Again, "No."
"So I'm just a lucky girl?"
His lush lips once more thinned in displeasure. No matter how scarred his cheeks were, nothing could detract from the beauty of those lips. Maybe because she knew how soft they actually were. Maybe because they'd branded her all the way to her soul and she'd forever bear their imprint.
"Yes," he finally said.
"I'm going to decline your oh so generous offer, lover. I think I'd just prefer to kill you now rather than wait. See, your presence is really starting to offend me."
He stiffened, and if he'd been anyone other than the (nearly) unemotional warrior she knew him to be, she would have suspected that she'd hurt him. "Now who is rude?" he said flatly.
Did he think she was talking about his scarred appearance? Dummy. Answering him would have opened the topic for discussion, however, so she said, "How shall we do this, hmm?" She gave her blades a little toss, caught the hilts and twirled them in her hands.
He leveled a frown of resignation at her, as if anything else in the world would have been preferable to this inevitable showdown. "Just remember. You chose this. Not me."
"You followed me, sugar. You chose it."
She'd barely finished the sentence when he materialized two inches from her face, placing them nose to nose. She gasped, sucking in a deep whiff of his rose scent. He slapped one of the knives out of her grip then quickly moved to take the other.
The first action caught her unaware, but she was prepared for the second. She flashed several feet behind him and knocked his skull with a sharp, upward kick. Why she didn't just stab him in the back, she didn't know.
He stumbled forward, caught himself and whipped around to face her, eyes slitted.
"I've seen you kill," she said, trying not to sound impressed. "I know your moves. Taking me down won't be easy." She flashed behind him again, but he was smarter now, on to her tricks, and spun, banding one of his arms around her waist the second she materialized and finally whacking the other blade from her hand.
She almost moaned at the heady sensation of being back in his embrace, the violence somehow only adding to her arousal. She lingered far longer than she should have, savoring the feel of his…erection? Oh, baby, yes. So he liked their sparring, too? Interesting. Exhilarating. And absolutely delicious.
"So strong my little Lucien is. I'm almost sorry I have to fight dirty," she added, just before kneeing him between the legs.
Howling, he doubled over.
A chuckle escaped her as she flashed a few feet away. "Bad, naughty Anya would have been a lot nicer to that area of your anatomy if you'd come after her for different reasons."
"For the last time, woman, I do not want to hurt you," he gritted out. "I'm being forced."
She gazed down at her nails and yawned. "Are you going to put up a fight or not? This is becoming boring. Or, wait. Are you always this weak?"
Perhaps she shouldn't have taunted him. Light a fire, get burned. He was in front of her a moment later, kicking at her ankles and shoving her to the ground. Her back hit and breath wheezed from her lungs, momentarily cutting off her air supply and leaving her dizzy.
Next his weight pinned her down. Her arms were free, so she balled a fist and slammed it into his nose. His head lashed to the side as cartilage snapped and blood poured. But the cartilage realigned in seconds and the blood ceased flowing.
He glared down at her. "Fight like a girl, for gods' sake," he said between shallow breaths, struggling to grab her wrists. Then, finally, he caught them.
That easily, he had her restrained. Aias had held her down like this, but only for a moment. She'd quickly managed to buck him off. Lucien, she couldn't budge no matter how hard she tried. And yet, she wasn't filled with the same sense of murderous rage. She was excited. "You're hurting me," she lied.
He made the mistake of releasing her wrists. She punched him again, this time in the eye. The bone cracked from the impact, swelling—she laughed; turning black—she laughed harder. Healing—she pouted.
"You are not going to flash," he ground out. His gaze was boring into her and that rose-fresh scent was clouding her mind, urging her to relax, to stay where she was and not fight him any longer.
She softened into the ground and licked her lips. Two could play the seduce-me game. Not because it would be fun, she assured herself. "No, I won't flash. I'm too busy imagining my thighs wrapped around your waist."
His pupils dilated, and he groaned. "Stop that. I command you."
"Stop what?" she asked innocently.
"Stop saying things like that. And stop looking at me like that."
"You mean, like you're going to be my dinner?"
He gave a single jerk of his head.
"Can't," she said with a slow grin.
"Yes, you can. You will."
"When you stop looking so edible, then I'll obey." But as she issued the sultry promise, her mind was racing. You're a fighter, Anarchy. You've battled immortals stronger than Death. Playtime is over.
Forcing herself from Lucien's erotic pull and drawing on the instincts that had kept her alive through the darkest days of her existence, she flashed behind him. Without her body to hold him up, he smashed facefirst into the sand.
It has to be this way. As he came up sputtering, she kicked him, swiftly sending him back down. Then she leapt on top of him, straddling his hips and wrapping her fingers around his jaw to twist and break his neck.
But he, too, flashed, appearing in front of a palm tree several feet away from her. Her knees hit the dirt before she was able to right herself and stand. He made no move toward her. Panting, she brushed the sand from her legs. The gentle breeze was filled with the mockingly serene aroma of coconuts and salt water. Roses. I almost killed him, she thought, shaken.
"At this rate, neither of us will win," he said.
She pasted a cocky grin on her face. "Who are you trying to fool? I'm totally winning."
He slammed a fist into the tree, knocking several pieces of red fruit to the ground. "There must be another way. Surely there is a way around your death."
His vehemence made her tingle; his sudden willingness to try to save her made her ache. She sighed. The man could shove her from one end of the emotional gauntlet to the other in seconds. "If you're thinking of petitioning Cronus, don't. He won't change his mind, and he'll punish you for attempting it."
Lucien splayed his arms wide, the very picture of exasperated male. "Why can't he kill you himself?"
"You'd have to ask him." She shrugged as if she didn't know the answer.
"Anya," Lucien said, a warning. "Tell me."
"No."
"Anya!"
"No!" She could have flashed to her knives, but didn't. She could have flashed to him, but didn't do that, either. Instead she waited, curious as to what the warrior would do or say next.
He expelled a sigh, the perfect mimic of her own, as his arms fell back to his sides. "What are we going to do about this, then?"
"Make out?" she suggested cheekily. She'd meant the words as a taunt, a jest, hating that she would have gone to him in a heartbeat if he'd given her any encouragement. I'm pathetic.
He blanched as if she'd struck him.
Irritated, she ran her tongue over her teeth. Was the thought of kissing her again that abhorrent? "Why do you hate me?" she found herself asking before she could stop the words. Damn it. She sounded ashamed, as if the woman she was didn't deserve to be loved. Sorry, Mom. Dysnomia had taught her better.
"I do not hate you," Lucien admitted softly.
"Oh, really? You look ready to vomit at the thought of touching me."
A wry smile greeted her words, there one moment, gone the next. Anya nearly fell to the ground in awe. Finally, a true smile from him. She should have known it would be sensually potent, decadent. Addicting. Already she craved another. His grin was as radiant as the sun.
"And yet I have an erection," he said in a tone as wry as his expression.
&nb
sp; Okay. Who was this man? First a smile, and now he was teasing her. Her blood heated and her nipples hardened (again). "A man doesn't have to like a woman to want her." He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "Just hush it, okay. I don't want to hear your response." He would ruin the happy buzz she had going, she just knew it. "Stand there and look pretty while I think."
"You're purposely trying to provoke me, are you not?"
Yes, she was. A foolish move on her part, really. He'd been ordered to render her death blow. Every time she incited him, she probably made the thought of it a little easier for him to bear. But she couldn't help herself. That smile…
"Have you no answer for me?"
"Not one I'm willing to share." Why did he have to look so sexy standing there? The sun was acting like his lover, caressing him, weaving an angelic halo around his dark head. Yes, angelic. He was a fallen angel just then, causing her pulse points to throb and her stomach to quiver.
Why couldn't they have been simply a man and a woman?
Why couldn't he have wanted her the way she wanted him?
Why wouldn't her obsession with him wane, now that he was bound to snuff her out for eternity?
"You are making this difficult."
"You won't break the rules for me?" she asked, batting her lashes. "You won't do me this one teeny-weeny favor? You owe me."
"No. I can't."
He hadn't even hesitated in the delivery of his answer and that pissed her off. The least he could have done was take a few minutes to think about it. Bastard. She scowled. "I'm giving you one more chance to agree. We'd be even, the chalkboard clean."
"I am sorry. I must again decline."
Fine. That meant there was only one way to end the madness.
Finally she did flash to her knives. She did flash to him. His eyes widened in surprise as she materialized in front of him. With the hilt facing him, she chop-blocked him in the throat, spun while he struggled to breathe and slammed the other hilt into his temple to render him unconscious.
Contact.
Only, he didn't sink into unconsciousness. He fell to his knees with a groan. Didn't matter. Either way, the outcome was the same. Disappointed that it had come to this, she twirled the daggers in her palms so that the sharp tips pointed directly at him.
Her hands trembled as she stared at the top of his head. Everything inside of her was screaming not to do this, but she swung the blades into a crisscross, anyway. There were only a few ways to kill an immortal permanently and decapitation was one of them. Do it…no other way… She'd already placed the blades at his neck, needing only to slam her wrists together. Do it before he flashes!
Oh, gods, oh, gods. She did it. Moved to cut him. Instead of flesh, however, her weapons encountered only air.
He'd flashed.
Frustration and elation battled for supremacy. Before she had time to act on either, strong, viselike fingers jammed into her shoulders, spinning her around. Searing lips slammed over her mouth, prying it open and stealing her breath.
Lucien's tongue thrust against hers in a white-hot kiss that would haunt her waking and sleeping for thousands of years to come. Dead or alive. It was bliss and it was agony. It was heaven and it was hell. Having his flavor drown her so perfectly, his strength and heat at the ready, craving more.
"Lucien." She gasped and moaned and reached for him, dropping the weapons in her haste to have his skin under her palms.
"Not another word. Kiss me like before."
His fervency excited her all the more. Apparently, dancing for him and throwing herself at him weren't enough. Apparently, she had to nearly commit murder to arouse him enough to attack her.
His arms snaked around her waist and hauled her snugly into the heat of his body. The action rubbed his swollen penis against the wet, needy juncture between her thighs, and they both groaned in ecstasy.
She wanted to jump into him and devour him whole. She settled for gripping his head, fisting his hair and tilting him to deepen the kiss. A part of her suspected that he was doing this to distract her, but he never went for her throat. He just kept tonguing her as if he couldn't stop himself.
Her nipples were so hard they were probably as sharp as her knives—which she kicked away with the last vestiges of her common sense. "Lucien," she said on another moan, meaning to demand he remove her corset. Skin to skin. She was desperate for it. Dumb, so dumb, to allow skin to skin, but in that moment she wanted it more than she wanted freedom. "Lucien, my shirt."
This time, her voice seemed to snag him from whatever spell he'd been under. He jerked away from her. Without him to hold her up, she almost fell flat on her face as he had done earlier.
"What are you doing?" she demanded as she righted herself.
"I can't think straight right now." Panting, he stepped backward. "I need to get away from you."
There was an angry glint in his eyes, a glint that was dark and violent and utterly menacing. A shiver of fear spread the length of her spine. Fear and even deeper arousal.
What's wrong with me?
He'd told her never to anger him, that bad things would happen if she did. Well, he'd been telling the truth. She'd angered him somehow and he'd stopped kissing her. Nothing was worse than that.
"You're going to leave me like this? Without even giving me an orgasm?" Whoops. She'd meant to sound flippant. She'd sounded needy and whining instead. And breathless.
The glint darkened further. "We will see each other again, Anya. Soon." With that ominous promise, he disappeared.
CHAPTER FOUR
LUCIEN WAS AT A LOSS as he escorted three human souls to the heavens later that night. He was still at a loss as the pearled gates opened wide, revealing golden streets and bejeweled, arched lampposts hanging like diamond-studded clouds. White-clothed angels lined the sides, singing a melodious welcome, their feathered white wings gliding gracefully behind them.
Once the souls crossed the threshold to paradise, the gates closed, blocking him out, and there was only silence.
He was still at a loss.
Usually the beauty and peace he encountered here filled him with twinges of jealousy and resentment, for he would never be allowed inside. Tonight, he did not care. Anya occupied every corridor of his mind; he had no idea what to do about her.
Lucien flashed to his chambers in Buda, his body solidifying at the foot of the bed. He stood unmoving, locked in thought and chaotic emotion he should not have felt. When it came to Death, he knew well the consequences of hesitation. But earlier today he had not only hesitated, he had nearly made love to his intended victim. Tongued her hard, caressed her. He'd had the opportunity to finish her off, so he damn well should have finished her off.
"I am a foolish man," he muttered.
She had come at him with every intention of slaying him. But he'd spun her around, seen the way her glistening red lips parted on a gasp, felt her warm breath on his skin, smelled strawberries and cream, heard his demon purr and had been consumed by the greatest surge of lust he'd ever experienced.
How could he want Anya more than he'd ever wanted Mariah, a woman he'd loved?
How?
Anya had nearly killed him, yet he'd thought, I cannot die without another kiss from her. He hadn't cared about anything else. Just her lips. Her body. Her.
She was using him to thwart Cronus. She'd admitted as much, which made Lucien's lust all the more foolish. She hadn't seemed to mind his kiss, though. No, she'd seemed to enjoy it, to hunger for more.
"Damn this," he railed, stalking forward and slamming a fist into the wall. Stone instantly cracked and dust plumed around him, clouding his vision. It felt good so he punched again, his knuckles splitting and throbbing. Relax. Now.
Nothing good ever came of his anger.
He exhaled slowly as he turned and surveyed his bedroom. Morning had already arrived, he realized with surprise. With all that flashing, he'd lost track of the different time zones. Sunlight streamed through the room's only window.
Except for Maddox and Torin, all of the warriors had, most likely, left for their respective destinations in Greece and Rome. I need to do the same. Anya can be taken care of later, when I'm not reeling from the taste and feel of her.
He strode to his closet, along the way noticing three vases perched on his vanity. Each overflowed with white, winter flowers and emitted a honey scent. They hadn't been here last night, which meant Ashlyn had been here this morning. Sweet, tenderhearted Ashlyn had probably thought to brighten his day with them, but seeing the blooms caused a pang of regret to tear through his chest.
Mariah used to pick flowers and weave them in her hair.
His door suddenly swung open and Ashlyn rushed inside, concern lighting her pretty face. Maddox, as always, was right behind her, a slash of black menace and lethal grace. He held two blades, poised and ready for attack.
"Everything okay?" Ashlyn asked when she spotted only Lucien. Light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her arms. Arms clutched together in worry. For him? "We were walking down the hall and heard a bang."
"Everything is fine," he assured her. But he kept his attention on Maddox, whose violet eyes were narrowed. Get her out of here, he silently willed, not wanting to hurt Ashlyn's feelings. I am not myself.
Lucien was dangerously close to losing all semblance of his legendary control. The strain had to show on every line of his face.
Understanding, Maddox gave a nod. "Ashlyn." He curled a hand around her shoulder. "Lucien is preparing for his journey to the temple. Let's leave him to it."
She didn't shrug off the warrior's hold. Rather, she leaned into him. She also refused to budge. Her gaze dipped over Lucien, scrutinizing, gauging. "You don't look fine."
"All is well," he lied. How many would he tell? He bent down, clasped the handles of his bag and threw it onto the bed.
"Your hand is bleeding and your bones are…Dear God." Frowning, she reached out.
Maddox grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her. He was keeper of Violence, yet he was gentle with his woman, so protective and possessive of her it was almost comical.
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