The Darkest Kiss

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HE WAS GOING TO MARK HER.

The moment Lucien had seen William the Handsome put his hands on Anya, an all-consuming need had rushed through him: mark her so that every man who looked at her knew she belonged to someone else.

The need was stronger than his rage had ever been. The need was more potent than even his desire to have this woman in his bed. Everything inside him, even the demon, screamed mine.

A word she, too, had used to describe him. Had they been alone when she'd said it, he would have thrown her onto the nearest bed and demanded she repeat the word over and over again.

Nothing like this had ever happened to him. Not even with Mariah had he acted this volatile. He'd loved her, but his emotions toward her had been peaceful. Tender. What he felt for Anya was tender, yes, but it was also as uncontrollable as a midnight tempest.

Yet as wild as Lucien felt, his demon had never been calmer. Somehow, Anya had soothed the beast. Hearing her voice, smelling her sweetness…even now Death purred for her.

"F-finish?" she gasped. She flattened her palms against his chest. Not pushing, but not welcoming, either. Her eyes were wide, heated. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." Overhead he could hear those two females giggling. Could hear William uttering a mock growl. "You left me hard, and now you're going to take care of it."

Her eyes widened farther, black lashes so long they cast those pretty shadows on her cheeks. "But I thought we weren't going there anymore. I told you I didn't want you. And I thought you didn't want me because I…because I…you know." She looked away from him, over his shoulder. "Was sorry for you and all."

"You thought wrong." He wouldn't penetrate her—he couldn't take her freedom, no matter how angry he was with her—but he was going to have her in every other way. "We can do it here, or we can do it in my chambers in Budapest. The choice is yours."

"But…but…" Still she struggled. "What brought this on? William?"

"Choose," he barked. He slapped his hands on the wall behind her, beside her temples, the vibrations knocking the two portraits above her together.

She shivered and licked her lips.

He got in her face, placing them nose to nose. Their breath mingled, and he drew hers into his lungs. She still smelled of strawberries and cream, though he hadn't seen her with a lollipop. Her gaze snapped back to his, blazing with heat.

"Lucien."

She hadn't called him sweetcakes or angel or even the newest, Lucy. That was a step in the right direction. He suspected she picked a foolish endearment for everyone she wanted kept at a distance.

There would be no distance between them. Not anymore.

"Choose, Anya." If she didn't want him, she would simply have flashed away. Besides, there was lust and excitement in her expression, and they fueled both emotions in him. "I do not care what your reasons are for wanting me. I don't care that I should not want you."

She gulped. "But…but…we shouldn't do this."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Not good enough. We are going to do this. Choose."

"But I don't want to?"

He knew she'd meant the words as a statement of fact, yet they had not emerged as such. "Why?" he asked again.

Biting her lips now, she lowered her gaze to his mouth. His cock twitched in reaction. He could deduce what she was imagining. Another stroke of his tongue on her clitoris and a gentle tug from his teeth.

"Bad things will happen if we do," she whispered.

"Like what?" The only bad thing he could think of was going another day without having this woman naked and under him.

An eternity passed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You're right. Now isn't the time for talking. Here or Buda?"

Another lick of her pink tongue. Next time that tongue left her mouth, it was going to be inside his own, he decided. No exceptions.

She swallowed. Whispered, "Here" and threw herself into his arms. Her lips meshed against his.

Yes. Gods, yes. Finally. As their tongues dueled, her taste filling his mouth, he felt weightless. Then his feet hit solid ground. He opened his eyes and found himself inside a spacious bedroom. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, dripping teardrops of muted light. The walls were covered in murals of flowers and vines, each a multihued feast to his gaze.

The bed was huge, with black silk sheets he couldn't wait to press Anya against. There were wooden chests and even a tranquil stone waterfall in the far corner. A beautiful place, to be sure, but he was suddenly tempted to flash Anya somewhere else. Somewhere the handsome William had never set foot in.

Anchoring his hands under Anya's ass, Lucien hefted her up. Her legs immediately hooked around his waist, placing the new center of his universe in close proximity to his cock. He rocked against her, the action as necessary as breathing.

Moaning, she bit down on his bottom lip. He felt a shiver move through her. "More," she gasped out.

He did it again.

Again she bit down and shivered.

Lucien gripped the hem of her shirt and jerked it over her head. That incredible hair tumbled down her bare shoulders. She wore a bra of ice-blue glitter, and the sight of it mesmerized him.

The tops of her breasts pushed upward, beckoning. Lovely, so lovely. Yet they weren't what claimed his attention. Knives were strapped to every inch of visible skin. Some were twined with the bra's straps. Some were simply taped. With what, he didn't know. He only knew he liked it. A lot.

Took him a while, but he finally dropped the last to the floor.

He unhooked her legs from him and set her down. She cried out in protest, wobbled. He kissed her neck. Pleasure lit her lovely face as her head fell back, and she palmed her breasts in invitation. He dropped to his knees, snagging his fingers on the waist of her pants.

He had to know if her panties matched her bra.

In seconds, the tight little pants were at her ankles and he saw that knives and throwing stars were strapped to her legs. "I knew you were armed; I just did not know how much." She braced a hand on his shoulder and stepped out of the pants as he disarmed her.

"You like?" she asked when he finished.

The panties were tiny, a barely-there strap of glittery blue material, a perfect match. He gulped. "I like." His voice was hoarse, broken.

"Your turn," she said, a nervous edge to the words.

Nervous? Anya? Slowly he stood. As he peered down at her, he saw a proud, beautiful woman who radiated vulnerability, joy and affection. And yet she had once told him that he didn't matter. He had told her the very same thing. He hadn't meant it, and he was beginning to believe she hadn't, either.

He knew who to blame and vowed Cronus would pay.

Not allowing himself to spoil the moment with those dark thoughts, Lucien pushed them to the back of his mind and caressed a fingertip along the curve of Anya's delicate jaw. I will take care of this woman. I will find a way to steal the All-Key without harming either of us or I will hide her from Cronus. Then I will spend my days making her happy.

"You are so beautiful," he told her.

"Thank you. Strip."

Gods, he wanted to be inside her—had to be inside, soon, now, always—but refused to steal her freedom, forcing her to stay with him. He dropped his arm before his fingers could lengthen into claws. While researching all possible ways to steal the All-Key without adverse side effects, he would have to find a way to break Anya's curse, as well.

"Well?" she prompted.

He reached back, gripped his shirt and pulled it over his head. Before he'd gotten it all the way off, her hands were on his chest, removing his own weapons. "I think you had me out-armed." She tossed them to the floor, metal clinking against metal. When the last knife was gone, her fingers splayed over him, caressing his nipples, his tattoo.

His stomach tightened and his cock jerked. Heat was spreading through him faster than he could flash. He loved when she touched him. Made him feel like a god, all-powerful, unstoppable. Desired.

"You're so strong," she praised. "I love that you suffered and survived. Does that make me a bad girl?"

He cupped her cheeks. "Nothing could make you bad."

"Not even this…" She unfastened his pants and worked them over his hips, tossing his blades aside along the way.

When he was completely bare, Anya stared at his butterfly tattoo, tracing her fingers over the jagged edges, oohing and ahhing. The skin rose under her touch, heating.

She gasped in delight. "Alive?"

"I had not thought so until now. That is where the demon entered me, as you know, but it has never done that before."

"He must like me."

"He does."

"Good boy," she whispered, kissing the butterfly. Once again, it rose to meet her, tingling where she touched.

Lucien wasn't sure why the gods had chosen butterflies as the external mark of the demon. The Butterfly Effect, perhaps. A reminder that the single flap of a wing—or in the warriors' case, a single foolish decision—could alter the entire fabric of reality. Whatever the rationale, he'd always hated the brand. Why not a weapon or a demon horn? Something that said, well, I Am Man.

Lucien had enough insecurities.

Anya dropped to her knees and pressed a soft kiss to his naval, right at the bottom tip of a wing. Then her hot tongue flicked out, tracing the edge. Electric jolts speared his veins, his organs, even his bones.

Rumbling grunts of satisfaction, he let his head fall back. He was stroking the top of her head, urging her on, when he should have been pulling her to her feet.

"How many women have worshiped this magnificent body?" she whispered. A second later, her nails scored his thigh.

They didn't retract, either.

"Not many," he admitted. Mariah had been fascinated by him, but she'd also been terrified.

He hadn't blamed her for that terror. He had met her only a century or two after his possession, when he'd only just gained control over the demon; he'd still been a bit feral. Yet he'd also been a handsome man, well able to provide a woman pleasure.

She'd taken one look at him and decided he was "the one." He had done the same, for she had represented the gentle nurturing he had always craved. They had fallen into bed right away; she had been a widow and happy to have a warrior to attend her needs and protect her.

But even while she craved his protection—looters, mercenaries and plague had been rampant back then—she had feared that very aspect of him, afraid he would use his strength against her. He'd always been on guard, careful of his every action and word. With Anya, there was freedom to simply let go, for she seemed to bask in his might and revel in his underlying violence.

"I'm going to pretend I'm the first," she said. Her gaze lifted and met his in a heated clash. "Okay?"

"You are in every way that matters."

She smiled with wicked pleasure. "How long has it been for you, Lucien? Since you were last with a woman?"

"Thousands of years," he admitted without shame.

Now her eyes widened. "Surely you jest."

He shook his head. "No, no jest."

"But…why did you willingly deny yourself? You aren't cursed in that way. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I think I like you even more, knowing you have been without, just as I have."

"I like that, too."

"Why, though, did you deny your body's needs?"

"I am Death, Anya. A better question is why allow myself to make love to a woman when I will, perhaps, be called to take her soul one day?"

"Why make love to me, then?" she asked softly.

He tangled his fingers into her hair, marveling that each strand was like a ribbon of silk. "You, I cannot resist."

She leaned into his touch and kissed his palm. "I can't resist you, either, and I'm glad."

"As am I," he said. Anya had been worth the wait. No other woman equaled her in any way.

"I think we're both done waiting." Never pulling her gaze from him, she rose like the moon in the sky and backed up to the bed. When her legs hit the edge of the mattress, she eased down. She scooted back, sexy bra and panties glistening in the muted light.

Once in the center of the bed, she stopped and braced her weight on her elbows.

Her legs parted…parted…parted…revealing the very heart of her. His heart stopped before slamming into a hard, erratic beat as he drank in her beauty. She was perfect sun-and-cream with a navel he wanted to tongue. Her stomach was flat, her thighs lithe.

Trembling, Lucien approached the bed. He hadn't—He stilled abruptly, frowned. Cursed. Death screamed.

"What's wrong?" Anya asked, frowning, too.

"Souls. I hate that this keeps happening at such moments." He had trouble speaking past the demon's ranting inside his head.

"Lucien—"

"Do not move. Please." He disappeared, letting his spirit be pulled in whatever direction was needed. There were two souls in China in need of transport, their bodies destroyed by poison.

One was bound for heaven, one for hell. One, of course, was happy to go with him. The other fought and screamed. Lucien hated leaving Anya and nearly beat the uncooperative spirit to an ethereal pulp. Death raged all the while. Finally, job done, they were able to return.

Seeing Anya, Lucien sighed contentedly. Death calmed.

She wasn't fingering herself this time, but had waited for him. Through the bra, he could see that her nipples were beaded. Her legs were still parted, and he could see the moisture dampening the panties.

When she spotted him, she grinned slowly. "I didn't want to finish without you."

"I am glad." He crawled onto the bed.

Anya stopped him with a foot on his stomach before he could lie on top of her. "I think we need to set a few ground rules."

"No rules." He lifted her foot and kissed the arch.

She fell backward, gasping. "Keep that up, and I'll happily look at my feet."

He licked.

"One. One rule, then." His tongue flicked out again, darting over her big toe. Goose bumps broke over her skin. "Oh, gods," she cried. "No one has ever done that. Who would have thought such a thing would be pleasurable? Oh, yes."

A wave of possessiveness swam through him. The passion on her face would haunt him for the rest of his days, for it was pure and undiluted, uninhibited. "What rule? I have already agreed not to penetrate you."

"Not that," she said, hips arching. "Lick again."

He did.

She moaned.

"What rule?"

"Oh, yeah. My rule." She removed her bra and tossed it aside. It landed on top of the pile of knives. Her nipples were pink little berries made for his tongue. Kneading her breasts, she gasped out, "Neither of us leave this bed until both of us are satisfied. That's my rule."

Of all the things he had expected her to say, that was not even close. His stomach clenched with something he refused to name. "I agree. If you agree to a rule from me."

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Here, in this bed, there will be no fighting." He sucked her toe into his mouth, twirling his tongue. "Only ecstasy."

She gripped the sheets. "Agreed. Agreed, agreed, agreed!"

There was a bellow of lust in his head as he tore the panties off her and finally crawled on top of her. His cock was hot but her feminine core was hotter as he slid against it, careful not to enter.

She didn't shy away, but let him glide against her. "I've never been this close to a man."

"Me, either."

A soft, raspy chuckle escaped her. "Why do I trust you? You, I should run from at every opportunity."

She paled when she realized what she'd said and he frowned. "What is wrong?"

Determination fell over her features as she stared up at him. "Nothing's wrong. I don't trust you. That's what I meant to say. 'Cause I mean, really. Let's be honest. You mean nothing to me but a good time. And why the hell have you stopped? I didn't give you permission to stop."

She'd spoken loudly, cruelly, practically sneering the words. What was she doing? He might have believed her yesterday, even an hour ago, but not now. Not while she was under him, naked, her body wet with desire for him.

She had not slept with William, had not let the handsome man touch her in any sexual way. She came to Lucien for her needs and trusted him not to take more than she could give. So, yes. He knew she did not mean what she'd said.

Cronus, he thought again, gnashing his teeth. But Lucien didn't challenge her. Not now. She did trust him, and he would trust that she did not mean to hurt him, that she believed she was helping him by acting that way.

Leaning down, silent, he cupped her chin and angled her head for a kiss. A deep, probing kiss. At first, she did not respond. She even tried to pry away. Then her tongue tentatively met his, gently, sweetly. She moaned. Her fingers fisted in his hair.

As he tasted her strawberry flavor, a sense of urgency bloomed. Mark. He released her jaw and palmed her breast. Mine.

Mark her. Yes, yes. She's mine. He placed his lips at the center of her throat and sucked. Sucked and sucked. She writhed and writhed, her hands remaining in his hair, holding him captive. She uttered a breathless series of pants, and he felt her nipple pearl against his palm.

When he finally lifted his head, he saw that there was a bruise on her neck, already blue. Satisfaction thrummed through him. "I did not spend enough time with your breasts last time we were together."

"No." Her nails scraped over his head, and he knew she was as hot and hungry as he was, already lost in passion. No longer did she try to rebuff him.

"Allow me to remedy that." Lowering again, he sampled one strawberry nipple, then the other.

"Lucien," she gasped.

"I love when you say my name."

"More, Lucien. Please, more."

Sucking on those nipples, rolling them over his tongue, he slid a hand down the sensuous contours of her body. Her legs spread as wide as she could get them.

She gasped when his fingertip found her clitoris. "No…no entering…but maybe…"

"I know. No sinking them inside, as deep as I can get them. No touching you all the way to your soul. No becoming one being rather than two. No feeling your inner walls spasm around me."

She gripped his shoulders, nails sharp. Her head thrashed from side to side as if she were imagining all that he said. Her eyelids squeezed together, and her white teeth tortured her bottom lip.

Sweet heaven, she was so wet she drenched his hand.

"I hate my curse," she croaked.

"I hate it, too. I hate my own curse. But if it is what brought me to you, I will gladly bear both for eternity." He rubbed her, circling quickly, then slowing when she was close to climax, letting her calm, then quickening again.

Only when she was out of her mind, screaming with the force of her need, shouting his name, begging, pleading, desperate, did he give her release. Her body jerked. Her hands dug into him with so much force his bones would have snapped if he'd been human.

All the while, Lucien watched her face. The way her lips parted and her breath turned shallow. The way sublime pleasure and ultimate satisfaction blanketed her expression. The way her eyelids popped open with wonder, as if she could see stars around her.

When she stilled, he laid his head on her breast, listening to her racing heartbeat. Her skin was slick with sweat and passion. He was ready to explode, but he didn't want to ruin this moment.

She flipped him to his back, however, and smiled down at him. "Now I'll show you how bad I can be." She reached between her legs and wet her hand with her own juices, and then she gripped his shaft.

Up and down she pumped, a smooth glide that drove him wild. Reaching back, he gripped the headboard and tried to hold himself steady. He had been aroused so many times over the past week, his body was practically weeping with relief as she worked him.

Her fingers slid over the head of his penis with each upward slide, squeezing and teasing. "Anya," he panted.

"Mmm, I see what you mean about the name thing." As she spoke, her other hand pulled at his testicles. "I like it. Say mine again."

"Anya, I'm going to…going to…"

"Do it. Come for me. I want to see."

His hips lifted. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

"I won't. Give me," she purred. Her hand went so far down on his shaft, he couldn't hold the pleasure back a moment more.

He tensed, hot seed shooting from his shaft and onto the ropes of his stomach. He roared and roared and roared. "Anya!"

"More." Her hand continued to ride him. "Everything. Every drop."

His muscles were tensing, relaxing, tensing, relaxing. His hips were as far off the bed as possible, his heels digging into the mattress. He would have thought it impossible, but he spurted again, his mind shooting into a winking black hole that sucked him under with wave after wave of pleasure.

"Good, so good," she praised.

Finally spent, he collapsed. She cleaned him off with a towel before crawling up his body and settling into his side. He wound his arms around her, holding her captive. Ask her about the key.

No. Not now.

A lifetime is more important than a single moment.

True. He opened his mouth to demand she tell him about the key, but the words refused to form as she snuggled closer, closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.

No, nothing is more important than this moment. A short while later he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

NOT EVEN A DAY HAS PASSED, and I've already fallen into bed with him, Anya thought, burrowing deeper into Lucien's body while he slept.

She'd tried to resist, tried to keep him at a distance. But he'd just been so damned passionate, possessive and irresistible. His jealousy toward William…Gods, she could have had an orgasm just watching Lucien struggle with it.

She'd tried to pretend Lucien meant nothing to her, saying horrible things she'd had to rip out of her mouth just in case Cronus the Voyeur had been watching, but she'd been unable to walk away when Lucien told her to choose her place of pleasure.

After what had happened in this bed, she no longer knew what to do about Cronus or how to throw him off the scent of her true desire for Lucien. There'd be no denying it now. Part of her was glad. She couldn't hurt Lucien again, she just couldn't. Over the past week he had somehow become important to her—someone to cherish.

Lucien stirred in her arms, grumbling, before he bolted upright and frowned.

She frowned back. "What's wrong?"

"I'm being summoned," he said groggily.

He didn't wait for her response; he simply disappeared. Panic infused her as half an hour dragged by and he failed to return. Had souls summoned him or had Cronus? Should she go looking for him? Where the hell should she even start—

Suddenly Lucien appeared, healthy and whole, and curled beside her. His delicious heat surrounded her as he closed his eyes and sighed. "Foolish souls," he muttered. He didn't sound groggy anymore; he sounded sorrowful. A bit upset. "Why do they fight?"

Relieved, she relaxed against him and traced hearts all over his chest. The few times she'd watched him do his escort duties, he had finished in minutes. She'd wanted to know what had taken him so long tonight, and now she could guess. There'd been a lot of dead people. "Give me a little warning next time, and I'll go with you."

He opened his eyes to study her. "Why would you want to visit hell?"

So you won't have to bear the burden alone, she thought, but said only, "Could be fun."

"Not fun, I promise you." He traced a path up and down her arm, and she saw a cut healing on his wrist.

Had one of the spirits injured him? If so, they were lucky they were already dead. "Just take me. Okay? Please, please, please with a cherry on top of me. I want to go."

His palm settled over her breast, and he kissed the mark he'd left on her neck. "Take you. Mmm, I like the sound of that." His cock swelled and pressed against her clitoris.

Moaning, she opened her legs. "That's not what I meant, but I like where your head's at. Literally."

He chuckled and proceeded to "take her" over the edge of satisfaction. Only later did she realize he had never answered her.