Free The Darkest Kiss by Gena Showalter Page B

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.
    â€œMaybe 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.
    â€œOne last chance to pay up the favor you owe me by protecting me from Cronus,” she told him.
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œAll 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.
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œFeel 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