CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHAT THE HELL WAS HE going to do?
He loved Anya. Lucien admitted that now. Knew it with a soul-deep intensity that could not be denied any longer. He loved her. He hadn't been able to kill her, and he could not abide the thought of her being bound to Cronus, the god king able to find her at every turn. Nor could he abide the thought of her being weak and powerless. Not when she had come to mean more to him than his own life.
She enjoyed stealing, often lied, could kill without remorse, had a bounty on her head, could not make love, and yet he cherished her more than he'd ever cherished Mariah. He hadn't thought such a thing possible. But Anya was the other half of him, the better half. She made him feel whole, complete, like a man rather than a demon. An attractive man, no less.
She gave him something to live for, wiped away his pain, his past, and—when she kissed him—his insecurities. Her sense of humor delighted him, her actions intrigued him. Merely being in her presence gave him more pleasure than sleeping with another woman ever had.
He knew of only one way to save her now. Find an artifact as quickly as possible and pray Cronus wanted it more than the key. He would gladly trade the artifact for Anya's life, Pandora's box be damned.
There was no way Lucien would allow Anya to give up that key now, that much he knew. She would lose her powers, her memories, the freedom she so valued. Her life? Without her ability to flash, she would be vulnerable to all kinds of attack. She would be helpless. Trapped. If a man decided to bind her by penetrating her, she would not be able to disappear or fight her way free.
With a roar, Lucien slammed his fist into the wall of the bedroom he'd occupied last night. A bedroom he'd shared with Anya. Beautiful, sparkling, fiery Anya. The wall cracked; blood trickled from the broken skin on his hand.
Anya was the one woman who saw past his scars to the man inside. In her presence he felt as if he could conquer the entire world, and he did not want that feeling to end. Holding her in his arms had been the greatest experience of his life. Nothing else compared. Nothing else came close.
Lucien scrubbed his throbbing hand down his face. Throbbing? Yes. It hadn't healed instantly, but remained cut. Dark blue and purple bruises were forming over his knuckles.
You shall weaken, Cronus had warned.
He laughed darkly. No matter what he did, what path he chose, he would weaken.
"We'll find it," Anya said softly.
He whipped around. She leaned against the doorframe, a vision in white. Thick white fur coat, skin-tight white pants. White fur boots that climbed up her glorious legs. Pale hair spilled over her shoulders and down her chest. His heart skipped a beat.
She was holding a bundle of white clothing. "You already knew that Cronus approached me yesterday. Well, you were right. He threatened me and that's why I was so mean to you. I didn't want him to know that I was…that I…" She gulped.
"I love you, Anya," he admitted gruffly. "I love you, and I can't—won't—hurt you. Understand?"
Her mouth dropped open and the clothes fell from her arms. "Lucien. I—I—"
"You do not have to say it back. I've come to know you, Anya. You are wild and free and the thought of loving a man terrifies you."
She gazed down at her feet. For the first time, she did not berate herself for it. He was pleased. He wanted her to be comfortable doing anything with him, even that.
"I feel for you what I've never felt for another," she said quietly, "and I'm happiest when I'm with you. Why else would I have hung around when you were doing everything in your power to get rid of me? But love…" She swallowed again, shook her head. "I've spent my entire life trying to keep men at a distance. Somehow you worked your way under my skin, but I can't love you." The last was said on a tortured breath.
"I know." She would feel obligated to give up her freedom if she admitted that she loved him. He would not ask it of her. Not now.
"I've been on my own for a long time," she said on a desperate laugh, "and you and I both know just how long I have left. I can't place myself in someone else's keeping."
"I know," he said again.
"I just…I know I don't want you hurt. I…I need time to think."
According to Cronus, Lucien did not have much time. Soon. The clock is ticking. Lucien would search for Hydra for however long he had. If he failed to find her, if he failed to win the artifact, he would not fight his fate, he realized then. Had already accepted it, to be honest. He couldn't hurt Anya and couldn't allow Cronus to have the key. If he had to die to ensure her safety, then he would die.
He loved Anya enough to willingly give his life for hers. Without hesitation, without reservation.
He had not been able to give his life for Mariah, but he had wanted to. Had wished for it all these long centuries. Until now. Now he was glad he'd survived. He lived and died for Anya. He would regret the past no more; he would not spend another millennium craving something he could not have.
He would enjoy Anya for as long as they could be together.
"Why do I feel so guilty?" Anya whispered, and there was shame in the undercurrents of her voice. "Like I should give Cronus the key?"
There was only one answer: she did indeed love him. His heart swelled with joy and pride. And that was enough for him, knowing she loved him, even if she could not say the words. "You will not give it to him. Promise me. Promise me you will never give it away."
Tears filled her eyes. Minutes passed in silence.
"Promise me, Anya. Give me that peace of mind."
Her lashes were black and spiky, creating a shadow-fan under her ice-blue eyes. Or perhaps, in her anguish, bruises had formed there. Finally she said, "I promise." Then she laughed without humor. "Great. Now I feel even guiltier."
He reached out and sifted strands of her silky hair between his fingers. "You should not feel that way."
"Then how should I feel?" She sniffled.
"Come here," he said, giving the locks a gentle tug.
As she inched forward, her watery gaze landed on his hand. She gripped his wrist, turning over his palm, and frowned. "You're hurt."
"A tiny scratch, nothing more."
She lifted it to her lips and placed a soft kiss directly on the wound. "My poor baby. I don't like to see you hurting."
Electric jolts shot up his arm, hot and hungry. Oh, yes, he loved this woman. He traced the shadows with his fingertip, and then their gazes locked. "I would gladly be hacked to pieces to be so ministered to."
"Do you think he can do it? Do you think you'll weaken?" she whispered brokenly, though they both already knew the answer. "You're so strong. You're so vital."
"I will be fine," he lied.
"Maybe I should, I don't know, talk to Cronus or something."
Adamant, he shook his head. "You will not do that, either. He could make things worse."
Sadness couched every beautiful plane and hollow of her face; she remained silent.
"I told you. We will find the artifact."
"You guys coming?" William called, his irritation clear.
"In a minute!" Anya shouted without looking away from Lucien. "You need to get dressed. We can't have you turning into a popsicle, now can we?"
"Not again." He spent the next heartbeat of time memorizing her face, drinking her in and branding her essence onto his every cell. She caressed his cheek all the while, clearly not wanting to leave the room, either.
"I put your gear on the floor," she said.
He chuckled. "I know. I saw you drop everything." He kissed her softly. "I'll see you downstairs."
"Flowers, I—"
"Say no more, sweetheart. We'll find a way to make this work."