The Darkest Touch

His gaze slid over her. The color of her skin had vastly improved, the fever flush of red gone. But her dress was plastered to her skin, outlining every magnificent curve.

Tensing all over again...have to look away. But no matter how diligently he tried, his gaze remained glued to her. Her breasts were luscious, in need of kneading. Her nipples were beaded, practically begging to be sucked. Her stomach was concave, allowing water to settle inside her navel.

Water he could lick away.

Stop this. Wrong on every level.

Her legs were long and lithe, the perfect length to wrap around his waist. Or his shoulders. She had no scars or tattoos, her skin like mile after mile of cobalt silk.

The promise of sex seethed from her.

His already frayed control threatened to snap.

No! He scrubbed a hand down his face, at last breaking the spell she’d somehow woven. Yeah. Blame her. Idiot! What the hell was wrong with him? She was sick, possibly dying, and he was scheming on her?

I suck.

Get her well. Then get rid of her. Afterward he could continue his search to find Cameo and Viola with a clear conscience.

Like the Terrible Trio, Viola had been incarcerated in Tartarus at the wrong time and had received one of the leftover demons. He shuddered. She’d gotten Narcissism. The worst of the worst. Viola was a flat-out nightmare to be around, but she was also part of his family.

A man protected his family.

Mari had been Keeley’s only family, he thought. And I took her away.

He owed the Curator more than vengeance. He owed her another family. But there was no way he could introduce a carrier to innocents. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel with a rocket-propelled grenade.

His friends, on the other hand... They knew how to deal with carriers. They’d been dealing with Torin for centuries, and not one of them had ever gotten sick. They were experts at evading him. Maybe they could be Keeley’s family—he wouldn’t have to kill her.

The idea...did not repel him.

She threatened their safety.

Yes, but Torin knew she wouldn’t hurt them. He’d seen the core of honor underneath her rage.

She might even find a measure of happiness with the group. Two of his friends were dating Harpies, a race of females known for causing massive bloodshed...and for making grown men pee their pants in fear. That had to be dream best-friend material for Keys. And, not that it mattered, none of the males would make a play for her; everyone was taken.

Well, except for William the Ever Randy, who lived with them, but the guy had been watching his ward, Gilly, a lot more intently lately. Girl was a human and due to turn eighteen very, very soon.

Torin wasn’t sure what would happen between the two the day of her birthday—he just knew something would happen.

Not important. Keeley would probably protest the move to Budapest. Probably? Ha! But he would have to find a way to convince her to do it. Because there was no better solution...and no other way he could keep her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CAMEO, THE KEEPER of Misery, jimmied the lock on the back of an old ice cream truck. Rusty hinges creaked as the door swung open. She jumped inside the vehicle and dug through the freezer on each side until all of her fingers were numb from cold. Surely she would find what she was looking for— Curses!

Unleashing the snarl her male friends had once dubbed “Blue—she must be PMSing—Steel,” Cameo punched her fist through the back of the driver’s seat. If she didn’t find chocolate soon, she was going to commit cold-blooded murder. Any kind of chocolate. Fudge pop. Ice cream sandwich. Neapolitan.

And she already had a target in mind.

“Are you going to cry?” the target in question asked. “I bet you’re going to cry.”

He stood in the open doorway, peering inside the truck, watching her with his patented smirk. His name was Lazarus, and they’d been partners for... She wasn’t sure how long. Time had ceased to exist.

In a bid to retrieve her...friend? Ugh. No. Acquaintance? Better. In a bid to retrieve her acquaintance Viola, Cameo had touched the Paring Rod, an ancient artifact created by the Titans; it was some kind of bridge between worlds, supposed to lead the way to Pandora’s box. Can’t wait to smash that box into a thousand pieces! It was simply too dangerous.

One second she’d had her hand on the Rod, the next she’d been in another dimension...realm...whatever!

Lazarus had touched the Rod, too, only he’d done it months before. He’d found a way to glom on to her at just the right moment and come out the other side with her. She wasn’t sure how or why he’d done it. She’d asked him, but he wasn’t one to hand out answers. Or understanding. Or compassion.

What she did know? They’d found a doorway to another realm and they’d walked through it. From there, they’d found yet another doorway, another realm. None of which she’d been familiar with. Some areas were primitive. Some were well populated and modern. All were dangerous.

“Have you considered Zoloft?” Lazarus asked. “It’s supposed to help with bouts of crying. Or so I’ve heard. It might help with your voice, too. Have I mentioned your voice is tragic?”

About a thousand times.

She closed the distance between them. He was a beautiful man. One of the most beautiful ever created; just ask him. But he was intense. And savage, and when he killed, he killed. After he played a bit. Not even her demon-possessed friends fought as brutally or played so violently, and they had been known to reach into an enemy’s mouth and rip out the spinal cord.

Standing inside the vehicle as she was—while his feet were planted firmly on the ground—she should have been the taller of the two. She wasn’t. And it irritated her. She was five seven, not short by any means, but she was a tiny fluff of nothing when compared to Lazarus.

“Have you considered the fact that I have daggers and I’m not afraid to use them?” she asked.

He cringed, inky hair falling over his forehead. “Why use daggers? Your voice is weapon enough.”

She knew every word she spoke was layered with sorrow, dipped in regret and rolled in sadness, thank you. “If my voice makes you want to kill yourself and saves me the trouble of rendering the final blow...well, why don’t I spend the next few hours telling you all about my life?”

His lips quirked at the corners. He took her by the waist and swung her around, setting her on the ground. His hands stayed put, remaining on her, and his dark eyes gleamed. “Why would I kill myself? Being around you is torture, yes, but it’s also highly entertaining.”

Most men were intimidated by her. Her friends were protective of her and did everything in their power to spare her feelings. This guy provoked her at every turn, unafraid of the consequences.

She slapped his hands away, but he held on to her for several seconds more, just to annoy her, she would bet.

But...this. This was the reason she would not allow herself to be attracted to him—no matter how handsome he was. Personality mattered, and his sucked.

So does mine. Doesn’t that mean we’re perfect for each other?

No!

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“Not yet.”

A minute passed. Two. She could have fought him, but why waste the strength...especially since she kind of enjoyed where she was?

He released her only when he decided he was good and ready.

She stalked away from him. Today she found herself in a land very much like the world she was used to. Only, there were no people. Cars were crashed and abandoned. Roads were deserted. Trees and foliage were overgrown. Buildings were crumbled.

The bones of the dead were everywhere. But power lines still worked and batteries hadn’t run down. It was weird.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Lazarus asked, keeping pace behind her.

“I’m thousands of years old. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a spinster virgin starving for a little man-meat.”

She took a deep breath...held it...held it...slowly released it. I’m a calm, rational woman. “I’ve had several boyfriends, and I’m no virgin. And if you call me a slut, I will cut out your tongue.”

“No, you won’t. You want my tongue where it is. Trust me. But I’m curious. How many boyfriends?”

“None of your business.”

“Too many to count. Noted. What are you like in bed?”

“You will never know.”

“Please. I can guess. Every time a guy has gotten inside you, you’ve moaned, but not in pleasure. You were faking it, because you were miserable. He immediately lost his erection and took off, spouting some nonsense about having somewhere else to be. You were left unsatisfied, and he never spoke to you again.”

She would have been infuriated...if he hadn’t been right. For the most part.

She’d tried relationships, but only once out of love. With a deaf human her enemies had later killed. Twice, out of mutual respect and admiration. With possessed immortal warriors just like her. Countless times, out of desperation. With anyone who showed her the slightest bit of interest and seemed capable of disregarding her flaws.

“I’ve been satisfied in bed,” she said, “and so has my man.”

“Man, singular. Interesting.”

How is he running so many circles around me? “I’ve been with others.”

“Yes, but you mentioned nothing about achieving satisfaction with them.”

And she couldn’t, without lying.

“Shut up,” she snapped.

“Did I hit a nerve, sunshine?”

Only the rawest one she possessed.

She missed Alexander, her human, every day of her life. Despite what he’d done to her at the end of their relationship.

He’d been cast out of his home at the age of eight, when he’d gotten sick and lost his hearing. Somehow, though, he’d survived the slums of ancient Greece to become a well-respected blacksmith, growing into a handsome, strong and honorable man.

He’d been her one shot at happiness.

Can’t think about him. It would only make her demon stronger, feeding his need for misery.

“Just...shut up,” she said. But she knew Lazarus wouldn’t. He never did. He would press and prod until she erupted, and then he would sit back and laugh as she struggled to get control of her emotions. He loved to laugh. And she wanted so badly to join him. It looked fun. But she was in no mood to be his entertainment. “What of you and your wife, huh? Did you pleasure her?”

He sucked in a breath. “Don’t call her that.”

Finally. She’d hit a nerve, too. “Why not? That’s what Juliette is, right?”

“She’s an enemy. You’ll learn the difference when next I find her.”

Juliette was a Harpy, and Harpies mated for life. The girl had taken one look at Lazarus and decided he was the one for her. Her consort; she had gone to great lengths to keep him at her side, somehow enslaving the powerful warrior. To escape, Lazarus had allowed Cameo’s friend Strider, the keeper of Defeat, to behead him, and the Paring Rod to suck his spirit and body inside...where the two parts had somehow been able to reunite and heal.

She didn’t understand it, but there it was.

Why did I have to stumble upon him and not Viola?

Stupid Rod.

“My friends will find me, you know.” Torin had watched her vanish. He was looking for her, she knew he was, and he would never give up. He loved her.

As a friend. Maybe...as a girlfriend.

Torin was one of the only two immortals Cameo had messed around with. Working around the no-touching thing had been difficult, but they’d done it, pleasuring themselves in front of each other. It had been fun, exciting...at first. But they’d both held a part of themselves back, preventing them from moving to another, deeper level. At the time, she hadn’t known why. Looking back, she could clearly see fear was the culprit.

He’d expected her to grow tired of their arrangement, desire something better and leave him.

She’d expected him to develop a distaste for her voice, desire something better and leave her.

“At this point in our journey, I’m your only friend,” Lazarus said, a bead of anger in his voice. “You won’t survive without me.”

“Actually, I might know true happiness for the first time in my life without you.”

He flattened his hands over his heart. “Ouch. It’s like you’ve stabbed me with one of those daggers you’re always bragging about.”

I wish.

“But just to be clear,” he added, “you’re telling me you’ve never known true happiness, even when your man was giving you all that amazing pleasure?”

Could she hide nothing from him? “Why are you so interested in my sex life?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, sunshine. I haven’t reached a firm conclusion yet, but I’m considering giving you a go.”

Incredulous, she stopped to stare up at him. “Giving me a go?”

His dark eyes sparkled with merriment. “Yes, and you’re welcome. But like I said, don’t get your hopes up. I’m currently leaning toward the no box.”

She pressed her tongue into the roof of her mouth. “Let me save you the trouble of taxing your poor abused brain with the pros and cons. You are, apparently, the last man on earth and I still don’t want you. I would rather mate with a porcupine.”

“So you’re into pain? Got it.”

Gah! She left him in the dust.

He hurried after her, calling, “Any other delightful surprises I should know about? Because this little revelation has put you closer to the yes box.”

She flipped him off without looking at him.

“An affinity for pain and she likes to give the cold-shoulder treatment. It’s like I’ve won the lottery,” he said. “I won’t ever have to worry about a clinger situation. All I’ll have to do is prick your temper and you’ll leave on your own.”

Anger filled her and—

She stopped, utterly shocked. That’s right. Anger filled her. Filled her. Leaving no room for sadness.

It was the law of displacement in action. If you were full of one thing, there was no room for anything else. Had that been his plan all along?

No, no. Of course not. He would have had to care about her feelings.

But it was the first time in a very long time she’d felt no hint of depression or anguish or distress or a thousand other variations of Misery. She closed her eyes and savored, breathing in air that suddenly smelled fresher and basking in the warmth of a sun that no longer seemed to burn too hot.

But all too soon, a plug was pulled and the anger drained. The sadness returned. Always, it returned.

Never had she been able to feel any sort of enjoyment...or amusement...or happiness for more than a few seconds. Mostly she was bombarded with little irritants throughout any given day. A sound that was too loud, too constant. A temperature that wasn’t quite right. An ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away. Each worked together to build into something truly terrible: a misery that couldn’t be fought.

It was a truly awful existence.

Why don’t you just give up?

The demon’s words, not her own. Screw you.

She wouldn’t give the bastard the pleasure.

Lazarus didn’t say a word as she pushed back into gear, and that saved his life.

They came to an abandoned grocery store that hadn’t yet toppled. Dust covered the cracked glass door. She palmed one of her weapons and brushed away the dust to peer inside. No lights. Only darkness. But no shadows were moving, and she made her way inside.

“I wonder if the pharmacy is stocked,” Lazarus said.

“Going to get high?”

“Going to grab you some of that Zoloft we talked about.”

Hate him.

She grabbed one of the carts and stalked down the aisles, forgoing the cans of fruit and bottles of water even though she hadn’t eaten in days and her stomach was grumbling with hunger. She went right to the refrigerator section, and after draining two cans of beer, threw a couple of six-packs in the cart. Then she went to the candy aisle.

Gummy bears. Red Hots. SweetTarts. Cartons of sour gumballs. But no chocolate.

Why me?

Lazarus threw in a jar of peanuts, a plastic gun and a pair of fake handcuffs.

“Seriously?” she said.

“What? I like to play cops and robbers.”

“I am not playing cops and robbers with you.”

“Like it’s really a game I’d play with you.”

I’m a calm, rational woman—her new mantra. “I don’t see anyone else around. Do you?”

“Of course I do.”

She stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed as though dejected. “I thought you were freakishly brave, unconcerned by what was happening around us, but it turns out you’re just blind. It’s almost heartbreaking.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I hate to break it to you, sunshine, but your cool points just took a nosedive.”

“Tell me!” she insisted. The last time he’d told her she wasn’t really looking at what was taking place around them, there’d been a bona fide behemoth in their vicinity.

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll show you.” Suddenly serious, Lazarus bent down, putting them nose-to-nose, and peered into her eyes. “I can see spirits and I can share the ability for a short time by linking my mind to yours. You’re welcome.”

She tried to look away—he was too intense, too mesmerizing, and every instinct she possessed screamed that if she wasn’t careful, she would completely lose herself and never be found. But he gripped her by the chin and held her in place, forcing the connection to remain.

Little flames leaped to life in those black, bottomless orbs of his. Crackling, smoking. Literally smoking. Tendrils wafted from him and saturated the air between them. Every time she breathed, she caught the scent of peat and ash. Her mind fogged, and her thoughts derailed. He became all that she saw, all that she knew.

All that she wanted.

“What are you...doing... Stop,” she said, and thought she might be swaying on her feet.

He released her, breaking the spell. She blinked rapidly, and shook her head. The fog cleared. The intoxicating scent faded.

“Look,” he said, his tone grim.

“Don’t ever do—” What the hell? What were those things?

They. Were. Everywhere. Alligator bodies, human heads—human zombie heads. They were climbing the shelves, inching across the floor, and each one was staring at her as if she’d make a delicious all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Did you know that nearly two hundred thousand people die a day?” she said, voice strangely devoid of emotion. “In our world, I mean. Our other world.”

“And since there are only the two of us left in this one, we’re definitely next. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

She palmed both of her daggers. “No. I’m saying I’m going to meet today’s quota by killing those things.”

* * *

BADEN, THE FORMER keeper of Distrust, stood in the center of a circle of boulders. A jacked-up version of Stonehenge. Between each of the boulders was a wall of fog, and playing over the different areas of fog were movielike scenes. Scenes from the lives of his friends.

Cameo needed his help. She couldn’t see past her companion’s rugged exterior, didn’t know he was more of a monster than the ones surrounding her. And Baden couldn’t tell her. He was trapped here.

Life pretty much sucked because he wasn’t just trapped, he was trapped with Cronus, the former keeper of Greed, and Rhea, the former keeper of Strife, both displaced royalty on the lookout for a humble servant. Not gonna find one here. And then there was Pandora. She’d never been a demon-keeper, lucky girl, but she’d always been a pain.

All four of them had been beheaded in their natural life, and all four of their spirits had left their mutilated bodies and floated here, unable to stop the journey—now, unable to leave...whatever this was.

“Why do you torture yourself this way?”

The soft, sweet voice came from behind him. The cadence was a deception. One he knew well. He turned and watched as Pandora stepped through the fog. She was six feet of bad attitude with a shoulder-length crop of hair so black it gleamed blue. Her features were sharp yet pretty, the rest of her almost as muscled as him. Altogether she was a nice package—if you liked your women with hearts of ice.

He preferred a little heat in his bed, thanks.

Since moment one of his arrival, they’d been at war, striking at each other in every way imaginable. But the moment Cronus and Rhea had arrived, they’d united, striking at the royals.

“Torin is with the Red Queen,” he said. “And she has—”

“What! The Red Queen? Let me see.” Pandora moved to the section of fog displaying Torin’s interactions with the legendary female whose immense power had somehow created the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle, whose temper had ushered in the Ice Age. A woman who had set up a network of spies throughout almost every realm in existence, inside every royal house, within every race of immortals and humans alike. There was very little she didn’t know.

Very little she couldn’t do.

If two clans were fighting and she picked a side, the opposers immediately raised the white flag of surrender.

For a dead man like Baden, she was a pot of gold.

She and Torin were in the Realm of Wailing Tears where they were playing Dr. Ken and Homicidal Maniac Barbie. Baden had never seen Torin so determined to heal anyone.

Trying to get laid despite the consequences?

Can’t blame him. Though, if Baden had his pick of beauties, he’d go with someone a little less...murderous. He’d been stuck with a dark-haired viper for thousands of years. “Sweet” would be a nice change.

Anyway. Baden knew how badly Torin wanted to retrieve Cameo and Viola and return to his friends.

“Do you think the Red Queen can save us?” Pandora asked, all but rubbing her hands together.

“If she survives the disease...and if Torin learns the magnitude of her particular skill set... Yes. He will ensure she launches a successful search and rescue.”

First and foremost, Keeley would be able to procure a pair of serpentine wreaths from Hades, who had wheeled, dealed and killed to acquire every set ever forged. The mystical relics could be worn by humans or immortals and would make every spirit tangible to them. But more important, the relics could be worn by a spirit like Baden, making him tangible to everyone and everything.

I can reclaim everything I’ve lost.

“But, Pandy,” he added with a smile. “We both know she’ll come for me and me alone. You’ll be left behind—unless I decide to take you with me. Think about that the next time you want to strike at me.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

I HAVE ANOTHER choice to make, don’t I?

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