The Darkest Kiss

ANYA STAYED AWAY FROM Lucien for twenty-four hours. By the end, she seethed with nervous energy, constantly wondering if he'd appear. Every unexplained noise made her jump. Made her gasp. Made her heart kick into overdrive.

She'd paced the floors of her beach home, had tried to watch a movie but couldn't even recall what disc she'd shoved into the DVD player, and then had locked herself in her favorite room. Her treasure room. Usually rifling through the things she'd stolen over the centuries delighted her. Today, not so much.

She'd draped herself in Queen Elizabeth's jewels and played darts with King George V's dagger. She'd sipped strawberry-kiwi juice from an Episcopal chalice and drawn a mustache on the original Mona Lisa. Having spent a little time with Leo, she knew he wouldn't have minded.

What would Lucien think of her treasures? she wondered. Would he stumble back, horrified by the glittering sea of contraband? Probably. He was such a downer sometimes. Or maybe he would have understood, she thought, hopeful. Maybe, after battling his demon for so long, he would have realized that theft was her way of protecting humans from the darker side of her own nature. Well, that, and she liked pretty things.

Anya sighed and returned to the glistening sand outside. He isn't coming, she thought with disappointment, staring into the pristine ocean waves. The sun had long since set, then risen, then set again. Now violet and amber glowed on the horizon, glinting off the azure water. Sand squished between her bare toes, and coconut and orchids scented the air.

She'd both fought Lucien and kissed him here, the most action she'd seen in hundreds of years, so was loathe to leave. Was it dumb to miss him?

"Probably," she muttered, flinging sand with a flick of her ankle.

A little while ago, she had donned a skimpy sapphire bikini with ties on each side of her waist. If he had returned as she'd anticipated, they would have rumbled hardcore and one of her breasts might have "accidentally" popped out. He would have started sweating, the fighting would have turned to loving and they would have kissed again.

They would have touched again.

She sighed. Not going to happen. The gentle breeze whisked a strand of pale hair over her eyes. She hooked it behind her ear and frowned. What was he doing? Did he miss her? Even a little?

Was he plotting the best way to kill her, even now?

The bastard was probably happy to be away from her. "And that just won't do."

Her eyes narrowed as her hands tightened into fists. If he wouldn't come to her, she'd just have to go to him.

HUNTERS HAD BEATEN THEM to the Temple of the All Gods.

The tiny island had only begun to rise from the sea a few weeks before, and so far, the rest of the world did not seem to know about it. Not even with their satellites and other technology. Therefore, Hunters should not have known about it.

Who, then, had told them?

What Lucien knew, he knew because of Anya. When she had helped Maddox, she had helped them all by revealing the location of the ruins and explaining the new gods' intention for them: to bring the world back to the old ways of worship and blood sacrifice. Had she told the Hunters, as well?

Perhaps she'd done so to spite him, he thought. He'd tried to kill her, after all.

And a worse attempt I've never seen. Disgraceful!

His jaw locked in irritation. Now is not the time to think of her.

When is a good time?

Later.

He could almost hear Death clapping happily in his mind, and he didn't think it was because the demon was eager to take Anya's soul. He didn't understand why the demon cared to see her, but he had no time to reason it out.

The Hunters were camped in the surrounding foliage and they had to be disposed of quickly, surely. Once, he had turned away from this war. Once, but not again. Everything the Hunters did, every move they made, was meant to harm and destroy his friends.

Lucien hadn't noticed them this morning when he flashed to the island to look around before bringing the others here. But then he'd only been here a few minutes. Death had begun to pull at him, a spiritual pull that often became a physical tearing if he resisted for long.

He'd ended up spending the day ushering one human after another to their final destination, only returning at twilight, at last able to search as he'd hoped and make sure all was safe for the others.

That was when he'd caught a glimpse of the Hunters. He'd been shocked. Was still shocked. Not only because they'd beaten him to the temple, but also because they had rallied their forces so soon after the plague. Their determination was greater than he'd realized.

Only a little while ago, they had walked away from the ruins and headed back to their camp. A camp they had hidden extremely well, using leaves as roofs and tunnels they'd either dug or found as shelter.

How long had they been here? Whatever the answer, he already knew what they had planned.

"We'll kill them all," he'd heard one of them say as they'd walked. Lucien had been in the spirit world, so they hadn't seen him.

"Make sure they suffer first," another had cackled.

"When those demons are locked up, I think I'll wear one of their keeper's teeth as a necklace. Every time they take a breath, exhaling their evil onto the world, it seems like someone I know or love is struck with sickness or misfortune, and I'm tired of it. If they'd been disposed of years ago, my Marilyn wouldn't have died of cancer. She'd still be here. I know it."

"World won't be right until they're gone. They might have fooled the people of Buda into thinking they're angels, but history has proven otherwise. You guys see the portrait of Death in ancient Athens?" Shudder. "Not a single survivor."

Block his words. Obviously they were searching for the box. For all he knew, they might already have found a trace of its location. He hated that they wanted it, but knew why they did. After they had killed Baden, the demon of Distrust had sprung from the lifeless body and even now wandered the earth, more crazed and destructive than ever before.

That was when the Hunters realized they could not kill the Lords and their spirits. And so, to rid the world of both, they had to capture and subdue the Lords, then secure the demons back inside the box. If they found it.

Time was more of an enemy than ever. Lucien flashed to the warriors, who were watching a movie inside the rented house, waiting for him.

"Finally," Strider said, spotting him. "Was getting worried."

"Hunters," he said, and they instantly sat up.

Paris jumped to his feet, whipping up his weapons in a blink. "How many?"

"I counted thirteen above ground. There could be more in their tunnels, coming and going. Since I can't watch more than one location at a time, my count could be off."

Amun withdrew a semiautomatic from the waist of his pants and checked the magazine.

"There is not going to be a bloodbath tonight," Gideon said with a grin.

Rather than take a boat as originally planned, Lucien flashed them all to the island, one at a time. He would rather prance around Anya in a dress than wait. To everyone's amusement, Paris passed out during their journey and it took several minutes to revive him. Strider handled his first flash with ease, grinning the entire split second required to move from one location to another. Amun didn't show any reaction at all. As Reyes had once done, Gideon vomited but quickly pulled himself together.

All the while, Lucien could feel Anya's eyes on him. The soul-deep burn had returned, stripping him bare. Death even started purring again.

Knowing she was there caused Lucien's muscles to tighten with strain. Not because he thought she'd attack - he expected that, but didn't fear it - but because he could not forget how she felt in his arms. He could not forget the way she moaned when the hot tip of his tongue ran over her throat. The way her nipples hardened, begging for his mouth. The way her legs parted, welcoming him as close to heaven as a man like him could ever hope to get.

Right then, he wanted off the island. He wanted her naked and in his bed. He wanted his hands on her body, and her hands on his body. Wanted his mouth between her thighs, and her mouth on his cock. He just...wanted.

And he could not have.

Concentrate! Crouching in moonlight and dewy foliage, water rushing all around, he muttered, "Do not interfere."

"What?" Strider asked, confused as he crouched beside him.

"Never mind." The moon was high and laced with golden ribbons, caressing the sand and greenery. Insects sang happily. He could have taken the Hunters down on his own. Simply flashed inside their tunnels and attacked, but he did not want to risk one getting away.

"Are you sure they're Hunters?" Paris asked, squatting in the leaves on Lucien's other side.

"Yes. I saw their marks." Every Hunter sect branded themselves with a symbol of Infinity on their wrists. "Infinity without evil" was their credo.

Lucien did not consider himself completely evil. At one time, yes, he had been. His demon had constantly compelled him to take lives, not just souls, and he had. Gladly. But no longer. The desire to kill had thankfully been tamed. Now, he fought only for peace and protection.

Regret struck him that he could not have more, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Were he merely a mortal, he would have married long ago. He and Mariah would have had a dozen children. He would have spent his days caring for his family and his nights loving his wife. And when he died he would have been welcomed into paradise.

But he had not been created to enjoy life. He had been created to guard the god king and to defend the heavens. And then, once he and the demon had joined, even that had been taken from him. You deserved it, you know you did.

"This could be a trap," Strider said, drawing his attention.

"They did not know I was here, nor did they seem to be preparing for any type of battle."

Paris gripped the hilt of a dagger. "How should we do this?"

"We'll encircle their camp. On my signal, we'll rush the tunnels silently, locking them inside with no chance of escape. There are four entrances. I looked earlier. Paris, double with Strider and take the west. Gideon, the east. Amun, north. I'll take south."

Each man nodded and silently obeyed.

"Oh, goodie. A battle." Anya laughed softly, suddenly materializing at Lucien's side. She, too, crouched, every bit the warrior.

He was instantly enveloped by that strawberries-and-cream scent. His blood heated - sizzling, blistering. "Quiet," he growled, refusing to look at her. That might prove to be his undoing.

"Aren't you going to attack me?" she asked, and he would swear he heard a pout.

"I have not the time for you right now." He meant the words as an insult, but they emerged dripping with disappointment rather than rancor. "We can fight later."

"You've been neglecting me, and I don't like it."

"You should be grateful for my neglect."

"Don't flatter yourself." She didn't leave in a huff as he'd half expected. Instead, she shifted closer to him. "Can I help you fight the Hunters? Please, please, please, can I?"

"No. Be silent." If the warriors heard him from their positions, they gave no indication. He could just make them out in the bushes, only the tips of their heads visible as they waited for his signal.

"But I'm an expert fighter."

"I know," he replied drily. His chest still ached where she'd stabbed him. Should have been illegal for a woman who looked like her to be so sexily bloodthirsty. And he should not have found that bloodthirstiness so attractive. "Did you tell these Hunters about the temple?"

"Ugh. Why would I help the Hunters?"

"So that they would kill me, and you would no longer have to worry about being killed by me."

"I don't worry about that now," she said matter-of-factly.

Gods save him. Had women always been this way? "What are you doing here, Anya? I left you because I needed space. Time. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes." She shifted in the grass, angling even closer to him. "I just...I can't get you out of my mind. I missed you."

Hearing that was almost painful. A lie? "Anya."

"No, no. Don't say anything. You'll only make me mad and then bad things will happen. Oh, my gods," she added with a quiet laugh. "I sounded just like you. Look, let me help. I won't get in the way. Swear. Scouts honor. Witches honor. Or whatever kind of promise you want."

A gentle, salt-kissed breeze swept past them, and a lock of her hair brushed his cheek. He experienced an instant and unwanted hard-on as he swatted the silky strands away. "I told you to be silent. I need to study the land." Not that he could concentrate on anything but Anya as her hair continued to stroke him. "And for gods' sake, do something with your hair."

"Cut it?"

"Shave it." Sadly, he doubted even that would lessen her physical appeal. Concentrate! he reminded himself. The Hunters had been inside the tunnels for over an hour now. They'd had time to settle, to relax. There was no movement around the entrances, no hint of a watchman.

"Really?" Anya asked with surprise. "You want me to shave it like that sexy warlord Vin Diesel?"

Who was Vin Diesel? And why did Lucien suddenly want to slay him? Lucien popped his jaw. "Yes."

"If I do, will you let me help tonight?"

There was so much eagerness in her voice that he suspected she truly would do it, would shave her head completely bald. Obviously, her hair meant nothing to her. The complete lack of vanity surprised him.

Why did that endear her to him even more?

"No," he finally told her.

"You're such a pain," she grumbled. "Well, guess what? I've already flashed inside those tunnels, and the Hunters have obviously been here a while. They even have prisoners."

Every muscle in his body stiffened. "First, you went inside without my permission, endangering yourself and my purpose?"

"Listen, sweetness." Anger now laced her voice. "Despite what you seem to think, I am a powerful being, and I choose whether or not to endanger myself. Besides, you should be happy I went inside. If I'd gotten caught, they could have saved you the trouble of taking my head."

"Second," Lucien continued as if she hadn't spoken. He could barely get the words out, his throat was so constricted. "They have prisoners?"

"Mmm-hmm. Two of 'em."

Finally, he looked at her - and immediately regretted it. She wore a white gossamer gown with gold threaded throughout, and was even lovelier than he remembered. With the golden glow of moonlight crowning her and emerald plants framing her, she was an ancient queen straight out of a storybook.

The top layers of her pale hair were piled on her head, the rest tumbling down and begging for his touch. Hard fists of desire beat through him. "Who are they?" he forced himself to ask.

"Not a word about my appearance?"

"No." Looking at you is like finally entering those gates to heaven. His chest tightened, nearly squeezing his heart to an agonizing stop.

"Seriously, why do I bother?" she grumped. "I could weigh nine hundred pounds, smell like a sewer and wear garbage bags and I'd get the same response from you."

"The prisoners," he prompted grimly.

She shrugged one delicate shoulder and the wispy material of her robe fell to her elbow, revealing inch after inch of creamy skin. Was that...gods in heaven, it was. He could see the plump underside of her breast. He wanted to taste it so badly his teeth actually hurt.

"What about them?" she asked. "They're humans."

He was tempted to offer his own soul to Cronus if the god would spare her and allow Lucien to lick her. A single flick of his tongue. That's all he needed. Please. "And?"

Her full lips curled into a slow smile. "They are people who might possess the very knowledge you seek. Don't ask me anything else, though, because I'm not telling. You didn't even comment about my dress and I went to a lot of trouble to steal it."

"Stealing is wrong. But it is...pretty." An understatement. A lie. It was exquisite on her. Would look even more exquisite on his bedroom floor. Foolish thought. "Do they know about Pandora's box?"

"I told you, I'm not telling," she huffed. "You weren't supposed to tell me it's pretty. You were supposed to tell me to take it off because I'd look better without it. Lucien, I swear to the gods I'm this close - " she pinched two fingers together " - to giving up on you. This close!"

Do not consider her words. The prisoners knew something about the box, he would bet. Yes, much safer topic. Why else would Hunters have them locked up? His eyes narrowed on the tunnels. He couldn't risk hurting the captives. Not only did he want to protect innocent lives, but whatever knowledge they possessed, he wanted to possess.

"You are so frustrating! I'd rather have you try to kill me again than have you ignore me."

With a sigh, he peered at the surrounding foliage. The warriors were still waiting for his signal, most likely wondering about the delay. Without a word to Anya, he flashed to Paris and Strider, told them to be careful of the human prisoners and that he needed a few minutes more. Then he followed suit with Amun and Gideon. Except for the predictably silent Amun, the warriors grumbled.

Then he flashed back to Anya. On top of her, to be exact, trying not to delight in the feel of her warm body pressed to his or the curve of her breasts against his chest when he flipped her over. You could have landed beside her. Yes, he could have; he just hadn't wanted to. This ensured she would not run. At least, that was the reason he gave himself.

"Why you little...mmm." Her voice trailed off and she moaned in delight. Her eyes closed to half-mast, the lashes casting spiky shadows over her cheeks. "You want to make out?"

Yes. "No. Wait here." He flashed to his bedroom in Budapest, her exasperated sputtering in his ears. During the seemingly endless span of Maddox's death-curse, they'd had to chain him to his bed every night to keep him from erupting into a fit of unrestrained violence, his control gone, his friends in danger.

Maddox had wanted the metal destroyed once his curse had been lifted, but nothing they tried had melted or broken the godly links. Unable to get rid of them, refusing to use them on Aeron and afraid Hunters would find and use them against a Lord, Lucien had stored them in his bedchamber.

Right now, he swiped them from the closet, pocketed the key and snapped two ends to his bedposts, leaving two ends open and ready. Determined, he flashed back to Anya. She hadn't moved, and he once again settled on top of her.

When she realized he had returned, she wound her legs around his waist and laved her hot tongue up the length of his throat. "Whatever brought about this naughty streak of yours, I heartily approve."

His cock surged, filling and swelling, catching him on fire. Suddenly he was desperate, needier than he'd ever been. The woman he craved and now constantly daydreamed about was writhing against him in truth, running her hands all over him, as eager for more as he was.

One kiss. That's all.

Whether he thought it or the demon spoke it, Lucien didn't know. He only knew that if he kissed Anya, he would not be able to stop. Kissing this woman had proved to be more arousing than making love to another. And even if the time and place were appropriate, he knew better than to indulge with a woman he would soon be forced to kill. Do not let history repeat itself. End this.

"Lucien," she gasped. "Kiss me."

"Soon," he vowed, and it was the truth. Depraved as it was, much as he knew better and had just tried to convince himself not to, he would not be able to render that final blow until he'd taken her mouth again.

Remaining on top of her, he flashed them both to his bedroom and onto the bed. When the cool mattress met Anya's back, he swiped up her hands and locked them inside the chains. Clink.

She didn't protest as he'd expected.

She glanced around, muttered, "Mmm, your bedroom. I've wanted an invitation real bad." Grinning, she arched her lower body into his - dear gods - and purred straight into his ear. The delicious sound blended with the demon's approving hum. "Is this a kinky new game?" She even bit his earlobe. "What happens in Buda, stays in Buda. Promise."

His erection throbbed as pleasure, so much pleasure, drove into his skin, his muscles. A shiver stole through him, hot and hungry. Again his blood heated; more than burning now, more than blistering. It was lava in his veins, singeing every part of him with desire. His mouth was opening, preparing to ravage her with the kiss he'd promised her, promised them both, but once again he managed to stop himself.

No contact. No kissing. Not yet. There were Hunters to kill.

No falling for her, either. No craving more. Sooner rather than later, she would die. To be her lover, as well as her executioner, would make him as despicable as the demon inside him.

"Aren't you going to play with me?" she asked in that husky voice of hers. "Aren't you going to kiss me? Soon is now."

"Anya." He didn't know what else to say. His heavy weight pinned her down and her legs parted farther, causing him to sink deeper. He was still impossibly hard, and his erection was rubbing at her of its own damn accord, their clothing adding to the electric friction.

She bit the cord of his neck and rocked into him, prolonging the contact. He gripped her hips to still her, and the action cost him dearly. He had to grit his teeth against the wild surge of denied lust.

"I like this game," she said breathlessly. "Any rules?"

"Just one," he forced past a clenched jaw.

"Tell me." Her knees rubbed his sides, beckoning him even deeper.

"The only rule..." He raised his hands and cupped her cheeks, his thumb caressing her velvet-soft skin. Oh, that he could stay here forever. Or that he could bask in her, if only for a little while. "The only rule is that you are to stay here."

"Mmm, I love to break - hey. What?" She frowned up at him. "Stay here with you, right?"

"No." He rose from the bed, severing all contact. His body screamed in protest; his demon cursed at him. Of all Lucien's crimes, leaving her like this suddenly seemed the worst.

Her frown deepened. "Lucien? What - " She tried to raise her arms but couldn't. Her narrowed gaze slid to the headboard, lingered for a moment as she gave another jerk, then returned to him. "I don't understand."

"The only pleasure you will receive in that bed is the pleasure you give yourself." For now.

Gods, don't think like that.

"I'm down with that. But if you want to watch me pleasure myself, you'll have to remove the chains."

Again not the response he'd expected; he wanted to groan. Anya...hand between her legs...rubbing her clitoris...bringing herself to orgasm...If imagining was wholly erotic and utterly breathtaking and caused his knees to weaken like a human's, what would actually witnessing the event be like?

"Stay here," he choked out, "and stay quiet. I'll come back for you. You have my word."

"Come back for me?" Now her eyes widened. "Where are you going? And you had better say to get a whip and a spiked collar because you want nothing more than to be my bitch or you'll regret it."

"I'm going back to the temple. I'll return as soon as the Hunters have been defeated."

A shocked gasp slipped from her. Perhaps there was hurt mixed in, as well, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. "I can flash with you. Chains can't hold me."

"These can. They were made for immortals."

A second passed. Another.

She stared over at him, mouth drawn tight. He much preferred that mouth soft - and all over his body. Any chance of that had been ruined by his actions today, he would not doubt. It was better this way, he told himself, but he couldn't halt a surge of bitter regret.

"You're saying I can't flash?" she gritted out.

"That is exactly what I am saying."

"And you're going to leave me like this?"

"Yes. Behave," he said and left her, materializing in the exact spot he'd abandoned.

The moment those lush blades of grass surrounded him, guilt and need flooded him. Guilt because he'd left her helpless. Need because, well, he had the memory of being on top of her inside his mind, fresh, taunting. Wondrous.

And she had seemed to want him. Until he'd ruined it.

What was he going to do with her? The woman was tying him into knots!

She probably hated him now. She would never forgive him. She - appeared right beside him and punched him the eye.

"Bastard," she snarled.

Amazement and pain pounded through him as he gazed at her. Damn, but she was strong. She'd managed to crack the bone, he suspected, the injury swelling. "How did you get free?" Those chains had been unbreakable for centuries.

"I have my ways."

"How?" he insisted.

"I can't be locked up, okay? No matter what restraints you use, I can't be contained. And if you ever do something like that again..." Her hands tightened into fists. "Freedom is everything. You know that better than most since you were forced to harbor a demon. You were even bound to take your friend's soul every night for centuries. An obligation I helped free you from. Remember that? For you to try and take my freedom...Oh! I could seriously saw you in half with one of my fingernails."

Better this way, remember? "Those chains have been used on gods and have never failed. Only the key can unlock them, and I have that in my pocket."

"Big fucking deal, you son of a bitch. I told you I was powerful - not my fault you failed to listen. I'm helping fight the Hunters now and you'll be lucky if my aim doesn't accidentally-on-purpose veer and kill you. In fact, I don't think I'll wait for you." She glanced over at the tunnels and counted with a point of her finger. "See you in the...second one over, sweetcakes. That's where the biggest, baddest Hunter was, last time I checked. I'll just pretend he's you and nail his ass to the wall."

She disappeared a moment later, leaving only a cloud of strawberries, cream and smug fury. Damn this! He gave a whistle and leapt forward. The now impatient warriors sprang forth, as if tethers had been sliced.

Silent, they kicked aside leaves and twigs. When Lucien reached the second tunnel, Gideon's, he tossed the makeshift roof and let himself fall inside, not wanting to flash and startle his men. Gideon frowned but didn't comment as he followed him down. Each of them had weapons raised and ready.

There was a grunt. A shout. Lucien tensed, looking...looking...damn it, he didn't see Anya, nor did he see -

Hunters. There. Two, over in the corner. One was beating an older human male and the other was subduing a middle-aged male. Both prisoners were begging the Hunters to stop.

"Tell me what I need to know," one Hunter said, his reasonable tone at odds with the violence of his actions, "and the pain ends. That's all you have to do."

"I'm sick of coming back empty-handed," the other - the tallest and most muscled - added just as reasonably, kicking the older man in the stomach.

There was a hmph. The younger man yelled, "Stop. Just stop. He doesn't know anything else!"

"He does. He has to. Tell us or die. Those are your only options right now."

The kicker stepped forward, leaned down toward the prisoners' faces. "You pick death, and it's not going to be quick and gentle, you get me? You'll die, piece by piece."

"Just leave my father alone." The younger man had thrown his arms around the older one, shielding him with his own body. "I swear to you, we've told you everything we know. Just let us go. Please."

"You haven't. You're protecting those demons, might even be working with them."

As if she'd been waiting for Lucien's arrival, Anya appeared beside the biggest Hunter and simply slit his throat before he knew she was there. His body sagged to the ground, and she flicked Lucien a look-what-I-did grin.

She'd just killed a man, violently, without hesitation, and was covered in blood. Seeing her grin about what she'd done shook Lucien's world on its axis. She was a lush and beautiful angel; she was also a killer. Like him.

Though he was intoxicated by the sight of her still, wanted to bask in her, Lucien still managed to toss two daggers at the second Hunter. One embedded in the man's throat, the other in his thigh. Both were kill spots, and rather than choose, he'd decided two were better than one. Just in case. He didn't like how close Anya was to the action, immortal or not. She could be hurt, and the thought of one of these Hunters touching her sparked a deep rage inside him.

"Behind you!" Anya suddenly shouted.

He turned, but not in time. A Hunter had hidden in the shadows and now silently launched himself at Lucien. They clashed together and tumbled to the ground, a blade inching its way toward Lucien's throat. The man didn't seem worried about killing Lucien and unleashing his demon on the world. Looked like he'd snapped, death his only concern.

"Demon spawn!" his opponent spat. "I've been waiting for this day."

Lucien flashed, causing the Hunter to smash into the ground. Bleeding, he reappeared behind the man, reached down and snapped his neck. At the same time, Anya appeared beside him and stabbed the Hunter in the chest.

Panting, Lucien straightened and asked, "Where are the others?"

"I killed two already, and I haven't seen the rest." She wiped her bloody hands on her gown, the crimson stains stark against the virgin white.

Again, the sight was somehow more erotic than having her splayed out on his bed. A delicate-looking beauty, lethal and courageous. A warrior princess. She seemed impressed by him, as well, her gaze sliding over him with lusty heat.

"Good aim," she told him.

Turning away before she saw the evidence of his arousal, he scanned their surroundings. The Hunters had chosen their hideaway wisely and fortified it well. There were multiple rooms and hallways, the muddy walls supported with timbers. There was a table in back, piled high with cans of food and twigs for fire.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Anya bend down in front of the prisoners, who were cowering on the floor, probably afraid the avenging angel would hurt them, too. "Don't worry," she said soothingly. "I'm all about bad guy destruction. You have nothing to fear from me. We're going to get you out of here."

Such gentleness. Even Lucien was charmed.

From down one of the hallways, he heard a grunt, a thump, followed by a piercing bellow of pain. A split second later, the other hallway erupted with human screams - screams that were quickly cut off. Lucien jumped in front of Anya, prepared to battle if anyone emerged.

Then Paris stalked from one of the rooms, face cut and bruised, and Lucien relaxed. "My two are dead," the warrior said proudly, if a bit weakly.

Amun strode from the other side, blood splattered on his cheeks. He didn't speak - he never spoke - but he did nod. His targets were defeated, as well.

Strider and Gideon were behind him and both were grinning. "I nailed three," Strider said, and Lucien noticed he was limping. "Took a blade to the thigh, but victory is ours."

"I failed," Gideon said arrogantly.

"Guess the caves are interconnected," Paris said. Lines of strain now bracketed his too-perfect face. The fight must have drained the last of his strength. Usually he'd had one or two women by this time of day - needed one or two women to sate his demon - but Promiscuity hadn't bedded a woman since the plane ride yesterday.

Anya stepped from the prisoners to Lucien's side, drawing every eye to her. All three men sucked in a - reverent? aroused? surprised? - breath.

"Why the hell is she here?" Strider demanded. "And why would a minor goddess fight Hun - "

"Hey! I'm not minor!" Anya said with a stomp of her foot.

Lucien wasn't given a chance to reply. Death tugged at him insistently, almost painfully, its need to collect the souls stronger than usual. Death was also whining inside his head, conflicted, because it wanted to remain next to pretty Anya almost as much as it needed to act.

What power did she wield over the being? How did she wield it?

"I'll return," he said. He allowed himself to be pulled completely from the physical world and into the spiritual. He could have left his body behind, but didn't want the warriors to have to worry about guarding it. His friends, and even Anya, faded from his line of vision.

He saw only the Hunters, lying on the ground, each bloody and lifeless. Inside the nearly-dead bodies, their spirits writhed, waiting for him.

"Anya," he called. He did not like leaving her alone with the other warriors. No telling what they would try to do - especially Paris.

She didn't appear. She had followed him to this realm before, he knew she had, for he had felt her. Why not now? She can take care of herself. You've seen the proof of that.

Hurry! Lucien wasn't responsible for every soul on earth. Many were actually allowed to remain, roaming the land, invisible. He thought he would go mad if he spent his every waking hour in this realm, doing nothing but traveling from earth to hell or earth to heaven. It was burden enough to be responsible for those whose final resting place had already been determined.

He always felt, deep inside, where he was supposed to escort the souls. Sometimes he even saw the final moments of the person's life, whether those moments were layered with sickening cruelty or unerring kindness.

Lucien sighed, studied his targets. There was a black aura around each of them, revealing the corruptness of their natures. These men would soon burn in the eternal fires. He wasn't surprised. While some Hunters actually made it into heaven, he'd known these would not. They were too fanatical and had indiscriminately tortured innocents for answers.

"Is this the peace you always longed for?" Lucien floated his ghostly self to the first body. Opening his hand and stretching his fingers, he reached inside the Hunter's chest. When he felt an ice-cold block, he snapped his fingers closed.

The spirit realized it was captured and began struggling as Lucien tugged it from the corpse. Their eyes met, and Lucien knew his were glowing with blue-brown fire.

"No," it screamed. "No. Let me stay here."

The man's sins suddenly flickered through the demon's awareness and in turn through Lucien's. As the man had already proven, he had considered himself above the law, slaying anyone who got in his way - men, women, children - all in the name of a better world.

Bastard.

Maintaining a strong grip on the protesting spirit, he flashed to the entrance of hell. Not Hades - that gloomy underworld was reserved for those who did not deserve either the tortures of hell or the glories of heaven. This man deserved the flames. Though the gates to the fire pit were closed, Lucien could feel the intense heat radiating, could hear the symphony of tormented screams inside, the demonic laughter. The jeers. The stifling scent of sulfur permeated the entire area, enough to make a man gag.

He'd brought Maddox here every night for thousands of years, hating himself all the while, wishing there were something he could do to ease his friend's anguish but knowing there was nothing. Until Anya. As she liked to remind him, she had saved them.

"Please!" the spirit cried. "I'm sorry for - "

"Save your pleas," he said flatly. Over the centuries, he'd heard every desperate bargain imaginable. Nothing swayed him.

What will you do if Anya begs you? What then?

Suddenly Lucien wanted to vomit, to rail, to kill at the thought of bringing such a lovely creature here. Whatever her crime, he doubted she deserved to burn, the flesh melting and peeling from her luscious body only to regenerate and melt again.

Perhaps when she died, she would be allowed in heaven.

He could pray, at least.

"Please," the Hunter's spirit screamed as two thick boulders opened up above the pit. Orange-gold flames shot out, crackling and snapping, the smell of sulfur stronger as it blended with the odors of burned hair and rotting tissue.

The spirit's struggles intensified.

When Lucien saw demonic, scaly arms reach through the flames, when he heard the taunting become eager giggles, he tossed the spirit in. The scaly arms caught it and jerked it downward. There was a scream so filled with pain it was deafening, and then the boulders closed.

He didn't know what kept the demons inside, only that something did. Something that had not been able to hold the demon he now housed, which was why it had not been returned to hell after it escaped - thanks to you - Pandora's box.

If you hadn't opened the box, you might never have met Anya. And that would have been best, he told himself, despite the sudden flare of rightness that came with knowing her. He wouldn't have been commanded to hurt her.

He repeated the journey with every slain Hunter, and when he was finished, he opened his eyes to find himself back in the physical realm. The cave walls closed in around him, dark and bleak. There was silence, but he wasn't sure the quiet was any better than the screams of the Underworld. His mind wanted to fill every second of it with thoughts of Anya.

She'd obsessed him.

And she was gone, he noticed. Disappointment filled him.

Having realized what was happening, his men had continued about their business and had patched up the innocents. Or maybe Anya had done it before she left. Where had she gone?

"I don't understand," Paris said to one of the beaten humans. "For what?"

"Artifacts," the old man said through swollen lips. "Priceless, godly, powerful. Each will lead the bearer closer to Pandora's box, helping him to finally procure it."

Pandora's box. Words guaranteed to engage his complete attention. Lucien joined the group. "How will the artifacts help us find the box?"

Amun stood off to the side, watching, but turned his head when Lucien spoke. Strider flicked him a glance, muttering, "Nice to have you back."

"The woman?"

"Still here," Gideon replied, which meant she had indeed left.

He moved beside Amun and waited for someone to explain.

"Just up and disappeared, right after you," Strider said. "Why does she keep showing up?"

Lucien didn't answer, for he didn't know what truly drove Anya. I missed you, she'd said. Had she really? He just didn't know. She was as mysterious as she was beautiful. "Who are these men and how will those artifacts help us find the box?"

Strider shrugged at the abrupt subject change. "They are mortals who've devoted their lives to the study of mythology. And I don't know."

"Can we go home?" the younger man asked. His brown eyes were watery. "Please."

"Soon," Lucien promised gently. "We just need to know what you told the Hunters."

"Hunters?" both asked in unison.

"The men who imprisoned you."

"Bastards," the younger man gritted out. "You plan to kill us after we tell you?"

"No," Strider said with a laugh. "Please. Look at you, then look at me. I don't do puny targets."

The old man gulped. Opened his mouth.

"Don't," the son said.

"It's okay. I'll tell them." The older human drew a heavy breath past his cut and bleeding lips. "According to ancient lore, there are four artifacts. The All-seeing Eye, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Cage of Compulsion and the Paring Rod."

Two rang a distant bell, delighting him. Two were unfamiliar, puzzling him. Mostly the irony of the situation disgusted him. If these humans were correct, they knew more about the world he'd once inhabited than he, a former soldier to the gods, did. "Tell me about them. Please."

With fear in his eyes, the man continued, "Some legends say that all four belonged to Cronus - some say each belonged to a different Titan. Most accounts agree that when Zeus defeated Cronus, he - Zeus - scattered them throughout the world to prevent the former god king from using them again, if he ever managed to escape his prison. For it had been prophesied that the Titans would ultimately destroy the Greeks forevermore."

Why hadn't Zeus killed Cronus to begin with, then, rather than imprison him? For that matter, why hadn't Cronus killed Zeus after his escape? Why choose imprisonment? Gods. He might never understand them, Lucien thought, even were he to devote years to studying them as these mortals had done. "What else do you know about the four artifacts?"

The younger man shrugged, taking over the story. "The All-seeing Eye provides glimpses into the otherworld, illuminating the right path. The Cloak shields the wearer from prying eyes. The Rod may part the ocean, though that is widely disputed, and the Cage enslaves whoever is locked inside. Like we said earlier, all four are needed to find and win the box, or so the legend goes, but we don't know why."

"And where are these artifacts now?" Paris rushed out. All of the warriors crowded around the men in anticipation of their reply.

The old man sighed even as he inched backward, as if fearing the warriors would erupt with his next words. "Again, we don't know." He laughed, the sound bitter. "We've been looking for them a long time and never found any indication they truly existed."

"That's why those bastards brought us here," the younger one added. "To help them hunt for clues."

"Had they found anything?" Lucien asked.

"No." The younger man shook his head. "And they were more frustrated by the day. They have men everywhere, all over the world, searching. Much as I might wish otherwise, I seriously doubt there's anything to find. If there were, we would have found it by now."

He had known the Hunters were everywhere, but he hadn't been aware of the artifacts. It was his fault, really. For so long, he'd purposely cut himself off from the world, content to live quietly in his fortress, the heavens a distant if bitter memory. Never again.

Cronus had to want the items back. Desperately. Perhaps Lucien could use that to his advantage. He made a mental note to visit Sabin and the warriors in Rome so he could alert them. "That is all you know?" he asked the men.

Both nodded warily.

"We are grateful for this information. Let's get you home now," he said, curling his fingers around each of their wrists.

"Our house is in Athens," the younger man said in a trembling voice dripping with hope. "We live together, and we can find our own way."

Tears of relief streamed down the old man's cheeks. "Thank you. Are you - one of them? The immortals? You disappeared earlier."

"Give me the address," Lucien said, pretending he hadn't heard the question. "I will take you there."

When the father told him, reverence blooming in his eyes, he flashed them.

Surprisingly, Anya was waiting in their house. She paced back and forth in the sparse but comfortable-looking living room. Not a flicker of emotion played over her features when she spied him.

"I'll wipe their memories," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as well. "They'll recall nothing of the Hunters, nothing of the Lords."

Despite himself, Lucien was overjoyed to see her and grateful that she still planned to help him. However, he flashed back to the island without uttering a word. One word would have led to another and that word would have led to a plea - kiss me, touch me, please - and then he would have challenged Cronus. I will not kill her. I'll kill you. Because, at that moment, Lucien did not care about the curses Cronus could heap upon him and his friends. He did not care that the god king could make them suffer for all eternity.

Without Anya, he was going to suffer anyway.