CHAPTER THREE
I’VE COME TO KILL YOU.
The words echoed through Anya’s mind, a bleak promise she couldn’t quiet. Lucien never joked. She knew that well. Had watched him all these weeks without seeing a single smile or hearing a hint of humor pass his exquisite lips. More than that, the spirit of Death radiated from him now, a skeletal mask glowing underneath his skin.
The scent of roses thickened the air, almost mesmerizing, beseeching her to do anything and everything he asked. Even die.
Her heart skipped a beat. She’d seen him take a soul before; it had been a morbidly beautiful sight, yet one she’d never thought to experience firsthand. Shewas immortal, after all. But she knew better than most that even immortals could be slain.
The night she’d cut the heart from the Captain of the Guard, ending his miserable existence once and for all, the prospect of mortality had become very clear. Of course, it had become even clearer after her arrest and subsequent imprisonment while the gods debated what to do with her.
Every day inside her cell, the bars had seemed to tighten around her and the screams and moans of the other prisoners had seemed to grow louder. Maybe they’d been her screams. Being unable to nourish her need to create disorder had hurt unbearably.
She’d quickly realized life, even for an immortal, could be ruined or ended too soon. And she’d decided to fight for hers, then and always. No matter what. Freedom, whether physical or emotional, would never be taken from her again.
The gods had thought otherwise. Ultimately they’d decided to make her a sex slave to their warriors. A fitting punishment, they’d said. She’d taken their captain; now she could comfort the captain’s army.
It would have destroyed her—mind, body and soul. Her determination might have withered. But her father had come for her, rescued her, despite the retribution he would heap on himself. Once again, she’d been free. Once again, she’d had a chance at the happiness she’d always craved.
And now Lucien, a man she desired, a man she’d kissed, wanted to end her, take everything from her? A thousand different emotions bubbled inside her, and she wasn’t sure which to concentrate on first. Fury? Confusion? Hurt?
“Why do you want to hurt me?” she demanded.
“I do not want to hurt you. I must. Apparently, you are too wild to roam free.”
Oh, those words rankled! It was one thing for all Olympus to rebuff her—she was used to that. But for some reason, despite everything, Lucien’s opinion of her mattered.
“How did you find me?” she repeated.
Not a flicker of feeling touched Lucien’s cold expression. “That doesn’t matter.”
“I could disappear in the blink of an eye.”
“Run and I will find you again. No matter where you go, I will always find you.”
Both seductive and frightening. “Why don’t you attack me, then? Get it over with so there doesn’t have to be another chase?”
He raised his chin, his jaw squaring stubbornly. “I will. I want you out of my mind first.”
Doing her best to appear casual, she leaned back against the swing’s chain. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted, honey. Is wild little Anya so bad a kisser the disgust of knowing you’ve had your tongue in her mouth refuses to leave you?” She sounded as unconcerned as she looked—she hoped—but inside, she trembled.
How did the sight of him still manage to affect her? Worse, now that she knew the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against hers and the sensation of his hands clutching her, drawing her closer, all of her reactions to him seemed to be intensified.
She craved more. Perhaps it’s time to visit a therapist.
“I’m sure you know how good your kisses are.” There was a trace of bitterness in the words.
“You make that sound like a crime.”
“It is.”
Anya’s eyelids narrowed to tiny slits. She’d been alive a long time; she hadn’t lived as a complete innocent, but she hadn’t lived promiscuously, either. Why would she, even before her curse, when she knew the pain of being labeled easy?
Like anyone, however, Anya craved admiration and affection. She liked the way men looked at her and had often lain awake in bed, wishing for the sexual relationship she could never allow herself.
“We can do this easily, Anya.”
“What, kiss again?”
He gulped forcefully. “See to your death.”
Don’t give him a reaction. A good warrior always used an adversary’s emotions against him, and Lucien was a damn good warrior. But so was she. “Tell me again why you want to kill me, sweetcakes. I’ve forgotten.”
A muscle ticked under his eye. “I told you. I do not want to slay you, but the gods have ordered me to do so.”
And no one, not even a Lord of the Underworld, could disobey the gods without severe consequences. Dread curdled her stomach. Still, she had to admit she was glad Lucien had not come eagerly.
“All gods or one?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“One. Cronus.”
“The bastard king,” she said, just for the god’s benefit. I hope you’re listening, you greedy coward.
Lucien cringed, proving he did indeed fear the wrath of the god. He should. Cronus had clearly skipped school the day mercy was explained.
The moment the Titan had broken free of his heavenly prison, he’d quickly and brutally conquered the Greeks and imprisoned the survivors. That’s when Anya had returned to the heavens and freed a few. That’s also when he’d caught her and locked her back up, demanding her greatest treasure in exchange for her freedom. Before he could punish her for her refusal, she’d escaped. Score one for Team Anya. Shortly after, he’d found her a second time and threatened her with the Lords. Now here she and Lucien were, about to go Halo 3 on each other. Score one for Team Cronus.
“Sure you want to obey such a meanie?” she asked.
Lucien’s gaze met hers, ensnaring her, disrupting her determination. “I must, and nothing you say can sway me from my purpose.”
She arched a brow, doing her best to appear confident. “Wanna bet?”
“No. That would only give you false hope.” A gentle breeze swirled between them, and strands of his dark hair brushed his face. He hooked them behind his ears, allowing nothing to obstruct the invisible cord between them.
With the action, the dark slashes of his eyebrows, the strong slope of his nose and the hard cut of his scarred cheeks became more prominent. But it was his eyes she kept returning to. His brown iris seemed to anchor her, while his blue iris swirled, drawing her deeper and deeper into a world where only he existed.
Obey me. Submit.
The words whispered through her mind.
Her jaw clenched, right along with the rest of her. She knew, knew, what he was trying to do. Lull her into a sense of calmness and force her to willingly accept his death blow.
Hell, no. Not her. If there was one skill she’d mastered in the centuries since she’d been cursed, it was the art of resisting a man. She shook