The Darkest Touch

by Gena Showalter

  An ache flourished in his chest, so strong he couldn't stop his groan.

  But he shouldn't touch her. He would only want to do it again...and again...until his already-frayed resistance unraveled the rest of the way and like an addict, he went for skin-to-skin contact.

  He scanned the area. Trees all around. No real clearing to allow him to see the enemy coming. He would have to--

  Keeley kicked out her leg, swiping his feet out from under him. He fell, landing with a hard thump as she rolled with her momentum and ended up in a crouch of her own, right knee and left foot on the ground. One hand braced to hold her weight while the other aimed the crossbow Irish had cut from the tail of a manticore--she must have stolen it--an arrow cocked and ready.

  *

  "WELL, WELL," KEELEY said. I'm gloating. I shouldn't gloat. "Our audience is gone, and any potential alliance you had with the three doucheketeers has been severed. I believe I have you in what's known as a pickle."

  A vein bulged in his forehead, a testament to his rising anger. "Feel free to eat my pickle, princess. Anytime."

  Was that anger directed at her? Or himself?

  "Was that a penis joke? And I told you. I'm not a lowly princess." She'd earned her title the hard way, thank you.

  Suddenly, memories she'd locked inside a Time Out box fought for freedom. No! No, no, no. Not here, not now. She needed to concentrate on Torin, on their battle. But...it was too late, the tide too powerful. The past spilled forth and consumed her.

  During her sixteenth summer, she attended a royal gala. Like every other girl in attendance, she spent the majority of her time drooling over the prince of the Curators. He flirted with her, even asked her to dance--which was when his father, the king, took notice of her.

  Because she was an innocent of the upper class, the king was unable to have her without wedding her. Rules were rules, even for royalty. So he did it. He killed his current spouse and wed Keeley. Despite the fact that she refused his proposal.

  But then the choice had never really been hers. What King Mandriael wanted, he received. Always. Might equaled right, and he'd been the strongest among them. Not by fate, but by force. All Curators were given a small ward at birth--except the king. That way the citizens were never stronger than their ruler.

  Forcing her to say her vows had been so easy for him. A simple bolt of his power, paining her, and she'd blurted out a desperate "Yes!"

  For years he'd controlled her every action, punishing her whenever she displeased him. She would have given anything to leave him, to sneak away and never return, but on the day of their wedding, a bond had formed between them. She'd hated him, but still she'd needed him.

  And for all my suffering, I was not crowned queen during his rule. He'd refused. He'd also killed his heirs, including the handsome prince, so that no one would have any claim to his throne.

  Against Mandriael's knowledge, Keeley had taken measures to prevent pregnancy--her one rebellion; none of the slain children had been hers.

  No, her title had come after the king stripped her nude and whipped her. In public. For daring to look him in the eye while speaking to him. Agonized and bloody, desperate, she'd cut away her ward--just wanted a taste of power. But an ocean of energy had filled her up and exploded from her--exploding the king.

  Got what he deserved.

  Mere hours after her coronation, however, the people she'd planned to liberate had revolted.

  Queen for less than a day.

  They'd ambushed her, swarming into the throne room to surround her on the royal dais. No one had carried a weapon. But then, they hadn't needed swords and daggers, not anymore. They, too, had removed their wards and their power had battered against her, a maelstrom. But hers had still been greater, so much greater, and she'd catapulted them into the air, all at once, without any real effort.

  There had been whispers among the Curators, claims the king had quashed. Some were supposedly born with the ability to not only wield the energy around them but to connect with it, manipulate it, even control it and stop others from using it. Those claims--prophecies--were written in a book that had vanished decades before, either stolen or destroyed.

  She'd wondered if she could do those things...even as her people had hurtled hate-filled obscenities and threats.

  You're nothing but a whore!

  You can't keep us here forever. The moment we're down, you're dead.

  I will dance in your blood!

  Rage had brewed inside her, at last seeping out. A violent storm had risen outside, crushing everything in its path, even the palace. The Curators remained in the air, battered by ice, water and debris. But not Keeley. She'd remained untouched, unharmed. Villagers had stopped racing for cover to stare in horror as, one by one, the entire upper class burst into grisly pieces.

  She'd feared hurting others, innocents, and decided there was no other recourse but to run. The villagers followed her, determined to end her and save themselves from a similar fate.

  She'd spent weeks in the jungle, hiding, on her own for the first time in her miserable existence, scavenging with no real results, doing her best to survive--failing. That's when Hades found her.

  A life could change in a single heartbeat.

  The entire world could change in a single heartbeat.

  Hades was the dark prince she'd considered too handsome to resist, realizing too late he'd drugged her at every meal in an effort to keep her mind fogged so that her every decision could be easily manipulated. He hadn't known the drugs were unnecessary, that she'd been as starved for affection as she'd been for food.

  Oh, how that galled! What easy pickings she'd been. Desperate to hold on to him and make him happy. Only to be betrayed. Blindly believing everything he said. Willing to do anything he asked.

  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.