Anya stepped from the prisoners to Lucien’s side, drawing every eye to her. All three men sucked in a—reverent? aroused? surprised?—breath.
“Why the hell is she here?” Strider demanded. “And why would a minor goddess fight Hun—”
“Hey! I’m not minor!” Anya said with a stomp of her foot.
Lucien wasn’t given a chance to reply. Death tugged at him insistently, almost painfully, its need to collect the souls stronger than usual. Death was also whining inside his head, conflicted, because it wanted to remain next to pretty Anya almost as much as it needed to act.
What power did she wield over the being? How did she wield it?
“I’ll return,” he said. He allowed himself to be pulled completely from the physical world and into the spiritual. He could have left his body behind, but didn’t want the warriors to have to worry about guarding it. His friends, and even Anya, faded from his line of vision.
He saw only the Hunters, lying on the ground, each bloody and lifeless. Inside the nearly-dead bodies, their spirits writhed, waiting for him.
“Anya,” he called. He did not like leaving her alone with the other warriors. No telling what they would try to do—especially Paris.
She didn’t appear. She had followed him to this realm before, he knew she had, for he had felt her. Why not now? She can take care of herself. You’ve seen the proof of that.
Hurry! Lucien wasn’t responsible for every soul on earth. Many were actually allowed to remain, roaming the land, invisible. He thought he would go mad if he spent his every waking hour in this realm, doing nothing but traveling from earth to hell or earth to heaven. It was burden enough to be responsible for those whose final resting place had already been determined.
He always felt, deep inside, where he was supposed to escort the souls. Sometimes he even saw the final moments of the person’s life, whether those moments were layered with sickening cruelty or unerring kindness.
Lucien sighed, studied his targets. There was a black aura around each of them, revealing the corruptness of their natures. These men would soon burn in the eternal fires. He wasn’t surprised. While some Hunters actually made it into heaven, he’d known these would not. They were too fanatical and had indiscriminately tortured innocents for answers.
“Is this the peace you always longed for?” Lucien floated his ghostly self to the first body. Opening his hand and stretching his fingers, he reached inside the Hunter’s chest. When he felt an ice-cold block, he snapped his fingers closed.
The spirit realized it was captured and began struggling as Lucien tugged it from the corpse. Their eyes met, and Lucien knew his were glowing with blue-brown fire.
“No,” it screamed. “No. Let me stay here.”
The man’s sins suddenly flickered through the demon’s awareness and in turn through Lucien’s. As the man had already proven, he had considered himself above the law, slaying anyone who got in his way—men, women, children—all in the name of a better world.
Bastard.
Maintaining a strong grip on the protesting spirit, he flashed to the entrance of hell. Not Hades—that gloomy underworld was reserved for those who did not deserve either the tortures of hell or the glories of heaven. This man deserved the flames. Though the gates to the fire pit were closed, Lucien could feel the intense heat radiating, could hear the symphony of tormented screams inside, the demonic laughter. The jeers. The stifling scent of sulfur permeated the entire area, enough to make a man gag.
He’d brought Maddox here every night for thousands of years, hating himself all the while, wishing there were something he could do to ease his friend’s anguish but knowing there was nothing. Until Anya. As she liked to remind him, she had saved them.
“Please!” the spirit cried. “I’m sorry for—”
“Save your pleas,” he said flatly. Over the centuries, he’d heard every desperate bargain imaginable. Nothing swayed him.
What will you do if Anya begs you? What then?
Suddenly Lucien wanted to vomit, to rail, to kill at the thought of bringing such a lovely creature here. Whatever her crime, he doubted she deserved to burn, the flesh melting and peeling from her luscious body only to regenerate and melt again.
Perhaps when she died, she would be allowed in heaven.
He could pray, at least.
“Please,” the Hunter’s spirit screamed as two thick boulders opened up above the pit. Orange-gold flames shot out, crackling and snapping, the smell of sulfur stronger as it blended with the odors of burned hair and rotting tissue.
The spirit’s struggles intensified.
When Lucien saw demonic, scaly arms reach through the flames, when he heard the taunting become eager giggles, he tossed the spirit in. The scaly arms caught it and jerked it downward. There was a scream so filled with pain it was deafening, and then the boulders closed.
He didn’t know what kept the demons inside, only that something did. Something that had not been able to hold the demon he now housed, which was why it had not been returned to hell after it escaped—thanks to you—Pandora’s box.
If you hadn’t opened the box, you might never have met Anya. And that would have been best, he told himself, despite the sudden flare of rightness that came with knowing her. He wouldn’t have been commanded to hurt her.
He repeated the journey with every slain Hunter, and when he was finished, he opened his eyes to find himself back in the physical realm. The cave walls closed in around him, dark and bleak. There was silence, but he wasn’t sure the quiet was any better than the screams of the Underworld. His mind wanted to fill every second of it with thoughts of Anya.
She’d obsessed him.
And she was gone, he noticed. Disappointment filled him.
Having realized what was happening, his men had continued about their business and had patched up the innocents. Or maybe Anya had done it before she left. Where had she gone?
“I don’t understand,” Paris said to one of the beaten humans. “For what?”
“Artifacts,” the old man said through swollen lips. “Priceless, godly, powerful. Each will lead the bearer closer to Pandora’s box, helping him to finally procure it.”
Pandora’s box. Words guaranteed to engage his complete attention. Lucien joined the group. “How will the artifacts help us find the box?”
Amun stood off to the side, watching, but turned his head when Lucien spoke. Strider flicked him a glance, muttering, “Nice to have you back.”
“The woman?”
“Still here,” Gideon replied, which meant she had indeed left.
He moved beside Amun and waited for someone to explain.
“Just up and disappeared, right after you,” Strider said. “Why does she keep showing up?”
Lucien didn’t answer, for he didn’t know what truly drove Anya. I missed you, she’d said. Had she really? He just didn’t know. She was as mysterious as she was beautiful. “Who are these men and how will those artifacts help us find the box?”
Strider shrugged at the abrupt subject change. “They are mortals who’ve devoted their lives to the study of mythology. And I don’t know.”
“Can we go home?” the younger man asked. His brown eyes were watery. “Please.”
“Soon,” Lucien promised gently. “We just need to know what you told the Hunters.”
“Hunters?” both asked in unison.
“The men who imprisoned you.”
“Bastards,” the younger man gritted out. “You plan to kill us after we tell you?”
“No,” Strider said with a laugh. “Please. Look at you, then look at me. I don’t do puny targets.”
The old man gulped. Opened his mouth.
“Don’t,” the son said.
“It’s okay. I’ll tell them.” The older human drew a heavy breath past his cut and bleeding lips. “According to ancient lore, there are four artifacts. The All-seeing Eye, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Cage of Compulsion and the Paring Rod.”
&
nbsp; Two rang a distant bell, delighting him. Two were unfamiliar, puzzling him. Mostly the irony of the situation disgusted him. If these humans were correct, they knew more about the world he’d once inhabited than he, a former soldier to the gods, did. “Tell me about them. Please.”
With fear in his eyes, the man continued, “Some legends say that all four belonged to Cronus—some say each belonged to a different Titan. Most accounts agree that when Zeus defeated Cronus, he—Zeus—scattered them throughout the world to prevent the former god king from using them again, if he ever managed to escape his prison. For it had been prophesied that the Titans would ultimately destroy the Greeks forevermore.”
Why hadn’t Zeus killed Cronus to begin with, then, rather than imprison him? For that matter, why hadn’t Cronus killed Zeus after his escape? Why choose imprisonment? Gods. He might never understand them, Lucien thought, even were he to devote years to studying them as these mortals had done. “What else do you know about the four artifacts?”
The younger man shrugged, taking over the story. “The All-seeing Eye provides glimpses into the otherworld, illuminating the right path. The Cloak shields the wearer from prying eyes. The Rod may part the ocean, though that is widely disputed, and the Cage enslaves whoever is locked inside. Like we said earlier, all four are needed to find and win the box, or so the legend goes, but we don’t know why.”
“And where are these artifacts now?” Paris rushed out. All of the warriors crowded around the men in anticipation of their reply.
The old man sighed even as he inched backward, as if fearing the warriors would erupt with his next words. “Again, we don’t know.” He laughed, the sound bitter. “We’ve been looking for them a long time and never found any indication they truly existed.”
“That’s why those bastards brought us here,” the younger one added. “To help them hunt for clues.”
“Had they found anything?” Lucien asked.
“No.” The younger man shook his head. “And they were more frustrated by the day. They have men everywhere, all over the world, searching. Much as I might wish otherwise, I seriously doubt there’s anything to find. If there were, we would have found it by now.”
He had known the Hunters were everywhere, but he hadn’t been aware of the artifacts. It was his fault, really. For so long, he’d purposely cut himself off from the world, content to live quietly in his fortress, the heavens a distant if bitter memory. Never again.
Cronus had to want the items back. Desperately. Perhaps Lucien could use that to his advantage. He made a mental note to visit Sabin and the warriors in Rome so he could alert them. “That is all you know?” he asked the men.
Both nodded warily.
“We are grateful for this information. Let’s get you home now,” he said, curling his fingers around each of their wrists.
“Our house is in Athens,” the younger man said in a trembling voice dripping with hope. “We live together, and we can find our own way.”
Tears of relief streamed down the old man’s cheeks. “Thank you. Are you—one of them? The immortals? You disappeared earlier.”
“Give me the address,” Lucien said, pretending he hadn’t heard the question. “I will take you there.”
When the father told him, reverence blooming in his eyes, he flashed them.
Surprisingly, Anya was waiting in their house. She paced back and forth in the sparse but comfortable-looking living room. Not a flicker of emotion played over her features when she spied him.
“I’ll wipe their memories,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as well. “They’ll recall nothing of the Hunters, nothing of the Lords.”
Despite himself, Lucien was overjoyed to see her and grateful that she still planned to help him. However, he flashed back to the island without uttering a word. One word would have led to another and that word would have led to a plea—kiss me, touch me, please—and then he would have challenged Cronus. I will not kill her. I’ll kill you. Because, at that moment, Lucien did not care about the curses Cronus could heap upon him and his friends. He did not care that the god king could make them suffer for all eternity.
Without Anya, he was going to suffer anyway.
CHAPTER SIX
“SHAVE MY HEAD,” ANYA muttered darkly. How would Lucien react if she actually did it? If she next appeared to him bald? Probably call her “ugly” and “gullible” and resist her more fervently. “Jerk.”
And yet, foolishly, she missed him.
When he’d slipped into the spirit realm to escort those souls to hell, she had flashed to the humans’ home, knowing he would soon arrive. Seeing him again had affected her deeply. She’d almost thrown herself at him, glad that he was healthy and whole, face and neck already healing; she had only managed to suppress the urge by suppressing her emotions, as well.
Afterward, she had returned to her beach in Hawaii, dejected, and had shimmied into her favorite white one-piece. Now she strolled along the water’s edge flinging glistening sand in every direction, hair hanging down her back, damp and curling. The sun glowed hotly, stroking her skin. Waves lapped at the pink grains, washing some away, and all the emotions she’d momentarily overridden lapped at her just as determinedly.
“All I wanted to do was help him.”
And what had she gotten in return for her generosity? He’d pretended to want her, even chained her to his bed—then vanished. That still hurt. She’d been desperate for him, and he hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough. “I am such a moron.”
Why couldn’t she forget him?
No man had ever affected her like this, and despite her curse, she’d dated plenty! All had been mortals, amusing for a little while as they showered her with the compliments she’d always craved from the gods, but most had been as forgettable as she wanted Lucien to be. The more memorable ones had become her friends, even though she had refused to sleep with them.
One by one they had died. Casual though the friendships were, their loss had hurt her, their humanity a weakness she’d come to despise. She no longer hung with humans, hadn’t for several years, and some nights she was so lonely she found herself snuggling with the teddy bear she’d stolen from the grand opening of a Toys “R” Us.
With Lucien, she wasn’t lonely. She was excited. Every moment with him was a surprise. And he wanted nothing to do with her.
Grrr! From this point on, she would stay away from him. Would make him come to her. He’d have to eventually, if he hoped to obey Cronus. Patience, though, had never been her strongest virtue, and in spite of everything, as the day ticked by she realized she craved another sight of him.
“I’m not a moron. I’m a fucking moron.” Watching Lucien fight had to be the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. Ev-er. He’d been lethal strength and total Death, fast and fluid as he’d wielded those daggers. His mismatched eyes had glowed with the promise of eternal damnation, and she’d found that irresistible.
Still did.
She liked sparring with him. She enjoyed his company, was bored when parted from him.
Seriously. None of that made sense. As grave as he was, he should have been dull. Yet he amused her, challenged her and made her feel alive. Odd, since he was possessed by Death.
Did he feel anything for her? Anything at all besides disdain and irritation? If so, he hid it well. Except when he kissed her. Then he was another man completely. Passionate and tender, a little wild. He kissed with his entire body, showering her with desire and that rose-scented flavor.
“Who am I trying to fool? I’m going back to him.”
Cronus had chosen her executioner well. She couldn’t stay away from him, didn’t want him to stay away from her, and might even let him try again to kill her, just for another kiss.
“Might be fun,” she murmured, flashing.
IT WAS THE STRAWBERRY-SCENTED breeze that first alerted Lucien to Anya’s presence when he materialized on the Greek island after escorting a group of souls to heaven. There’d been a b
us accident in the States, a carefree troop on their way to a church social. They’d been hit by a drunk driver and every one of them had died.
A waste. Thankfully he’d numbed himself enough that even the children failed to affect him anymore. He couldn’t allow them to; as much death as he dealt, he’d be a mess if he did.
You’re a mess right now, thinking of Anya.
The thought came from him, but his demon was quick to respond.
Need another kiss.
Lucien wasn’t surprised this time. Whenever the woman approached him, Death purred like an excited kitten. A phenomenon he still did not understand. Why do you want her? He hated the thought of anyone, even the demon, craving her as he did.
Tastes good.
There was no refuting that.
More and more, Lucien could feel Cronus’s anger radiating down at him. It was a burn in his gut, a churning in his soul. The king would not wait much longer, would surely curse him soon if he failed to act. Or curse his friends.
Yet just the thought of seeing Anya again lit an inexorable fire inside him, overshadowing the thought of both her death and his punishment. Since that fight with the Hunters two days ago, he hadn’t gone to her and she hadn’t appeared to him. He’d missed her as she’d once claimed to miss him.
Lucien searched the Temple of the All Gods for some physical sign of her. He saw moss-covered columns, mounds of crumbled stone and pools of crystal water. No Anya.
So many times he’d pictured her here. In his mind, the pillars were gleaming white with lush emerald ivy and provided the perfect frame for her exotic beauty. In his mind, the puddles were bubbling pools and she liked to frolic. Naked.
“Anya,” he said.
She didn’t respond.
He waited several minutes, then called her name again.
Again, nothing.
“I know you’re here.”
Nothing. What game did she play now?
Lords of the Underworld Bundle Page 47
