Looking at her, the sharp ache returned to his chest and he suddenly had trouble drawing in a breath. Right now, she appeared serene, not at all like the temptress in the club. She sat on a swing, sunlight bathing her in a golden halo. Back and forth she rocked.
She seemed to be lost in thought, her temple resting against the chain that anchored the swing to the rail. That silky, silvery hair cascaded down her arms, wisping across her pixie face every few seconds as the wind rolled.
He was struck by a nearly inexorable urge to fold her in his arms and simply hold her.
Had a woman ever looked so vulnerable? Had a woman ever looked so alone? She licked one of the lollipops she’d stolen, the pink tip of her tongue flicking out, circling the rosy candy. His cock jumped in response. No. None of that. But the command failed to lessen his desire.
However long it takes, whatever you have to do, you will bring her to me, Cronus had said. Or all those you love will suffer.
Lucien felt a spark of anger leap through himself, but he quickly tamped it down. No anger. He was Death. Right now he had no other purpose. Emotion would only hinder him; he knew that well.
However longs it takes. Cronus’s voice once again echoed in his mind.
For a moment, only a moment, Lucien entertained the possibility of taking forever. An eternity. You know what happens when you hesitate. The one destined to die suffers a far worse fate than originally intended. Do it! Or your friends, too, will suffer a far worse fate.
Determined, Lucien materialized and stepped forward. Gravel crunched under his boots, and Anya’s head snapped up. Instantly their gazes locked. Her crystalline eyes widened, filling with such intense heat and longing they singed him.
Her mouth fell open in shock as she popped to her feet. “Lucien.”
The sweetness of her voice blended with the strawberries-and-cream scent she emitted. As his body tensed erotically, his resolve weakened. Again. Stay strong, damn you.
Not realizing the danger she was in, she remained in place, still peering over at him through the thick shield of her lashes. “How did you find me?”
“You are not the only being capable of tracking an immortal,” he replied, giving her only half of the answer.
Her gaze traced over him, so hot he thought she might be mentally stripping away his clothing. Women simply did not look at him like that. Not anymore. And that this one did…He was having more and more trouble controlling his reactions. His cock grew harder with every second that passed.
“So you’ve come to finish what we started, have you, Flowers?” She sounded eager.
“That is not why I’ve come.” He spoke the words precisely. There is no other way. You must do this deed.
Her lush red lips edged into a frown. “Then why—” She gasped and anchored one hand on her suddenly cocked hip. “Did you come to insult me some more? Because you should know, I’m not going to tolerate it. I am not unimportant!”
Oh, yes, he had hurt her, and the knowledge once again filled him with guilt. Foolish to feel guilt when he’d come here to hurt her irrevocably, but the emotion proved too strong to fight. Still he repeated, “That is not why I’ve come,” this time adding, “I’m sorry, Anya, but I’ve come to kill you.”
CHAPTER THREE
I’VE COME TO KILL YOU.
The words echoed through Anya’s mind, a bleak promise she couldn’t quiet. Lucien never joked. She knew that well. Had watched him all these weeks without seeing a single smile or hearing a hint of humor pass his exquisite lips. More than that, the spirit of Death radiated from him now, a skeletal mask glowing underneath his skin.
The scent of roses thickened the air, almost mesmerizing, beseeching her to do anything and everything he asked. Even die.
Her heart skipped a beat. She’d seen him take a soul before; it had been a morbidly beautiful sight, yet one she’d never thought to experience firsthand. She was immortal, after all. But she knew better than most that even immortals could be slain.
The night she’d cut the heart from the Captain of the Guard, ending his miserable existence once and for all, the prospect of mortality had become very clear. Of course, it had become even clearer after her arrest and subsequent imprisonment while the gods debated what to do with her.
Every day inside her cell, the bars had seemed to tighten around her and the screams and moans of the other prisoners had seemed to grow louder. Maybe they’d been her screams. Being unable to nourish her need to create disorder had hurt unbearably.
She’d quickly realized life, even for an immortal, could be ruined or ended too soon. And she’d decided to fight for hers, then and always. No matter what. Freedom, whether physical or emotional, would never be taken from her again.
The gods had thought otherwise. Ultimately they’d decided to make her a sex slave to their warriors. A fitting punishment, they’d said. She’d taken their captain; now she could comfort the captain’s army.
It would have destroyed her—mind, body and soul. Her determination might have withered. But her father had come for her, rescued her, despite the retribution he would heap on himself. Once again, she’d been free. Once again, she’d had a chance at the happiness she’d always craved.
And now Lucien, a man she desired, a man she’d kissed, wanted to end her, take everything from her? A thousand different emotions bubbled inside her, and she wasn’t sure which to concentrate on first. Fury? Confusion? Hurt?
“Why do you want to hurt me?” she demanded.
“I do not want to hurt you. I must. Apparently, you are too wild to roam free.”
Oh, those words rankled! It was one thing for all Olympus to rebuff her—she was used to that. But for some reason, despite everything, Lucien’s opinion of her mattered.
“How did you find me?” she repeated.
Not a flicker of feeling touched Lucien’s cold expression. “That doesn’t matter.”
“I could disappear in the blink of an eye.”
“Run and I will find you again. No matter where you go, I will always find you.”
Both seductive and frightening. “Why don’t you attack me, then? Get it over with so there doesn’t have to be another chase?”
He raised his chin, his jaw squaring stubbornly. “I will. I want you out of my mind first.”
Doing her best to appear casual, she leaned back against the swing’s chain. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted, honey. Is wild little Anya so bad a kisser the disgust of knowing you’ve had your tongue in her mouth refuses to leave you?” She sounded as unconcerned as she looked—she hoped—but inside, she trembled.
How did the sight of him still manage to affect her? Worse, now that she knew the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against hers and the sensation of his hands clutching her, drawing her closer, all of her reactions to him seemed to be intensified.
She craved more. Perhaps it’s time to visit a therapist.
“I’m sure you know how good your kisses are.” There was a trace of bitterness in the words.
“You make that sound like a crime.”
“It is.”
Anya’s eyelids narrowed to tiny slits. She’d been alive a long time; she hadn’t lived as a complete innocent, but she hadn’t lived promiscuously, either. Why would she, even before her curse, when she knew the pain of being labeled easy?
Like anyone, however, Anya craved admiration and affection. She liked the way men looked at her and had often lain awake in bed, wishing for the sexual relationship she could never allow herself.
“We can do this easily, Anya.”
“What, kiss again?”
He gulped forcefully. “See to your death.”
Don’t give him a reaction. A good warrior always used an adversary’s emotions against him, and Lucien was a damn good warrior. But so was she. “Tell me again why you want to kill me, sweetcakes. I’ve forgotten.”
A muscle ticked under his eye. “I told you. I do not want to slay you, but the gods have
ordered me to do so.”
And no one, not even a Lord of the Underworld, could disobey the gods without severe consequences. Dread curdled her stomach. Still, she had to admit she was glad Lucien had not come eagerly.
“All gods or one?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“One. Cronus.”
“The bastard king,” she said, just for the god’s benefit. I hope you’re listening, you greedy coward.
Lucien cringed, proving he did indeed fear the wrath of the god. He should. Cronus had clearly skipped school the day mercy was explained.
The moment the Titan had broken free of his heavenly prison, he’d quickly and brutally conquered the Greeks and imprisoned the survivors. That’s when Anya had returned to the heavens and freed a few. That’s also when he’d caught her and locked her back up, demanding her greatest treasure in exchange for her freedom. Before he could punish her for her refusal, she’d escaped. Score one for Team Anya. Shortly after, he’d found her a second time and threatened her with the Lords. Now here she and Lucien were, about to go Halo 3 on each other. Score one for Team Cronus.
“Sure you want to obey such a meanie?” she asked.
Lucien’s gaze met hers, ensnaring her, disrupting her determination. “I must, and nothing you say can sway me from my purpose.”
She arched a brow, doing her best to appear confident. “Wanna bet?”
“No. That would only give you false hope.” A gentle breeze swirled between them, and strands of his dark hair brushed his face. He hooked them behind his ears, allowing nothing to obstruct the invisible cord between them.
With the action, the dark slashes of his eyebrows, the strong slope of his nose and the hard cut of his scarred cheeks became more prominent. But it was his eyes she kept returning to. His brown iris seemed to anchor her, while his blue iris swirled, drawing her deeper and deeper into a world where only he existed.
Obey me. Submit.
The words whispered through her mind.
Her jaw clenched, right along with the rest of her. She knew, knew, what he was trying to do. Lull her into a sense of calmness and force her to willingly accept his death blow.
Hell, no. Not her. If there was one skill she’d mastered in the centuries since she’d been cursed, it was the art of resisting a man. She shook her head, breaking free of his sensual hold. Take that.
Don’t give him a reaction, she reminded herself. She moved her gaze to his massive chest and considered what to do next, all the while sucking on her favorite strawberry lollipop. “You owe me a favor, Flowers, and I’m calling it in. You are not to kill me.”
There was a torturous pause. Then, “You know I must.” He stiffened, as if fortifying himself. “Ask me to make it painless. That I can do. Ask me to kiss you before I take your soul. That, too, I can do.”
“Sorry, babydoll. I think I’ll stick with not killing me. And as a reminder, I told you a few weeks ago that I’d kill you if you tried to renege on your favor.”
Another pause, this one heavier, longer. He tangled a hand through his hair, his expression one of agony. “Why does Cronus want you dead?”
“You already answered that. I’m too wild.” She sat back on the swing, slid one hand slowly, covertly, down her leg and dug into her boot, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of one of her daggers. She might be crazy-aroused by this man despite his mission, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I do not believe that is the only reason,” Lucien said.
“Maybe he tried to score and I laughed at him.” A lie. She refused to admit the truth, however, so the lie would have to do.
Some emotion finally took center stage on Lucien’s features; what, she didn’t know. All she knew was that it was hard and uncompromising. “Maybe he was your lover and you spurned him. Maybe you chose another over him. Maybe you purposefully aroused him and left him, making him feel like a fool.”
Her eyes narrowed once more, focusing on him with razor-sharp intensity. She popped to her feet, hiding the blade behind her back. “That’s a very rude thing to say. As if I would lower myself to playing a man I had no interest in.”
Lucien uttered something that sounded very much like, “You played me.”
Her brows furrowed as her anger spiked. “Believe what you want to believe, but you have no reason to feel hurt.”
“You are Anarchy. I doubt you concern yourself with other people’s feelings.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she snapped.
“I know you dance like you’re having sex, and I know that you taste like every man’s downfall.”
Damn him. The words alone would have aroused her. Paired with his husky, wine-rich voice, and she lost her anger, suddenly ready to tumble straight into his arms. Rather than admit that, she said, “I stand corrected. You aren’t rude. You’re diabolical.” What did it say about her that she now found him all the more appealing?
“Nevertheless, it is true.” His head tilted to the side as he studied her. Though he’d donned that emotionless mask again, there was a white-hot, dangerous aura to him. “Are you always so free with your affections?”
There had been no condemnation in his tone, but the comment still bothered her. She could recall several gods asking her mother the same question, just as she could recall the flicker of hurt in her mother’s eyes each and every time a lover suggested she was not good enough for him. Lucien would pay for that.
Anya ran her tongue over the lollipop’s round tip, lingering over the fruity flavor in a pretend show of indifference. Meanwhile, her hidden fingers tightened around the dagger’s hilt, her nails reaching skin and cutting deep.
“So what if I am?” she finally said. “Most men are easy with their affections and they’re praised, thought of as sexual gods.”
He ignored her comment. The Lords were good at that, obviously. “Before I—” He pressed his lips together, shook his head. He must have changed his mind about what to say to her because he didn’t finish the sentence. “Explain something to me.” As if realizing he would get no answers from her otherwise, he added, “Please.”
She batted her lashes at him flirtatiously. “Anything for you, dumpling.”
“Tell me the truth. Why did you kiss me? You could have had Paris, Reyes, Gideon or any of the others. They would not have objected. They would have wanted you in return.”
First, grrr! They would have wanted you in return, she inwardly mocked. Unlike him, who would never want her. She wasn’t dog food, damn it. Second, why couldn’t he accept that she’d simply desired him and no other?
Maybe it was for the best that he thought her passion faked, she decided. Saved her pride, at least, since she meant nothing to him and he hadn’t wanted her. Jackass.
“Maybe I knew Cronie Wonie was going to tell you to kill me, and I hoped to butter you up like a breakfast muffin so you wouldn’t be tempted to obey.” There. How’d he like that?
Understanding lit his rough, savage features. “Something makes sense at last,” he said with only the barest trace of disappointment.
Or was the disappointment wishful thinking on her part? The man had come to kill her, after all. Softer emotions he couldn’t possibly feel.
Submit to me.
Ah, shit. She’d looked at his face and was once again snared. His blue eye still swirled, and the brown one was so rich and deep she could have willingly drowned in it. Her stomach quivered.
No, no, no! She bared her teeth at him and jerked her gaze away. Hurt him to slow him down, then get out of here. Now, that was a thought she didn’t mind acting on. He was an immortal; he’d heal. But damn it all to the fires of hell, she wasn’t ready to leave him. She hadn’t talked to anyone in weeks. She’d been too busy following him, watching him. Lusting after him.
Doesn’t matter what you want. Strike at him before he strikes at you.
“One last chance to pay up the favor you owe me by protecting me from Cronus,” she told him.
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry.”
“All right, then. Now that we’ve cleared the air,” she said, using her sultriest tone, “let’s get this party started.” She licked the lollipop and shifted her weight to the left, causing her skirt to ride up on the right and drawing his gaze to her bared skin as she’d hoped.
There was the faintest flicker of desire in his eyes, desire he couldn’t hide. Too late. She tossed the dagger.
Silver metal flew end over end and embedded in his heart before he even guessed her intentions. His body spasmed and his eyes went wide as saucers.
“You stabbed me,” he said, incredulous. Grimacing, he jerked out the now-bloody dagger and rubbed a hand over the wound, then looked down at his drenched, crimson-stained fingers. Anger overrode the incredulity.
“Feel free to keep the dagger as a souvenir.” She blew him a kiss and flashed to an icy boulder in Antarctica, knowing he’d follow her and wanting him to suffer for it. Frigid wind instantly slammed into her, cutting through the flimsy clothing she wore. Past skin, past muscle and straight into bone. Her teeth chattered.
Penguins waddled by, scampering to get away from her. Water swirled and churned all around her. Mile after mile of black night greeted her eyes, the only light provided by golden moon rays reflecting off the glaciers.
If she’d been mortal, she would have frozen to death in seconds. Goddess that she was, Anya simply felt miserable. “Worth it, though,” she said, breath forming a thick mist in front of her face. If she was miserable, how much worse would it be for the injured Lucien when he—
Materialized right in front of her, so clear to her the sun could have been shining.
He was scowling, his perfect white teeth bared. He’d removed his shirt, and she saw that rope after rope of muscle lined his stomach. He had no chest hair, not even the happy trail that most men possessed. His skin was the shade of pearlized honey, smooth on one side, like velvet over steel, and jagged and scarred on the other. Both sides were so lickable her mouth watered.
His nipples were tiny, brown and hardened like arrowheads. They would feel amazing against her tongue. His chest was smeared in blood, and a long wound marred the skin just over his heart. The tissue had already begun to weave itself back together.
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