Lords of the Underworld Bundle (52 page)

“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?”