As they walked to the door, Anya fumed at his side. "I have to do it, okay?"
Her intensity surprised him. "Why?"
"You have your compulsions and I have mine. I can either burn the place down or take a measly pair of gloves."
Understanding dawned. She had her own demon to fight, a dark nature she wished to control. He knew how hard such a thing could be. "I am sorry I took them away from you."
A pause. A sniffed, "No problem."
Carrying their purchases, he exited the building and stood at the curb, waiting for her to join him. Cold air slapped at him, but he didn't pull the coat from its sack. His skin was still on fire from having Anya next to him.
He wanted her next to him again, and it had nothing to do with getting his hands on that key. A minute passed, and she did not exit. What was she doing? He turned and walked forward with every intention of reentering the shop.
The door flew open, however, and Anya emerged. Her lips curled in a smug grin. His skin heated another degree.
"I might have to dig through the ice as I search for this artifact. I need the proper tools," he said. "Where can I acquire them?"
"Ugh. Digging will not be fun."
"Fun is not the purpose of the trip."
"Killjoy." She reached into her jacket and withdrew a pair of black gloves. Using her teeth, she ripped off the tags. Then, staring him in the eye, she tugged the leather over her hands.
"You stole them?"
"That's what I like about you, sweetcakes. You're an observant kind of guy."
Lucien shook his head, his lips twitching. He marched forward, forcing her to follow or be left behind. "Tell me why you must steal to prevent yourself from burning a building. You hinted, I deduced, but I would like to hear firsthand."
She kept pace beside him. "Remember those wars Reyes mentioned that night at the club? Well, guess what? I did start them. When I first walked among mortals, I was insane with my need for disorder and my every movement seemed to spur them into fury. With each other, not me. Worse, I couldn't look at a torch without knocking it over. Sometimes I didn't even realize I'd done it until the flames were dancing at my feet and people were screaming. And those screams, oh, gods, those screams." She sighed dreamily. "They were so delicious to my ears. Like auditory ice cream. More and more, I wanted to hear them. Needed to hear them."
"Anarchy means to be without law. Perhaps, deep down, those screams represented the chaos your nature demands."
"Yes," she said, eyes widening.
"The demon inside me is Death. For the longest time, it craved the absence of life, no matter what I had to do to accommodate that desire."
"You really do understand." She shook her head, her expression a little shocked. A strand of hair fell, and she hooked it behind her ear. "One day I caught myself reaching out, about to cut a chandelier from a ceiling just to hear the glass shatter and the people shriek, when a woman walked by. She was wearing a ring and the diamond winked in the light, brighter than any chandelier. Gods, I wanted that diamond. I followed her and stole it. The moment I slipped it on my finger, this grinding need inside me just…quieted somehow. I've been stealing ever since."
He was silent a moment. "You may steal from me anytime." Sadly, he feared it was he who would soon be stealing from her. More than ever, he did not want to take her life. Like him, she could have become a living nightmare but she strove to be more. Better.
She tossed him a grin. "Thank you."
His chest started aching. The key. Ask about the key. "Have you spent much time in the Arctic?" he found himself asking instead.
"A little. Oh, this is going to be fun! Well, aside from the digging part." She clapped excitedly. "Just the two of us, snuggled up to keep warm, no worries about Hunters. I doubt any human could survive the cold for long. Now, come on. I don't want to walk anymore. It's a waste of time." In the next instant, she disappeared.
He followed with no hesitation—
Arriving in Greece. The island, his rented home. He dropped his bags, not sensing or seeing any of the other warriors. They were probably still gathering supplies.
Anya plopped on the cream-colored leather couch as if she hadn't a care. With a blissful sigh, she removed her stolen gloves, followed by her boots, revealing pretty white leggings. She tossed both aside. Next she removed her coat—revealing a white lace bra.
His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "That is what you have been wearing all day?"
She grinned wickedly. "Yes. Do you like?"
His cock swelled to life. Again. This time thicker, fuller. Harder, hotter. She was sexier now than when she'd worn the maid's uniform—and she'd nearly felled him then. Thank the gods he hadn't known what little she'd worn underneath. He might have killed everyone who looked at her, and then attacked her there in the snow.
He couldn't tear his gaze away from her. Her stomach was flat and the color of cream, her navel a sensual feast to his eyes. Her breasts were full and ripe, the pink nipples hazily visible and oh so hard. The leggings conformed to her body like a second skin.
"Well? Do you like?" she repeated, stretching out. Her feet were bare, the pretty nails glittering in the light. "You could have seen this and more earlier, but you were too busy being stubborn. Don't be stubborn this time."
"You are beautiful, Anya."
"Come over here and kiss me, then," she beseeched huskily.
"I can't," he croaked out.
"Why not?" She ran a fingertip down her stomach, around her navel. "It's not like I'm asking you to screw me. Just kiss and touch me a little. And FYI, you should know this is the last time I'm going to offer myself to you. Your continued rejection is screwing with my confidence."
A roar sounded in his head. Not touch her? Not kiss her? "Why not more than kissing and touching?"
"Because." She crossed her arms over her middle, smashing her breasts together.
Holy gods. "Answer me."
"Why should I? You rarely answer me." Again she ran a fingertip down the planes of her stomach.
His gaze followed the action. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. She would give herself to other men, but not him. The realization sunk in, and he ground his teeth together. Him, she would only allow to kiss her. He wasn't good enough for anything else.
He wanted to hate her for that, but he'd done this to himself. He'd purposefully carved himself so that women would not want him. And though she obviously found him lacking, he still sought to save her life. "We need to discuss something, Anya."
"What? The best way to move your tongue?"
"The key. Give me the key Cronus wants, and I'll do anything you want, kiss you however you want me to."
Color leached from her cheeks. "Hell, no. I don't want you that badly."
He'd known that, but hearing her say it cut deeply. "Giving up the key will save your life."
"Without the key, my life isn't worth living. Now, I don't want to talk about it anymore. I want to talk about us."
"There can be no us until you give me that key."
"The key is mine," she shouted, "and I will never give it up. Do you understand? Never! I would rather die."
"You will die if you don't. You are forcing my hand, Anya."
"What, you plan to steal it?"
He didn't answer.
"You'll regret it if you try."
Still no response.
"Forget the key! We were having fun and could be having more fun right now."
"Cronus came to me, threatened those I love. I am out of time, Anya. I am to bring him the key or you. I would rather bring the key."
The pulse in her neck fluttered riotously. "When did he come to you?"
"Before we went shopping," he admitted.
"That's why you went so easily. You thought to sweeten me up so I'd just hand the key over." She laughed bitterly. "Or maybe you thought I'd slip and tell you where it is and you'd steal it. So much for your lofty principles."
"Which is it to be?
You or the key?"
"Me." She raised her chin. "I told you. I will not part with the key."
"Anya," he said, hating himself. Hating Cronus. Hating even the woman he was trying to save. She made him feel. Now, more than ever, emotions were his enemy. "This is your last warning."
"Lucien, I can't give it up." Tears filled her eyes. "I can't."
Those tears…"Why?"
"I just can't. I won't."
Then there was nothing more for him to say. Do it. End it. It is time. "Here is your warning. I will make this quick. Kill you first. Take your soul after." He flashed to her, was straddling her hips in the next instant, his daggers withdrawn and cradled in his hands, raised, ready to strike.
Those teary eyes went wide with shock.
"I am sorry," he said, and struck.
CHAPTER NINE
PARIS ROAMED THE PAVED STREETS of Athens as the sun shone bright and golden. The air was peaceful, serene, and the white-washed, Old-World sights riveting. Gentle waves from the sea only a short distance away added the perfect soundtrack.
He should have been preparing for his upcoming trip to the States.
He wasn't.
He was looking for a woman, any woman, who would have him. But no matter what he did or said, the females of Greece weren't responding to him as the females of Budapest—hell, as the females everywhere else on earth—had.
He didn't understand it, either. His physical appearance had not changed. He was a handsome motherfucker. His demeanor had not changed. He was the most charming person he knew. Nothing about him had changed. Yet before traveling here, he'd had only to cast his gaze upon a woman to have her stripping, readying herself for his pleasure. Here, nothing. Nada.
Women of every age, size and color treated him like a leper.
Sadly, at this point, all he needed was five minutes and a pair of spread legs.
Without sex, he weakened. Became vulnerable and unable to defend himself from Hunters and their vicious attacks.
Had it been possible, he would have chosen one woman, married her and taken her with him everywhere, enjoying her and her alone. But apart from the obstacle of human women's mortality, the demon inside him would allow no such thing. Once he'd slept with a woman, he couldn't get hard for her again. No matter how much he wanted to be with her.
It was why he'd stopped trying for anything more than a single night. To stay alive, he would have to cheat on a wife constantly, and he refused to do such a thing.
Someone look at me, want me. If he couldn't find a female…the things he was forced to do sickened him.
Not rape, please not rape, but the demon had no gender preference. Paris did. Paris only wanted women. His stomach cramped as memories tried to fill his mind. Hated memories. He clenched his teeth in an effort to halt them.
Find a prostitute, Promiscuity suggested, needing sex as much as he did.
Tried. It's as if they're hiding from me. Paris actually preferred prostitutes. They both got something out of the deal, and his lover didn't leave with expectations of a repeat performance.
A brunette sauntered down the sidewalk across from him. Female. He scented her before he saw her, turning his head to draw in more of her sweet feminine fragrance. She'll do.
He was halfway to her before he realized he'd taken a single step. "Excuse me," he called when he reached her. Desperation laced his tone.
Her gaze slid to him. Appreciation curtained her features, but that was it. Nothing more. No trancelike desire. Up close, he could see strands of silver in her hair and the age lines around her eyes.
Didn't matter. His mouth watered for her.
"Yes," she said in heavily accented English, not slowing.
Usually they stopped, already desperate to touch him. What made these Greek females different? "Would you like to…" Shit. He couldn't ask her to sleep with him, not right away. She'd probably balk. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"
"No, thanks. I already ate." And with that, she picked up speed and walked away from him.
He ground to a stop, stunned, unnerved. Irritated. What the hell was going on?
The gods, perhaps? Were they interfering? He glared up at the heavens. Bastards. He wouldn't put it past them. But why would they even care? They wanted to find their artifacts, didn't they? He and the other warriors were the best chance they had.
"I've done nothing to you," he barked.
Even as he spoke, a dark thought slipped into place. Maddox—Violence—had noticed a change in himself—becoming more wild, more uncontrolled—just before he'd met Ashlyn, the love of his life. Lucien seemed to be experiencing a similar phenomenon with Anya, not that stoic Death would admit such a thing aloud.
Were Paris to mention it, he suspected the new Lucien might club him to death in a fit of temper—a temper he'd rarely ever shown before.
Dear gods. Am I next?
No. No, no, no. Since Paris couldn't stay with one woman, he prayed he'd never meet a woman he could fall in love with. In fact, if he encountered a beauty whose name started with A—first Ashlyn, then Anya—he was running like hell. No way. Not for him.
A blonde passed him, carrying two paper sacks from which the scent of fresh-baked bread wafted. He leapt into motion, chasing after her. "Allow me to help you with those," he said. Gods, he sounded desperate.
"No, thanks." She didn't spare him a glance, but kept moving.
Again, he ground to a stop. Fuck! What the hell was he supposed to do? If he had to fly back to Buda, he would do it. Or track Lucien down and endure another dizzying flash so he could get there faster. Those artifacts and Pandora's box be damned. He would—
Another blonde passed him.
Another rejection followed.
Another brunette.
Another rejection.
An hour later, his body was hard and hot and—fuck—still weakening. His hands were trembling, and he could feel the need for sex fueling his every cell—which was why, when someone ran into him from behind, he stumbled forward, nearly falling flat on his face before he managed to right himself.
"I'm so sorry," a feminine voice said.
A shiver danced through him at the sound of her decadent timbre. He turned slowly, afraid if he moved too quickly she would run away from him like the others. Papers were scattered around her feet, he noticed first, and she was bent down trying to gather them.
"That'll teach me to read and walk at the same time," she muttered.
"I'm glad you were reading," he said, bending down to help her. "I'm glad we ran into each other."
Her lids raised, and her gaze met his. She gasped.
In awareness? Please, please be awareness.
She was plain, with hazel eyes, freckled skin, and wavy brown hair that fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were too big for her face, and her lips were so full they appeared bee-stung. But there was something mesmerizing about her. Something that compelled his gaze to linger, to drink her in and enjoy. A hidden sensuality, perhaps. A wicked flicker in those green and brown eyes.
The quiet, mousy ones were always the wildest.
"Your name doesn't start with an A, does it?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.
Her brow puckered in confusion, but she shook her head. "No. My name is Sienna. Not that you care and not that you really asked. Sorry. I didn't mean to just blurt it out."
"I care," he said huskily. He couldn't wait to strip her.
A rosy blush infused her cheeks, and she hastily returned her attention to the papers.
"You're…American?" he asked, handing her the papers he'd gathered.
"Yes. Vacationing here to work on my manuscript. Again, not that you asked. I can't place your accent, though."
"Hungarian," he said. Well, he'd lived in Budapest for enough centuries to claim the nationality. Quickly he changed the subject back to her. "So you are a writer?"
"Yes. Well, I hope to be. Wait, that's not right, either. I am a writer, but I'm not published yet." Stacking her bundle,
she nibbled on her lush bottom lip. "I'm sorry I'm babbling. It's a habit of mine. Just tell me to shut up when you've heard enough from me."
"I'd love to hear more." Relief was swimming through him, as potent as the richest wine laced with ambrosia. Finally—a woman who didn't rush away from him as if he were poison.
Blushing again, she smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear.
He watched the action, his cock twitching in response. This woman's hands were exquisite, perhaps the most sensual body part he'd ever seen. Soft, delicate, with white-tipped, square nails. A thick silver chain was linked around her equally exquisite wrist. She wore three rings. Two were simple bands, again silver, and the third was a large iridescent opal.
Married?
He didn't like the thought, but wasn't going to let it sway him. He imagined those hands on his body and could have come.
He had to have her.
Could be Bait. The thought struck him out of habit, because it was something he worried about constantly. He studied her more closely. The freckles spread over her entire face, the lips nearly misshapen by their large size. Probably not Bait, he decided then. Bait was usually gorgeous. Like Ashlyn. Like Anya. Sienna wasn't gorgeous. Not even close. Still, he wasn't going to lower his guard.
Must have her. Now! the demon growled.
Soon…soon…
"You're just being nice," she said, breaking the silence that had encompassed them. She pushed to her feet, tucking her manuscript under her arm. She was very slim, almost flat-chested.
He stood, loving how small she was compared to him, how his big body dwarfed her. "Hell, no. I'm nice, but I'm not lying. I want to know everything about you."
"Really?" she asked hopefully.
"Swear."
Her clothes were unflattering, dark blue and bagging. He wondered if she wore sexy lingerie underneath. He'd like to see her in emerald-green lace.
"Would you, uh, like to get a coffee or something?" she asked.
"Yes." Gods, yes.
Slowly she grinned. "Where?"
That grin affected him soul-deep. He felt its radiance like a punch in the gut. "Wherever you lead, I'll follow." He was already hard, but now he was invigorated. He'd charm and flatter her, then give her the best orgasm of her life. Afterward, they'd amicably part ways.
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