The Darkest Kiss (28 page)

“Most likely,” Lucien said. How had they known to venture here, though? Before meeting their demise at the temple, the Hunters had complained about their lack of success.

Perhaps Cronus was somehow feeding them information as the warriors learned it, he speculated. His eyes narrowed in fury. That made sense—and did not bode well for the warriors.

“Where are they now?” he asked.

“Maybe dead.” William shrugged. “Maybe on the mountain.”

“I thought you monitored this place for jealous husbands,” Anya said. “You should know.”

“Maybe they disabled my cameras.”

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Anya leaned down—Lucien reached for her, but she maintained her balance—grabbed a handful of ice and threw it at the warrior, nailing him in the back. “Your attitude sucks. This is hardly the way to get your book back.”

William continued to motor along without retaliating, almost as if he felt he deserved the chastisement. Snow and ice whipped from the chains and tires of the man's vehicle, blustering around them and making their visibility hazy. His posture was stiff, predatory, as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.

Something was terribly wrong with this situation. What, Lucien could only guess. Sadly, none of his guesses were optimistic.

 

T
IME PASSED SLOWLY
considering the sense of urgency pounding through her. Urgency and pain. Anya's ass hurt like hell. The heavy bag strapped to her four-wheeler did indeed slap at her as she'd suspected it would. Gods, she hated this. Hated not knowing the best course of action, hated not being able to read an entire situation. All she knew was that Lucien was the best thing to ever happen to her, William was clearly hiding something and she was miserable.

And if…
when
Lucien began growing weak—
because of me,
she thought guiltily—he would not be able to fight Hydra, even if they found her, placing him in greater danger. So many ifs. But Anya couldn't abide the thought of Lucien being hurt. He loved her. He'd admitted it without shame, without hesitation, and he'd meant it. Tenderness and joy had infused his confession, warming her body and soul. He loved the woman she was, not the woman he wanted her to be.

They had to find Hydra; they just had to. She'd once thought to use the artifacts to bargain for her own life. Now she knew she couldn't do that to Lucien. Instead, she was going to use them to bargain for
his
life.

Cronus would still hunt her, of course, because he would never stop desiring the key. Unless she killed him, which wasn't a bad idea. She might give it a shot, she thought, pursing her lips. After all, who better to murder a king than Anarchy?

Lucien would be pissed if he knew what she was thinking. He wouldn't want her to place herself at risk, no matter that she did so for him. For
them.
But she'd rather deal with his anger than watch him die slowly and painfully.

This is beginning to sound like love.

She shut down the thought before it could spread and deepen. If she admitted that she loved him, she wouldn't be able to resist making love to him. Already she was close to giving in. No matter the consequences. If she gave in, however, and he
did
die, she would be consumed with eternal grief and bound to a dead man. Not even the All-Key could break that tie.

Her stomach lurched with nausea. Her body numbed. No. No, no, no. Never.
He's not going to die. Don't think like that. You're going to do everything in your power to save him.
Besides, she suspected she'd be consumed with eternal grief anyway.

She wanted to reach out and take his hand. She wanted to jump off her ATV and onto his and snuggle in his lap. Wanted to feel his arms around her, holding her close. She didn't. Now was not the time. The stakes were too high.

Later, she promised herself.

As they continued through the snow, she found no hint of human invasion. No footprints or tire tracks. Perhaps the Hunters had already turned back. A girl could hope, anyway. She didn't want them near Lucien.

“Trip wires up ahead,” William suddenly warned. “Follow me and don't deviate.”

She and Lucien slowed down, getting behind the warrior in a straight line. Anya had the middle and Lucien claimed the rear. Her protector.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I put them there,” he muttered. “A man has to protect himself when immortals are always trying to sneak up on him.”

Maybe the Hunters hadn't turned back. Maybe they'd been killed. “Any other little gems you've got waiting out here?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, but he didn't elaborate.

“Like what?” Lucien asked.

Anya could hear the tension in his voice.
He's worried for me, the sweetie.
Again she wanted to jump on him.

“Bombs, poison berries, ice caves,” William said. “You know, all the B-movie stuff.”

“Nice,” Anya said. But her smile at the thought of all that mischief faded as a new thought occurred to her.
What if the Hunters laid a trap for
us?

T
HEY RAN INTO THE
H
UNTERS
three days later in the middle of the mountain.

Lucien should have been happy about that. There was nothing he liked more than killing those delusional zealots. Well, except for Anya. He liked her more than a good fight. But this time, he wasn't happy. Wasn't excited on any level.

He was weak and only growing weaker.

At the moment, he wasn't sure he could fight a mouse and win, much less a determined Hunter.

He'd known this would happen, but he hadn't expected it so quickly. If the days hadn't been so treacherous and the nights so cold, maybe his strength would have lasted longer. But they'd had to abandon their vehicles yesterday, the incline simply too steep. Now they relied on ice spikes, climbing for hours at a time and resting only when absolutely necessary. They ate one meal a day. They didn't really need more. Canned soup, barely heated. Anya could have flashed, but he suspected she didn't want to leave him.

Every night he, Anya and William stopped and set up camp, Anya conjured a fire and the three of them huddled together in a tent for warmth. He never slept, but stayed awake guarding Anya, cherishing every moment they were together. With mortality creeping up on him, he didn't want to miss a single second. He loved holding her close, her strawberry scent enveloping him.

Both William—bad—and Anya—good—seemed to be thriving, yet he could barely carry his pack anymore. He shivered constantly and had even fallen on his face a few times.

Like now.

Anya's arms suddenly banded around him, holding him steady. “Everything's going to be fine once we get to the top,” she said. “You'll see.”

Mortification rocked him. He was so weak, he could no longer flash. The demon had tried to pull him into the spirit world a few times, but had been unsuccessful and was constantly clamoring in his head, clawing at the doors of his consciousness, making him crazed.

Death couldn't leave him and travel to the souls on its own, because man and spirit were bonded and could not survive apart. Well, Death could survive, but not happily and not without dire consequences, as Lucien had tried to tell Cronus.

The tip of Lucien's boot hit a block of ice, and he stumbled again. Anya's grip tightened and he was able to right himself. Damn this! Cronus had not exaggerated. At this rate, Lucien would be dead in a week.

“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 could 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.