"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.
CHAPTER THREE
LYSANDER WATCHED AS two newly recruited warrior Sent Ones-Sent Ones under his training and command-finally subdued a demonic minion charged with influencing a human to commit evil. The creaure had whispered in a human female's ear, stirring her up with fear in an attempt to open a doorway to her mind so he could slip inside and live. The creature was scaled from head to hoof and little horns protruded from its shoulders and back. Its eyes were bright red, like crystallized blood.
The fight had lasted half an hour, and both Sent Ones were now bleeding, panting. Demons were notorious for their biting and scratching.
Lysander should have been able to critique the men and tell them what they had done wrong. That way, they would do a better job next time. But as they'd struggled with the fiend, his mind had drifted to Bianka. What was she doing? Was she resigned to her fate yet? He'd given her several days alone to calm and accept.
"What now?" one of his trainees asked. Beacon was his name.
"You letsss me go, you letsss me go," the demon said pleadingly, its forked tongue giving it a lisp. "I behave. I do good. Ssswear."
Lies. As a minion, it was one of the weaker demons and quite low on the chain of power. Oh, yes. Even demons had a hierarchy, one they strictly followed, and a fact that never failed to baffle him. But the war between good and evil demanded no less as chaos could never win.
"Execute it," Lysander commanded. "No longer shall it reign in terror."
The minion began to struggle again. "You going to lisssten to him when you obviousssly ssstronger and better than him? He make you do all hard work. He do nothing hissself. Lazy, if you asssk me. Kill him."
"We do not ask you," Lysander said.
Both Sent Ones raised their hands and fiery swords appeared.
"Pleassse," the demon screeched. "No. Don't do thisss."
They didn't hesitate. They struck.
The scaled head rolled, yet the warriors did not dematerialize their swords. They kept the tips poised on the motionless body until it caught flame. When nothing but ash remained, they looked to Lysander for instruction.
"Excellent job." He nodded in satisfaction. "You have improved since your last killing, and I am proud of you. But you will train with Raphael until further notice," he said. Raphael was strong, intelligent and one of the best trackers in the lower heavens.
Raphael would not be distracted by a Harpy he had no hopes of possessing.
Possessing? Lysander's jaw clenched tightly. He was not some vile demon. He possessed nothing. Ever. And when he finished with Bianka, she would be glad of that. There would be no more games, no more racing around him, caressing him and laughing. The clenching in his jaw stopped, but his shoulders sagged. In disappointment? Couldn't be.
Perhaps he needed a few days to calm and accept.
* * *
HE'D LEFT HER alone for a week, the sun rising and setting beyond the clouds. And each day, Bianka grew madder-and madder. And madder. Worse, she grew weaker. Harpies could only eat what they stole (or earned, but there was no way to earn a single morsel here). And no, that wasn't a rule she could overlook. It was a curse. A curse her people had endured for centuries. Reviled as Harpies were, the Greeks-the former leaders of a lower realm of the skies and offspring of fallen angels and humans in a much higher concentrate than Bianka's people-had banded together and decreed that no Harpy could enjoy a meal freely given or one the females had prepared themselves. If they did, they sickened terribly. The Greeks' hope? Destruction.
Instead, they'd merely ensured Harpies learned how to steal from birth. To survive, she would do just about anything.
Lysander would learn that firsthand. She would make sure of it.
Had he planned this to torture her?
In this palace, Bianka had only to speak of something and it would materialize before her. An apple-bright and red and juicy. Baked turkey-succulent and plump. But she couldn't eat them, and it was killing her. Liter-freaking-ally.
At first, Bianka had tried to escape. Several times. Unlike Lysander the Cruel, she couldn't jump from the clouds. The floor expanded wherever she stepped and remained as hard as marble. All she could do was move from ethereal room to ethereal room, watching the murals play out battle scenes. Once she'd thought she'd even spied Lysander.
Of course, she'd said, "Rock," and a nice-size stone had appeared in her hand. She'd chucked it at him, but the stupid thing had fallen to earth rather than hit him.
Where was he? What was he doing? Did he mean to kill her like this, despite his earlier denial? Slowly and painfully? At least the hunger pains had finally left her. Now she was merely consumed by a sensation of trembling emptiness.
She wanted to stab him the moment she saw him. Then set him on fire. Then scatter his ashes in a pasture where lots of animals roamed. He deserved to be smothered by several nice steaming piles. Of course, if he waited much longer, she would be the one burned and scattered. She couldn't even drink a glass of water.
Besides, fighting him wasn't the way to punish him. That, she'd realized the first day here. He didn't like to be touched. Therefore, touching him was the way to punish him. And touch him she would. Anywhere, everywhere. Until he begged her to stop. No. Until he begged her to continue.