The Darkest Kiss (Lords of the Underworld #2)(19)

Understanding lit his rough, savage features. "Something makes sense at last," he said with only the barest trace of disappointment.

Or was the disappointment wishful thinking on her part? The man had come to kill her, after all. Softer emotions he couldn't possibly feel.

Submit to me.

Ah, shit. She'd looked at his face and was once again snared. His blue eye still swirled, and the brown one was so rich and deep she could have willingly drowned in it. Her stomach quivered.

No, no, no! She bared her teeth at him and jerked her gaze away. Hurt him to slow him down, then get out of here. Now, that was a thought she didn't mind acting on. He was an immortal; he'd heal. But damn it all to the fires of hell, she wasn't ready to leave him. She hadn't talked to anyone in weeks. She'd been too busy following him, watching him. Lusting after him.

Doesn't matter what you want. Strike at him before he strikes at you.

"One last chance to pay up the favor you owe me by protecting me from Cronus," she told him.

"I'm sorry."

"All right, then. Now that we've cleared the air," she said, using her sultriest tone, "let's get this party started." She licked the lollipop and shifted her weight to the left, causing her skirt to ride up on the right and drawing his gaze to her bared skin as she'd hoped.

There was the faintest flicker of desire in his eyes, desire he couldn't hide. Too late. She tossed the dagger.

Silver metal flew end over end and embedded in his heart before he even guessed her intentions. His body spasmed and his eyes went wide as saucers.

"You stabbed me," he said, incredulous. Grimacing, he jerked out the now-bloody dagger and rubbed a hand over the wound, then looked down at his drenched, crimson-stained fingers. Anger overrode the incredulity.

"Feel free to keep the dagger as a souvenir." She blew him a kiss and flashed to an icy boulder in Antarctica, knowing he'd follow her and wanting him to suffer for it. Frigid wind instantly slammed into her, cutting through the flimsy clothing she wore. Past skin, past muscle and straight into bone. Her teeth chattered.

Penguins waddled by, scampering to get away from her. Water swirled and churned all around her. Mile after mile of black night greeted her eyes, the only light provided by golden moon rays reflecting off the glaciers.

If she'd been mortal, she would have frozen to death in seconds. Goddess that she was, Anya simply felt miserable. "Worth it, though," she said, breath forming a thick mist in front of her face. If she was miserable, how much worse would it be for the injured Lucien when he -

Materialized right in front of her, so clear to her the sun could have been shining.

He was scowling, his perfect white teeth bared. He'd removed his shirt, and she saw that rope after rope of muscle lined his stomach. He had no chest hair, not even the happy trail that most men possessed. His skin was the shade of pearlized honey, smooth on one side, like velvet over steel, and jagged and scarred on the other. Both sides were so lickable her mouth watered.

His nipples were tiny, brown and hardened like arrowheads. They would feel amazing against her tongue. His chest was smeared in blood, and a long wound marred the skin just over his heart. The tissue had already begun to weave itself back together.

Seeing him like that, bloody from battle, angry and ready for more, turned her on. Her knees did that stupid weakening thing. You hate weakness. But damn, it felt good. Would he always have this effect on her?

Silly girl.

When the wind hit him, she knew he experienced a moment of miserable suspension, where blood and oxygen froze inside him. "Anya," he growled.

"Nice to see you again, Flowers." She didn't waste another moment. Using all of her strength, she shoved him into the water.

He could have grabbed hold of her to stop his fall, but he didn't. He allowed himself to tumble backward, rather than risk taking her with him. How...sweet. Bastard! He had no right to be sweet now.

He gasped when he hit, the sound a blend of rage, shock and icy torment. A few droplets splashed onto her thigh, and she gasped at the cold.

"Anya!" he shouted when he sputtered to the surface.

"No need to thank me for the bath. I mean, the least I could do after bloodying your chest was to help you clean up the mess. See ya!"

"Don't leave," he rushed out. "Please."

Unable to help herself, she paused. "Why not?"

Rather than flash to the boulder, he treaded water and glared up at her. "You do not want to anger me." A cloud moved and thicker golden beams poured from the silky, inky sky, straight onto him.

"Or what? You'll turn into a hulking green beast? Hate to disappoint you, Flowers, but that kind of revs my engine. Have fun defrosting." Laughing, she gave him a finger wave and flashed to her favorite private beach in Hawaii.

Warmth and sunlight instantly enveloped her, melting the sheen of ice that had glazed her skin. Usually when she came here, she stripped and lounged on the sand, soaking in the tranquility. Sometimes she barricaded herself inside the house a quarter mile up, surrounded by towering palms, where she vegged out and watched movies.

This time, she stayed on the beach and kept her clothes on, dropped her lollipop and withdrew two more daggers from her boots. She held them at her sides and waited.

A scowling, shivering Lucien entered her line of vision a moment later. His lips were tinted blue and thinned in displeasure. His hair was frosted around his head, his skin glistening with crystallized moisture.