The Darkest Surrender (3 page)

“Slutty yet sophisticated,” her sister said, allowing the change without comment.

“Good choice.” She rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she studied the colorful array of garments. “Think dressing up will help your sitch?”

“Gods, I hope so. I plan to let Lysander rip the garment off me, make love to me in the dirtiest way possible, and then, while he’s trying to catch his breath, drop the big, bad bombshell on him and run like hell.”

Something Kaia would have loved to do with Strider—the dirty loving part, anyway—but he wouldn’t give a shit about anything she told him. As he’d already proven. “What are you going to say to Lysandy, anyway? Exactly.”

Bianka shrugged her seemingly delicate shoulders. “Exactly…I don’t know.”

“Try me. Pretend I’m your disgustingly in love angel consort, and confess.”

“Okay.” A sigh, a straightening of her spine, then lovely amber eyes were staring over at Kaia with trepidation. “All right. Here goes.” A pause. A gulp. “Darling, I, uh, have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Kaia said in her deepest voice. She propped her elbows on the bar, the hanger hooks digging
into her skin. “Tell me quickly because I need to spread my happy fairy dust and wave my magic wand when—”

“He doesn’t spread happy fairy dust! He’s a killer, damn it.” The indignation drained as quickly as it had formed. “But as for that magic wand…” Bianka shivered, smirked. “It’s
really
big. Probably bigger than Strider’s.”

Kaia just blinked at her, waiting.

Her sister inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. “Fine. Continuing. Darling, for the first time in forever, my family has been invited to participate in the Harpy Games. Why for the first time in forever, you ask. Well, funny story. You see, my twin sister did the
dumbest
thing and—”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating about that part,” she interjected, still using that deep voice to mimic Lysander. “Your twin is the strongest, most intelligent female I’ve ever met. Now tell me something
important.
”

“Anyway,”
Bianka went on smoothly. “I’m not sure why we’ve been invited, but a gold embossed card demanding our attendance came via Harpy Express a few days ago. We can’t refuse without bringing intense shame to our entire clan. We would be labeled cowards, and as you know, I’m no coward. So…I’m leaving in one week, and I’ll be gone for four. Oh, and each of the four agreed upon events involves bloodshed, possible limb removal and definite torture. See ya.” She gave a pinkie wave, stilled, then waited for Kaia’s response.

Kaia nodded. “I like it. Firm, informative and unwavering. He’ll have no choice but to let you go without a fuss.”

Some of Bianka’s worry melted away. “You really think so?”

“Gods, no. I don’t, not at all. He’s gonna flip his lid. For real. You’ve met him, right? Protective to the extreme.” Lucky girl. “So what about this one?” She held up a barely there confection with thin silver chains connecting the sides.

“I think it’s great. Perfect, actually. I also think you’re a brat.”

She flashed an unrepentant grin. “You love me anyway.”

“Like you said, my IQ has dropped.” Bianka chewed on her bottom lip. “Okay, so. Here’s how I think it will go after I confess. First, he’ll try to stop me.”

“You got that right.”

“Then, when he realizes he can’t, he’ll insist on going with me.”

“Right again. Are you good with that?” Everyone would make fun of her for hitching herself to a do-gooder. Even their mother.
Especially
their mother. Tabitha hated angels more than most, since she’d always thought their youngest half sister’s father was an angel and had blamed the man for Gwen’s supposed weaknesses.

“Yeah.” Bianka smiled dreamily. “I’m good with that. I don’t like to be without him, and really, I will slaughter anyone who speaks ill of him, so that’ll add spice to my days.”

“Not to mention weed out the competition because I will help you with those slaughterings.” How she wished she could take Strider with her.

Actually, no, she thought next. Thank the gods he wasn’t going with her. She was reviled among the Harpy clans. She would die of mortification if he saw her own kind turn their backs on her, and she would fall into that shame spiral if he ever heard her despised nickname.

A soldier like Strider prized strength. She knew because she was a soldier like Strider.

Of course, her next thought struck hard and cut deep— Haidee was strong. The bitch. Though (mostly) human, the girl had managed to defeat death time and time again, coming back to life to fight the Lords. Until she’d fallen in love with Amun.

If I didn’t adore Amun so much, I’d send that female back to the grave—for the last damn time!
No one caught Strider’s notice without suffering unbearably.

Maybe before Kaia left for the games she’d ensure the girl acquired a raging case of head lice or something. No one would be hurt, Strider would be repulsed and Kaia would feel like she’d accomplished some sort of revenge. Win-win.

“Are you listening to me or have I lost you to the thought train again?” Bianka asked, exasperated.

She pulled herself out of her head. “Yes, I’m listening. You were talking about something…of great consequence.”

“You
were
listening,” her sister said, hand fluttering over her heart. “Anyway, thank you for offering to help punish everyone who insults Lysander. You’re my favorite enabler in the world, Kye.”

“You, too, Bee.” Things would work out for Bianka. Lysander would support her no matter what, and the Harpies would see how intractable he could be and back down. Kaia, though… No, things would not be working out for her.

“Mother Dearest is gonna be there,” Bianka said, trying for a casualness neither of them felt for this particular topic, “and she’s gonna hate him, isn’t she?”

“For sure. But then, she has lousy taste in men. Take our father, for instance. A Phoenix shifter, aka the worst of the worst in terms of immortal races. They’re always pillaging and burning stuff to the ground. Seriously, you have to be a real nutbag to hook up with one of them. Which means, what? Mother is a real nutbag. I’d be worried if she
liked
Lysander.”

What would Tabitha think of Strider, though?

Bianka gave a low, warm chuckle. “You’re right. She does, and she is.”

“And you know what else? She can suck it, for all I care.” Brave words, yet, on the inside Kaia was still a little girl, desperate for her mother’s approval. “But, maybe, I don’t know, maybe she’ll finally bury the hatchet with me.” Gods, was that needy tone really hers?

Bianka leaned across the rack and patted her shoulder. “Hate to break it to you, sister mine, but the only way she’ll bury a hatchet is if she gets to bury it in your back.”

She tried not to sag with regret. “So true.” And she wouldn’t care. She
wouldn’t.
Really. But why, why, why did no one but her sisters consider her good enough?

One mistake, just one—when she’d been a child, no less—and her mother had written her off. One mistake, just one, and Strider wouldn’t commit to her. Wasn’t like she’d cheated on him. They’d both been single for years, and hadn’t even been on a date together. They hadn’t kissed. Hadn’t really even talked. And the night she slept with Paris? She hadn’t known she would one day want Strider sexually. Or at all.

He
should have recognized her appeal from the very beginning and tried to seduce her. So, really, when you thought about it, the blame could totally be laid at his door. Or maybe at his demon’s. Defeat had yet to realize that losing her was far worse than losing a challenge. Otherwise, Strider would suffer
without
her.

She wanted him to suffer without her.

The demon was bonded to Strider and essential to his survival, so…maybe she could do something to win the evil fiend over.
If
she decided to make another play for Strider. Which she wouldn’t. As she’d told her sister, he’d lost his chance. Besides, approaching him now would make her seem desperate. Which she was.

Gods, this was depressing. And infuriating! Opposition was to be crushed, always, but how was she to fight a man she also wanted to protect?

“What are you thinking about now?” Bianka asked. “Your eyes are almost completely black, so I know your Harpy is close to taking over and—”

“Hey. Hey, you! What are you doing in here?” someone shouted.

Forcing herself to breathe deep and calm down, she threw a quick look over her shoulder. Great. Mall security had arrived. “I’m fine, swear. Meet you back at the house?” she said, tossing the chosen dress at her sister.

“Yeah,” Bianka said, catching the garment and stuffing it down her T-shirt for safekeeping. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

They sprinted off in different directions.

“Stop! I’ll shoot!”

Kaia’s red hair practically glowed in the dark, making her the easier target, so the guard—who didn’t shoot, the liar—chased after her as he radioed for backup. The fact that she’d flipped him off before taking that first corner had nothing to do with it.

Most of the store lights were switched off, and the rest of the mall offered very little illumination. Not that it mattered to her superior Harpy eyesight. Her gaze expertly cut through the shadows as she dodged and darted her way toward the exit. Unfortunately, the human knew the area better than she did and managed to keep up with her.

Time to kick things to the next level.

Her wings fluttered…readying…but just before she could blaze into hyperspeed, the guard did the unthinkable and tasered her.
Tasered. Her.
Not a liar, after all. Kaia fell to her face, oxygen instantly turning to lightning in her lungs. She was mere inches from the doorway, yet her spasming muscles prevented her from completing her escape.

She could have jerked the clamps from her back. She could have twisted, pitched one of the many daggers
strapped to her and ended her pain. Ended the human. But this was her hometown, and she didn’t like to kill the locals. Or rather, she didn’t like to kill more than one a day and she’d already hit her limit.

A lie, but she’d go with it.

Plus, why kill the guard when she hadn’t truly given the chase her all, knowing deep down that he could provide what she’d secretly craved: a reason to call Strider.

After all, someone would have to bail her out of jail.

S
TRIDER WAITED IN THE LOBBY
of the Anchorage Police Department, his friend Paris at his side. They’d already posted Kaia’s bail and were now waiting for her to be released into their custody.
Come on, Red. Hurry.
He was currently on the receiving end of several once-overs from the male cops—fun fact, he’d had less invasive body cavity searches—as well as a few very thorough eye-fuckings from the females. Paris was, too.

They were armed, yeah. Strider wouldn’t visit a church in heaven without a few blades stashed
somewhere
—especially now that he knew heaven was guarded by freaking giant-ass angels—much less stroll into a building filled to bursting with guns and humans who knew how to use them. But, so far, no one had commented. Not that they could see his arsenal, hidden beneath his jacket, T-shirt and jeans as it was.

“Why did we have to be the ones to do this, again?” Paris asked. At six-foot-eight with an all-muscle frame, the keeper of Promiscuity was, to put it mildly, a big guy. Three inches taller than Strider, the bastard, but—and that was a huge
but
—not nearly as powerful.

Considering how many times they’d thrown down, the comparison wasn’t merely an opinion but a solid fact.

“I owed her a favor,” he said, careful not to reveal any emotion. Like the fact that he’d rather be locked in his enemy’s dungeon, torture on the day’s menu, than here.
Like the fact that he didn’t want to see Kaia again. Ever. Like the fact that he didn’t want
Paris
to see Kaia again. For way longer than ever. “She called it in.”

“What favor?”

“None of your damn business.” He didn’t even like to think about it. And talk about it? Hell, no. Too embarrassing. Like being caught out in public with your pants down.

Wait. Bad example. “Pants down” was a good look for him. A
really
good look.

Ego check.
He’d told himself he was going to stop patting himself on the back for all his wonderful qualities. After all, it wasn’t fair to the citizens of the world. They couldn’t help being inferior to him in every way.

“Well, I don’t owe her anything.” Paris flicked him a glance, ocean-blue eyes glinting. Tension radiated from him. Tragically, uh,
fortunately,
that didn’t affect his handsomeness. He had a head of hair most women would kill to own, a mass of differing shades of brown, from the darkest of midnight to the sweetest of honey, and a face most women would kill just to glimpse.

Kaia had probably fisted that hair. Had probably smothered that face with kisses.

Strider’s jaw clenched. “You slept with her. Do you really need a reminder of that?”

“No, no reminder. But when you think about it, that means
she
owes
me.
And now you owe me, too, summoning me the way you did, interrupting my quest to demand I help you.” Acid filled those words. Not because of Strider, but because of the “quest.”

Sienna, the woman Paris desired above all others, was trapped in the heavens, a slave to the god king. Worse still, she was now possessed by the demon of Wrath. Paris hoped to find her, save her and punish everyone who had hurt her.

Strider pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, re
maining silent. Paris had found his “one and only,” as the stupid shithead was now fond of saying—and sounding like a pussy—yet had still slept with Kaia. A man with a one and only shouldn’t screw around, in Strider’s humble opinion. Yeah, yeah. Paris couldn’t help himself. Because of his demon, he had to sleep with a different person every day or he weakened…died.

A petty part of Strider almost wished his friend had chosen the weakening path rather than touching the Harpy.

Of course, the thought caused guilt to eat at him. Kaia was not Strider’s one and only, if such a thing even existed for him. She was too competitive, too strong and too wily to cause him anything but misery. And yes, he got the irony. He was that same way with
everyone.
But he
was
attracted to her, and as possessive as he was and had always been, he didn’t like the thought of her sleeping with anyone else.

Especially since he had to be the best at everything he did. Because of
his
demon, he had to win, even in bed. And as Paris had more experience than anyone he knew, there was no way Strider could compete in that arena.

Maybe he could have ignored his other reasons for rejecting Kaia’s recent and numerous come-and-strip-me glances, but he couldn’t ignore that one. Not even once. Because once a man tasted the forbidden fruit, he would go back for more. He wouldn’t be able to help himself, the tether on his sanity already broken. So Strider would keep going back, and every time he touched her, tasted her, peeled her panties away with his teeth, he would later experience agony in its purest form.

Yes, Strider was damn good in the sack. Not that he was going to pat himself on the back. He didn’t do that anymore, he reminded himself. Okay, fine. He’d make an exception because of the extreme superiority of his talent. He was far better than “good.” He was flipping amazing.
But he never took on a fight he wasn’t sure he could win. Nothing was worth the physical and mental torment that accompanied a loss, and Paris was probably better than “flipping amazing.”

Fine. No probably about it, if the moans Strider had heard from the many hotel rooms Paris had rented throughout the centuries could be believed.

Now, the pleasure that came with a win…sweet gods above. There was nothing like it, not even sex. Strider was addicted to the rush the same way Paris was addicted to ambrosia, the drug of choice for immortals. In fact, he’d stab a dear friend in the throat before letting him—or her—trounce him in something as minor as a spelling bee.

The best way to spell victory? K-I-L-L.

“Anyway,” Paris said, drawing him back to the present. “What did Kaia do for you that you’d willingly indenture yourself to me?”

“I already told you. It’s none of your damn business.”

“Yeah, but I figured if I kept asking, you’d cave.”

“You were wrong. News flash, I’m a little more stubborn than most. And by the way, I didn’t indenture myself to you. In exchange for your help tonight, I agreed to go to Titania with you to hunt for Sienna.” Titania. Dumbass name. But Cronus, the egomaniacal god king, had renamed Olympus to piss off the now incarcerated Greeks who had once reigned there.

Took a real set of titanium cojones to name a location after yourself. Or maybe Cronus was simply overcompenating for something.

Not that Strider and his beloved cock, which he’d modestly nicknamed Stridey-Monster, knew anything about that. They were perfect in every way.

Ego check.
Damn it. How many would he need in one day?

“Dude, you totally indentured yourself. You also agreed
to kidnap that shithead William and take him with us,” Paris said.

“I also agreed to kidnap that shithead William and take him with us, yes.” A fact that still pissed him off. William, a sex-addicted immortal who
wanted
to sleep with Kaia. Unfortunately, Willy was also the only person who could actually spot Sienna, being as how Sienna was dead and he had that whole I-see-dead-people thing going on.

Also, it helped that the guy could now flash. For whatever reason, the abilities the gods had once stripped him of were now returning.

Anyway. Something Strider and his cohorts had recently learned was that “dead” didn’t necessarily mean “gone forever.” Not for humans and certainly not for immortals. Far from it, in fact. Souls could be captured, manipulated…abused. Sienna was of the abused variety, and Paris was desperate to save her.

The besotted warrior shifted from one booted foot to the other. Behind the counter, a female groaned as if the movement was torture—for her. “You agreed to help me knowing you’d have to find Sienna, no matter how long it takes, or you’ll hurt. Bad.”

As far as Strider was concerned, the longer it took them, the better. The more distance between him and Kaia, the better. He had to prove to himself that he could walk away and forget about her.

He’d done it before. Only problem was, now he knew her better and the attraction was stronger.

“You’ve been in the heavens for weeks and made no progress,” he said. “You needed me.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t need me. Not for something as simple as this.”

Actually, he did. He needed to see Paris and Kaia together. Needed to remind himself why he couldn’t have her, why he had to stop thinking about her all the damn
time. Why she was bad news. Preferably before his demon decided they had to have her—or else.

Besides, Strider had needed to escape Budapest, his home not-really-sweet home, as well as put some distance between himself, Amun and Amun’s new girlfriend, Haidee. Strider had laid his semi-best moves on her, but she’d wanted nothing to do with him. Sure, he’d also insulted her at every turn and threatened to decapitate her, but give a guy a damn break. He’d had excellent reasons.

Haidee had once been a Hunter, had killed his best friend, Baden, keeper of Distrust, and had attempted to savage his home.

Yet still he’d desired her. And now, every time he looked at her, he was reminded of his failure. His loss. The ensuing pain. But…and here was the kicker. He’d never had a problem resisting her. He’d kept his mouth, hands and favorite appendage to himself without any difficulty.

Kaia, however, wouldn’t be extended the same courtesy if they spent any alone time together. Already his mouth watered for a taste, his hands itched for a touch and his favorite appendage stood at embarrassing attention.

Oh, yes. He had to get as far, far away from the whole situation as possible.

“Stridey-Man. You here with me or what?”

He blinked into focus. Paris. Police station. Humans with guns. Winking in and out was stupid. He blamed Kaia for his lax concentration—another reason to avoid her. “I don’t want to talk about it,” was all he said.

Paris opened his mouth to respond, but closed it with a snap when they heard the welcome sound of high heels clacking down the nearest hallway. Then Kaia was rounding the corner, silky red hair hanging down her back in complete disarray, gray-gold eyes bright and wicked body swaying with a seductive beat Strider prayed only he could hear.

No. He didn’t want to hear it, so he wouldn’t pray that he alone could. But if anyone else heard it, he’d rip out their goddamn eardrums. Because Kaia was, despite everything, his friend. They’d fought enemies together, bled for each other. Hell, they’d joked and laughed together. So yeah, they were friends, and he didn’t like his friends being harassed. And that was the only reason, damn it. He’d do the same thing for Paris. Who’d better not hear that beat!

“Don’t you go getting into any more trouble, you hear,” the officer escorting her said with open affection, and Strider wanted to kill the guy for so blatantly harassing her—or speaking to her at all. “We love ya, but we don’t want to see you here again.”

Calm down. You’re not dating her, and you’re not
going
to date her. Or kiss her. All over. The cop’s flirting doesn’t matter.

“As if I’d let myself get caught a fourth time,” she replied with a grin that was all about the charm.

A grin that caused Strider’s chest to constrict. No one should have lips so plump and red, or teeth so straight and white. Didn’t help that she wore pink knee-high snakeskin boots, a micromini jean skirt and a white tank top that clearly showcased the white lace bra underneath.

Miracle of miracles, she was wearing a bra today.

She stopped short when she spied him, her smile fading. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from her, but he did know that reticence wasn’t it.

Her gaze moved to Paris, and the smile returned. As did the constricting in Strider’s chest. “Hey, stranger. What are you doing here?”

“I’m not sure exactly.” Paris threw him a quick frown. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, you understand.”

“Yeah. You, too. And thanks for the pick up. Appreciate it.”

“Anytime. Just hopefully not anytime in the near future.”

She chuckled, the sound warm and rich and its undertones so erotic that it stroked over his skin. “Can’t promise.”

Neither said anything romantic, yet both of their voices grated on him. Maybe because he’d needed them to goo-it-up with each other so that his hormones would get the “not going there” message.

He had a feeling he would have been annoyed no matter what.

Like her smile, her chuckle shut down when she switched her attention to Strider. “So,” she said. “You.” As if she’d just spotted an oozing culture of flesh-eating bacteria on the bottom of her shoe.

The unfriendliness isn’t a challenge,
he informed his demon as the stupid shit perked up.

There was no reply. Truth was, Defeat was intimidated by Kaia and didn’t often wish to draw her notice.

And really, the only time Defeat deigned to speak to Strider was when his competitive spirit was engaged. “Competitive spirit” being a nice way of saying Strider’s ass had been glued to the chopping block. He much preferred the little bastard to stay at the back of his mind, a dark, silent presence easily ignored.

“I expected you to send someone, not show up yourself,” Kaia added, rocking back on her heels.

“After the message you left me?” He snorted. “Hardly.”

“Are you whining? Because I hear a whiny schoolboy tone.”

She does not amuse me.
“I don’t whine.”

He’d listened to that message a thousand times and knew every word, every hitch in her breath by heart. Beep.
Strider. Hey. It’s Kaia. You know, the girl who saved your life a few weeks ago? The same girl you stomped all over
afterward? Well, it’s payback time. Why don’t you get your lazy ass out of bed and come bail me out of jail before I decide to break out and use your face to test the stilettos on my boots.
Beep.

Animosity was good, and he seriously hoped she maintained a tight grip on it, despite the fact that he’d had to move heaven and earth to get here. Heaven—phoning Paris and convincing the warrior to drop everything up there, have Lysander bring him home, and come with Strider. Earth—phoning Lucien and convincing the warrior to drop everything and use his flashing ability to get them from Budapest to Alaska in a mere blink of time. Neither of which had been an easy task.