Both were happy, though, Anya liked to think. Dysnomia, because she had a man who needed her and didn't revile her. Tartarus, because the prison and his bitch of a wife no longer bound him.
That didn't mean Anya would reduce her father's sacrifice to a bargaining tool in her war with Cronus, losing everything she had gained. If she gave the key away, she would be vulnerable again. Her powers, gone. Her memories, wiped out. Her ability to escape any chain, destroyed.
Damn Cronus, anyway. She wished like hell he'd never learned of the key, but figured he had seen Tartarus, who had been blessed with the key as a child, give it to her. They'd been locked in the same prison, after all, so it made sense. And if she hadn't used it to free her parents after Cronus locked them up, the god would have most likely forgotten about it. But she had, and here they were.
"Chaser and chasee," she muttered.
Mostly Cronus wanted the key out of her possession to prevent her from using it against him again. She'd tried to tell him that she didn't care about the other gods and wouldn't return to the prison. Like the distrustful deity he was, he hadn't believed her. And to be honest, he was smart not to. If he locked her parents up again, she'd simply return and bust them out.
A scowling Lucien appeared in front of her. "Anya?" She didn't miss a beat.
"Ready to have some fun?" She didn't give him time to answer. Weighed down with the chains, she flashed to a busy street in New York—fingers crossed he would be run over—then to a gay strip club in Italy—fingers crossed he would be groped—then to a zoo in Oklahoma—fingers crossed the elephant shit was ripe.
"Enjoy," she muttered with relish.
Anya flashed one final time, back to where she'd begun: his home in Greece. Lucien was still following her trail. Lightning-quick, she hid the chains under the bed and palmed her Taser.
When she straightened he was there, just in front of her. Her breath caught. He was still scowling, teeth bared and sharp, Death glowing in his eyes. He had a bleeding cut on his leg and he smelled like shit.
Her nose wrinkled. "Step in something?" she asked innocently.
"That, I did not mind." He took a menacing step toward her. "What I did mind was being hit by a cab, then landing on the lap of a naked man. With an erection, Anya. He had an erection."
She grinned. She just couldn't help herself.
"Now," he continued in that outraged tone, "you are going to tell me why you flashed to my room in Buda."
"No. I'm not." Grin widening, she lifted her arm and Tasered him.
His entire body shook, his expression frozen in outrage and anguish. Only when the last volt escaped did she drop the weapon. Hissing, he jerked the plugs from his nipples. Her aim had been dead on.
"Anya!" he growled.
Careful not to allow her expression to betray her, she whipped out two silver-tipped throwing stars and launched them at him. The whoosh was the only warning he had before the stars embedded in his heart.
He howled. "Again in the heart? Where is your originality?" He winced as he yanked them out, and his jaw set stubbornly as he tossed it to the ground. "This doesn't have to be messy, Anya."
"Hell, yes, it does." She threw another star.
He ducked, and the tiny blade sailed over his shoulder. Then he took another step toward her. Brave man. "Why can't you give Cronus the key?"
"Why couldn't you pick me rather than Cronus?" she ground out. "Why couldn't you pick me rather than your friends?"
Oh, gods. Had she truly said that? Whined like that? Heat spread over her entire face. Of course he'd picked his friends. She might wish otherwise—even the night Ashlyn sacrificed herself for Maddox, Anya had dreamed of Lucien being willing to do the same for her—but that was the way of the world. Lovers, whether they'd done the deed or not, came and went. Friends were forever.
Lucien paused. "For all I know, Anya, you will forget me tomorrow. Why should I risk all that I hold dear for a few days with you?"
Because I'm worthy, damn it! Foolishly, selfishly, she would have liked to hear that he'd go through anything for her, no matter how little or long they'd be together. Punishment. Hell. Torture. A combination of all three. "I could have helped you find those artifacts. I could have helped you fight Hydra. I could have helped you find that godsdamn box."
His shoulders sagged slightly. "I know."
Her hurt increased. He'd rather kill her than to 1) risk getting to know her more and perhaps watch her walk away one day and 2) obtain her aid for an item he desperately craved.
Growling low in her throat, she launched yet another star. He wasn't fast enough this time and it sliced into his already injured thigh.
"Damn it, Anya." He jerked it out and tossed it aside, even though he could have tossed it at her. "Calm down."
"Calm down? Are you serious?"
"Yes."
Shithead. "You wanna kill me, you're going to have to work for it."
"Very well." Eyes narrowing, he allowed his long legs to eat up the rest of the distance between them.
She flashed to the living room, but he was right behind her. She whipped around and jumped backward, placing a coffee table between them. He simply picked it up and tossed it aside. The glass shattered on impact, raining shards all over the room. The wooden legs splintered.
Why, why, why did the force of his determination and strength arouse her? Now of all times? She wouldn't let that arousal affect her, though. From the beginning, he'd done nothing but insult her, smash her hopes and ignore her feelings. He deserved whatever pain she dished out.
"If we are going to fight, it might as well be honorable," he said, and then he disappeared.
She wasn't given time to wonder where he'd gone.
He reappeared a moment later holding two swords. He threw one in her direction, and she caught it by the hilt. Heavy, but that wouldn't be a problem. She was much stronger than she looked.
"There's no fun in honor," she told him, waving the thick metal back and forth.
"Try it. You might be surprised."
"Seriously, though. You want to swordfight a girl?" She tried to put enough censure in her voice to shame him, even though she hummed with excitement. Could he beat her?
"You are hardly a typical girl, so yes. I want to fight you."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Flowers."
"It was meant as one."
Lucien was on her in the next heartbeat. She raised her sword to parry and metal clinked against metal, the force of which caused her to stumble. He continued to surge forward, continued to push her backward, his thrusts quick and unceasing, but she managed to twist to the side, swing and slice into his shirt. Oopsie, flesh too.
Blood seeped through the cotton, soaking it to his stomach. The flow swiftly stanched, and the wound, she suspected, closed. Damn immortal warriors and their supernatural healing! Because they were designed for battle, they healed much quicker than even the gods.
"Luck," he said.
"Talent." Clink. She kicked a lily-filled vase at him, and it shattered against his chest. Droplets of crimson appeared, blending with the sweat that trickled from his temples.
"We shall see."
"Should we worry about visitors?" she asked, dodging as he lunged at her.
"This place was chosen for its isolation. More than that, we paid dearly to be ignored, no matter what was heard." He jumped backward, hunching to remove his stomach from her line of fire.
"Well, aren't you a Smartie McSmartpants." She went low, aiming for his ankles. Hobbling him would be amusing.
Unfortunately, he hopped out of the way. They began a dance of thrust, parry and retreat, moving throughout the entire home. Clank. Something fell to the ground and splintered. Clank. Another item followed suit.