The Darkest Kiss lotu-3

by Gena Showalter

  Her breasts had nearly spilled from the cerulean half corset she'd worn, and mile after mile of delectable thigh had been visible thanks to her black miniskirt and high-heeled black boots.

  Her hair was so pale it was like a snowstorm as it tumbled in waves down her back. Her eyes were wide and the same cerulean shade as her top. Uptilted nose. Full and red, made-for-sucking lips. Straight white teeth. She'd radiated wickedness and pleasure, every male fantasy come to glittery life.

  Actually, he had not been able to remove her from his head since she'd entered their lives weeks ago and saved Ashlyn. She had not revealed her luscious beauty then, but her strawberry scent had branded him all the way to the bone.

  Now, having tasted her, Lucien felt his heart pound in his chest and breath burn in his throat, blistering, sizzling. He experienced the same sensation when he glimpsed his friends Maddox and Ashlyn together, cooing, snuggling close, almost as if they were afraid to let go of each other.

  Unexpectedly the fog lifted, at last freeing his mind and body, and he saw that he was still outside. Anya was gone, and his friends were seemingly frozen around him. His eyes narrowed as he reached up and wrapped his fingers around one of the daggers sheathed at his back. What was going on?

  "Reyes?" No response. Not even the flicker of an eyelid. "Gideon? Paris?"

  Nothing.

  There was a movement in the shadows. Lucien withdrew the weapon slowly, waiting…prepared to do what was necessary…even as a thought slid into his mind. Anya could have taken his blades and used them on him, and he wouldn't have known. Wouldn't have cared. He'd been too consumed by her. But she hadn't taken them. Which meant she truly hadn't wanted to harm him.

  Why had she approached him? he wondered again.

  "Hello, Death," a grave-sounding male said. No one appeared, but the weapon was jerked from Lucien's grip and sent flying to the ground. "Do you know who I am?"

  Though Lucien gave no outward reaction, dread slithered through him, devouring everything in its path. He had not heard the voice before, but he knew who it belonged to. Deep down, he knew. "Lord Titan," he said. Not so long ago Lucien would have welcomed acknowledgment from this god. Now he knew better.

  Aeron, keeper of Wrath, had received such acknowledgment a month ago. He'd been ordered to kill four human women. Why, the Titans refused to reveal. Aeron had declined the assignment and was now the unwilling guest of the Lords' dungeon, a menace to himself and the world. Bloodlust consumed the warrior every minute of every day.

  Lucien hated seeing his friend reduced to such an animal state. Worse, he hated the growing sense of helplessness inside himself, knowing that, as strong as he was, there was nothing he could do. All because of the being materializing before him now.

  "To what do I owe this…honor?" he asked.

  Fluid as water, Cronus stepped into a beam of amber moonlight. He had thick silver hair and a matching beard. A long linen chimation swathed his tall, thin body, so well-woven it could have been silk. His eyes were dark, fathomless pools.

  In his left hand he held the black Scythe of Death, a weapon Lucien would have loved to seize and use on the cruel god, for it could cleave the head from an immortal in only an instant. As Death incarnate, the Scythe should have belonged to him, anyway, but it had disappeared when Cronus was imprisoned. Lucien wondered how Cronus had managed to find it—and if he could find Pandora's box so easily.

  "I do not like your tone," the king finally replied, deceptively calm. A timbre Lucien knew well, for he used it himself while trying to keep his emotions under control.

  "My apologies." Bastard. Despite the weapon, Cronus did not look powerful enough to have broken free from Tartarus and overthrown the former king, Zeus. But he had. With brutality and cunning, proving beyond any doubt that he was not someone to antagonize.

  "You met the wild and elusive Anya." Whisper-soft now, the god's voice drifted through the night, yet it was a lance of power so strong it could have felled an entire army.

  Lucien's dread increased a hundredfold. "Yes. I met her."

  "You kissed her."

  His hands clenched—in headiness at the memory, in fury that the passionate moment had been watched by this hated being. Calm. "Yes."

  Cronus glided toward him, as silent as the night. "Somehow she's managed to evade me for many weeks. You, however, she seeks out. Why is that, do you think?"

  "I honestly do not know." And he didn't. Her attention to him still made no sense. The ardor of her kiss had been faked, surely. And yet, she'd managed to burn him, body, soul and demon.

  "No matter." The god reached him, paused to stare deeply into his eyes. Cronus even smelled of power. "Now you will kill her."

  At the proclamation, Death rattled the cage of Lucien's mind, but for once Lucien wasn't sure whether the demon did so in eagerness or resentment. "Kill her?"

  "You sound surprised." Finally releasing Lucien's gaze, the god brushed past him as though the conversation was over.

  Though it was only the barest of touches, Lucien was knocked backward as if he'd been hit by a car, muscles clenching, lungs flattening. When he righted himself, trying to catch his breath, he wheeled around. Cronus was walking into the darkness, soon to disappear.

  "If it pleases you," he called, "may I ask why you want her…dead?"

  The god did not turn as he said, "She is Anarchy, trouble to all who encounter her. That should be reason enough. You should thank me for this honor."

  Thank him? Lucien popped his jaw to quiet the words longing to burst from his lips. Now, more than before, he wanted to cleave the god's head from his body. He remained in place, though, knowing just how brutal the gods' retribution could be. He, Reyes and Maddox had only just been released from an ancient curse where Reyes had been forced to stab Maddox every night and Lucien had been compelled to escort the fallen warrior's soul to hell.

  The death-curse had been heaped upon them by the Greeks after Maddox had inadvertently killed Pandora. How much worse would the Titans' punishment be if Lucien assassinated their king?

  While Lucien did not care what they would do to him, he did fear for his friends. Already they had endured more torment than anyone should know in a hundred lifetimes.

  Still, he found himself saying, "I do not wish to do this deed." I will not. Destroying the beautiful Anya would be a curse all its own, he suspected.

  He never saw Cronus move, but the god was in his face a heartbeat later. Those bright, otherworldly eyes pierced Lucien like a sword as his arm extended, the Scythe hovering before Reyes's neck. "However long it takes, warrior, whatever you have to do, you will bring me her dead body. Fail to heed my command, and you and all those you love will suffer."

  The god disappeared in a blinding azure light, gone as quickly as he'd appeared, and the world kicked back into motion as if it had never stopped. Lucien could not catch his breath. One flick of Cronus's wrist and he could have—would have—taken Reyes's head.

  "What the hell?" Reyes growled, looking around. "Where did she go?"

  "She was just here." Paris spun in a circle, scanning the area and clutching his dagger.

  You and all those you love will suffer, the king had said. Not a boast. Absolute truth. Lucien fisted his hands and swallowed a surge of bile. "Let us go back inside and enjoy the rest of the evening," he managed to get out. He needed time to think.

  "Hey, wait a sec," Paris began.

  "No," Lucien said with a shake of his head. "We will speak of this no longer."

  They stared at him for a long, silent moment. Eventually, each of them nodded. He didn't mention the god's visit or Anya's disappearance as he strode past them. He didn't mention Cronus or Anya as they entered the club. Still he didn't mention them as the men scattered in different directions, their gazes lingering on him in puzzlement.

  When Reyes tried to move past him, however, he held out a restraining hand.

  Reyes stopped short and glanced at him in confusion.

  Lucien motion
ed to the table in back, the one he had previously occupied, with a tilt of his chin. Reyes nodded in understanding, and they strode to it and sat.

  "Spill," Reyes said, reclining in his seat and staring out at the dance floor as casually as if they were merely discussing the weather.

  "You researched Anya. Who did she kill to earn imprisonment? Why did she kill him?"

  The music was a pounding, mocking tempo in the background. Strobe lights played over Reyes's bronze skin and dark-as-night eyes. He shrugged. "The scrolls I read gave no mention of why, only who. Aias."

  "I remember him." Lucien had never liked the arrogant bastard. "He probably deserved it."

  "When she killed him, he was Captain of the Immortal Guard. My guess is Anya caused some sort of disaster, Aias meant to arrest her, and they fought."

  Lucien blinked in surprise. Smug, self-serving Aias had taken his place? Before opening Pandora's box, Lucien had been captain, keeper of the peace and protector of the god king. Once the demon had been placed inside him, however, he'd no longer been suitable and the duty had been stripped from him. Then he and the warriors who helped him steal the box had been banished from the heavens altogether.

  "I wonder if she means to strike at you next," Reyes said offhandedly.

  Perhaps, though she'd had the opportunity to do so tonight and hadn't taken it. He would have deserved it, though, no doubt about it. When they'd first come to earth, he and his friends had caused nothing but darkness and destruction, pain and misery. They'd had no control over their demons and had killed indiscriminately, destroyed homes and families, brought famine and disease.

  By the time he'd learned to suppress his more menacing half, it had been too late. Hunters had already risen and begun fighting them. At the time, he hadn't blamed them, had even felt deserving of their ire. Then those Hunters killed Baden, keeper of Distrust as well as Lucien's brother-by-circumstance. The loss had devastated him, shaking him to the core.

  Understanding the Hunters' reasoning had no longer mattered, and he'd helped decimate those responsible. Afterward, though, he'd wanted peace. Sweet peace. Some of the warriors had not. They'd desired the destruction of all Hunters.

  So Lucien and five other warriors had moved to Budapest, where they had lived without war for hundreds of years. A few weeks ago, the remaining six Lords had arrived in town, hot on the heels of Hunters who had been determined to wipe Lucien and his men from the world once and for all. Just like that, the blood feud reignited. There would be no escaping it this time. Part of him no longer wanted to escape it. Until the Hunters were eliminated completely, there could be no peace.

  "What else did you learn about Anya?" he asked Reyes.

  The warrior shrugged. "As I mentioned outside, she is the only daughter of Dysnomia."

  "Dysnomia?" He worried two fingers over his jaw. "I do not remember her."

  "She is the goddess of Lawlessness and the most reviled immortal among the Greeks. She slept with everything male, no matter if he was wed or not. No one even knows who Anya's father is."

  "No suspicions?"

  "How could there be when the mother in question had several different lovers each and every day?"

  The thought of Anya following her mother's path and taking multiple men to her bed infuriated Lucien. He hadn't wanted to want her, but want her—desperately—he had. Did. Truly, he'd tried to resist her. And would have, until he'd realized who she was and rationalized that she was immortal. He'd thought, She cannot die. Unlike a mortal, she cannot be taken from me if I indulge in her. I will never have to take her soul.

  What a fool he'd been. He should have known better. He was Death. Anyone could be taken. Himself, his friends. A goddess. He saw more loss in a single day than most endured in a lifetime.

  "Surprised me," Reyes said, "that such a woman could produce a daughter who looks so much like an angel. Hard to believe pretty Anya is actually wicked."

  Her kiss had been sinful. Delightfully so. But the woman he'd held in his arms had not seemed evil. Sweet, yes. Amusing, absolutely. And, shockingly enough, vulnerable and wonderfully needy. Of him.

  Why had she kissed him? he wondered yet again. The question and its lack of answer plagued him. Why had she even danced for him? With him? Had she wanted something from him? Or had he merely been a challenge to her? Someone to seduce and enslave, then abandon for someone more attractive, laughing at the ugly man's gullibility all the while?

  Lucien's blood chilled at the very idea. Do not think like that. You'll only torture yourself. What was he supposed to think about, then? Her death? Gods, he wasn't sure he could do it.

  Because she had aided him all those weeks ago, he now owed her a favor. How could he kill a woman he was indebted to? How could he kill a woman he'd tasted? Again? He gripped his knees, squeezing, trying to subdue the sudden rush of darkness flowing through him.

  "What else do you know of her? Surely there is something more."

  Reyes gave another of those negligent shrugs. "Anya is cursed in some way, but there was no hint as to what kind of curse."

  Cursed? The revelation shocked and angered him. Did she suffer because of it? And why did he care? "Any mention of who was responsible for cursing her?"

  "Themis, the goddess of Justice. She is a Titan, though she betrayed them to aid the Greeks when they claimed the heavenly throne."

  Lucien recalled the goddess, though the image inside his head was fuzzy. Tall, dark-headed and slender. An aristocratic face and fine-boned hands that fluttered as she spoke. Some days she'd been gentle, others unbearably harsh. "What do you remember of Themis?"

  "Only that she was wife to Tartarus, the prison guard."

  Lucien frowned. "Perhaps she cursed Anya to punish her for hurting Tartarus in order to escape?"

  Reyes shook his head. "If the scroll's timeline was correct, the curse came before Anya's imprisonment." He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Perhaps Anya is exactly like her mother. Perhaps she slept with Tartarus and infuriated the goddess. Isn't that why most women wish ill upon other females?"

  The suspicion did not settle well with Lucien. He scrubbed a hand over his face, the scars so puckered they abraded his palm. Had they scratched Anya? he suddenly wondered. Beneath the damaged tissue, his cheeks heated in mortification. She was probably used to smooth perfection from her men, and would remember him as the ugly warrior who had irritated her pretty skin.

  Reyes traced a fingertip over one of the empty glasses perched on the tabletop. "I do not like it that we are in her debt. I do not like it that she came to the club. As I said earlier, Anya leaves a trail of destruction and chaos everywhere she goes."

  "We leave a trail of destruction and chaos everywhere we go."

  "We used to, but we never enjoyed it. She was smiling as she seduced you." Reyes scowled. "I saw the way you looked at her. Like I looked at Danika."

  Danika. One of the humans Aeron had been ordered to slay. Reyes wanted her more than he wanted to take his next breath, Lucien suspected, but had been forced to let her go in hopes of saving her from the gods' brutality. Lucien thought perhaps the warrior had regretted the decision ever since, wishing to protect her up close and personal.

  What am I going to do? Lucien knew what he wanted to do. Forget Anya, and ignore Cronus as Aeron had. To ignore the king of gods, however, was to invite punishment—just as Aeron had. His friends could endure no more. Of that, he was certain. Already they were poised on the edge between good and evil. Any more and they would fall, just give in to their demons and stop fighting the constant urge to destroy.

  He sighed. Damned gods. The heavenly command had come at the worst possible time. Pandora's box was out there, hidden somewhere, a threat to his very existence. If a Hunter found it before he did, the demon could be pulled out of him, killing him, for man and demon were inextricably bonded.

  While Lucien did not mind the thought of his own demise, he refused to allow his brethren to be hurt. He felt responsible for them. If he
had not opened the box to avenge his stinging pride at not being chosen to guard it, his men would not have been forced to house the demons inside their bodies. He would not have destroyed their lives—lives they had once enjoyed as elite warriors to the Greeks. Blithe, carefree. Happy, even.

  He exhaled another sigh. To protect his friends from further pain, he would have to kill Anya as ordered, Lucien decided with a pang of regret. Which meant he would have to hunt the goddess down. Which meant he would have to be near her again.

  The thought of being in Anya's presence once more, of smelling her strawberry scent, of caressing her soft skin, both tantalized and tormented him. Even forever ago, when he'd fallen deeply in love with a mortal named Mariah, and she with him, he had not desired like this. A hot ache that infused every inch of his body and refused to leave.

  Mariah…sweet, innocent Mariah, the woman he'd given his heart to shortly after learning to control his demon. By then, he'd lived on earth a hundred—two hundred?—years, time seemingly nonexistent, one day the same as any other. Then he'd seen Mariah, and life had begun to matter. He'd craved something good, something pure to wipe away the darkness.

  She'd been sunshine to his midnight, a bright candle in merciless gloom, and he'd hoped to spend an eternity worshipping her. But all too soon, disease struck her. Death had known immediately she would not survive. Lucien should have taken her soul that very moment, but he had been unable to force himself to do it.

  For weeks, the sickness ravaged her body, destroying her piece by piece. The longer he'd waited, hoping she would heal, the more she'd suffered. Toward the end, she'd begged, sobbed and screamed for death. Heartsick, knowing they would never again be together, he'd finally broken down and done his duty.

  That was the night he'd obtained his scars.

  Lucien had carved himself to ribbons using a poisoned blade; every time the wounds had tried to heal, he'd prayed for scars and carved himself up again. And again. He'd even burned himself until the skin no longer rejuvenated. In his grief, he'd hoped to ensure that no female would ever again approach him, that he would never again have to suffer the loss of a loved one.