Lords of the Underworld Bundle

by Gena Showalter

  “I’ll ring Sabin’s cell,” Strider said, “and tell him what we’ve found. Who knows? Maybe he’ll discover something more at the Roman temple.”

  “Do you know anything about that location, Anya?” Lucien asked.

  “Only that it was called the Temple of the Unspoken Ones.”

  “Unspoken Ones? I’ve heard of them,” Gideon said.

  Which of course meant that he hadn’t. Just thinking about the temple caused her to shudder. “Parents used to threaten their unruly children with banishment to that doomed place. Maybe because screams could always be heard echoing from the walls.”

  “Who are the Unspoken Ones?”

  “I never saw them. I kept my distance. And as the name proclaims, they were rarely spoken about outside of the occasional parental threat.”

  Lucien sighed. “Call Sabin if you wish,” he said to Strider, “but I plan to flash to Rome and tell him in person. I’ll scout the temple while I’m there. My blood acted as a catalyst here. Perhaps it will there, as well.”

  Hope filled the air. They were closer to success than ever before, she knew.

  “Where should we begin looking when we reach our destinations?” Paris asked. “Right now, all I know is that I’m supposed to go to the States. As you said, that’s a big damn place. With lots of women,” he added as an afterthought. His lips lifted in a slow smile, the strain on his face seeming to ease at just the prospect of fresh meat.

  “Where should they look?” Lucien demanded of Anya.

  Again, everyone turned to her.

  They wanted her help, then they didn’t, then they wanted it again. “What? I’m just a dumb, annoying minor goddess. Not needed. Not wanted. Not—”

  “You can go with me,” Lucien snapped.

  Ah, such enthusiasm. Irritated, she ran her tongue over her teeth. Still, his demands and growls were better than all those weeks of implacable composure. Huh. Maybe she should push him a little more. “Sorry. What’d you say?” She cupped a hand over her ear. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  “You can go with me,” he repeated loudly. Darkly.

  Now she crossed her arms over her chest. Keep pushing like this, and he just might jump you. Please, please, please. “Are you going to try to kill me?”

  “You know I must, but I will give you fair warning before I do.”

  She hadn’t wanted him to stop, anyway. “Fair enough.” Could this day have gone any better? Soon she would be traveling alone with him, probably fighting with him. The prospect shouldn’t have thrilled her, but it did. She wanted a chance to nurture the desire she’d seen in him earlier, dangerous though that was. “I accept.”

  “Where should we look?” Paris repeated.

  “I don’t have all the answers, you know.” This kept up, and soon the men would only respect her for her mind. Ugh.

  “Anya,” Lucien warned.

  “What? I don’t! Just have Ashlyn follow any rumors about giant, ugly monsters. That’ll probably be Hydra. Oh, and she likes water. So maybe follow rumors about giant ugly monsters spotted near water.”

  The men nodded, and she was once more forgotten as they chatted amongst themselves about what supplies they would need, when they would leave and blah, blah, blah.

  Anya sidled up to Lucien and ran her fingertip down his sternum. “We’re going to have fun, you and I.”

  He had been telling Strider what he knew of South Africa, but his words quickly died. Eyes blazing, he whipped to her. What he meant to say or do, she might never know. She blew him a kiss and disappeared.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS HE SHOPPED FOR PROVISIONS he would need for his upcoming trip—intermittently collecting eighteen souls and escorting them to their final resting place—Lucien did not feel Anya’s burning gaze on him. Nor did he smell her enticing strawberry scent.

  Where was she? What was she doing?

  Who was she doing it with?

  His hands balled, knuckles throbbing, the joints so stiff they felt brittle.

  He missed her more than ever. He had gotten used to her presence; nothing felt right when she was gone. Besides, he worried about her. Had Cronus tired of Lucien’s halfhearted attempts to slay her and taken it upon himself to destroy Anya?

  Now his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. She is fine. Cronus had been unable to kill her, which was why he’d given the task to Lucien. Anya was safe from the god king.

  But time is ticking…

  Lucien expected the bastard to arrive at any moment and punish him for his failure. Punishment was beginning to matter less and less, however.

  He wanted to spend more time with her, and he was about to get his wish. Too bad they weren’t heading for Hawaii. But Lucien had known Anya would follow him wherever he chose, so he’d picked the Arctic, the one place he’d thought—hoped—would cool his desire.

  Because more than missing her, he desired her. Badly.

  He was becoming obsessed with her. Lately all he could think about was stripping her. Licking between her legs, pleasuring her in every way imaginable and even some that weren’t. Watching her face while she climaxed. Fisting her hair while she sucked his cock. Lately? Ha!

  Even now, he trembled. Trembled like a damned mortal.

  His long-neglected body practically sobbed for Anya each time she approached him. Forcing himself to walk away grew more and more difficult. And forcing himself to discourage her advances was even more so.

  Stop thinking, finish shopping, he commanded himself as he stalked down the city’s paved streets. He’d flashed from the island to Athens, and sunlight shone brightly. Last time he’d been here, all those centuries ago, dead bodies had littered the street and blood had flowed like crimson rivers.

  He pushed the image to the back of his mind. The air was crisp and salty. He needed to enjoy this mild weather while he could. All too soon he’d feel the icy blast of the Arctic. With Anya.

  Damn this! What would it take to exorcise her from his head completely?

  Determined, Lucien made a mental checklist of everything he needed. A coat. Boots. Thermals. Thick socks. And gloves. He would have flashed to Buda and collected everything there, but the items he owned were meant for manageable winters. The Arctic was another story. He’d have to endure freezing winds and snow as far as the eye could see. Perhaps luck would be on his side and he would find Hydra quickly. He placed a call to Maddox and had him ask Torin to search any possible sightings.

  What was Anya doing?

  He didn’t even try to stop the thoughts this time. Obviously, fighting did no good. Anya. In the Arctic. Alone with him. Perhaps finding Hydra quickly would not be such a wonderful thing.

  Last time he and Anya had been together in the cold, she’d pushed him into the icy water. The memory shouldn’t have made him smile, but it did. Anya, standing on that glacier, waiting for him, then shoving him with all of her strength, had been a beautiful if macabre sight. Even his testicles had frozen.

  She had laughed, a tinkling sound of genuine amusement. Heady and seductive. He wanted to hear it again.

  Gods, he admired her courage and her tenacity. Anyone else would have cowered at having Death hunt them.

  Where was she? he wondered again. Had she finally tired of him?

  As he passed a corner shop, he slammed his fists into the wall. Stone abraded skin. Whether Anya was tired of him or not, he would soon have her to himself, away from the other warriors. Hopefully he would learn more from her. Hopefully he would prevent her from learning more from him.

  Hopefully he would better do his duty.

  His clipped steps slowed, and he forced himself to take in the sights. Emerald trees framed most of the buildings, stretching overhead and casting shadows. There were no cars on the streets—those were prohibited—so people had to walk to their destinations.

  Merchants were out in force, selling everything from fruit and vegetables to flimsy scarves to doorknobs. None of which would keep him warm in the Arctic.

&nbs
p; “You’ll never find what you need here,” Anya said, suddenly keeping pace beside him.

  His blood instantly heated as he glanced around, making sure no one had witnessed her sudden appearance. The only people staring at her were men, and he didn’t know if they were shocked or simply captivated.

  She was lovelier than ever.

  Her pale hair was knotted at the base of her neck in an intricate braid and a pink ribbon circled over her ears. She wore a fur-trimmed coat and knee-high boots with a matching trim of fur.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, the question harsher than he’d meant it to be. Finally she was with him, and that should have been all that mattered. She’s where she belongs, his mind added, and he frowned. When she’s by my side, I can keep her out of trouble. Nothing more.

  “Oh,” she said, waving a hand through the air. “Here and there.”

  Had she been with another man? His jaw clenched. Best not to allow his mind to travel that route, so he changed the subject. “Why are you dressed like that?” He wore a black linen T-shirt and slacks, and he was sweating.

  “’Cause we’re going to Switzerland, silly, and it’s cold there. You, my friend, are way underdressed.”

  “Anya, I—”

  “There’s only one hour’s time difference,” she said, cutting him off, “so this is the perfect time to go shopping in Zürich.”

  He sighed. “Why must we go to Zürich to shop?” We. Damn the thought! He needed to think of them separately. Never as a pair. Too dangerous.

  “Because it’s snowy and I look good in white. Race you there!”

  She disappeared, leaving a trace of her strawberry scent. Bereft without her, Lucien scanned the crowd a second time. Several people had noticed her disappearance, he knew for a fact, because several jaws were dropped.

  The citizens of Budapest knew he and the others were different, if not to what extent, and for the most part left them alone. Protected them, even. Perhaps because the warriors poured so much money into the community. Perhaps because the people were afraid of what would happen if they didn’t.

  Still. Since leaving ancient Greece and the destruction he’d caused, he had been very careful not to let mortals see his abilities. He did not want rumors of his presence circling. He did not want the human media chasing him and the others, and he certainly did not want more Hunters after him.

  But despite all this, he did not try to explain what had happened to Anya. He, too, simply disappeared. Hopefully the witnesses would assume they’d imagined the entire episode. There was a compulsion inside him to be with Anya. He couldn’t wait a second more. His heart had not slowed down since her arrival.

  He felt more on edge with her than with anyone else in the world. He lost his legendary calm—not that he had erupted in her presence, thank the gods—and he had no business strengthening any ties between them when he had been ordered to kill her. And yet, he could not seem to help himself.

  Her lighted trail did indeed lead to Zürich. He had been here a time or two collecting souls, but had never been able to linger or explore. The same was true with every country he had ever visited. Collect, escort to heaven or hell, and return home in time for midnight—and Maddox’s curse—to arrive. That had been the way of his life for centuries. In the month since the curse had been broken, the warriors had been too busy researching Pandora’s box for Lucien to do any traveling on his own. Not that he’d wanted to at that point. Hunters were in need of destruction, his friends in need of peace.

  He only prayed he was not compelled to take another soul this day. He wanted this time with Anya, uninterrupted and unspoiled.

  Fool. This could be a trap. She could mean to hurt you.

  He found her standing on a polished wooden deck, sunlight streaming around her. Cold air swirled between them. Behind her was a breathtaking view of snowcapped mountains.

  She was facing him, tendrils of hair wisping over her face as she splayed her arms wide. “What do you think?”

  “Exquisite.” And she was.

  A gradual, almost tentative, definitely vulnerable smile lifted the corners of her lush lips. She stared at him and said, “I think so, too.”

  Did she mean him? Rather than entice or soothe or excite him as her words were probably supposed to do, they angered him. He wanted her more than he wanted to take his next breath, and she played his affections like a violin. His entire body tensed.

  Here we go again, he thought. Letting her pull your emotional strings. Letting her affect you. “Let’s get this over with,” he said tightly.

  Slowly she lost her smile. “Over with? You are such a mood ruiner. Well, I’m not going to let you spoil this for me. Have you eaten lunch?”

  “No.”

  “Food first, then. Shopping later.”

  “Anya, I think—”

  She strolled past him as if he wasn’t speaking and sauntered through an opened archway that led into a spacious apartment—why not a mansion?—of vivid colors and luxuriant sensuality. Not knowing what else to do, he followed her.

  “This is yours, I presume,” he said. “I expected something bigger.”

  “I keep a home everywhere and this is all the space I need. More…intimate this way.” In the center of the living room, there was a low wooden table piled high with food, and she eased onto one of the violet pillows in front of it. “I haven’t been to this one in a while because of you-know-who.”

  “Cronus?”

  She nodded and began heaping two plates high with—he sniffed, realizing it was chicken pot pie, freshly baked bread and steaming vegetables. Not the extravagant meal he would have expected a goddess to prefer.

  “Sit,” she said, not looking up at him. She spooned a bite into her mouth, eyes closing in absolute delight.

  He did as commanded, chest aching at the domesticity of the scene and the raw enjoyment she took from such a simple action. He had never had a wife, never been with a single woman for more than a few months—the length of time he’d had with Mariah before she died—so had never experienced anything remotely domestic. Unless you counted Paris’s feeble attempts at cooking, which Lucien most definitely did not.

  Mariah. Dead. Thinking of her just then did not bring the usual surge of resentment, guilt and anger. Was he finally, at long last, healing? With every day that passed, he thought of her less and less. Which was as sad as it was freeing.

  Death had not cared about her, even though Mariah had been Lucien’s everything.

  Would Death mourn the loss of Anya?

  He suspected so. Even now, the demon was purring.

  “You never told me the real reason Cronus wants you dead,” he said.

  Anya sipped a glass of dark, rich wine, peering at him over the rim. “Not true. I told you I have something he wants.”

  “Your body?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

  “According to you, I give that to everyone.” There was a trace of bitterness in her tone. “Are you going to eat or just watch me?”

  Stomach suddenly grumbling, he bit into the pie. Succulent, perfectly prepared. “Did you make this?” He could not picture her slaving in a kitchen.

  “Gods, no. I stole it.”

  The disgust on her pixie face was comical, and he found himself grinning. “Stole?”

  “Yes.” She stared at his lips, her blue eyes heating. “I like it when you smile.”

  He swallowed. “Cronus,” he prompted, trying to halt whatever thoughts were rolling inside her head. “Why doesn’t he seek you out and kill you himself? You are out in the open now. I’m sure he has been able to lock in your location.”

  “He’s an inter-heavenly man of mystery. No one knows why he does the things he does.”

  “And you have no guess?”

  “Well,” she shrugged, “he’s an idiot. There, that’s my guess.”

  Lucien tensed, waiting for lightning to strike and thunder to boom. Several minutes ticked by before he was able to relax. “This so
mething he wants. Tell me what it is. Please. And for gods’ sake, Anya, give me a straight answer for once.” If he knew, he could steal it from her, give it to Cronus and end this nightmare.

  “For once?” She shook her fork at him. “I give you straight answers all the time.”

  “Again, then,” he said on a sigh.

  She stared at him for a long while, not speaking, not moving. Finally she said, “You want the truth, I’ll tell you. But the information will cost you. We’ll trade. A question for a question.”

  “Done. What do you have that Cronus wants?”

  “I have a…a…damn it, Lucien. I have a key, okay. Happy now?”

  “Yes. There. We have both answered one question.”

  “We both have no—Damn you! I did ask a question, didn’t I? Happy now? Score one for you.”

  “You have a key,” Lucien prompted. “A key to what?”

  “That, I won’t tell you.” She popped another bite of chicken into her mouth, chewed, swallowed.

  “What does it open?”

  “I’m done answering your questions,” she said flatly. “You don’t play fair.”

  He didn’t berate her sense of fairness, but continued the game. “Why don’t you give it to him?”

  “Because it’s mine,” she snapped. She dropped her fork, and it clanged against her plate. “Now hush it before I flash you to an alligator pit. You’re ruining the meal I spent hours preparing.”

  “You just told me you didn’t cook it.”

  “I lied.”

  “A key will matter little when you are dead,” he pointed out, unwilling to close the topic. Too much was at stake.

  “Fuck you, Death.”

  She only called him Death when she was mad, he realized. Otherwise, it was sweetcakes, baby doll and Flowers. And lover, his mind piped in. He preferred those. Except for Flowers, the names made him feel like a man. Not an immortal, not a cursed warrior. Not ugly. And not someone who would ultimately destroy her.

  He frowned. “I can’t believe you are willing to die for a mere key.”

  “It’s not like any other key, and you don’t have to kill me.”

  “I must.”

  “Whatever.” She drained the rest of her wine. “I answered a few more of your questions, now answer a few for me.”