Lysander’s head tilted to the side as he found himself imagining holding Bianka in his arms as she drifted into slumber. That fall of dark curls would tumble over his arm and chest. Her warmth would seep into his body. Her leg would rub over his.
He could never allow it, of course, but that didn’t diminish the power of the vision. To hold her, protect her, comfort her would be...nice.
Would her skin be as soft as it appeared?
His teeth ground together. There was that ridiculous question again.
I do not care. It does not matter.
“Forget I said anything,” Bianka grumbled, flopping to her back and staring up at the bright sky.
“I can’t. Your words are singed into my ears. Do you know what happened to our ancestors when they were stupid enough to fall asl—”
“Yes, okay. Yes.” She pushed to her feet. The faux fur coat she wore was bloodred, same as her lips, and a vivid contrast to the white ice around her. Her boots were black and climbed to her knees. She wore skintight pants, also black. She looked wicked and beautiful.
Would her skin be as soft as it appeared?
Before he realized what he was doing, he was standing in front of her, reaching out, fingers tingling.
What are you doing? Stop!
He froze. Backed several steps away.
Sweet heaven. How close he’d come to giving in to the temptation of her.
He could not wait any longer. Could not wait until she was alone. He had to act now. His reaction to her was growing stronger. Any more, and he
would
touch her. And if he liked touching her, he might want to do more. That was how temptation worked. You gave in to one thing, then yearned for another. And another. Soon, you were lost.
“Enough heavy talk. Let’s get back to our boring routine and jump,” Bianka said, stalking to the edge of the peak. “You know the rules. Girl who breaks the least amount of bones wins. If you die, you lose. For, like, ever.” She gazed down.
So did Lysander. There were crests and dips along the way, ice bounders with sharp, deadly ridges and thousands of feet of air. Such a jump would have killed a mortal, no question. The Harpy merely joked about the possibility, as if it were of no consequence. Did she think herself invulnerable?
Kaia lumbered to her feet and swayed from the liquor still pouring through her. “Fine, but don’t think this is the last of our conversation about sleeping habits and stupid girls who—”
Bianka dove.
Lysander expected the action, but was still surprised by it. He followed her down. She spread her arms, closed her eyes, grinning foolishly. That grin...affected him. Clearly she reveled in the freedom of soaring. Something he often did, as well. But she would not have the end she desired.
Seconds before she slammed into a boulder, Lysander allowed himself to materialize in her plane. He grabbed her, arms catching under hers, wings unfolding, slowing them. Her legs slapped against him, jarring him, but he didn’t release his hold.
A gasp escaped her, and her eyelids popped open. When she spotted him, amber eyes clashing with the dark of his, that gasp became a growl.
Most would have asked who he was or demanded he go away. Not Bianka.
“Big mistake, Stranger Danger,” she snapped. “One you’ll pay for.”
As many battles as he’d fought over the years and as many opponents as he’d slain, he didn’t have to see to know she had just unsheathed a blade from a hidden slit in her coat. And judging by the smug smile that appeared, the deranged woman clearly thought she could stab him. As if he wasn’t faster. Stronger. Better. The last thought caused his chest to ache, but he wasn’t sure why.
“It is you who made the mistake, Harpy. But do not worry. I have every intention of rectifying that.” Before she could ensure that her weapon met its intended target, he whisked her into another plane, into his home—where she would stay. Forever.
CHAPTER 2
Bianka Skyhawk gaped at her new surroundings. One moment she’d been tumbling toward an icy valley, intent on escaping her sister’s line of questioning, as well as winning their break-the-least-amount-of-bones game, and the next she’d been in the arms of a gorgeous blond. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She’d tried to stab him, and he’d blocked her. Freaking blocked her. No one should be able to block a Harpy’s deathblow.
Now she was standing inside a cloud-slash-palace. A palace that was bigger than any home she’d ever seen. A palace that was warm and sweetly scented, with an almost tangible sense of peace wafting through the air.
The walls were wisps of white and smoke, and as she watched, murals formed, seemingly alive, winged creatures, both angelic and demonic, soaring through a morning sky. They reminded her of Danika’s paintings. Danika—the All-Seeing Eye who could glimpse into both heaven and hell. The floors, though comprised of that same ethereal substance, allowing a view of the land and people below, were somehow solid.
Angelic. Cloud.
The lowest level of heaven? Dread flooded her as she spun to face the male who had grabbed her. “Angelic” described him perfectly. From the top of his pale head to the strength in that leanly muscled, sun-kissed body, to the golden wings stretching from his back. Even the white robe that fell to his ankles and the sandals wrapped around his feet gave him a saintly aura.
Was he an angel, then? Or a Sent One? Her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t human, that was for sure. No human male could ever hope to compare to such blinding perfection. But hello baby, those eyes...they were dark and hard and almost, well, empty.
His eyes don’t matter.
Angels and Sent Ones were demon assassins, and she was as close to a demon as a girl could get. After all, her ancestors hailed from the depths of hell. Long ago, fallen angels had mated with humans, and the children born from those unions had later mated with other humans, and her race was one of the results.
Unsure of what to do, Bianka strode around her blond; he remained in place, even when she was at his back, as if he had nothing to fear from her. Maybe he didn’t. Obviously he had powers. One, he’d blocked her—she just couldn’t get over that fact—and two, he’d somehow removed her coat and all her weapons without touching her.
“Are you an angel?” she asked when she was once again in front of him.
“No. I’m a Sent One.”
Poor guy, she thought with a shudder. Clearly he had no idea the crappy hand he’d been dealt. If she had to choose between being a Sent One and a dog, she’d choose the dog. They, at least, were respectable.
She’d never been this close to a Sent One before. Seen one, yes. Or rather, seen what she’d thought was one of the winged warriors of the skies but had later learned was a demon in disguise. Either way, she hadn’t liked the guy, her youngest sister’s father. He considered himself a god and everyone else beneath him.
“Did you bring me here to kill me?” she asked. Not that he’d have any luck. He would find that she was not an easy target. Many immortals had tried to finish her off over the years, but none had succeeded. Obviously.
He sighed, warm breath trekking over her cheeks. She had accidentally-on-purpose closed some of the distance between them; he smelled of the icecaps she so loved. Fresh and crisp with just a hint of earthy spice.
When he realized that only a whisper separated them, his lips, too full for a man but somehow perfect for him, pressed into a mulish line. Though she didn’t see him move, he was suddenly a few more inches away from her. Huh. Interesting. Had he increased the distance on purpose?
Curious, she stepped toward him.
He backed away.
He had. Why? Was he scared of her?
Just to be contrary, as she often was, she stepped toward him again. Again, he stepped away. So. The big bad Sent One didn’t want to be within striking distance. She almost grinned.
“Well,” she prompted. “Did you?”
“No. I did not bring you here to kill you.” His voice was rich, sultry, a sin all its own. And yet, there was a layer of absolute truth to it, and she suspected she would have believed anything he said. As if whatever he said was simply fated, meant to be. Unchangeable. “I want you to emulate my life. I want you to learn from me.”
“Why?” What would he do if she touched him? The tiny gossamer wings on her own back fluttered at the thought. Her T-shirt was designed especially for her kind, the material loose to keep from pinning those wings as she jolted into super-speed. “Wait. Don’t answer. Let’s make out first.” A lie, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Bianka,” he said, his patience clearly waning. “This is not a game. Do not make me bind you to my bed.”
“Ohh, now that I like. Sounds kinky.” She darted around him, running her fingertips over his cheek, his neck. “You’re as soft as a baby.”
He sucked in a breath, stiffened. “Bianka.”
“But better equipped.”
“Bianka!”
She patted his butt. “Yes?”
“You will cease that immediately!”
“Make me.” She laughed, the amused, carefree sound echoing between them.
Scowling, he reached out and latched on to her upper arm. There wasn’t time to evade him; shockingly, he was faster than she was. He jerked her in front of him, and dark, narrowed eyes stared down at her.
“There will be no touching. Do you understand?”
“Do you?” Her gaze flicked to his hand, still clutching her arm. “At the moment, you’re the one touching me.”
Like hers, his gaze fell to where they were connected. He licked his lips, and his grip tightened just the way she liked. Then he released her as if she were on fire and once again increased the distance between them.
“Do you understand?” His tone was hard and flat.
What was the problem? He should be begging to touch her. She was a desirable Harpy, thank you very much. Her body was a work of art and her face total perfection. But for his benefit, she said, “Yeah, I understand. That doesn’t mean I’ll obey.” Her skin tingled, craving the return of his.
Bad girl. Bad, bad girl. He’s a stupid warrior, more brawn than brains, and therefore not an appropriate plaything. Wait.
Surely that thought hadn’t come from her. She loved men with more brawn than brains, right?
A moment passed as he absorbed her words. “Are you not frightened of me?” His wings folded into his back, arcing over his shoulders.
“No,” she said, raising a brow and doing her best to appear unaffected. “Should I be?”
“Yes.”
Well, then, he’d have to somehow grow the fiery claws of her father’s people. That was the only thing that scared her. Having been scratched as a child, having felt the acid-burn of fire spread through her entire body, having spent days writhing in agonizing, seemingly endless pain, she would do anything to avoid such an experience again.
“Well, I’m still not. And now you’re starting to bore me.” She anchored her hands on her hips, glaring up at him. “I asked you a question but you never answered it. Why do you want me to be like you? So much so, that you brought me into the skies?”
A muscle ticked below one of his eyes. “Because I am good and you are evil.”
Another laugh escaped her. He frowned, and her laughter increased until tears were running from her eyes. When she quieted, she said, “Good job. You staved off the boredom.”
His frown deepened. “I was not teasing you. I mean to keep you here forever and train you to be respectable.”
“Golly gee—is that right? Is that what you’d say? How adorable are you? ‘I mean to keep you here forever and train you,’” she said in her best impersonation of him. There was no reason to fight about her eventual escape. She’d prove him wrong just as soon as she decided to leave. Right now, she was too intrigued. With her surroundings, she assured herself, and not the Sent One. The skies were not a place she’d ever thought to visit.
His chin lifted a notch, but his eyes remained expressionless. “I am serious.”
“I’m sure you are. But you’ll find that you can’t keep me anywhere I don’t want to be. And me? Respectable? Funny!”
“We shall see.”
His confidence might have unnerved her had she been less confident in her own abilities. As a Harpy, she could lift a semi as if it were no more significant than a pebble, could move faster than the human eye could see and had no problem slaying an unwelcome host.
“Be honest,” she said. “You saw me and wanted a piece, right?”
For the briefest of moments, horror blanketed his face. “No,” he croaked out, then cleared his throat and said more smoothly, “No.”
Jerk! Why such horror at the thought of being with her?
She
was the one who should be horrified. He was clearly a do-gooder, more so than she’d realized.
I am good and you are evil,
he’d said. Ugh.
“So tell me again why you want to change me. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you shouldn’t mess with perfection?”
That muscle started ticking below his eye again. “You are a menace.”
“Whatever, dude.” She liked to steal—so what. She could kill without blinking—again, so what. It wasn’t like she worked for the IRS or anything. “Where’s my sister, Kaia? She’s as much a menace as I am, I’m sure. So why don’t you want to change her?”
“She is still in Alaska, wondering if you are buried inside an ice cave. And you are my only project at the moment.”
Project? Oh, that burned more than all his other insults put together. But she did like the thought of Kaia searching high and low but finding no sign of her, almost like they were playing a game of hide-and-seek. Bianka would totally, finally win.
“You appear...excited,” he said, head tilting to the side. “Why? Does her concern not disturb you?”
Yep. A certified do-gooder. “It’s not like I’ll be here long.” She peeked over his shoulder; more of that wisping white greeted her. “Got anything to drink here?”
“No.”
“Eat?”
“No.”
“Wear?”
“No.”
Slowly the corners of her lips lifted. “I guess that means you like to go naked. Awesome.”
His cheeks reddened. “Enough. You are trying to bait me and I do not like it.”
“Then you shouldn’t have brought me here.” Hey, wait a minute. He’d never really told her why he’d chosen her as his
project,
she realized. “Be honest. Do you need my help with something?” After all, she, like many of her fellow Harpies, was a mercenary, paid to find and retrieve. Her motto: if it’s unethical and illegal and you’ve got the cash, I’m your girl! “I mean, I know you didn’t just bring me here to save the world from my naughty influence. Otherwise, millions of other people would be here with me.”
He crossed his arms over his massive chest.
She sighed. Knowing men as she did, she knew he was done answering that type of question. Oh, well. She could have convinced him otherwise by annoying him until he caved, but she didn’t want to put the work in.
“So what do you do for fun around here?” she asked.
“I destroy demons.”
Like you,
she finished for him. But he’d already said he had no intention of killing her, and she believed him—how could she not? That voice... “So you don’t want to hurt me, you don’t want to touch me, but you do want me to live here forever.”
“Yes.”
“I’d be an idiot to refuse such an offer.” That she sounded sincere was a miracle. “We’ll pretend to be married and spend the nights locked in each other’s arms, kissing and touching, our bodies—”
“Stop. Just stop.” And, drumroll please, that muscle began ticking under his eye again.
This time, there was no fighting her grin. It spread wide and proud. That tic was a sign of anger, surely. But what would it take to make that anger actually seep into his irises? What would it take to break even a fraction of his iron control?
“Show me around,” she said. “If I’m going to live here, I need to know where my walk-in closet is.” During the tour, she could accidentally-on-purpose brush against him. Over and over again. “Do we have cable?”
“No. And I cannot give you a tour. I have duties. Important duties.”
“Yeah, you do. My pleasure. That should be priority one.”
Teeth grinding together, he turned on his heel and strode away. “You will find it difficult to get into trouble here, so I suggest you do not even try.” His voice echoed behind him.
Please. She could get into trouble with nothing but a toothpick and a spoon. “If you leave, I’ll rearrange everything.” Not that there was any furniture to be seen.
Silence.
“I’ll get bored and take off.”
“Try.”
It was a response, at least. “So you’re seriously going to leave me? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.
“Yes.” Another response, though he didn’t stop walking.
“What about that bed you were going to chain me to? Where is it?”
Uh-oh, back to silence.
“You didn’t even tell me your name,” she called, irritated despite herself. How could he abandon her like that? He should hunger for more of her. “Well? I deserve to know the name of the man I’ll be cursing.”
Finally, he stopped. Still, a long while passed in silence and she thought he meant to ignore her. Again. Then he said, “My name is Lysander,” and stepped from the cloud, disappearing from view.