The Darkest Kiss

glinted against the white flakes, she noticed the shimmery outline of an arched…doorway? Somehow the air was thicker there, like clear, rippling water.

Whooping, she threw her arms around Lucien. 'This is it. This has to be it! Where do you think it leads?'

'Perhaps it is nothing,' Lucien said.

William's head fell back and he stared up at the starless sky. Praying? 'Maybe we should turn back.'

'Hell, no,' Anya said, releasing Lucien and stepping forward. 'Lead the way or step aside, Willie. We're going through that thing.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PARIS HAD BEEN SHOCKED when Sienna actually stripped. That's all it had taken to fill his cock with blood and lust: the sight of her naked body. She was too thin, as he'd suspected, her breasts small. But they were tipped with the prettiest nipples he'd ever seen. Pink, ripe, made for sucking.

He'd been shocked further when she'd climbed onto the table and straddled him. Shocked still when she'd slid down his swollen shaft without preamble, without any type of foreplay, her hot sheath swallowing him whole.

And yet, a woman had never been so wet or ready for what he offered. As she'd pumped her way up and down his shaft, he'd roared and roared and roared. He'd hated his chains because he hadn't been able to plump her breasts. He'd hated his chains because he hadn't been able to rub her clit.

Most of all, he'd hated his chains because he hadn't been able to pull that plain little face down for a bruising, punishing kiss of teeth and tongue.

Didn't matter, though, he now thought darkly. He'd be able to punish her soon enough.

She'd gotten off quickly, exploding with a fury that surprised him. So had he. In a matter of minutes, an orgasm had rocked him to the core—right along with a healthy dose of humiliation. He'd never come so quickly. Shouldn't care, he'd told himself, because what none of his human captors could know was that, with every stroke of Sienna's inner walls, he'd felt his strength returning. Felt himself grow stronger and stronger and stronger.

Right now she was collapsed on his chest, panting and sated, silent, body slicked with sweat. Do it. It's time. Eyes narrowed, he gave a mighty jolt. The chains around his wrists and ankles broke, freeing him. After all his unsuccessful struggling, he was amazed by how easy it was.

At the clink, Sienna bolted upright. Her hair had come undone and fell all around her face in a wild tangle of browns. Her eyes were big and vulnerable, her skin flushed a rosy pink. Before she could jump off him, he grabbed her by the waist and hopped off the table, holding her under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

An alarm instantly screeched to life.

Yeah, the Hunters had been watching. He bent down and snapped up Sienna's shirt. He shoved it over her head. 'Dress.'

'Paris,' she gasped, struggling against his hold. 'Don't do this. Please.' She no longer sounded like the unemotional traitor who'd drugged him. She sounded like a woman who'd just had the best orgasm of her life and was scared for the life of her lover.

What a good little actress she was.

'You better keep your mouth shut, woman.' He didn't bother with clothes for himself as he strode to the cell doorway. 'I will hurt you. Quite happily, too.'

'If you try to escape, they might forget about unleashing your demon and kill you!'

'It's not like you really care, and they're welcome to try.' He hoped they did. He couldn't hurt Sienna—yet— but he needed to hurt someone and release some of the tension inside him. Who better than a Hunter?

Some kind of dry spray rained from the ceiling, filling the cell with mist. It didn't affect him, just caused his eyes to tear a little, but Sienna began gagging. 'How do I open the door?'

She rattled off some kind of code. He punched the numbers into the small, glowing box on the wall and the door slid open. Lights suddenly popped on, drowning the shadows.

Paris maintained a tight hold on his bundle as he stepped into the hallway. Red velvet walls surrounded him; naked white statues towered from marble daises.

A cathedral? Seriously?

There was no time to ponder his location. A flood of Hunters raced toward him, each firing a gun. Pop. Whiz. No longer willing to keep him alive, were they? They were using silencers, he realized. Probably concerned with the noise level, which meant they were afraid to draw a crowd—which meant they were in a well-populated area.

The demon inside him snapped and snarled in rage, quickly and easily propelling him out of the line of fire. Sienna bounced at his side. Once, she gasped. But that was it, the only noise she made. Better, she stopped fighting him.

Barreling forward, he kicked two Hunters in the stomach and sent them sailing into a sculpture of the Virgin Mary. The sculpture wavered on her perch, and one of the Hunters dropped his semi-automatic. Paris snatched it with his free hand and began shooting, continuing to move forward at a rapid pace.

He turned a corner, found more Hunters and kept firing. More shots were aimed at him, but he dodged. Only three managed to graze him. When he ran out of bullets, he tossed the gun aside and grabbed another. They lined the halls—as did dead bodies. He flew around another corner, and Sienna's breasts brushed his skin. He felt…no, surely not. He'd just had her. He could not get hard again. Not by her. But blood began to fill and harden his cock.

Never, in thousands of years, had he desired the same woman twice. He wasn't even sure what would happen if he gave in to the urge. Would the demon inside him go crazy? Would he go crazy?

'Which way?' he demanded of Sienna when he came to a fork in the hall.

'Left,' she gasped out.

'If you are lying…'

'I'm not.'

He turned left and leapt into a full sprint. A towering double doorway loomed ahead, three Hunters racing from it. They raised their guns at him, their expressions intent. He tried to fire, but he had used the last bullet.

He ducked and dove, shouting, 'Hang on,' to Sienna.

She did, winding her legs around his waist. He hit the ground and she bounced, and together they rolled into the Hunters, knocking them down like pins in the path of a bowling ball.

While they were down, he swiped up another gun and shot them in the skulls. Blood and brains splattered. Sienna whimpered, but didn't speak. Paris experienced a twinge of guilt that she'd witnessed his most violent side, but quickly tamped it out. Her opinion of him no longer mattered.

He shoved through the doors and found himself outside. The warm night air was sweet, innocent. Looking around, he realized that he was still in Greece and that he had indeed been inside a cathedral. Humans stood on the steps, gaping at his blood-stained nudity and muttering about the commotion.

In the distance, he could hear the wail of a siren.

Steps swift, he made his way to the side of the building and into a darkened ally. Sienna moaned, and it was a pain-filled sound. His gaze sought her. She was limp as a doll.

'Look at me.'

She turned her head slowly, and he saw that her eyes were pooled with unshed tears, her features bright with anguish. He felt something warm run down his hip and frowned.

When he was certain they were alone, he set her down and looked her over. She'd managed to work her arms through the shirt and the material hung to her thighs.

His chest constricted. She was bleeding profusely, the shirt already plastered to her stomach in a wide crimson circle.

She'd been shot.