Lords of the Underworld 04.5 - The Darkest Angel by Gena Showalter

Author:Gena Showalter
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-07-20T01:51:25+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

LYSANDER COULD NOT BELIEVE what he was being forced to do. He was angry, horrified and, yes, contrite. Hadn’t he done something similar to Bianka?

Granted, he hadn’t stripped her down. Hadn’t pitted her against another female.

There was the tightening in his groin again.

What was wrong with him?

“I wil set you free,” he told Bianka. And sweet Holy Deity, she looked beautiful. More tempting than when she’d worn that little bit of nothing. Now she wore a green and black tank that bared her golden arms.

Were those arms as soft as they appeared? Don’t think like that. Her shirt stopped just above her navel, making his mouth water, his tongue yearn to dip inside. What did I just say? Don’t think like that. Her pants were the same dark shades and hung low on her hips.

He’d come here to fight her, to final y force her hand, and judging by that outfit, she’d been ready for combat. That…excited him. Not because their bodies would have been in close proximity—real y—and not because he could have final y gotten his hands on her

—again, real y—but because, if she injured him, he would have the right to end her life. Final y.

But he’d come here and she’d taught him a quick yet unforgettable lesson instead. He’d been wrong to whisk her to his home and hold her captive.

Temptation or not. She might be his enemy in ways she didn’t understand, but he never should have put his wil above hers. He should have al owed her to live her life as she saw fit.

That’s why he existed in the first place. To protect free wil .

When this wrestling match ended, he would free her as he’d promised. He would watch her, though.

Closely. And when she made a mistake, he would strike her down. And she would. Make a mistake, that is. As a Harpy, she wouldn’t be able to help herself.

He wished it hadn’t come to that. He wished she could have been happy here with him, learning his ways.

The thought of losing her did not sadden him. He would not miss her. She’d placed him in a vat of oil to wrestle with another man, for Lord’s sake.

There was suddenly a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Bianka,” he prompted. “Have you no response?”

“Yes, you wil set me free,” she final y said with a radiant grin. She twirled a strand of that dark-as-night hair around her finger. “After. Now, I do believe I rang the starting bel .”

Her words were slightly slurred from the wine she’d consumed. A drunken menace, that’s what she was.

And he would not miss her, he told himself again.

The bitterness intensified.

A hard weight slammed into him and sent him propel ing to his back. His wings caught on the sides of the pool as oil washed over him from head to toe, weighing him down. He grunted, and some of the stuff

—cherry-flavored—seeped into his mouth.

“Don’t forget to use tongue if you kiss,” Bianka cal ed helpful y.

“You don’t lock women away,” Paris growled down at him, a flash of scales suddenly visible under his skin.

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