“For the last time, woman, I do not want to hurt you,” he gritted out. “I’m being forced.”
She gazed down at her nails and yawned. “Are you going to put up a fight or not? This is becoming boring. Or, wait. Are you always this weak?”
Perhaps she shouldn’t have taunted him. Light a fire, get burned. He was in front of her a moment later, kicking at her ankles and shoving her to the ground. Her back hit and breath wheezed from her lungs, momentarily cutting off her air supply and leaving her dizzy.
Next his weight pinned her down. Her arms were free, so she balled a fist and slammed it into his nose. His head lashed to the side as cartilage snapped and blood poured. But the cartilage realigned in seconds and the blood ceased flowing.
He glared down at her. “Fight like a girl, for gods’ sake,” he said between shallow breaths, struggling to grab her wrists. Then, finally, he caught them.
That easily, he had her restrained. Aias had held her down like this, but only for a moment. She’d quickly managed to buck him off. Lucien, she couldn’t budge no matter how hard she tried. And yet, she wasn’t filled with the same sense of murderous rage. She was excited. “You’re hurting me,” she lied.
He made the mistake of releasing her wrists. She punched him again, this time in the eye. The bone cracked from the impact, swelling—she laughed; turning black—she laughed harder. Healing—she pouted.
“You are not going to flash,” he ground out. His gaze was boring into her and that rose-fresh scent was clouding her mind, urging her to relax, to stay where she was and not fight him any longer.
She softened into the ground and licked her lips. Two could play the seduce-me game. Not because it would be fun, she assured herself. “No, I won’t flash. I’m too busy imagining my thighs wrapped around your waist.”
His pupils dilated, and he groaned. “Stop that. I command you.”
“Stop what?” she asked innocently.
“Stop saying things like that. And stop looking at me like that.”
“You mean, like you’re going to be my dinner?”
He gave a single jerk of his head.
“Can’t,” she said with a slow grin.
“Yes, you can. You will.”
“When you stop looking so edible, then I’ll obey.” But as she issued the sultry promise, her mind was racing. You’re a fighter, Anarchy. You’ve battled immortals stronger than Death. Playtime is over.
Forcing herself from Lucien’s erotic pull and drawing on the instincts that had kept her alive through the darkest days of her existence, she flashed behind him. Without her body to hold him up, he smashed facefirst into the sand.
It has to be this way. As he came up sputtering, she kicked him, swiftly sending him back down. Then she leapt on top of him, straddling his hips and wrapping her fingers around his jaw to twist and break his neck.
But he, too, flashed, appearing in front of a palm tree several feet away from her. Her knees hit the dirt before she was able to right herself and stand. He made no move toward her. Panting, she brushed the sand from her legs. The gentle breeze was filled with the mockingly serene aroma of coconuts and salt water. Roses. I almost killed him, she thought, shaken.
“At this rate, neither of us will win,” he said.
She pasted a cocky grin on her face. “Who are you trying to fool? I’m totally winning.”
He slammed a fist into the tree, knocking several pieces of red fruit to the ground. “There must be another way. Surely there is a way around your death.”
His vehemence made her tingle; his sudden willingness to try to save her made her ache. She sighed. The man could shove her from one end of the emotional gauntlet to the other in seconds. “If you’re thinking of petitioning Cronus, don’t. He won’t change his mind, and he’ll punish you for attempting it.”
Lucien splayed his arms wide, the very picture of exasperated male. “Why can’t he kill you himself?”
“You’d have to ask him.” She shrugged as if she didn’t know the answer.
“Anya,” Lucien said, a warning. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“Anya!”
“No!” She could have flashed to her knives, but didn’t. She could have flashed to him, but didn’t do that, either. Instead she waited, curious as to what the warrior would do or say next.
He expelled a sigh, the perfect mimic of her own, as his arms fell back to his sides. “What are we going to do about this, then?”
“Make out?” she suggested cheekily. She’d meant the words as a taunt, a jest, hating that she would have gone to him in a heartbeat if he’d given her any encouragement. I’m pathetic.
He blanched as if she’d struck him.
Irritated, she ran her tongue over her teeth. Was the thought of kissing her again that abhorrent? “Why do you hate me?” she found herself asking before she could stop the words. Damn it. She sounded ashamed, as if the woman she was didn’t deserve to be loved. Sorry, Mom. Dysnomia had taught her better.
“I do not hate you,” Lucien admitted softly.
“Oh, really? You look ready to vomit at the thought of touching me.”
A wry smile greeted her words, there one moment, gone the next. Anya nearly fell to the ground in awe. Finally, a true smile from him. She should have known it would be sensually potent, decadent. Addicting. Already she craved another. His grin was as radiant as the sun.
“And yet I have an erection,” he said in a tone as wry as his expression.
Okay. Who was this man? First a smile, and now he was teasing her. Her blood heated and her nipples hardened (again). “A man doesn’t have to like a woman to want her.” He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. “Just hush it, okay. I don’t want to hear your response.” He would ruin the happy buzz she had going, she just knew it. “Stand there and look pretty while I think.”
“You’re purposely trying to provoke me, are you not?”
Yes, she was. A foolish move on her part, really. He’d been ordered to render her death blow. Every time she incited him, she probably made the thought of it a little easier for him to bear. But she couldn’t help herself. That smile…
“Have you no answer for me?”
“Not one I’m willing to share.” Why did he have to look so sexy standing there? The sun was acting like his lover, caressing him, weaving an angelic halo around his dark head. Yes, angelic. He was a fallen angel just then, causing her pulse points to throb and her stomach to quiver.
Why couldn’t they have been simply a man and a woman?
