Lords of the Underworld Bundle

by Gena Showalter

  Gods, he was sexy. He had the freakiest eyes she’d ever seen. One was blue, the other brown, and both swirled with the essence of man and demon. And his scars…All she could think of, dream about, crave, was licking them. They were beautiful, a testament to all the pain and suffering he’d survived.

  “Hey, gorgeous. Dance with me,” one of the warriors suddenly said at her side.

  Paris, she realized, recognizing the promise of sensuality in his voice. He must have finished screwing that human against the wall and was now looking for another bimbo to sate himself on. He’d just have to keep looking. “Go away.”

  Unaffected by her lack of interest, he grabbed her waist. “You’ll like it, I swear.”

  She brushed him aside with a flick of her wrist. Possessed by Promiscuity, Paris was blessed with pale, almost glittery skin, electric-blue eyes, and a face the angels probably sang hallelujahs over, but he wasn’t Lucien and he did nothing for her.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” she muttered, “before I cut them off.”

  He laughed as if she were joking, unaware she’d do that and more. She might deal in petty disorder, but she never uttered a threat she didn’t plan to see through. To do so smacked of weakness, and Anya had vowed long ago never to show a single hint of weakness.

  Her enemies would love nothing more than to exploit it.

  Thankfully, Paris didn’t reach for her again. “For a kiss,” he said huskily, “I’ll let you do anything you want to my hands.”

  “In that case, I’ll cut off your cock, too.” She didn’t like having her ogling interrupted, especially since she rarely had time to indulge. Nowadays, she spent most of her waking hours dodging Cronus. “How’s that?”

  Paris’s laughter intensified and managed to snag Lucien’s attention. Lucien’s gaze lifted, first landing on Paris, then locking on Anya. Her knees almost buckled. Oh, sweet heaven. Paris was forgotten as she fought to breathe. Did she imagine the fire that suddenly sparked in Lucien’s mismatched eyes? Did she imagine the way his nostrils flared in awareness?

  Now or never. Licking her lips, never removing her gaze from him, she eased into a sensual bump and grind and made her way toward his table. Halfway, she stopped and motioned for him to join her with a crook of her finger. He stood in front of her a moment later, as if he’d been pulled by an invisible chain, unable to resist.

  Up close, he was six-feet-six of muscle and danger. Pure temptation.

  Her lips edged into a slow smile. “We meet at last, Flowers.”

  Anya didn’t give him time to respond. She ground her left hipbone against the hard juncture between his legs, turning erotically and presenting him with a view of her back. Her ice-blue corset was held together by nothing more than thin ribbons, and she knew her skirt hung so low on her waist that it failed to cover the bands of her thong. Oopsie.

  Men, mortal or otherwise, usually melted when they caught a glimpse of something they shouldn’t.

  Lucien hissed in a breath.

  Her smile widened. Ah, sweet progress.

  Her unhurried movements were completely at odds with the fast-pounding rock, but she never ceased the slow gyrations of her body as she raised her hands over her head then leisurely ran them through the thick mass of her snow-white hair, down her arms, stroking her own skin but imagining his hands instead. Her nipples hardened.

  “Why did you summon me, woman?” His voice was low, yet as disciplined as the warrior himself.

  Listening to him speak was more arousing than being touched by another man, and her stomach clenched. “I wanted to dance with you,” she said over her shoulder. Bump, bump, slllooow grind. “Is that a crime?”

  He didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ve always enjoyed breaking the law.”

  A confused pause. Then, “How much did Paris pay you to do this?”

  “I get paid? Oh, goodie!” Stepping back, grinning, she brushed her ass against him, arching and swinging as sensually as she was able. Hello, erection. The heat of him nearly liquefied her bones. “What’s the currency? Orgasms?”

  In her dreams, he always grabbed her and meshed the hard length of his cock into her at this point. In reality, he jumped backward as if she were a bomb about to detonate, creating more hated distance between them.

  A sense of loss immediately blanketed her.

  “No touching,” he said. He’d probably done his best to sound calm, but he had sounded on edge. Strained. More tense than arousing.

  Her eyes narrowed. All around, people watched their interaction and his rejection of her. This isn’t prime time, she projected at them with a scowl. Turn the fuck around.

  One by one, the humans obeyed. However, the rest of the Lords closed in on her, staring intently, no doubt curious as to who she was and what she was doing here.

  They had to be careful, and she understood that. They were still pursued by Hunters, humans who foolishly believed they could create a utopia of peace and harmony by ridding the world of the Lords and the demons they carried inside them.

  Ignore them. You’re running out of time, chica. She returned her attention to Lucien by twisting her head to face him without actually turning all the way around. “Where were we?” she asked huskily. She ran a fingertip over the top band of her thong, not stopping until she drew the hot focus of his gaze to the glittery angel wings in the center.

  “I was just about to walk away,” he choked out.

  At his words, her nails elongated into little claws. He still thought to deny her? Seriously?

  She’d shown herself to him, even knowing that the gods would be able to pinpoint her exact location—something it was best to avoid since they planned to snuff her out like a mangy animal. She would not leave this club without a reward.

  Determination intensifying, she swung around with another roll of her hips, the length of her pale hair caressing his chest. As she nibbled on her bottom lip, she plumped her breasts. “But I don’t want you to leave,” she said with a practiced pout.

  He backed up another step.

  “What’s wrong, sweetness?” Merciless, she moved forward. “Afraid of a little girl?”

  His lips thinned, but he didn’t reply. Thankfully, he didn’t move farther away, either.

  “Are you?”

  “You have no idea at what game you play, woman.”

  “Oh, but I think I do.” Her gaze swept over him, and she stilled in renewed amazement. He was utterly magnificent. Rainbow-colored strobe lights rained down his face and body, a body so finely sculpted it could have been chiseled from stone. He wore a black tee and stone-washed jeans, and both hugged rope after rope of hand-over-your-panties muscle. Mine.

  “I said no touching,” he barked.

  Her gaze snapped back to his and she held up her hands, palms out. “I’m not touching you, sweetcakes.” But I want to…I plan to…I will.

  “Your gaze suggests otherwise,” he said tightly.

  “That’s because—”

  “I’ll dance with you,” another warrior said, cutting her off. Paris again.

  “No.” Anya didn’t switch her attention. She wanted Lucien and only Lucien. No one else would do.

  “Could be Bait,” a different Lord piped in, probably eyeing her with suspicion. She recognized the deep timbre of his voice. Sabin, keeper of Doubt.

  Please. Bait? As if she would try to lure anyone anywhere for reasons that weren’t completely selfish. Bait, stupid girls that they were, were all about self-sacrifice; their job was to seduce a Lord to distraction so Hunters could sneak in and slay him. And really, what kind of moron wanted to kill the Lords rather than make out with them a little?

  “I doubt Hunters were able to assemble so quickly after the plague,” Reyes said.

  Oh, yes. The plague. One of the Lords was possessed by the demon of Disease. If he touched any mortal skin-to-skin, he infected that person with a terrible sickness that spread and killed with amazing swiftness.

 
; Knowing this, Torin always wore gloves and rarely left the fortress, willingly keeping to himself to protect humans from his curse. Not his fault a group of Hunters had sneaked inside the fortress a few weeks ago and cut his throat.

  Torin had survived; the Hunters had not.

  Unfortunately, there were many, many more Hunters out there. Seriously, they were like flies. Swat one away, and two more soon took its place. Even now, they were out there somewhere, waiting for a chance to strike. The Lords had to remain cautious.

  “Besides, there’s no way they could have figured out a way to bypass our security,” Reyes added, his harsh voice drawing Anya from her thoughts.

  “Just like there’s no way they could get into the fortress and nearly behead Torin?” Sabin replied.

  “Damn this! Paris, stay here and watch her while I check the perimeter.” Footsteps, muttered curses.

  Well, shit. If the warriors found any trace of Hunters out there, there’d be no convincing them of her innocence. Of that crime, at least. Lucien would never trust her, never relax around her. Never touch her except in anger.

  She didn’t allow her trepidation to play over her face. “Maybe I saw the crowd and snuck in,” she told Paris and another Lord who was studying her, adding tightly, “And maybe the big guy and I can go the next few minutes without an interruption. In private.”

  They might have gotten the hint, but they didn’t leave.

  Fine. She’d work around them.

  As she began to once again rock softly to the beat, she kept her gaze on Lucien and caressed her fingers down the planes of her stomach. Replace my hands with yours, she projected.

  Of course, he didn’t. But his nostrils did that delicious flare as his eyes followed every movement of her palms. He swallowed.

  “Dance with me.” This time, she said the words aloud, hoping he would not so easily ignore her. She licked her lips, moistening them.

  “No.” Hoarse, barely audible.

  “Pretty please, with a cherry on top of me.”

  His eyes flickered with fiery provocation. Not her imagination, she realized. Hope flooded her. But when several seconds ticked by and he failed to reach out for her, that hope turned to frustration. Time really was her enemy. The longer she stayed here, the greater her chance of being caught.

  “Do you not find me desirable, Flowers?”

  A muscle ticked below his eye. “That is not my name.”

  “Fine, then. Do you not find me desirable, muffin?”

  The ticking spread to his jaw. “What I find you matters little.”

  “That doesn’t really answer my question,” she said, close to pouting again.

  “Nor was it meant to.”

  Grrr! What an infuriating man. Try something else. Something blatant.

  As if I haven’t been blatant already.

  Alrightie, then. She turned and bent down to the floor. Her skirt rode up her thighs and gave him another, better, glimpse of her blue thong and the wings stretching from the center. As she pushed to a stand, mimicking the motions of sex as she did so, she slowly circled, offering a lingering full-body shot.

  He sucked in a breath, every muscle in his powerful body tense. “You smell like strawberries and cream.” As he spoke, he looked like a predator about to pounce.

  Please, please, please, she thought. “Bet I taste like it, too,” she said, batting her lashes despite the fact that he’d made the fragrance seem like a horrendous affront.

  He growled low in his throat and took a menacing step toward her. He raised his hand to—grab her? Hit her? Whoa, what was that about?—before stopping himself and fisting his fingers. Before remarking on her scent, he’d been distant but maybe-kinda-sorta interested. Now he only seemed interested in throttling her.

  “You’re lucky I do not strike you down here and now,” he said, proving her thoughts. Still, his hand lowered to his side.

  Anya ceased moving, staring up at him in openmouthed astonishment. Because she smelled like fruit, he wanted to hurt her? That was—that was supremely…disappointing. Her mind had tried to supply the word devastating, but she’d cut it off. She barely knew the man; he couldn’t devastate her.

  Wasn’t like she’d expected him to fall at her feet, but she had expected him to respond favorably. At least a little.

  Men liked women who threw themselves at them. Right? She’d observed mortals for too many years to count, and that had always seemed to be the case. Key word, chica—mortals. Lucien wasn’t, and had never been, mortal.

  Why doesn’t he want me?

  In all the days she’d watched him, he hadn’t favored a single woman. Ashlyn, his friend’s lover, he treated with kindness and respect. Cameo, the only female warrior in residence here, he treated with gentleness and almost parental concern. Not desire.

  He didn’t prefer men. His gaze didn’t linger on males with hunger or any hint of softer emotion. Was he in love with a specific woman, then, and no other would do? If so, the bitch was going down!

  Anya ran her tongue over her teeth, and her hands clenched at her sides. Smoke continued to billow through the building, hazy, dreamlike. The human females began to crowd the dance floor again, trying to lure the Lords back to their sides. But the warriors continued to observe Anya, waiting for the final verdict of just who and what she was.

  Lucien hadn’t moved an inch; it was as if his entire body were rooted in place. She should give up, walk away, cut her losses before Cronus found her. Only the weak give up. True. Determined, she raised her chin. With only a thought, she changed the song blasting through the speakers. The beat instantly slowed, softened.

  Forcing her expression to follow suit, she sauntered the rest of the way to him, closing that hated distance between them. She trekked her fingers up his strong, hard chest and shivered. No touching—ha! He would learn. Anarchy was hardly an obedient lapdog.

  He didn’t pull away, at least.

  “You’re going to dance with me,” she purred. “That’s the only way to get rid of me.” Just to taunt him further, she stood on her tiptoes and gently bit his earlobe.

  There was a rumble in his throat as his arms finally wrapped around her. At first she thought he meant to push her away. Then he jerked her deeper into the curve of his body, flattening her breasts against his torso and forcing her legs to straddle his left thigh. That quickly, she was wet.

  “You want to dance, then we will dance.” Slowly, decadently, he swayed her side to side, their bodies staying meshed together, her core rubbing just above his knee. Spears of pleasure ignited, traveling through her bloodstream and leaving no part of her unaffected.

  Gods in heaven, this was better than she’d imagined. Her eyes closed in surrender. He was big. Everywhere. His shoulders were so wide they dwarfed her; his upper body so muscled it enveloped her. And all the while, his warm exhalations caressed her cheek like an attentive lover. Trembling, she moved her hands up his back and tangled them in his dark, silky hair. Yes. More.

  Slow down, girlie. Even if he wanted her the way she wanted him, she couldn’t have him. Not fully. In that respect, she was as cursed as he. But she could still enjoy the moment. Oh, could she enjoy it. Finally, he was responding to her!

  His nose nuzzled her jawline. “Every man in this building wants you,” he said softly, yet his words were so sharp they could have cut like a knife. “Why me?”

  “Just because,” she said, inhaling his heady rose perfume.

  “That answers nothing.”

  “Nor was it meant to,” she said, parroting his earlier words. Her nipples were still hard, so hard, and rubbing against her corset, enhancing her desire. Her skin was wonderfully sensitive, her mind hyperaware of Lucien’s every move. Had anything ever felt so erotic? So…right?

  Lucien gripped her hair tightly, almost pulling some of the strands from her scalp. “Do you find it amusing to tease the ugliest man here?”

  “Ugliest?” When he appealed to her as no one else ever had? “But I’m nowhere
near Paris, sugarpop.”

  That gave him pause. He frowned and released her. Then he shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “I know what I am,” he growled with the faintest trace of bitterness. “Ugly is being kind.”

  She stilled, peering into his seductive bi-colored eyes. Did he truly have no idea of his attractiveness? He radiated strength and vitality. He exuded savage masculinity. Everything about him enthralled her.

  “If you know what you are, sweetness, then you know you’re sexy and deliciously menacing.” And she needed more of him. Another of those shivers raked her spine, vibrating into her limbs. Touch me again.

  He glared down at her. “Menacing? Does that mean you want me to hurt you?”

  Slowly she grinned. “Only if it involves spanking.”

  His nostrils flared again. “I suppose my scars do not bother you,” he said, completely devoid of emotion now.

  “Bother me?” Those scars didn’t ruin him. They made him irresistible.

  Closer…closer…Yes, contact. Oh, great gods! She glided her hands over his chest, luxuriating in the feel of his nipples as they reached for her, savoring the ropes of strength that greeted her. “They turn me on.”

  “Liar,” he said.

  “Sometimes,” she admitted, “but not about this.” She studied his face. However he’d gotten the scars could not have been pleasant. He’d suffered. A lot. The knowledge suddenly angered her as much as it entranced her. Who had hurt him and why? A jealous lover?

  Looked like someone had taken a blade and carved Lucien up like a melon, then tried to put him back together with the pieces out of order. Still, most immortals healed quickly, leaving no evidence of their injuries. So even if he had been carved up, Lucien should have healed.

  Did he have similar scars on the rest of his body? Her knees weakened as a new tide of arousal flooded her. She’d watched him for weeks, but she hadn’t gotten a single peek at his delectable form. Somehow, he’d always managed to bathe and change after she left.

  Had he sensed her and kept himself hidden?

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were Bait, as my men do,” he said tightly.