Lords of the Underworld Bundle

by Gena Showalter

  Trying not to frown, he bent over a sand pile and sifted through the grains. If he couldn’t coax her out of hiding, at least he could begin looking for evidence of the four artifacts’ existence.

  Something soft brushed his shoulder blades and the scent of strawberries became stronger, filling his nostrils, tantalizing him; he didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge the sensation. Not outwardly, at least. Inside, he shook.

  “Whatcha doing?” she asked. Finally she materialized.

  Stomach tightening with arousal, Lucien focused on her. Dear gods. Her clothes…He gulped. She leaned against one of the towering white columns. Crumbling rock and Parisian marble walls stretched around her, intricate patterns framing her perfect pixie face. Wisps of hair caressed her, and he experienced a momentary burst of jealousy.

  He wanted his fingers to caress her, and nothing else.

  She wore a transparent white gown—did she have an endless supply?—that draped one shoulder and bared the other’s sun-kissed glory. A braided gold belt wrapped around her waist, hugging her curves. A slit rode the entire length of her thigh, revealing inch after inch of smooth, creamy skin, as well as a hint of snow-white panties.

  Suddenly Lucien had trouble breathing. With the sun hitting just behind her, he could see the outline of her strawberry nipples.

  Strawberry. A word he would forever associate with Anya.

  Make her leave. She’s a distraction you cannot afford.

  Want her to stay! the demon growled.

  If only. “Not many more hours of light, so…” His voice was hoarse.

  Hurt glimmered in the blue depths of her eyes. “So get lost? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes.” He turned away from her—for the best, you know it—and scooped another handful of dirt.

  Kiss her. Kisskisskiss.

  He clenched his jaw.

  A moment passed in silence. Then, “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Not wise, giving me your back.”

  “The other warriors are nearby.” They were spread out over the island, close enough to hear but not close enough to kill an immediate threat. “I’ll let them worry about my back,” he lied. He just, well, he couldn’t face her again. She stirred all kinds of emotions inside him. Emotions he was better off without.

  “Well, then. Aren’t you going to rush me or something? I’m, like, at the top of your destruction list.”

  “Later. Right now, I’m busy.” He heard her shift, heard a rock fall. Wanted to look. Didn’t. One more glance at her, and he might never look away. He might rush her as she’d asked, but he wouldn’t hurt her. He would kiss her, just as Death craved. Again and again. Until their clothes were shed and he was pumping inside her.

  In that instant, his body was so hard he thought he might burst.

  “Lucien,” Paris called from beyond the far temple wall, his voice tense.

  He straightened. Still he did not face Anya. “Yes.”

  “I smell female. Your female.”

  “Stay where you are.” He didn’t want the others to see her like this. “All of you. Keep looking for something to point us in the right direction.”

  Paris grumbled something under his breath. Strider shouted, “You lucky son of a bitch.” Amun and Gideon did not reply.

  “Guess they won’t have your back, after all,” Anya said, her tone strangely devoid of emotion.

  He didn’t like it when she became so unreadable. He was afraid she was doing so to protect herself from pain. Pain he caused.

  “So you guys are looking for artifacts, hmm?”

  “Do not pretend ignorance. You sent us here.” He crouched down once more and rolled a large silver stone aside, spotting pebbles and a dead clam underneath. He gritted his teeth, feeling impatient and like a fool. What kind of warrior played in the sand?

  “This temple had been buried under the sea for thousands of years,” Anya said. “The salt water probably washed all evidence of the past away.”

  “Perhaps something remains.” He had to believe it was so.

  “I thought your precious Ashlyn told you the box was guarded by Hydra,” Anya said, and this time she spoke with a sneer.

  Yes, Ashlyn had heard something about Hydra in her travels with the World Institute of Parapsychology. But why had Anya sneered? She had once aided Ashlyn, had seemed to like her. Doesn’t matter.

  According to numerous sources, Hydra had multiple heads and poisonous breath. Hercules was said to have defeated her at Lake Lerna. But Ashlyn claimed there had been a few sightings over the years. Always in a different location—the Arctic, Egypt, Africa, Scotland and even the States. Humans called her Nessie, Big Foot and all other manner of names. Leave it to mortals not to know what was right under their noses.

  Part of Lucien wanted to abandon this temple and search in one of those locations. For if he could find Hydra, maybe he could find the box. Maybe he could destroy it at last and prevent Hunters—and even the gods—from trapping the demons and killing him and the other Lords.

  Curiosity, however, held him here. The Titans had resurrected this temple for a reason. Yes, they planned to bring humans back to the days of worship and sacrifice. But there was something here. Had to be. Why else would the Hunters have been looking so diligently?

  “I love treasure hunts,” Anya said, reclaiming his attention. “They’re so exciting.”

  “You are not helping us.”

  A pause. Then, suddenly, she was standing beside him, strands of her hair brushing his bare arm. He’d removed his shirt an hour ago, the sun too bright and too hot. Sweat trickled along the ropes of his stomach, causing that hair to plaster against his skin. He had to grind his molars at the headiness of being connected to her, even in so small a way.

  “Why can’t I help?” Anya asked, and there was a catch in her raspy voice. A pout. Gods, he loved the sound of that pout. “I’ve proven myself invaluable so far.”

  Foolish him, he finally dared a glance up at her. He saw her panties first and had to swallow a wave of need. He forced his gaze to continue its upward slide, not stopping until their eyes locked. So pretty. He pushed to his feet, damned legs shaking.

  Her gaze immediately dropped to his chest. To the black butterfly tattooed over his torso and shoulder. He gulped, had to look away again. Stark desire radiated from her. She even reached out to touch him, caught herself, and lowered her arm.

  Do it. Touch me. Too many days had passed since he’d felt the fire of her fingertips.

  She didn’t, though. “It’s lovely,” she said, motioning to the butterfly.

  “Thank you.” Disappointment slammed into him when she didn’t reach out again, but he knew it was better this way. “I hate it,” he admitted.

  “Really? Why?”

  “It is the mark of the demon. After Death was thrust inside my body, the tattoo simply appeared.”

  “Well, FYI. It’s a babe magnet. Maybe I’ll get one. A dagger or maybe even angel wings. Oh, oh. I know. I’ll get a matching butterfly. We’ll be twinkies!”

  Anya, tattooed. A design for his tongue to trace. He gulped. Touch me. Please touch me. “To answer your earlier question, you cannot help us because you will distract us from our purpose,” he said a little more forcefully than he’d intended. He was barely able to concentrate on anything but her scent and her beauty every time she neared him. “I’m sorry.”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “You’re not sorry, but whatever,” she said tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now I won’t tell you where the box is.”

  He was gripping her arms in the next instant. “You know where it is?”

  She grabbed his wrists and squeezed. Not to push him away, but to hold him in place. “Would you stop trying to kill me if I did?”

  “No.”

  Scowling, she stomped her foot. The action caused her breasts to bounce gently against his arms. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering with you.”

  “You said that before.”

  “Well, it’s important
enough to be mentioned twice.”

  He sighed. “Why are you here, Anya?”

  Her expression became mulish. “None of your business, Flowers.”

  “Trying to butter me up some more?”

  Her eyes closed off like blinds drawn over a window, but he could see the blue fire banked there through tiny slats of inextinguishable emotion. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

  Unable to stop himself—would it always be so?—he jerked her up and into him, body to body, placing them nose to nose. He had not felt this out of control since those early days with the demon. Anya’s nipples poked at his chest deliciously. “So are you. You are driving me insane.”

  “Boo fucking hoo. You’re driving me insane.”

  He shook her and she suddenly gasped, losing all hint of anger. She moaned. Moaned! “Mmm. Must be my lucky day. You have another erection.”

  His nostrils flared, potent desire heating his blood. Well, more desire. Concentrate. “What do you know about the box, Anya?” She had mentioned it, yes? He couldn’t recall. Could only remember the way she tasted, hot and wild.

  Her luscious little tongue flicked out and traced the seam of her lips. “Confession. I don’t know where it is, but I do know you’ll never find it.”

  No emotion. No damn emotion. “Why not?”

  “Even the gods don’t know where it is. If they did, it would have been found and put to use by now.”

  Yes. That made sense. “What else do you know?”

  She arched her hips, brushing against him softly, and groaned. “After the Titans defeated the Greeks…well, defeated most of the Greeks—some got away. Anyhoo, there was a nasty game of torture and interrogation. Cronus and his crew want those artifacts back. Zeus told him what had been done to them, and Cronus got his search on, but didn’t have any luck.”

  Lucien ground his teeth against the pleasure-sensations she was sparking inside of him. “Why does Cronus want them?”

  “Better question—who wouldn’t want them? They’re a great source of power. If they fell into the hands of his enemies, little Cronie could very well be defeated again. But if Cronus has them, he’s pretty much assured of eternal success.”

  “But how do the artifacts lead to the box? Why would the gods even want the box? It houses demons, nothing more.”

  “Uh, wrong. Think about it. That box is made from the bones of the goddess of oppression. It can suck the spirit out of anything. With Tartarus falling to pieces and Cronus having to use his soldiers to keep the Greeks locked inside, the box would be the perfect solution, a home for his enemies and your demons. What better revenge? The gods that caused him trouble locked away with the demons that caused them trouble.”

  For a moment, a red haze fell over Lucien’s vision. Death had endured a thousand years of confinement in that damned box, an existence that hadn’t truly been an existence. There’d been screams, so many screams. Darkness, so much darkness. The demon would not be placed back inside willingly. Death would destroy Lucien first, of that he was certain.

  “You look ready for a battle, Flowers. Want to fight me? Huh, huh, please?”

  Calm down. He released her arms and tried to back away. Fighting her…pinning her…tonguing her…Calm down! She retained a grip on his wrists, not letting him get very far.

  “Why doesn’t Cronus simply kill the Greeks?”

  “You’ve spent some time with the gods, right?”

  “Long ago.”

  Unexpectedly she released him. Neither of them moved farther away. No, they stepped closer. “They’re obsessed with their amusements, you could say. That, and they live by a code of revenge. Zeus will not suffer as Cronus has suffered if he’s dead. And Cronus would have no one to brag about his victories to, no one to taunt, no one to challenge him, without Zeus. Eternity would be boring, no surprises on the horizon.”

  “Why isn’t Cronus here, searching?”

  Anya grinned. “Why should he? You’re doing all the work for him.”

  Which meant the god would not want Lucien and the other warriors dead. Which in turn meant Lucien had a little time to figure out what to do about Anya. Suddenly he wanted to grin as Anya was doing. The only thing ruining the spark of happiness inside his chest was the fact that Cronus would snatch whichever artifacts Lucien found. Unless, of course, he figured out a way to hide them.

  “How do the Cage and Rod, Eye and Cloak lead to the box?” he asked.

  “Now that, I don’t know.” She shrugged, brushing her shoulder against him.

  He bit the inside of his cheek, Death purring wildly. The pleasure of her touch, even one so innocent, rocked him to the core.

  “Maybe they’re like a key or a map, and point a person in the right direction,” she said breathlessly. “So what are we going to do, you and I?”

  The touch must have affected her, as well.

  “I do not know.”

  Her features softened, her eyes glowing. “What do you want to do?”

  He forced himself to say, “Continue my search of the temple,” when he wanted to beg her for a kiss. How he suddenly envied Gideon, who spun a web of lies with such ease. No guilt.

  Eyes narrowing, Anya stepped away from him. He felt bereft without her nearby, and heard the demon growl inside his head.

  “You were using me for information, huh? Leading me on, looking at me as if you wanted me, but it was only to get me to spill my knowledge.”

  “Yes,” he lied.

  Her features fell.

  He experienced another wave of shame. He had to stop being cruel to her. She might be as promiscuous as Paris, might be—was probably—using Lucien for her own gain even as she accused him of doing the same. But she was sweet and funny and challenging.

  “You rebuff me, fine,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You think you’re better than me, whatever. But you know what? You’re not. You’re sitting back, doing nothing as the gods pull your strings. I, at least, am trying to fight them.”

  “Anya—”

  She wasn’t finished. “What are you going to do when your little friend Aeron escapes that dungeon and slaughters the human girl Danika and her family? Still nothing? When he comes to his senses, his life will be forever ruined because of his actions. And you’ll have helped him. You’ll have taken their souls to heaven even though their lives were cut short.”

  She was right, he realized, and he hated himself for it. What kind of man was he? All this time, he had been Cronus’s puppet. He had not fought the god as a warrior should have, hadn’t tried to cut those damned strings in any way.

  “Perhaps the women are not innocent,” he said, knowing the words were a lie. He simply didn’t know what else to say. “Perhaps there is a good reason Danika and her family were chosen for extermination.”

  “You’re right about that. There is a reason they were chosen.”

  “Tell me.” Thinking about the mortals was easier than thinking about himself and his failure.

  “Figure it out on your own, asshole. I think I’ve told you enough.”

  He turned away from her. He’d seen the lie in her eyes—she didn’t know. But she was clearly hurting, and he wanted to comfort her and had no right to do so. “At least tell me if I’m wasting my time looking for direction here.” She owed him nothing, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  For a long while she didn’t speak. He doubted she moved, either, for she made no noise. “You’re not wasting your time here.”

  “Thank you for that. What—”

  “Nope. No more questions; I’m not telling you what to look for and I’m not telling you how to find it. Even though that thank you was pretty damn awesome.” Sarcasm dripped from those last few words, though mercifully, they had not been edged in steel.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, hoping to tease her into a good mood.

  She stepped in front of him, her hips swaying. Expression relaxed once more, she leaned against another column. “Let
’s get back on track,” she said. “How long before you start trying to murder me again?”

  Murder. A sharp pain lanced through his chest. That’s what he would be doing to her, he thought, murdering her. Ashamed, he bent down and resumed his futile sifting through the rock and sand. “I do not know.”

  “Won’t it piss off Cronie Wonie if you wait too long?”

  “He did not give me a deadline.”

  “Maybe we could, like, discuss this again in a hundred years.”

  Lucien snorted, even as he realized she was teasing him into a good mood.

  “That’s not gonna work for you, then? You’re all booked up?”

  “Something like that,” he muttered.

  “What about tomorrow? You free?”

  “I am booked for the next few weeks.”

  “And you can’t squeeze in a fight with me?” She almost sounded eager.

  For you, anything. “Sorry.”

  “I’m starting to think you aren’t taking this killing business seriously.”

  “Oh, I am serious about it.” Unfortunately. “Do not worry.”

  She sighed, mournful. “What about scheduling time to make out? Can you do that?”

  An image sparkled inside his mind: Anya chained to his bed, legs parted, core glistening. His cock swelled. Again. “Sorry. Not that, either.”

  She shrugged as if she didn’t care, but he saw hurt in her eyes. She stared down at her sandaled feet and kicked a rock. “Don’t be surprised if I sneak up on you and take your head.”

  “Thank you for the warning.”

  “My pleasure. Shit!” she suddenly cried.

  He stiffened, going for a weapon. “What is wrong?”

  “I was looking at my feet.”

  Gradually he relaxed. “And that is bad?”

  “That’s horrible! The worst thing ever. I never look at my feet.”

  His gaze shifted to her toes, painted a wild shade of red. “I think they are adorable.” He didn’t give her time to respond. Cheeks heating, he said, “Perhaps I will make time in my schedule to sneak up on you.”

  A slow grin lifted her lips, her expression tender. “You are so cute, thinking you have that kind of skill.”

  He had to press his mouth together to keep from returning the grin. The woman amused him as much as she aroused him.