Strawberry. A word he would forever associate with Anya.
Make her leave. She's a distraction you cannot afford.
Want her to stay! the demon growled.
If only. "Not many more hours of light, so…" His voice was hoarse.
Hurt glimmered in the blue depths of her eyes. "So get lost? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yes." He turned away from her—for the best, you know it—and scooped another handful of dirt.
Kiss her. Kisskisskiss.
He clenched his jaw.
A moment passed in silence. Then, "Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Not wise, giving me your back."
"The other warriors are nearby." They were spread out over the island, close enough to hear but not close enough to kill an immediate threat. "I'll let them worry about my back," he lied. He just, well, he couldn't face her again. She stirred all kinds of emotions inside him. Emotions he was better off without.
"Well, then. Aren't you going to rush me or something? I'm, like, at the top of your destruction list."
"Later. Right now, I'm busy." He heard her shift, heard a rock fall. Wanted to look. Didn't. One more glance at her, and he might never look away. He might rush her as she'd asked, but he wouldn't hurt her. He would kiss her, just as Death craved. Again and again. Until their clothes were shed and he was pumping inside her.
In that instant, his body was so hard he thought he might burst.
"Lucien," Paris called from beyond the far temple wall, his voice tense.
He straightened. Still he did not face Anya. "Yes."
"I smell female. Your female."
"Stay where you are." He didn't want the others to see her like this. "All of you. Keep looking for something to point us in the right direction."
Paris grumbled something under his breath. Strider shouted, "You lucky son of a bitch." Amun and Gideon did not reply.
"Guess they won't have your back, after all," Anya said, her tone strangely devoid of emotion.
He didn't like it when she became so unreadable. He was afraid she was doing so to protect herself from pain. Pain he caused.
"So you guys are looking for artifacts, hmm?"
"Do not pretend ignorance. You sent us here." He crouched down once more and rolled a large silver stone aside, spotting pebbles and a dead clam underneath. He gritted his teeth, feeling impatient and like a fool. What kind of warrior played in the sand?
"This temple had been buried under the sea for thousands of years," Anya said. "The salt water probably washed all evidence of the past away."
"Perhaps something remains." He had to believe it was so.
"I thought your precious Ashlyn told you the box was guarded by Hydra," Anya said, and this time she spoke with a sneer.
Yes, Ashlyn had heard something about Hydra in her travels with the World Institute of Parapsychology. But why had Anya sneered? She had once aided Ashlyn, had seemed to like her. Doesn't matter.
According to numerous sources, Hydra had multiple heads and poisonous breath. Hercules was said to have defeated her at Lake Lerna. But Ashlyn claimed there had been a few sightings over the years. Always in a different location—the Arctic, Egypt, Africa, Scotland and even the States. Humans called her Nessie, Big Foot and all other manner of names. Leave it to mortals not to know what was right under their noses.
Part of Lucien wanted to abandon this temple and search in one of those locations. For if he could find Hydra, maybe he could find the box. Maybe he could destroy it at last and prevent Hunters—and even the gods—from trapping the demons and killing him and the other Lords.
Curiosity, however, held him here. The Titans had resurrected this temple for a reason. Yes, they planned to bring humans back to the days of worship and sacrifice. But there was something here. Had to be. Why else would the Hunters have been looking so diligently?
"I love treasure hunts," Anya said, reclaiming his attention. "They're so exciting."
"You are not helping us."
A pause. Then, suddenly, she was standing beside him, strands of her hair brushing his bare arm. He'd removed his shirt an hour ago, the sun too bright and too hot. Sweat trickled along the ropes of his stomach, causing that hair to plaster against his skin. He had to grind his molars at the headiness of being connected to her, even in so small a way.
"Why can't I help?" Anya asked, and there was a catch in her raspy voice. A pout. Gods, he loved the sound of that pout. "I've proven myself invaluable so far."
Foolish him, he finally dared a glance up at her. He saw her panties first and had to swallow a wave of need. He forced his gaze to continue its upward slide, not stopping until their eyes locked. So pretty. He pushed to his feet, damned legs shaking.
Her gaze immediately dropped to his chest. To the black butterfly tattooed over his torso and shoulder. He gulped, had to look away again. Stark desire radiated from her. She even reached out to touch him, caught herself, and lowered her arm.
Do it. Touch me. Too many days had passed since he'd felt the fire of her fingertips.
She didn't, though. "It's lovely," she said, motioning to the butterfly.
"Thank you." Disappointment slammed into him when she didn't reach out again, but he knew it was better this way.
"I hate it," he admitted.
"Really? Why?"
"It is the mark of the demon. After Death was thrust inside my body, the tattoo simply appeared."
"Well, FYI. It's a babe magnet. Maybe I'll get one. A dagger or maybe even angel wings. Oh, oh. I know. I'll get a matching butterfly. We'll be twinkies!"
Anya, tattooed. A design for his tongue to trace. He gulped. Touch me. Please touch me. "To answer your earlier question, you cannot help us because you will distract us from our purpose," he said a little more forcefully than he'd intended. He was barely able to concentrate on anything but her scent and her beauty every time she neared him. "I'm sorry."
Her gaze snapped to his. "You're not sorry, but whatever," she said tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now I won't tell you where the box is."
He was gripping her arms in the next instant. "You know where it is?"
She grabbed his wrists and squeezed. Not to push him away, but to hold him in place. "Would you stop trying to kill me if I did?"
"No."
Scowling, she stomped her foot. The action caused her breasts to bounce gently against his arms. "I don't even know why I'm bothering with you."
"You said that before."
"Well, it's important enough to be mentioned twice."
He sighed. "Why are you here, Anya?"
Her expression became mulish. "None of your business, Flowers."
"Trying to butter me up some more?"
Her eyes closed off like blinds drawn over a window, but he could see the blue fire banked there through tiny slats of inextinguishable emotion. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"
Unable to stop himself—would it always be so?—he jerked her up and into him, body to body, placing them nose to nose. He had not felt this out of control since those early days with the demon. Anya's nipples poked at his chest deliciously. "So are you. You are driving me insane."
"Boo fucking hoo. You're driving me insane."
He shook her and she suddenly gasped, losing all hint of anger. She moaned. Moaned! "Mmm. Must be my lucky day. You have another erection."
His nostrils flared, potent desire heating his blood. Well, more desire. Concentrate. "What do you know about the box, Anya?" She had mentioned it, yes? He couldn't recall. Could only remember the way she tasted, hot and wild.
Her luscious little tongue flicked out and traced the seam of her lips. "Confession. I don't know where it is, but I do know you'll never find it."