Free After Dark by Gena Showalter

that, he was trapped inside a tub. Clear oil rose to his calves, and he stared down in horror.
    “How do you like having your will overlooked?” she taunted.
    His gaze lifted, met hers, narrowed. “I will not fight you in this.”
    “Silly man. Of course you won’t. You’ll fight...” She tapped her chin with a fingernail. “Let’s see, let’s see. Amun? No. He won’t speak and I’d like to hear some cursing. Strider? As keeper of Defeat, he’d ensure you lost to prevent himself from feeling pain, but that would be an intense battle and I’m just wanting something to amuse me. You know, something light and sexy. I mean, since I can’t touch you, I want a Lord to do it for me.”
    Lysander popped his jaw. “Do not do this, Bianka. You will not like the consequences.”
    “Now that’s just sad,” she said. “I’ve been here two weeks, but you don’t know me at all. Of course I’ll like the consequences.” Torin, keeper of Disease? Watching him fight Torin would be fun, ’cause then he’d catch that black plague. Or would he? Could Sent Ones get sick? She sighed. “Paris will have to do, I guess. He’s handsy, so that works in my favor.”
    “Don’t you dare—”
    “Cloud, place Paris, keeper of Promiscuity, into the tub with Lysander.”
    When Paris appeared a moment later, she clapped. Paris was tall and just as muscled as Lysander. Only he had black hair streaked with brown and gold, his eyes were electric-blue and his face perfect enough to make her weep from its beauty. Too bad he didn’t stir her body the way Lysander did. Making out with him in front of the angel would have been fun.
    “Bianka?” Paris looked from her to the Sent One, the Sent One to her. “Where am I? Is this some ambrosia-induced hallucination? What the hell is going on?”
    “For one thing, you’re overdressed. You should only be wearing a loincloth like Lysander.”
    His T-shirt and jeans were instantly replaced with said loincloth.
    Best. Day. Ever. “Paris, I’d like you to meet Lysander, the Sent One who abducted me and has been holding me prisoner up here in the skies.”
    Instantly Paris morphed from confusion to fury. “Return my weapons and I’ll kill him for you.”
    “You are such a sweetie,” she said, flattening a hand over her heart. “Why is it we haven’t slept together yet?”
    Lysander snarled low in his throat.
    “What?” she asked him, all innocence. “He wants to save me. You want to subjugate me for the rest of my long life. But anyway, let me finish the introductions. Lysander, I’d like you to meet—”
    “I know who he is. Promiscuity.” Disgust layered Lysander’s voice. “He must bed a new woman every day or he weakens.”
    Another grin lifted the corners of her lips, this one smug. “Actually, he can bed men, too. His demon’s not picky. I do hope you’ll keep that in mind while you guys are rubbing up against each other.”
    Lysander took a menacing step toward her.
    “What’s going on?” Paris demanded again, glowering now. Bianka knew he was picky even if his demon wasn’t.
    “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Lysander gave me control of his home, so now I get whatever I want and I want you guys to wrestle. And when you’re done, you’ll find Kaia and tell her what’s happened, that I’m trapped with a stubborn skybarron—how funny is that word!—and can’t leave. Well, I can’t leave until he gets so sick of me he allows the cloud to release me.”
    “Or until I kill you,” he snapped.
    She laughed. “Or until Paris kills you. But I hope you guys will play nice for a little while, at least. Do you have any idea how sexy you both are right now? And if you want to kiss or something while rolling around, don’t let me stop you.”
    “Uh, Bianka,” Paris began, beginning to look uncomfortable. “Kaia’s in Budapest. She’s helping Gwen with the wedding, and thinks you’re hiding to get out of your maid of honor duties.”
    “I am not maid of honor, blast