The Darkest Kiss (Lords of the Underworld #2)(37)

"I love treasure hunts," Anya said, reclaiming his attention. "They're so exciting."

"You are not helping us."

A pause. Then, suddenly, she was standing beside him, strands of her hair brushing his bare arm. He'd removed his shirt an hour ago, the sun too bright and too hot. Sweat trickled along the ropes of his stomach, causing that hair to plaster against his skin. He had to grind his molars at the headiness of being connected to her, even in so small a way.

"Why can't I help?" Anya asked, and there was a catch in her raspy voice. A pout. Gods, he loved the sound of that pout. "I've proven myself invaluable so far."

Foolish him, he finally dared a glance up at her. He saw her panties first and had to swallow a wave of need. He forced his gaze to continue its upward slide, not stopping until their eyes locked. So pretty. He pushed to his feet, damned legs shaking.

Her gaze immediately dropped to his chest. To the black butterfly tattooed over his torso and shoulder. He gulped, had to look away again. Stark desire radiated from her. She even reached out to touch him, caught herself, and lowered her arm.

Do it. Touch me. Too many days had passed since he'd felt the fire of her fingertips.

She didn't, though. "It's lovely," she said, motioning to the butterfly.

"Thank you." Disappointment slammed into him when she didn't reach out again, but he knew it was better this way.

"I hate it," he admitted.

"Really? Why?"

"It is the mark of the demon. After Death was thrust inside my body, the tattoo simply appeared."

"Well, FYI. It's a babe magnet. Maybe I'll get one. A dagger or maybe even angel wings. Oh, oh. I know. I'll get a matching butterfly. We'll be twinkies!"

Anya, tattooed. A design for his tongue to trace. He gulped. Touch me. Please touch me. "To answer your earlier question, you cannot help us because you will distract us from our purpose," he said a little more forcefully than he'd intended. He was barely able to concentrate on anything but her scent and her beauty every time she neared him. "I'm sorry."

Her gaze snapped to his. "You're not sorry, but whatever," she said tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now I won't tell you where the box is."

He was gripping her arms in the next instant. "You know where it is?"

She grabbed his wrists and squeezed. Not to push him away, but to hold him in place. "Would you stop trying to kill me if I did?"

"No."

Scowling, she stomped her foot. The action caused her breasts to bounce gently against his arms. "I don't even know why I'm bothering with you."

"You said that before."

"Well, it's important enough to be mentioned twice."

He sighed. "Why are you here, Anya?"

Her expression became mulish. "None of your business, Flowers."

"Trying to butter me up some more?"

Her eyes closed off like blinds drawn over a window, but he could see the blue fire banked there through tiny slats of inextinguishable emotion. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

Unable to stop himself - would it always be so? - he jerked her up and into him, body to body, placing them nose to nose. He had not felt this out of control since those early days with the demon. Anya's nipples poked at his chest deliciously. "So are you. You are driving me insane."

"Boo f*cking hoo. You're driving me insane."

He shook her and she suddenly gasped, losing all hint of anger. She moaned. Moaned! "Mmm. Must be my lucky day. You have another erection."

His nostrils flared, potent desire heating his blood. Well, more desire. Concentrate. "What do you know about the box, Anya?" She had mentioned it, yes? He couldn't recall. Could only remember the way she tasted, hot and wild.

Her luscious little tongue flicked out and traced the seam of her lips. "Confession. I don't know where it is, but I do know you'll never find it."

No emotion. No damn emotion. "Why not?"

"Even the gods don't know where it is. If they did, it would have been found and put to use by now."

Yes. That made sense. "What else do you know?"

She arched her hips, brushing against him softly, and groaned. "After the Titans defeated the Greeks...well, defeated most of the Greeks - some got away. Anyhoo, there was a nasty game of torture and interrogation. Cronus and his crew want those artifacts back. Zeus told him what had been done to them, and Cronus got his search on, but didn't have any luck."

Lucien ground his teeth against the pleasure-sensations she was sparking inside of him. "Why does Cronus want them?"

"Better question - who wouldn't want them? They're a great source of power. If they fell into the hands of his enemies, little Cronie could very well be defeated again. But if Cronus has them, he's pretty much assured of eternal success."

"But how do the artifacts lead to the box? Why would the gods even want the box? It houses demons, nothing more."

"Uh, wrong. Think about it. That box is made from the bones of the goddess of oppression. It can suck the spirit out of anything. With Tartarus falling to pieces and Cronus having to use his soldiers to keep the Greeks locked inside, the box would be the perfect solution, a home for his enemies and your demons. What better revenge? The gods that caused him trouble locked away with the demons that caused them trouble."