The Darkest Touch
Never again! She’d learned her lesson. Decisions should never be based on emotion. Only logic. Otherwise mistakes were made.
And I’ve made a huge mistake with Torin, she realized. She’d hesitated to render the deathblow simply because he had a pretty face and made her insides sing with pleasure.
“Keeley,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of her face.
She blinked into focus, barking, “What?”
He smiled at her, his emerald eyes twinkling. He picked up the conversation as if it had never lagged. “Think of my pickle comment as an invitation. And you don’t want to hurt my feelings by refusing, do you? I think I read somewhere that royalty is bound by stricter forms of etiquette than us regular folks.”
How did he make her want to smile back at him rather than attack him? And why hadn’t he disarmed her and killed her while she’d been lost in her head? “This queen is going to refuse, etiquette be damned. She would prefer not to eat a pickle that comes with a side of typhoid.”
The sparkle faded, and she actually mourned its loss.
“Or does it come with a little black plague?” she forced herself to continue. “No? How about botulism? Lassa fever? Am I getting close?”
“Oh, you’re getting close all right,” he said. “To a smackdown you’ll never forget.”
“We both know the only one getting a smackdown today is you.”
“Talk, talk, talk.” He batted her arm out of the way, then grabbed her by the neck at the same time he hooked his leg behind her ankles, tripping her.
As she fell, she twisted to catch herself. But the next thing she knew, she was face-first in the dirt, gasping for breath, her arms locked behind her back.
A beat of stunned silence as she regained her bearings...and realized his hard body was pressed against her. She fought the decadence of the new position. No. The humiliation of the position.
“Would you call this a pickle?” he asked casually.
“I’d probably go with Mexican standoff,” she managed just as casually.
“Standoff implies both parties have the other in a precarious situation. With our current position, I’m not exactly feeling threatened.”
Heat radiated from him, enveloping her. And his scent...all that sandalwood and spice. All male. Her cells did that singing thing, her blood beginning to boil with desire.
I’m so sorry, Mari.
Must gain control.
“Let’s see if I can do something to alter your perspective.” She flashed behind him—nope. She remained in place. Why—realization crystalized suddenly. The brimstone! As long as it was embedded in his skin and he maintained a grip on her, she would be powerless against him...against everything.
Powerless...helpless. Flickers of panic, burning her chest.
Can’t be helpless. Not again.
She kicked her leg, her heel slamming into his backside.
“Be still,” he commanded.
Helpless...so helpless...soon imprisoned. Left in the dark, forced to eat the scourge of the earth, rotting in my own filth, dirty so dirty, hungry so hungry. Forgotten. No, no, no!
She bucked and she kicked and she flailed. Snowflakes poured from the sky, piling around them.
He tightened his hold. “Keeley. Stop.”
Have to get free. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder as he further tightened his hold, she fought her way to her back. Then he released her—yes!—but only long enough to grab both of her wrists and pin them over her head.
Snowflakes in his lashes, on his skin...on hers. Cold, so very cold. Helpless.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He bared his teeth, his scowl menacing...almost desperate. “Want to do things to you... Trying not to think about them... Not succeeding. Be still. Please, be still.”
“Let me go.” A plea formed, but she swallowed it back. She’d once begged Hades for her freedom, and he’d laughed at her. She wouldn’t give Torin the same opportunity. “Let me go!”
“Not until we’ve come to some sort of arrangement.”
She continued to struggle, gained no new ground. So helpless!
She couldn’t breathe, had to breathe. She wiggled her hips, bucked some more. When she attempted to wedge one of her legs between them and place her bare foot against his bare chest, he wrenched away just before contact.
Finally free.
She lay on the hard ground, sucking in precious air. “Th-thank you.”
He moved over her again, but this time he didn’t hold her down. Didn’t touch her in any way, so she didn’t fight him. He simply shielded her from the onslaught of snow, his features dark with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Strange question, coming from him.
Her heartbeat slowed, though her limbs grew heavier with every second that passed. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
Torin looked up at the sky, then down at her. The sky, her. He nodded, as if he’d just unraveled a mystery, and made to move away from her.
“Don’t,” she said, surprising herself. I want him closer? “I...need your warmth.” Truth. In part. She craved the connection to another living creature...to him. It had been so long.
He remained in place. His gaze locked with hers, and it was both torturous and rapturous. Without the panic, her desire for him—for sensation—had no filter, becoming a driving force she couldn’t deny.
Don’t do this.
Must. “Is the woman you’ve been staying with your lover?” she asked.
He blinked down at her. “Woman? Oh. You mean Winter. No.”
I am...relieved?
Maybe. His condition was a hard sell for any female, true, but Keeley wasn’t any female. She could have him.
But why would I want him? I hate him. Even still the urge to reach up and trace her fingertips along the ridges of his chest bombarded her...so she did it, she reached. I’m far too strong to sicken.
She paused midway to gauge his reaction.
His jaw clenched tightly. “Don’t,” he croaked, but he remained in place, as if he wanted her to do it—needed her to. “I mean it. Don’t.”
“You’ll thank me.” Truly, his demon would be no match for her. Who would? In a class by myself.
She reached the rest of the way and flattened her palm just over his heart. Skin-to-skin. He flinched but didn’t pull away. Hissed, but also moaned. As if the sudden connection between them was equal parts pain and bliss. Hell and heaven.
“Keeley.” A rasp of demand...and necessity.
Asking me for more. Has to be.
He was hot enough to burn, soft as silk yet hard as steel, and nothing had ever felt this good. A simple touch has felled me.
“You are...” Everything I’ve ever wanted or needed or hoped would be possible. She traced her fingertips along his collarbone, up his neck...to his lips. They parted and she took advantage, pressing in to feel the moist heat inside his mouth.
He sucked, hard, and she moaned. The sound jolted him out of whatever magical haze had been woven. He reared back, horror radiating from him. The same kind of horror the villagers had once cast at her.
“Torin?” Give me more.
“Keeley.” He shook his head, rubbed his chest, as if he could still feel her. “You shouldn’t have touched me. I shouldn’t have let you. Even if you live through the infection, which you probably won’t, you’ll be immune to it but still able to spread it. The very reason I’ll have to kill you, despite your recovery.”
CHAPTER SIX
MY FAULT.
The words echoed in Torin’s mind as he built a fire, and it was like taking fists to the chest. Keeley sat on the ground, watching his every move. He knew, because he could feel the hot ping of her gaze drilling holes in his back. Since “the Incident,” she hadn’t attempted to fight him. She’d gone still, quiet.
Soon she would sicken. Just like all the others. And he would curse his very existence.
He sought a sense of numbness as he dug through the pack he’d hidden behind a tree, withdrawing every bit of leftover medicine. A few antibiotics, fewer antivirals. Cough suppressant, antihistamines, decongestants. Painkillers. Even vitamin strips that would dissolve on the tongue.
He tossed the antibiotics and strips at her, plus a canteen of water. “Take two of the pills. Suck on one of the strips. They’ll help stave off the infection.”
In a perfect world, that would be good enough. But their world wasn’t even close to perfect.
No response from her.
If he had to force her to—
He heard a rustle of clothing, a gulp of water being swallowed.
Good girl. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to forcing her...to putting his hands on her again. There is no woman softer.
Guilt pricked at him, as determined to ruin him as Disease. It was never far from the surface, always looking for a moment to spew its poison. Next would come sorrow...rage. At Keeley. At himself. Mostly himself. He’d wanted her touch more than he’d ever wanted anything.
While Disaster had screamed at him to get as far away from her as possible, he’d pretty much raced to the razor’s edge of temptation, telling himself Keeley was so powerful she would be immune. That he could finally have everything he’d ever secretly craved.
But it was a lie. It was always a lie.
Why had he encouraged a battle with her? Why had he sought to comfort her after her panic? The only possible outcome had happened. What a shocker.
Now Keeley would pay the ultimate price for his weakness, and he would be responsible for either killing one of the only remaining Curators or creating another carrier. And while in that perfect world he wished he lived in a female carrier would mean he’d finally have someone to touch and to hold and to kiss and to please, without any further consequences, that wasn’t how it worked. If Torin touched her a second time, he would pass on a different illness.
The demon didn’t just specialize in one ailment, but countless.
Disease often changed strains with the times. The black death of the thirteen hundreds had given way to the cholera pandemic of the eighteen hundreds. Made it harder for the world to combat the evil, he supposed. For Torin to combat it.
“Has anyone ever not gotten sick after tangling with you?” Keeley asked.
The hope in her voice...he crumbled, utterly agonized. “No.”
“But I’m, like, super powerful.”
She wasn’t just super powerful; she was the most powerful person he’d ever come across. “Sickness feeds on certain types of power. How else do you think it grows?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, fiddled with the bottle of pills. “I feel fine.”
“That won’t last.”
Shoulders wilting, she said, “How long do your victims usually survive?”
“About a week. Rarely any longer.” He settled on the other side of the fire. Not sure I can hold myself together. “How did you get an actual human body without a human in it?” he asked, hoping for a distraction. “Curators were—are—spirits.”
A flare of ire in her expression, the world around them trembling. “Someone gave it to me. Why?”
He ignored her question. “Who gave it? And how?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Wistful, she added, “I used to be able to commune with animals, you know.”
Not actually surprising. So had every other fairy-tale princess. “I’m sure you and your animal friends had some real stimulating conversations.”
“Yes.” She sighed. “The body changed everything.”
“You can’t leave it behind?” Something that might have saved her.
“Hardly. I’m fused to it.” Her gaze sharpened on him. “Why are you still here? Why aren’t you abandoning me to my hideous fate?”
He chose levity over brevity. “There’s no way I’d abandon you when we’re about to play my favorite game. Incompetent Doctor and Uncooperative Patient.” But he failed to achieve the desired results.
She frowned at him. “So...you’re going to help me? Again?”
“I’m going to try.” But would it be enough? It hadn’t been with Mari.
He gnashed his molars. Human versus supervillain. Big difference. This was a whole new ball game.
Look at me. Hoping for the best-case scenario even though I know better.
“Why?” she asked. “I’ll only repay you with pain and agony, and eventually death.”
She’d stated the words so simply, as if they were merely discussing her toenails—which glinted like diamonds. He almost smiled. Almost.
“I understand your reasons for wanting to harm me. Your beef against me is legit, and you’ll do whatever is necessary to make things right. Well, as right as they can be, considering the depth of my crimes. But I’m not going to leave you out here to suffer—” to die “—alone.”
He experienced a keen sense of loss he didn’t quite understand. At the thought of her death? Why? He barely knew her. She wasn’t a friend. He should feel the guilt, yes, but nothing more.
“But why?” she insisted. “You warned me. I even chose to suffer this way. Remember?”
She claimed to value truth, so that’s what he gave her: the truth as he knew it. “I’m sorry Mari’s dead. I’m sorry I touched her. Sorry she sickened and died such a terrible death. I’m sorry you lost a dear friend. Sorry I wasn’t strong enough to walk away from her...or you.” The sting in his chest proved far more lethal than a blade or claws. “Especially when I knew nothing good would ever come of it. I’m so sorry for everything, and yet there’s nothing I can do to change anything. The past is the past. Over, done. Like you, I can only plow ahead and do my best to make things right.”
She turned her head away. To hide tears?
The sting inside him sharpened. But he welcomed the pain, deserved it. “Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
“Never!” she snarled, her hackles raised.
Better.
She inhaled with great force, then exhaled with greater force. “Perhaps I need to walk away from you and go after Cronus. I’ll have time to think.” She dragged her finger through the dirt, creating a symbol he didn’t recognize. “I heard him bargain with Mari. After he attempted to bargain with me. He knew she would die, and despite my protests and willingness to change places with her, he let her go to you anyway. He must be punished.”
“Cronus is dead.” And the world was far better for it. “He was decapitated.”
“Who would dare deny me my vengeance?” she gritted, her shock surprisingly adorable.
“It wasn’t intentional. My friend took him out on the field of battle. She’s now leading the Titans.”
Blink, blink. “A woman?”
He nodded. “The mate of a Lord of the Underworld.”
“And the Titans haven’t refused to serve her?”
“No. Why would they?”
Awe in her eyes. Envy. “Because...just because!”
There was a story there. Hell, there were probably a lot of stories, and he would have liked to hear each one. “What of your people?” he asked. “Any others out there?”
“As far as I know, I’m the only pure breed left, the remaining Curators having mated with fallen angels, thinking it would make them stronger. But all they managed to do was dilute their bloodline and die out.”
An honest answer, though it was offered with zero hint about her emotions. Did she miss the others? Mourn their loss?
And another question: Why did he wish he could hug her?
Dude. Hugging could lead to kissing and kissing to sex. Wasn’t like it was rocket science.
He wouldn’t be the oldest virgin in history anymore. Finally he would know the feel of a woman’s inner walls. The hot clench. The wet clasp he doubted his own hand had ever quite been able to replicate.
He gripped the tree root at his side in a bid to hold himself away from her—can’t do it, can’t take her. Even though he still tingled where she’d touched him...
Would giving in to his attraction to Keeley really be so terrible? Especially now? The worst of the damage was already done. She would die anyway, and—
Stop!
He couldn’t risk giving her two diseases at once. There’d be zero chance of survival. If there was any chance at all.
“Why didn’t you mate with a fallen angel?” he asked.
“I already had a fiancé, and by the time we split, the truth had been realized. The fallen angels were poison to the Curators, spreading their curse of darkness. Oh, and I was locked away.”
Something hot and dark shot through him. “You were engaged?”
That’s what I focus on?
“Yes,” she said. “Why?” She threw a twig at him. “Is it some big surprise that someone once found me so appealing he wanted to keep me forever?”
“Sheath the claws, wildcat. I meant no offense.” He couldn’t call that hot and dark thing burning inside him jealousy. There was no reason for him to be jealous. He’d call it...indigestion. Because that’s what it was.
What kind of man had won her heart? The kind who had fawned over her, surely. As soft and delicate as she appeared, Torin could well imagine her as some whipped sap’s favorite sexual trinket, to be taken out and played with whenever the mood struck. And it had probably struck often.
His indigestion grew teeth and gnawed at his organs. “Where’s the guy now?”
“Don’t know. Probably somewhere he can behead puppies and gut kittens without anyone complaining.”
The relationship had ended poorly. Got it.
“Look,” she said, and sighed. “I appreciate the conversation. I really do. I’m not ever going to be your biggest fan, but I’m willing to admit you’re not the hellhound I thought you were. Which is why I still think it’ll be better if we part ways and resume our war at a later date.”
“Stay. Let me take care of you.”
“I’m not sick.”
“We’ve covered this. You will be.”
“No. I’m telling you, I’m too powerful. You’ve never met anyone like me, so you can’t know how I’ll react to—” A gut-wrenching cough interrupted her denial. She hunched over, the force of it too great for her body, and covered her mouth.
Minutes passed before she quieted. She held out her trembling hands. Spots of crimson were smeared over her palms.
Snow began to fall once again, and this time, bright flashes of lightning accompanied it, streaking the sky. He’d realized the weather responded to her moods and figured this must be a sign of fear and pain.
She met his gaze, shook her head. “No. No.”
Yes. “You’re infected.”
* * *
IN LESS THAN an hour, she was hacking up rivers of blood.
In less than two, she was ravaged by fever.
She tried to tell him something, saying things like “rain,” “drown” and “minions,” but the meaning was lost on Torin. The only thing he understood was “don’t...kill.”
He’d told her he would kill her if she became a carrier. And he should; it would be best. For her, for the world.
Then why try to save her?
Because he couldn’t shake the urge to hug her. Because he owed her.
Because he couldn’t have her, ever, if she died.
He punched the ground, flinging dirt.They would deal with the carrier thing if and when it became necessary.
As gently as possible, he plied her with medicine. He used some of the canteen water to keep her brow cool and poured the rest down her throat. But by the middle of the next day, the water was gone and she needed more. Her cough worsened, and her fever intensified, growing dangerously high. The woman who’d been powerful enough to topple a prison for immortals weakened until she could no longer even writhe in pain, her chest barely rising and falling, her breaths wheezing...sometimes even rattling.
The death rattle. He knew it well.
But the most telling sign of impending doom? About twenty feet around her, the grass had withered. Nearby trees had slumped over and dried up, leaving nothing but brittle leaves and blackened bark.
At least the snow had stopped. Small consolation.
“Just hold on, princess,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear him but compelled to speak anyway. He picked her up, careful to ensure their clothes remained a constant barrier.
But even without skin-to-skin contact, she managed to deluge him with endorphins, wave after wave of the most intense bliss he’d ever known saturating him. He hardened. He throbbed.
Need her hands on me again.
Enough! He carried her through the forest, heading for the clearing he’d shared with the Terrible Trio. They would fight him. They wouldn’t understand why he was helping a woman so determined to kill him. He barely understood it himself. But they weren’t there, and it looked as if they’d been gone for a while, saving him the hassle of combat.
Torin eased Keeley onto the ledge of the spring. He dipped a rag into the frigid water before draping the material over her sweat-beaded brow. Her teeth chattered, and every few seconds she convulsed, but the fever never abated.
He picked her up and eased her into the center of the pool, dress and all. The liquid rippled and lapped all the way to her chin...but the heat she projected actually warmed the water. Frustration and fear ate at him.
“Hades,” she mumbled, her voice little more than a broken rasp. “Mine...”
A terrible stillness came over him. Hades, the former ruler of the underworld? A male Torin wouldn’t trust with a stick of gum, much less a life? Pure evil? The father of William the Ever Randy and Lucifer, king of the demons?
Although, to be fair, Hades wasn’t William and Lucifer’s natural father. He’d claimed them through some sort of shady, supernatural adoption. But to be even fairer, that kind of made him worse.
Keeley called for that guy? Seriously?
“Don’t,” she begged. “Please, don’t do this.”
Hades had hurt her? No big surprise, and yet Torin cracked his knuckles. Whatever was done to her will be revisited on the male a hundredfold.
“Shh.” In an effort to calm her, Torin smoothed a gloved hand along the curve of her jaw. This isn’t for me—it’s for her.
Lying to myself now?
He marveled at the delicacy of her bones and had to fight against a thousand more waves of bliss, each headier than the last. “I’m here. Torin’s here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, princess. I won’t let it.”
“I love you. You love me. Our wedding...please.”
He stiffened, several facts becoming crystal clear. Hades was the fiancé she’d mentioned. She’d actually planned a future with the guy. Had begged for it.
Jealousy. Yes, he felt it. Jealousy, and not indigestion. He could deny the truth no longer. However, he would not tolerate such an emotion. Keeley wasn’t his. She didn’t belong to him, and never would. Because even if they worked out their problems—not likely—he would never be able to satisfy her. What he had to offer would never be enough.
He’d learned that the hard way.
To watch discontent settle in her eyes? He would rather die.
Experienced enough humiliation on that front.
“Helpless,” she whispered. “So helpless. Trapped.”
“Shh,” he said again. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Torin?” Her head tipped toward him. Her arms floated along the surface of the water, brushing against the curling ends of her hair. Wet, the strands appeared honey-brown rather than blue.
Will look so pretty wrapped around my fist. I’ll angle her just right, take her mouth with a skill she’s never before encountered and—
Nothing.
He pushed out a ragged breath, only then realizing the water had cooled significantly.
Had her fever broken at last?
He lifted her out of the spring and eased her onto a patch of grass, tense with dread as he waited for the blades to wither. When one minute ticked into another and they remained lush and green, he relaxed.