The Darkest Touch

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.”