The Darkest Touch

He stepped into a beam of light. “Well, I’m curious. How did you topple an entire building? And why did you wait so long to do it?”

“Torin, Torin, Torin.” She tsked. Despite her seeming composure, her eyes blazed with hatred. “You are demon-possessed. You murder people with a touch. I doubt using my secrets against me is too far outside your wheelhouse. You’ll understand if I refuse to answer?”

“Of course. But with your skills, I’m surprised more people don’t know about you.”

“I rarely leave survivors. There’s less gossip that way.” She looked him over once...twice...going more slowly the second time. She licked her lips, making him think—

No. Don’t think. He was already hard as steel.

Not even Cameo, the gorgeous keeper of Misery, had affected him this strongly—and with so little—and they’d dated for months.

“Feel like doing a girl a favor?” Keeley asked. “Tell me how you opened the door to your cell. The prison was designed to respond to Cronus, and you, Lord of the Underworld, are not him.”

It had taken Torin only a second to unlock the door, and he’d wanted to kick himself for not escaping days ago. How could he have forgotten Cronus had sealed the All-key inside his chest? That it could open any lock, anytime, anywhere.

“No favors,” he said. “Not today.” Attack her. Now!

“Of course.” She smiled and, though it was nothing more than a malevolent display of teeth, it was like she’d found a hidden, magic button connected directly to his reproductive system.

For intense, sizzling arousal, press here.

He backed up a step. Isn’t her. Can’t be her. His hobbies usually distracted him from unwanted desire, but he didn’t currently have access to a computer or video games, or a kitchen, or a camera, or a pool table, or a chessboard, or a pack of cards, or a thousand other things. And, okay, wow. Apparently not thinking about sex, not trying to get sex, and not actually having sex equaled lots of free time for Tor Tor.

But even though it wasn’t her—really, really can’t be her—he couldn’t stop himself from imagining her dressed as a concubine. Glittery bra. Blue, of course, paired with sheer pantalets. No panties.

In his mind, he pushed her to her knees and demanded she swallow every throbbing inch of him.

She had that penchant for swallowing, after all.

She obeyed him eagerly—couldn’t live another moment without knowing the taste of him—opening her mouth, taking him deep. All the way, until she reached the base. A moan of rapture left her, the sound vibrating along his length, intensifying his pleasure.

Yes. That. That’s what he wanted.

He had to grit his teeth against the magnificence of the sensations coursing through him. The longing for what he could never have—and shouldn’t want. The heat. The race of his heartbeat.

Enough. Stop!

Had Mari taught him nothing?

Had Cameo? She’d never flat-out stated her dissatisfaction with their arrangement, but he’d felt the emotion like another entity in the room. She’d had needs. To be handled by her lover. Petted and caressed. Massaged. Comforted. Squeezed, kneaded...filled. Needs he couldn’t meet.

Destined to disappoint. Always.

Besides, this female meant to kill him. And if not him, his friends. For a crime he had committed. This was no silly misunderstanding they could work out with a simple heart-to-heart convo.

Keeley splayed her hands, all look how awesome I am. “I’m going to do you a favor and let you pick how this goes down. Would you rather I remove both of your arms or force you to dig out each of your organs with your own hands?” Somehow she appeared even calmer and the flames of her hatred even hotter.

“How do you plan to do either of those things if you can’t touch me?”

“Why tell you,” she said, “when I can show you? Spoiler alert: my next trick is going to nut-kick the last one.”

“Nut-kick?” If not for her murderous rage, she might have been the perfect woman. “Real queens don’t talk that way.”

“This queen does.”

A second later, the foundation dropped out from under his feet. No, not true. It hadn’t dropped; he had been catapulted into the air where he hovered, his limbs pulled taut...and tauter...until both of his shoulders were jerked from their sockets. His skin began to tear. Sharp pains, everywhere. Any moment, he would lose each of his limbs.

The perverse thing about the experience? He liked the pressure, savored it.

“How are you doing this?” he asked through panting breaths.

She blew him a kiss.

Hardcore. Like foreplay for warriors.

I’m a sick man. Har har.

“Right now,” she said, “you are experiencing an extreme bout of helplessness. The same helplessness Mari must have felt as your fever pillaged and plundered her immune system.”

Forget the pressure. Guilt choked him.

Keeley’s chin trembled. “You made her cry, warrior. Sometimes I swear I can still hear her sobbing.”

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “Do it, then. End me.” He deserved it. And she would be satisfied, his friends safe from her wrath.

“So quickly?” she asked. “No. We’re just getting started.”

Some of the pressure eased.

“Come on!” he shouted as his wounds healed. “What are you waiting for? You won’t get another chance like this.”

“Actually, I’ll get as many chances as I like.”

“That confident in your ability?”

“Perhaps I’m that confident in your lack of ability.”

The taunt burned so badly he could have used a little aloe vera on his soul. Always on the bench, never in the game. Forcing an easy tone, he said, “I’ve been nice to you on account of your loss and everything—”

“Which was your fault!” she spat, the pressure increasing all over again.

“—but my goodwill has officially run out.”

An animalistic roar suddenly echoed through the forest, interrupting the beginning of a long, rambling speech that would have had no point but that of postponement, giving him a chance to think of a way out of this.

Torin dropped, crashing into the ground. Even as he lost his breath, he jumped to his feet. Behind him, twigs snapped. Limbs slapped together. Another roar sounded, this one louder, closer.

Something was headed this way—and fast.