The Darkest Kiss

probably would have thought she'd made the whole thing up to keep him at bay.

'We both know it will not stop him from obeying me,' Cronus said. 'He loves his warriors too much to watch them suffer, even if the price of their freedom is his own.'

'So why hasn't he obeyed you already, huh?'

'You have bewitched him.'

She should be so lucky. She sighed, the sound part exasperation, part remembered pleasure. Lucien…Even now he was in bed. Naked. Did he still want her?

His desire had been a thing of beauty, and she'd been eager to see it through to the end. To taste him again. She, too, probably would have climaxed again, for just the thought of sucking him to another orgasm made her tremble.

Trying to distract herself, she flipped her hair over one shoulder and eyed Cronus. Time to get his mind off Lucien. 'Having the key might—might—fortify Tartarus and make it the stronghold it once was, locking the Greeks inside forevermore so that they don't escape like you did. But where is the fun in that? Where's the adventure?'

'I lost my sense of adventure long ago.' He waved a dismissive hand through the air. 'I will not be overthrown again. I will not have the Greeks escaping, and I will not have you aiding them. To ensure my continued reign, I need the key.'

'Listen, you're not the only one with problems. I'm hunted on a daily basis, remember? Giving up the key means losing my strength, my abilities, my memories—perhaps even my freedom. If I'm ever locked away again, I won't be able to escape.'

'I have offered you my protection in the past. You have always turned me down.'

'And I will continue to do so.' He could change his mind. He could demand further payment from her to continue protecting her. He could forget about her.

'Tell me what you want, then, and it is yours. Things do not have to end badly for you.'

'There's nothing I want.' Things were perfect for her right now. No one could bind her, and no one could kill her without severe consequences. She had a kind-of boyfriend who rocked her world, even if they couldn't seal the deal. Why give any of that up?

Besides, anything she wanted she could procure on her own. And she did have a plan for getting Cronus off her trail. Those artifacts the Lords were searching for. Cronus wanted them back. They were a source of his power, and as she well knew, Cronus loved him some power.

Once she had them—and used them to find Pandora's box—she'd trade them for that vow of protection. Even from him. For herself, for Lucien. Best of all, she'd still have the key.

She studied her nails. 'Mind if I take off now? This conversation is boring and I have places to go, yada, yada, yada.'

Cronus's eyes narrowed. 'One day in the near future I will know what it takes to humble you. I will know what it takes to crush you. And when I do, you will wish you had given the key to me this day.'

He disappeared in a melodramatic flash of blinding blue light. Anya stumbled forward, knees suddenly going weak. She scrubbed a hand down her face, feeling the first tremors of anxiety. Antagonizing the king of gods had not been smart, but it was not in her nature to cower or obey.

I will know what it takes to crush you, he'd said, and she believed him. All Cronus had to do was threaten to destroy Lucien, and she feared she would give him anything. Maybe even the key. She couldn't let Cronus know how much Lucien was coming to mean to her, that her days and nights were filled with thoughts of him.

Cronus had to suspect, at least a little, she realized. Why else offer her Lucien's eternal affections?

Shit, she thought. She'd have to do something to throw the big cheese off. Would ignoring Lucien, painful as it sounded, do the trick? Or would Cronus see the longing on her face, the torment in her eyes? Hell, would she even be able to stay away from Lucien? She hadn't managed the feat yet.

Wouldn't be wise to keep her distance, she decided. She would find the artifacts faster working with him rather than against him. Relief and need trembled through her. I get to be with him again.

Yeah, you get to be with him, but you can't let Cronus see how much you care.

She frowned, relief fading. Did that mean there could be no more physical pleasure?

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.