The Darkest Kiss

He made the mistake of releasing her wrists. She punched him again, this time in the eye. The bone cracked from the impact, swelling—she laughed; turning black—she laughed harder. Healing—she pouted.

“You are not going to flash,” he ground out. His gaze was boring into her and that rose-fresh scent was clouding her mind, urging her to relax, to stay where she was and not fight him any longer.

She softened into the ground and licked her lips. Two could play the seduce-me game. Not because it would be fun, she assured herself. “No, I won’t flash. I’m too busy imagining my thighs wrapped around your waist.”

His pupils dilated, and he groaned. “Stop that. I command you.”

“Stop what?” she asked innocently.

“Stop saying things like that. And stop looking at me like that.”

“You mean, like you’re going to be my dinner?”

He gave a single jerk of his head.

“Can’t,” she said with a slow grin.

“Yes, you can. You will.”

“When you stop looking so edible, then I’ll obey.” But as she issued the sultry promise, her mind was racing. You’re a fighter, Anarchy. You’ve battled immortals stronger than Death. Playtime is over.

Forcing herself from Lucien’s erotic pull and drawing on the instincts that had kept her alive through the darkest days of her existence, she flashed behind him. Without her body to hold him up, he smashed facefirst into the sand.

It has to be this way. As he came up sputtering, she kicked him, swiftly sending him back down. Then she leapt on top of him, straddling his hips and wrapping her fingers around his jaw to twist and break his neck.

But he, too, flashed, appearing in front of a palm tree several feet away from her. Her knees hit the dirt before she was able to right herself and stand. He made no move toward her. Panting, she brushed the sand from her legs. The gentle breeze was filled with the mockingly serene aroma of coconuts and salt water. Roses. I almost killed him, she thought, shaken.

“At this rate, neither of us will win,” he said.

She pasted a cocky grin on her face. “Who are you trying to fool? I’m totally winning.”

He slammed a fist into the tree, knocking several pieces of red fruit to the ground. “There must be another way. Surely there is a way around your death.”

His vehemence made her tingle; his sudden willingness to try to save her made her ache. She sighed. The man could shove her from one end of the emotional gauntlet to the other in seconds. “If you’re thinking of petitioning Cronus, don’t. He won’t change his mind, and he’ll punish you for attempting it.”

Lucien splayed his arms wide, the very picture of exasperated male. “Why can’t he kill you himself?”

“You’d have to ask him.” She shrugged as if she didn’t know the answer.

“Anya,” Lucien said, a warning. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Anya!”

“No!” She could have flashed to her knives, but didn’t. She could have flashed to him, but didn’t do that, either. Instead she waited, curious as to what the warrior would do or say next.

He expelled a sigh, the perfect mimic of her own, as his arms fell back to his sides. “What are we going to do about this, then?”

“Make out?” she suggested cheekily. She’d meant the words as a taunt, a jest, hating that she would have gone to him in a heartbeat if he’d given her any encouragement. I’m pathetic.

He blanched as if she’d struck him.

Irritated, she ran her tongue over her teeth. Was the thought of kissing her again that abhorrent? “Why do you hate me?” she found herself asking before she could stop the words. Damn it. She sounded ashamed, as if the woman she was didn’t deserve to be loved. Sorry, Mom. Dysnomia had taught her better.

“I do not hate you,” Lucien admitted softly.

“Oh, really? You look ready to vomit at the thought of touching me.”

A wry smile greeted her words, there one moment, gone the next. Anya nearly fell to the ground in awe. Finally, a true smile from him. She should have known it would be sensually potent, decadent. Addicting. Already she craved another. His grin was as radiant as the sun.

“And yet I have an erection,” he said in a tone as wry as his expression.

Okay. Who was this man? First a smile, and now he was teasing her. Her blood heated and her nipples hardened (again). “A man doesn’t have to like a woman to want her.” He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. “Just hush it, okay. I don’t want to hear your response.” He would ruin the happy buzz she had going, she just knew it. “Stand there and look pretty while I think.”

“You’re purposely trying to provoke me, are you not?”

Yes, she was. A foolish move on her part, really. He’d been ordered to render her death blow. Every time she incited him, she probably made the thought of it a little easier for him to bear. But she couldn’t help herself. That smile…

“Have you no answer for me?”

“Not one I’m willing to share.” Why did he have to look so sexy standing there? The sun was acting like his lover, caressing him, weaving an angelic halo around his dark head. Yes, angelic. He was a fallen angel just then, causing her pulse points to throb and her stomach to quiver.

Why couldn’t they have been simply a man and a woman?

Why couldn’t he have wanted her the way she wanted him?

Why wouldn’t her obsession with him wane, now that he was bound to snuff her out for eternity?

“You are making this difficult.”

“You won’t break the rules for me?” she asked, batting her lashes. “You won’t do me this one teeny-weeny favor? You owe me.”

“No. I can’t.”

He hadn’t even hesitated in the delivery of his answer and that pissed her off. The least he could have done was take a few minutes to think about it. Bastard. She scowled. “I’m giving you one more chance to agree. We’d be even, the chalkboard clean.”

“I am sorry. I must again decline.”

Fine. That meant there was only one way to end the madness.

Finally she did flash to her knives. She did flash to him. His eyes widened in surprise as she materialized in front of him. With the hilt facing him, she chop-blocked him in the throat, spun while he struggled to breathe and slammed the other hilt into his temple to render him unconscious.

Contact.

Only, he didn’t sink into unconsciousness. He fell to his knees with a groan. Didn’t matter. Either way, the outcome was the same. Disappointed that it had come to this, she twirled the daggers in her palms so that the sharp tips pointed directly at him.

Her hands trembled as she stared at the top of his head. Everything inside of her was screaming not to do this, but she swung the blades into a crisscross, anyway. There were only a few ways to kill an immortal permanently and decapitation was one of them. Do it…no other way… She’d already placed the blades at his neck, needing only to slam her wrists together. Do it before he flashes!

Oh, gods, oh, gods. She did it. Moved to cut him. Instead of flesh, however, her weapons encountered only air.

He’d flashed.

Frustration and elation battled for supremacy. Before she had time to act on either, strong, viselike fingers jammed into her shoulders, spinning her around. Searing lips slammed over her mouth, prying it open and stealing her breath.

Lucien’s tongue thrust against hers in a white-hot kiss that would haunt her waking and sleeping for thousands of years to come. Dead or alive. It was bliss and it was agony. It was heaven and it was hell. Having his flavor drown her so perfectly, his strength and heat at the ready, craving more.

“Lucien.” She gasped and moaned and reached for him, dropping the weapons in her haste to have his skin under her palms.

“Not another word. Kiss me like before.”

His fervency excited her all the more. Apparently, dancing for him and throwing herself at him weren’t enough. Apparently, she had to nearly commit murder to arouse him enough to attack her.

His arms snaked around her waist and hauled her snugly into the heat of his body. The action rubbed his swollen penis against the wet, needy juncture between her thighs, and they both groaned in ecstasy.

She wanted to jump into him and devour him whole. She settled for gripping his head, fisting his hair and tilting him to deepen the kiss. A part of her suspected that he was doing this to distract her, but he never went for her throat. He just kept tonguing her as if he couldn’t stop himself.

Her nipples were so hard they were probably as sharp as her knives—which she kicked away with the last vestiges of her common sense. “Lucien,” she said on another moan, meaning to demand he remove her corset. Skin to skin. She was desperate for it. Dumb, so dumb, to allow skin to skin, but in that moment she wanted it more than she wanted freedom. “Lucien, my shirt.”

This time, her voice seemed to snag him from whatever spell he’d been under. He jerked away from her. Without him to hold her up, she almost fell flat on her face as he had done earlier.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as she righted herself.

“I can’t think straight right now.” Panting, he stepped backward. “I need to get away from you.”

There was an angry glint in his eyes, a glint that was dark and violent and utterly menacing. A shiver of fear spread the length of her spine. Fear and even deeper arousal.

What’s wrong with me?

He’d told her never to anger him, that bad things would happen if she did. Well, he’d been telling the truth. She’d angered him somehow and he’d stopped kissing her. Nothing was worse than that.

“You’re going to leave me like this? Without even giving me an orgasm?” Whoops. She’d meant to sound flippant. She’d sounded needy and whining instead. And breathless.

The glint darkened further. “We will see each other again, Anya. Soon.” With that ominous promise, he disappeared.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUCIEN WAS AT A LOSS as he escorted three human souls to the heavens later that night. He was still at a loss as the pearled gates opened wide, revealing golden streets and bejeweled, arched lampposts hanging like diamond-studded clouds. White-clothed angels lined the sides, singing a melodious welcome, their feathered white wings gliding gracefully behind them.

Once the souls crossed the threshold to paradise, the gates closed, blocking him out, and there was only silence.

He was still at a loss.

Usually the beauty and peace he encountered here filled him with twinges of jealousy and resentment, for he would never be allowed inside. Tonight, he did not care. Anya occupied every corridor of his mind; he had no idea what to do about her.

Lucien flashed to his chambers in Buda, his body solidifying at the foot of the bed. He stood unmoving, locked in thought and chaotic emotion he should not have felt. When it came to Death, he knew well the consequences of hesitation. But earlier today he had not only hesitated, he had nearly made love to his intended victim. Tongued her hard, caressed her. He’d had the opportunity to finish her off, so he damn well should have finished her off.

“I am a foolish man,” he muttered.

She had come at him with every intention of slaying him. But he’d spun her around, seen the way her glistening red lips parted on a gasp, felt her warm breath on his skin, smelled strawberries and cream, heard his demon purr and had been consumed by the greatest surge of lust he’d ever experienced.

How could he want Anya more than he’d ever wanted Mariah, a woman he’d loved?

How?

Anya had nearly killed him, yet he’d thought, I cannot die without another kiss from her. He hadn’t cared about anything else. Just her lips. Her body. Her.

She was using him to thwart Cronus. She’d admitted as much, which made Lucien’s lust all the more foolish. She hadn’t seemed to mind his kiss, though. No, she’d seemed to enjoy it, to hunger for more.

“Damn this,” he railed, stalking forward and slamming a fist into the wall. Stone instantly cracked and dust plumed around him, clouding his vision. It felt good so he punched again, his knuckles splitting and throbbing. Relax. Now.

Nothing good ever came of his anger.

He exhaled slowly as he turned and surveyed his bedroom. Morning had already arrived, he realized with surprise. With all that flashing, he’d lost track of the different time zones. Sunlight streamed through the room’s only window. Except for Maddox and Torin, all of the warriors had, most likely, left for their respective destinations in Greece and Rome. I need to do the same. Anya can be taken care of later, when I’m not reeling from the taste and feel of her.

He strode to his closet, along the way noticing three vases perched on his vanity. Each overflowed with white, winter flowers and emitted a honey scent. They hadn’t been here last night, which meant Ashlyn had been here this morning. Sweet, tenderhearted Ashlyn had probably thought to brighten his day with them, but seeing the blooms caused a pang of regret to tear through his chest.

Mariah used to pick flowers and weave them in her hair.

His door suddenly swung open and Ashlyn rushed inside, concern lighting her pretty face. Maddox, as always, was right behind her, a slash of black menace and lethal grace. He held two blades, poised and ready for attack.

“Everything okay?” Ashlyn asked when she spotted only Lucien. Light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her arms. Arms clutched together in worry. For him? “We were walking down the hall and heard a bang.”

“Everything is fine,” he assured her. But he kept his attention on Maddox, whose violet eyes were narrowed. Get her out of here, he silently willed, not wanting to hurt Ashlyn’s feelings. I am not myself.

Lucien was dangerously close to losing all semblance of his legendary control. The strain had to show on every line of his face.

Understanding, Maddox gave a nod. “Ashlyn.” He curled a hand around her shoulder. “Lucien is preparing for his journey to the temple. Let’s leave him to it.”

She didn’t shrug off the warrior’s hold. Rather, she leaned into him. She also refused to budge. Her gaze dipped over Lucien, scrutinizing, gauging. “You don’t look fine.”

“All is well,” he lied. How many would he tell? He bent down, clasped the handles of his bag and threw it onto the bed.

“Your hand is bleeding and your bones are… Dear God.” Frowning, she reached out.

Maddox grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her. He was keeper of Violence, yet he was gentle with his woman, so protective and possessive of her it was almost comical.

“Maddox,” she said, exasperated. “I just want to see how bad his injuries are. We might have to reset the bones.”

“Lucien will heal, and you need to rest.”

“Rest, rest, rest. I’m four weeks pregnant, not sickly.”

The proud couple had announced the news mere days ago. Then and now, Lucien was happy for them, but he also wondered what the offspring of a demon-possessed warrior and a mortal female with unusual powers would be. Half-demon? Fully demon? Completely mortal? Once, he’d wondered the same thing about a child of his own. His and Mariah’s. But she had been taken from him before they’d even decided to try to conceive.

“Your man is correct,” he said. “I am fine.”

Determination radiated from Ashlyn, her large brown eyes never leaving Lucien. Tenderhearted she might be, but she was also stubborn to her very core.

She had grown up in a science lab, studied and used for a unique ability she’d only just learned to control. Wherever she stood, Ashlyn could hear every conversation that had taken place there, no matter how many years had passed. She could not, however, hear prior conversations between him and the other immortals, which had to irk her when she desired answers they wouldn’t give.

“Word has already spread about you and a woman at the club,” she said, blinking innocently. “Who is she?”

“She is no one.” Except the new center of his world. Anya, beautiful Anya. His hands curled tightly at his sides. Even her name excited him, caused his blood to simmer deliciously and his body to ready for sex. She’s not for you. “Warriors should not gossip.”

He and Anya probably looked silly together. Her, the epitome of lush femininity. Him, an ugly beast of a man. Still, he could not stop himself from imagining his hand fisted in her hair, his body pounding in and out of hers. Hard, fast. Slow, tender.

Pretty, Death suddenly growled.

Lucien blinked in surprise. Usually the demon remained a compulsion rather than a voice; always a part of him, yet always distanced. Why it would speak up now, he didn’t know. Still, he found himself replying. Yes, she is. Four times he had seen her. Four times he had spoken to her. For these past few weeks, he had scented her. Already she was ingrained in his cells—his thoughts, his desires, his purpose—more than anyone else, even his beloved Mariah, had ever been.

Want her. Death again.

Yes.

Tastes good. Have her before we kill her.

No! Even as he shouted the word inside his head, he felt the demon tugging at him, trying to force him to find Anya.

He planted his feet into the ground. Not yet.

“Lucien,” Ashlyn prompted, drawing his attention back to her. The pressure inside of him eased. “I’m not a warrior, so I can gossip. You kissed her. Everyone said they saw you—”

“I am fine, and the woman is of no concern,” he lied. Gods, another. Usually he abhorred lies. He reached out to tweak Ashlyn’s nose, heard Maddox growl and dropped his arm. Maddox did not like for anyone else to touch his female. Ever. And for the first time, Lucien understood that. He despised the thought of other men touching Anya.

Idiot. The woman manipulated with a smile on her perfect face, and he was willing to bet that, like her mother, she had been intimate with legions. Whether she’d used those lovers for pleasure or power, he didn’t know. Shouldn’t care.

What if she were seducing another right now, trying to secure protection from Lucien?

A roar shoved from his throat and he found himself twisting, moving to confront the wall again, punching, punching, his knuckles throbbing insistently. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maddox whip Ashlyn behind his back.

What are you doing? Anya can well take care of herself. She doesn’t need a man to protect her.

Perhaps she was alone on the beach, as needy and confused as he was. The thought softened the edges of his anger, even as it made his body incredibly hard. But as much as he wished to believe it, he knew a woman like her would not crave a scarred man like him. Not truly. No matter how hot her kisses. How many had turned away from him over the centuries? How many had cringed when he neared?

Countless.

And that had been—was—just the way he liked it.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. “How is Torin?” he asked, changing the subject as he stalked to the bed. “I do not like how slowly he is healing.”

Ashlyn shoved Maddox aside, and the big warrior scowled, but let her. “I think I figured out why he hasn’t bounced back as quickly as the rest of you do. He’s Disease, right? Well, I think his cells are affected by that sickness. They have to fight the virus as well as the wound. Anyway, he is healing. He’s eating on his own now.”

“Good. That’s good.” Lucien still felt guilty about the attack Torin had endured. He should have been here. Should have sensed Torin’s pain.

If the Hunters who had sneaked inside hadn’t touched Torin’s skin, infecting themselves with disease and weakening their forces, Torin would have died. Lucien had thought he’d taken the necessary precautions to prevent such an event, for he would rather his neck be sliced than one of the others. Yet his necessary precautions had failed.

“And how is Aeron?”

“Well.” Ashlyn faltered, sighed. She bit her lip. “He’s not so good.”

“The bloodlust is so great he’s taken to clawing himself,” Maddox said, his voice grave. “Nothing I say penetrates his dark thoughts.”

Lucien massaged the back of his neck. “Are you two going to be all right on your own?”

“Yes.” Maddox wrapped his arm around Ashlyn’s waist. “Torin is able to monitor the grounds on his computers and now that my death-curse is broken,” he said, hugging his woman close, “I can leave at any time to defend us or procure items we might need.”

Lucien nodded. “Good. I’ll let you know what we find.” He swiped up his bag and said over his shoulder, “Thank you for the flowers, Ashlyn.” Without another word, he flashed to the Cyclades Islands in Greece.

Silver stone walls gave way to white stucco. The home he had already purchased and furnished was open and airy, with towering white columns and gauzy white material draping the windows.

He dropped his bag and stepped to the nearest balcony, an airy terrace that looked out onto the clearest water he’d ever seen. Smooth, no waves. Not even a ripple. The sun glowed lovingly—it was already midday—and lush green bushes with bright red blooms framed the edges of the building.

Perhaps he and the other warriors should have stayed in Athens or Crete to be closer to the ancient temple they meant to search, but there was more anonymity on the islands. Fewer tourists and even fewer locals.

“The fewer the better,” he muttered.

He did not remember much of his time here, all those thousands of years ago, so he could not compare then with now. Those days had been dark, filled with screams and pain and acts so evil he didn’t want to remember them.

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