Her face flushed. She came off her throne and descended two stairs to stand before him. “How dare you speak to me that way!”

Acheron whipped his cloak off and tossed it and his staff angrily into a corner. “Kill me for it, Artemis. Go right ahead. Do us both a favor and put me out of my misery.”

She tried to slap him, but he caught her hand in his and stared down into her eyes.

Artemis saw the hatred in Acheron’s gaze, the scathing condemnation.

Their angry breaths mingled and the air around them snapped furiously as their powers clashed.

But it wasn’t his fury she wanted.

No, never his fury…

Her gaze drifted over him. Over the perfect sculpted planes of his face, his high cheekbones, his long, aquiline nose. The blackness of his hair.

The eerie mercury of his eyes.

There had never been a mortal born who could equal his physical perfection.

And it wasn’t just his beauty that drew people to him. It wasn’t his beauty that drew her to him.

He possessed a raw, rare kind of masculine charisma. Power. Strength. Charm. Intelligence. Determination.

To look at him was to want him.

To see him was to ache to touch him.

He had been built to please, and trained to pleasure. Everything about him from the sleek muscles that rippled to the deep, erotic timber in his voice seduced anyone who came into contact with him.

Like a lethal wild animal, he moved with a primal promise of danger and masculine power. With the promise of supreme sexual fulfillment.

They were promises he delivered well on.

In all eternity, he was the only man who had made her weak.

The only man she had ever loved.

He had the power in him to kill her. They both knew it. And she found the fact that he didn’t intriguing and provocative.

Seductive and erotic.

Swallowing, she remembered him as he had been when they first met.