The Darkest Kiss (5 page)

“How could there be when the mother in question had several different lovers each and every day?”

The thought of Anya following her mother's path and taking multiple men to her bed infuriated Lucien. He hadn't wanted to want her, but want her—desperately—he had.
Did.
Truly, he'd tried to resist her. And would have, until he'd realized who she was and rationalized that she was immortal. He'd thought,
She cannot die. Unlike a mortal, she cannot be taken from me if I indulge in her. I will never have to take her soul.

What a fool he'd been. He should have known better. He was Death. Anyone could be taken. Himself, his friends. A goddess. He saw more loss in a single day than most endured in a lifetime.

“Surprised me,” Reyes said, “that such a woman could produce a daughter who looks so much like an angel. Hard to believe pretty Anya is actually wicked.”

Her kiss
had
been sinful. Delightfully so. But the woman he'd held in his arms had not seemed evil. Sweet, yes. Amusing, absolutely. And, shockingly enough, vulnerable and wonderfully needy. Of him.

Why had she kissed him? he wondered yet again. The question and its lack of answer plagued him. Why had she even danced for him? With him? Had she wanted something from him? Or had he merely been a challenge to her? Someone to seduce and enslave, then abandon for someone more attractive, laughing at the ugly man's gullibility all the while?

Lucien's blood chilled at the very idea.
Do not think like that. You'll only torture yourself.
What was he supposed to think about, then? Her death? Gods, he wasn't sure he could do it.

Because she had aided him all those weeks ago, he now owed her a favor. How could he kill a woman he was indebted to? How could he kill a woman he'd tasted?
Again?
He gripped his knees, squeezing, trying to subdue the sudden rush of darkness flowing through him.

“What else do you know of her? Surely there is something more.”

Reyes gave another of those negligent shrugs. “Anya is cursed in some way, but there was no hint as to what kind of curse.”

Cursed? The revelation shocked and angered him. Did she suffer because of it? And why did he care? “Any mention of who was responsible for cursing her?”

“Themis, the goddess of Justice. She is a Titan, though she betrayed them to aid the Greeks when they claimed the heavenly throne.”

Lucien recalled the goddess, though the image inside his head was fuzzy. Tall, dark-headed and slender. An aristocratic face and fine-boned hands that fluttered as she spoke. Some days she'd been gentle, others unbearably harsh. “What do you remember of Themis?”

“Only that she was wife to Tartarus, the prison guard.”

Lucien frowned. “Perhaps she cursed Anya to punish her for hurting Tartarus in order to escape?”

Reyes shook his head. “If the scroll's timeline was correct, the curse came
before
Anya's imprisonment.” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Perhaps Anya is exactly like her mother. Perhaps she slept with Tartarus and infuriated the goddess. Isn't that why most women wish ill upon other females?”

The suspicion did not settle well with Lucien. He scrubbed a hand over his face, the scars so puckered they abraded his palm. Had they scratched Anya? he suddenly wondered. Beneath the damaged tissue, his cheeks heated in mortification. She was probably used to smooth perfection from her men, and would remember him as the ugly warrior who had irritated her pretty skin.

Reyes traced a fingertip over one of the empty glasses perched on the tabletop. “I do not like it that we are in her debt. I do not like it that she came to the club. As I said earlier, Anya leaves a trail of destruction and chaos everywhere she goes.”

“
We
leave a trail of destruction and chaos everywhere we go.”

“We
used
to, but we never enjoyed it. She was smiling as she seduced you.” Reyes scowled. “I saw the way you looked at her. Like I looked at Danika.”

Danika. One of the humans Aeron had been ordered to slay. Reyes wanted her more than he wanted to take his next breath, Lucien suspected, but had been forced to let her go in hopes of saving her from the gods' brutality. Lucien thought perhaps the warrior had regretted the decision ever since, wishing to protect her up close and personal.

What am I going to do?
Lucien knew what he
wanted
to do. Forget Anya, and ignore Cronus as Aeron had. To ignore the king of gods, however, was to invite punishment—just as Aeron had. His friends could endure no more. Of that, he was certain. Already they were poised on the edge between good and evil. Any more and they would fall, just give in to their demons and stop fighting the constant urge to destroy.

He sighed. Damned gods. The heavenly command had come at the worst possible time. Pandora's box was out there, hidden somewhere, a threat to his very existence. If a Hunter found it before he did, the demon could be pulled out of him, killing him, for man and demon were inextricably bonded.

While Lucien did not mind the thought of his own demise, he refused to allow his brethren to be hurt. He felt responsible for them. If he had not opened the box to avenge his stinging pride at not being chosen to guard it, his men would not have been forced to house the demons inside their bodies. He would not have destroyed their lives—lives they had once enjoyed as elite warriors to the Greeks. Blithe, carefree. Happy, even.

He exhaled another sigh. To protect his friends from further pain, he would have to kill Anya as ordered, Lucien decided with a pang of regret. Which meant he would have to hunt the goddess down. Which meant he would have to be near her again.

The thought of being in Anya's presence once more, of smelling her strawberry scent, of caressing her soft skin, both tantalized and tormented him. Even forever ago, when he'd fallen deeply in love with a mortal named Mariah, and she with him, he had not desired like this. A hot ache that infused every inch of his body and refused to leave.

Mariah
…sweet, innocent Mariah, the woman he'd given his heart to shortly after learning to control his demon. By then, he'd lived on earth a hundred—two hundred?—years, time seemingly nonexistent, one day the same as any other. Then he'd seen Mariah, and life had begun to matter. He'd craved something good, something pure to wipe away the darkness.

She'd been sunshine to his midnight, a bright candle in merciless gloom, and he'd hoped to spend an eternity worshipping her. But all too soon, disease struck her. Death had known immediately she would not survive. Lucien should have taken her soul that very moment, but he had been unable to force himself to do it.

For weeks, the sickness ravaged her body, destroying her piece by piece. The longer he'd waited, hoping she would heal, the more she'd suffered. Toward the end, she'd begged, sobbed and screamed for death. Heartsick, knowing they would never again be together, he'd finally broken down and done his duty.

That was the night he'd obtained his scars.

Lucien had carved himself to ribbons using a poisoned blade; every time the wounds had tried to heal, he'd prayed for scars and carved himself up again. And again. He'd even burned himself until the skin no longer rejuvenated. In his grief, he'd hoped to ensure that no female would ever again approach him, that he would never again have to suffer the loss of a loved one.

He'd never regretted the action. Until now. He'd ruined any chance of being a man Anya could truly desire. A woman as physically perfect as she deserved a man equally so. He frowned. Why was he thinking like that? She had to die. Desire on either side would only complicate matters. Well, complicate them more.

Once again, Anya's image etched itself into his mind, consuming his thoughts. Her face was a sensual feast and her body a sexual high. As a man, he howled with rage at the thought of destroying that. As an immortal warrior, well, he howled, too.

Perhaps he could convince Cronus to rescind his command. Perhaps…Lucien snorted. No. That would not work. Trying to bargain with Cronus was more foolish than ignoring him. The king of gods would only order him to do something worse.

Damn this! Why did Cronus want her dead? What had she done?

Had she spurned him for another?

Lucien ignored the haze of jealousy and possessiveness that fell over his eyes. Ignored the
mine
ringing in his ears.

“I am waiting,” Reyes said, breaking into his thoughts.

He blinked, trying to clear his mind. “For?”

“For you to tell me what happened out there.”

“Nothing happened,” he lied smoothly, and hated himself for the need.

Reyes shook his head. “Your lips are still bruised and swollen from kissing her. Your hair is in spikes around your head from where she plowed her fingers through. You stepped in front of her when we meant to take her, and then she disappeared altogether. Nothing happened? Try again.”

Reyes had enough to worry about without having to carry Lucien's burden, as well. “Tell the others I'll meet them in Greece. I won't be traveling with them as planned.”

“What?” Reyes frowned. “Why?”

“I've been commanded to take a soul,” was all he said.

“Take a soul? Not just escort it to heaven or hell? I don't understand.”

He nodded. “You do not need to understand.”

“You know I hate when you turn cryptic. Tell me who and why.”

“Does it matter? A soul is a soul, and the outcome is the same no matter the reason. Death.” Lucien slapped Reyes's shoulder and pushed to his feet. Before the warrior could utter another word, Lucien strode out of the club, not stopping until he reached the very place he'd kissed—and lost—Anya.

In an unwieldy corner of his mind, he could almost hear her moaning. He could almost feel her nails digging into his back and her hips rocking into his erection. An erection that had not dissipated. Despite everything.

Need still clawed through him, but he shoved it aside and closed his right eye. Surveying the area with his blue eye—his spiritual eye—he saw a rainbow of glowing, ethereal colors. Through those colors he could interpret every deed that had occurred here, every emotion ever felt by visitors. Sometimes he could even determine exactly who had done what.

Having done this infinite times before, he easily sorted through the morass to find signs of the most recent activity. There, against the freshly erected and painted boards of the brand-new building, were sparkling stars of passion.

The kiss.

In this spiritual realm, Anya's passion appeared a blazing pink. Real. Not faked, as a part of him had assumed. That pink trail glittered with a dazzle unlike anything he'd ever seen. Had she truly desired him, then? Had a creature so physically perfect found
him
worthy? That did not seem possible, and yet the proof was shining at him like a pathway to salvation in the middle of a storm.

His stomach tightened, heat shooting through him. His mouth watered for another taste of her. His chest ached, a sharp and hungry throb. Oh, to hold those breasts in his hands again and feel the nipples stiffen against his palms. To sink his fingers into her wet sheath this time and pump in and out, slowly at first, then faster and faster. She would come, maybe even beg for more. He groaned.

She has to die by your hand. Do not forget.

As if he could, he thought, hands fisting. “Where did you go?” he muttered, following the sparks to where she'd stood when she'd pushed him. Blue winked at him. Sadness. She had been sad? Because he'd said she did not matter? The knowledge filled him with guilt.

He studied the colors more closely. Interspersed with the blue was a bright, pulsing red. Fury. He must have hurt her feelings, and that in turn must have angered her. The guilt intensified. In his defense, he had assumed she'd been playing with him, that she hadn't really wanted him. He hadn't thought she would care whether he wanted her or not.

That she had utterly amazed him.

As he continued to sort through the colors, he found the faintest trace of white. Fear. Something had scared her. What? Had she sensed Cronus? Seen him? Known he was about to deliver her death sentence?

Lucien didn't like that she'd been scared.

Every muscle tensed as he followed the muted trail of white. As he moved, he allowed his body to fuse with the demon of Death, becoming nothing more than a spirit, a midnight mist that could flash from one location to another in an instant.

Anya's essence led to his fortress, he was startled to find. His bedroom, more specifically. Clearly she hadn't stayed long, but seemed to have paced from one side of the chamber to another, then had flashed away to—

Maddox and Ashlyn's bedroom. Lucien's brow furrowed in confusion. Why here? The couple was asleep in bed, twined together, cheeks rosy and flushed from a recent sexual marathon, he was sure.