tell himself that Anya was lying about this—he had felt her pleasure, her joy in his touch—but old insecurities died hard.

  She was beautiful and could have her pick of equally beautiful men. Perhaps she'd wanted him earlier for the novelty of lying with an ugly man, didn't want him now that she'd done so, and thought this was the best way to cut him loose.

  "I'm not going to try to kill you again, so you can cease trying to soften me," he told her.

  "How nice for me," she muttered, looking away. There was a guilty flush to her skin.

  "Just know that if you hit me again, I will hit you back," he lied. He would never be able to hurt her, and he knew it.

  "A girl can hope," she said silkily, changing tactics.

  His anger sizzled another degree. "Stay here or go home, but I'm going to purchase more supplies and I want to do it alone."

  Her shoulders squared, and her chin lifted. "I'm going with you, so there."

  "No. You are not." He shook his head. "I am done with you right now."

  She ran her tongue over her lips. "Whatever. I know someone. He lives in Greenland, and he has everything we'll need. We'll pop into his place, borrow what we want and make our way into the Arctic."

  He. The word pounded through Lucien's mind, stirring up a storm of jealousy. "Who is he? And why did you not pop us to him earlier rather than dragging me to Switzerland?"

  "He's my friend, and I didn't take you to him because I wanted you to see my—I wanted to shop with you and thought we had plenty of time," she said, kicking at a shard of glass on the floor. "Damn it! I'm looking at my feet again."

  "Well, stop." She'd thought they had plenty of time, which meant she didn't think so anymore. Why? "Did Cronus threaten you?" The moment the words left him, Anya's behavior began to make sense.

  She turned away from him, her back stiff. "As if I care about that bastard's threats."

  Oh, yes. Cronus had indeed threatened her. "What did he say to you?"

  "Stop, just stop. Cronus said nothing important. Besides, what's between me and another guy isn't really any of your business, is it? Now, do you want to visit William or not?"

  "Not. I don't want anyone knowing what we're looking for. Tell me what Cronus said to you."

  "William won't even know we're there. Promise. And damn it, Cronus said nothing."

  "You mean to steal from this William?"

  "Yes. So are you ready or not?" she asked coolly.

  He studied her. The woman in front of him wasn't the woman he'd kissed and tasted earlier. She was harder, more distant. He didn't like it, but did not know how to change her back.

  Lucien wished he had the strength to challenge the god king here and now. He wished he had the strength to walk away from Anya for good. She was tying him in knots. But despite what he'd claimed a few minutes ago, he did not want to be alone. Did not want to be without her.

&nbs
p; As if sensing his capitulation, she swung around and gave him a pinky wave. She was pale, her eyes sad, but her lips were smiling. "See you there, Flowers."

  Lucien didn't follow right away. He gathered his daggers and his Glock, checked the chamber, saw that it was loaded. No telling who this mysterious William was. To be honest, though, his identity didn't really matter. Lucien already hated him.

  Maybe, while in Greenland, Death would be summoned to take the bastard's soul.

  A warrior could hope, anyway.

  And then, right on cue, Death did summon him. Unfortunately, it was to the States, so neither of them were happy. Lucien sighed. He quickly strapped on all his weapons and dematerialized. Anya and her mystery man would have to wait.

  HOW LONG CAN I KEEP THIS UP? Anya wondered darkly. The hurt on Lucien's face when she'd claimed to have felt sorry for him had nearly undone her.

  She'd actually felt like crying. Still did. Taking a page from Cronus's book, she'd determined his weakness and had exploited it. If you can't resist him, you have to make him resist you.

  Rather than pop into William's home, she flashed to his porch and waited for Lucien. Ice-cold wind instantly slapped her mostly-bare skin. A hard shiver racked her. Shoulda changed, dummy. But she'd been eager to escape Lucien, if only for a moment, before he discovered her lies for what they were.

  A minute passed, and then another. Lucien remained—frustratingly—absent. If she stood out here any longer, her lips would turn blue, damn it, and that wasn't a good shade for her. Where was he? She couldn't follow his energy like he followed hers, and that really sucked. Had she pushed him too far? Had he decided not to come? To go out on his own?

  He had. Oh, he had. Why, that wretched beast!

  Well, what did you expect? You were cruel to him.

  I had to be.

  Before her libido could work up a retort, Lucien finally appeared. He landed behind her. She didn't see him; she felt him. Quick as a snap, her entire body relaxed. Don't look, don't look. A peek at those mismatched eyes, and she might very well throw herself in his arms, sobbing an apology.