The Darkest Kiss (Lords of the Underworld #2)(69)

The answer proved grim. Kissing would be fine because she'd kissed others. But anything else would merely prove how special Lucien was to her. Her shoulders sagged. I'll have to be my usual flippant self and keep things light. No more touching, no more skin-to-skin contact.

"Fucking Cronus," she grumbled to cover her sudden tears.

LUCIEN HAD WORKED HIMSELF into a fit of rage.

It had happened only once before, a prolonged fury that lasted several days after Mariah's death, and he'd vowed never to let it happen again. The destruction had been too great. But as he'd watched Anya with Cronus, he'd been unable to stop himself from slipping into the dark throes of fury.

Now red glowed behind his eyes; a cold sweat slicked his skin. Death roared like a banshee inside his mind. His breath was so hot it was like fire as it pushed from his nose. He was more demon than man, darkness clouding his every thought.

He'd already hacked the bed to bits, freeing the chain from the headboard but not from himself. After that, he'd blazed a path of destruction through the entire house. Because the chain was still attached to his wrist, he couldn't dematerialize. Didn't matter, though. He was too busy seething. Too busy imagining death and blood and killing. Had one of the other warriors walked into the room just then, he would have attacked. Would have been unable to stop himself. And wouldn't have cared.

Cronus could have killed Anya, and there would have been no way for Lucien to aid her. He hadn't been able to help Mariah, and the guilt had tormented him ever since. Anya, though...He roared, loud and long.

"Uh, you wanna explain this?" a woman asked when he quieted.

Hearing the voice, he wheeled around with a snarl. He saw the outline of a lithe female form. Pale hair. Delicate shoulders. He clutched a sword in his hand. Kill, kill, kill.

Scowling, he stomped toward her.

She backed away. "Lucien?"

Lifting the sword high above his head, he gave it a menacing twirl. KILL. The tip flew down, aiming for the woman's neck. She must have moved because the sword hit the floor rather than flesh. He hissed.

A moment later, something tapped his shoulder from behind.

He swung around. A fist connected with his nose. His head whipped to the side, and warm liquid rushed down his lips and chin.

"You better calm down, Death, or you're going to make me mad."

He lifted the sword again, but it was knocked from his grip. With another roar, he leapt forward, grabbing the woman. He shook her, meaning to snap her in half.

"Lucien," she said, and this time there was a calming, hypnotic quality to her voice. "Lucien. Seriously. I'm not a rag doll. Calm down. Tell me what's wrong."

Finally a sense of awareness slithered into his mind and man raced ahead of demon. His captive's skin was hot - he recognized that heat. She smelled like strawberries and cream - he recognized that fragrance.

"Tell sweet little Anya what's going on in that fat head of yours," she cooed. Soft hands caressed his cheeks. "Pretty please, with a cherry on top of me."

Anya.

The name echoed in his mind, cracking the red haze and allowing light inside. He blinked his eyes and a perfect pixie came into focus. A snowfall of hair. Bright blue eyes. Pink cheeks.

"Anya?"

"Right here, lover."

Dear gods. He glanced around the room, saw the destruction and the blood. His blood. He'd cut his hands, he recalled, when he'd punched the walls. Regret slammed into him.

Not again.

"Did I hurt you?" He returned his attention to the woman in his arms, studying her intently. Her skin was rosy soft, not bruised, and her eyes were gleaming. She wore a tight black T-shirt and equally tight black pants, neither of which were ripped. Glittery black heels encased her feet, open at the toes and showcasing black-painted toenails.

"Did I hurt you?" he repeated.

"Would you care?" she asked, head tilting to the side. "I mean, you've wanted to in the past."

He pressed his lips together. He could not let her know how much he was coming to admire her. How much he was coming to need her. I think your tongue on her clitoris told her plenty. Only when he'd stolen that key from her and her life was safe would he admit to such feelings.

"Never mind," she said airily. "The answer wouldn't matter anyway." She turned her back on him, strode to the couch he'd hacked to bits and settled on the tattered arm. "Really, what was that about? I've never seen a more demonic display. Your eyes were red." She shuddered. "Freaky stuff, and not in a good way."

"I told you once not to make me angry." Gods, he couldn't believe he had journeyed so far toward the dark side of his nature. He was always so careful. The thought of Anya hurt, however...He had to cut off another roar.

He would never have been able to kill her, Lucien at last admitted. Not even in the beginning. It was disgusting, really, how protective he felt of her. He was as bad as Maddox. "What do you want from me, Anya? Why did you come back?"

"First, to do this." She was tsking under her tongue as she stood and sauntered to him. She gripped his chained wrist and drew it into a muted beam of moonlight streaming in from the window. With her other hand, she waved it over the metal.

A bright amber radiance glowed from between her fingers. He felt warmth, felt the chain snap open and heard it fall to the floor.