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 something 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."
"Very well." He speared a crisp green bean. "What would you like to know?"
She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her upraised palms. "Have you ever disobeyed a command from the gods?"
"No. But then, I was not ordered to do anything until the Titans won the heavens. The Greeks left us alone after bestowing Maddox's death-curse."
"Have you tried to disobey the Titans, at least?"
"Again, no. Not personally. But Aeron refused to kill those four women, and you have seen the results. Bloodlust has consumed him. He wants to kill everyone now. Even his friends. Maybe even himself. We had to lock him away, taking even more freedom than he lost when all of us were cursed with our demons. It's something we vowed never to do to each other."
"I understand," she said, suddenly seeming lost in thought. "Losing your freedom is a punishment worse than death."
"Yes." Lucien studied her, amazed by what he saw. He'd never seen this playful woman quite so serious. She must be recalling the time she'd spent locked away, perhaps tortured. His hands tightened into fists. "How long were you imprisoned?"
She shrugged. "Seemed like forever and I believe ancient scrolls say a hundred years, but it was more like two."
Clearly she meant to sound cavalier. She failed. "What did you do while locked away?"
"Think, pace, hurt. Talk to the man in the cell beside mine. He was a little cocky, but that was better than silence." She si
ghed. "Have you ever fought the demon of Death?"
His brow furrowed in confusion. Better confusion that fury at what she had suffered. "What do you mean? Fought it physically?"
"No. I know it can't leave your body unless you die or it's sucked out. I know it's trapped inside you and the two of you are one. But have you ever resisted its desire to take a soul?"
His entire body tensed. This was not a matter he usually discussed. Anya had revealed a part of her secret, however. He could do no less. "Yes."
"And?" Her focus intensified, her eyes like a laser beam on him. "What happened?"
None of the warriors knew he had once been in love; none knew he had watched his lover slowly wither away, her body rotting. "If I do not escort a soul, its physical body suffers untold agony. More than any person should ever have to suffer. More than Fate intended."
"Hit a nerve, did I? There's a muscle ticking under your eye." Rather than press him for more information, she ate the rest of the meal in silence.
As he watched her, the dark memories her questions had brought to the surface receded, replaced by desire. Take her. The words whispered across his mind. Maybe because every movement she made was more sensual than the last. Make love to her.
No. You are not a monster. Not anymore, at least. He could spend time with her, but nothing more.
When she finished eating, she stood. "Want to make out a little or just jump straight into the shopping?"
She had not removed the beige coat and looked toasty warm. More than that, she looked strippable. He wanted to be the one to warm her. "Shopping," he forced himself to say. But he did not stand.
She shrugged as if his answer hadn't mattered to her, and that irritated him. The irritation angered him. And the anger annoyed him. He should feel nothing.
"You can leave your weapons here," she said with a teasing grin. "Hunters never come up this way. Neutral territory and all."
"I do not remove my weapons. Ever."
Her gaze traveled the long length of him in a heated caress. "Not even to shower?"
His cock stirred as he imagined her in the shower with him, water raining over her naked body. "Not even."
"Why, Lucy. That's totally barbaric." She bit her lower lip and sauntered around the table, bending down to whisper in his ear, "But it's something I'd like to witness firsthand."
A fallen lock of her hair brushed his cheek, and he found his eyes closing in ecstasy. His blood suddenly caught fire, nearly raging out of control in seconds. Rather than kiss her as he so desperately wanted—stupid, dangerous…wonderful—he somehow found the will to rise and move away from her.
"You really know how to drag a party down."
"Anya."
"No. Not a word. Let's get out of here," she said, voice cracking slightly.
He was ashamed to realize his legs were shaking. He was so hard his cock actually hurt. One stroke, and he would come.
Anya didn't look back as she strolled to the front door. Opened it, left the apartment, expecting him to follow. He took a moment to breathe in and out, letting the cold air soothe him.
Every muscle in his body was clamped down, eager and needy for her. Only her. Even the demon seemed to ache for her, no longer purring but roaring hungrily.
Think of the artifacts, the box. Think of Hunters. Think of holding Anya's dead body in your arms.
That sobered him.
An angry whisper suddenly drifted past him. "I'm waiting, Death."
Cronus.
Lucien's blood chilled completely. Finally the god king had returned. Why here? Why now? Because your reprieve is over. The king had not materialized. What was he doing?
"You have failed me, Death. Over and over again, you have failed me."
"I am sorry."
"Liar!"
The boom of the word nearly burst his eardrums.
"You will not suffer for it," the god added quietly, "but your friends will. I'll start with Paris, sending him to a place where no women reside. I will prevent him from leaving and I will laugh as he weakens. I will laugh when he is forced to turn to other men for strength. And when I'm through with him, I'll look to Reyes."
Fight him, as Anya does. "You would kill them, then? Set their demons free to roam the earth in a crazed frenzy? No mortal will bow before you once the demons are through wreaking their havoc."
"Zeus might not have been able to protect the people from your demons, but I can. Do you wish to hear what I'll do to Reyes?"
Fight! "You would prevent him from hurting himself, I'm sure. Perhaps flood him with pleasure he is no longer equipped to handle."
"Do you dare mock me?"
"No. Nor do I wish to do that with which you have charged me."
"I am aware of that, Death. I am also tired of waiting. Which of us do you think will emerge the victor and receive what he desires?"
"What if—" Lucien pressed his lips together. Should he do this? Yes, he decided a moment later. He should. There was no other way. "Anya has something you crave. What if I procure it for you?"
For several seconds, there was only crackling tension.
Then, more calmly, Cronus said, "I will allow you to try. If you fail in this, you will bring me her body. If you fail in that, I will not be so lenient. I will do everything I claimed and more. And I'll make you watch while I do it. Now go!"
A great gust of wind shoved Lucien forward. Cutting off a growl, he righted himself and followed the path Anya had taken. He found her in the lobby of the building, alive and well, though Cronus was nearby. He had to get that key from her. Right now, it was the only way he knew to save her. If he failed…
His stomach twisted into a painful knot. He would not fail.
He allowed his gaze to scan the building. There was a huge fireplace with a crackling blaze in the corner. Beside it, a desk was manned by two males staring at Anya in open approval. Lucien scowled. Unaware of the mortals, or perhaps uncaring, she tapped her foot impatiently and studied her bright pink nails.
They'd been red yesterday. Hadn't they? Perhaps they'd been blue. She changed them every day, nearly as often as she changed moods.
Lucien hissed at the men as he strode past them, unable to hold the noise back. He was too raw to care about consequences. Too raw to care that being possessive of a woman like Anya would bring nothing but heartache.
She's not yours, and she can never be yours. Even if nothing else mattered, stealing her precious key would ensure that.
He didn't speak as he passed her, but she kicked into motion beside him. He could feel her body heat and smell her strawberry scent—his two favorite things, he realized. His world would not be the same without them.
"What do you want to buy first?" she asked him, unaware of his thoughts and turmoil.
Lucien opened his mouth to ask about the key, but the words refused to form. Earlier, she had ended their conversation the moment it had been mentioned. He would have to soften her first, he supposed, and earn a bit of her trust.
"A coat would be nice," he said. Though sunlight poured from the sky, chill wind beat against him.
"Then a coat you shall have. I know the perfect place." She twined their fingers together and tugged him to the left.
Instinct demanded he pull away. He didn't. Instead he tightened his grip, wishing he could hold on to her and never let go. She gasped, threw a sweet smile over her shoulder. Death rubbed against the corridors of his mind, reaching for her, wanting to touch her, too.
She ushered him down an ice-covered road. Cars meandered by and people strolled along the snowy sidewalks, in and out of the cobbled shops. All around were those majestic mountains. The gods really had outdone themselves with this spectacular scenery.
This could have been heaven.
"In here." Anya tugged him into a shop named Machen Teegeback.
"Warm Muffins?" he translated, having mastered many languages over the years. "We just ate. And I thought we were shopping for a coat."
She chuckled.
"This isn't a bakery, lover. It's an outlet." Inside were coats, gloves, hats and all the things he would need to stay warm. "Now, don't you worry. Anya will dress you just right."
With another delighted chuckle, she trekked through the store, throwing different colored coats at him. "This one will match your eyes. Well, one of them anyway." Pause. "This one will look great against your skin." Pause. "Mmm, this one has easy access to my new favorite place through the pockets." Pause. "Oh, score! Look at this." She held up the masculine version of the coat she wore before tossing it at him. "We'll be twinkies while we're climbing glaciers."
Unless he found that key, she would not be traveling with him. Selfishly, he was disappointed at the thought. "I only need one coat. Which do you—"
With a furtive glance at the cashier, she stuffed a pair of large wool gloves inside her jacket.
He frowned, certain he was mistaken about what had just happened. "What do you think you are doing?"
"Stealing." There was such relish in her tone, it was like a sexual high.
A shiver trekked the length of his spine. "You were not teasing about the food, then. Are you short of funds?"
"Hardly. I'm loaded." She anchored her hands on her hips and pouted up at him. "Don't tell me the big bad demon is upset. 'Cause you shouldn't be. I'll pay them back another day, Sally Sunshine. Maybe."
"Return the gloves, Anya." Is this the way to soften her? His jaw clenched. No, it wasn't, but he refused to back down.
"No."
"Very well. I will pay for them." Lucien dropped the coats Anya had thrown at him, gently clasped her arm with one hand and pinched the gloves with the other. His palm brushed the side of her breast. Gulping, burning up, he gathered one of every item he needed, strode to the register, and paid with the bills Paris had given him earlier.
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