The Darkest Angel (Lords of the Underworld #4.5)(16)
Author: Gena Showalter

And just like 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 angels 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 angel, the angel 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 angel who abducted me and has been holding me prisoner up here in heaven.”

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 angel 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, damn it!” But at least Kaia wasn’t worried. The bitch, she thought with affection.

“That’s not what she says. Anyway, I don’t mind fighting another dude to amuse you, but seriously, he’s an angel. I need to return to—”

“No need to thank me.” She held out her hands. “A bowl of Lysander’s popcorn, please.” The bowl appeared, the scent of butter wafting to her nose. “Now then. Let’s get this party started. Ding, ding,” she said, and settled down to watch the battle.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LYSANDER COULD NOT BELIEVE what he was being forced to do. He was angry, horrified and, yes, contrite. Hadn’t he done something similar to Bianka? Granted, he hadn’t stripped her down. Hadn’t pitted her against another female.

There was the tightening in his groin again.What was wrong with him?

“I will set you free,” he told Bianka. And sweet Holy Deity, she looked beautiful. More tempting than when she’d worn that little bit of nothing. Now she wore a green and black tank that bared her golden arms. Were those arms as soft as they appeared? Don’t think like that. Her shirt stopped just above her navel, making his mouth water, his tongue yearn to dip inside. What did I just say? Don’t think like that. Her pants were the same dark shades and hung low on her hips.

He’d come here to fight her, to finally force her hand, and judging by that outfit, she’d been ready for combat. That…excited him. Not because their bodies would have been in close proximity—really—and not because he could have finally gotten his hands on her—again, really—but because, if she injured him, he would have the right to end her life. Finally.

But he’d come here and she’d taught him a quick yet unforgettable lesson instead. He’d been wrong to whisk her to his home and hold her captive. Temptation or not. She might be his enemy in ways she didn’t understand, but he never should have put his will above hers. He should have allowed her to live her life as she saw fit.

That’s why he existed in the first place. To protect free will.

When this wrestling match ended, he would free her as he’d promised. He would watch her, though. Closely. And when she made a mistake, he would strike her down. And she would. Make a mistake, that is. As a Harpy, she wouldn’t be able to help herself. He wished it hadn’t come to that. He wished she could have been happy here with him, learning his ways.