The Darkest Kiss

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. She was 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 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 batted her lashes at him flirtatiously. "Anything for you, dumpling."

"Tell me the truth. Why did you kiss me? You could have had Paris, Reyes, Gideon or any of the others. They would not have objected. They would have wanted you in return."

First, grrr! They would have wanted you in return, she inwardly mocked. Unlike him, who would never want her. She wasn't dog food, damn it. Second, why couldn't he accept that she'd simply desired him and no other?

Maybe it was for the best that he thought her passion faked, she decided. Saved her pride, at least, since she meant nothing to him and he hadn't wanted her. Jackass.

"Maybe I knew Cronie Wonie was going to tell you to kill me, and I hoped to butter you up like a breakfast muffin so you wouldn't be tempted to obey." There. How'd he like that?

Understanding lit his rough, savage features. "Something makes sense at last," he said with only the barest trace of disappointment.

Or was the disappointment wishful thinking on her part? The man had come to kill her, after all. Softer emotions he couldn't possibly feel.

Submit to me.

Ah, shit. She'd looked at his face and was once again snared. His blue eye still swirled, and the brown one was so rich and deep she could have willingly drowned in it. Her stomach quivered.

No, no, no! She bared her teeth at him and jerked her gaze away. Hurt him to slow him down, then get out of here. Now, that was a thought she didn't mind acting on. He was an immortal; he'd heal. But damn it all to the fires of hell, she wasn't ready to leave him. She hadn't talked to anyone in weeks. She'd been too busy following him, watching him. Lusting after him.

Doesn't matter what you want. Strike at him before he strikes at you.

"One last chance to pay up the favor you owe me by protecting me from Cronus," she told him.

"I'm sorry."

"All right, then. Now that we've cleared the air," she said, using her sultriest tone, "let's get this party started." She licked the lollipop and shifted her weight to the left, causing her skirt to ride up on the right and drawing his gaze to her bared skin as she'd hoped.

There was the faintest flicker of desire in his eyes, desire he couldn't hide. Too late. She tossed the dagger.

Silver metal flew end over end and embedded in his heart before he even guessed her intentions. His body spasmed and his eyes went wide as saucers.

"You stabbed me," he said, incredulous. Grimacing, he jerked out the now-bloody dagger and rubbed a hand over the wound, then looked down at his drenched, crimson-stained fingers. Anger overrode the incredulity.

"Feel free to keep the dagger as a souvenir." She blew him a kiss and flashed to an icy boulder in Antarctica, knowing he'd follow her and wanting him to suffer for it. Frigid wind instantly slammed into her, cutting through the flimsy clothing she wore. Past skin, past muscle and straight into bone. Her teeth chattered.

Penguins waddled by, scampering to get away from her. Water swirled and churned all around her. Mile after mile of black night greeted her eyes, the only light provided by golden moon rays reflecting off the glaciers.

If she'd been mortal, she would have frozen to death in seconds. Goddess that she was, Anya simply felt miserable. "Worth it, though," she said, breath forming a thick mist in front of her face. If she was miserable, how much worse would it be for the injured Lucien when he—

Materialized right in front of her, so clear to her the sun could have been shining.

He was scowling, his perfect white teeth bared. He'd removed his shirt, and she saw that rope after rope of muscle lined his stomach. He had no chest hair, not even the happy trail that most men possessed. His skin was the shade of pearlized honey, smooth on one side, like velvet over steel, and jagged and scarred on the other. Both sides were so lickable her mouth watered.

His nipples were tiny, brown and hardened like arrowheads. They would feel amazing against her tongue. His chest was smeared in blood, and a long wound marred the skin just over his heart. The tissue had already begun to weave itself back together.

Seeing him like that, bloody from battle, angry and ready for more, turned her on. Her knees did that stupid weakening thing. You hate weakness. But damn, it felt good. Would he always have this effect on her?

Silly girl.

When the wind hit him, she knew he experienced a moment of miserable suspension, where blood and oxygen froze inside him. "Anya," he growled.

"Nice to see you again, Flowers." She didn't waste another moment. Using all of her strength, she shoved him into the water.

He could have grabbed hold of her to stop his fall, but he didn't. He allowed himself to tumble backward, rather than risk taking her with him. How…sweet. Bastard! He had no right to be sweet now.

He gasped when he hit, the sound a blend of rage, shock and icy torment. A few droplets splashed onto her thigh, and she gasped at the cold.

"Anya!" he shouted when he sputtered to the surface.

"No need to thank me for the bath. I mean, the least I could do after bloodying your chest was to help you clean up the mess. See ya!"

"Don't leave," he rushed out. "Please."

Unable to help herself, she paused. "Why not?"

Rather than flash to the boulder, he treaded water and glared up at her. "You do not want to anger me." A cloud moved and thicker golden beams poured from the silky, inky sky, straight onto him.

"Or what? You'll turn into a hulking green beast? Hate to disappoint you, Flowers, but that kind of revs my engine. Have fun defrosting." Laughing, she gave him a finger wave and flashed to her favorite private beach in Hawaii.

Warmth and sunlight instantly enveloped her, melting the sheen of ice that had glazed her skin. Usually when she came here, she stripped and lounged on the sand, soaking in the tranquility. Sometimes she barricaded herself inside the house a quarter mile up, surrounded by towering palms, where she vegged out and watched movies.

This time, she stayed on the beach and kept her clothes on, dropped her lollipop and withdrew two more daggers from her boots. She held them at her sides and waited.

A scowling, shivering Lucien entered her line of vision a moment later. His lips were tinted blue and thinned in displeasure. His hair was frosted around his head, his skin glistening with crystallized moisture.

"Thank you. For the beach," he said through chattering teeth.

"How the hell are you following me?" she demanded, raising her chin and returning his murderous glare with one of her own.

Finally, for whatever reason, he deigned to answer. "You leave traces of energy everywhere you go. I simply follow them. Had you not revealed yourself inside the club, I never would have been able to lock on you."

Great. Now she'd never be able to lose him. Stupid urges, prompting her to dance with him. She should've stayed in the shadows. I must be more like my mother than I realized. "I won't make this easy for you," she told him.

He lost some of his anger, his lips twitching into the semblance of a smile. "I suspected as much."

How dare he show an irresistible sense of humor now, softening his face and adding all kinds of sexy. Where had this amusement been yesterday or the day before?

"I told you once but I will tell you again," he said. "I do not want to hurt you."

"Oh, well." She shook her head, pale hair dancing over her shoulders. "That makes this okay, then. Go ahead and kill me." Sarcasm dripped from each word.

"Anya."

"Hush it. I've been nothing but nice to you, helped you and your friends, and this is how you thank me?"

A muscle ticked under his eye. Had she, perhaps, hit a nerve?

"I would change the circumstances if I could. I would—"

"You have a choice. You can walk away."

"I can't."

"Whatever, Flowers. Let's just get this over with, 'kay. All this talking is giving me a headache."

His brows arched into his forehead. "You are going to let me take your soul, then?"

"Hell, no. I thought I made it clear I'm going to fight you to the death. Yours, in case you need more clarification. Here and now. I've killed an immortal before. Doing it again should be no hardship."

"Yes, Reyes mentioned Aias." Lucien made no move in her direction. "Why did you slay him?"

She lifted one of her shoulders in a casual shrug. Inside, though, she was anything but serene. The memory of her clash with Aias was not a pretty one. What could have been, what could have happened, still sometimes haunted her. "He wanted to fuck me, and I didn't want him to. He decided to go ahead and do it, anyway, so I decided he'd look good with a hole in his chest."

Lucien popped his jaw. "I hope you inflicted pain."

Her eyes widened. Okay, back up. An immortal—a former Captain of the Guard at that—was glad she'd killed an elite warrior? First time that had happened. The knowledge twisted through her, profoundly affecting everything it touched. Finally someone, and a virtual stranger at that, was taking her side.

"No worries there," she managed to work past the sudden lump in her throat.

Lucien's hands curled into fists. Why? Didn't matter, she supposed. She was just proud of herself for noticing because it meant she wasn't staring into those otherworldly eyes like a lovesick puppy.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he said, his tone stiff, flat.

"You said that already. But news flash—yes, it does. I'm not going to bend over and take it just because new gods are running the show and they don't like how I do business. I'm not going to bend over and take it because the big cheese is greedy and wants to steal from me."

Lucien's gaze sharpened. "What does he hope to steal?"

Her lips pursed. Damn her runaway tongue. Of course Lucien had latched on to that last bit of her speech. "Don't listen to me. I spout all kinds of nonsense when I'm scared. Remember when I told you I liked to lie?"

"You are not scared of me or anything, I would bet, and I doubt you were lying this time." He didn't give her a chance to respond. "So you did not spurn Cronus or cheat on him?"

"Does that matter?" She twirled the end of a lock of hair, making sure the point of her dagger glistened in the sun. "Does it make a difference in what you're planning to do to me?"

"No."

"Then I see no reason to answer." If he wouldn't give an inch, neither would she.

He raked a hand down his face, looking utterly exhausted all of a sudden. "I can give you a day, perhaps, to say goodbye to your loved ones."

"Oh, that's so sweet," she said drily. Her sarcasm didn't last long, though. Her short list of loved ones played through her mind, sparking a pang inside her chest. Her mother. Her father. William, her only friend. If Lucien managed to defeat her, they would most likely never know what had happened to her. They might look for her, worry. "Do you extend the same courtesy to all your victims?" Do not think like that. You aren't and won't be a victim.

Again, "No."

"So I'm just a lucky girl?"

His lush lips once more thinned in displeasure. No matter how scarred his cheeks were, nothing could detract from the beauty of those lips. Maybe because she knew how soft they actually were. Maybe because they'd branded her all the way to her soul and she'd forever bear their imprint.

"Yes," he finally said.

"I'm going to decline your oh so generous offer, lover. I think I'd just prefer to kill you now rather than wait. See, your presence is really starting to offend me."

He stiffened, and if he'd been anyone other than the (nearly) unemotional warrior she knew him to be, she would have suspected that she'd hurt him. "Now who is rude?" he said flatly.

Did he think she was talking about his scarred appearance? Dummy. Answering him would have opened the topic for discussion, however, so she said, "How shall we do this, hmm?" She gave her blades a little toss, caught the hilts and twirled them in her hands.

He leveled a frown of resignation at her, as if anything else in the world would have been preferable to this inevitable showdown. "Just remember. You chose this. Not me."

"You followed me, sugar. You chose it."

She'd barely finished the sentence when he materialized two inches from her face, placing them nose to nose. She gasped, sucking in a deep whiff of his rose scent. He slapped one of the knives out of her grip then quickly moved to take the other.

The first action caught her unaware, but she was prepared for the second. She flashed several feet behind him and knocked his skull with a sharp, upward kick. Why she didn't just stab him in the back, she didn't know.

He stumbled forward, caught himself and whipped around to face her, eyes slitted.

"I've seen you kill," she said, trying not to sound impressed. "I know your moves. Taking me down won't be easy." She flashed behind him again, but he was smarter now, on to her tricks, and spun, banding one of his arms around her waist the second she materialized and finally whacking the other blade from her hand.

She almost moaned at the heady sensation of being back in his embrace, the violence somehow only adding to her arousal. She lingered far longer than she should have, savoring the feel of his…erection? Oh, baby, yes. So he liked their sparring, too? Interesting. Exhilarating. And absolutely delicious.

"So strong my little Lucien is. I'm almost sorry I have to fight dirty," she added, just before kneeing him between the legs.

Howling, he doubled over.

A chuckle escaped her as she flashed a few feet away. "Bad, naughty Anya would have been a lot nicer to that area of your anatomy if you'd come after her for different reasons."

"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?

Why couldn't he have wanted her the way she wanted him?

Why wouldn't her obsession with him wane, now that he was bound to snuff her out for eternity?

"You are making this difficult."

"You won't break the rules for me?" she asked, batting her lashes. "You won't do me this one teeny-weeny favor? You owe me."

"No. I can't."

He hadn't even hesitated in the delivery of his answer and that pissed her off. The least he could have done was take a few minutes to think about it. Bastard. She scowled. "I'm giving you one more chance to agree. We'd be even, the chalkboard clean."

"I am sorry. I must again decline."

Fine. That meant there was only one way to end the madness.

Finally she did flash to her knives. She did flash to him. His eyes widened in surprise as she materialized in front of him. With the hilt facing him, she chop-blocked him in the throat, spun while he struggled to breathe and slammed the other hilt into his temple to render him unconscious.

Contact.

Only, he didn't sink into unconsciousness. He fell to his knees with a groan. Didn't matter. Either way, the outcome was the same. Disappointed that it had come to this, she twirled the daggers in her palms so that the sharp tips pointed directly at him.

Her hands trembled as she stared at the top of his head. Everything inside of her was screaming not to do this, but she swung the blades into a crisscross, anyway. There were only a few ways to kill an immortal permanently and decapitation was one of them. Do it…no other way… She'd already placed the blades at his neck, needing only to slam her wrists together. Do it before he flashes!

Oh, gods, oh, gods. She did it. Moved to cut him. Instead of flesh, however, her weapons encountered only air.

He'd flashed.

Frustration and elation battled for supremacy. Before she had time to act on either, strong, viselike fingers jammed into her shoulders, spinning her around. Searing lips slammed over her mouth, prying it open and stealing her breath.

Lucien's tongue thrust against hers in a white-hot kiss that would haunt her waking and sleeping for thousands of years to come. Dead or alive. It was bliss and it was agony. It was heaven and it was hell. Having his flavor drown her so perfectly, his strength and heat at the ready, craving more.

"Lucien." She gasped and moaned and reached for him, dropping the weapons in her haste to have his skin under her palms.

"Not another word. Kiss me like before."

His fervency excited her all the more. Apparently, dancing for him and throwing herself at him weren't enough. Apparently, she had to nearly commit murder to arouse him enough to attack her.

His arms snaked around her waist and hauled her snugly into the heat of his body. The action rubbed his swollen penis against the wet, needy juncture between her thighs, and they both groaned in ecstasy.

She wanted to jump into him and devour him whole. She settled for gripping his head, fisting his hair and tilting him to deepen the kiss. A part of her suspected that he was doing this to distract her, but he never went for her throat. He just kept tonguing her as if he couldn't stop himself.

Her nipples were so hard they were probably as sharp as her knives—which she kicked away with the last vestiges of her common sense. "Lucien," she said on another moan, meaning to demand he remove her corset. Skin to skin. She was desperate for it. Dumb, so dumb, to allow skin to skin, but in that moment she wanted it more than she wanted freedom. "Lucien, my shirt."

This time, her voice seemed to snag him from whatever spell he'd been under. He jerked away from her. Without him to hold her up, she almost fell flat on her face as he had done earlier.

"What are you doing?" she demanded as she righted herself.

"I can't think straight right now." Panting, he stepped backward. "I need to get away from you."

There was an angry glint in his eyes, a glint that was dark and violent and utterly menacing. A shiver of fear spread the length of her spine. Fear and even deeper arousal.

What's wrong with me?

He'd told her never to anger him, that bad things would happen if she did. Well, he'd been telling the truth. She'd angered him somehow and he'd stopped kissing her. Nothing was worse than that.

"You're going to leave me like this? Without even giving me an orgasm?" Whoops. She'd meant to sound flippant. She'd sounded needy and whining instead. And breathless.

The glint darkened further. "We will see each other again, Anya. Soon." With that ominous promise, he disappeared.