The Darkest Touch. Gena ShowalterЧитать онлайн книгу.
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