The Darkest Surrender lotu-9

by Gena Showalter

  Case in point: he was in Wisconsin when he should have been in any of a thousand other places.

  He spun around and glared at Bianka. He didn’t mind thieving on his own. Usually. However, Harpies were a different breed of animal than anyone or thing he’d dealt with before. They could move faster than the eye could track. They could rip through a man’s trachea with only their teeth. Hell, they could rip through an entire army in seconds.

  There was no line they wouldn’t cross, no deed too vile. If he went for the Rod and they caught him, they would kill him. But without the Rod, he was dead, anyway. So, no contest. He was going for it.

  “What about you?” he threw at Bianka.

  “Tone, warrior,” Lysander said, his voice so mild Strider almost couldn’t detect the power behind it. Almost.

  That’s not a challenge, he told his demon, refusing to repeat himself to Kaia’s twin. Thankfully—or not—Defeat was still too focused on Kaia, the Cloak and the Rod. If Strider failed to obtain the latter two, and soon, he would lose the battle. He would hurt. Yet he couldn’t leave Kaia without hurting, either.

  Bianka shoved Lysander’s hand away from her mouth. “Sorry, big boy, but I can’t help you.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, all innocence. “If you want me to list reasons, I’ll list reasons. I can’t guarantee they’ll be truthful, though.”

  He faced Gwen. “And you?”

  “S-sorry?” she said, sounding confused. She glanced at Kaia, who shook her head. He knew because he was watching her reflection in the picture over the nightstand between the beds. “I can’t,” she finished more firmly.

  Okay, something was going on here. Kaia wasn’t afraid. No matter what he’d said, he knew that. Girl was too brave for her own good. She’d stood in a roomful of Harpies, and even though they’d regarded her as if she were a slab of ribs and they were dedicated vegetarians, she’d kept her head high, daring them to try and take a bite.

  The only time he’d ever seen her lose her cool, trembling with an emotion he hadn’t been able to name, was when she’d looked at her mother. Her very hot, clearly murderous mother, who might have spoken inside his head. He still wasn’t sure.

  As the freakishly young-looking, dead-eyed brunette had perused his body, judging him, taking his measure, he’d heard a cold, emotionless and yet very feminine voice whisper, Kaia will die before the final game begins.

  Like hell. Nothing else had been said, and no one else had heard the threat. And shit, maybe he had an overactive imagination. Either way, he didn’t care. He was here, he’d do what he’d promised, but damn it, Kaia was going to bend a little in this matter.

  “Get lost,” he told the couples on the beds.

  Knowing Strider as well as he did, Sabin gathered Gwen without protest and hustled her out the door. Their knowing gazes locked until the last possible moment. They’d move mountains to obtain that Rod, with or without the approval of the Skyhawks. First, though, they’d do what they could to obtain answers. Even if that meant splitting up and being without backup.

  Thanks to a soft, “I’ll be fine,” from Kaia, Bianka and Lysander followed close on Sabin’s heels, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The angel didn’t know him, or what he was capable of, but must have recognized the danger he posed.

  “Why?” he demanded, swinging around.

  Kaia didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “They’ll say I had no confidence in my abilities. They’ll call me a coward.”

  “So?” She was willing to risk his life for her ego? “A little ridicule never killed anyone.”

  She flicked the long length of that curling red hair over one shoulder, the picture of feminine pique. At least the black had faded from her eyes, a sign her Harpy was under control. “Lookit, you’re here, and much as I hate to admit this, you’ll find out anyway, so I might as well tell you.”

  A heavy pause. “Go on.”

  She gulped. “A long time ago, during the Harpy Games, I tried to steal…something from another…clan.”

  Oh, really? “Why the hesitation?”

  “Anyway,” she continued, ignoring him, her cheeks flushing prettily. “My actions resulted in a massacre. Half the Harpy population was wiped out, and I have never been forgiven.”

  He knew what that meant. They had ostracized her. And if anyone understood the sting of rejection, it was Strider.

  When the gods had chosen Pandora to guard dim-Ouniak, the box containing the evil spirits that managed to escape the depths of hell, he had allowed pride to rule him. How dare they pick her, a female, when he had never lost a battle? Anyone Zeus had wanted eliminated, Strider had eliminated.

  He’d wanted to prove himself worthy, which was why he’d helped steal and open that box. Of course, he’d had every intention of recapturing the demons after they’d caused a little havoc. He would have been all “See what I can do? See what your precious Pandora can’t?” But the box disappeared, and the havoc had been far more than a little. He’d never encountered its like, before or since.

  Not even when Defeat was first shoved into his body and the urge to hurt, maim and destroy consumed him. Yet that hadn’t been enough of a punishment for the Greeks. They’d kicked him out of the only home he’d ever known and never acknowledged him again.

  So, rejection, unforgivingness, yeah, he knew them intimately. But he couldn’t let anything, even Kaia’s potential downfall, stop him from obtaining that Rod. Too much was at stake.

  “If I take something else…they’ll kill me, Strider. After they ensure I feel every bit of pain they have felt.”

  She believed what she said. The truth glistened in her eyes as surely as a sheen of tears. “I’ll protect you.”

  “Don’t make me state the obvious about what you can and can’t do,” she said with a bitter laugh. “I could run, sure, but what kind of life is that? And what if they go after my sisters when they’re unable to find and punish me?”

  Good point, and one he couldn’t—wouldn’t—shake her from. He tried another route. “No one has to know you took it. We’ll get in and get out, no problem.”

  Sad, she shook her head. “Wouldn’t matter if I left evidence behind or not. If the Rod goes missing, they’ll blame me no matter what.”

  “So?” he said again. He had to harden his heart.

  “You know nothing about Harpy justice, Strider. There is no trial. There is no innocent until proven guilty. If I’m suspected, I will be hunted, I will be tortured and as I said, I will be killed.”

  “I’ll protect you,” he repeated, and that was the truth.

  She arched an auburn brow. “You’re going to make me state the obvious, but okay. You can’t.”

  That isn’t a challenge. “I can.”

  “You’ll protect me from an army of Harpies who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt everyone you love to get to me? An army of Harpies who would help the Hunters if it meant punishing me?”

  Shit. “What do you propose I do then, huh?” He stalked to her, gripped her upper arms—she felt so fragile, so vulnerable—finally shaking her as he’d wanted to do for so long. Every movement wafted her scent to his nose, cinnamon and sugar, a feast for his senses. His mouth watered, his blood heated. “What? Tell me.”

  Her heartbroken expression never wavered. “What you originally came here to do. Act as my consort. I will fight, and I will win the Rod. Honorably.”

  “I thought you didn’t do honorably.”

  She peered up at him through narrowing eyes, indignation at last replacing sorrow. When her lashes fused together, he was strangely glad to see the silver swirling underneath, no hint of gold. “In this and only this, I do. Too much is at stake,” she added, mirroring his thoughts. “Not just for me, but for my sisters.”

  Win.

  The Rod? Dude, I’m working on it. A little space would be nice.

  Win!

  I know, damn you! “What if I… Shit.” He released Kaia to scrub a hand down his face. As many batt
les as he’d fought during his long life, he could sniff out a dead end before he turned the corner and spied the brick wall. They were at an impasse, and he knew it. She wouldn’t budge—unless he changed the stakes.

  “Do this for me, and I’ll sleep with you. Okay?”

  For a moment, she gave no reaction. Then a squawk parted her lips and she batted him away from her. And by “batted” he meant that she used so much force, he actually spun around, unable to stop himself.

  “How magnanimous of you.” An instant later, she was in front of him again. She shoved him, hard, and he stumbled backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. “To offer up your body when you so clearly have no desire for me. To lower your standards and whore yourself. To use me, no matter how badly I’ll suffer in the end.”

  Her words were like arrows, direct hits, and he cringed, but he offered no reply. Not yet. As he collapsed and bounced on the mattress, he focused on his demon. This isn’t a challenge to dominate her sexually, you get me?

  Win!

  Strider pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He thought the demon was still focused on the Rod, but he couldn’t be sure. So, when Kaia jumped on top of him, straddling his waist, he twisted, tossing her down and pinning her with his weight. And gods, that felt good. She fit him perfectly, her breasts soft against his chest, the apex of her thighs offering an exquisite cradle to the thickness of his shaft.

  The scent of cinnamon continued to waft from her, enveloping him, hazing his thoughts. Heat, so much heat, pulsed from her soft, luscious skin, branding him.

  WIN.

  Bastard. “This is life and death, Kaia.”

  She was panting as she tangled her hands in his hair, nails biting into his scalp. “For me, too.”

  “Would you do it for…Paris?” he asked, hating himself.

  “No.”

  No hesitation from her, and that eased the tightness in his chest. A tightness he hadn’t even been aware of until just that moment. “Kaia.”

  “Strider.”

  “I—I never said I didn’t desire you.” He wasn’t sure what he’d meant to say, he only knew that wasn’t it, that the words had slipped out without his consent. “I do. How could I not?”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Are you saying you agree to be my consort?”

  “No.” He wouldn’t lie about that. Not to her. And not because she’d rip him to pieces when she discovered the truth. “I can’t give you forever.”

  The nibbling increased in intensity, leaving a bead of blood in the center of her mouth. “Because we’re not a good match?”

  Of course she would remember every insult he’d ever thrown at her. “Yes.”

  “Then what can you give me?”

  “Here. Now.” Something his body craved more with every second that passed.

  “In exchange for my aid in the theft of the Paring Rod.” A statement, not a question.

  “Yes.” Maybe even without it. So badly he wanted to arch into her, rub against her, stoke her passions until she begged him to finish her off.

  She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her teeth. Teeth sharpening into a mouthful of daggers, but gods, that tongue was pretty. “You’ll have to convince me,” she said huskily, even as she drew his head down…down…until his lips hovered just above hers. “Give me a taste of what you’re offering.”

  WIN, WIN, WIN.

  A challenge. Intentional or not. And this time, he had no trouble interpreting what his demon expected, needed. Strider had to kiss her, and he had to convince her, or he would hurt.

  He waited for fury to fill him, but as he stared down at her, breathing her in, all he wanted to do was give her that taste.

  He removed her nails from his scalp and flattened her hands over her head, forcing her back to bow, her body to slide against his. Her nipples were hard, just waiting for his mouth.

  “Don’t say another goddamn word,” he commanded, and then he finally, finally went in for the kill.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  KAIA FELT AS IF SHE’D BEEN waiting for this moment forever. And in a way, she had. At long last, she lay in her consort’s embrace, and he was meeting her needs. Her wildest, most sensual needs. Strider’s lips pressed against hers, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth, hot, decadent, his taste filling her up, consuming her. She’d never loved cinnamon more. Sweet and tangy with just a little spice.

  The weight of his muscled body pinned her to the mattress, and the weapons strapped all over him pressed into bone, probably bruising. As if she cared. What were a few bruises when one of Strider’s big hands held her head tilted to the side to deepen their connection?

  What were a few bruises when her breasts rasped against his chest with her every inhalation, and her aching nipples rubbed at him, sparking the desire inside her to a hotter degree?

  She spread her legs, allowing his lower half to fall more firmly against hers. His erection—so big, so long, so perfectly thick—hit her just right, and she gasped. Hotter, hotter, sooo much hotter.

  “Strider,” she moaned.

  “Kaia.”

  Her name on his lips…heaven and hell, sweet and torturous. A siren’s song. “More.”

  “How do you like it?”

  “However you give it.” Her nails had already lengthened into claws, and she dug them into his back, accidentally cutting past his shirt and into skin. He groaned, and their teeth scraped together. His fingers clenched on her jaw. “Sorry,” she panted. She squeezed his hips with her knees, just in case he thought to leave her.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he growled. “Just do it again.” He sucked on her bottom lip, hard, causing sizzling goose bumps to sprout from head to toe.

  More erotic, freeing words had never been spoken. As a Harpy, she was stronger and more vicious than almost all other immortals. She’d always had to temper her passions and hold back. Even with Paris.

  She didn’t think she’d have to hold back with Strider—and wouldn’t. Whatever she dished, he could take. Hell, he would revel in. He was too strong, too determined for anything less. And really, he might look like an angel, but he was far wickeder than any other Lord. The best kind of wicked, at that. Devilish. Gentle and easy weren’t his style.

  He found humor in the strangest things. If he discovered one of his friends chained to a female’s bed (cough Lucien cough), he took pictures and emailed them to every one he knew. How cool was that?

  A man like that would never ask her to stop stealing. He might even join her on her obligatory forays, keeping her dark side happy without causing too much damage. More than that, he knew triumph and loss better than any other. He would revel in her every accomplishment, good, bad or ugly. He would be the first to tell her when she’d screwed up, but he wouldn’t write her off.

  Or maybe the man she pictured in her mind was pure fantasy. The one on top of her thought to barter with her, his body in exchange for her cooperation. That pissed her off royally—but not enough to stop this tasting.

  He was her drug of choice, she mused, and she was already addicted to him.

  “Kaia! Pay some fucking attention to what’s happening here,” he snarled.

  Startled back to her senses, she blinked up at him. He was panting, sweating—perhaps more than he should—his features tight with strain. He must have been calling for her for quite a while. And damn, she’d stopped kissing him to ponder his virtues and follies, she realized. A travesty she would rectify immediately.

  “I’m here.” She wrapped her legs around him and locked her ankles, arching up. More contact with his erection, more gasping from her. So delicious. So perfect. So freaking hot.

  “Good girl.” His tongue found its way back inside her mouth, and they dueled, fighting for dominance.

  She let him win, submitting, allowing him to take the lead, urging her toward complete satisfaction. Or maybe insanity. Her mind fogged with desire, her blood heated to blistering and her Harpy sang with approval.

  Th
is was everything she had been dreaming of, fantasizing about, craving with every fiber of her being. Her man, feasting on her, grinding against her. She would never get enough of him, would always want more. Always need more. Her nerve endings caught fire, the ever-growing blaze nearly too much, the ache between her legs fierce.

  She had to lock this deal up tight. Love him within an inch of his life, bind them together, and never, never, allow him to escape her. Never allow any of the other Harpies near him. He was hers. Would always be hers.

  You can’t think like that. He’s a warrior, used to control. You try to bind him, and he’ll run. This has to be a partnership, not a Harpytatorship. Yes, okay. She could do that. Work with him. Anything to keep him with her, to kiss him again, to have him, all of him. Question—could he work with her?

  “Damn it, Kaia.” He removed his hand from her jaw and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing. “What the hell is going on in that head of yours?”

  “You, us, together. Yes,” she moaned, pressing herself into the touch. Hot, she was so hot, and only growing hotter. “More.”

  “Good, okay, yes. Harder?”

  “Harder. Please.” She lifted her hips off the mattress, the springs squeaking, and moved herself against him. Steam might even have risen from her pores, surrounding them both, thickening the air. “More. All.”

  “Damn, your mouth is a firestorm. Burns. And yeah, baby doll, I’ll give you—” He sucked in another breath, stiffened, cursed. Cursed so violently she was surprised her ears hadn’t started bleeding. “All right. Yes. We’ll do this. You and me. I’ll give you more, all.”

  His voice was…odd, she thought distantly. No longer layered with arousal, but as stiff as his body now was, and formal. Almost robotic. Why? What had changed? She mourned the loss.

  He fit their lips back together and the kiss continued. She rubbed her core up and down his length, unable to stop herself, never loosening her grip around his waist. He settled against her, his skin slick with sweat. She fell back to the bed, but all the while she fought through the now cooling lust-fog, determined to figure out what was going on with him.