“Maybe I’ll look for those artifacts, too,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “If I find them, I might lock you inside that cage. Then you’d have to be nice to me.”
Before he could growl a response, she grinned again, gave him a finger wave and disappeared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR THE NEXT WEEK, ANYA dogged Lucien’s every step when she wasn’t stealing to keep herself sane. Even when he was escorting souls. She hated when he visited hell. Hated the heat, the smells, the taunts and jeers that emerged from the dark yet fiery pit. Always Lucien tried to act unaffected by them, but she could see the unease in his eyes. That saddened her. He’d seen the worst the world had to offer over and over again, and had had to anesthetize himself to survive.
Now she wanted him to see the best; now she wanted him to feel.
She told herself she wanted those things because it would be entertaining to watch the prince of doom and gloom let some light into his life. She didn’t look deeper than that because she was afraid of what lurked beneath the explanation.
She sighed, knowing she should have given up on Lucien days ago. Attacked him, at the very least, or drawn him away from the temple for a flash-chase. But she suspected he wouldn’t raise a hand against her and knew he would refuse to follow her. So she remained invisible and stayed close. Besides, whatever he learned about those artifacts, she learned, too.
After she’d mentioned looking for them herself, she’d realized she did indeed want them. Once she had one of those babies in her hot little hands, she’d make him beg for it. Gods, his expression was going to be priceless. Especially when she turned him down and bargained with Cronus. Her life for an artifact. Talk about a win-win situation!
“Go away, Anya,” Lucien whispered.
He couldn’t see her, but she stuck her tongue out at him, anyway. Those were the only words he’d spoken to her all week. If he said them again, she planned to materialize and slap him across the face, then quickly disappear.
“I am serious.”
He always knew when she arrived. Once he’d told her that he smelled her. She’d been pleased, because it meant he was aware of her. She was still pleased by it, but damn if it didn’t ruin her element of surprise.
Right now, the warrior stood in the Temple of the All Gods, peering at the bare, cracked walls with savage intensity. He and the other Lords had come here every day, their determination awe-inspiring in the face of their failure to find anything.
No wonder I want him so badly.
Lingering at Lucien’s side was foolish and dangerous. It only intensified her desire for him. Seeing his butterfly tattoo on a regular basis was causing all kinds of naughty fantasies to play through her mind. Like: spending hours licking it. Like: taking Lucien’s cock into her mouth while caressing it. Like: finger painting it with chocolate sauce and having it for dessert.
He’d probably try to stab her if she suggested any of those things. She’d never met a man less sure of his appeal and more outraged when a woman tried to tell him of her desire. How could others not see how mouthwateringly sexy he was? How rugged? How he tempted feminine instincts on every level?
Lucien bent down and once again sifted through rock and sand, looking for gods knew what. Sunlight stroked him lovingly, the bitch. He’s mine.
“Go away, Anya,” he repeated.
Grrr! She materialized. Rather than slap him, though, she sat on a boulder beside him. He was shirtless again, his skin slightly burned, cut up and bruised.
He didn’t face her. “I said go away.”
“Like I’m going to obey you. You aren’t my daddy. Unless you want to be. ’Cause I’ve been a bad, naughty girl and I need a spanking.”
A pained groan escaped him. “Anya. Please.” Sweat trickled over his spine, illuminating a few of the scars scattered there.
She reached out to caress them, but froze when one of the warriors called out.
“Lucien. Your woman…” The speaker was Paris, she realized. His voice was strained, even more so than before. Not getting any out here, was he? Poor man. Without sex, Paris weakened. If he could have brought a woman with him to fulfill his needs, all would have been well in his world. But he couldn’t sleep with the same woman twice. Promiscuity, the lecherous demon, wouldn’t let him.
Anya knew the trials of a sex-curse and sympathized. While hers was the opposite of his, preventing her from ever going all the way, both curses dictated their actions and jacked with their free will. It sucked rotten eggs.
Nothing can bind me but that curse, she thought darkly. She’d been bespelled before she’d acquired the ability to escape confinement, so the curse had already been a part of her. There was no escaping it.
Her gaze returned to Lucien and her shoulders sagged. No, much as she might wish otherwise, there was no escaping it.
“Just stay where you are,” Lucien shouted to Paris. “She is my responsibility.”
His responsibility? She didn’t know whether to be delighted or insulted. “Why not let your friends come over here and play with us?”
He glanced at her through slitted eyelids, a fast look/look-away motion. Still, the moment his gaze hit her, moisture flooded between her legs. Her stomach tingled and her skin ached for him. He was pure sex appeal, all sweaty and dirty and manly. Yum.
“What are you wearing?” he croaked.
“A maid’s uniform. You know, to help you dust.”
He cursed under his breath. “Just as before, my friends are beyond the stone,” he told her, “and they will remain there, working. They do not need a distraction.”
How many times would he tell her she was a distraction? She eyed the crumbling stone cupped in his palms and frowned. Maybe, if she proved useful, he’d see her as something more. “I remember this place in its prime. Before it was moved down to earth, we were taught here, the other deities and I. How to control our powers, how to act properly, blah, blah, blah.”
Lucien couldn’t hide the interest that colored his face. “I was never allowed inside,” he admitted. “We went only where Zeus did, and he didn’t choose to spend time here.”
Eck. To be bound to that temperamental shithead would have been torture. “A pity the place is so damaged now. You might have liked it.”
“What did it look like?” he asked, dropping the chunks and sifting through another handful. Each pebble he found he held up to the light, turned to study every side for markings then discarded over his shoulder.
“Towering statues circled the entire temple. Ivy rode some of the walls, and diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies glistened from the floors. I’m sure old glory-seeking Cronus will spruce everything up when he and his brethren of assholes take over.”
Lucien snorted. Even though she hated herself for it, she rejoiced in the sound. His amusement was like an aphrodisiac to her, and she had caused it.
“What else?”
“Let’s see.” She tapped her chin with a nail painted ice-blue. “Every doorway was flanked by two white columns. Pillars of strength, they were called.”
“And how many rooms were there?”
She allowed her mind to return to the days she’d spent here. While she’d loved the beauty of the temple, she’d hated the beings inside it. How many times had the goddesses-in-training complained to the teacher, “Why does she get to study here? She’s not one of us. She only causes trouble.” How many times had the young gods jeered, “I don’t know why she bothers to wear a robe. Everyone knows she spends more time out of it.”
She pushed aside the remembered hurts. “There was the main altar room, of course, which you’re now crouching in. There was a meeting hall where worshippers washed and gathered before sacrificing. Then the interior chamber and the priests’ lodgings.”
He nodded as though he was soaking in her every word. “Tell me more about this altar room.”
Happy to oblige, she said, “If we traveled back in time, there’d be a white marble table in front of you. And t
here would be murals on the walls. Gods, those were cool. I need to redo one of my apartments and have the images painted—”
“Murals? What did the murals depict?” Lucien asked, cutting her off. He stood and pinned her with a hard stare, urgency radiating from him.
Wow. If she’d known she only needed to talk about boring temples to elicit his full attention, she would have done it days ago.
“Well?” he insisted.
She shrugged, pretending a casualness she suddenly didn’t feel. “Godly feats of strength, victories. Even a few defeats.”
His eyes glinted. “And was the box here, Anya?”
“No. I’m sorry.” She hated to disappoint him.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. She approached him, wanting to touch, but stopped halfway, unsure of his reaction. This close, she could see that even more dirt than she’d realized streaked his chest and arms and his pulse hammered wildly. Her mouth watered at the sight. His butterfly tattoo vibrated with…awareness? Was it alive?
“What thoughts tumble through your head?” he asked.
“Naughty ones.”
His brown eye darkened and his blue eye swirled. Both fixed on her minuscule, black-and-white lacy uniform, pupils dilating. “You enjoy tormenting me, do you not?”
She pinched her fingers together and said, “Just a wee bit. But don’t worry—I’m not singling you out or anything. It’s just a little quirk of mine, tormenting the men who want to kill me.”
A brilliant beam of light broke through a cloud—cloud? On this hot day? Had she accidentally summoned it? She didn’t look up. Couldn’t. That beam had struck his face, illuminating his scars and casting shadows under his eyes. In that moment, he appeared as evil and sinister as a man could be. He appeared otherworldly. Wicked.
Delicious.
Her heartbeat sped up and her nipples beaded into tight little knots. Reach for me. Please.
He didn’t.
She had to tear her gaze from him. Wanting him like this was foolish. Not just because of her curse, but because he wouldn’t do anything about it. Nothing wrong with buttering him up, though, like you told him you were doing.
Unless she fell for him in the process. That would be a problem. A big one. Already the intensity of her desire was staggering. Any more…
“Anya,” he said, drawing her from her thoughts.
“What?” She didn’t face him, but withdrew a strawberry lollipop from the link of her belt, unwrapped it and ran her tongue over the tip. A little moan of pleasure escaped her. Scrumptious. She’d discovered the lollipops years ago after one of her human friends had died in a car wreck. Ever since, they’d been her comfort food of choice.
Lucien was in her face a second later—she was beginning to hate when he did that!—and swiped the candy from her hand. Her eyes widened as he tossed it to the ground.
“Hey! That was uncalled for.”
He was scowling. “Do not eat those things in front of me.”
“Why?” She threw up her arms in confusion.
“Because,” he replied mulishly.
The scent of flowers was growing stronger, wafting from him, twining around her and drawing tight. “If you want one for yourself, just freaking ask me next time.”
“I don’t.”
“Then—”
“No more talking. I must work.” He spun away from her and went back to his mound of sand.
But not before she saw the fire blazing in his eyes.
Almost afraid to hope, she studied him more closely. His shoulders were stiff and his back ramrod straight, as if he were fighting desire. For her?
A hotter, deeper arousal bloomed inside her. Maybe, like her, he didn’t mean half of the things he said. Maybe he truly did yearn for her.
She couldn’t ask him. He’d just deny it. But that begged the question of why. Why did he not want her to know? Why did he not want to want her? Obviously, he thought she was easy. Why not take what he assumed she’d given to a thousand others? And what would he do if he knew how laughable that idea really was?
“You’re wasting your time in that sand,” she said in an airy tone, finally deigning to help him so he would pay attention to her again. Come over here and kiss me.
“No more talking.”
“Well, you are.”
“Disappear.”
“Make me.” Please. Want me like I want you. Don’t let me be wrong about this.
He didn’t reply.
Frustration ate at her, and she plopped onto the nearest boulder with a huff. “I want those artifacts as much as you do,” she grumbled, “and your cold-shoulder treatment isn’t helping our cause.”
That snagged his attention. He flashed to her, knocking her off the boulder and onto the ground. Air shot from her lungs as his heavy muscular weight suddenly restrained her.
Note to self—mention the artifacts more often. Short as her costume was, she was able to spread her legs and welcome him into the cradle of her body. Instant pleasure speared her, shooting from head to toe and lingering in between.
“Why do you want them?”
“Duh. Power.” The power of having bargaining chips, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I thought we had covered this,” he said, his voice cracking. “You will have nothing to do with the artifacts.”
“Then you should have killed me.” Licking her lips, she stared up at him. As always, he stole her breath. “I’ve decided I want them really, really bad.”
He uttered a low growl. “No. I think you want to die. You are provoking me on purpose, while I have been giving you time to enjoy the last days of your life.”
“Well, aren’t you sweet,” she muttered. Still, she didn’t try to push him off her. In fact, she wound her arms around his neck. “I’m just trying to survive, lover. And have a little fun while I’m at it.”
His nostrils flared, as if he’d just remembered something unpleasant. A muscle ticked in his jaw, making his scars all the more prominent. Her mouth watered. She wanted to tongue them. “Aligning yourself with me will not save you.”
Back to that, were they? Damn, tell one little lie and it would haunt you forever. “Why haven’t you killed me, then? And don’t give me that bullshit about letting me enjoy the last days of my life. You don’t let other souls enjoy the last of their days.”
A heavy pause. His expression darkened. “Perhaps I have spared you because you know something, something that can help me find the artifacts and thereby the box. Tell me.”
“If I knew something, I would have gotten to them already, dumbass.”
“Then you are no good to me.” He pulled back slightly and raised his fist as if he meant to strike her.
Over the last week, she’d watched him do this many times. Knew he wasn’t going to hit her but reach inside her with a ghostly hand and rip out her spirit, leaving her body a helpless shell.
She should kick herself for taunting him. I just wanted time with him, she inwardly whined. Really, it was all she could think about anymore. All that propelled her out of bed. Well, that and his kisses.
“I don’t know where the artifacts are,” she said quickly, “but I can teach you more about the temple. How’s that?”
He nodded, as if he’d merely been waiting for her to say those words. “Go on.”
Had he just manipulated her? Sneaky devil. And yet, knowing he’d done so only caused her arousal to intensify. Hardly anyone bested her anymore.
She kneaded his shoulders, scratching them a little. He didn’t tell her to stop. His breathing became more erratic, shallow. Her gaze dipped, his bare chest entrancing her as his body heat enveloped her. I could stay like this forever.
“Anya,” he moaned. As her fingers worked him, his eyes closed in surrender.
“What were we talking about?” she asked.
“The…temple,” he said, and the words were pained. “Yes, the temple.”
“I’ll tell you a secret about myself and all the gods who have p
assed through its halls,” she whispered.
“I am listening. Do not stop.”
She deepened the touch, allowing her fingers to inch down his back. Toward his ass. “Most of our powers are dependent on a little something called action and reaction. People act, and we are free to react. To help. Or hurt, for that matter. It’s why I couldn’t help Maddox and Ashlyn until they’d done something to untie my hands, so to speak.”
Lucien’s eyelids cracked open. Pleasure was banked in the depths of brown and blue. “Must be a closely guarded secret, because I did not know.” He paused. “Maddox and Ashlyn each had to sacrifice something to ensure your aid.”
“Yes.” She beamed up at him. “Now you’re thinking like a god.”
“So to learn what I wish to know, I, too, must offer a sacrifice.” He nodded, then reached behind him to grab one of her hands. He pulled it forward and laid it on her chest, but he didn’t pull back, didn’t break the connection. No, he traced each of her fingers.
Warm tingles rushed through her blood.
He was hard. She could feel his massive erection probing between her legs. He wasn’t the first man to lie on top of her, but he was certainly the biggest. The sexiest. And the most fascinating. Because of her curse, he was also the first man she’d ever really wanted there.
Finally, Themis’s words made sense.
Anya had been running home, crying again after an encounter with an overly-handsie young god, and had run into the goddess. Themis had taken one look at her and nearly fallen to the ground in shock. Too preoccupied to determine why, Anya had hurried away. The next day, Themis had arrived on her doorstep.
“You seduced my husband,” she’d heard the goddess of Justice shout to her mother.
Dysnomia had raised her chin and squared her shoulders. But she hadn’t uttered a word in her own defense.
“Your daughter is the image of my husband. She is his offspring. Do you deny it?”
“No, I do not deny it.”
Anya had been shocked to her core. She’d always wondered who her father was, and to learn the powerful prison guard Tartarus had sired her both delighted—no longer would she be called minor—and angered her. Why had he ignored her all these years?
Lords of the Underworld Bundle Page 49
