The Darkest Surrender (Lords of the Underworld #8)(40)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Kye?” Bianka called, cutting her off. “You in there? I know you’re in there. Come. On.”

“Yeah, Bee. I’m here, but I need a minute,” she screeched. She never removed her gaze from Strider. “We’ll continue this later. Okay?” Please. She needed his touch, his intensity. His everything.

“Uh, no, we won’t.” One step, two, he backed away from her. His arms dropped to his sides, contact severed completely. “We’re gonna keep this thing platonic.”

Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, his beautiful face the only thing in sight. “Platonic? When you’ve had your tongue down my throat?”

His eyes narrowed, too. “Fine. We’ll continue this later.”

“Really?” Happiness burst through her—followed by dread. “I’m supposed to believe you changed your mind—” she snapped her fingers “—that easily? What’s your game?”

“No game. Your argument was solid.”

Happiness was renewed, and gods, look how beautiful the sun suddenly was, so big and bright above their cloud. “Well, all right, then. Later.” She tried not to smile as she skipped to the door and greeted her sister.

STRIDER HADN’T KNOWN what to expect at the first competition and after the whole elementary school thing, he’d prepared himself for anything, everything. Or so he’d thought. Just then, he found himself drowning in shock and the ceaseless, excited buzzing of his demon. The little shit had never encountered so fervent a swell of competitive spirit and was currently bouncing around like a kid on a steady caffeine shooter diet.

Strider sat in the bleachers of a high school basketball court, about a hundred other guys surrounding him. All were strangers except for Sabin, who occupied the seat on his left, and Lysander, who occupied the seat on his right. Most were human, though some were clearly immortal. He spotted the telltale pale skin of a vampire, the dark aura of a warlock and the reptilian grace of a snake shape-shifter. Unfortunately, he didn’t see the “him” Kaia had supposedly slept with.

On the other side were the Harpies. While the men were quiet and subdued, the females were rowdy. They were jumping up and down on the steps, throwing popcorn and even cups of soda at the court. They wore tiny, tight T-shirts that ended just under the bra line—for those who were wearing bras. And shorts so short he spotted his favorite place on a woman—the sensual curve where bottom met leg—more than once. Yeah, he spied the center of paradise, too.

“The Falconways are going down!” someone called.

“You wish, Eagleshield. But then, you’ve always liked a woman on her knees.”

“Please! You couldn’t satisfy a nymph if you were cranked on Viagra.”

“Viagra only works on men, you idiot.”

“Hello, you and your clanswomen have mustaches, so why not dicks, too?”

Snickers, boos and hisses blended together.

“And I thought my Bianka was…enthusiastic,” Lysander said. “I would never have guessed she was actually considered sedate among her kind.”

Sabin snorted. “Come on. If you aren’t revved by the lesbian jokes, you’re g*y.”

Lysander’s dark gaze swung to Strider. “Are you revved by this?”

Angels, man. “I’ve been on low simmer since we walked through the doors. In fact, I didn’t need the jokes to crank my chain.” What he didn’t mention: it was all because of Kaia.

His “talk” with her—one he’d tried to postpone forever, but had swiftly realized the futility of postponing as she batted gloriously long lashes at him, all kinds of desire in her eyes—would happen sooner than even she had planned.

He’d stood in front of her, breathing her in, absorbing her body heat, peering down at that pin-up face, and he’d wanted his mouth on her, all over her. One more taste. One more, and he’d force himself to return to the friend zone.

“Lysander!” an eager female voice called from across the court. “Lysander! Over here!”

Strider searched the raucous crowd for Bianka. He found her at the top of the bleachers, waving a candy bar in the air and grinning like a loon. Her silky black hair was divided into pigtails that bounced against her arms. Cute, until you noticed the smoking hot Catholic schoolgirl uniform she wore. “Cute” mutated into “heart attack waiting to happen.” A white button-up top was knotted under her br**sts, a tie hanging between them. The short plaid skirt left a huge gap between her thighs and her knee-high socks.

Made him wish Kaia had opted to cheer her team to victory rather than fight. In that getup, she’d look better than a heart attack waiting to happen. She’d kill him on the spot.

No, he was glad she’d chosen to fight. He planned to use the needed separation from her to spy on the Eagleshields, maybe search their belongings. In fact, as soon as Tag began, he was out of here. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about that. Every man for himself.

What if Kaia’s hurt? By her own admission, she would be throwing down with “prison rules.”

A flash of red in his eyes, his fingers clenching on his legs. Kaia was a damn good fighter, he reminded himself. If he trusted anyone on her team to succeed, it was her.

“Lysander!” Bianka called again. “Look up, baby. I’m over here!”

“There are too many. I can’t find—Bianka?” Lysander’s jaw dropped.

Guess he hadn’t seen her since they’d left the heavens. Then, she had worn a scarlet robe.

“Lysander, did you see this?” Bianka turned and lifted her shirt, showing him—and everyone else—the panties she wore. They were neon-green with the words Property of Lysandy scripted across the ass.

Lysander stood, as if to fly over to her, then caught himself and plopped back down. “Sweet Deity.”

“Your woman wears underwear out in public,” Sabin said. “Must be nice. How’d you manage that little miracle?”

“Only the Deity knows.”

Great. Now Strider couldn’t stop wondering about Kaia. What kind of panties did she—or did she not—wear?

The girl beside Bianka must have complained about the high-pitched tenor of her voice, because Bianka’s grin faded and she leveled the girl with a scowl. An argument ensued. Then, of course, the two leapt at each other in a tangle of flailing limbs.

“She is magnificent, isn’t she?” Lysander asked no one in particular.