Lords of the Underworld Bundle

by Gena Showalter

  “There was no bond for you.”

  “Excuses, excuses. You always did look out for number one. Willie, this is Lucy. He’s mine.”

  When she realized what she’d just said, she groaned. That little confession had slipped from her without permission. Stomach knotting, she swung around to assess Lucien’s reaction. His features were blank, and he was staring at William.

  “I am Lucien, not Lucy.”

  “I’m William, but you can call me Sexy. Everyone does.”

  Other than that, the two men didn’t acknowledge each other in any way.

  “O-kay. This is awkward,” she sang, acting as if she hadn’t a care. “Someone say something. Please.”

  “Have you ever been Anya’s—what did she call it—flavor of the week?” Lucien asked.

  William snorted. “I wish. And it wasn’t from lack of trying on my part.”

  Lucien looked to her for verification, and she shrugged. She should have draped herself over William but couldn’t bring herself to touch anyone but Lucien that intimately. “He’s not my type, all right.” She added drily, “He’s never tried to kill me.”

  Lucien glared at her.

  “Is that what it takes?” William laughed. “If so, I’ll—”

  “You will not touch her,” Lucien snapped.

  Anya blinked in surprise. Two voices had emerged from Lucien’s lips. Both had been dangerous; both had been lethal. Had she just heard his demon? She shivered in arousal. This man was hard enough to resist when he was swinging a sword at her. When he acted possessive, it was downright foreplay.

  Her legs started shaking, for gods’ sake.

  “So what are you doing here?” William asked.

  “William,” a woman suddenly called, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “We’re still waiting,” another whined.

  Anya leveled a grin at the sexpot. “Two at once now?”

  He shrugged sheepishly. “I couldn’t decide which one I wanted, so I settled on both.”

  “How magnanimous of you.” Her gaze slid up the stairway behind him and latched on to the two robe-clad women on the landing. They were peering down, hair in complete disarray, skin rosy. If only that were me, beckoning Lucien. “Well, don’t keep them waiting.”

  “Make yourself at home,” William told her. He moved to kiss her cheek but quickly backed away when Lucien snarled. “See you in the morning, Annie Love.”

  “Love?” Lucien spat.

  William’s backward stride increased in speed and he held up his hands, but he was grinning. “Teasing. I was only teasing.”

  “We need to borrow some stuff,” Anya called, grabbing his attention. “That’s why we’re here. Not that I don’t love to visit, of course.”

  “I’m amazed you didn’t just steal everything you needed.”

  “I would have,” she said, pointing her thumb in Lucien’s direction, “but the big guy frowns on theft for some reason.”

  “I do not. Not anymore,” Lucien said. “You need it.”

  “He’ll have to get used to it if he’s going to hang with you. Later.” William turned to the stairs and bounded up, two steps at a time.

  “Oh, Willie. Side note here,” she called, halting him. “I’m kinda being hunted by the gods and—” for Lucien’s benefit, she paused for dramatic effect “—the demon of Death. By coming here, I might have brought war and chaos to your doorstep. You okay with that?”

  “Totally. What’s a visit from Anya without a little chaos?” He wound his arms around the women and patted their asses. “We’ll talk more in the morning, ’kay?”

  The women giggled. Ugh. Giggling. That disgusted Anya. She might talk like a sorority girl, but she would never lower herself to giggling like one. And then the trio disappeared around the corner, and she forgot all about them.

  “Well, you heard the man,” she said, turning to Lucien. “We get to make ourselves at home. Let’s start grabbing what we need.”

  Lucien crowded her with his big body, closing all distance between them and pushing her against the wall. He was glaring at her so intensely that she lost her air of forced ease. “What?”

  “The only thing we’re going to do is finish what we started.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HE WAS GOING TO MARK HER.

  The moment Lucien had seen William the Handsome put his hands on Anya, an all-consuming need had rushed through him: mark her so that every man who looked at her knew she belonged to someone else.

  The need was stronger than his rage had ever been. The need was more potent than even his desire to have this woman in his bed. Everything inside him, even the demon, screamed mine.

  A word she, too, had used to describe him. Had they been alone when she’d said it, he would have thrown her onto the nearest bed and demanded she repeat the word over and over again.

  Nothing like this had ever happened to him. Not even with Mariah had he acted this volatile. He’d loved her, but his emotions toward her had been peaceful. Tender. What he felt for Anya was tender, yes, but it was also as uncontrollable as a midnight tempest.

  Yet as wild as Lucien felt, his demon had never been calmer. Somehow, Anya had soothed the beast. Hearing her voice, smelling her sweetness…even now Death purred for her.

  “F-finish?” she gasped. She flattened her palms against his chest. Not pushing, but not welcoming, either. Her eyes were wide, heated. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.” Overhead he could hear those two females giggling. Could hear William uttering a mock growl. “You left me hard, and now you’re going to take care of it.”

  Her eyes widened farther, black lashes so long they cast those pretty shadows on her cheeks. “But I thought we weren’t going there anymore. I told you I didn’t want you. And I thought you didn’t want me because I…because I…you know.” She looked away from him, over his shoulder. “Was sorry for you and all.”

  “You thought wrong.” He wouldn’t penetrate her—he couldn’t take her freedom, no matter how angry he was with her—but he was going to have her in every other way. “We can do it here, or we can do it in my chambers in Budapest. The choice is yours.”

  “But…but…” Still she struggled. “What brought this on? William?”

  “Choose,” he barked. He slapped his hands on the wall behind her, beside her temples, the vibrations knocking the two portraits above her together.

  She shivered and licked her lips.

  He got in her face, placing them nose to nose. Their breath mingled, and he drew hers into his lungs. She still smelled of strawberries and cream, though he hadn’t seen her with a lollipop. Her gaze snapped back to his, blazing with heat.

  “Lucien.”

  She hadn’t called him sweetcakes or angel or even the newest, Lucy. That was a step in the right direction. He suspected she picked a foolish endearment for everyone she wanted kept at a distance.

  There would be no distance between them. Not anymore.

  “Choose, Anya.” If she didn’t want him, she would simply have flashed away. Besides, there was lust and excitement in her expression, and they fueled both emotions in him. “I do not care what your reasons are for wanting me. I don’t care that I should not want you.”

  She gulped. “But…but…we shouldn’t do this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Not good enough. We are going to do this. Choose.”

  “But I don’t want to?”

  He knew she’d meant the words as a statement of fact, yet they had not emerged as such. “Why?” he asked again.

  Biting her lips now, she lowered her gaze to his mouth. His cock twitched in reaction. He could deduce what she was imagining. Another stroke of his tongue on her clitoris and a gentle tug from his teeth.

  “Bad things will happen if we do,” she whispered.

  “Like what?” The only bad thing he could think of was going another day without having this woman naked and under him.

>   An eternity passed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’re right. Now isn’t the time for talking. Here or Buda?”

  Another lick of her pink tongue. Next time that tongue left her mouth, it was going to be inside his own, he decided. No exceptions.

  She swallowed. Whispered, “Here” and threw herself into his arms. Her lips meshed against his.

  Yes. Gods, yes. Finally. As their tongues dueled, her taste filling his mouth, he felt weightless. Then his feet hit solid ground. He opened his eyes and found himself inside a spacious bedroom. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, dripping teardrops of muted light. The walls were covered in murals of flowers and vines, each a multihued feast to his gaze.

  The bed was huge, with black silk sheets he couldn’t wait to press Anya against. There were wooden chests and even a tranquil stone waterfall in the far corner. A beautiful place, to be sure, but he was suddenly tempted to flash Anya somewhere else. Somewhere the handsome William had never set foot in.

  Anchoring his hands under Anya’s ass, Lucien hefted her up. Her legs immediately hooked around his waist, placing the new center of his universe in close proximity to his cock. He rocked against her, the action as necessary as breathing.

  Moaning, she bit down on his bottom lip. He felt a shiver move through her. “More,” she gasped out.

  He did it again.

  Again she bit down and shivered.

  Lucien gripped the hem of her shirt and jerked it over her head. That incredible hair tumbled down her bare shoulders. She wore a bra of ice-blue glitter, and the sight of it mesmerized him.

  The tops of her breasts pushed upward, beckoning. Lovely, so lovely. Yet they weren’t what claimed his attention. Knives were strapped to every inch of visible skin. Some were twined with the bra’s straps. Some were simply taped. With what, he didn’t know. He only knew he liked it. A lot.

  Took him a while, but he finally dropped the last to the floor.

  He unhooked her legs from him and set her down. She cried out in protest, wobbled. He kissed her neck. Pleasure lit her lovely face as her head fell back, and she palmed her breasts in invitation. He dropped to his knees, snagging his fingers on the waist of her pants.

  He had to know if her panties matched her bra.

  In seconds, the tight little pants were at her ankles and he saw that knives and throwing stars were strapped to her legs. “I knew you were armed; I just did not know how much.” She braced a hand on his shoulder and stepped out of the pants as he disarmed her.

  “You like?” she asked when he finished.

  The panties were tiny, a barely-there strap of glittery blue material, a perfect match. He gulped. “I like.” His voice was hoarse, broken.

  “Your turn,” she said, a nervous edge to the words.

  Nervous? Anya? Slowly he stood. As he peered down at her, he saw a proud, beautiful woman who radiated vulnerability, joy and affection. And yet she had once told him that he didn’t matter. He had told her the very same thing. He hadn’t meant it, and he was beginning to believe she hadn’t, either.

  He knew who to blame and vowed Cronus would pay.

  Not allowing himself to spoil the moment with those dark thoughts, Lucien pushed them to the back of his mind and caressed a fingertip along the curve of Anya’s delicate jaw. I will take care of this woman. I will find a way to steal the All-Key without harming either of us or I will hide her from Cronus. Then I will spend my days making her happy.

  “You are so beautiful,” he told her.

  “Thank you. Strip.”

  Gods, he wanted to be inside her—had to be inside, soon, now, always—but refused to steal her freedom, forcing her to stay with him. He dropped his arm before his fingers could lengthen into claws. While researching all possible ways to steal the All-Key without adverse side effects, he would have to find a way to break Anya’s curse, as well.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  He reached back, gripped his shirt and pulled it over his head. Before he’d gotten it all the way off, her hands were on his chest, removing his own weapons. “I think you had me out-armed.” She tossed them to the floor, metal clinking against metal. When the last knife was gone, her fingers splayed over him, caressing his nipples, his tattoo.

  His stomach tightened and his cock jerked. Heat was spreading through him faster than he could flash. He loved when she touched him. Made him feel like a god, all-powerful, unstoppable. Desired.

  “You’re so strong,” she praised. “I love that you suffered and survived. Does that make me a bad girl?”

  He cupped her cheeks. “Nothing could make you bad.”

  “Not even this…” She unfastened his pants and worked them over his hips, tossing his blades aside along the way.

  When he was completely bare, Anya stared at his butterfly tattoo, tracing her fingers over the jagged edges, oohing and ahhing. The skin rose under her touch, heating.

  She gasped in delight. “Alive?”

  “I had not thought so until now. That is where the demon entered me, as you know, but it has never done that before.”

  “He must like me.”

  “He does.”

  “Good boy,” she whispered, kissing the butterfly. Once again, it rose to meet her, tingling where she touched.

  Lucien wasn’t sure why the gods had chosen butterflies as the external mark of the demon. The Butterfly Effect, perhaps. A reminder that the single flap of a wing—or in the warriors’ case, a single foolish decision—could alter the entire fabric of reality. Whatever the rationale, he’d always hated the brand. Why not a weapon or a demon horn? Something that said, well, I Am Man.

  Lucien had enough insecurities.

  Anya dropped to her knees and pressed a soft kiss to his naval, right at the bottom tip of a wing. Then her hot tongue flicked out, tracing the edge. Electric jolts speared his veins, his organs, even his bones.

  Rumbling grunts of satisfaction, he let his head fall back. He was stroking the top of her head, urging her on, when he should have been pulling her to her feet.

  “How many women have worshiped this magnificent body?” she whispered. A second later, her nails scored his thigh.

  They didn’t retract, either.

  “Not many,” he admitted. Mariah had been fascinated by him, but she’d also been terrified.

  He hadn’t blamed her for that terror. He had met her only a century or two after his possession, when he’d only just gained control over the demon; he’d still been a bit feral. Yet he’d also been a handsome man, well able to provide a woman pleasure.

  She’d taken one look at him and decided he was “the one.” He had done the same, for she had represented the gentle nurturing he had always craved. They had fallen into bed right away; she had been a widow and happy to have a warrior to attend her needs and protect her.

  But even while she craved his protection—looters, mercenaries and plague had been rampant back then—she had feared that very aspect of him, afraid he would use his strength against her. He’d always been on guard, careful of his every action and word. With Anya, there was freedom to simply let go, for she seemed to bask in his might and revel in his underlying violence.

  “I’m going to pretend I’m the first,” she said. Her gaze lifted and met his in a heated clash. “Okay?”

  “You are in every way that matters.”

  She smiled with wicked pleasure. “How long has it been for you, Lucien? Since you were last with a woman?”

  “Thousands of years,” he admitted without shame.

  Now her eyes widened. “Surely you jest.”

  He shook his head. “No, no jest.”

  “But…why did you willingly deny yourself? You aren’t cursed in that way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I think I like you even more, knowing you have been without, just as I have.”

  “I like that, too.”

  “Why, though, did you deny your body’s needs?”

  “I am Death, Anya. A better
question is why allow myself to make love to a woman when I will, perhaps, be called to take her soul one day?”

  “Why make love to me, then?” she asked softly.

  He tangled his fingers into her hair, marveling that each strand was like a ribbon of silk. “You, I cannot resist.”

  She leaned into his touch and kissed his palm. “I can’t resist you, either, and I’m glad.”

  “As am I,” he said. Anya had been worth the wait. No other woman equaled her in any way.

  “I think we’re both done waiting.” Never pulling her gaze from him, she rose like the moon in the sky and backed up to the bed. When her legs hit the edge of the mattress, she eased down. She scooted back, sexy bra and panties glistening in the muted light.

  Once in the center of the bed, she stopped and braced her weight on her elbows.

  Her legs parted…parted…parted…revealing the very heart of her. His heart stopped before slamming into a hard, erratic beat as he drank in her beauty. She was perfect sun-and-cream with a navel he wanted to tongue. Her stomach was flat, her thighs lithe.

  Trembling, Lucien approached the bed. He hadn’t—He stilled abruptly, frowned. Cursed. Death screamed.

  “What’s wrong?” Anya asked, frowning, too.

  “Souls. I hate that this keeps happening at such moments.” He had trouble speaking past the demon’s ranting inside his head.

  “Lucien—”

  “Do not move. Please.” He disappeared, letting his spirit be pulled in whatever direction was needed. There were two souls in China in need of transport, their bodies destroyed by poison.

  One was bound for heaven, one for hell. One, of course, was happy to go with him. The other fought and screamed. Lucien hated leaving Anya and nearly beat the uncooperative spirit to an ethereal pulp. Death raged all the while. Finally, job done, they were able to return.

  Seeing Anya, Lucien sighed contentedly. Death calmed.

  She wasn’t fingering herself this time, but had waited for him. Through the bra, he could see that her nipples were beaded. Her legs were still parted, and he could see the moisture dampening the panties.