Lords of the Underworld Bundle

by Gena Showalter

  “You knew he was mated,” Themis cried, “yet you lay with him, anyway. For that, for bearing his bastard child, you will be punished. Justice will be mine.”

  Horror blanketed Dysnomia’s pretty face, but she said, “I am who I was born to be.”

  “That does not excuse you. From this day forward, you will sicken every time you welcome a man into your body, and you will be unable to rise from bed for days. Never again will you steal a man’s affections unscathed. So I have said, so it shall be done.”

  Whimpering, her mother fell to her knees.

  “And you,” Themis said, eyes narrowing on a trembling Anya, who peeked around the corner.

  “No!” Dysnomia shouted, trying to rise. “Leave her alone. She is innocent.”

  The goddess continued mercilessly. “Innocent? I think not. She is your daughter—that is crime enough. You will one day desire a man, Anarchy, and he will desire you, as well. Nothing will matter except being together. You will not care who he is, what he is or who he belongs to. You’ll take him. Just like your mother, you’ll take him.”

  “And you’ll die alone because you’re mean and hateful,” Anya spat at her, unable to imagine herself feeling that way about any of the leering gods, much less welcoming another woman’s leftovers.

  “You will not have the opportunity to follow in your mother’s indiscriminate footsteps. To allow a man to penetrate your body is to bind yourself to him for all eternity. You will live for him and only him. His pleasure will be your pleasure. His pain yours. If he discards you and takes another lover, you will feel the agony of his loss but you will not be able to leave him. If he dies, you will never recover from the grief. Your mother’s legacy ends today. So I have said, so it shall be done.”

  The words themselves had wrapped around her, nearly choking her. They’d seeped past her skin, past her bones and straight into her soul, a fiery brand she had never been able to deny. She’d walked around in a daze for weeks afterward, the dual shocks of learning her father was a mated man and coming to terms with her curse nearly more than she could bear.

  As the shock wore away, she’d begun to hate her father for denying her existence, and all men for what they could do to her if she wasn’t careful. And she’d been scared, so scared.

  When her mother had sent her to combat lessons, hoping to help her protect herself now that so much was at stake, she’d taken them seriously. As her strength had increased, her hatred and fear ebbed. Not her determination to remain alone, however.

  In all the days since she had been cursed, she had never been tempted to give a man that much power over her. Losing her freedom when the gods had jailed her in her father’s prison had only strengthened that determination.

  Until now.

  Now she wanted to know the bliss of Lucien’s most intimate touch. Inside her. Deep. Pumping. Grinding. She knew she would have wanted those things whether he was mated or not.

  Just thinking about having him caused more of that wondrous moisture to pool between her legs, dampening the thin sheath of panties she wore. Her skin felt too tight for her body, and she couldn’t stop her thighs from rubbing up and down his. Freedom, she reminded herself. There was nothing greater.

  The humans she’d chosen to make out with over the years had never been allowed to actually penetrate her. Aias, the Captain of the Immortal Guard, she had kissed and made out with, as well. But when she called a halt to their heavy petting, he’d called her a tease and a whore—oxymoron-spouting bastard—and had pinned her down.

  He’d scowled down at her and ripped at her clothes, his own pants. Fear had consumed her. She’d screamed at him, demanded he release her. He’d laughed. She hadn’t been able to flash, hadn’t yet had the ability since it had come with her father’s one and only gift to her. She’d fought with every ounce of strength she possessed and ultimately managed to deliver the death blow, just as she’d been taught.

  Anya had never regretted her actions. Not even when she’d been rotting in prison. No one took what belonged to her. No one.

  “What are you thinking about?” Lucien asked, his voice husky with…arousal?

  Why not tell him the truth? “You. Sex. Theft. Another man.”

  “A lover?” he asked, his voice dark now.

  Jealous? “Something like that.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Does the thought of me with another man fill you with rage, Flowers?”

  “Hell, no,” he barked, tearing from her embrace and standing.

  A sense of loss slammed into her. Gingerly she rose. Brushed the dirt from her fishnets. It’s best this way, she told herself. You were too close to giving in to a man who may not even desire you. One who definitely wants to kill you.

  “Let us return to our previous conversation. Ashlyn had to sacrifice herself to save Maddox,” Lucien said tightly. He strode back into what had once been the altar room, spinning and studying the open space. “What can I sacrifice?”

  “Lucien,” Strider called. “It’s getting close to chow time.”

  “I just need a little more time,” he replied. He didn’t look away from her. “Anya? Sacrifice?”

  “Are you asking if sacrifices were made here?” She’d lost the line of conversation, too troubled by her own unhappy thoughts. “Yes. So?”

  “Blood sacrifices?”

  “Yes.” Where was he going with this? “When the temple was moved to earth, blood sacrifices were made.”

  “And what did the patrons who came to this temple sacrifice, exactly? What did they make bleed?”

  Again she allowed her mind to travel back to those days. Even she had been worshipped by mortals then. Everyone ignored the gods these days, writing them off as the stuff of myth and legend. That didn’t bother her as it did the others. She liked her anonymity.

  “They sacrificed their family members,” she finally answered, stomach knotting. Oh, how she’d hated that. Another reason she was glad the days of old were, well, old. “Mostly innocents were chosen. Virgins. They cut their throats and watched them bleed out.”

  Lucien paled. “That is what’s expected here? What’s needed?”

  “Not always. Sometimes blood freely offered by the one in need is more of a sacrifice than killing someone else and would have done the trick, but no one wanted to consider that. They would have had to hurt themselves, and most people would rather chop up a loved one and call it a noble act.”

  Some of his color returned. He withdrew a dagger from his boot, the metal whistling as it slid along the leather.

  She backed away, palms up and out. “What, you thinking of sacrificing me now?”

  “You are neither a virgin nor a loved one,” he muttered.

  Teeth grinding, she stopped abruptly, feet planting into the ground. Bastard. He had no idea about the former, and like she really needed the reminder about the latter. Like he’d had to point that out again. “I’m getting a little tired of your insults, Flowers. I’ve helped you today. I helped you last week. I helped you a month ago.”

  He sighed with regret. “You are right. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, and I will not say such a thing again.”

  “Yes, well.” She hadn’t expected him to apologize, and that he’d done so threw her off her A game. “What are you—” Her words were cut off as he sliced his left wrist, then his right. Shocked, Anya rushed to him. “You’re insane, Lucien. Absolutely insane.” He wasn’t going to die, she knew that. Still!

  “We shall see.” The wounds were large and gaping.

  Her wrists throbbed in sympathy. She’d once stabbed him, sure, but right now, this moment, she couldn’t bear to see him hurt. She grabbed his arm and tugged one of his wrists to her, hoping to stanch the crimson flow with her costume. Some of his blood dripped on her, then the ground.

  The moment it touched the sand, Lucien bellowed a roar and dropped to his knees. Her concern doubled. “Lucien. What’s wrong?” He was immortal and couldn’t be killed by normal means, but that
didn’t stop her from worrying. He could have been cursed. He could have—

  He roared again and clutched his stomach.

  “Lucien. Tell me what the hell is wrong!”

  His eyelids were squeezed shut; panting, he slowly opened them. Both of his irises were suddenly blue. Otherworldly, crystalline, churning like a storm. He stood to shaky legs and pulled from her grip as if in a trance, walking forward, toward the temple’s only remaining wall.

  “I can see it,” he said.

  Relief nearly felled her. He was having a vision. In the old days, when a sacrifice pleased the gods or even the temple itself, a reward was given. Anya thought perhaps the temple was pleased to be used again. “What do you see?” She had to force her arms to remain at her sides, so badly did she want to hold him.

  “I might have found something,” he called, ignoring her.

  All four of the warriors ran to him, swooping around columns like avenging angels. They spotted her and gaped. Her French maid costume was naughty and for Lucien’s eyes only. Still, she didn’t flash away to change. She didn’t want to miss a moment of this.

  The men didn’t speak to her, though Paris did lick his lips in anticipation, as if she were a feast that had been prepared just for him. She rolled her eyes. Would have flipped him off, but thought he might try to take her up on the “offer.”

  “Why are you bleeding?” Strider demanded, withdrawing a dagger. A feral scowl was directed at Anya. “And what the hell is she wearing?”

  She flipped him off without any hesitation.

  “The woman is not to be handled in any way,” Lucien said flatly, still focused on the wall. “She is mine.”

  Mine, he’d said. Smiling, she gave each Lord a taunting pinkie wave. “You hear that? I’m his, so you can all suck dirt.”

  Lucien muttered, “And you had better keep your hands to yourself, Anya, or you will lose them.”

  “Please. Like your buddies could best me,” she replied, unsure whether he heard or not. He gave no reaction.

  As the Lords gathered around Lucien, she muscled right into their circle. And yeah, she pilfered a few daggers along the way. Gods, that felt good. She hadn’t done enough of this lately, too consumed with Lucien. Stealing always soothed her riotous emotions, slowing her heartbeat and easing the seemingly constant ache in her stomach. The guys didn’t realize what she’d done or they would have attacked her, she was sure. As it was, they let her through without comment.

  What had Lucien found? What was he seeing?

  Lucien splayed his arms, pushing everyone behind him and gazing at the wall once more.

  “Lucien?” Strider said, clearly confused. Anya studied him out of the corner of her eye. He had blue eyes and blond hair, was tall and muscled, tanned. His features were roughly hewn, and he had a wicked sense of humor, which she normally preferred.

  Why hadn’t she been attracted to him?

  “What do you see?” Paris asked. Eagerness and excitement hummed through the group.

  “Waiting is fun,” Gideon said, glaring.

  “Do you recall what the two mortal researchers told us about Zeus and the artifacts?” Lucien asked.

  A murmur of yeses arose.

  “They were mostly correct. I’m looking at a mural that seems to be alive. The images are shifting, revealing detail after detail. After Zeus imprisoned the Titans, he commanded Hydra to hide and guard their treasured artifacts. Hydra split herself into four fearsome beings which scattered, each beast guarding one relic.”

  “Oh, man,” Anya said. “If Hydra’s the guard, you boys are in trouble. She’s a whack job, for sure. Two heads on one snakelike body—make that eight heads on four bodies, if Lucien’s vision is accurate—and all those heads suffer from constant PMS.”

  “Each serpent was to hide for eternity, never revealing her location again, even to the gods,” Lucien continued.

  Strider grunted. “How does this help us, then?”

  Amateurs. “Do you see any symbols?” Anya prompted Lucien.

  Pause. Frown. “Yes.”

  “Well, what are they? Zeus might not have wanted the other gods to know their location, but he would have made damn sure he could at least be pointed in the right direction if he so desired. In his glory days, when he stole whatever he wanted from whichever god he happened to want it from—it’s the one thing I ever admired about him—he would hide them until the heat died down by using vision-symbols as treasure maps. He spelled them to change if the item was somehow moved.”

  Lucien didn’t turn to her, but he did say, “You told us he told Cronus what had happened to them. You told us Cronus looked, but didn’t find them.”

  “Hello. Does that mean Zeus told the truth? They’re enemies, remember? Just tell me about the symbols already!”

  Lucien pressed his gorgeous lips together, refusing to answer.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll just leave the area and give you a chance to tell your boys. I totally will not remain here, invisible and eavesdropping.” She grinned at him, waiting.

  He growled low in his throat.

  “Seriously, you know I’ll find out eventually so stop wasting time. Besides, I’ll save you a lot of steps trying to figure it out on your own. You need my help. Again. Admit it.”

  “Fine. We need your help.” He worried two fingers over his jaw, the picture of pique. “The first symbol has two lines edging down with a curved line weaving them together.”

  “South Africa,” she said without hesitation.

  “How do you know that?” Paris said, looking more strained than before. He’d sidled next to her and now pinched her butt.

  She slapped his hand and stepped away. “I’m smarter than you,” she told him smugly. “That’s how I know.”

  Paris gripped her wrist almost desperately. What he meant to do with her she wasn’t sure. He’d—Lucien moved between them, ripping them apart.

  Lucien was snarling at the warrior.

  “Fine.” Paris sighed and backed away. “I get the message. No touchie.” He stopped, looked down at his waist. “Shit! My blade is gone.”

  The other Lords looked from Lucien to her, from her to Lucien, as if needing direction.

  “What?” she finally demanded. “You think I took it?”

  “Mine is missing, too,” Strider said with a grin, “but you can keep it. Think of me when you use it.”

  The grin surprised her, and she found herself smiling in return. Until Lucien snarled at him, too. She rolled her eyes, though she was secretly pleased.

  “Get back to work, big boy,” she said. “I know how you hate distractions.”

  Thankfully, the snarling ceased. “The second symbol,” Lucien said, once again drawing everyone’s attention to the wall, “is a single, jagged line.”

  “That’s the Arctic. Ah,” she added, placing her hand over her heart. “Those icy climes are bound to bring back memories of our first date. The one where you took a nice, refreshing dip and I watched from the glacier. Remember?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Maybe this is a sign we’re meant to be BF’s forever and ever. Is this a great moment for a huggsie, do you think?”

  His lips pulled taut. “The third is a horizontal, curved line with a similar line growing out of it.”

  She’d take that for a no. “That’s the States.”

  “The last is a straight line that curves at the bottom, almost like the end of a machete.”

  “Egypt,” she said. Then she grinned and clapped her hands. “You know what this means, don’t you? More traveling, and more treasure hunting! Where are we going first? Huh, huh, huh?”

  “How do you know those locations?” Lucien asked, repeating Paris’s question as he finally faced her. His eyes were still shrouded in that otherworldly blue.

  “Maybe Zeus went around telling everyone about them and what they meant.”

  “How do you know?” he insisted.

  Her mother had been Zeus’s lover at the time and had over
heard a little state business, but that little gem wasn’t something she liked to shout from the rooftops. “I told you. I’m smart.”

  “And how do we know we can trust you?” Paris asked, hands on his hips.

  “Duh. You totally can’t. But you need me, so I guess that plants you right between a rock and a very naughty hard place.”

  Lucien grabbed her arm and squeezed, forcing her to face him. “You are not going with us, Anya. Remove the thought from your mind now.”

  Oh, really? “Try and stop me. I dare you.”

  “You know I can. Stop you, that is.”

  She arched a brow, her confidence unshaken. “Do I? I’m still standing here, alive and well, aren’t I?”

  Was it her imagination, or did steam rise from his nostrils, smelling of hellsmoke? Just then, he was like her own personal demonic dragon. Sweet! She could practically see the wheels turning frantically in his head as he tried to calm himself down. He was beyond sexy when he was on edge. “Admit it. You wouldn’t have known what the symbols meant without me. You need me.”

  “You could be lying,” he said, once again echoing Paris’s suspicions.

  “Waste time researching, then. What do I care? I can find the Hydras while you sit at a computer. I’ll gather the artifacts and locate the box, and I’ll do it before you and your Testosterone Squad have even booked a flight.”

  All four warriors growled at her.

  “What? Touchy subject?” she asked them, all innocence.

  “We’re splitting up,” Lucien said, not looking away from Anya. “Paris, you and Gideon will travel to the States.”

  Paris glowered up at the sky. “Ah, man. Why am I stuck with Lies?”

  “Biggest land mass, most people. It will be better to have two warriors searching there,” he explained. “Strider, you will go to South Africa. Amun, to Egypt.” He stared over at Anya. “I will head to the Arctic.”

  “You might want to wear a coat,” Anya suggested helpfully.

  Lucien’s eyes narrowed. She barely resisted the urge to blow him a kiss.