The Darkest Pleasure (Lords of the Underworld #3)(53)

All of the men were staring at Anya in awe and lust they couldn't hide.

"Mine," Lucien said, watching her with desire in his mismatched eyes.

Paris had to close his eyes for a moment. I want one of those. I want a "mine."

Maddox looked at Ashlyn that way. Reyes looked at Danika that way. It was as if the women hung the moon and stars. But what had such a thing gotten Reyes? Grief, most definitely. A death sentence followed the woman everywhere she went, and more than that, Sabin believed she had joined the Hunters and was gathering information for them about the Lords and Pandora's box.

"The Darkest Pleasure"

Sabin wanted her dead, like, yesterday. Had even palmed a gun last night while Reyes slept, meaning to plant a bullet in Danika's brain and save Aeron from a fate the warrior had once considered worse than death. Lucien had stopped him. Somehow, someway, Danika's presence calmed Reyes's need for pain. Since her arrival, he hadn't jumped from the fortress roof or pursued any of his usual dangerous activities. He cut himself, yes, but the death wish was clearly gone.

A Lord could not ask for more.

It's what they all craved: peace after an eternity of war and agony and blood. How could they knowingly steal that miracle from one of their own? They couldn't. So they'd left Reyes to deal with the woman alone. Well, not alone. Torin, Kane - the keeper of Disaster and a man you could not take anywhere without lightbulbs shorting out and plaster falling from ceilings - and Cameo remained in the fortress, monitoring the computers, guarding the home from invaders. Oh, and William. Not that Paris had any confidence in the man's skills.

Violence, Disease, Disaster and Misery together. Now, that should be fun, Paris thought dryly. Grinning, he shook his head. Sienna would have loved to get her delicate little hands on that information. She would have -

What amusement he'd entertained died a fast death, leaving him once more barren inside and sporting a fierce frown. He had to stop thinking of her. She was dead. Burned. A hated enemy, besides.

Fat raindrops blazed from the sky like arrows, slamming into the ground, pummeling everywhere but where the warriors stood, some hitting the ground so viciously they rebounded onto Paris's freshly polished boots. Hail soon followed, beating like fists.

"Hurry!" someone called.

"The storm's getting worse," another shouted.

Footfalls echoed. Paris was reminded of hamsters running inside a wheel as the humans raced to their boats. With every second that passed, the rain increased in volume and intensity; the hail grew thicker, heavier. Golden bolts of lightning offered a frantic, electric dance. Thunder boomed; dust and debris filled the wind-churning air.

Anya's storm was alive, magnetic, the tiny hairs on Paris's body standing at attention. He closed his eyes for a moment, only a moment, wishing that electricity would infuse his body, killing the hardened man he'd become and returning him to the carefree man he used to be.

When the last of the humans had sped away, the storm rose...until it formed a dome around the temple. No one would be able to see past it to the warriors who would soon be searching the grounds. Not even someone in the air, camera staring down.

"Clear?" Anya asked.

"Clear," Lucien told her.

Slowly she lowered her arms. The rain and hail thinned, catching on and staying outside that dome. The rumble of thunder died.

As the chaos around the temple faded, Paris scanned the area. He caught the glint of silver, the barrel of a gun peeking from behind one of the still-standing marble walls. Anticipation zinged through him as he palmed a gun of his own. Hunter.

For thousands of years, he'd left the battling to Sabin and his crew. He'd tried to live a good life, uneventful and repentant. After all, he'd once helped cast the world into darkness and despair by releasing Pandora's demons. He deserved nothing better.

Now, his past sins no longer mattered. He hated the Hunters more than he hated himself. And after Sienna...

"Hunter," Lucien muttered, his blades already unsheathed. "Eleven o'clock."

"Mine," Paris told him.

"I see him," Sabin said, "and I'm wondering why you get all the fun."

"Mine," Paris repeated.

Sabin rolled his eyes. "I counted six earlier, and I'm betting they're all here, waiting."

Six? "I counted five."

"You miscounted," was all his friend replied, checking the chamber of his .45.

"Every single one of them does not have a gun and those guns are not 9 mm semiautomatics," Gideon the liar said.

Excellent. A shoot-out.

Paris blocked the stream of memories trying to batter their way into his mind: deafening shots, zipping bullets, a feminine gasp of pain. "They haven't seen us or they would have started firing already."

Lucien didn't reply. He disappeared, there one moment, gone the next. He reappeared next to Anya and said something Paris couldn't hear. Anya nodded and seemed to be caught in the center of a small, whipping tornado a moment later. Then the tornado rose above her, creating a thick wall between Hunters and Lords.

The first blast sounded, the first bullet flying. But it hit the wall of wind and fell to the ground, useless.

Lucien was beside him again a second later, Anya nowhere to be seen. Her protests echoed, though. " - tricked me. The wall was to save you, not protect me so you could flash me." He must have taken her home. Or above the dome to continue wielding the storm. Another shot rang out, and one of the Hunters yelled, "Demons!"