The Darkest Surrender (10 page)

“I thought you didn’t do honorably.”

She peered up at him through narrowing eyes, indignation at last replacing sorrow. When her lashes fused together, he was strangely glad to see the silver swirling underneath, no hint of gold. “In this and only this, I do. Too much is at stake,” she added, mirroring his thoughts. “Not just for me, but for my sisters.”

Win.

The Rod?
Dude, I’m working on it. A little space would be nice.

Win!

I know, damn you!
“What if I… Shit.” He released Kaia to scrub a hand down his face. As many battles as he’d fought during his long life, he could sniff out a dead end before he turned the corner and spied the brick wall. They were at an impasse, and he knew it. She wouldn’t budge—unless he changed the stakes.

“Do this for me, and I’ll sleep with you. Okay?”

For a moment, she gave no reaction. Then a squawk parted her lips and she batted him away from her. And by “batted” he meant that she used so much force, he actually spun around, unable to stop himself.

“How magnanimous of you.” An instant later, she was
in front of him again. She shoved him, hard, and he stumbled backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. “To offer up your body when you so clearly have no desire for me. To lower your standards and whore yourself. To use me, no matter how badly I’ll suffer in the end.”

Her words were like arrows, direct hits, and he cringed, but he offered no reply. Not yet. As he collapsed and bounced on the mattress, he focused on his demon.
This isn’t a challenge to dominate her sexually, you get me?

Win!

Strider pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He thought the demon was still focused on the Rod, but he couldn’t be sure. So, when Kaia jumped on top of him, straddling his waist, he twisted, tossing her down and pinning her with his weight. And gods, that felt
good.
She fit him perfectly, her breasts soft against his chest, the apex of her thighs offering an exquisite cradle to the thickness of his shaft.

The scent of cinnamon continued to waft from her, enveloping him, hazing his thoughts. Heat, so much heat, pulsed from her soft, luscious skin, branding him.

WIN.

Bastard. “This is life and death, Kaia.”

She was panting as she tangled her hands in his hair, nails biting into his scalp. “For me, too.”

“Would you do it for…Paris?” he asked, hating himself.

“No.”

No hesitation from her, and that eased the tightness in his chest. A tightness he hadn’t even been aware of until just that moment. “Kaia.”

“Strider.”

“I—I never said I didn’t desire you.” He wasn’t sure what he’d meant to say, he only knew that wasn’t it, that
the words had slipped out without his consent. “I do. How could I not?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Are you saying you agree to be my consort?”

“No.” He wouldn’t lie about that. Not to her. And not because she’d rip him to pieces when she discovered the truth. “I can’t give you forever.”

The nibbling increased in intensity, leaving a bead of blood in the center of her mouth. “Because we’re not a good match?”

Of course she would remember every insult he’d ever thrown at her. “Yes.”

“Then what
can
you give me?”

“Here. Now.” Something his body craved more with every second that passed.

“In exchange for my aid in the theft of the Paring Rod.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes.” Maybe even without it. So badly he wanted to arch into her, rub against her, stoke her passions until she begged him to finish her off.

She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her teeth. Teeth sharpening into a mouthful of daggers, but gods, that tongue was pretty. “You’ll have to convince me,” she said huskily, even as she drew his head down…down…until his lips hovered just above hers. “Give me a taste of what you’re offering.”

WIN, WIN, WIN.

A challenge. Intentional or not. And this time, he had no trouble interpreting what his demon expected, needed. Strider had to kiss her, and he had to convince her, or he would hurt.

He waited for fury to fill him, but as he stared down at her, breathing her in, all he wanted to do was give her that taste.

He removed her nails from his scalp and flattened her
hands over her head, forcing her back to bow, her body to slide against his. Her nipples were hard, just waiting for his mouth.

“Don’t say another goddamn word,” he commanded, and then he finally,
finally
went in for the kill.

K
AIA FELT AS IF SHE’D BEEN
waiting for this moment forever. And in a way, she had. At long last, she lay in her consort’s embrace, and he was meeting her needs. Her wildest, most sensual needs. Strider’s lips pressed against hers, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth, hot, decadent, his taste filling her up, consuming her. She’d never loved cinnamon more. Sweet and tangy with just a little spice.

The weight of his muscled body pinned her to the mattress, and the weapons strapped all over him pressed into bone, probably bruising. As if she cared. What were a few bruises when one of Strider’s big hands held her head tilted to the side to deepen their connection?

What were a few bruises when her breasts rasped against his chest with her every inhalation, and her aching nipples rubbed at him, sparking the desire inside her to a hotter degree?

She spread her legs, allowing his lower half to fall more firmly against hers. His erection—so big, so long, so perfectly thick—hit her just right, and she gasped. Hotter, hotter,
sooo
much hotter.

“Strider,” she moaned.

“Kaia.”

Her name on his lips…heaven and hell, sweet and torturous. A siren’s song. “More.”

“How do you like it?”

“However you give it.” Her nails had already length
ened into claws, and she dug them into his back, accidentally cutting past his shirt and into skin. He groaned, and their teeth scraped together. His fingers clenched on her jaw. “Sorry,” she panted. She squeezed his hips with her knees, just in case he thought to leave her.

“Don’t be sorry,” he growled. “Just do it again.” He sucked on her bottom lip, hard, causing sizzling goose bumps to sprout from head to toe.

More erotic, freeing words had never been spoken. As a Harpy, she was stronger and more vicious than almost all other immortals. She’d always had to temper her passions and hold back. Even with Paris.

She didn’t think she’d have to hold back with Strider—and wouldn’t. Whatever she dished, he could take. Hell, he would revel in. He was too strong, too determined for anything less. And really, he might look like an angel, but he was far wickeder than any other Lord. The best kind of wicked, at that. Devilish. Gentle and easy weren’t his style.

He found humor in the strangest things. If he discovered one of his friends chained to a female’s bed (cough Lucien cough), he took pictures and emailed them to every one he knew. How cool was that?

A man like that would never ask her to stop stealing. He might even join her on her obligatory forays, keeping her dark side happy without causing too much damage. More than that, he knew triumph and loss better than any other. He would revel in her every accomplishment, good, bad or ugly. He would be the first to tell her when she’d screwed up, but he wouldn’t write her off.

Or maybe the man she pictured in her mind was pure fantasy. The one on top of her thought to barter with her, his body in exchange for her cooperation. That pissed her off royally—but not enough to stop this tasting.

He was her drug of choice, she mused, and she was already addicted to him.

“Kaia! Pay some fucking attention to what’s happening here,” he snarled.

Startled back to her senses, she blinked up at him. He was panting, sweating—perhaps more than he should—his features tight with strain. He must have been calling for her for quite a while. And damn, she’d stopped kissing him to ponder his virtues and follies, she realized. A travesty she would rectify immediately.

“I’m here.” She wrapped her legs around him and locked her ankles, arching up. More contact with his erection, more gasping from her. So delicious. So perfect. So freaking hot.

“Good girl.” His tongue found its way back inside her mouth, and they dueled, fighting for dominance.

She let him win, submitting, allowing him to take the lead, urging her toward complete satisfaction. Or maybe insanity. Her mind fogged with desire, her blood heated to blistering and her Harpy sang with approval.

This was everything she had been dreaming of, fantasizing about, craving with every fiber of her being. Her man, feasting on her, grinding against her. She would never get enough of him, would always want more. Always need more. Her nerve endings caught fire, the ever-growing blaze nearly too much, the ache between her legs fierce.

She had to lock this deal up tight. Love him within an inch of his life, bind them together, and never, never, allow him to escape her. Never allow any of the other Harpies near him. He was hers. Would always be hers.

You can’t think like that. He’s a warrior, used to control. You try to bind him, and he’ll run. This has to be a partnership, not a Harpytatorship.
Yes, okay. She could
do that. Work with him. Anything to keep him with her, to kiss him again, to have him, all of him. Question—could
he
work with her?

“Damn it, Kaia.” He removed his hand from her jaw and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing. “What the hell is going on in that head of yours?”

“You, us, together. Yes,” she moaned, pressing herself into the touch. Hot, she was so hot, and only growing hotter. “More.”

“Good, okay, yes. Harder?”

“Harder. Please.” She lifted her hips off the mattress, the springs squeaking, and moved herself against him. Steam might even have risen from her pores, surrounding them both, thickening the air. “More. All.”

“Damn, your mouth is a firestorm. Burns. And yeah, baby doll, I’ll give you—” He sucked in another breath, stiffened, cursed. Cursed so violently she was surprised her ears hadn’t started bleeding. “All right. Yes. We’ll do this. You and me. I’ll give you more, all.”

His voice was…odd, she thought distantly. No longer layered with arousal, but as stiff as his body now was, and formal. Almost robotic. Why? What had changed? She mourned the loss.

He fit their lips back together and the kiss continued. She rubbed her core up and down his length, unable to stop herself, never loosening her grip around his waist. He settled against her, his skin slick with sweat. She fell back to the bed, but all the while she fought through the now cooling lust-fog, determined to figure out what was going on with him.

His tongue moved in and out of her mouth, mimicking sex. His hand squeezed her breast every few seconds. He swirled his hips at the same time, brushing against her clitoris. It was a dance, each movement fitting the rhythm
of the next. His technique was flawless. Soon he would make her come.

Technique, she thought then. Yes, that’s exactly what this was. A technique. He was hard where it counted, yes, but also where it didn’t, his muscles petrified into stone. He wasn’t moaning in surrender. How could he? Every swish of his tongue was calculated, as if he were thinking about what to do rather than allowing instinct to guide him. As if he had absolute control and wasn’t even close to losing it.

Which meant he wasn’t enjoying what he was doing. He was simply performing, driving her need higher and higher, manipulating her. Giving her what she wanted, but not taking what he needed.

He had somehow managed to detach himself.

“What do you like?” he asked. “Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

She could have been anyone, and it wouldn’t have mattered to him. And when it was over, he would have taken her, had her, but she would have been one of a thousand others, unimportant and temporary. An easy conquest. A means to an end.

No.
No!
She would not be Kaia the Disappointment. Not with him. She would not be content with the scraps of his affections and call it good. She would have all or nothing. Settling was for the weak.

She was not weak.

But even knowing what he was doing, even hurting as she was—again—and even as desperate as she was for release, she couldn’t bring herself to harm him physically. Not by her hand, and not by using his demon. He had to win this contest of wills
without
smothering her pride anymore than he already had. Somehow, someway.

She cut off a bitter laugh. Once again she would be throwing a fight. This time, however, the prize was far more important. His body…and his heart? No, not his
heart. That, he would never offer. Not to her. The same determination that had sculpted him into such a fierce warrior and lover had turned him into an emotional recluse. Cooling…cooling… “Strider?”

A swipe of his tongue, a squeeze of his hand. “Tell me,” he said, ignoring her. “Your mouth, the heat is gone.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Either way, I like it. But why the change?”

Enough of this. Besides, she didn’t know. She’d never heated up like that before. “I don’t…I don’t think you can stop.” Gods, saying the words, letting them raze her throat, left her trembling with frustration.

He froze above her, beads of sweat still dripping from him. In fact, his shirt was soaked, sticking to his chest. “What did you just say?”

“I don’t think you can stop kissing me, stop touching me.”

With more of those black curses ringing from him, he jolted away from her, off the bed and to his feet. He remained at the edge of the mattress, glaring down at her as she eased to a sitting position. She struggled to breathe, her lungs still cooling…cooling.

“Damn it, Kaia.”

She flashed her fangs at him. “That isn’t my name.”

That gave him pause. “What? Kaia? I happen to know otherwise.”

“No.
Damn it, Kaia
isn’t my name.”

His eyelids narrowed even as the corners of his lips twitched. “Whatever.”

That’s all he had to say to her? After everything they’d just done?

“Will you steal the Paring Rod for me or not?” he asked.

Apparently so.

Did he feel nothing for her? No hint of true passion? She licked her lips, and she was heartened to note his gaze
followed the movement. “Not. But,” she added before his demon could punish him for failing to convince her. And yes, she knew that was one of the reasons he was pushing her so hard for this. At least, she hoped. Made it easier to forgive him, to excuse him, for reducing their electrifying kiss to a bargaining chip. “We’ll compromise.”

He shook his head, once, and very stiffly. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“
Yes.
Compromise doesn’t cause you physical pain.”

His lashes fused together, shielding the navy of his eyes. “It doesn’t help me, either.”

She lifted her chin. “Do you want to hear my proposal or not? If not, there’s the door.”

“Gods almighty, I hate when your chin goes up.” He popped his jaw. “Fine. Talk.”

“I will fight in the games. If at any point,” she rushed to add, “I’m disqualified or I think my team cannot bring home the gold, I will risk my life and my future to steal the Rod for you.”

Silent, he crossed his arms over his chest.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. “Also, you can’t do anything to aid a disqualification. Not for me or for any member of my team.”

Oh, yes. That’s exactly what he’d been thinking. Suddenly fury sizzled and snapped off his skin like tiny flickers of lightning. His eyes lit up, twin red lasers, a skeletal mask flashing over his features. “What if, while you’re playing your games, someone else manages to steal it?”

His demon really was pulling his strings. She sympathized. She hated when her Harpy took over. “Not possible. You could call every warrior and god you know, but the lot of you still wouldn’t be able to find it, much less grab it. And no, that wasn’t a dare. Just a truth. Harpies are a suspicious and possessive race, and we take extreme
measures to guard what we consider ours. Believe me, Juliette will let
no one
near the Rod.”

Several minutes passed before he relaxed. He couldn’t fight the Harpies on his own—not successfully—and he had to know it. “Very well. We have a deal.” She opened her mouth to respond. “But you listen to me, little girl,” he added darkly.

Little girl. Exactly what Lazarus had called her, all those centuries ago. Shadows shimmered through her line of vision, the only color a crimson bull’s-eye on Strider’s chest.
Calm, steady.

Don’t interfere,
she told her Harpy.

“You’ve claimed I’m your consort, and that consorts are precious. You’ve also claimed you’ll do anything to protect yours.”

She snapped her teeth at him. “I never said that.” Not out loud.

“Fine. Maybe Gwen told me. Thing is, it’s true.”

And he planned to use the knowledge against her? “Well, look at you, Mr. Smartie Pants.” She clapped her hands. “Congratulations. You know I can’t hurt you. But hey, what does that matter? I can always pay someone else to do my dirty work.”

A muscle ticked below his eye. “You’re willing to let an artifact that can kill me remain in the hands of your enemy,” he said, ignoring her threat. “That woman, Juliette, the one with the boyfriend you still haven’t told me about, isn’t going to give you the Rod. Whether you win or not, she hates you and will hardly reward you.”

Kaia fisted the comforter, nearly ripping the material. “How do you know she hates me?” He’d only caught the tail end of the meeting, and Juliette hadn’t spoken to her directly after his arrival.

“I have eyes, Kaia. Every time she looked at you, she wanted to carve your face with her dagger. What’d you
do to her, anyway? And don’t tell me she just hasn’t forgiven you for what you did to the clans. Her beef with you is personal. No one else looked at you the way she did.”

Floundering, she blinked up at him. He was too observant for his own good. “What makes you think
I
did anything to
her?
”

“Come on. You must think I’m stupid, answering my question with a question and assuming I won’t notice and will let the matter drop.”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

“Funny.” He held out his hand and waved his fingers in her direction. “Come here.”

Unable to resist a chance to touch him, any chance, she reached up. The moment she met his grip, he hefted her to her feet until only a whisper separated them. He peered down at her, his body heat snaking around her and squeezing like a boa.

Tension crackled between them so hotly she imagined she could almost feel the flames. His lips were swollen, red and still wet from her kiss. His eyelids went to half-mast, as if he’d slipped into a dream and wouldn’t emerge.