Lord of the Vampires and The Darkest Angel and The Amazon's Curse and The Darkest Prison

by Gena Showalter

  Her consort. Wow.

  Her family was going to flip. Not because Lysander had abducted her—they’d come to respect that—but because of what he was. More than that, she didn’t trust Lysander, would never trust him, and so could never do any actual sleeping with him.

  Sex, though, she could allow. Often. Yes, yes, she could make this work, she thought, brightening. She could lure him to the dark side without letting her family know she was spending time with him. Humiliation averted!

  Decided, she nodded. Lysander would be hers. In secret. And there was no better time to begin. If he was watching as she suspected, there was only one way to get him to reveal himself.

  She dressed in a lacy red halter and her favorite skinny jeans and drove into town. Only reason she owned a car was because it made her appear more human. Flying kind of gave her away. Though her arms and navel were exposed, the frigid wind didn’t bother her. Chilled her, yes, but that she could deal with. She wanted Lysander to see as much of her as possible.

  She parked in front of The Moose Lodge, a local diner, and strode to the front door. Because it was so early and so cold, no one was nearby. A few streetlamps illuminated her, but she wasn’t worried. She unlocked the door—she’d stolen the key from the owner months ago—and disabled the alarm.

  Inside, she claimed a pecan pie from the glassed refrigerator, grabbed a fork and dug in while walking to her favorite booth. She’d done this a thousand times before.

  Come out, come out, wherever you are. He wouldn’t have just left her to her evil ways without thinking to protect the world from her. Right? She wished she could feel him, at least sense him in some way. His scent perhaps, that wild, night-sky scent. But as she breathed deeply, she smelled only pecans and sugar. Still. She hadn’t sensed him when he’d snatched her from mid-free fall, so it stood to reason she wouldn’t sense him now.

  Once the pie was polished off, the pan discarded and her fork licked clean, she filled a cup with Dr. Pepper. She placed a few quarters in the old jukebox and soon an erratic beat was echoing from the walls. Bianka danced around one of the tables, thrusting her hips forward and back, arching, sliding around, hands roving over her entire body.

  For a moment, only a brief, sultry moment, she thought she felt hot hands replace her own, exploring her breasts, her stomach. Thought she felt soft feathered wings envelop her, closing her in. She stilled, heart drumming in her chest. So badly she wanted to say his name, but she didn’t want to scare him away. So…what should she do? How should she—

  The feeling of being surrounded evaporated completely.

  Damn him!

  Teeth grinding, not knowing what else to do, she exited the diner the same way she’d entered. Through the front door, as if she hadn’t a care. That door slammed behind her, the force of it nearly shaking the walls.

  “You should lock up after yourself.”

  He was here; he’d been watching. She’d known it! Trying not to grin, she spun around to face Lysander. The sight of him stole her breath. He was as beautiful as she remembered. His pale hair whipped in the wind, little snow crystals flying around him. His golden wings were extended and glowing. But his dark eyes were not blank, as when she’d first met him. They were as turbulent as an ocean—just as they’d been when she’d left him.

  “I thought I told you to stay away from me,” she said, doing her best to sound angry rather than aroused.

  He frowned. “And I told you to behave. Yet here you are, full of stolen pie.”

  “What do you want me to do? Return it?”

  “Don’t be crass. I want you to pay for it.”

  “Moment I do, I’ll start to vomit.” She crossed her arms over her middle. Close the distance. Kiss me. “That would ruin my lipstick, so I have to decline.”

  He, too, crossed his arms over his middle. “You can also earn your food.”

  “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

  A moment passed in silence. Then, “Do you have no morals?” he gritted out. “No.” No sexual boundaries, either. So freaking kiss me already! “I don’t.”

  He popped his jaw in frustration and disappeared.

  Bianka’s arms dropped to her sides and she gazed around in astonishment. He’d left? Left? Without touching her? Without kissing her? Bastard! She stomped to her car.

  LYSANDER WATCHED AS Bianka drove away. He was hard as a rock, had been that way since she’d paraded around her cabin naked, had lingered in a bubble bath and then changed into that wicked shirt. His shaft was desperate for her.

  Why couldn’t she be an angel? Why couldn’t she abhor sin? Why did she have to embrace it?

  And why was the fact that she did these things—steal, curse, lie—still exciting him?

  Because that was the way of things, he supposed, and had been since the beginning of time. Temptation seeped past your defenses, changed you, made you long for things you shouldn’t.

  There had to be a way to end this madness. He couldn’t destroy her, he’d already proven that. But what if he could change her? He hadn’t truly tried before, so it could work. And if she embraced his way of life, they could be together. He could have her. Have more of her kisses, touch more of her body.

  Yes, he thought. Yes. He would help her become a woman he could be proud to walk beside. A woman he could happily claim as his own. A woman who would not be his downfall.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AS LYSANDER HAD NEVER had a…girlfriend, as the humans would say, he had no idea how to train one. He knew only how to train his soldiers. Without emotion, maintaining distance and taking nothing personally. His soldiers, however, wanted to learn. They were eager, his every word welcomed. Bianka would resist him at every turn. That much he knew.

  So. The first day, he followed her, simply observing. Planning.

  She, of course, stole every meal, even snacks, drank too much at a bar, danced too closely with a man she obviously did not know, then broke that man’s nose when he cupped her bottom. Lysander wanted to do damage of his own, but restrained himself. Barely. At bedtime, Bianka merely paced the confines of her cabin, cursing his name. Not for a minute did she rest.

  How lovely she was, dark hair streaming down her back. Red lips pursed. Skin glowing like a rainbow in the moonlight. So badly he wanted to touch her, to surround her with his wings, making them the only two people alive, and simply enjoy her.

  Soon, he promised himself.

  She’d given him release, yet he had not done the same for her. The more he thought about that—and think about it he did, all the time—the more that did not sit well with him. The more he thought about it, in fact, the more embarrassed he was.

  He didn’t know how to touch her to bring her release, but he was willing to try, to learn. First, though, he had to train her as planned. How, though? he wondered again. She seemed to respond well to his kisses—his chest puffed up with pride at that. He’d never rewarded his soldiers for a job well done, but perhaps he could do so for Bianka. Reward her with a kiss every time she pleased him.

  A failproof plan. He hoped.

  The second day, he was practically humming with anticipation. When she entered a clothing store and stuffed a beaded scarf into her purse, he materialized in front of her, ready to begin.

  She stilled, gaze lifting and meeting his. Rather than bow her head in contrition, she grinned. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Put that back,” he told her. “You do not need to steal clothing to survive.”

  She crossed her arms over her middle, a stubborn stance he knew well. “Yeah, but it’s fun.”

  A human woman who stood off to the side eyed Bianka strangely. “Uh, can I help you?”

  Bianka never looked away from him. “Nope. I’m fine.”

  “She cannot see me,” Lysander told her. “Only you can.”

  “So I look insane for talking with you?”

  He nodded.

  She laughed, surprising him. And even though her amusement was misplaced, he lo
ved the sound of her laughter. It was magical, like the strum of a harp. He loved the way her mirth softened her expression and lit her magnificent skin.

  Have to touch her, he thought, suddenly dazed. He took a step closer, intending to do just that. Have to experience that softness again. And in doing so, she could begin to know the delights of his rewards.

  She gulped. “Wh-what are you—”

  “Are you sure I can’t help you?” the woman asked, cutting her off.

  Bianka remained in place, trembling, but tossed her a glare. “I’m sure. Now shut it before I sew your lips together.”

  The woman backed away, spun and raced to help someone else.

  Lysander froze.

  “You may continue,” Bianka said to him.

  How could he reward her for such rudeness? That would defeat the purpose of her training. “Do you not care what people think of you?” he asked, head tilting to the side.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she stopped trembling. “No. Why should I? In a few years, these people will be dead but I’ll still be alive and kicking.” As she spoke, she stuffed another scarf in her purse.

  Now she was simply taunting him. “Put it back, and I’ll give you a kiss,” he gritted out.

  “Wh-what?”

  Stuttering again. He was affecting her. “You heard me.” He would not repeat the words. Having said them, all he wanted to do was mesh their lips together, thrust his tongue into her mouth and taste her. Hear her moan. Feel her clutch at him.

  “You would willingly kiss me?” she rasped.

  Willingly. Desperately. He nodded.

  She licked her lips, leaving a sheen of moisture behind. The sight of that pink tongue sent blood rushing into his shaft. His hands clenched at his sides. Anything to keep from grabbing her and jerking her against him.

  “I—I—” She shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts. Her eyes narrowed again, those long, dark lashes fusing together. “Why would you do that? You, who have tried to resist me at every turn?”

  “Because.”

  “Why?”

  “Just put the scarves back.” So the kissing can begin.

  She arched a brow. “Are you trying to bribe me? Because you should know, that won’t work with me.”

  Rather than answer—and lie—he remained silent, chin jutting in the air. Blood…heating.

  Still watching him, she reached out, palmed a belt and stuffed it in her purse, as well. “So what do you plan to do to me if I keep stealing? Give me a severe tongue-lashing? Too bad. I don’t accept.”

  Fire slid the length of his spine even as his anger spiked. He closed the distance until the warmth of her breath was fanning over his neck and chest. “You could not get enough of me in the heavens, yet now that you are here, you want nothing to do with me. Tell me. Was your every word and action up there a lie?”

  “Of course my every word and action was a lie. That’s what I do. I thought you knew that.”

  So…did she desire him or not? Two days ago she’d told her sister, Kaia, that she wanted nothing to do with him. At the time, he’d thought she was merely saying that for Kaia’s benefit. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  “You could be lying now,” he said. At least, that’s what he hoped. And who would have thought he’d ever wish for a lie?

  Excitement sparked in her eyes and spread to the rest of her features. She patted his cheek, then flattened her palm on his chest. “You’re learning, angel.”

  He sucked in a breath. So hot. So soft.

  “Here’s a proposition for you. Steal something from this store and I’ll kiss you.”

  Wait. Her words from a moment ago drifted through his head. You’re learning, angel. He was learning? “No,” he croaked out. He would not do such a thing. Not even for her. “These people need the money their goods provide. Do you care nothing for their welfare?”

  A flash of guilt joined the excitement. “No,” she said.

  Another lie? Probably. That guilt…it gave him hope. “Why do you need to steal like this, anyway?”

  “Foreplay,” she said with a shrug.

  Blood…heating…again.

  “Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”

  At the unexpected intrusion, they both stiffened. Bianka’s gaze pulled from his; together they eyed the policeman now standing beside her.

  She frowned. “Can’t you see that I’m in the middle of a conversation?”

  “Doesn’t matter if you’re talking to God Himself.” The grim-faced officer latched onto her wrist. “I need you to come with me.”

  “I don’t think so. Lysander,” she said, clearly expecting him to do something.

  Instinct demanded he save her. He wanted her safe and happy, but this would be good for her. “I told you to put the items back.”

  Her jaw dropped as the officer led her away. And, if Lysander wasn’t mistaken, there was pride in her gaze.

  ARRESTED FOR SHOPLIFTING, Bianka thought with disgust. Again. Her third time that year. Lysander had watched the policeman usher her in back, empty her purse and cuff her. All without a word. His disapproval had said plenty, though.

  She hadn’t let it upset her. He’d stood his ground, and she admired that. Was turned on by it. This wouldn’t be an easy victory, as she’d assumed. Besides, for the first time in their relationship, he’d offered to kiss her. Willingly kiss her.

  But only if she replaced her stolen goods, she reminded herself darkly. Didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wanted to change her. To condition her to his way of life.

  It was exactly what she wanted to do to him. Which meant he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him.

  It also meant it was time to take this game to the next level. She, however, would not be the one to cave. The six hours she’d spent behind bars had given her time to think. To form a strategy.

  She was whistling as she meandered down the station steps. Lysander had finally posted her bail, but he hadn’t hung around to speak with her. Well, he hadn’t needed to. She knew he was following her.

  At home, she showered, lingering under the hot spray, soaping herself more slowly than necessary and caressing her breasts and playing between her legs. Unfortunately, he never appeared. But no matter.

  Just in case her shower hadn’t gotten him in the mood, she read a few passages from her favorite romance novel. And just in case that hadn’t gotten him in the mood, she decorated her navel with her favorite dangling diamond, dressed in a skintight tank and skirt and knee-high boots, and drove to the closest strip club.

  “I only have a few days left. Then I’m traveling to Budapest for Gwen’s wedding and you are not invited. Do you hear me? Try and come and I’ll make your life hell. So, if you want a go at me, now’s the time,” she said as she got out of the car.

  Again, he didn’t appear.

  She almost screeched in frustration. So far, her strategy sucked. What was he doing?

  The night was cold yet the inside of the club was hot and stuffy, the seats packed with men. Onstage, a redhead—clearly not a natural redhead—swung around a pole. The lights were dimmed, and smoke clung to the air.

  “You gonna dance, darling?” someone asked Bianka.

  “Nope. Got better things to do.” She did, however, steal the stranger’s wallet, sneak a beer from the bar and settle into a table in the back corner. Alone. “Enjoy,” she whispered to Lysander, toasting him with the bottle.

  “Have you no shame?” he suddenly growled from behind her.

  Finally! Every muscle in her body relaxed, even as her blood heated with awareness. But she didn’t turn to face him. He would have seen the triumph in her eyes. “You have enough shame for both of us.”

  He snorted. “That does not seem to be the case.”

  “Really? Well, then, let’s loosen you up. Do you want a lap dance?” She held up the cash she’d taken. “I’m sure the redhead onstage would love to rub against you.”

  His big hands settled on her shoulders, squeezing.
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  “Or maybe you’d like a beer?”

  “I would indeed,” the stranger she’d stolen from said, now in front of her table. He reached into his back pocket. Frowned. “Hey, my wallet’s gone.” His gaze settled on the small brown leather case resting on her tabletop. His frown deepened. “That looks like mine.”

  “How odd,” she said innocently. “So do you want me to buy you a beer or not?”

  Lysander’s grip tightened. “Give him back his wallet and I’ll kiss you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Gods, she wanted his kiss. More than she’d ever wanted anything. His lips were soft, his taste decadent. And if she allowed him to kiss her, well, she knew she could convince him to do other things.

  But she said, “Steal his watch and I’ll kiss you.”

  “What are you talking about?” the guy asked, brow furrowed. “Steal whose watch?”

  She rolled her eyes, wishing she could shoo him away.

  Lysander leaned down and cupped her breasts. A tremor moved through her, her nipples beading, reaching for him. Sweet heaven. Her stomach quivered, jealous of her breasts, wanting the touch lower.

  “Give him back the wallet.”

  Suddenly she wanted to do just that. Anything for more of Lysander and this sultry side of him. She didn’t need the money, anyway. Wait. What are you doing? Caving? She straightened her spine. “No, I—”

  “I’ll kiss you all over your body,” Lysander added.

  Oh… Hell. He’d decided to take their game to the next level, as well.

  Damn, damn, damn. She couldn’t lose. If she did, he would control her with sex. He would expect her to be good like him. All the damn time. There would be no more stealing, no more cursing, no more fun. Well, except when they were in bed—but would he expect her to be good there, too?

  Life would become boring and sinless, everything a Harpy was taught to fight against.