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 her head, breaking free of his sensual hold. Take that.
Don’t give him a reaction, she reminded herself. She moved her gaze to his massive chest and considered what to do next, all the while sucking on her favorite strawberry lollipop. “You owe me a favor, Flowers, and I’m calling it in. You are not to kill me.”
There was a torturous pause. Then, “You know I must.” He stiffened, as if fortifying himself. “Ask me to make it painless. That I can do. Ask me to kiss you before I take your soul. That, too, I can do.”
“Sorry, babydoll. I think I’ll stick with not killing me. And as a reminder, I told you a few weeks ago that I’d kill you if you tried to renege on your favor.”
Another pause, this one heavier, longer. He tangled a hand through his hair, his expression one of agony. “Why does Cronus want you dead?”
“You already answered that. I’m too wild.” She sat back on the swing, slid one hand slowly, covertly, down her leg and dug into her boot, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of one of her daggers. She might be crazy-aroused by this man despite his mission, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I do not believe that is the only reason,” Lucien said.
“Maybe he tried to score and I laughed at him.” A lie. She refused to admit the truth, however, so the lie would have to do.
Some emotion finally took center stage on Lucien’s features; what, she didn’t know. All she knew was that it was hard and uncompromising. “Maybe he was your lover and you spurned him. Maybe you chose another over him. Maybe you purposefully aroused him and left him, making him feel like a fool.”
Her eyes narrowed once more, focusing on him with razor-sharp intensity. She popped to her feet, hiding the blade behind her back. “That’s a very rude thing to say. As if I would lower myself to playing a man I had no interest in.”
Lucien uttered something that sounded very much like, “You played me.”
Her brows furrowed as her anger spiked. “Believe what you want to believe, but you have no reason to feel hurt.”
“You are Anarchy. I doubt you concern yourself with other people’s feelings.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she snapped.
“I know you dance like you’re having sex, and I know that you taste like every man’s downfall.”
Damn him. The words alone would have aroused her. Paired with his husky, wine-rich voice, and she lost her anger, suddenly ready to tumble straight into his arms. Rather than admit that, she said, “I stand corrected. You aren’t rude. You’re diabolical.” What did it say about her that she now found him all the more appealing?
“Nevertheless, it is true.” His head tilted to the side as he studied her. Though he’d donned that emotionless mask again, there was a white-hot, dangerous aura to him. “Are you always so free with your affections?”
There had been no condemnation in his tone, but the comment still bothered her. She could recall several gods asking her mother the same question, just as she could recall the flicker of hurt in her mother’s eyes each and every time a lover suggested she was not good enough for him. Lucien would pay for that.
Anya ran her tongue over the lollipop’s round tip, lingering over the fruity flavor in a pretend show of indifference. Meanwhile, her hidden fingers tightened around the dagger’s hilt, her nails reaching skin and cutting deep.
“So what if I am?” she finally said. “Most men are easy with their affections and they’re praised, thought of as sexual gods.”
He ignored her comment. The Lords were good at that, obviously. “Before I—” He pressed his lips together, shook his head. He must have changed his mind about what to say to her because he didn’t finish the sentence. “Explain something to me.” As if realizing he would get no answers from her otherwise, he added, “Please.”
She
