The Darkest Kiss lotu-3

by Gena Showalter

  This time would be no different; he'd make sure of it.

  "We're going to experiment on you. Observe you. Use you as bait to capture more demons. And then, we're going to draw out your demon when we find Pandora's box, killing you and trapping the monster inside." Once again, she was matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing what to eat for dinner.

  His brow quirked. "That it?"

  "For now."

  "You might as well kill me, then, sweetheart. My friends won't surrender themselves to save little old me." No, they'd kill everyone in this building.

  "We'll see about that, won't we?" she said, defensive.

  Stop antagonizing her. He needed to romance her, this enemy—by whatever means necessary. Once he climaxed inside her, he would have the strength to kill anyone who got in his path. Even her. Bitch.

  Why couldn't he have been given the spirit of Violence, like Maddox? He wouldn't have had to rely on anything except anger to gain strength. Fucking demon of Promiscuity. It was nothing but a nuisance.

  A few times, in desperation, the demon had forced him to turn to—don't think of that. Not now, not when you need to be aroused. "Love," he said, using his huskiest tone. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings a moment ago. I was angry and lashing out at you." He made sure to soften his expression again, to let his eyelids drift to half-mast, to let his lips relax as if preparing for a kiss.

  She smoothed a hand over her mousy hair and looked down at her white tennis shoes. "That's fine. I understand. You are a slave to your evil nature."

  She'd only been a Hunter for a year, she'd said. She was a baby, naive. Any other Hunter would have realized what he was doing and left him. Would have cursed at him, slapped him, not radiated a sense of vulnerability.

  "I think you're lovely," he said. Unfortunately, that was the truth.

  "You're lying."

  "No. I was lying earlier, when I called you plain. The moment I saw you, I wanted you. I imagined your naked body on my bed, your head thrown back, your hands, oh, your hands—" His gaze sought them. Yes. They were as smooth and perfect as he remembered. "Your hands seeking the moist heat between your legs, unable to wait for me to join you."

  As he spoke, he projected the images into her head. That was the only benefit to the demon. It could ride the undercurrents of his voice and enter a human's mind, showing the listener exactly what Paris described.

  Most times, he hated to use the gift. The guilt afterward…He made people desire what they normally wouldn't desire, just as the demon did to him. But this woman was a Hunter, and she didn't deserve his concern.

  "Don't—don't talk like that," she whispered. A tremor racked her.

  "When you're close to orgasm, I'll lick you. Right between your legs. You'll scream my name."

  Her breathing became choppy; her nipples hardened underneath her shirt—a white shirt that did nothing to hide the lace of her bra. An unexpected bit of femininity, considering she was dressed like a sexually repressed ice maiden. Why?

  On her legs she wore unflattering black slacks that bagged, and her tennis shoes were clunky and mannish.

  "I'm going to pound inside you all the way to the hilt, and then I'm going to flip over and you're going to ride me."

  "Don't say things like that," she scolded breathlessly. She pulled at the collar of her shirt. "You're evil, and…and…"

  "A man who craves your touch." He was a lot of things, but he wasn't evil. He didn't kill indiscriminately, didn't rape. He and his friends poured money into Buda, fortifying the economy, supplying food to the needy. That counted for something, right?

  Hunters were the evil ones, viewing the world in black and white to justify their relentless pursuit of "Utopia," mowing over any human who got in their way.

  Her breath hitched.

  "I'm picturing you naked even now," he forced himself to continue. "Your skin is flushed, your nipples hard, moisture dripping between your legs."

  Gasping, she shut her eyes. "S-stop. Please."

  "You're aching for a man's touch, aren't you, sweetheart?" What the hell was her name?

  He never remembered names. He could fuck a woman only once, so there was never any need. Besides, he didn't want to call out the wrong name in the midst of passion. Women tended to take offense at that. "Come here. Let me give you what you need."

  "This isn't right," she breathed, but she stepped closer to him.

  There was limited slack on his chains, so he couldn't reach out. He'd have to convince her to do all the work. "I'm hard for you. My cock is hungry for you. Only you."

  Goose bumps broke over her skin.

  With her face softened with arousal, she was almost beautiful. Her lashes were long, the longest he'd ever seen, and feathered like a peacock's tail. "Feel your breasts for me. They want to be touched."

  Tentatively she reached up and did as he'd commanded. Another gasp escaped her. "Oh, my."

  "Good. That's good."

  "I—I—"

  Don't give her time to think. But watching her was destroying his concentration. "Unbutton your pants and reach underneath them for me. Under your panties, too. Touch your clitoris. Spread your moisture around."

  She started to do as commanded, but froze with her hand poised at her flat belly. "I can't. I shouldn't."

  "You can. You should. You want to, you know you do. It will feel so good."

  "No, I…" She shook her head, horror sprinkling into her eyes, as if she were seconds away from fighting past his hold on her mind.

  Confusion and shock rocked him. She should not be able to fight him. "Your clit is crying for your touch…sweet. But if you don't want to touch yourself, come over here and I'll lick you. I'll lick you until you scream."

  She was walking toward him before he'd gotten the last word out. He breathed a sigh of relief. Almost…there…"Just a little more, sweetheart. Just a little closer."

  Just before she reached him, however, and just before he could nuzzle her pants down and sink his tongue inside her hot sheath—where he would refuse to give her an orgasm until she rode him—she froze again.

  "You keep calling me sweet and sweetheart."

  "That's because you are sweet. I can't reach you like this," he said, trying not to whine. "Just a little closer," he repeated. "I need you so badly."

  "What's my name?" She no longer sounded quite so breathless.

  His jaw clenched and panic infused him. "What does a name matter? You want me, and I want you."

  She frowned and backed away from him. "You don't even know my name, and yet you're willing to sleep with me?"

  "I would not be sleeping."

  "They told me not to trust you. They told me not to get close."

  His panic increased, hope slipping away. "Sweet, let's—"

  "Shut up!" Scowling, she massaged her temples. "I don't know how you did that to me, reduced me to that, and right now I don't care. But don't you ever—ever!—do it again or I won't wait to find the box before I kill you."

  She stomped away, opened the barred door and slammed it shut behind her, locking him inside. Alone.

  To grow weaker. Fuck.

  MADDOX CARRIED A TRAY of food to the dungeon. He hated that Aeron had to be locked away like this, but like the other warriors, he had no alternate solution. Aeron had once been the strongest-willed among them. Fierce but loyal, by turns as rigorously controlled as Lucien and as volatile as Maddox used to be.

  Maddox chuckled, remembering. They'd enjoyed sparring, he and Aeron, and had spent many hours honing their skills together. When Maddox lost control of his demon, it had been Aeron who helped bring him down. Now Aeron was merely a shell of his former self. Wild, savage, hate-filled.

  If Aeron were set free, he would kill four innocent women, just as the gods had commanded. And if he killed those women, he would never recover from this bloodlust. From the beginning, Aeron had known that taking innocent lives would push him over the brink.

  Maddox knew how that felt.

  H
e had killed Pandora seconds after the demon of Violence entered his body. And he had spent untold centuries paying for it, killed every night the very way he had killed her—stabbed in the stomach six hellish times. Only, unlike poor Pandora, he always awakened the next morning knowing he had to die again.

  But Ashlyn had saved him in more ways than one, giving him a reason to finally live. Now his precious woman carried his child.

  As always, the thought caused his heart to swell and faint sickness to churn inside his stomach. What kind of father would he be? Already he loved the baby, knew he would protect it even if he were killed and had to fight his way from hell to do so.

  He wanted the same sense of family for Aeron. Love, absolution. Freedom. Yet, the man truly was consumed by bloodlust. He couldn't be trusted around the warriors, his friends and brothers, much less a human female. So how he would find a woman to tame him, Maddox didn't know.

  His head canted to the side as he descended the steps to the dungeon. There was no rattle of claws against the bars. For the first time in weeks, no curses echoed off the walls. It was eerily quiet. He set the tray on the floor and rushed forward.

  When he reached Aeron's cell, Maddox experienced a wave of undiluted fear. The gaping bars had been pried apart.

  Aeron was gone.

  ACTING AS GUARD, REYES PACED the moss-laden perimeter of the too-quiet, sinister-looking Roman temple as his friends searched for clues about the Unspoken Ones. Since Lucien and the others knew where to begin looking for the artifacts, Sabin's crew was now hunting for information about the Titans. Their weaknesses. Their enemies.

  Though the temple had been buried beneath the sea, blood still stained the remaining walls—walls composed of human bones. So far, the warriors had found nothing. Not even cutting themselves and dripping fresh blood onto the altar had worked. Reyes wondered for the hundredth time just what had occurred in this temple during its golden age. Sometimes he would swear he heard screams whistling on the breeze.

  Lucien had appeared a short while ago, looking more relaxed and sated than Reyes had ever seen him. He'd even looked happy. What had brought on the change? Reyes was jealous, whatever it was. Jealous and glad for him. Yet even Lucien's sickeningly happy blood hadn't produced results. There had been no vision, no clue. And Reyes was tired of all this futility, of the helplessness and failure.

  This morning, news of the temples had blasted from television stations all over the world. He wasn't sure why they were no longer hidden. He only knew humans would be arriving soon—Hunters, tourists, treasure-seekers and researchers alike. Time was more precious than ever.

  "Damn this," Reyes growled. He needed pain, he decided, or he'd shatter and kill someone. A mortal, a warrior. Didn't matter. "I'll be nearby," he told Sabin as he stalked past him. "Shout if you need me."

  Sabin didn't try to stop him. By now, he knew better.

  Reyes had a dagger unsheathed by the time he reached the temple's surrounding forest. He leaned against the nearest tree, one with red leaves that made the branches look like they were bleeding, and began carving X's in his arm. With the sharp slices and release of blood, real blood, some of his anger drained.

  If Danika could see you now…

  He snorted. She already hated him. To see him like this would hardly deepen an emotion that was already boundless.

  In his pocket, his cell phone buzzed and he uttered a frustrated sigh. Sabin had supplied him with it a few weeks ago. Reyes wasn't sure he liked it—sometimes a man needed to be free of everything, even contact with others—but he'd kept it. Just in case something happened.

  With a growl, he dug it out and flipped it open. "What?"

  "Aeron has escaped," Maddox said without preamble.

  Everything inside of Reyes screamed in denial. In protest. In rage and more of that damned helplessness. He'd known this day would come. He just hadn't expected it to come this soon. Should have swallowed your love for him and chained him. "How long?"

  "Last time I saw him was twelve hours ago."

  As Wrath, Aeron would be able to find Danika no matter where she was hiding. He would sniff her out and use his wings to reach her quickly. "I'll find him," Reyes said.

  Before he could disconnect, Maddox added, "Torin had me place some kind of tracking dye in Aeron's meals, just in case. He'll e-mail the coordinates you need to your phone. I called you first, wanted you to know because…you know. Just bring our friend back. Alive."

  Reyes didn't answer. He couldn't. If he failed in this, Danika would die.

  If she wasn't already dead.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "NICE HICKEY," WILLIAM SAID at breakfast the next morning when he spied Anya's neck.

  I do not blush, I do not blush. And yet, her cheeks heated. Damn Lucien and his wondrous mouth. And speaking of Lucien's wondrous mouth, he'd used it to pry information about the All-Key out of her this morning.

  She knew he was looking for a way to take it from her without destroying either of them so he could get the god king off her back. He'd begun sucking on her nipples right after he'd questioned her and she hadn't wanted him to stop. She'd ended up telling him the key was bonded to her, body and soul, as much a part of her as his demon was a part of him. That's why the giver weakened; they were giving away a part of themselves. She had seen disappointment light Lucien's eyes and it had stirred something tender inside her. He of all people would understand the danger of losing a vital part of yourself.

  She sighed. Right now, she, Lucien and William were sitting at a small round table; eggs, bacon and pancakes were spread over its surface. The air was syrupy-sweet and salty crisp, the food itself perfectly prepared.

  After dressing in a decadent white cashmere body suit, she'd flashed to her favorite diner in Atlanta, ordered the feast and flashed back. And yes, she'd pretended to cook it herself. Warriors that they were, the men had yet to praise her efforts, which was completely unacceptable. They thought she'd slaved over every dish and yet they hadn't even said thank-you. Bastards.

  She sat between them. Lucien kept a stern eye on William, growling whenever the sexpot reached in her direction. His possessiveness was just too cute. No wonder she had spent the entire night in his arms, unable to force herself to leave him. He made her feel desired. Well, that, and also safe. She'd never spent an entire night with a man before and hadn't known there'd be an endearing—and addicting—sense of security on top of the intense physical pleasure.

  "I have told you to keep your hands—" Lucien's words trailed off, and she felt his body go rigid.

  Anya turned to him. Both of his eyes had gone blue. She grabbed on to his arm. Time for the two of them to collect souls, it seemed.

  "I must go," he said.

  "You're taking me. Remember?"

  He shook his head. "You will stay here."

  "Don't make me go invisible on you and follow without permission."

  "Like before." A resigned statement. "I have not been able to figure out how you did that."

  She shrugged. "I'm Anarchy, remember? I don't obey the laws of nature—or anything else."

  "What are you guys talking about?" William asked.

  She ignored him. One, because she knew William would hate it and quite possibly throw an amusing fit, and two, because she knew Lucien would disappear the moment she turned her attention from him. "Leave me behind, and I'll sit in Willie's lap the entire time you're gone."

  William grinned, curiosity forgotten. "Leave her behind, my man. I'll take extra special care of her."

  Lucien bared his teeth in a fierce scowl, but he twined his fingers with Anya's. "Fine. Let's go."

  He dematerialized, taking Anya with him. They entered the spirit world, everything becoming a collage of bright colors and lights. Lucien floated quickly to a badly burned, still-smoking shop in…Shanghai, she realized, glancing at the surrounding buildings of red and white, with pointed tops and sloped roofs. She could almost smell the foods being sold at the street market.


  There were several bodies lying on a charred floor. Never loosening his hold on her, Lucien went to the first, the closest, and dipped his hand into the man's chest. A gasping spirit emerged, flailing against Death's hold.

  The three of them were poised at the gates of hell in the next instant. The heat nearly melted the skin from her bones. She shuddered. The shouts, the tormented cries. Was this where she would go if Cronus had his way and she died? Just the thought of it sickened her.

  "He purposely set the fire," Lucien said through clenched teeth.

  This isn't about you right now. This is about Lucien. She released his hand and moved behind him, winding her arms around his waist and offering comfort, reminding him that he wasn't alone. His muscles were tense, but slowly they relaxed.

  Two large boulders drew apart, opening a wide chasm. Multiple pairs of scaly arms reached up, and Lucien tossed the flailing spirit at them. Evil laughter erupted, followed closely by beleaguered screams.

  Many times during any given day, Lucien witnessed this terrible scene. Anya kissed his ear, drawing his attention from the flames. "Lots of people die. Every minute. Every hour. Why don't you have to escort all of them?"

  "Some remain to wander Earth, some are reborn and get the chance to start anew. Some, I think, are escorted by angels."

  Ah. She should have known. She'd run into a few angels herself over the years. Beautiful creatures, if a bit haughty. "The souls escorted by you are the luckiest. Ready for the others?"

  Lucien nodded, and he appeared less strained.

  The other two humans must have been good little boys because they got to go to heaven. As always, the pearly gates made Anya gape. They sparkled with jewels and mesmerized with their hum of power. Beyond them, a cherubic choir rejoiced, their voices soothing, somehow delighting each of the senses. Wow.

  I want to come here if ever I die.

  When have you ever been good?

  I'm good. Sometimes.

  "Thank you, Anya. For coming with me. For comforting me."

  "My pleasure." She and Lucien popped back into William's kitchen. The sexpot was still sitting at the table, but Anya's gaze snagged on her lover. Lucien was watching her, heat in his eyes. Heat and awe and appreciation.