The Darkest Touch

No! Just no.

“Gotta say, Miss Keys. You’re looking very fine.”

Reveal nothing. Hide everything. “Obviously,” she said, then ruined the bold statement by self-consciously combing her fingers through her hair.

Since last they’d faced off, she’d scrubbed from head to toe with enough force to skin herself—again. Even though the dirt was gone, she had been unable to find new clothes and still wore the same tattered rag.

Keeley would rather start every conversation she ever had with “Do you want to see my big fat lady balls?” than not look her best. Her own people had found her lacking in every way, and Hades’s minions used to delight in teasing her about her odd coloring; she’d never quite shaken the heart-crushing sense of not being good enough, not fitting in.

“But what does that have to do with anything?” she finished.

“I’ll tell you...after you tell me how good I look,” he said, and he appeared to be fighting a grin.

Entrapment! Do not respond. Exploring him with her gaze, on the other hand...

He wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt that read “One Of These Things Doesn’t Belong: William. Panties. Women.” His leather pants were ripped. Black gloves covered his hands. A metal chain hung from around his waist. The typical bad-boy uniform hadn’t changed, it seemed...and still revved her motor.

Forgive me, Mari.

She found herself saying, “You look like...dinner.” She’d meant the words as an insult. A reminder that carnivorous beasts were out there, just waiting to devour him, but every sensation already coursing through her poor, neglected body suddenly heightened, nearly dragging a moan from her.

His voice reminded her of smoke dusting over gravel, soft but gritty, as he said, “You want to eat me, huh?”

I do. I really do. I want my mouth all over him. “I will not stoop to your level by answering.” Or mortify myself with the truth.

“Well, then, do you have any interest in a bargain?” he asked, surprising her.

“What do you mean?”

“Rather than trying to kill me, you can get your pound of flesh another way. Like, say, a spanking? No? How about a good whipping? Twenty lashes? Thirty?” When she remained silent, he added, “All right, forty. But that’s my final offer.”

It was...tempting. A way to satisfy her need for bloodshed while ending the strife between them. Except, he would recover from a whipping, while Mari hadn’t recovered from her illness. Has to be like for like.

“I must respectfully decline,” she said.

“Fine. Fifty lashes.”

Why was he— Understanding peeked its head above her confusion. “Oh, I get it. You saw my power in action. You’re afraid of me.”

His nostrils flared, and he actually recoiled from her. “Afraid? Princess, I was trying to do you a favor, save you a little embarrassment over the major defeat you’re about to suffer. For some reason, I’m no longer feeling quite so magnanimous.” He squared his shoulders. “Let’s do this. Take a swing at something covered by clothing.”

She balled her fist, only to hesitate. “You take a swing. You’re wearing gloves. Which strikes me as odd now that I think about it. Shouldn’t you want to make me sick? That would solve all your problems.”

“No, it would add to them. I hate knowing I’m responsible for Mari’s death. Adding yours to the mix isn’t my idea of a good time.”

The words unnerved her. But maybe that was his plan. Throw her for a loop and then strike at her while she was too dizzy to notice. Well, she would show him!

Keeley stretched both of her arms toward him, saying, “I’m going to do it. I’m going to hit you with a blast of power, and you’re going to writhe in the worst pain of your life. Nothing will ease you.”

“Great.” Then, when she hesitated, he had the gall to add, “I’m waiting....”

“You should be running.”

“Why? Do you want to stare at my ass?”

How was she supposed to react to his total lack of fear? “Any last words?”

“Sure.” His gaze raked over her slowly, so wonderfully slow, and when next he spoke, his voice dripped with melted honey. “If I had one last wish, I’d use it to put my hands all over you, zero consequences. Hell, my mouth, too. I’d like to touch you and taste you and make you explode.”

Suddenly breathless, she said, “Don’t talk like that.”

He smiled at her, but it only made the breathlessness worse. “Do whatever you’ve got to do, Keys. I’m ready.”

“Fine. I will.” This was it, then. The first strike in their war. A bit of vengeance for Mari. One item checked off Keeley’s to-do list.

So why did remorse hold her immobile? “Nothing will stop me,” she said.

“Didn’t think it would.”

I can do this. She rolled her shoulders, shook out her hands. All right, okay. I won’t make him suffer. For you, Mari, I’ll make it quick and painless and simply finish him here.

She stretched out her arms, lightning shooting from her palms. Torin stumbled back, but rather than frying to a crisp as she’d planned, he seemed to absorb the heat and energy.

His mouth opened and closed for several seconds before he snapped, “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“I told you I would.” Confused, Keeley shot out another bolt of lightning. Again, he stumbled back without frying. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

He gripped the collar of his shirt and yanked the material over his head to look himself over. The lightning should have left gaping holes of black, but there weren’t even streaks of pink to indicate he’d been struck. But there were muscles. Lots and lots of muscles. A lump filled her throat. She’d thought him beautiful before...but this was beautiful. No one had a physique like his. Cut with rope after rope of strength, skin pale and flawless, a black butterfly tattooed on his stomach.

“You’re staring,” he said.

And probably drooling. “So?”

“So it’s time for me to share with the rest of the class.” He peeled back one of his gloves, revealing thick scars running up one side of his arm and down the other. Scars with flecks of yellow-orange peppered throughout. “This is why you were unable to kill me.”

The lump dissolved and she inhaled sharply. He knew she was a Curator, and he’d taken precautions against her.

And she’d thought to make his death quick and painless. A mistake she wouldn’t repeat.

“You think you’re so smart,” she spat. “Well, I’ve got news for—”

“Shut it, Keys,” he snapped, speaking over her.

Baffled by him, she actually pressed her lips together. Very few people had ever spoken to her like that, too afraid of her reaction. So domineering...

Won’t shiver. Would rather die.

“You once gave me a choice.” His eyes became twin infernos, burning everything they touched. And they seemed to touch her everywhere. “Now I’m giving you one. Walk away from me and your vengeance—or suffer.”

CHAPTER FIVE

TURNED ON—CHECK.

Yeah, I put the “fun” in dysfunctional.

Torin should probably call a doctor. Not even Cialis was supposed to cause such an intense reaction.

What has one hundred and thirty-two teeth and holds back the Incredible Hulk? My zipper.

For a moment, he found amusement in the fact that his penis had decided to act like a third wheel on a date and pop in to complicate things, butt in to private conversations and demand attention at the most inappropriate times. But the amusement didn’t last long.

Keeley had tried to murder him with her earth-shattering power—twice!—and she totally would have succeeded if he hadn’t circumvented her with the brimstone. So the fact that he had an erection the size of a battering ram, all because she’d peered at him with those icy eyes, daring him to take a swing at her, was messed up. Even for him.

But the kicker? He was trying to Jedi mind-trick her into choosing option B. To suffer. Because it was the only way he’d get to spend more time with her.

I’m worse than a monster.

No, no. He had this all wrong. His reasons for wanting to spend more time with her were completely altruistic. If she was occupied with Torin, she wouldn’t switch her focus to his friends.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you work any situation to your favor.

The blue-tinted beauty raised her chin, the perfect study of feminine stubbornness. “I choose...suffer,” she said, moving into a battle stance. “I may be weakened by what you’ve done, but I’m still the most powerful being you’ve ever encountered. I’ve killed kings, toppled kingdoms.”

Shouldn’t grin.

The demon banged against his skull, impatient to get away from the girl.

Not happening.

“You’re more than weakened, princess. You’re severely limited.” The brimstone actually stopped her from harming him, because her power was an extension of her. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a moment and reconsider this? Maybe make a pros-and-cons list?”

“Is this to be a debate or a physical battle? I’ve considered.”

Well, all right, then. “Don’t forget. If you touch my skin, you’ll sicken. And if, miracles of miracles, you survive the raging fever and bloody cough, you’ll become a carrier and infect others.”

“Talk, talk, talk, blah, blah, blah,” she said—and struck. She must have flashed a branch into her hand because one second her fist swung at his face, the next the jagged branch slammed into his jaw.

Blood in his mouth. A lance of pain. He stumbled, straightened and wiped his already-swelling lips. He should have been annoyed. Or angry. Yeah, anger was probably the proper response. Instead, he was—shocker!—invigorated. He’d handicapped the chick, but she’d found a way to strike anyway.

Maybe aliens had taken over his brain.

“If you want a chance to win this,” he said, “you’ll have to hit me harder.”

“Oh. Okay.” Whack!

Stars behind his eyes, and yet he kind of wanted to laugh. She’d merely given him what he’d asked for, and he couldn’t fault her for it.

Definitely aliens.

When she swung a third time, he was ready, catching the stick and jerking it from her grip. She yelped, startled by the disarming. Hadn’t expected him to be a worthy opponent, had she? He released the pimp-slapper, but it vanished before it hit the ground.

He didn’t have to wonder what had happened. She’d flashed it somewhere else.

“You can’t defeat me,” she said, circling him. A predator with a meal in sight.

Adrenaline spilled into his blood, riding the waves in his veins. “I can...but I’d be willing to accept your surrender.”

A shrill cry suddenly echoed. He and Keeley looked up in unison as a sphinx flew in circles overhead, dodging clouds with expert precision. The bare-chested creature had the haunches of a lion, the wings of a great bird, and the torso of a woman. A fresh-off-the-pole, looking-to-give-you-the-lap-dance-of-a-lifetime woman.

Come on Little T. You gotta be interested in getting a little of that.

Nada.

The sphinx bared a mouthful of fangs, spread her claws wide and angled face-first, swooping down, clearly intending to grab a little takeout. Keeley waved a hand through the air and both of the creature’s wings crumpled like a tin can under a stomping foot. Down the sphinx spiraled, crashing into the tops of trees a good distance away.

Well, hell. Keeley could use vast amounts of power to turn anything or anyone into a weapon despite the nearness of the brimstone scars. Good to know.

End this. He kicked out his leg, tripping her while she was distracted. She fell backward and would have tumbled into the pit if he hadn’t grabbed her by the center of her dress and spun her. He quickly released her. She stumbled over a tree root, falling to her ass.

“Still think I’ll lose?” he asked, at last allowing his grin to make an appearance.

When her head snapped up, her eyes—those eyes as cold as ice—narrowed to tiny slits. There was a moment of startling connection, man and woman...a moment of visceral desire before her anger took over. He reeled, even as the thunder started up again and the ground beneath him shook. It was what he’d felt just before the prison had come tumbling down. What he’d felt before the Unspoken One had exploded.

“I warned you about my temper, Torin.”

“Aw. Is the little princess mad because she’s getting spanked?”

The shaking intensified. It came from...her?

Because Princess was getting mad?

“I told you. I’m not some lowly princess!” As Keeley pushed to her feet, wind whipped up around her. One branch after another appeared, slapping at him.

What am I waiting for? Act! He could have fought through the attack and punched her in the head. Unconscious, she would be unable to defend herself, and he could do whatever he wanted with her. Like, say, tie her up and—

Not going there.

But he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her physically. Which was freaking inconceivable! When he’d worked for Zeus, he’d been an equal-opportunity torturer and killer. Nothing had stopped him. Now this?

“This all you got?” he said.

The branches vanished as he and Keeley circled each other.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She scowled at him. “I’ve got more.”

Footsteps sounded from the left and from the right. He didn’t have to look to know the cavalry had arrived, and there was no longer any need to stall.

Keeley turned.

Cameron broke through a line of foliage at one side, and Irish and Winter through a line of foliage at the other. Keeley had focused on the duo, allowing Cameron to do what Torin had not and punch her in the side of the head. She slumped to the ground, her eyes closing. The thunder and shaking ceased.

From zero to max in a single second. That’s how quickly unholy rage boiled inside Torin.

“That wasn’t the plan!” Using all of his considerable strength, he slammed his gloved fist into Cameron’s nose. Cartilage didn’t just snap, it shattered. Blood spurted as the warrior stumbled backward. “You don’t hurt her ever.”

Winter and Irish fronted on Torin, not daring to touch him but glaring daggers.

“What are you complaining about, Sickness?” Winter cracked her knuckles. “We’re the proud new owners of a Curator. It’s what we all wanted.”

“That’s right. What we all wanted. You pussed out, and I swooped in to the rescue,” Cameron snarled back at Torin. “The girl was seconds away from leveling the forest, which is our only source of protection. I did what was necessary.”

Reasonable—but it wasn’t going to save him from Torin’s wrath. As long as Keeley remained on her feet, pain-free and focused on him, the forest and everything in it could fall. And it had nothing to do with his hard-on for her. Or his need to touch her, all of her. Hard at first. Then soft. To pinch and to knead. To discover whether her skin was as cold as it appeared—or if it was white-hot. But because she deserved the right to punish Mari’s killer. Or at least to try.

Torin balled his fist, his rage redoubling.

“Strike my brother again,” Winter said, her quiet tone laced with menace. “See what happens.”

Irish crossed his arms over his massive chest, claws glinting in the light. A silent but deadly challenge.

Anticipation. Eagerness. Can’t engage. Must protect the Red Queen.

“The Curator is off-limits to you,” he said. “To each of you.”

The trio might as well have run their feet through the grass. They were that ready to charge him.

He spread his arms. By now they should know the drill. “What are you going to do about it, huh? Come on. Try something. Please.”

He wouldn’t have to worry about these three becoming carriers. He would touch them, yes, and they would sicken. But afterward, before they could ever come into contact with an innocent, he would kill them.

“You don’t want me as your enemy,” Cameron said, spitting at his feet.

“I see you haven’t gotten the memo.” Torin pegged him with a hard stare. “We’re already enemies.” After what the guy had done to Keeley, that wasn’t going to change. Ever.

Crackling silence.

“She’s a parasite,” Winter said. “She’ll destroy you and everything you love.”

“A chance I’m willing to take,” he said, surprising even himself. What’s happening to me?

“Mistake,” Cameron said. “Big mistake.”

“Won’t be my first.”

“Come on. Let’s go.” Winter pulled her brother away. “He’ll see the truth soon enough.”

Because she planned to make him see?

Irish stood there for a moment longer, rubbing his thumb across his jaw as he considered his options. Then he, too, backed away.

The three disappeared in the foliage.

They would be back, certainly. But they would just receive more of the same.

Torin crouched beside Keeley and carefully eased her to her back. A cut on her temple had left a crimson slash across her brow. The shadows cast by her lashes couldn’t mask the bruise on the sweet rise of her cheek.

Should have killed Cameron while I had the chance. Torin reached out but fisted his fingers before they could brush against Keeley’s delicate skin.

Wearing gloves, remember? Won’t hurt her.

He snorted. The voice of temptation was always oh, so sweet. And this time, it just happened to be right. He could touch her, and he could learn the contours of her exquisite face. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not like this.

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.