LYSANDER LEFT BIANKA alone for another week—bastard!—but she didn’t mind. Not this time. She had plenty to keep her occupied. Like her plan to drive him utterly insane with lust. So insane he’d regret bringing her here. Regret keeping her here. Regret even being alive.

That, or fall so in love with her that he yearned to grant her every desire. If that was the case—and it was a total possibility since she was insanely hot—she would convince him to take her home, and then she would finally get to stab him in the heart.

Perfect. Easy. With her breasts, it was almost too easy, really.

To set the stage for his downfall, she decorated his home like a bordello. Red velvet lounges now waited next to every door—just in case he was too overcome with desire for her to make it to one of the beds now perched in every corner. Naked portraits—of her—hung on the misty walls. A decorating style she’d picked up from her friend Anya, who just happened to be the goddess of Anarchy.

As Lysander had promised, Bianka had only to speak what she wanted—within reason—to receive it. Apparently furniture and pretty pictures were within reason. She chuckled. She could hardly wait to see him again. To finally begin.

He wouldn’t stand a chance. Not just because of her (magnificent) breasts and hotness—hey, no reason to act as if she didn’t know—but because he had no experience. She had been his first kiss; she knew it beyond any doubt. He’d been stiff at first, unsure. Hesitant. At no point had he known what to do with his hands.

That hadn’t stopped her from enjoying herself, however. His taste…decadent. Sinful. Like crisp, clean skies mixed with turbulent night storms. And his body, oh, his body. Utter perfection with hard muscles she’d wanted to squeeze. And lick. She wasn’t picky.

His hair was so silky she could have run her fingers through it forever. His cock had been so long and thick she could have rubbed herself to orgasm. His skin was so warm and smooth she could have pressed against him and slept, just as she’d dreamed about doing before she’d met him. Even though sleeping with a man was a dangerous crime her race never committed.

Stupid girl! The angel wasn’t to be trusted, especially since he clearly had nefarious plans for her—though he still refused to tell her exactly what those plans were. Teaching her to act like him had to be a misdirection of the truth. It was just too silly to contemplate. But his plans didn’t matter, she supposed, since he would soon be at her mercy. Not that she had any.

Bianka strode to the closet she’d created and flipped through the lingerie hanging there. Blue, red, black. Lace, leather, satin. Several costumes: naughty nurse, corrupt policewoman, devil, angel. Which should she choose today?

He already thought her evil. Perhaps she should wear the see-through white lace. Like a horny virgin bride. Oh, yes. That was the one. She laughed as she dressed.

“Mirror, please,” she said, and a full-length mirror appeared in front of her. The gown fell to her ankles, but there was a slit between her legs. A slit that stopped at the apex of her thighs. Too bad she wasn’t wearing any panties.

Spaghetti straps held the material in place on her shoulders and dipped into a deep vee between her breasts. Her nipples, pink and hard, played peekaboo with the swooping make-me-a-woman pattern.

She left her hair loose, flowing like black velvet down her back. Her gold eyes sparkled, flecks of gray finally evident, like in Kaia’s. Her cheeks were flushed like a rose, her skin devoid of the makeup she usually wore to dull its shimmer.

Bianka traced her fingertips along her collarbone and chuckled again. She’d summoned a shower and washed off every trace of that makeup. If Lysander had found himself attracted to her before—and he had, the size of his hard-on was proof of that—he would be unable to resist her now. She was nothing short of radiant.

A Harpy’s skin was like a weapon. A sensual weapon. Its jewel-like sheen drew men in, made them slobbering, drooling fools. Touching it became all they could think about, all they lived for.

That got old after a while, though, which was why she’d begun wearing full body makeup. For Lysander, though, she would make an exception. He deserved what he got. After all, he wasn’t just making Bianka suffer. He was making her sisters suffer. Maybe.

Was Kaia still looking for her? Still worried or perhaps thinking this was a game as Bianka had first supposed? Had Kaia called their other sisters and were the girls now searching the world over for a sign of her, as they’d done when Gwennie went missing? Probably not, she thought with a sigh. They knew her, knew her strength and her determination. If they suspected she’d been taken, they would have confidence in her ability to free herself. Still.

Lysander was an ass.

And most likely a virgin. Eager, excited, she rubbed her hands together. Most men kissed the women they bedded. And if she had been his first kiss, well, it stood to reason he’d never bedded anyone. Her eagerness faded a bit. But that begged the question, why hadn’t he bedded anyone?

Was he a young immortal? Had he not found anyone he desired? Did angels not often experience sexual need? She didn’t know much about them. Fine, she didn’t know anything about them. Did they consider sex wrong? Maybe. That would explain why he hadn’t wanted to touch her, too.

Okay, so it made more sense that he simply hadn’t experienced sexual need before.

He’d definitely experienced it during their kiss, though. She went back to rubbing her hands together. “What are you wearing? Or better yet, not wearing?”

Heart skidding to a stop, Bianka whipped around. As if her thoughts had summoned him, Lysander stood in the room’s doorway. Mist enveloped him and for a moment she feared he was nothing more than a fantasy.

“Well?” he demanded.

In her fantasies, he would not be angry. He would be overcome with desire. So…he was here, and he was real. And he was peering at her breasts in openmouthed astonishment.

Astonishment was better than anger. She almost grinned.

“Don’t you like it?” she asked, smoothing her palms over her hips. Let the games begin.

“I—I—”

Like it, she finished for him. With the amount of truth that always layered his voice, he probably couldn’t utter a single lie.

“Your skin…it’s different. I mean, I saw the pearlesque tones before, but now…it’s…”

“Amazing.” She twirled, her gown dancing at her ankles. “I know.”

“You know?” His tongue traced his teeth as the anger she’d first suspected glazed his features. “Cover her,” he barked.

A moment later, a white robe draped her from shoulders to feet.

She scowled. “Return my teddy.” The robe disappeared, leaving her in the white lace. “Try that again,” she told him, “and I’ll just walk around naked. You know, like I am in the portraits.”

“Portraits?” Brow furrowing, he gazed about the room. When he spotted one of the pictures of her, sans clothing, reclining against a giant silver boulder, he hissed in a breath.

Exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for. “I hope you don’t mind, but I turned this quaint little cloud into a love nest so I’d feel more at home. And again, if you remove anything, my redesign will be a thousand times worse.”

“What are you trying to do to me?” he growled, facing her. His eyes were narrowed, his lips thinned, his teeth bared.

She fluttered her lashes at him, all innocence. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bianka.”

It was a warning, she knew, but she didn’t heed it. “I think it’s my turn to ask the questions. So where do you go when you leave me?”

“That is not your concern.”

Was he panting a little? “Let’s see if I can make it my concern, shall we?” She sauntered to the bed and eased onto the edge. Naughty, shameless girl that she was, she spread her legs, giving him the peek of a lifetime. “For every question you answer, I’ll put something on,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Deal?”

He spun, but not before she saw the shock and desire that played over his harshly gorgeous face. “I do my duty. Watch the gates to hell. Hunt and kill demons that have escaped. Deliver punishment to those in need. Guard humans. Now cover yourself.”

“I didn’t say what item of clothing I’d don, now did I?” She gave herself a once-over. “One shoe, please. White leather, high heel, open toe. Ties up the calf.” The shoe materialized on her foot, and she laughed. “Perfect.”

“A trickster,” Lysander muttered. “I should have known.”

“How did I trick you? Did you ask for specifics? No, because you were secretly hoping I wouldn’t cover myself at all.”

“That is not true,” he said, but for once, she did not hear that layer of honesty in his voice. Interesting. When he lied, or perhaps when he was unsure about what he was saying, his tone was as normal as hers.

That meant she would always know when he lied. Did things get any better than that?

This was going to be even easier than she’d anticipated. “Next question. Do you think about me while you’re gone?”

Silence. Thick, heavy.

Wait. She could hear him breathing. In, out, harsh, shallow. He was panting.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, grinning. “But since you really didn’t answer, I don’t have to add the other shoe.”

Again, he didn’t reply. Thankfully, he didn’t leave, either.

“Onward and upward. Are angels allowed to dally?”

“Yes, but they rarely want to,” he rasped.

So she’d been right. He didn’t have firsthand knowledge of desire. What he was now feeling had to be confusing him, then. Was that why he’d brought her here? Because he’d seen her and wanted her, but hadn’t known how to handle what he was feeling? The thought was almost…flattering. In a stalkerish kind of way, of course. That didn’t change her plans, however. She would seduce him—and then she would slice his heart in two. A symbolic gesture, really. An inside joke between them. Well, for herself. He might not get it.

Still, she couldn’t deny that she liked the idea of being his first. None of the women after her would compare, of course, and that— Hey, wait. Once he tasted the bliss of the flesh, he would want more. Bianka would have escaped him and stabbed him—and he would have recovered because he was an immortal—by then. He could go to any other female he desired.

He would kiss and touch that female.

“I’m waiting,” he snapped.

“For?” she snapped back. Her hands were clenched, her nails cutting her palms. He could be with anyone; it wouldn’t bother her. They were enemies. Someone else could deal with his Neanderthal tendencies. But gods, she might just kill the next woman who warmed his bed out of spite. Not jealousy.

“I answered one of your questions. You must add a garment to your body. Panties would be nice.”

She sighed. “I’d like the other shoe to appear, please.” A moment later, her other foot was covered. “Back to business. Did you return so that I’d kiss you again?”

“No!”

“Too bad. I wanted to taste you again. I wanted to touch you again. Maybe let you touch me this time. I’ve been aching since you left me. Had to bring myself to climax twice just to cool the fever. But don’t worry, I imagined it was you. I imagined stripping you, licking you, sucking you into my mouth. Mmm, I’m so—”

“Stop!” he croaked out, spinning to face her. “Stop.”

His eyes, which she’d once thought were black and emotionless, were now bright as a morning sky, his pupils blown with the intensity of his desire. But rather than stalk to her, grab her and smash his body into hers, he held out his hand, fingers splayed. A fiery sword formed from the air, yellow-gold flames flickering all around it.

“Stop,” he commanded again. “I do not want to hurt you, but I will if you persist with this foolishness.”

That layer of truth had returned to his voice.

Far from intimidating her, his forcefulness excited her. I thought you didn’t like his Neanderthal tendencies.

Oh, shut up.

Bianka leaned back, resting her weight against her elbows. “Does Lysandy like to play rough? Should I be wearing black leather? Or is this a game of bad cop, naughty criminal? Should I strip for my body-cavity search?”

He stalked to the edge of the bed, his thick legs encasing her smaller ones, pressing her knees together. He was hard as a rock, his robe jutting forward. Those golden flames still flickering around the sword both highlighted his face and cast shadows, giving him a menacing aura.

Just then, he was both angel and demon. A mix of good and evil. Savior and executioner.

Her wings fluttered frantically, readying for battle—even as her skin tingled for pleasure. She could be across the room before he moved even a fraction of an inch. Still. She had trouble catching her breath; it was like ice in her lungs. And yet her blood was hot as his sword. This mix of emotions was odd.

“You are worse than I anticipated,” he snarled.

If this progressed the way she hoped, he would be very happy about that one day. But she said, “Then let me go. You’ll never have to see me again.”

“And that will purge you from my mind? That will stop the wondering and the craving? No, it will only make them worse. You will give yourself to others, kiss them the way you kissed me, rub against them the way you rubbed against me, and I will want to kill them when they will have done nothing wrong.”

What a confession! And she’d thought her blood hot before… “Then take me,” she suggested huskily. She traced her tongue over her lips, slow and measured. His gaze followed. “It’ll feel sooo good, I promise.”

“And discover if you are as soft and wet as you appear? Spend the rest of eternity in bed with you, a slave to my body? No, that, too, will only make my cravings worse.”

Oh, angel. You shouldn’t have admitted that. A slave to his body? If that was his fear, he more than craved her. He was falling. Hard. And now that she knew how much he wanted her…he was as good as hers. “If you’re going to kill me,” she said, swirling a fingertip around her navel, “kill me with pleasure.”

He stopped breathing.

She sat up, closing the rest of the distance between them. Still he didn’t strike. She flattened her palms on his chest. His nipples were as beaded as hers. He closed his eyes, as if the sight of her, looking up at him through the thick shield of her lashes, was too much to bear.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she whispered. “I’m softer and wetter than I appear.”

Was that a moan?

And if so, had it come from him? Or her? Touching him like this was affecting her, too. All this strength at her fingertips was heady. Knowing this gorgeous warrior wanted her—her, and no other—was even headier. But knowing she was the very first to tempt him, and so strongly, was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

“Bianka.” Oh, yes. A moan.

“But if you’d like, we can just lie next to each other.” Said the spider to the fly. “We don’t have to touch. We don’t have to kiss. We’ll lie there and think about all the things we dislike about each other and maybe build up an immunity. Maybe we’ll stop wanting to touch and to kiss.”

Never had she told such a blatant lie, and she’d told some big ones over the centuries. Part of her expected him to call her on it. The other part of her expected him to grasp on to the silly suggestion like a lifeline. Use it as an excuse to finally take what he wanted. Because if he did this, simply lay next to her, one temptation would lead to another. He wouldn’t be thinking about the things he disliked about her—he would be thinking about the things he could be doing to her body. He would feel her heat, smell her arousal. He’d want—need—more from her. And she’d be right there, ready and willing to give it to him.

She fisted his robe and gently tugged him toward her. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think? Anything’s worth a try to make this madness stop.”

When they were nose to nose, his breath trickling over her face, his gaze fastened on her lips, she began to ease backward. He followed, offering no resistance.

“Want to know one of the things I dislike about you?” she asked softly. “You know, to help get us started.”

He nodded, as if he were too entranced to speak.

She decided to push a little faster than anticipated. He already seemed ready for more. “That you’re not on top of me.” Just a little more persuasion, and that would be remedied. Just a little… “How amazing would it feel to be that close?”

“Lysander,” an unfamiliar female voice suddenly called. “Are you here?”

Who the hell? Bianka scowled.

Lysander straightened, jerking away from her as if she had just sprouted horns. He stepped back, disengaging from her completely. But he was trembling, and not from anger.

“Ignore her,” she said. “We have important business to attend to.”

“Lysander?” the woman called again.

Damn her, whoever she was!

His expression cleared, melted to steel. “Not another word from you,” he barked, backing away. “You tried to lure me into bed with you. I don’t think you meant to make me dislike you at all. I think you meant to—” A low snarl erupted from his throat. “You are not to try such a thing with me again. If you do, I will finally cleave your head from your body.”

Well, this battle was clearly over. Not one to give up, however, she tried a different strategy. “So you’re going to leave again? Coward! Well, go ahead. Leave me helpless and bored. But you know what? When I’m bored, bad things happen. And next time you come back here, I just might throw myself at you. My hands will be all over you. You won’t be able to pry me off!”

“Lysander,” the girl called again.

He ground his teeth. “Return to your cloud,” he threw over his shoulder. “I will meet you there.”

He was going to meet another girl? At her cloud? Alone, private? Oh, hell, no. Bianka hadn’t worked him into a frenzy so that someone else could reap the reward.

Before she could inform him of that, however, he said, “Give Bianka whatever she wants.” Talking to his own cloud, apparently. “Anything but escape and more of those…outfits.” His gaze intensified on her. “That should stave off the boredom. But I only agree to this on the condition that you vow to keep your hands to yourself.”

Anything she wanted? She didn’t allow herself to grin, the girl forgotten in the face of this victory. “Done.”

“And so it is,” he said, then spun and stalked from the room. His wings expanded in a rush, and he disappeared before she could follow. But then, there was no need to follow him. Not now.

He had no idea that he’d just ensured his own downfall. Whatever she wants, he’d said. She laughed. She didn’t need to touch him or wear lingerie to win their next battle. She just needed his return. Because then, he would become her prisoner.