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In his left hand he held the black Scythe of Death, a weapon Lucien would have loved to seize and use on the cruel god, for it could cleave the head from an immortal in only an instant. As Death incarnate, the Scythe should have belonged to him, anyway, but it had disappeared when Cronus was imprisoned. Lucien wondered how Cronus had managed to find it—and if he could find Pandora’s box so easily.
“I do not like your tone,” the king finally replied, deceptively calm. A timbre Lucien knew well, for he used it himself while trying to keep his emotions under control.
“My apologies.” Bastard. Despite the weapon, Cronus did not look powerful enough to have broken free from Tartarus and overthrown the former king, Zeus. But he had. With brutality and cunning, proving beyond any doubt that he was not someone to antagonize.
“You met the wild and elusive Anya.” Whisper-soft now, the god’s voice drifted through the night, yet it was a lance of power so strong it could have felled an entire army.
Lucien’s dread increased a hundredfold. “Yes. I met her.”
“You kissed her.”
His hands clenched—in headiness at the memory, in fury that the passionate moment had been watched by this hated being. Calm. “Yes.”
Cronus glided toward him, as silent as the night. “Somehow she’s managed to evade me for many weeks. You, however, she seeks out. Why is that, do you think?”
“I honestly do not know.” And he didn’t. Her attention to him still made no sense. The ardor of her kiss had been faked, surely. And yet, she’d managed to burn him, body, soul and demon.
“No matter.” The god reached him, paused to stare deeply into his eyes. Cronus even smelled of power. “Now you will kill her.”
At the proclamation, Death rattled the cage of Lucien’s mind, but for once Lucien wasn’t sure whether the demon did so in eagerness or resentment. “Kill her?”
“You sound surprised.” Finally releasing Lucien’s gaze, the god brushed past him as though the conversation was over.
Though it was only the barest of touches, Lucien was knocked backward as if he’d been hit by a car, muscles clenching, lungs flattening. When he righted himself, trying to catch his breath, he wheeled around. Cronus was walking into the darkness, soon to disappear.
“If it pleases you,” he called, “may I ask why you want her…dead?”
The god did not turn as he said, “She is Anarchy, trouble to all who encounter her. That should be reason enough. You should thank me for this honor.”
Thank him? Lucien popped his jaw to quiet the words longing to burst from his lips. Now, more than before, he wanted to cleave the god’s head from his body. He remained in place, though, knowing just how brutal the gods’ retribution could be. He, Reyes and Maddox had only just been released from an ancient curse where Reyes had been forced to stab Maddox every night and Lucien had been compelled to escort the fallen warrior’s soul to hell.
The death-curse had been heaped upon them by the Greeks after Maddox had inadvertently killed Pandora. How much worse would the Titans’ punishment be if Lucien assassinated their king?
While Lucien did not care what they would do to him, he did fear for his friends. Already they had endured more torment than anyone should know in a hundred lifetimes.
Still, he found himself saying, “I do not wish to do this deed.” I will not. Destroying the beautiful Anya would be a curse all its own, he suspected.
He never saw Cronus move, but the god was in his face a heartbeat later. Those bright, otherworldly eyes pierced Lucien like a sword as his arm extended, the Scythe hovering before Reyes’s neck. “However long it takes, warrior, whatever you have to do, you will bring me her dead body. Fail to heed my command, and you and all those you love will suffer.”
The god disappeared in a blinding azure light, gone as quickly as he’d appeared, and the world kicked back into motion as if it had never stopped. Lucien could not catch his breath. One flick of Cronus’s wrist and he could have—would have—taken Reyes’s head.
“What the hell?” Reyes growled, looking around. “Where did she go?”
“She was just here.” Paris spun in a circle, scanning the area and clutching his dagger.
You and all those you love will suffer, the king had said. Not a boast. Absolute truth. Lucien fisted his hands and swallowed a surge of bile. “Let us go back inside and enjoy the rest of the evening,” he managed to get out. He needed time to think.
“Hey, wait a sec,” Paris began.
“No,” Lucien said with a shake of his head. “We will speak of this no longer.”
They stared at him for a long, silent moment. Eventually, each of them nodded. He didn’t mention the god’s visit or Anya’s disappearance as he strode past them. He didn’t mention Cronus or Anya as they entered the club. Still he didn’t mention them as the men scattered in different directions, their gazes lingering on him in puzzlement.
When Reyes tried to move past him, however, he held out a restraining hand.
Reyes stopped short and glanced at him in confusion.
Lucien motioned to the table in back, the one he had previously occupied, with a tilt of his chin. Reyes nodded in understanding, and they strode to it and sat.
“Spill,” Reyes said, reclining in his seat and staring out at the dance floor as casually as if they were merely discussing the weather.
“You researched Anya. Who did she kill to earn imprisonment? Why did she kill him?”
The music was a pounding, mocking tempo in the background. Strobe lights played over Reyes’s bronze skin and dark-as-night eyes. He shrugged. “The scrolls I read gave no mention of why, only who. Aias.”
“I remember him.” Lucien had never liked the arrogant bastard. “He probably deserved it.”
“When she killed him, he was Captain of the Immortal Guard. My guess is Anya caused some sort of disaster, Aias meant to arrest her, and they fought.”
Lucien blinked in surprise. Smug, self-serving Aias had taken his place? Before opening Pandora’s box, Lucien had been captain, keeper of the peace and protector of the god king. Once the demon had been placed inside him, however, he’d no longer been suitable and the duty had been stripped from him. Then he and the warriors who helped him steal the box had been banished from the heavens altogether.
“I wonder if she means to strike at you next,” Reyes said offhandedly.
Perhaps, though she’d had the opportunity to do so tonight and hadn’t taken it. He would have deserved it, though, no doubt about it. When they’d first come to earth, he and his friends had caused nothing but darkness and destruction, pain and misery. They’d had no control over their demons and had killed indiscriminately, destroyed homes and families, brought famine and disease.
By the time he’d learned to suppress his more menacing half, it had been too late. Hunters had already risen and begun fighting them. At the time, he hadn’t blamed them, had even felt deserving of their ire. Then those Hunters killed Baden, keeper of Distrust as well as Lucien’s brother-by-circumstance. The loss had devastated him, shaking him to the core.
Understanding the Hunters’ reasoning had no longer mattered, and he’d helped decimate those responsible. Afterward, though, he’d wanted peace. Sweet peace. Some of the warriors had not. They’d desired the destruction of all Hunters.
So Lucien and five other warriors had moved to Budapest, where they had lived without war for hundreds of years. A few weeks ago, the remaining six Lords had arrived in town, hot on the heels of Hunters who had been determined to wipe Lucien and his men from the world once and for all. Just like that, the blood feud reignited. There would be no escaping it this time. Part of him no longer wanted to escape it. Until the Hunters were eliminated completely, there could be no peace.
“What else did you learn about Anya?” he asked Reyes.
The warrior shrugged. “As I mentioned outside, she is the only daughter of Dysnomia.”
“Dysnomia?” He worried two fingers over his jaw. “I do not remember her.”
“She is the goddess of Lawlessness and the most reviled immortal among the Greeks. She slept with everything male, no matter if he was wed or not. No one even knows who Anya’s father is.”
“No suspicions?”
“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 betaken from me if I indulge in her. I will never have to take hersoul.
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 likethat. 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.
