Into The Dark (Lords of the Underworld #5.5)(35)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Wanting you dead and wanting your body aren’t the same things.” With a sugar-sweet grin, she patted his cheek. “And I can promise you that while I do want the first, I was only teasing you about the second.” Now who was playing who? “So…if we’re done here…? I believe there is a minor god awaiting my return.”

Atlas ran his tongue over his teeth. His arms fell away from her, and he stepped back. She nearly collapsed, but managed to shift her legs and absorb her own weight. Unaffected. That’s how she had to appear.

“We’re done,” he said, his tone clipped. “We are definitely done.”

Good, she thought. So why did she suddenly want to cry for real?

CHAPTER FIVE

ATLAS HAD TO EMPTY A CELL of its seven occupants and place those gods and goddesses within other, already cramped cells to make a place for Nike. The time and effort was worth it, though. He couldn’t tolerate the thought of her with that bastard Erebos, doing the same things to him that she’d once done to Atlas.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Ever.

And maybe, perhaps, there was a slight chance it had nothing to do with punishing her and everything to do with the pleasure he’d earlier denied. In her arms, he’d come alive. That had happened last time, too, but he’d written it off as prisoner insanity. Now, he couldn’t write it off. He wasn’t a prisoner; he was a warden. He’d come alive, and he needed more. Of her, only her. Yet she claimed she’d merely been playing him.

Fucking playing him. He wanted that to be a lie more than he wanted to take his next breath. Which he really wanted to take. He didn’t understand this. She was doomed to spend eternity hidden away, which meant they could not have any kind of life together. Not even if he freed her. He would then be locked away or put to death. Unlike her, that was not something he was willing to risk.

But that she had been, all those centuries ago…it was humbling. He still could not get over the emotion.

Surely she still wanted him.

For a week, Atlas lamented his plight and pondered what to do. All the while, he stayed away from Nike’s new cell. That didn’t stop him from thinking about her, however. What was she doing? Did she think of him? Did she dream of him and that shattering kiss?

He did. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the passion glowing from her face. A face that was exquisite. From barely passable, to pretty, to exquisite, all in a week’s time. He shook his head in wonder. But she deserved the praise. Her lashes were long and as rich as black velvet. Velvet that framed sensual chocolate eyes. Her cheeks were smooth, perfect for caressing, and her lush, red lips were sweeter than ambrosia. And all that strength…his shaft filled and lengthened just remembering it. She’d gripped and scratched him with savage abandon. He still bore the marks.

Fine. He had lied to her. They definitely weren’t done. Not even close. He had to experience that again.

Finally, he could stand the separation no longer. Thankfully, his shift was over. A shift that had consisted of walking the prison halls, watching the prisoners inside their cells and ensuring everyone remained calm.

That should have bored him. After all, he was a warrior. But bore him it didn’t. And that should have irritated him. After all, he’d spent countless centuries in this place and had sworn never to return once he’d escaped. But again, irritation was not what he felt. He’d wanted this job to be close to Nike. To have his vengeance, he’d once told himself. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Today, and all week really, he’d walked the halls invigorated, knowing all he had to do to catch sight of her was turn a corner.

He hadn’t allowed himself to do so. Until now. Finally, he would see her.

The moment she came into view, his blood heated, blistering. His breath followed suit, flaming his lungs to ash. She sat atop her cot, arms gripping the rail, knees drawn up while she leaned slightly forward. Her hair was finger-combed to perfection, and her eyes were narrowed, shielding her irises and the emotion banked there, but at least he could see the shadows her lashes cast over her cheeks. Shadows he might trace with a fingertip. Or his tongue.

Oh, yes. She was exquisite.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Her voice was smooth as silk. Just beneath that silk, however, he thought he caught a tendril of fury.

Was she mad that he’d come? Or mad that he’d stayed away so long?

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Though Mnemosyne was still trying to change that.

Even though he pushed her away every damn time.

Nike shrugged. “Too bad for you that whores never commit.”

He knew he was the whore that she spoke of, and popped his jaw. But he deserved that, he supposed. “I did what I had to do to escape, Nike. That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel—” No. Oh, no. He would not go down that road. He hadn’t wanted to feel anything for her, but he had. That hadn’t stopped him from using her, so she’d never like what he had to say about the matter. “I’m sure you’d do anything to escape, as well.”

Her expression darkened, but she did not refute his words. “So, did you come to free me?”

“Hardly.”

“Then why are you here? We have nothing more to say to each other.”

Because you’re all I think about anymore. He never should have marked her. This might have been avoided. Or not. He might have slept with others all those years ago because he’d been desperate to flee this place, but it had been her face he’d imagined when he’d done so.

Without looking away from her, he leaned back against the bar behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s plenty to say. About the kiss.”

She yawned, patting her beautiful mouth. A mouth he wanted all over his body. “I’d rather sleep.”

So. She still wanted him to think she had been unaffected. Part of him believed it. An insecure part of him that had never really known how to deal with her, his equal in every way. Yes, even strength, though he often liked to deny it. The other part of him, the masculine part, knew she had liked everything he’d done. She’d shouted his name, for gods’ sake, and he hadn’t even made her climax.

“You’re saying you don’t want me?” he asked as silkily as she had.

“Not even a little.”

“Really?” He rested his fingers at the waist of his pants, twisting the button, and her eyes followed the movement. His c**k was already hard, already straining, rising over the top. Moisture glistened there. “Not even a tiny, tiny bit?”