ever came of his anger.
He exhaled slowly as he turned and surveyed his bedroom. Morning had already arrived, he realized with surprise. With all that flashing, he’d lost track of the different time zones. Sunlight streamed through the room’s only window. Except for Maddox and Torin, all of the warriors had, most likely, left for their respective destinations in Greece and Rome. I need to do the same. Anya can be taken care of later, when I’m not reeling from the taste and feel of her.
He strode to his closet, along the way noticing three vases perched on his vanity. Each overflowed with white, winter flowers and emitted a honey scent. They hadn’t been here last night, which meant Ashlyn had been here this morning. Sweet, tenderhearted Ashlyn had probably thought to brighten his day with them, but seeing the blooms caused a pang of regret to tear through his chest.
Mariah used to pick flowers and weave them in her hair.
His door suddenly swung open and Ashlyn rushed inside, concern lighting her pretty face. Maddox, as always, was right behind her, a slash of black menace and lethal grace. He held two blades, poised and ready for attack.
“Everything okay?” Ashlyn asked when she spotted only Lucien. Light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her arms. Arms clutched together in worry. For him? “We were walking down the hall and heard a bang.”
“Everything is fine,” he assured her. But he kept his attention on Maddox, whose violet eyes were narrowed. Get her out of here, he silently willed, not wanting to hurt Ashlyn’s feelings. I am not myself.
Lucien was dangerously close to losing all semblance of his legendary control. The strain had to show on every line of his face.
Understanding, Maddox gave a nod. “Ashlyn.” He curled a hand around her shoulder. “Lucien is preparing for his journey to the temple. Let’s leave him to it.”
She didn’t shrug off the warrior’s hold. Rather, she leaned into him. She also refused to budge. Her gaze dipped over Lucien, scrutinizing, gauging. “You don’t look fine.”
“All is well,” he lied. How many would he tell? He bent down, clasped the handles of his bag and threw it onto the bed.
“Your hand is bleeding and your bones are… Dear God.” Frowning, she reached out.
Maddox grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her. He was keeper of Violence, yet he was gentle with his woman, so protective and possessive of her it was almost comical.
“Maddox,” she said, exasperated. “I just want to see how bad his injuries are. We might have to reset the bones.”
“Lucien will heal, and you need to rest.”
“Rest, rest, rest. I’m four weeks pregnant, not sickly.”
The proud couple had announced the news mere days ago. Then and now, Lucien was happy for them, but he also wondered what the offspring of a demon-possessed warrior and a mortal female with unusual powers would be. Half-demon? Fully demon? Completely mortal? Once, he’d wondered the same thing about a child of his own. His and Mariah’s. But she had been taken from him before they’d even decided to try to conceive.
“Your man is correct,” he said. “I am fine.”
Determination radiated from Ashlyn, her large brown eyes never leaving Lucien. Tenderhearted she might be, but she was also stubborn to her very core.
She had grown up in a science lab, studied and used for a unique ability she’d only just learned to control. Wherever she stood, Ashlyn could hear every conversation that had taken place there, no matter how many years had passed. She could not, however, hear prior conversations between him and the other immortals, which had to irk her when she desired answers they wouldn’t give.
“Word has already spread about you and a woman at the club,” she said, blinking innocently. “Who is she?”
“She is no one.” Except the new center of his world. Anya, beautiful Anya. His hands curled tightly at his sides. Even her name excited him, caused his blood to simmer deliciously and his body to ready for sex. She’s not for you. “Warriors should not gossip.”
He and Anya probably looked silly together. Her, the epitome of lush femininity. Him, an ugly beast of a man. Still, he could not stop himself from imagining his hand fisted in her hair, his body pounding in and out of hers. Hard, fast. Slow, tender.
Pretty, Death suddenly growled.
Lucien blinked in surprise. Usually the demon remained a compulsion rather than a voice; always a part of him, yet always distanced. Why it would speak up now, he didn’t know. Still, he found himself replying. Yes, she is. Four times he had seen her. Four times he had spoken to her. For these past few weeks, he had scented her. Already she was ingrained in his cells—his thoughts, his desires, his purpose—more than anyone else, even his beloved Mariah, had ever been.
Want her. Death again.
Yes.
Tastes good. Have her before we kill her.
No! Even as he shouted the word inside his head, he felt the demon tugging at him, trying to force him to find Anya.
He planted his feet into the ground. Not yet.
“Lucien,” Ashlyn prompted, drawing his attention back to her. The pressure inside of him eased. “I’m not a warrior, so I can gossip. You kissed her. Everyone said they saw you—”
“I am fine, and the woman is of no concern,” he lied. Gods, another. Usually he abhorred lies. He reached out to tweak Ashlyn’s nose, heard Maddox growl and dropped his arm. Maddox did not like for anyone else to touch his female. Ever. And for the first time, Lucien understood that. He despised the thought of other men touching Anya.
Idiot. The woman manipulated with a smile on her perfect face, and he was willing to bet that, like her mother, she had been intimate with legions. Whether she’d used those lovers for pleasure or power, he didn’t know. Shouldn’t care.
What if she were seducing another right now, trying to secure protection from Lucien?
A roar shoved from his throat and he found himself twisting, moving to confront the wall again, punching, punching, his knuckles throbbing insistently. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maddox whip Ashlyn behind his back.
What are you doing? Anya can well take care of herself. She doesn’t need a man to protect her.
Perhaps she was alone on the beach, as needy and confused as he was. The thought softened the edges of his anger, even as it made his body incredibly hard. But as much as he wished to believe it, he knew a woman like her would not crave a scarred man like him. Not truly. No matter how hot her kisses. How many had turned away from him over the centuries? How many had cringed when he neared?
Countless.
And that had been—was—just the way he liked it.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. “How is Torin?” he asked, changing the subject as he stalked to the bed. “I do not like how slowly he is healing.”
Ashlyn
