The Darkest Touch

  "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?

  For three days Torin had taken better care of Keeley than her neglectful parents, sadistic husband and deceitful lover ever had. Combined! He'd catered to her every need, provided her with food and water, protected her from scavenging animals, and cleaned her brow when perspiration dared bead atop it. He'd even carved an entire zoo of miniature animals out of planks of wood, each a treasure trove of exquisite detail.

  He'd thrust the pieces at her with a grumbled "Here," as if he was unsure how she would receive the gifts.

  Mine! I'll never share!

  Now she owed him death and she owed him life. And she had no idea what to do about it.

  Had he taken such great care with Mari, too?

  Keeley remembered the way he'd cried, "Don't die. Don't you dare die." And, "Come on, Mari. Stay with me."

  He had taken care of Mari, she realized. In her grief she had completely overlooked his pain.

  Back in prison he must have removed his heart as a means of survival because it was broken and he was no longer able to deal.

  Stomach cramp.

  Again, she heard Mari's counsel in her mind. Forgive him. Clear his ledger. It's the right thing to do.

  She tried to think up a protest, but her worldview was too busy shifting. Torin had made a mistake. One he regretted. He was hurting--would probably hurt for the rest of his life. She didn't need to do anything more, did she
?

  "Torin," she said.

  He was busy preparing her next meal, his back to her. His shoulders expanded, as if the muscles had just knotted with tension. "Yes, Keys?"

  "Am I completely out of the danger zone?" Never having experienced so much as a case of the sniffles, she'd been ill prepared for round one with Torin's demon. The sensation of ingesting acid repeatedly? Check. The feeling of being burned alive? Check. The surety that every bone in her body had been broken and the cracks had leaked ice...more fire...ice again? Check, check, and mate.

  But at least I'm alive.

  Were all sicknesses so vile?

  "You might wish otherwise," he said. "You're a carrier, but yes. You'll survive."

  "Good." Was it, though? Being a carrier meant she could now make people sick.

  She would have to abandon her secret desires and greatest dreams: conquering a small kingdom of immortals, ruling as their benevolent queen and then marrying a nice man who would never prick her temper, finally creating a family of her own.

  For the first time, Keeley would have been adored and pampered.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I don't feel like a carrier."

  "What you feel doesn't matter. Remember? You can't afford to slip up."

  "Like you did?"

  "Exactly," he croaked.

  She offered a trembling, "Just wait. I'll prove you wrong."

  "Please don't. People will die."

  "They won't."

  He ignored her, saying, "The first thing we need to do is find you a pair of gloves."

  No. No! The ground gave a little shake. "I have enough handicaps. I won't tolerate another one."

  "I'm sorry, princess, but we can't undo what's been done."

  But they could find a cure. Surely. I wasn't given so much power simply to fall prey to a measly disease. "You said you'd kill me if I ended up being a carrier. Why haven't you tried?"

  "Changed my mind."

  "Why?"

  The ensuing silence dripped with stubbornness.

  Fine. She switched directions. "Can I make you sick?" Could she touch him without consequences?

  Did she want to touch him again?

  She remembered the way he'd shielded her during the fight with the Unspoken One, how his hardness had pressed against her softness. How luscious it had felt to be desired by the fiercest of warriors.

  How his touch had been more wonderful than his sickness had been horrible.

  How she couldn't breathe anymore without picking up hints of sandalwood and spice. Couldn't close her eyes without seeing those bright emerald eyes, glinting naughtily, or that cascade of snow-white hair falling over his forehead, playing peekaboo with his black brows. Or those lips, so red and soft.