The Darkest Kiss lotu-3

by Gena Showalter

  "Maddox," she said, exasperated. "I just want to see how bad his injuries are. We might have to reset the bones."

  "Lucien will heal, and you need to rest."

  "Rest, rest, rest. I'm four weeks pregnant, not sickly."

  The proud couple had announced the news mere days ago. Then and now, Lucien was happy for them, but he also wondered what the offspring of a demon-possessed warrior and a mortal female with unusual powers would be. Half-demon? Fully demon? Completely mortal? Once, he'd wondered the same thing about a child of his own. His and Mariah's. But she had been taken from him before they'd even decided to try to conceive.

  "Your man is correct," he said. "I am fine."

  Determination radiated from Ashlyn, her large brown eyes never leaving Lucien. Tenderhearted she might be, but she was also stubborn to her very core.

  She had grown up in a science lab, studied and used for a unique ability she'd only just learned to control. Wherever she stood, Ashlyn could hear every conversation that had taken place there, no matter how many years had passed. She could not, however, hear prior conversations between him and the other immortals, which had to irk her when she desired answers they wouldn't give.

  "Word has already spread about you and a woman at the club," she said, blinking innocently. "Who is she?"

  "She is no one." Except the new center of his world. Anya, beautiful Anya. His hands curled tightly at his sides. Even her name excited him, caused his blood to simmer deliciously and his body to ready for sex. She's not for you. "Warriors should not gossip."

  He and Anya probably looked silly together. Her, the epitome of lush femininity. Him, an ugly beast of a man. Still, he could not stop himself from imagining his hand fisted in her hair, his body pounding in and out of hers. Hard, fast. Slow, tender.

  Pretty, Death suddenly growled.

  Lucien blinked in surprise. Usually the demon remained a compulsion rather than a voice; always a part of him, yet always distanced. Why it would speak up now, he didn't know. Still, he found himself replying. Yes, she is. Four times he had seen her. Four times he had spoken to her. For these past few weeks, he had scented her. Already she was ingrained in his cells—his thoughts, his desires, his purpose—more than anyone else, even his beloved Mariah, had ever been.

  Want her. Death again.

  Yes.

  Tastes good. Have her before we kill her.

  No! Even as he shouted the word inside his head, he felt the demon tugging at him, trying to force him to find Anya.

  He planted his feet into the ground. Not yet.

  "Lucien," Ashlyn prompted, drawing his attention back to her. The pressure inside of him eased. "I'm not a warrior, so I can gossip. You kissed her. Everyone said they saw you—"

  "I am fine, and the woman is of no concern," he lied. Gods, another. Usually he abhorred lies. He reached out to tweak Ashlyn's nose, heard Maddox growl and dropped his arm. Maddox did not like for anyone else to touch his female. Ever. And for the first time, Lucien understood that. He despised the thought of other men touching Anya.

  Idiot. The woman manipulated with a smile on her perfect face, and he was willing to bet that, like her mother, she had been intimate with legions. Whether she'd used those lovers for pleasure or power, he didn't know. Shouldn't care.

  What if she were seducing another right now, trying to secure protection from Lucien?

  A roar shoved from his throat and he found himself twisting, moving to confront the wall again, punching, punching, his knuckles throbbing insistently. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maddox whip Ashlyn behind his back.

  What are you doing? Anya can well take care of herself. She doesn't need a man to protect her.

  Perhaps she was alone on the beach, as needy and confused as he was. The thought softened the edges of his anger, even as it made his body incredibly hard. But as much as he wished to believe it, he knew a woman like her would not crave a scarred man like him. Not truly. No matter how hot her kisses. How many had turned away from him over the centuries? How many had cringed when he neared?

  Countless.

  And that had been—was—just the way he liked it.

  Deep breath in, deep breath out. "How is Torin?" he asked, changing the subject as he stalked to the bed. "I do not like how slowly he is healing."

  Ashlyn shoved Maddox aside, and the big warrior scowled, but let her. "I think I figured out why he hasn't bounced back as quickly as the rest of you do. He's Disease, right? Well, I think his cells are affected by that sickness. They have to fight the virus as well as the wound. Anyway, he is healing. He's eating on his own now."

  "Good. That's good." Lucien still felt guilty about the attack Torin had endured. He should have been here. Should have sensed Torin's pain.

  If the Hunters who had sneaked inside hadn't touched Torin's skin, infecting themselves with disease and weakening their forces, Torin would have died. Lucien had thought he'd taken the necessary precautions to prevent such an event, for he would rather his neck be sliced than one of the others. Yet his necessary precautions had failed.

  "And how is Aeron?"

  "Well." Ashlyn faltered, sighed. She bit her lip. "He's not so good."

  "The bloodlust is so great he's taken to clawing himself," Maddox said, his voice grave. "Nothing I say penetrates his dark thoughts."

  Lucien massaged the back of his neck. "Are you two going to be all right on your own?"

  "Yes." Maddox wrapped his arm around Ashlyn's waist. "Torin is able to monitor the grounds on his computers and now that my death-curse is broken," he said, hugging his woman close, "I can leave at any time to defend us or procure items we might need."

  Lucien nodded. "Good. I'll let you know what we find." He swiped up his bag and said over his shoulder, "Thank you for the flowers, Ashlyn." Without another word, he flashed to the Cyclades Islands in Greece.

  Silver stone walls gave way to white stucco. The home he had already purchased and furnished was open and airy, with towering white columns and gauzy white material draping the windows.

  He dropped his bag and stepped to the nearest balcony, an airy terrace that looked out onto the clearest water he'd ever seen. Smooth, no waves. Not even a ripple. The sun glowed lovingly—it was already midday—and lush green bushes with bright red blooms framed the edges of the building.

  Perhaps he and the other warriors should have stayed in Athens or Crete to be closer to the ancient temple they meant to search, but there was more anonymity on the islands. Fewer tourists and even fewer locals.

  "The fewer the better," he muttered.

  He did not remember much of his time here, all those thousands of years ago, so he could not compare then with now. Those days had been dark, filled with screams and pain and acts so evil he didn't want to remember them.

  I am a different man now.

  And yet, he felt as if he would soon commit his most evil act yet. Slaying Anya. Do not think about her death. Not now.

  What should he think about, then? he wondered, refocusing on the crystal water. Whether or not she would like the view? He rubbed his jaw with a sigh—and found that he was truly curious. Would she?

  Doesn't matter. You can't let it matter. He forced his attention to the left—do not think about Anya—and marveled at the newest sight: emerald mountains laced with white and violet. Surely this was the gods' greatest creation.

  No, that would be Anya.

  His teeth gnashed together. What must he do to wipe her from his mind? He knew what he wanted to do. Strip her right here on the balcony and push her naked body against the iron railing, sunlight caressing her as he meant to do. He would touch her so exquisitely she wouldn't care about his scarred face. He would make her climax, over and over again, shouting his name. Desperate for more of him. So desperate she would forget every other man she'd slept with and think only of Lucien. Crave only Lucien.

  The chances of that happening were as slim as those of Lucien's face returning to its former glory. Not that he wanted
it to. He'd earned every one of his scars. They were a part of him now, a permanent reminder that loving a woman equaled pain and suffering.

  He had never needed the reminder more.

  He could not put off thinking of Anya's death, he decided. She would haunt him until he figured this out. Get it over with. How should he kill her? He didn't want to hurt her, so it would have to be quick. When should he do it? At night, while she slept? His stomach churned with acid. What exactly would the Titans do if he failed? Like Aeron, would he be driven mad with bloodlust? Would his friends fall, one by one? Fury stabbed at him with the thought.

  Lucien withdrew one of the candies he still carried in his pocket, discarded the wrapper and sniffed. Instant arousal obliterated his anger as strawberry fragrance filled his nose. Why had he done such a foolish thing? The anger returned, but now it was directed at himself.

  Scowling, he pitched the lollipop over the railing. Heard a splash as it hit the water. Ripples disrupted that smooth tranquility.

  Behind him, a door opened. Closed. Male voices and snickering laughter suddenly reverberated. Lucien turned, unconcerned. There was Paris, tall and pale and perfect, radiating sexual contentment. The warrior had just bedded a woman, that much was obvious.

  Beside him was Amun, silent, dark and simmering with untold secrets.

  Strider, whose ruthlessly handsome face glowed with amusement, was punching Gideon in the shoulder. "You know you're jealous," he was saying.

  "Don't hate the player," Paris said, grin widening. "I can't help it if both flight attendants wanted to see to my needs midair."

  Lucien strode inside the spacious home, warm air replaced by cool. "We paid for a private jet, not a private bedding for Paris."

  All four men withdrew a weapon as his voice cut through their good-natured ribbing. As soon as they realized who had spoken, they relaxed. Even smiled.

  "Private is the wrong word," Strider said, blue eyes twinkling. "They did it in front of everyone. And I'm not complaining. The movie was crap, so their performance kept me entertained."

  Lucien rolled his eyes, doing his best not to appear envious. "Take a look around. Pick a bed." Because he could flash, he was the only one who had been here before. He hadn't yet picked a room because he'd wanted to give the others first choice. He was happy to take whatever was left.

  Bags were suddenly thrown aside as the men toured their temporary new "digs," as Paris would say.

  "Nice," Paris said after choosing the room in back. "Chicks will certainly love it."

  "Sucks," Gideon said, but everyone ignored him as usual. Everything out of his mouth was a lie. He'd taken the room closest to the front door.

  "How long have you been here?" Strider asked Lucien as he came back into the living room.

  "Only a few minutes."

  "How is that even possible?" Strider and Lucien had only been reunited a month ago, Strider part of the group who had remained in Greece to fight the Hunters after Lucien's men had departed for Budapest. Hundreds of years had since passed, and they were only now getting to know each other again. "You didn't fly out before us, and you damn sure didn't fly with us."

  Paris swung an arm over the wide expanse of Lucien's shoulders. "My man here did a little something called flashing." He proceeded to explain how Lucien could enter the spirit world and travel from one location to another in the blink of an eye. "Learned it a few years after we arrived in Buda."

  Before then, he hadn't had enough control over the demon to master the ability.

  Strider nodded, clearly impressed. "Cool skill. But why didn't you just flash all of us?"

  Again, Paris answered for him. "Last time he spread the flashing love, Reyes threw up all over his shirt. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lucien, though, has no sense of humor and vowed never to take us again."

  "I'm surprised you didn't mention the part where you fainted," Lucien said wryly.

  Strider chortled. "Oh, man. You fainted? What a baby! Shit, look at that view," he added with barely a pause, catching sight of the terrace. "Reminds me of Olympus."

  "Hey," Paris said, frowning at Lucien. "I told you I hit my head midflash."

  "That doesn't make you any less of a baby," Strider tossed over his shoulder. He braced his arms on the balcony frame and leaned forward. "No matter how many times I see this place, it feels like the first time."

  Paris wasn't letting the subject drop. "Let's see your reaction to a flash, Defeat. I bet you—"

  "Stop," Lucien interjected with a raised hand. Paris knew better than to issue any type of challenge to Strider. Once the man entered into a competition, be it a knife fight, boxing or even the human game he and Paris liked to play, Xbox, he could not lose without suffering intense, debilitating pain. Needless to say, he did anything necessary to win at everything. "We have work to do."

  "Work sucks," Gideon said.

  Lucien ignored him. "We need to better secure the building in case any Hunters managed to follow us. After that, we'll prepare for our outing tomorrow."

  They had the first done in an hour, placing sensors on the windows and around the building. They were sweating when they reentered the living room.

  "I had Torin look a few things up before we left," Paris said, digging weapons from his boots and placing them on the nearest tabletop. "He thinks the temple we're going to search is the Temple of the All Gods. Ever heard of it?"

  Lucien shook his head. Anya had not mentioned names. Anya… He ran his tongue over his teeth, his blood heating. In arousal for the woman, in fury at the god who wanted her dead.

  "What do you think we'll find?" Strider asked, his features pensive as he peered at Lucien. "And why the hell do you now look capable of murder? These last few weeks the only expression you've given us was bored. I mention the temples and hello, demon."

  The others whipped to face Lucien and were obviously shocked by what they saw. "Hopefully we'll find the box," he said, disregarding the other question. "Or at least a clue as to its whereabouts." Unfortunately, he would have to deal with Anya while looking. Anya. Fighting. Dying. Dead.

  "Shit. His eyes are red. I've never seen that happen to him before." Paris.

  "I remember what he was like back in the demon days, and it wasn't pretty." Strider. "Should we, I don't know, chain him?"

  "Yeah, that'll be fun," Gideon said.

  "Give me a minute, and I'll be fine." Before they could do anything, Lucien flashed back to Antarctica, right into the frigid water. He gasped, suddenly chilled to the bone. Yet while the icy liquid helped cool the fierceness of his anger, it did little to quench his desire for the woman currently taking up prime real estate inside his head.

  He was beginning to think nothing could.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANYA STAYED AWAY FROM Lucien for twenty-four hours. By the end, she seethed with nervous energy, constantly wondering if he'd appear. Every unexplained noise made her jump. Made her gasp. Made her heart kick into overdrive.

  She'd paced the floors of her beach home, had tried to watch a movie but couldn't even recall what disc she'd shoved into the DVD player, and then had locked herself in her favorite room. Her treasure room. Usually rifling through the things she'd stolen over the centuries delighted her. Today, not so much.

  She'd draped herself in Queen Elizabeth's jewels and played darts with King George V's dagger. She'd sipped strawberry-kiwi juice from an Episcopal chalice and drawn a mustache on the original Mona Lisa. Having spent a little time with Leo, she knew he wouldn't have minded.

  What would Lucien think of her treasures? she wondered. Would he stumble back, horrified by the glittering sea of contraband? Probably. He was such a downer sometimes. Or maybe he would have understood, she thought, hopeful. Maybe, after battling his demon for so long, he would have realized that theft was her way of protecting humans from the darker side of her own nature. Well, that, and she liked pretty things.

  Anya sighed and returned to the glistening sand outside. He isn't coming, she
thought with disappointment, staring into the pristine ocean waves. The sun had long since set, then risen, then set again. Now violet and amber glowed on the horizon, glinting off the azure water. Sand squished between her bare toes, and coconut and orchids scented the air.

  She'd both fought Lucien and kissed him here, the most action she'd seen in hundreds of years, so was loathe to leave. Was it dumb to miss him?

  "Probably," she muttered, flinging sand with a flick of her ankle.

  A little while ago, she had donned a skimpy sapphire bikini with ties on each side of her waist. If he had returned as she'd anticipated, they would have rumbled hardcore and one of her breasts might have "accidentally" popped out. He would have started sweating, the fighting would have turned to loving and they would have kissed again.

  They would have touched again.

  She sighed. Not going to happen. The gentle breeze whisked a strand of pale hair over her eyes. She hooked it behind her ear and frowned. What was he doing? Did he miss her? Even a little?

  Was he plotting the best way to kill her, even now?

  The bastard was probably happy to be away from her. "And that just won't do."

  Her eyes narrowed as her hands tightened into fists. If he wouldn't come to her, she'd just have to go to him.

  HUNTERS HAD BEATEN THEM to the Temple of the All Gods.

  The tiny island had only begun to rise from the sea a few weeks before, and so far, the rest of the world did not seem to know about it. Not even with their satellites and other technology. Therefore, Hunters should not have known about it.

  Who, then, had told them?

  What Lucien knew, he knew because of Anya. When she had helped Maddox, she had helped them all by revealing the location of the ruins and explaining the new gods' intention for them: to bring the world back to the old ways of worship and blood sacrifice. Had she told the Hunters, as well?

  Perhaps she'd done so to spite him, he thought. He'd tried to kill her, after all.

  And a worse attempt I've never seen. Disgraceful!