Lords of the Underworld Bundle

by Gena Showalter

  “Maybe we should leave him here and continue alone,” William suggested.

  “No!” he and Anya shouted in unison. He didn’t want Anya to go on without him. He still didn’t trust William.

  “You’re slowing us down, Death,” William said flatly. “I’m ready to get home to my bloodsuckers and my book.”

  Death, the warrior had said. Neither he nor Anya had told William that Lucien was possessed by the spirit of Death—only that it was pursuing Anya. Who had told him, then?

  “Just leave him alone,” Anya snapped. She stopped, forcing William to do the same. Glaring, she launched into a tirade about the warrior needing a curling iron shoved up his ass and flipped to its highest setting.

  Lucien suspected she did it to give him a moment to rest. Trying to find his breath, he braced a hand against the icy wall of the mountain ledge. What he hated most about his weakness was his inability to protect his woman. He—

  Saw footprints, he realized with a frown.

  His entire body tensed. “Anya, be quiet.”

  She whipped around to face him, surprise darkening her eyes. He hadn’t spoken to her like that in days. He had been nothing but gentle with her, treating her as he would a precious treasure. That’s what she was. But her safety came before her feelings.

  “You did not just tell me to—”

  “Hunters,” he said, motioning to the ground. He withdrew a dagger from his waist.

  Both she and William crowded around him, staring down.

  “The prints stop at this wall.” Anya frowned and pressed at the ice. “There aren’t any prints leading away. Weird. Impossible, even.”

  “They shouldn’t have gotten this far,” William said with a frown of his own.

  Lucien withdrew another dagger, this one from his boot. He almost dropped it, it seemed so heavy.

  “There has to be a door that leads inside,” Anya muttered, bending down and feeling for grooves with her gloved hands.

  He loved that she didn’t run from danger but thought to rush into the midst of it. Yet that scared him, too. This woman was meant to be pampered. Worshipped. Protected. She shouldn’t have had to fight for anything; whatever she wanted should have been given to her willingly.

  “Found it!” Grinning, she pressed against a crystal rock in the middle of the left side and the ice wall slid open, revealing a darkened doorway.

  “How is that possible without my knowledge?” William was shaking his head. “I knew people were journeying into the circle, but I watched them die. Didn’t I? Either way, how could they have made a fucking camp for themselves?” Silver, three-pronged blades slithered from his coat sleeves and he clutched them angrily. “I don’t know how many there are, but I’m going to kill them all. Their intentions are not pure; they could have been paid to take me out.”

  “Your ferocity is a little late,” Anya said. “You have to admit that coming out here was a good idea, and you wouldn’t have done it without me stealing your book. You can thank me with roses.”

  William snorted. “What the hell ever.”

  She turned a concerned gaze to Lucien. “Why don’t you wait here, Flowers, and make sure no one else sneaks inside? We’ll be back in a little while and—”

  He growled low in his throat, his embarrassment intensifying. That she had so little faith in his ability…No. He knew that wasn’t true. She was worried for him. Saw his weakness and didn’t want him hurt further.

  He knew he was feeble, but he wanted her to realize that he would never allow anything to happen to her. No matter the condition of his body.

  He would just have to show her.

  “I am going in,” he said firmly.

  “Lucien, you’re—”

  “Fine. I am fine.” He ripped the white cap from his head and tossed it to the ground. He wanted nothing to impede his hearing or his sight. “We will go in with William in the lead,” he said, taking charge, “you in the middle and me in the rear.” That way she would have a shield in front and behind.

  For a moment, it looked like she would argue. Then she pressed her lips together and nodded. “Fine.”

  “Do you have a gun?” he asked her.

  “Only a few daggers.” Three of which she already gripped, he noticed proudly. He hadn’t seen her grab them.

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “Let’s go,” William said, impatient. “The more time we spend out here, the more time we give them to prepare.” He brushed past them and entered the blackened mouth of the cave, determination in every line of his body.

  Anya pressed a quick kiss on Lucien’s mouth and started forward. He was right on her heels. His eyes quickly adjusted, and he saw the icy walls had been painted with mud to cause the gloomy effect. There wasn’t a drip of water, it was simply too cold, and any liquid would turn to ice before it hit bottom, but he did hear the frigid whistle of wind.

  Wind? His ears perked. No, not wind, he decided a moment later. The chatter of voices.

  “—no closer to finding it and we’ve been searching for days,” a male voice proclaimed.

  “The old man said it was here.”

  Old man…the mythologist?

  “We’re close. I feel it.” Another voice. This one sounded harsher, more determined.

  “We’ll die out here if we stay much longer.” Yet another voice.

  So. There were at least three Hunters.

  “We can’t give up.” A fourth, and so far the angriest of the bunch. “The demons must be destroyed. Look at what they did to the people in Budapest. That plague killed hundreds, including many of our own.”

  “Have the others learned anything from the prisoner?”

  Prisoner? He frowned. Who did they have? A Lord? Or other humans?

  “Not a damn thing.”

  The voices were getting closer. Louder. The darkness was giving way to light as the mud thinned. His grip tightened on the daggers.

  “Damn it!” someone cried. “What if this Hydra is only a myth? What if the stupid relic doesn’t exist? What if there’s nothing out here and we came all the way to this godforsaken place for no reason?”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  William stopped at a corner and held up his hand. Anya stopped, too, and Lucien nearly skated into her, his boots slipping on the ice and his coordination off. She reached back and quietly slapped her hands over his hips, blades pressing into him without cutting, keeping him upright and in place.

  His cheeks heated with more embarrassment. And, not surprisingly, arousal. Whenever she touched him, wherever they were, whatever danger was near, he felt those electric tingles. He felt warm. He felt alive.

  “The Cage of Compulsion is here,” yet another voice said. “It has to be.”

  The Cage of Compulsion. The words echoed in his mind, followed quickly by another: enslave. At the ruins, the human mythologist had told him of a cage that could enslave whoever was imprisoned inside it.

  Anya flicked him an excited glance over her shoulder. We’re close! she mouthed.

  He nodded and looked to William, who was scowling.

  “If the mythologists can be believed, we can’t get to the box without all four artifacts,” one of the Hunters said. “That means we don’t leave the circle until we have that damn cage.”

  William held up one finger.

  Lucien wasn’t sure if that meant “hold” or “attack on three.” He’d only ever fought alongside his fellow warriors, and they’d been together so long they usually sensed each other’s intentions.

  When the immortal raised a second finger, Lucien had his answer. Apparently William did not like when humans invaded his “territory.” Lucien drew in a deep breath, barely managing to refrain from jerking Anya behind him. She would resent him if he held her back. More than that, she could defend herself against, well, anyone. She’d proven that many times over.

  The soldier in him—hell, the demon in him—recognized her skill, both reveling proudly. The lover in him coul
d not help but continue to fear.

  Three.

  William lurched forward, blades raised. Anya was right behind him. Lucien’s knees almost gave out as he surged after her. She could take care of herself, yes, but he was still her man and would do what he could.

  A deafening roar resounded from William, and the Hunters jumped to their feet. In the center, ice cracked. There was a shout, a scream of terror and outrage at being discovered. Eight humans altogether, Lucien counted as they rushed forward.

  William quickly stabbed three, one after the other, the action fluid, a lethal dance, his blades slicing forward, back and to the side with grace. Anya dispatched two, flashing to one, slicing his throat, then flashing to another before the human ever realized what was happening.

  A bullet whizzed past Lucien’s shoulder, close enough to graze his skin. Space was limited, and Lucien blocked the only exit. As two ran to him, gasping “Demon” and clearly intending to plow him down and escape, he spun and stabbed, spun and stabbed. Both Hunters collapsed to the ground, red pooling around them.

  Someone managed to squeeze off another shot, and this one did more than graze. This one lodged in his stomach. Despite the pain, he didn’t fall. He stood his ground. For Anya.

  A fire blazed in the room’s center, crackling and emitting delicious heat. One of the Hunters grabbed a scorching log and swung it at her. She jumped out of the way, but not before a flame sizzled over her coat, burning fabric and probably blistering her delicate skin.

  She cried out in fury.

  A red haze fell over Lucien, one word filling his mind: Kill. He lurched forward, no longer feeling the pain in his stomach. Kill. Kill! He had the man’s neck in his hands in the next instant, not caring that the human was slapping him or that the flames were licking his clothing, his flesh.

  He twisted with all of his might.

  Bones snapped, and the man stilled. The crackling stick fell from the Hunter’s suddenly limp hand, though the fire still licked at Lucien. He wanted to kill the man all over again. He even dropped the body and stabbed his dagger into the man’s heart, again and again.

  “Mine,” he snarled. “Do not touch what is mine.”

  More. Kill more. He turned to the Hunters left standing—only to see that there were no Hunters left standing. They were dead, all of them. Lucien was panting as his sights slid to William, who was covered in blood and bending over one of the bodies, searching it. Kill, kill, kill.

  “Lucien, you’re on fire!”

  Anya’s voice penetrated his mind, shattering the death-craze, and he settled. She was all right. Unharmed. Alive. He drew in a calming breath as soft hands settled over his shoulders, patting him down. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

  His knees buckled, weakness suddenly slamming into him again. He hit the ground and cold seeped into him.

  “You’re going to be okay, lover,” she continued to coo. “You’re going to be okay. Say it. Tell me you’re going to be okay.”

  “Okay.” He felt the burn all the way inside him. He’d felt this way before, when he’d torched himself out of grief for Mariah. He had cried then; he smiled now. Anya was with him. Black winked in and out of his vision, the red haze completely gone.

  “Lucien.”

  Anya. His sweet Anya. He realized he didn’t have to fear his temper around her. He could let go completely with her. Being near her always managed to soothe the demon and his own dark thoughts in ways nothing and no one else ever had.

  “Close your eyes, baby. I’ll take care of everything.”

  His eyelids obeyed of their own accord. Stay awake. Don’t leave Anya alone with William.

  “Sleep.”

  Once again, he couldn’t help but obey.

  ANYA GAZED AT LUCIEN as he slept.

  “He may not even live out the rest of the night,” William said with an unconcerned shrug, never pausing as he searched the Hunters’ bodies. What he was looking for, Anya didn’t know.

  She nearly flashed to him and stabbed him. Only the need to be near Lucien held her in place and saved William’s life. “Don’t talk like that. He’s going to be fine.”

  “What’s wrong with him, anyway? Isn’t he supposed to be immortal? Every time I look at him, he’s weaker.”

  “Fucking Cronus cursed him.” I deserve a slow and painful death for allowing things to reach this point. Me, not Lucien. She hated seeing him like this.

  “Why?”

  “The god king is a bastard. That’s why.”

  William looked from her to the sleeping Lucien, from Lucien to her. “Well, if I were you I’d go to the Big Guy and beg. Otherwise, your man is going to eat dirt for eternity.”

  “I told you not to talk like that,” she snapped. She stared down at Lucien, remembering the way he’d jumped to her defense. All because she’d been burned. A burn that hadn’t even reached her skin. Her heart skipped a beat. He’d erupted for her, and she was letting him suffer for it.

  His breathing was labored, his skin charred. What kind of woman am I? Despicable, that’s what. Not worthy of this man and his precious love. But even so, she couldn’t live without him.

  She loved him.

  There. She’d finally admitted it. He was everything to her, and she couldn’t imagine a single moment without him. Didn’t want to imagine a moment without him. He was joy and he was passion. He was complex and honorable, sweet and tender, and the part of her that had always been missing.

  She would have given Cronus the key then and there, but knew she would lose Lucien if she did so. She would not remember him, and she needed the memory of him. He was more a part of her than the key.

  She was going to make love with him. Willingly. Without hesitation. Her eyes widened with the realization. Yes. That’s exactly what she’d do. Maybe bonding with him would give him some of her strength, melding them body and spirit. Even the slightest chance overshadowed her fear of her curse.

  Right now Lucien was unconscious, covered in blood and bruises and that blackened skin. One of the Hunters had managed to cut him across the forearm and shoot him in the stomach and neither wound was healing. Both were dripping blood all over the ice.

  “I’m going to take him back to your house,” she told William. “The search for Hydra will have to wait until his wounds are tended.”

  “Hell, no.” The warrior jerked upright and scowled over at her. “You’re not welcome at my house anymore.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to find a way to flash there and drag me out because I’m going with or without your permission.”

  “I’ll retaliate!”

  “Don’t forget who has your book, and that I wouldn’t mind tossing it in a nice toasty fire,” she warned, lying next to Lucien. She wound her arms around him, holding him as close as possible.

  “Like I’d forget,” William grumbled. “Fine. Go to my house. The vamps’ll take one look at his wounds and make a meal of him. Or maybe I’ll find Hydra while you’re gone. Maybe I’ll bribe her to eat you and spit out your bones.”

  “Just for that, I’m ripping ten pages out of the book before I give it back.” Anya flashed the still-sleeping Lucien into the warm bedroom they’d shared only a few days ago, rolled him to his back and began cutting the clothes from his injured body.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PARIS STARED AT THE PADDED white wall, his vision blurry, his mind foggy. He knew he’d been stripped and strapped to another table. He knew he hadn’t had sex in days. But he didn’t even have the strength to lift his head anymore. He’d been poked and prodded, and the Hunters had even sent in a blonde to arouse him so they could watch how the demon operated, but he hadn’t been able to get hard for her.

  This had happened only once before.

  Long ago, immediately after his possession, he’d reached this point of desperation. He’d reached this point of weakness. Too feral for any mortal woman to approach, he’d been forced to accept the first person willing to fuck him.

  He’d vow
ed never to let such a thing happen again.

  He didn’t want a male Hunter giving him strength. All he could think about was the brunette with the freckles. Sienna. He’d finally remembered her name and it was now branded into his every cell. If he couldn’t have her, he just wanted to die. Somehow, some way, and for reasons he didn’t understand—or perhaps didn’t want to understand—she’d entranced the demon.

  No other would do.

  Why? Little Sienna had lied to him and betrayed him, drugged him and locked him up, but still he wanted to fuck her. Wanted her wet for him and only him. Wanted his name roaring past her lips and pleasure consuming her face.

  Afterwards, he wanted the demon to enslave her, to make her so mad with lust for him that she would do anything he asked. Follow him wherever he went. Even beg him for another touch. He would deny her, of course, unable to take her again. And so she would suffer with her desires. He would laugh.

  He might even fuck another woman in front of her.

  Just the thought made him grin. Paris wanted her to suffer as he was suffering. He’d never wanted or hated a woman more, and both were only growing with every moment he spent inside this padded room.

  All he had to do to make his dream a reality was convince the Hunters to send her to him. How, though? The answer seemed just out of his reach.

  “What should we do with him now?” someone asked.

  Paris closed his eyes, the lids so heavy he could no longer hold them up. There had been a parade of doctors in the room, but he was past the point of caring who came and went.

  “At this rate, he’ll be dead in a few days. Then he’s no good to us, and the demon will escape him, terrorizing the world. That mistake was made once already. We can’t allow it to happen again. No telling what catastrophes Promiscuity would cause. Rapes, the breakup of every marriage in the world, a rise in STDs and teen pregnancies.”

  “If nothing more, we have to keep him alive until we figure out how to contain that demon.”