Remaining in place was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. After the way she'd treated him, he might be glad for her restraint, though.
"What took you so long?" she asked, doing her best to keep the censure from her tone.
"I do have responsibilities, Anya." His neutral voice mirrored hers.
Still upset with her, was he? It was for the best, but oh, how she wished otherwise. "So Death did a little phoning home?" Despite her breeziness, she experienced a wave of compassion. "How many souls did you have to take this time?"
"Twelve."
She hated that he'd gone alone. Numb as he tried to make himself when shepherding souls, she wasn't fooled. He probably had stress lines around his eyes and mouth. Don't look! Unable to stop herself, she reached back and squeezed his hand. He didn't pull away, but brought her hand to his lips.
A warm tingle rushed through her, and she melted. How, after everything, could he still treat her tenderly? Gods, she wanted to kick her own ass. He deserved so much better than she could ever give him. Even if it were safe for her to drop the aloof act, at best she would be a lover who couldn't even go all the way.
Just get this over with. "I decided we should talk to William first. Don't worry, he won't spill your secrets." Gulping, she knocked on the towering, arched double doors before Lucien could protest. Curving red-and-black serpents were etched over their entire surface. A moment passed. Another. No answer. She knocked again, harder this time.
"This is a nice home," Lucien remarked. At least he didn't yell at her for making him meet William.
"Yes." The house wound in a half circle around a snow-covered lawn. There were points on the roof that stretched all the way to the night sky. "Willie would have it no other way, the egotistical ass."
A porch light flipped on, chasing away the shadows. One of the doors was pulled open, and William's dark, beautiful head peeked around it.
"Anya?"
She heard Lucien utter a low, menacing growl as the half-clad warrior stepped outside and gathered her into his arms for a hug. "Hiya, angel," she said. "Can we come in? It's freaking freezing out here."
"Wear more clothing next time," Lucien snapped behind her.
William remained in place and flicked him a curious glance, then arched a dark, questioning brow at Anya.
"My flavor of the week," she explained, hating herself. Lucien was so much more than that, but she couldn't risk admitting it aloud. "You're looking good, sugar." And he was. He was tall and ungodly handsome with mystic symbols tattooed on his bare chest.
More than that, he radiated sex. Raw, down-and-dirty, nothing-held-back sex—which was what had gotten him sentenced to eternity in Tartarus. He'd pleasured Hera and a few thousand others, and when Hera learned about those thousand others…heads had rolled.
Right now, William's pants were unsnapped as if he'd hastily tugged them on. Obviously, he'd been doing more than just radiating.
"I'm looking good? Good?" William laughed. "I've never looked better, and I know it. Get in here and warm up." He moved out of the way.
She sailed past him, Lucien close at her heels. "Lucy, this is Willie. He's a sexual deviant and spent a little time in the cell next to mine before some sucker paid his bond and set him free. A woman, no doubt. The moment William left, he forgot about me and failed to post my bond."
"There was no bond for you."
"Excuses, excuses. You always did look out for number one. Willie, this is Lucy. He's mine."
When she realized what she'd just said, she groaned. That little confession had slipped from her without permission. Stomach knotting, she swung around to assess Lucien's reaction. His features were blank, and he was staring at William.
"I am Lucien, not Lucy."
"I'm William, but you can call me Sexy. Everyone does."
Other than that, the two men didn't acknowledge each other in any way.
"O-kay. This is awkward," she sang, acting as if she hadn't a care. "Someone say something. Please."
"Have you ever been Anya's—what did she call it—flavor of the week?" Lucien asked.
William snorted. "I wish. And it wasn't from lack of trying on my part."
Lucien looked to her for verification, and she shrugged. She should have draped herself over William but couldn't bring herself to touch anyone but Lucien that intimately. "He's not my type, all right." She added drily, "He's never tried to kill me."
Lucien glared at her.
"Is that what it takes?" William laughed. "If so, I'll—"
"You will not touch her," Lucien snapped.
Anya blinked in surprise. Two voices had emerged from Lucien's lips. Both had been dangerous; both had been lethal. Had she just heard his demon? She shivered in arousal. This man was hard enough to resist when he was swinging a sword at her. When he acted possessive, it was downright foreplay.
Her legs started shaking, for gods' sake.
"So what are you doing here?" William asked.
"William," a woman suddenly called, drawing everyone's attention.
"We're still waiting," another whined.
Anya leveled a grin at the sexpot. "Two at once now?"
He shrugged sheepishly. "I couldn't decide which one I wanted, so I settled on both."
"How magnanimous of you." Her gaze slid up the stairway behind him and latched on to the two robe-clad women on the landing. They were peering down, hair in complete disarray, skin rosy. If only that were me, beckoning Lucien. "Well, don't keep them waiting."
"Make yourself at home," William told her. He moved to kiss her cheek but quickly backed away when Lucien snarled. "See you in the morning, Annie Love."
"Love?" Lucien spat.
William's backward stride increased in speed and he held up his hands, but he was grinning. "Teasing. I was only teasing."
"We need to borrow some stuff," Anya called, grabbing his attention. "That's why we're here. Not that I don't love to visit, of course."
"I'm amazed you didn't just steal everything you needed."
"I would have," she said, pointing her thumb in Lucien's direction, "but the big guy frowns on theft for some reason."
"I do not. Not anymore," Lucien said. "You need it."
"He'll have to get used to it if he's going to hang with you. Later." William turned to the stairs and bounded up, two steps at a time.
"Oh, Willie. Side note here," she called, halting him. "I'm kinda being hunted by the gods and—" for Lucien's benefit, she paused for dramatic effect "—the demon of Death. By coming here, I might have brought war and chaos to your doorstep. You okay with that?"
"Totally. What's a visit from Anya without a little chaos?" He wound his arms around the women and patted their asses. "We'll talk more in the morning, 'kay?"
The women giggled. Ugh. Giggling. That disgusted Anya. She might talk like a sorority girl, but she would never lower herself to giggling like one. And then the trio disappeared around the corner, and she forgot all about them.
"Well, you heard the man," she said, turning to Lucien.
"We get to make ourselves at home. Let's start grabbing what we need."
Lucien crowded her with his big body, closing all distance between them and pushing her against the wall. He was glaring at her so intensely that she lost her air of forced ease. "What?"
"The only thing we're going to do is finish what we started."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HE WAS GOING TO MARK HER.
The moment Lucien had seen William the Handsome put his hands on Anya, an all-consuming need had rushed through him: mark her so that every man who looked at her knew she belonged to someone else.
The need was stronger than his rage had ever been. The need was more potent than even his desire to have this woman in his bed. Everything inside him, even the demon, screamed mine.
A word she, too, had used to describe him. Had they been alone when she'd said it, he would have thrown her onto the nearest bed and demanded she repeat the word over and ov
er again.
Nothing like this had ever happened to him. Not even with Mariah had he acted this volatile. He'd loved her, but his emotions toward her had been peaceful. Tender. What he felt for Anya was tender, yes, but it was also as uncontrollable as a midnight tempest.
Yet as wild as Lucien felt, his demon had never been calmer. Somehow, Anya had soothed the beast. Hearing her voice, smelling her sweetness…even now Death purred for her.
"F-finish?" she gasped. She flattened her palms against his chest. Not pushing, but not welcoming, either. Her eyes were wide, heated. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." Overhead he could hear those two females giggling. Could hear William uttering a mock growl. "You left me hard, and now you're going to take care of it."
Her eyes widened farther, black lashes so long they cast those pretty shadows on her cheeks. "But I thought we weren't going there anymore. I told you I didn't want you. And I thought you didn't want me because I…because I…you know." She looked away from him, over his shoulder. "Was sorry for you and all."
"You thought wrong." He wouldn't penetrate her—he couldn't take her freedom, no matter how angry he was with her—but he was going to have her in every other way. "We can do it here, or we can do it in my chambers in Budapest. The choice is yours."
"But…but…" Still she struggled. "What brought this on? William?"
"Choose," he barked. He slapped his hands on the wall behind her, beside her temples, the vibrations knocking the two portraits above her together.
She shivered and licked her lips.
He got in her face, placing them nose to nose. Their breath mingled, and he drew hers into his lungs. She still smelled of strawberries and cream, though he hadn't seen her with a lollipop. Her gaze snapped back to his, blazing with heat.
"Lucien."
She hadn't called him sweetcakes or angel or even the newest, Lucy. That was a step in the right direction. He suspected she picked a foolish endearment for everyone she wanted kept at a distance.
There would be no distance between them. Not anymore.
"Choose, Anya." If she didn't want him, she would simply have flashed away. Besides, there was lust and excitement in her expression, and they fueled both emotions in him. "I do not care what your reasons are for wanting me. I don't care that I should not want you."
She gulped. "But…but…we shouldn't do this."
"Why?"
"Because."
"Not good enough. We are going to do this. Choose."
"But I don't want to?"
He knew she'd meant the words as a statement of fact, yet they had not emerged as such. "Why?" he asked again.
Biting her lips now, she lowered her gaze to his mouth. His cock twitched in reaction. He could deduce what she was imagining. Another stroke of his tongue on her clitoris and a gentle tug from his teeth.
"Bad things will happen if we do," she whispered.
"Like what?" The only bad thing he could think of was going another day without having this woman naked and under him.
An eternity passed. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You're right. Now isn't the time for talking. Here or Buda?"
Another lick of her pink tongue. Next time that tongue left her mouth, it was going to be inside his own, he decided. No exceptions.
She swallowed. Whispered, "Here" and threw herself into his arms. Her lips meshed against his.
Yes. Gods, yes. Finally. As their tongues dueled, her taste filling his mouth, he felt weightless. Then his feet hit solid ground. He opened his eyes and found himself inside a spacious bedroom. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, dripping teardrops of muted light. The walls were covered in murals of flowers and vines, each a multihued feast to his gaze.
The bed was huge, with black silk sheets he couldn't wait to press Anya against. There were wooden chests and even a tranquil stone waterfall in the far corner. A beautiful place, to be sure, but he was suddenly tempted to flash Anya somewhere else. Somewhere the handsome William had never set foot in.
Anchoring his hands under Anya's ass, Lucien hefted her up. Her legs immediately hooked around his waist, placing the new center of his universe in close proximity to his cock. He rocked against her, the action as necessary as breathing.
Moaning, she bit down on his bottom lip. He felt a shiver move through her. "More," she gasped out.
He did it again.
Again she bit down and shivered.
Lucien gripped the hem of her shirt and jerked it over her head. That incredible hair tumbled down her bare shoulders. She wore a bra of ice-blue glitter, and the sight of it mesmerized him.
The tops of her breasts pushed upward, beckoning. Lovely, so lovely. Yet they weren't what claimed his attention. Knives were strapped to every inch of visible skin. Some were twined with the bra's straps. Some were simply taped. With what, he didn't know. He only knew he liked it. A lot.
Took him a while, but he finally dropped the last to the floor.
He unhooked her legs from him and set her down. She cried out in protest, wobbled. He kissed her neck. Pleasure lit her lovely face as her head fell back, and she palmed her breasts in invitation. He dropped to his knees, snagging his fingers on the waist of her pants.
He had to know if her panties matched her bra.
In seconds, the tight little pants were at her ankles and he saw that knives and throwing stars were strapped to her legs. "I knew you were armed; I just did not know how much." She braced a hand on his shoulder and stepped out of the pants as he disarmed her.
"You like?" she asked when he finished.
The panties were tiny, a barely-there strap of glittery blue material, a perfect match. He gulped. "I like." His voice was hoarse, broken.
"Your turn," she said, a nervous edge to the words.
Nervous? Anya? Slowly he stood. As he peered down at her, he saw a proud, beautiful woman who radiated vulnerability, joy and affection. And yet she had once told him that he didn't matter. He had told her the very same thing. He hadn't meant it, and he was beginning to believe she hadn't, either.
He knew who to blame and vowed Cronus would pay.
Not allowing himself to spoil the moment with those dark thoughts, Lucien pushed them to the back of his mind and caressed a fingertip along the curve of Anya's delicate jaw. I will take care of this woman. I will find a way to steal the All-Key without harming either of us or I will hide her from Cronus. Then I will spend my days making her happy.
"You are so beautiful," he told her.
"Thank you. Strip."
Gods, he wanted to be inside her—had to be inside, soon, now, always—but refused to steal her freedom, forcing her to stay with him. He dropped his arm before his fingers could lengthen into claws. While researching all possible ways to steal the All-Key without adverse side effects, he would have to find a way to break Anya's curse, as well.
"Well?" she prompted.
He reached back, gripped his shirt and pulled it over his head. Before he'd gotten it all the way off, her hands were on his chest, removing his own weapons. "I think you had me out-armed." She tossed them to the floor, metal clinking against metal. When the last knife was gone, her fingers splayed over him, caressing his nipples, his tattoo.
His stomach tightened and his cock jerked. Heat was spreading through him faster than he could flash. He loved when she touched him. Made him feel like a god, all-powerful, unstoppable. Desired.
"You're so strong," she praised. "I love that you suffered and survived. Does that make me a bad girl?"
He cupped her cheeks. "Nothing could make you bad."
"Not even this…" She unfastened his pants and worked them over his hips, tossing his blades aside along the way.
When he was completely bare, Anya stared at his butterfly tattoo, tracing her fingers over the jagged edges, oohing and ahhing. The skin rose under her touch, heating.
She gasped in delight. "Alive?"
"I had not thought so until now. That is where th
e demon entered me, as you know, but it has never done that before."
"He must like me."
"He does."
"Good boy," she whispered, kissing the butterfly. Once again, it rose to meet her, tingling where she touched.
Lucien wasn't sure why the gods had chosen butterflies as the external mark of the demon. The Butterfly Effect, perhaps. A reminder that the single flap of a wing—or in the warriors' case, a single foolish decision—could alter the entire fabric of reality. Whatever the rationale, he'd always hated the brand. Why not a weapon or a demon horn? Something that said, well, I Am Man.
Lucien had enough insecurities.
Anya dropped to her knees and pressed a soft kiss to his naval, right at the bottom tip of a wing. Then her hot tongue flicked out, tracing the edge. Electric jolts speared his veins, his organs, even his bones.
Rumbling grunts of satisfaction, he let his head fall back. He was stroking the top of her head, urging her on, when he should have been pulling her to her feet.
"How many women have worshiped this magnificent body?" she whispered. A second later, her nails scored his thigh.
They didn't retract, either.
"Not many," he admitted. Mariah had been fascinated by him, but she'd also been terrified.
He hadn't blamed her for that terror. He had met her only a century or two after his possession, when he'd only just gained control over the demon; he'd still been a bit feral. Yet he'd also been a handsome man, well able to provide a woman pleasure.
She'd taken one look at him and decided he was "the one." He had done the same, for she had represented the gentle nurturing he had always craved. They had fallen into bed right away; she had been a widow and happy to have a warrior to attend her needs and protect her.
But even while she craved his protection—looters, mercenaries and plague had been rampant back then—she had feared that very aspect of him, afraid he would use his strength against her. He'd always been on guard, careful of his every action and word. With Anya, there was freedom to simply let go, for she seemed to bask in his might and revel in his underlying violence.
"I'm going to pretend I'm the first," she said. Her gaze lifted and met his in a heated clash. "Okay?"
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