Lords of the Underworld Bundle

by Gena Showalter

  “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 He flashed to her, was straddling her hips in the next instant, his daggers withdrawn and cradled in his hands, raised, ready to strike.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 sound-track.

  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 h
er 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.

  She’d have a night to remember, and his strength would be restored. For the rest of the day, at least. An even trade.

  “Come on,” he said. “We’ll find something.” Soon.

  They meandered along the walkway, side by side. His awareness of her only grew. She smelled of soap and—he sniffed. Wildflowers. What were her most secret fantasies?

  “There’s a café just around the corner,” she said.

  “Perfect.” A tremble racked him. Weakness or desire? He didn’t know, didn’t care. Distract yourself. “What’s your manuscript about?”

  “Oh.” She waved a hand through the air. “You don’t really want to know, and I’m embarrassed to say.”

  “A romance novel, then?”

  Her eyes widened and she peered over at him. “How’d you know?”

  “Lucky guess.” He knew women, even if he couldn’t get close to any one of them. While most loved all things romantic, they hid their romance novels as if they were something to be ashamed of. They couldn’t know that he read them. He loved them, actually, and would have liked a happy ending for himself.

  Until the impossible became possible—aka the Titans dressed in tutus and waved their magic wands while dancing and singing about love—he’d just have to make do.

  Finally they rounded the corner and the outdoor café came into view. Circular tables and high-backed chairs were lined in front of a large glass window. One was vacant, so they quickly claimed it.

  “How long have you been in Greece?” she asked, settling the papers and her purse in her lap.

  “A little more than a week, but I’ve been working.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible. You haven’t had a chance to see the sights, have you?” She propped her elbows on the tabletop and peered over at him, expression rapt. “Are you here alone or with a group?”

  Ignoring her question, he said, “I’m looking at the best sight right now.” All right, boy. That’s getting a little cheesy, even for you. What, you gonna ask her to research the love scenes of her book next? Bring it down a notch.

  She blushed once more, though, a pretty pinkening of her freckled skin. His cock throbbed in reaction.

  A waitress arrived and they placed their orders. He was surprised when his companion—what had she said her name was?—ordered straight, black coffee. He would have placed money on something sweet. He ordered a double espresso for himself.

  When the drinks arrived a few minutes later, he returned his attention to Freckles. She became lovelier by the second, he realized. Underneath the freckles, her skin was a creamy shade of pearl, her eyes now more green than brown.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” she said, sipping. She reached over with her free hand to pat his fingers. At the instant of contact, warm, heady tingles raced up his arm—unexpected and as exquisite as she suddenly was.

  She gasped. He fought a moan.

  “My pleasure,” he answered, arousal building…building…Was it too soon to make a move? Would she run?

  “So, you never told me. What are you doing in Greece?” She pulled her hand away, but stared at his as if there were something wrong with it.

  “I just felt like traveling,” he lied. Wait. He’d mentioned something about work a bit ago. “For work. I’m a…model.” It was a lie he’d used time and time again.

  “Wow,” she said, obviously distracted. Frowning, she reached out and touched his hand again.

  Again, tingles rushed through him. And her, as well, it seemed. She gasped a second time and turned her hand over, studying it. Perhaps now was a good time to make his move, after all.

  “I love the feel of your skin.”

  Shifting nervously, she looked away. “Thank you.”

  Slowly, so slowly, he claimed her hand and raised it to his mouth. He placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. The warm tingles sparked between them, consta
nt now, and so erotic he was willing to beg her to sleep with him.

  When she didn’t protest, he licked her pulse.

  Gasping, she jerked. Not away from him, but in surprised…delight? He’d never had to wonder before, but couldn’t quite read her expression. Couldn’t release her, either. Touching her was like touching a live wire, pinning him in place, holding him captive with those electric jolts.

  “I never do this,” she said on a catch of breath. “I never have coffee with strange men or let them kiss me. Especially not male models.”

  “But I’m not kissing you.”

  “Oh. Well. I just meant—well, I just meant my wrist. You were kissing my wrist.”

  “I’d like to kiss you.” He drank her in through the thick fan of his lashes. “Truly kiss you.”

  “Why? Don’t get me wrong,” she rushed out. “I’m glad. But why me?”

  “You’re a desirable woman.”

  “I am?”

  “Oh, yes.” His voice was husky with arousal. “Can’t you feel the hum of my desire?”

  “I—I—” She chewed on her lower lip again. A nervous habit?

  It was endearing, but he wanted to chew on that lip.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said. She traced a fingertip over her mouth, as if she was imagining his tongue there, too.

  “Say yes.”

  “But we’re strangers.”

  “We don’t have to be.” Gods, he couldn’t wait to taste her. All of her.

  “We could, I don’t know, go to my hotel room,” she suggested shyly. “If you wanted to, that is. We can have a drink or something. I mean, more than coffee. But I’m not suggesting you have to have more if you don’t want to. Oh, crap. I’m nervous! I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s go somewhere new to both of us.” He never entered a mortal’s quarters. He’d made that mistake only once. And he couldn’t take her to his temporary new home. That would place the other warriors in danger if Hunters were to follow. That left getting a hotel room himself. “Somewhere close.”