From New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter comes the long-awaited story of Torin, the most dangerous Lord of the Underworld yet…

Fierce immortal warrior. Host to the demon of Disease. Torin’s every touch causes sickness and death—and a worldwide plague. Carnal pleasure is utterly forbidden, and though he has always overcome temptation with an iron will, his control is about to shatter.

She is Keeleycael. The Red Queen. When the powerful beauty with shocking vulnerabilities escapes from a centuries-long imprisonment, the desire that simmers between her and Torin is scorching. His touch could mean her end, but resisting her is the hardest battle he’s ever fought—and the only battle he fears he can’t win.

Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author GENA SHOWALTER

‘Showalter’s signature blend of sizzling attraction, breath–taking worlds, and lethal stakes rocks me every time!’

—Sylvia Day

‘Another sizzling page-turner… Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spell-binding story!’

—Kresley Cole

‘One of Showalter’s biggest strengths is her ability to create wounded characters who are riveting and intense, but who also hold out the hope of redemption.’

—RT Book Reviews on Beauty Awakened

‘Showalter does her magic with an intricately developed world, complex and intensive character arcs and dark, compelling paranormal themes. She releases that literary punch to the gut with excruciatingly detailed scenes that haunt the senses long after reading the pages.’

—USA TODAY on Wicked Nights

‘Gena Showalter knows how to keep readers glued to the pages and smiling the whole time.’

—Lara Adrian

Also available from Gena Showalter

MIRA Angels of the Dark series WICKED NIGHTS BEAUTY AWAKENED BURNING DAWN

Lords of the Underworld series THE DARKEST NIGHT THE DARKEST KISS THE DARKEST PLEASURE THE DARKEST WHISPER DARK BEGINNINGS THE DARKEST PASSION THE DARKEST LIE THE DARKEST SECRET THE DARKEST SURRENDER THE DARKEST SEDUCTION THE DARKEST CRAVING

MIRA Ink INTERTWINED UNRAVELLED TWISTED

White Rabbit Chronicles ALICE IN ZOMBIELAND ALICE THROUGH THE ZOMBIE GLASS THE QUEEN OF ZOMBIE HEARTS

The Darkest Touch
Gena Showalter

www.mirabooks.co.uk

GENA SHOWALTER is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of the Lords of the Underworld series, Angels of the Dark and White Rabbit Chronicles. She has written over forty novels and novellas. Her books have appeared in Cosmopolitan and Seventeen magazines, and have been translated into multiple languages.

To learn more about Gena and her books, please visit www.genashowalter.com and www.genashowalterblogspot.com.

Over the years I have been unbelievably blessed. I have met some amazing people and made incredible, lifelong friendships. I’m looking at you, Kresley Cole. You are gorgeous, brilliant, witty and talented, and you inspire me in so many ways. THANK YOU!

I’m also looking at you, Jill Monroe. You’ve been around for all the highs and lows, cheering me on, offering comfort. You never hesitated to say yes when I called and said, ‘Let’s get away for a few days.’ Even better—you never hesitated when I somehow managed to book us a honeymoon suite. Twice.

To my amazing editor Emily Ohanjanians. You aren’t afraid to tell me when something doesn’t work and then guide me toward something better, and I’m so grateful! Remember my first attempt at writing this book? Well, I’m super glad no one else will have the chance. LOL

And to Naomi Lahn, my contest winner. You are a delight and your support is beyond appreciated!

“What’s my sign? Cancer.”

—Torin, Lord of the Underworld

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Also available from Gena Showalter

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Epigraph

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

Lords of the Underworld Glossary of Characters and Terms

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“DON’T DIE . Don’t you dare die.” Frantic, Torin dug through a backpack crammed with clothing, weapons and medical supplies. He’d packed it days ago, blindly filling it with everything he’d thought he might need. There was no mouth guard. Fine. He’d proceed without one.

He hurried to his companion’s motionless form, straddled her waist. Her precious life slipped away with every second that passed. CPR was a last resort, but suddenly her only hope, and because they were locked inside a dungeon, no one else inside their cell, the responsibility belonged to him alone. The guy who’d rarely ever come this close to another person.

Just call me Wonder Doc.

He flattened his gloved hands over Mari’s delicate chest—still, too still. But rather than proceed as he should have, he found himself pausing to savor the rare and extraordinary connection with the opposite sex. So soft. So luscious.

What the hell am I doing? Jaw clenched, he pushed.

Crack.

Too hard. He’d just broken her sternum and probably several of her ribs.

Guilt pierced straight through his heart, and if the organ hadn’t already been shredded beyond repair, it might have hurt. Sweat trickled down his temples as he pressed against Mari’s chest more gently. Nothing else broke. Good. Okay. He pressed again and again, gradually increasing his speed. But how fast was too fast? What helped? What damaged?

“Come on, Mari.” She was human, but strong. Fragile, but resilient. “Stay with me. You can survive this, I know you can.”

Her head lolled to the side, her glassy eyes staring out at nothing.

“No. No!” He checked her for a pulse, waited...but never felt even the weakest of beats.

As he returned his hands to her chest to start over, his gaze locked on her blood-splattered lips; his mind willed them to part, a cough to escape. It would mean the sickness still plagued her, but sick was better than dead any day of the week.

“Mari, please.” He heard the desperation in his voice, didn’t care. I can’t be the one to kill someone so sweet.

Torin pushed harder, heard another crack.

Hell. He wasn’t some pansy crier, but damn if tears didn’t scald the backs of his eyes.

He’d come to think of this girl as a friend, and despite the numerous centuries he’d lived, he didn’t have many of those. He always protected the ones he had.

Until her.

If not for him, she never would have sickened in the first place.

Again he felt for a pulse. Still no beat.

Cursing, he set back to work. Five minutes...ten...twenty. He was Mari’s life support, the only thing standing between her and death; he would do this however long proved necessary.

Pull through, Mari. You have to pull through.

“Fight this!” But as another eternity elapsed without any change in her, he finally admitted his efforts weren’t doing any good. She was already gone.

Already dead.

And there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

With a roar, Torin wrenched away and paced the cell like the caged animal he was. His arms shook. His back and thighs ached. But what was physical pain compared to mental? Emotional? This was his fault. He’d known what would happen if ever he touched the girl, and he’d lured her closer anyway.

Monster! With another roar, he punched the wall, enjoying the unrelenting throb of pain as skin split and bones fractured. He punched again and again, cracks appearing in the stone, dust pluming around him.

If he had just stopped to question why a girl like Mari would be so starved for companionship she would agree to be with him she would still be alive.

He pressed his forehead against the battered wall. I’m keeper of the demon of Disease. When will I accept the fact that I’m meant to fly solo?

To be forever denied what I crave most.

“Mari, darling,” a slightly accented voice rang out. Female...delicious—even soaked in panic and pain as it was. “The bond is broken. Why is it broken?”

The blood in Torin’s veins turned into fuel, igniting as if a blazing match had just been thrown inside him. He became increasingly aware of his own heartbeat, speeding up, the need to stalk to the cell’s door and rip away every metal bar consuming him; anything to erase the distance between him and the speaker.

An extreme reaction. He knew that. Just as he knew such excruciating awareness of another person was unusual for him. It was also uncontrollable and unstoppable, his entire world centering around this one woman.

And this wasn’t the first time it had happened. Anytime she’d spoken, no matter the words she’d uttered, the huskiness of her tone had always carried a promise of absolute pleasure. As if there were nothing she wanted more than to kiss, lick and suck on him.

Masculine instincts he’d spent countless years denying shouted, Come, little moth. Come closer to my flame.

Or I’ll come to you....

He strode to the bars and, like a thousand times before, willed the shadows between their cells to part. But it did no good. Her appearance remained a mystery.

Somehow his sick obsession with her only intensified...and he thought that, for just five minutes of that kissing, licking and sucking, he would have happily risked a worldwide plague.

Hate myself. Someone should string him up by the collarbone and cane him. Again.

“Mari!” his obsession said. “Please.”

Disease whipped into a frenzy, banging against Torin’s skull, suddenly desperate to escape.

Escape her? Another unusual reaction. Usually the demon adored such close proximity with a potential victim.

How the fiend had laughed at Mari....

Hate him, too.

“Mari can’t talk right now,” Torin said. Or ever.

The admission...like pouring salt over my wounds.

Bars rattled. “What did you do to her?”

Nothing...everything.

“Tell me!” the female shouted.

“I shook her hand.” The words exploded from him, bitter and cutting. “That’s it.” But he’d done far more than that, hadn’t he.

He’d put a lot of time and effort into charming her. Feeding her. Talking and laughing with her. Eventually she’d felt comfortable enough to remove one of his gloves and intertwine their fingers. On purpose.

Nothing bad will happen, she had said. Or maybe her gaze had said it. The details were hazed by the fog of his eagerness. You’ll see.

He’d believed her. Because he’d wanted to believe her more than he’d wanted to take his next breath. He’d held on to her so tightly, a thirsty man who’d just discovered the last glass of water in a world burning to ash, nearly brought to his knees by the force of his physical response. Sensation after sensation had overwhelmed him. Feminine softness so near his masculine hardness. A floral scent in his nose. The ends of her silky hair tickling his wrist. Her warmth blending with his own. Her breath intersecting with his.

I experienced an instant connection, immediate bliss, and very nearly creamed my damn jeans. From a handshake.

She’d died from it.

With him, it never mattered if the touch was accidental or intentional, or if the victim was human or animal, young or old, male or female...good or evil; any living creature sickened soon after contact with him. Even immortals like himself. Difference was, immortals sometimes survived, becoming carriers of whatever illness they’d contracted from him, capable of spreading it to others. As a human, Mari had never even stood a chance.

“Tell me the truth,” his obsession demanded. “Every detail.”

He didn’t know her name or if she was human or immortal. He only knew Mari had made a deal with the devil to save her.

The two women had been imprisoned here for centuries—wherever “here” was—for no real crime Torin could perceive. Cronus, the prison’s owner, had never really needed a reason to ruin someone’s life.

He’d certainly helped ruin Torin’s.

He had owed Torin a favor, and Torin, being Torin, had chosen to overlook the male’s shady reputation and ask for a woman who wouldn’t sicken at his touch. Cronus, being Cronus, hadn’t bothered to search for a suitable candidate and had simply recruited one of his prisoners—sweet, innocent Mari.

“Cronus made a deal with the girl,” Torin said.

“I know that.” His obsession huffed and puffed, a veritable big, bad wolf. “Mari was cursed to flash to your bedroom one hour a day for nearly a month, all in the hopes of convincing you to touch her.”

“Yes,” he croaked. And in return, Cronus had promised to set her dearest friend free—the woman currently grilling Torin for answers.

No big surprise Cronus had lied.

At least he got his in the end.

Torin had wanted to haul ass to a hospital the moment he’d realized Mari was sick, but that stupid curse had bound her to this prison with invisible chains. She’d had to return. Left with no other option, Torin had held on to her as she’d moved from one location to another in a blink, traveling with her. He’d tended her to the best of his ability.

But his best hadn’t been good enough. Would never be good enough.

“I don’t care about the whys,” the female said. “Only the outcome. What is Mari doing right now?”

Decomposing.

Can’t say it, just...can’t. Silent, he removed his gloves and used his hands as a shovel, throwing scoop after scoop of dirt over his shoulder. Not the first makeshift grave I’ve dug, but I hereby vow it will be my last. No more impromptu friendships. No more hopes and dreams for what could never be. I’m done.

“Ignoring me?” she asked. “Do you have any idea the being you provoke?”

Torin never paused in his task. He would bury Mari. He would find a way out of this hellhole. He would continue the job he’d abandoned when he’d chosen to come with the girl. The search and rescue of Cameo and Viola, who’d gone missing several weeks ago—friends who comprehended his need for distance.

“I am Keeleycael, the Red Queen, and I will be more than happy to take a coat hanger and fish out all of your internal organs...through your mouth.”

Disease went still and quiet.

That, too, was a first.

The Red Queen. The title was somehow familiar to Torin. From a children’s storybook, yes, but there was more to it than that. He’d heard it...where? An image flashed through his mind. A dilapidated bar in the skies. Yes, of course. While working for Zeus, the king of the Greeks, he’d tracked many fugitive immortals there. The words the Red Queen had been whispered behind the trembling hands of fearful men and women, right along with insane and cruel.

He’d always enjoyed pitting his skills against the strongest and vilest of predators, and such a visceral reaction to the supposed Red Queen had intrigued him. But when he’d asked the whisperers who she was and what she could do, they had gone quiet.

Maybe this prisoner was the one they’d spoken of, maybe she wasn’t. Hardly mattered anymore. He wouldn’t be fighting her.

“Keeleycael,” he said. “That’s quite a mouthful. How about I call you Keeley instead?”

“An honor reserved solely for my friends. Do so at your own peril.”

“Thanks. I will.”

A soft snarl from her. “You may call me Your Majesty. I’ll call you My Next Victim.”

“I usually prefer Torin, Hotness or The Awesome.” Nicknames to help smile through the pain. Should probably have gone with Proctalgia Fugax—meaning a literal pain in the ass.

“Why has Mari gone silent, Torin?” Keeley asked as if they were discussing nothing more important than tomorrow’s dinner menu. (Rat casserole.)

She knew Mari was dead, didn’t she? Making him admit it was some sort of punishment.

“Before you reply,” she added, “you should know I would rather save the enemy who tells me the truth than the friend who tells me lies.”

Not a bad motto. Lie and die happened to be his.

And, really, if the situation were reversed, he would have wanted the same thing: answers. But again, if the situation were reversed and she had led to the demise of one of his friends, he would have moved heaven and earth to administer justice. But trapped as they were in these cells created for the strongest of immortals, there was nothing she could do but stew in her rage, helpless as the emotion grew darker and darker, perhaps even driving her mad. It was a cruel fate.

It was also an excuse.

Time to put on my big-boy panties. “Mari is... Dead. She’s dead.”

Silence.

Such oppressive silence and, with it, darkness, as if they’d somehow fallen into a sensory-deprivation tank.

He spoke in a desperate bid to dull his mounting sorrow, explaining, “Since you know about Cronus’s deal with Mari, you must know I’m a Lord of the Underworld. One of the fourteen warriors responsible for stealing and opening Pandora’s box, unleashing the demons from within. As punishment, we were each cursed to house one of those demons inside our own bodies. I was given Disease, the world’s worst SSTD. Skin-to-skin-transmitted disease. I make people sick. That’s what I do, and there’s no stopping it. She touched me, like I said. We touched each other. But that’s all it took. She died. She’s dead,” he repeated hollowly.

Again silence.

He locked his jaw to prevent himself from admitting the other Lords hosted baddies like Violence, Death and Pain. That thousands of innocents had died at their hands, and thousands more had lamented the vileness of their deeds. That, despite everything, none of his friends were as wretched as Disease. They chose their victims. Torin did not.

What a freaking prize I am.

Who would ever want him? Single immortal male looking for someone to love—and murder.

He couldn’t even comfort himself with memories of past lovers. When he’d lived in the skies, he’d concerned himself with his war duties and very little else, women nothing more than an afterthought...until his body demanded attention. But every time he’d chosen a lover, his warrior instincts to dominate and subdue had overtaken him, and his unintentional roughness had made the females cry before their clothes had ever come off. Which meant their clothes had never come off.

Perhaps he could have coaxed the females to continue, but his disgust with himself had been too great. He excelled on the battlefield but couldn’t master the mechanics of sex?

Humiliating.

Now he would trade what little remained of his integrity for skin-to-skin anything, desperate to have what he’d once disdained, unable to fight his enemies in the down-and-dirty way he’d once—still—loved.

“Torin,” Keeley said, and despite the strain he heard, he still reacted with the same raw hunger as before. “You realize you killed an innocent girl, yes?”

He settled in the hole he’d dug, pulled on his gloves and rested his head against his upraised palms. “Yes.” His gaze flicked to Mari. She might have known about his condition, but some part of her must have trusted him to keep her safe.

Now look at her.

“Torin,” Keeley said again. “Have you also realized I will punish you for your crime?”

“You can’t hurt me any more than I’m hurting right now.”

“Not true. I have heard of you and your friends, you know.”

What did that have to do with anything? “Explain where you’re going with this, and I might decide to invest in the rest of the conversation.” Otherwise, it was time to find his way free.

“You may have the world’s worst SSTD,” she said, “but I throw the world’s worst temper tantrum.”

Interesting, but not applicable. “Are you chastising me or applying to be my sidekick?”

“Silence!”

Disease recoiled like the coward he was.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of Atlantis,” she continued easily. “What you probably do not know is that I ensured the island was swallowed by the sea simply because I was a wee bit annoyed with its ruler.”

Truth? Or exaggeration?

Either way...it excited him with the same fervency as her voice. At last. The opponent of my dreams.

“You have garnered more than my annoyance, warrior. I had one friend here. Only one. She is—was—my family.” A pause as Keeley sniffled. “Not by blood, but something far greater. I was once a creature of hate, but she taught me to love. And you took her away from me.”

Her pain sliced at him.

“Torin,” she said, and he knew instinctively this was the final calm before a great and terrible storm.

“Yes, Keeley.” If she asked for his heart—a life for a life—he would give it to her.

The storm broke, revealing the temper she’d lauded.

“I’m going to kill you,” she screamed. “Kill you so dead.” The bars of her cage rattled with increasing fervor. “You’ll experience agony in ways you’ve never dreamed possible, for I will do to you what I’ve done to so many others. I will skin you with a cheese grater and stuff your organs into a blender to make a smoothie. I will donkey punch your skull so hard your brain will ooze out of your eye sockets.”

“I...don’t know how to respond to that.”

“Don’t worry. Soon I’ll cut out your tongue and use it as a cleaning rag—you’ll never have to respond to anyone ever again!” A rock skidded into his cell...the first of an avalanche, rage and grief giving her the strength that centuries of imprisonment had surely stolen.

I’m wrecked. He’d robbed this woman of her best and only friend, leaving her with nothing but pain and misery.

Story of my life.

He wished his next deed would kill him but knew it would only make him wish he’d died. Any wound he received damaged his resistance to the demon and thereby his own immunity, allowing Disease to rise up and infect him. At least for a little while. Still. Torin did as he’d imagined. He clawed his way into his chest, scooped out his heart...and rolled it into Keeley’s cell.

CHAPTER TWO

KEELEY WASN’T SURE how many days or weeks had passed since the warrior had offered his still-beating heart as a macabre gift the darkest parts of her had actually appreciated. All she knew was that he’d spent the next however long moaning in agony and, if she had to guess, coughing up pieces of his lungs.

Sickened by his own demon? Deserved.

And while his suffering had dulled the sharpest edges of her rage, she still planned to kill him. I won’t forget. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.

“It’s the right thing to do. Don’t you agree, Wilson?” she asked the rock that liked to watch her every move.

He remained silent, always silent. Cold-shoulder treatment was his specialty.

She wasn’t upset by his attitude. They’d never really gotten along.

“I had plans to free Mari, you know. I only needed time. Just another few weeks, in fact.” Or months. Maybe years. Time had ceased to exist. But Mari hadn’t cared about herself—she’d cared only about Keeley.

The girl had known what Keeley was doing to herself day after day. Well, maybe known wasn’t the right word. She’d suspected. And she had hated the thought of Keeley in any kind of pain. So Mari, sweet Mari, had decided to act, to take Cronus up on his suicidal offer and procure Keeley’s release the only way she could. Despite Keeley’s protests.

“Cronus didn’t even keep up his end of the bargain,” she explained to Wilson. Mari had died upholding hers, and yet Keeley had not been freed.

Hatred burrowed deep inside her, taking root in the darkness of her soul and feeding on the rich soil of her bitterness. So much to do. First she would take care of Torin. Then she would do to the king of the Titans what she’d once done to Prometheus, who wasn’t the good guy everyone thought. He hadn’t blessed the world with fire. How laughable. But he had tried to engulf every inch of it in flames.

“But I punished him, didn’t I?” She laughed with maniacal glee. “I cut out his liver every time it regenerated and fed it to a flock of birds.” Day after day...year after year.

Zeus, of course, had taken credit for the deed. But not this time.

I am the Red Queen. The entire world will learn of me at long last—and fear.

“Soon,” she said.

Wilson might have snorted.

“You’ll see.” Keeley huddled in the corner of her cell, stabbing the lower part of her arm with the rock she’d sharpened into a shiv. Blood poured from the throbbing wound, and spiderwebs of black drifted through her vision. Still she pressed on, cutting harder, going deeper.

Experienced far worse than this.

Like losing Mari...the only ray of sunshine in a life as black as pitch.

“Mari always offered comfort rather than censure. Not once did she say a cruel word to me.” Keeley pointed the bloody shiv at Wilson, adding, “But you...oh, you. Don’t even think about denying the fact that the only thing you’ve ever given me is grief.”

The bastard smirked at her.

“You have always mocked me, but she constantly fed me. I can’t count the number of rodents she tossed to me.” How many people shared so selflessly, giving away the only meal they were likely to find, knowing they would eventually starve? None!

Was it any wonder a literal bond had formed between them, tying them together?

But then, such bonds were the lifeblood of Keeley’s people, the Curators. Or, as other races liked to call them, the Parasites. The bonds were imperceptible to the naked eye and, like mystical tentacles, latched on to others with or without approval to syphon strength...and whatever else the person on the other end had to offer.

The more bonds Keeley procured, the more power she wielded and the more control she had over that power. But she had to be careful. Bonds worked both ways. She took, but she also gave.

It was never fun to have her own strength used against her.

“But the bond failed to help Mari, didn’t it.”And now it couldn’t.

Keeley’s rage returned and redoubled. She screeched, dropping the shiv. Captivity had long since whittled away her humanity, and she suspected that had never been more apparent as she stood and ripped hunks of rock from the walls, until nothing remained of her fingernails. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

Royalty doesn’t cry.

Royalty. Doesn’t. Cry.

That’s right. Tears were a weakness she could not afford. She wiped at her eyes, her arms shaking. Her newest wound protested, bleeding more profusely. Inhale...exhale.

Currently Keeley had only one remaining bond. To the land around her. It would have to be enough for everything she had planned.

She sank next to Wilson, saying, “I’ll strengthen. I’ll succeed.”

Will you? he seemed to ask.

She raised her chin. “No one steals from me and lives to tell the tale.”

She’d had so few things worth treasuring. A kingdom—eventually everyone in it had rejected her. A gorgeous fiancé—until he lied to her and betrayed her. And then Mari, who’d never hurt her...

Now gone. Forever.

A sob burst free.

Royalty doesn’t cry. Royalty endures.

“I’m just a girl.” The words razed her throat, making her feel like she’d swallowed acid. “A girl without her friend.”

Torin gave an agonized groan. “Sorry. So sorry.”

Healed already? Too soon! “Your apologies will never be good enough.” She swiped out her hand, sending more debris into his cell. Wilson, too, rolled out of her cage.

Screaming, “Wilson!” she frantically chased after him. He made it into the hallway—where he stayed put, once again staring at her, forever out of reach.

“Fine,” she told him, her chin quivering. “Be that way. You’re nothing without me. I never really liked you anyway.”

“Keeley?” Torin asked.

Rejected by a rock. “Stay out of this, warrior. It’s between Wilson and me.” Too agitated to sit, she paced in the center of her cell. Out of sight, out of mind.

At least in theory. I’m alone. Again.

“Been here centuries,” she muttered to herself. “Wilson stayed with me through it all. Even when I was shackled to the wall.” With no weapon, she’d had to gnaw through her wrists to free her arms, and then, after her hands had grown back, she’d had to sharpen rocks and bone into blades and hack off her feet to free her legs. “And he abandons me now? He’s as much a bastard as Cronus.”

Well, he would miss the big finale. She would finish the painstaking process of cutting the brimstone scars out of her skin...and everything would go boom.

The scars had a name...a name...wards! Yes. That’s what her people called them.

The wards! Though it took several tries, her fingers nearly too swollen to close around the shiv’s handle, she managed to pick up the weapon.

“Stupid wards and stupid brimstone,” she grumbled. Somehow they were the Kryptonite of her entire race. Basically, Keeley’s worst nightmare.

Running the sulfuric rocks over spirit or flesh would scar even an immortal, but on her, those scars were accompanied by weakness. If she had enough of them, they would totally negate her power. Even as immense as it was.

Brought so low by so little.

She couldn’t punish Torin and Cronus properly until every single one of her wards had been removed. And they had to be punished.

Considering her flesh sometimes wove back together—with the scars still intact—it was meticulous, frustrating work. Everything always depended on the condition of her body. Well-fed, she could create brand-new cells. Starved, she merely regenerated the old ones.

Exactly why I saved every bug to pass through my cell these past few weeks. Dead beetles crawling. Had a big breakfast just this morning.

Once, the wards had covered every inch of her. To remove them from her back, she’d had to treat the walls like scratch pads from hell and rub, rub, rub. Her face, torso and legs had been easier, though no less excruciating. All she had left were a few tiny scars on her arm...and one that had regenerated again and again.

Not this time.

“I truly am sorry,” Torin said.

She would have found the throaty, masculine tenor of his voice thrilling if she hadn’t hated him so much. Was his remorse even genuine?

“At least you still have Wilson,” he added. “Whoever he is.”

“My pet rock. We recently parted ways.”

“Oh. I’m...uh, sorry about that, too.”

“Don’t be. It was a mutual decision.”

A pause. Then, “I’m still sorry.”

“Just...save your breath, as it will soon be your last.” Her hand tightened on the shiv. What was done was done and could never be undone. Never, never, never. “I made the mistake of pardoning someone who wronged me once before.” The man she’d loved and had planned to marry. “I’ve had to live with the consequences ever since.”

Although...she should probably be grateful to Hades. Before she’d met him, she’d had very little control of her abilities. With a single burst of power, she’d slaughtered more than half of her people—in less than a second.

The rest of her people had sought revenge.

Hades swooped to the rescue, carrying her to the underworld, his home. He’d taught her everything she needed to know to not only survive but thrive. He’d even praised her when she’d leveled his palace and he’d had to build a new one. That’s my good, fearsome girl.

Keeley rammed the shiv so deep she hit bone.

“I know you crave vengeance,” Torin said, his voice a life raft of calm in the sea of her mounting anger, “but even if we get out of here, you won’t be able to claim it. You can’t touch me or you will sicken.”

He sounded remorseful about that, too.

A lie, surely.

“Killing you isn’t the only way to achieve vengeance, warrior.”

A pause crackling with tension. “What are you saying?”

“I told you I had heard of you, yes?” Galen, the keeper of Jealousy and False Hope, was one of the greatest enemies of the Lords of the Underworld...and he was a prisoner here. Had been for months. They’d spent the first few weeks of their association exchanging information and would have continued to do so if he hadn’t deteriorated from illness and hunger and gone radio silent.

Which was unfortunate. Knowledge was more precious than gold, and she always craved more. The very reason I once set up a network of spies stretching from one corner of the world to another. She knew things even the Titans and Greeks didn’t know. She just had to remember them.

“You love your friends,” she said. “Provide for them. Protect them.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

As a former royal soldier for the Greeks, who made Roman gladiators look like marshmallows, he had to know where she was going with this. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one, but...I can kill them.”

The bars of his cage rattled.

Direct hit.

“You won’t go near them,” he bellowed. Either he’d returned to full strength, or his mounting rage now drove him. “They’ve done nothing to you.”

“Like Mari had done nothing to you?”

“You weren’t there. You don’t know how things went down. You’re blaming me for an accident.”

“We both know you blame yourself. Why shouldn’t I?”

A moment passed, and when next he spoke, he was cool and collected once more, his tone actually languid. “Don’t you go getting all psychoanalytical on me, princess. I blame myself, yes. You can blame me, too. But take it out on me, not anyone else.”

Though he couldn’t see her, she raised her chin. “I am a queen. Call me ‘princess’ again and I will castrate you before I kill you.” For many years, castration had been her preferred method of punishment. The secret was in the turn of the wrist.

He muttered, “You should be grateful princess is all I’m calling you.”

“And you should know I will do whatever I deem fitting to whomever I deem deserving.”

“Your attitude makes me think you’re still unclear about the huge mistake you’re making.” He’d moved from calm to charm, but not even that dulled the sharp-edged steel accompanying his every word. “You may or may not be the Red Queen immortals fear, but I am a warrior with whom one does not screw. On the field of battle, I enjoy the feel of a blade slicing through my opponent. I like the scent of blood. It invigorates me. I even think screams of pain make a beautiful soundtrack while I’m working out.”

In their world, strength mattered. And the way he’d just described himself...

Sexy.

No, not sexy!

“Yawn,” was all she allowed herself to say.

“Yawn?” The bars rattled much harder. “Did you just yawn me?”

“Just so you know, I’ve eaten warriors like you for breakfast.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Well, did you spit or swallow? Never mind. Don’t answer. Your sexual kinkiness has no bearing on this situation. I’d appreciate it if you’d focus.”

Heat flamed her cheeks. “I wasn’t talking about that!”

“Hey, I’m not here to judge. I’m here because I’d hoped to—” He stopped, a palpable sense of amazement thickening air that never quite lost the stench of unwashed bodies and filth.

What was going on? “You hoped to...what? Help Mari? Well, too late. You didn’t. She’s gone, and—” Keeley’s chin quaked so violently she had trouble getting out her next words. “And someone has to pay. Several someones.”

“Trust me. I’m—” click... “—paying.” The groan of rusty hinges accompanied the last word. Then...pounding footsteps sounded?

She frowned, confused. Had he just—

Escaped!

Keeley jumped to her feet, the shiv falling from her hand. Torin stood in front of her cell, a backpack hanging from his shoulder. Oh...my. He was everything a girl could want—and more. Mercenary-tall and cold-blooded-killer honed. My favorite. My weakness.

She’d gone centuries without seeing another person...without touching one. Why did Torin have to be so magnificent? His hair was snow-white, but his brows and lashes were night-dark, and the contrast was a sensuous delight. But, oh, his eyes...they were his most startling feature. They were the rarest of emeralds, intertwined with different shades of green, all without a single flaw.

Nerve endings she’d thought long deadened stirred to life and tingled. Moisture flooded her mouth. The blood in her veins turned molten.

Close the distance...touch him...

Definitely not...well, maybe. There was a rip in the collar of his shirt, causing the material to gape over a massive, muscular chest completely healed from his impromptu self-surgery. Taste...

“How did you escape an inescapable prison?” she demanded. I’m deprived. That’s all. An aardvark would have had this effect on her.

“A secret I forgot,” he replied.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.” His gaze raked over her, the intensity of it staggering—aggression in its purest form. His pupils dilated, black quickly overshadowing green. The most exquisite eclipse. One caused by...lust? Did this bad boy find her attractive despite her oddities?

The blood in her veins utterly boiled with desire.

What about his crime?

The boil tapered to a simmer. “You had best run while you can, warrior.”

“Or what, princess?”

“I’ll hurt you worse.”

He flicked his tongue over an incisor. Struggling for the tranquility he’d seemed to display so easily before? “I will warn you once. Only once. Never again threaten my friends. You do and I’ll end you. I won’t want to, and I’ll even hate myself afterward, but I will do it. Do you understand?”

Oh, yes. She understood. “You’re even more of a protector than I’d realized.”

For a moment, she experienced a keen jealousy directed at his friends. They were loved by this man wholeheartedly, nothing held back. With Mari gone—razors in my chest, slashing at me—there was no one in the world who would defend Keeley. Not that she needed defending. I am, and will forever be, a powder keg without equal. But the gesture would have been welcome.

He rattled the bars. “I said, do you understand me?”

So fierce...

She breathed in deeply; the leather and musk of his scent should have been a welcome reprieve from aeons of rank, but the goose bumps breaking out over her arms aggravated her. If he’d been any other man, she would have called the reaction animal attraction. But he wasn’t. And if she’d possessed a weaker will, she would have given in to her craving and moved closer. She would have remembered how it felt to be a woman rather than a prisoner.

But she was the Red Queen and she didn’t possess a weaker will.

She planted her feet and remained in place. The male disturbed her. Noted. There was no reason to make the situation worse by flirting with temptation.

Such beautiful temptation.

Nothing would stop her from avenging Mari.

“Keeley,” he prompted. “Pay attention to me.”

Orders? “Tell me what to do again and I will rip out your spine through your mouth.”

He didn’t even blink. “That’s harder to do than you probably realize.”

“Oh, I know. It takes experience—which I have. In spades.”

Again, not a blink. “Hubris is never a good look.”

“I’m not wearing hubris. I’m wearing truth.” Calm. “Here is what I understand, warrior. Once I vowed to hurt anyone who hurt me, and I never lie. Especially to myself.” She raised her chin, knowing she was the picture of stubborn female. “You, Torin, have hurt me.”

He sighed with dejection, and yet excitement glowed in his eyes. The juxtaposition confused her. “So we are to war?” he asked.

She offered him a cold smile. “We’re already warring, warrior.”

“In that case, I would be wise to kill you now.”

“Please. Try it.” He’d have to open her door the same way he’d opened his own...something she’d attempted a thousand times. How did he do what I could not?

He frowned at her. “You actually think a woman like you can defeat me?”

A woman like her? What did that mean?

Beads of anger rolled through her. “I’ve taken down bigger and better than you.”

“Bigger maybe, but better? Doubtful, considering there is no one better.”

Hubris certainly looked good on him. “Have you heard of Typhon, the supposed father of all monstrosities? Half dragon, half snake. All attitude. Zeus likes to brag about defeating him, but I am the one who ripped him into a thousand pieces and stuffed him under a mountain. And do you know why? Because he frowned when I walked past him.”

“Yawn,” Torin said.

Her spine went rigid. “You have underestimated your opponent. A fatal mistake many before you have made. You could ask them about the experience...but they are dead.”

His gaze shifted between the lock on the door and the wound on her arm. Finally he said, “You’re mourning the loss of your friend. I’m going to give you a pass. This time. I won’t give you another.”

Aw, did the big bad warrior think he was being nice? “You have a choice. Stay in this realm or leave. One day soonish I will topple this entire prison. The moment I do, I will come for you. If you have stayed, we will conclude our business here in this realm. You have my word. If not, I will hunt your friends and start with them.”

He punched one of the bars.

Temper, temper.

A shiver stole through her.

“You can’t win against me, Keys. Why put yourself through a battle?”

She disregarded his familiarity, saying, “I suggest you use your remaining time alive setting traps for me.” No matter what he did, he would lose. But the effort might make him feel better about the defeat to come. Or not. Probably not.

His eyes narrowed. “Very well. Until we meet again...your majesty.” With a final glare that, shockingly, rendered her breathless, he left the dungeon.

* * *

KEELEY WORKED AT a fiendish pace, cutting and carving at the final brimstone scar. This is for you, Mari.

She would have finished already, but her mind had constantly drifted to Torin....

Hate him!

And yet she couldn’t stop wondering if his white-blond locks were as soft as they appeared. Or if his wicked lips would be firm against hers or soft. Or if his bronzed skin would burn oh, so good, and the hard muscles beneath clench every time she touched him.

A full-body shiver overtook her. Bad Keeley. Bad! But after everything she’d suffered, she deserved pleasure. And really, Torin owed her a little—

No way. Not going there.

Torin was forever off-limits, no matter how desperate she happened to be. He was pretty, there was no denying that, but she had to keep things in perspective. Look at Hades. A few inches taller than Torin, with a strength she’d never seen on another. His black hair was never not sexily mussed, and his midnight eyes always promised a wild carnal indulgence he was perfectly equipped to deliver. And yet Hades was just as likely to peel the skin from his bed partner as her clothing.

Keeley, the queen who had never known affection, had been helpless against his appeal. She’d fallen for him. Hard. A sizzling romance had bloomed, spanning centuries.

“You are so powerful, pet,” he’d announced one day. “But that power is unstable. You could accidentally hurt me...unless we ward you and mute the worst of your abilities. Only then will I be safe from you. And I want to be safe. I want to spend my eternity with you. Don’t you want that, too?”

She had loved him, and she’d also agreed with him. Her powers had been unstable. Bad things happened every time her emotions had gotten the better of her—whatever the season, the weather had responded in kind. Tsunamis. Hurricanes. Polar vortexes. Tornados. Wildfires. If ever she’d harmed the male she was to wed, she would have wanted to die.

When she’d pointed out he could be safe from her power by scarring himself with brimstone, negating her power over him specifically, he’d pointed out that his people would never be safe, and she couldn’t expect everyone under his command to go to such lengths, now could she?

So reasonable.

Such a manipulator.

Hades, the fiercest warrior in existence, the male with hundreds of demon armies at his command and quite literally the ex from hell, had feared her power had become greater than his own, nothing more and nothing less. He simply hadn’t been able to bear it.

But the scars weren’t even the worst of his crimes. After he’d weakened her, he’d sold her to Cronus—for a barrel of whiskey.

There are two things I’ll never forget. The crimes committed against me—and my power. And Hades is going to pay so hard. She planned to cut off his head and scoop out his brain. I’m thinking pumpkin innards at Halloween. She would set up a booth in the lowest level of the skies and allow everyone he’d ever wronged to come and use his skull as a toilet.

In a word: magical.

Keeley hissed as the shiv came out the other side of her arm. Unsteady, she set the weapon aside and lifted the newly shaved hunk of branded skin. As blood leaked to the floor, she studied her arm in the light. Would this last scar return?

She waited, one minute ticking into another. Her skin wove back together—without scarring! She’d...done it? Succeeded?

It couldn’t be....

She pressed a hand to her chest where her heart hammered erratically. I’m me again? Centuries of work, finally finished? She lumbered to her feet, expecting a sudden surge of power to hit her any...second....but there was nothing.

Miss it so much.

She also expected an overwhelming sense of triumph but...she didn’t feel that, either. Resolve filled her up, leaving no room for anything else. There was so much more for her to do. Kill Torin. Kill Cronus. Kill Hades.

Mourn Mari.

She stuffed the hunk of skin she’d just removed into the pocket of what remained of her gown. My trophy. She would have to be careful not to touch it since the brimstone would weaken her upon contact. But she also couldn’t discard it and allow just anyone to find it and perhaps use it against her.

She walked to the bars of her cell, each step more confident than the last, her mind clearer. She attempted to push out the barest stream of power—the metal widened instantly.

I really am me again. Giddy anticipation replaced her resolve, and without pausing in her steps, she picked up Wilson.

“If you had stayed with me,” she told him, “I would have protected you. Now? Forget about it.” With a squeeze, she turned him to dust and focused on Mari’s cell. Another stream of power caused those bars to widen, as well.

The enclosure was the same size as Keeley’s, the walls smoother and unmarked by blood. In the center was a coffin-sized mound of dirt.

Anger shot through her—and as it did, bolts of lightning exploded from her pores, crackling all around her. Yes! This! A second later, she was yanked off her feet by a gust of wind, her skin sizzling deliciously and her blood fizzing as she hovered in the air.

The entire dungeon began to shake, dust and debris raining from the ceiling. All too soon, the havoc was too much for the aged walls to bear. They crumbled, one by one, the bars of the door bending, then crumpling, the ceiling cracking, then falling.

Not a single piece of rock or concrete dared brush against her.

Calm...steady...don’t want to destroy the entire realm.

Not yet anyway.

Deep breath in...out.... The shaking slowly faded, then stopped, the dust gradually clearing. Keeley floated down, down, the dungeon nothing but a heap around her. She landed on a boulder, wind whipping at her hair.

Closing her eyes, she basked in her first taste of freedom in forever. The sun peeked out from behind a wall of clouds, stroking her face despite the winter chill. Glorious.

The snap of a twig echoed, and she stiffened, scanning the forest surrounding her. Blackened trees, scorched ground. Wafts of smoke and ash.

Welcome to the Realm of Wailing Tears, where happiness comes to die.

When it rained without the aid of Keeley’s emotions, it rained, waterlogging the entire realm. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d nearly drowned inside her cell.

Once the home of Cronus, currently the home of the Unspoken Ones, a race of creatures so bloodthirsty and vile hardly anyone dared speak their name.

And yet the Unspoken Ones fear speaking my name.

She grinned, and knew anyone looking on would think she was pure evil. They would be correct.

Poor Torin.

She’d made sure he would do anything to remain behind, if only to end her to save his friends from her crazy. Which meant he was out there somewhere, waiting.

Anticipation...

Can’t get excited. This was business.

Bloody, bloody business.

An idea formed. Soon, Hades would send his minions after her. Every few weeks, they arrived to check on her and ensure she remained a prisoner. Watching them munch on Torin could be fun. He would experience writhing agony, and they would sicken. Then she could remove each of their heads.

The ideal end to so many of her enemies. It’s decided.

Okay. There was no help for it. I’m excited.

CHAPTER THREE

DUDE. THE RED QUEEN,Torin thought, incredulous. No wonder the immortals in the skies had merely whispered about her. Insane? Cruel? Hell, yeah. They’d probably assumed saying her name aloud would have a Beetlejuice effect and actually summon her.

Now, at least, he understood the title. With such power, she could kill entire armies in a snap and then some. And this is the female who threatened my friends. My only family.

Seriously. Duuude.

The demon shuddered.

Hidden by gnarled tree limbs that were covered with thorns and brittle leaves that snapped at him with actual teeth, Torin watched Keeley from a distance, like a creeper, completely dumbfounded by her. She’d stood in place as hunks of the dungeon rained around her, and not a single injury had she sustained. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Her arm was a wreck. But still. She’d brought the prison tumbling down, just as she’d claimed, and she hadn’t seemed to lift a finger to do it.

What else could she do?

Something stirred within him. The same fierceness he used to feel on the battlefield. The very sensation he’d once lived for—and had never thought to have again.

He smiled.

Idiot! This was one battle he may not be able to win.

Could anyone? Had he not freed the other prisoners on his way out, every single one of them would have died today. Would she have cared?

Definitely not.

Speaking of the prisoners...one of the males had been familiar to him. Emaciated, but familiar, rousing a sense of anger inside him. Torin had been unable to place him—or later, to find him.

Not that it mattered anymore. He had a bigger threat on his plate. In more ways than one.

He’d lost track of the number of times he’d almost gone back for Keeley. Not to hurt her or yell at her as he should have wanted, but simply to see her again, to tease her. To beg for her forgiveness. To prove she wasn’t as heart-stoppingly gorgeous as he remembered. To end the stupid tugging, an invisible cord constantly urging him closer. To just...be with her.

How stupid was that?

I have to kill her.

A pang of remorse ripped through his chest as he pictured the powerful, courageous beauty dead in a grave.

Damn it! He shouldn’t feel conflicted about her fate. And he shouldn’t have to remind himself of her threat against his family.

Time for a little negative reinforcement. Torin circled his fingers around the thick tree branch at his side, granting the foliage permission to feast on him.

Razor-sharp teeth grazed his skin, and blood dripped from his hand. The leaves erupted into a feeding frenzy like piranha, leaving nothing but bone. Hurt like hell as he pulled his arm away. He didn’t have to worry about the plant spreading the illness—it would die within the hour.

As he healed, he studied Keeley more intently. Two things became uncomfortably clear. The negative reinforcement hadn’t helped, the desire to slay her remaining curiously absent. And a desire to throw her down in a test of strength grew. A test of strength—that was all.

Her eyes were wide and sensuously uptilted as if forever beckoning the men around her to bed. Strip me, they said. Do anything you want to me.

Though her hair was caked with dirt and tangled, the strands glinted brilliant cobalt-blue in the muted sunlight. Her lips were red, erotically plump, the kind women were willing to pay a fortune to have...and men were willing to pay a fortune to have all over them. Her skin was flawless, as pure as ice, and also tinted blue.

Extraordinary. A living, breathing Sugar Plum Fairy, Dungeon Edition.

Cue the porno soundtrack.

He groaned. Not this. Anything but this.

Centuries ago, Torin had spent the bulk of his time screwing every woman he met—in his mind. And he’d been good. A god among men. Nothing like the too-rough soldier who’d been unable to seal the deal. He’d taken his lovers against walls, bent over coffee tables and on the ground as wild as an animal, and they’d loved it.

My gateway drug, opening doors I will never be able to enter, taunting me with what I can never have.

Keeley lifted her arm and stretched out her index finger. Lightning split the sky, striking the tip. She wasn’t felled and never even wavered on her feet. But she did smile.

What the hell was she?

Disease banged against Torin’s head, reckless in a bid to get away from the girl.

For once, Torin agreed with the demon. Warring with Keeley would not be a quick grab and stab as he’d expected. It would take time. Time he didn’t have. Cameo and Viola weren’t going to find themselves. And let’s not forget the need to hunt and destroy Pandora’s box. It was the only thing in this world or any other capable of killing him and all his friends in a single swoop.

Or so he’d thought.

Though he’d made no noise, Keeley’s head snapped in his direction. Her ice-blue gaze locked on him and narrowed. Despite the distance between them—roughly a hundred yards—he felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

And he liked it.

Just kill her and go.

“Hiding?” she asked. “I’m disappointed in you.”

Damn. In their time apart, he hadn’t built an immunity to her I-just-want-to-suck-you voice. Though it probably wouldn’t have mattered if he had. She wore a dirty, tattered dress, the sleeves torn off, the thigh-length hem frayed, and it was totally Tarzan’s-Jane sexy.

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.

He’d been in these woods for days, and there’d been no sign of life. Well, other than the carnivorous plants. Now this?

He looked to Keeley. She put her hands on her hips, every bit the annoyed female. Funny thing. Even that was sexy.

He punched the side of his skull in an effort to clear his thoughts, and it actually helped. He palmed a dagger he’d brought from home, ready to face this newest challenge.

The creature arrived, surrounded by a cloud of dust. Realization hit—this is an Unspoken One. Half man, half beast. Rather than hair, snakes danced and hissed from his scalp. And rather than skin, he had what looked to be the charred remains of fur. Two long fangs protruded over his bottom lip like sabers, reaching his chin. Though he had human hands, his feet were razor-sharp hooves.

His black gaze roved over Torin, cataloging every detail, and his forked tongue stroked over his lips. “Mine.”

* * *

KEELEY STUDIED HER newest opponent. Such an ugly thing. The Unspoken One must have heard the prison fall and come running, determined to find out what had happened.

Now he appeared eager to have a nice Torin dinner.

Get in line. She might not be a carnivore like the Unspoken One, but she would have liked a nibble—or ten.

Stop flirting with the idea of seduction and fight! She thought of all the times this creature and his siblings had invaded the prison, frantic to break through the bars and feast on the prisoners. Though they’d never gotten past the bars, they had reached through and managed to grab hold of those who’d stepped too close; she’d heard the horrendous fruits of their labors. The screams. The pleas for mercy that were never granted. The victorious cackles of glee.

Payback was going to hurt.

As she prepared to render her first strike, Torin flew through the dust and sliced the tip of a dagger across the creature’s throat...only to disappear. Where had he gone? He had to be nearby. According to Galen, Torin was not an immortal capable of flashing.

The Unspoken One remained on his feet, healing quickly and growing angrier.

Torin reappeared and struck—again and again and again—inflicting more damage every time. The Unspoken One tried to latch on to him. Tried being the key word. Torin displayed excitement rather than fear, always ducking at the perfect moment.

As much as she hated to admit it, the warrior’s masterful skill impressed her.

The problem was he wouldn’t make actual contact with the beast or throw a punch. Wouldn’t even kick out his legs. Determined to prevent a plague? Even among the vile Unspoken Ones?

Maybe he truly did feel bad about what he’d done to Mari—Keeley flattened her hand against her stomach to slow the sudden churn of sickness—but that wouldn’t change his fate. It couldn’t. She had one redeeming quality: her integrity. She’d promised to end him, and she would.

The Unspoken One swiped a claw at Torin, and this time Keeley took it personally.

Torin was hers to kill. No one else’s. Anyone who so much as thought about harming him automatically signed their own death warrant.

“I’ll give you a five-second head start,” she shouted to the Unspoken One. “I suggest you run—fast.”

At the sound of her voice, the creature froze. His black gaze swung to her and narrowed. “You.”

“Four.” Keeley fluffed her hair. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about my fondness for viscera and my distaste for showing mercy. Well, I assure you, they’re both true. Just ask your brother. Oh, wait. You can’t. He approached my cell and I gutted him. Three.”

Torin dove through the air, slicing through the Unspoken One’s eye. A bellow of pain echoed. The beast at last got his paws on Torin, batting him in the chest. Torin soared over what remained of the drawbridge into the murky moat below.

Death warrant signed, sealed and about to be delivered. “Two. One.”

“Always thought you’d be the tastiest,” the beast crowed, returning his attention to her. He took a step toward her, and though a hundred yards separated them one moment, he was in front of her the next. He towered over her, his fetid breath fanning her face, burning her skin. “Finally get to find out if I was right.”

“No one taught you the value of a good toothbrush, I see.” She waved her hand under her nose.

“Don’t worry. I’ll clean my teeth...with your bones.” He swung at her—Unspoken Ones so enjoyed tenderizing their meals.

She sent a bolt of power slamming into his chest, causing his entire body to seize. She was about to send another bolt when something hard slammed into her side, knocking her out of the way. That something maintained a tight, intractable hold, traveling with her, twisting midair, taking the brunt of impact when they landed.

She caught her breath and regained her equilibrium—only to realize a panting, scowling Torin loomed above her, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

Fool! “Why did you do that?” she demanded.

“What kind of idiot female just stands there while a beast triple her size prepares to knock her brains right out of her ear hole?”

He is...helping me?

But why?

Thoughts...derailing...

Wet hair clung to Torin’s face, droplets of water trickling down, down, washing away streaks of dirt. Spiky lashes framed emerald eyes glittering with a sensual blend of menace and lust.

He was raw sexuality, his masculinity proving savage enough to batter through every feminine defense she’d ever erected, drawing a hot, carnal response from her. Tremors, breathlessness.

Unending hunger.

Knowing the Unspoken One was out for the count, at least for a few minutes more, she reached up to trace the outline of Torin’s beautiful lips. He stayed put, perhaps trapped by the same desperate need she felt—definitely daring her to do it, to take what she wanted—but at the last second, he reeled backward, as if she’d planned to strike him rather than caress him.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “As long as there are clothes between us, you’ll be fine, but skin-to-skin will destroy even you.”

Anger. With him—and herself. How could she have forgotten his taint?

Relief. Weakness of any kind was not allowed.

Anger again. He was Mari’s killer! The enemy. Desire for Torin could not be stronger than desire for revenge.

Her bones began to vibrate, the ground to shake. The wind whipped into a dangerous frenzy. Thunder boomed as the sky darkened to an oppressive black.

Torin searched for the source of the tumult, not realizing it came from her.

The Unspoken One recovered sooner than expected and flashed to them, swatting the distracted Torin out of the way and grabbing Keeley by the neck. She didn’t struggle as she was lifted off her feet. There was no need.

“Not so haughty now, are you, female?”

“Someone has a toilet-paper word of the day, doesn’t he?”

A sharp lance of pain in her neck. He’d just broken her spine. Oh, well.

“I want you to know the great pleasure I will derive from squeezing you so forcefully your head pops off.” His voice was like razors, slicing at her, his grin slow and triumphant...and all the more evil for it. “I’ll use the wound like a straw and drain you dry.”

Creative. “It’ll take...more than you...to end me.” The vibrations around them intensified, soon spilling into him.

Confusion furrowed his brow just before the ground opened up, threatening to swallow him whole. He released her in a bid to jump to safety, though she didn’t fall so much as an inch. No, she remained in the air, the wind coming harder, lashing the ends of her hair and the hem of her ruined gown.

The night-dark clouds undulated, screaming as they travailed...and finally gave birth to a violent storm. Daggers of ice pelted the land...the Unspoken One. Slash. Slash. Slash. The cuts went deeper than those Torin had given him, his skin tearing, blood leaking.

Grinning, she crooked her finger at him. The Unspoken One tried to plant his heels and remain in place, but he wasn’t strong enough to oppose the lasso of her power, and all too soon he stood only a few inches away from her, at the edge of the rupture. He’d hoped to harm her. Had hoped to harm Torin.

Now he died.

Torin swooped in low, running his dagger across the Unspoken One’s ankles. With a bellow, the beast dropped to his knees. But just before he landed, he twisted and once again swiped a beefy arm at the warrior. He missed. Torin rolled to a crouch several yards away, and even though the ice pelted him, too, causing the same slashing damage, he kept his narrowed gaze on the Unspoken One, preparing to launch another attack.

Can’t let him. My emotions...almost too strong to control...

If she wasn’t careful, Torin would be killed in a moment of chaos.

Where was the justice in that?

Deep breath in...out...but “almost” had already crashed and burned. She’d felt too much for too long, without any kind of outlet. She attempted to flash Torin out of range. Maybe she succeeded. Maybe she didn’t. The rage kicked down the walls of her defenses and burst from her; she lost track of her surroundings. Her spine realigned, healed and arched, causing her body to bow.

Howls of agony erupted—and they did not come from her.

The riiiip of skin.

The crrrack of breaking bones.

The pop of a body bursting. The whoosh of rushing blood. The splatter. The downpour of shredded organs.

Warm liquid splashed over her. Shrapnel beat against her.

But as quickly as the storm had come, it quieted. Keeley floated to the ground. She wiped her eyes to clear her field of vision. The Unspoken One had been reduced to debris—and none of it was identifiable. He would not be able to recover from this. He would never regenerate. This was it for him, the end.

Good riddance.

But...there was no sign of Torin.

Either she’d flashed him away as hoped, or he’d died, his guts mixed in the carnage. Remorse speared her straight through the heart. Because she might not get to exact the kind of revenge she’d hoped. Not because of—no, impossible—an underlying sense of loss.

I can’t miss him.

Or could she? Torin was Mari’s killer, yes, but he was also the only link Keeley had to the girl. Her only link to the land of the living.

She attempted to flash to him. When she stayed put, panic snuck in, an assassin to her calm. She could lock on anyone...except the dead.

Well, he wasn’t dead. He was a fearsome Lord of the Underworld, and he could simply be moving too quickly for her to pinpoint.

Yes, that had to be it.

She marched forward. He was out there, and she would find him. No matter where he hid. They would finish their war, and she would find another link to the land of the living.

Life, meet perfection.

CHAPTER FOUR

TORIN RACED THROUGH the forest, careful to avoid the traps he’d set—traps he would have set even without Keeley’s suggestion, thanks. Limbs slapped at his face and leaves tried to bite his cheeks, but he hardly noticed. One second he’d been preparing to launch a final attack against the Unspoken One, the next he’d been a good distance from the action. Keeley must have flashed him.

Why would she do such a thing? She wanted him dead, right?

Does the answer really matter? He needed his backpack, like, yesterday. He couldn’t let Keeley near his friends—his only family—and if that meant he had to put a bullet in her brain, so be it.

And the Worst Enemy in the History of Ever award goes to...the Red Queen.

Not because she was powerful enough to topple a building—though that certainly put her in the top tier—but because she could make a beast burst apart at the seams, raining blood and guts.

Seriously. She’d beaten that Unspoken One like morning wood with the same end result: an explosion.

Torin could imagine Keeley’s acceptance speech. I’d like to thank my victim. Without him and his internal organs, I wouldn’t be here.

In all the centuries of his life, he’d thought he’d seen the worst of the worst when it came to gruesome.

He’d been wrong.

He smashed through a wall of snapping foliage he’d spent hours erecting yesterday morning. A pitiful defense, but a guy had to work with what he had. Three of the prisoners he’d freed waited in camp despite his threats to kill first and ask questions later if anyone neared him. They expected him to find a way out of the realm.

So far he’d had no luck. Never mind Keeley’s threat.

Torin knew there were hundreds of different realms, some beside each other, some stacked on top of each other, and some even wrapped around the others. He just wasn’t sure how to get from one to another without the ability to flash.

“Hallo, mate,” Cameron said. “So nice of you to join us.”

The trio consisted of two males and one female. Cameron, the keeper of Obsession. Irish, the keeper of Indifference. And Winter, the keeper of Selfishness.

They were cursed with demons even though they hadn’t been among the immortals who’d opened Pandora’s box. But. When it came to evil, there was always a “but.” At the time, they were prisoners of the underground realm of Tartarus. And since there’d been more demons than Lords, a good chunk of the inmates were given the leftovers.

“Time to abandon ship,” he said. Keeley would be coming after him, and if the trio was anywhere near him, they would be nailed in the cross fire.

No one seemed to catch his urgency.

Whatever. He hadn’t signed on as their custodian. If they wouldn’t listen, they deserved what they got.

Cameron eased beside Winter, offering her a bowl of forage stew. The two were siblings, maybe even twins. Both had the same lavender eyes rimmed with silver, the same bronzed skin and hair.

“This little clearing has the best cold spring in the entire forest,” Cameron said, “and daddy needs his happy bath times.” He picked up the tattoo gun he’d created with metal parts he’d found lying on the ground and continued inking a currently indistinguishable picture on his wrist. Apparently he had a compulsion—obsession—to chronicle each of his imprisonments in his flesh. “We’re not leaving.”

“Then you’ll soon experience the joys of self-combustion.” It was as simple as that.

Irish perched on a horizontal tree stump, busy carving a branch into an arrow. He wasn’t as civilized in appearance as his friends. Two horns stretched from the crown of his head. Dark, straight-as-a-board hair hung to his waist, multiple razors woven into the strands. He had sharp cheekbones. Black, mysterious eyes. Hands permanently clawed. And while—for the most part—he had the top half of a man, he had the bottom half of a goat. Fur and hooves.

He was part satyr, part something else, and sensing Torin’s scrutiny, he glanced up. “Fack aff,” he said in his Isle-rich brogue. Hence the nickname. Real name—Puck something. Or maybe Puke something. Hard to tell when you couldn’t care less.

Torin shrugged. “Like I said, it’s your funeral. Enjoy it. Or not.” He dropped to his knees in front of his backpack and emptied his pockets. When he’d thrown Keeley to the ground, he’d frisked her and stolen—he frowned as he looked over the only item she’d carried—a hunk of bloody, scarred skin.

Well, why not? Hotpants McCuddlesworth was just the type to carry a souvenir of someone’s torture. Except, as Torin’s mind returned to the topple of the dungeon, the dust clearing, he remembered the wound on Keeley’s arm, a mess of crimson-soaked muscle. As if a hunk of skin had just been cut away.

He considered the scars more closely. Thousands of tiny orange flecks sparkled inside the tissue.

He frowned as he ran his thumb over the flesh. It was overwarm, the heat unnatural. From...flames? Maybe. Probably. But why wasn’t the flesh melting? Only bits of brimstone could burn bodily tissue without actually—

Brimstone. Of course. Sulfuric rocks with veins of lava running throughout, found deep in the earth, and—hell. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. This was meant to be a ward. The kind used to defeat the Curators.

Was Keeley a Curator? A parasite? Or had she hoped to protect herself from one?

If she was a Curator, she was one of the last of her kind—if not the last—and even more dangerous than he’d realized. Curators created invisible bonds with those around them, and like vampires, sucked them dry.

The bond is broken, she’d shouted.

Oh...damn. She was. She was a Curator.

Disease shuddered.

“Ever heard of the Curators?” he asked his unwanted guests.

A sharp inhalation from each.

“No,” Irish finally said, his tone dry. “We’re morons without a clue.”

Will take that as a yes. “One of them just escaped from the prison, and while that’s bad enough, she’s determined to kill me.” Would have done so already if not for the Unspoken One.

“Then you’re as good as dead, my friend.” Cameron never glanced up from his task. “Because I’m guessing Keeley is the Curator, and check it, that chick is loco in the noco. You get what I’m saying, my man? Her elevator only goes to floors F and U.”

“Got it. Thanks.” Jackass. Torin could talk smack about her all he wanted. But apparently if anyone else did it he wanted to hollow out their liver and fill it with rocks.

He busied himself, withdrawing the semiautomatic he’d packed, then the pieces of a long-range rifle.

“I tangled with a Curator once.” Cameron finished off a...rain shower? Ocean of tears? “She was out to destroy my entire family, but she was a real wildcat in the sack. The crazy ones always are. That’s probably why they’re my favorite.” A pause. “Although, I once slept with a centaur who liked to—”

“Don’t start with one of your stories.” Irish threw a stick at him. “Besides, they’re never yours. You collect them from other people.”

Scowling, Cameron said, “And how do you know?”

“Because the one you’re telling is mine, idiot.”

“Who are you calling an idiot, half-wit?”

“I’m not a half-wit, you fool.”

Children.

What else did Torin know about his new enemy?

Curators were created before humans. Once spirits of light, they were tasked with the safekeeping of the earth, bound to it and its seasons. But everything changed when they betrayed their leader, the Most High, and mated with the fallen angels who’d attempted to usurp him as supreme ruler of the highest heavens. What the Curators hadn’t understood until too late? The fallen were cursed with eternal darkness of the soul, and that curse would soon spread among their race.

Their offspring—like that of humans and fallen angels—were known as Nephilim...and even demons.

Backtrack. Curators were spirits—without bodies. How Keeley had gotten one, he couldn’t fathom. But she had done it. Otherwise she couldn’t have been imprisoned or thrown those rocks at him. Or ended up underneath him when he’d pushed her out of harm’s way...

Not going there. He’d harden—again.

He needed brimstone. But as scorching hot as the rocks were, there was no way he could carry one to Keeley, hold her down and rub it against her. And, anyway, he didn’t like the thought of scarring all that flawless skin. The simpler solution was to scar himself. Wards worked both ways, after all.

He sheathed the handgun at his waist and swiped the tattoo equipment from Cameron. “Gonna borrow this. Hope you don’t mind.”

The warrior gave a spot-on impersonation of Chuck Norris. He once made a Happy Meal cry. He strangled an enemy with a cordless phone. He destroyed the periodic table because he only recognizes the element of surprise.

But I’m worse.

Torin’s smile was a cold invitation to hell as he removed his gloves. “You’re welcome to try to reclaim your stuff, but you’ll walk away with a hacking cough and an inability to ever touch another living creature without starting a plague. Totally up to you.”

Silence.

That’s what I thought.

He carefully unhooked the motor, then tinkered with it to give it more juice. He found a thick steel pipe, and with a few more parts, created a makeshift jackhammer to crack through layer after layer of hard earth. Sweat poured from him, but it was a good sweat. From honest labor. Missed this.

When the motor died, he used his hands. His companions never issued even a token offer to help, just continued eating their stew. Fine. They wouldn’t share in the reward. And rewarded he was.

Two feet down...four...six...eight, making sure to leave grooves along the wall so that he could climb out, he discovered a small patch of brimstone. The quarter-sized rocks were exactly as he remembered, black with gold cracks throughout, and hot, close proximity causing him to blister.

He climbed out of the hole and stuffed his gloves in his back pocket, then worked a little more magic with the steel pipe, using it and a branch to create a pair of tongs. Back inside, he managed to scoop up one of the rocks. The branch caught fire on the way up, but he made it to level ground before the end turned to ash and the rock dropped.

Victorious, he sat down beside it.

The Terrible Trio gaped at him.

“Here,” Winter said, speaking up for the first time. She strolled to him with a feminine swagger he’d seen many try to emulate but only a rare few ever perfect, and eased between his legs.

He should have responded to that, but there was zip, zilch, nada happening down below, and tendrils of annoyance wafted through him. Why Keeley and not her?

Winter reached for him, saying, “Let me help you.”

Torin scooted away from her, snapping, “This is your final warning. Come this close again, and you’ll lose a hand. Make a play for the rock, and you’ll lose even more.”

Cameron snorted. “Something you should know about my sister. She always wants what other people have.”

Her eyes glittered with determination and, granted, even that was a lovely sight. She was lovely.

Zip. Zilch. Nada.

He didn’t like the thought of Keeley, and only Keeley, being able to affect him.

His reaction to her would make a great porn title, though. The Lonesome Chub.

Dude. Enough!

“Save yourself a battle,” she said, waving her fingers at him. “Give me the brimstone.”

“Do it,” Irish said. “I don’t want to have to take sides.”

Like he hadn’t already. He might be the keeper of Indifference, but some part of him valued the girl. The longing gazes he cast her hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You should have helped me dig,” Torin said.

“And dirty these nails?” She shook her head. “Never.”

“Tell you what,” Torin said. “I won’t give you the brimstone, and in return for your understanding, I won’t kill you. How’s that?”

Slowly, as if every step was agony, she walked away from him. “Fair enough.”

Pretty words. But she was already planning that battle she’d promised him, guaranteed.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t excited by the prospect of another worthy opponent.

Done with distractions, Torin rubbed his arm against the rock. Once on the front, once on the back. That’s all it took. There was an immediate burn, his flesh and muscle cooking. He almost bellowed. Fine. No almost about it. He bellowed and he cursed, then fell to his back panting. The scent in the air...enough to gag. Bits of brimstone bonded to tissue, scarring him, never allowing total regeneration.

Winter dove for the rock.

Uh, uh, uh. He kicked it down the hole before she could snatch it and hurried to cover it with dirt.

“Like I said,” he announced when he finished. “You didn’t help me dig.”

“Like I said,” Winter echoed. “Battle.”

“Mistake, my man.” Irish tsked.

“Sharing is caring,” Cameron said. “Greediness gets you killed.”

“I’m your only ally out here,” Torin reminded them. “Dial down the threats or leave my camp.”

Winter scowled. The other two shrugged. They might not like him, but they needed him.

And I need to find my Curator. Where are you, Keeley?

He’d engaged in countless blood feuds throughout his long life, but this just might be the first one he’d ever actually considered...fun. He didn’t deserve to have fun, and it was certainly wrong of him, given the nature and gravity of the situation—but it’s too late to turn back.

This time he would be ready for whatever Keeley dished.

* * *

A ROPE SNAGGED around Keeley’s ankle. In a single heartbeat, she was whisked into the air and hung upside down.

Seriously? This again? She flashed to the ground.

One more mark on the ledger of Torin’s crimes.

Only forty-six hours into her hunt, and she was already on edge. He was alive, yes, but he’d evaded her. His traps had annoyed her.

Thunder boomed overhead. The sound bothered her, reminding her that another rain was due any day. One that would have nothing to do with her emotions. Have to be gone by then.

And where were Hades’s minions? She’d abandoned her plan to feed them bits and pieces of Torin. She just wanted them dead so she could concentrate fully on the warrior.

She stalked forward, pushing out streams of power to fell the trees in her path. I will find him.

How many times had she tracked an enemy with Hades? Countless. She was good. The best. A little rusty, perhaps, but she’d take determination over skill any day.

Whoosh!

An array of arrows flew at her. She easily dodged, spotting the manticore leaping from the branches of a still-standing tree. He had the head of a man, the body of a lion and a crossbow for a tail. She caught him with a stream of power, holding him in place. Then, with only a thought, she ripped off his skin, leaving it in one piece, and stuffed his bloody carcass back inside it—inside out. When he hit the ground, he stayed there, writhing.

Word of the Unspoken One’s death had spread, and creatures were out in droves, apparently ready for a five star dine and dash.

They must not have realized she was the infamous Red Queen.

A loud click clack captured her attention, her ears twitching. A laelap appeared around the corner, gunning for her. A metal dog that would never give up once it had spotted prey. It could be blinded, its legs cut off, blood pouring from the wounds, but still it would try to find a way to reach its intended victim.

Don’t have the patience for this.

Sighing, Keeley released another stream of power, crushed the creature into a ball and flattened him like a pancake. Tiny metals parts flew in every direction.

Torin’s masculine scent drifted by on a tendril of wind, claiming her attention. He was close!

Come out, come out wherever you are.

As she sniffed, she picked up the scent of three other prisoners, as well. Two males, one female. Keeley bit the side of her tongue until she tasted blood. Who was the female to Torin? His latest girlfriend?

Probably. He was too pretty to spend his nights alone.

The thought annoyed her, but she couldn’t fathom why. Unless... Yes, of course. Mari had been forever denied a chance at a happily-ever-after, so Torin should be, as well. It had nothing to do with Keeley’s sizzling attraction to him.

An attraction that hadn’t lessened with the passage of time, but grown.

I’m too smart to go through another bad-boy phase. Yes? Please?

But it was becoming harder and harder to convince herself that Torin’s appeal centered around her desperation, that any male would have affected her just as strongly. Only one male had emerald eyes twined with different shades of green, each brighter than the last. Only one male had those sensuous lips... What would they feel like against her skin?

Did he prefer a soft press...or a hard demand?

No! No pleasure. Not from him. Only revenge. She—

Tripped on a strategically placed vine and stumbled. As she regained her footing, she heard another whoosh. About fifty feet away a crossbow was anchored to a branch that was connected to the vine. She caught the arrow by the shaft before the metal tip could sink into her hammering heart.

Well, well. Another mark against Torin.

Flickers of anger. Thunder booming.

Perhaps she needed to expand her Kill Torin plan. Find him, torture him for being so irresistible, and then slay the girlfriend in front of him.

In a word—perfect! Mari would have been proud.

Keeley’s shoulder drooped, her chest aching all over again. Actually, Mari would have scolded her for such a plot. The girl would have said, her tone gentle, “Keeley, love, you yourself have killed many people, and every victim had a best friend left behind. You know this. Do not hate someone else for committing the same sin. And do not wallow in the past. It’s like quicksand and will keep you trapped. Forgive and move on.”

So wise, her Mari.

But...could Keeley allow Torin to walk away from the travesty he’d caused?

Can’t do it. Just can’t.

Her heart was broken. Only vengeance would spackle the pieces together again.

As she motored along, lost in thought, she stepped onto a dilapidated board. The center snapped and she fell, crashing into the bottom of a pit before she even realized what had happened. Her ankle twisted, and her knees buckled. Sharp pains exploded through her, but they were nothing she couldn’t handle.

Gold star, Torin. He’d done his job well.

A shadow fell over her. “It didn’t have to be this way, you know.”

Skin prickling with an insane amount of heat, she glanced up. The diabolical warrior stood at the top edge of the pit, the barrel of a rifle aimed at her head. Breath caught in her throat—but not because of the weapon.

He’s even more beautiful than I remember.

He’s also a thief. He stole Mari. My sunshine. My happiness.

“Really, Torin? Really?” she asked, as though disappointed, hoping to mask her humiliating reaction to him. Blood, heating right along with her skin. Every cell singing, begging for a rush of sensation only the press of male hardness against female softness could give. Hands, itching. To touch him. No, no. To kill him. Of course. For Mari. Sweet Mari. “Bringing a gun to a power fight? Not wise.”

“You don’t want to know everything I brought, princess.”

“You’re right—because none of it will help you.” She flashed to the top of the pit and smacked the weapon out of his hand before he had a chance to fire. The fragrance of sandalwood and spice drifted from him, and her mouth watered. One taste, just one. And then...

I’ll want more.

How was he doing this? How was he sweeping her up in a maddening storm of unstoppable chemistry, causing anticipation to build inside her until she shivered? Just by nearing her!

He stroked his white-hot gaze over her. His breaths began to come shallowly, and he licked his lips.

He lusts for me?

He might as well have touched her, so strongly did she react to the darkly intoxicating thought. The ache...too much, too intense. Overwhelming.

No! Just no.

“Gotta say, Miss Keys. You’re looking very fine.”

Reveal nothing. Hide everything. “Obviously,” she said, then ruined the bold statement by self-consciously combing her fingers through her hair.

Since last they’d faced off, she’d scrubbed from head to toe with enough force to skin herself—again. Even though the dirt was gone, she had been unable to find new clothes and still wore the same tattered rag.

Keeley would rather start every conversation she ever had with “Do you want to see my big fat lady balls?” than not look her best. Her own people had found her lacking in every way, and Hades’s minions used to delight in teasing her about her odd coloring; she’d never quite shaken the heart-crushing sense of not being good enough, not fitting in.

“But what does that have to do with anything?” she finished.

“I’ll tell you...after you tell me how good I look,” he said, and he appeared to be fighting a grin.

Entrapment! Do not respond. Exploring him with her gaze, on the other hand...

He wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt that read “One Of These Things Doesn’t Belong: William. Panties. Women.” His leather pants were ripped. Black gloves covered his hands. A metal chain hung from around his waist. The typical bad-boy uniform hadn’t changed, it seemed...and still revved her motor.

Forgive me, Mari.

She found herself saying, “You look like...dinner.” She’d meant the words as an insult. A reminder that carnivorous beasts were out there, just waiting to devour him, but every sensation already coursing through her poor, neglected body suddenly heightened, nearly dragging a moan from her.

His voice reminded her of smoke dusting over gravel, soft but gritty, as he said, “You want to eat me, huh?”

I do. I really do. I want my mouth all over him. “I will not stoop to your level by answering.” Or mortify myself with the truth.

“Well, then, do you have any interest in a bargain?” he asked, surprising her.

“What do you mean?”

“Rather than trying to kill me, you can get your pound of flesh another way. Like, say, a spanking? No? How about a good whipping? Twenty lashes? Thirty?” When she remained silent, he added, “All right, forty. But that’s my final offer.”

It was...tempting. A way to satisfy her need for bloodshed while ending the strife between them. Except, he would recover from a whipping, while Mari hadn’t recovered from her illness. Has to be like for like.

“I must respectfully decline,” she said.

“Fine. Fifty lashes.”

Why was he— Understanding peeked its head above her confusion. “Oh, I get it. You saw my power in action. You’re afraid of me.”

His nostrils flared, and he actually recoiled from her. “Afraid? Princess, I was trying to do you a favor, save you a little embarrassment over the major defeat you’re about to suffer. For some reason, I’m no longer feeling quite so magnanimous.” He squared his shoulders. “Let’s do this. Take a swing at something covered by clothing.”

She balled her fist, only to hesitate. “You take a swing. You’re wearing gloves. Which strikes me as odd now that I think about it. Shouldn’t you want to make me sick? That would solve all your problems.”

“No, it would add to them. I hate knowing I’m responsible for Mari’s death. Adding yours to the mix isn’t my idea of a good time.”

The words unnerved her. But maybe that was his plan. Throw her for a loop and then strike at her while she was too dizzy to notice. Well, she would show him!

Keeley stretched both of her arms toward him, saying, “I’m going to do it. I’m going to hit you with a blast of power, and you’re going to writhe in the worst pain of your life. Nothing will ease you.”

“Great.” Then, when she hesitated, he had the gall to add, “I’m waiting....”

“You should be running.”

“Why? Do you want to stare at my ass?”

How was she supposed to react to his total lack of fear? “Any last words?”

“Sure.” His gaze raked over her slowly, so wonderfully slow, and when next he spoke, his voice dripped with melted honey. “If I had one last wish, I’d use it to put my hands all over you, zero consequences. Hell, my mouth, too. I’d like to touch you and taste you and make you explode.”

Suddenly breathless, she said, “Don’t talk like that.”

He smiled at her, but it only made the breathlessness worse. “Do whatever you’ve got to do, Keys. I’m ready.”

“Fine. I will.” This was it, then. The first strike in their war. A bit of vengeance for Mari. One item checked off Keeley’s to-do list.

So why did remorse hold her immobile? “Nothing will stop me,” she said.

“Didn’t think it would.”

I can do this. She rolled her shoulders, shook out her hands. All right, okay. I won’t make him suffer. For you, Mari, I’ll make it quick and painless and simply finish him here.

She stretched out her arms, lightning shooting from her palms. Torin stumbled back, but rather than frying to a crisp as she’d planned, he seemed to absorb the heat and energy.

His mouth opened and closed for several seconds before he snapped, “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“I told you I would.” Confused, Keeley shot out another bolt of lightning. Again, he stumbled back without frying. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

He gripped the collar of his shirt and yanked the material over his head to look himself over. The lightning should have left gaping holes of black, but there weren’t even streaks of pink to indicate he’d been struck. But there were muscles. Lots and lots of muscles. A lump filled her throat. She’d thought him beautiful before...but this was beautiful. No one had a physique like his. Cut with rope after rope of strength, skin pale and flawless, a black butterfly tattooed on his stomach.

“You’re staring,” he said.

And probably drooling. “So?”

“So it’s time for me to share with the rest of the class.” He peeled back one of his gloves, revealing thick scars running up one side of his arm and down the other. Scars with flecks of yellow-orange peppered throughout. “This is why you were unable to kill me.”

The lump dissolved and she inhaled sharply. He knew she was a Curator, and he’d taken precautions against her.

And she’d thought to make his death quick and painless. A mistake she wouldn’t repeat.

“You think you’re so smart,” she spat. “Well, I’ve got news for—”

“Shut it, Keys,” he snapped, speaking over her.

Baffled by him, she actually pressed her lips together. Very few people had ever spoken to her like that, too afraid of her reaction. So domineering...

Won’t shiver. Would rather die.

“You once gave me a choice.” His eyes became twin infernos, burning everything they touched. And they seemed to touch her everywhere. “Now I’m giving you one. Walk away from me and your vengeance—or suffer.”

CHAPTER FIVE

TURNED ON—CHECK.

Yeah, I put the “fun” in dysfunctional.

Torin should probably call a doctor. Not even Cialis was supposed to cause such an intense reaction.

What has one hundred and thirty-two teeth and holds back the Incredible Hulk? My zipper.

For a moment, he found amusement in the fact that his penis had decided to act like a third wheel on a date and pop in to complicate things, butt in to private conversations and demand attention at the most inappropriate times. But the amusement didn’t last long.

Keeley had tried to murder him with her earth-shattering power—twice!—and she totally would have succeeded if he hadn’t circumvented her with the brimstone. So the fact that he had an erection the size of a battering ram, all because she’d peered at him with those icy eyes, daring him to take a swing at her, was messed up. Even for him.

But the kicker? He was trying to Jedi mind-trick her into choosing option B. To suffer. Because it was the only way he’d get to spend more time with her.

I’m worse than a monster.

No, no. He had this all wrong. His reasons for wanting to spend more time with her were completely altruistic. If she was occupied with Torin, she wouldn’t switch her focus to his friends.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you work any situation to your favor.

The blue-tinted beauty raised her chin, the perfect study of feminine stubbornness. “I choose...suffer,” she said, moving into a battle stance. “I may be weakened by what you’ve done, but I’m still the most powerful being you’ve ever encountered. I’ve killed kings, toppled kingdoms.”

Shouldn’t grin.

The demon banged against his skull, impatient to get away from the girl.

Not happening.

“You’re more than weakened, princess. You’re severely limited.” The brimstone actually stopped her from harming him, because her power was an extension of her. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a moment and reconsider this? Maybe make a pros-and-cons list?”

“Is this to be a debate or a physical battle? I’ve considered.”

Well, all right, then. “Don’t forget. If you touch my skin, you’ll sicken. And if, miracles of miracles, you survive the raging fever and bloody cough, you’ll become a carrier and infect others.”

“Talk, talk, talk, blah, blah, blah,” she said—and struck. She must have flashed a branch into her hand because one second her fist swung at his face, the next the jagged branch slammed into his jaw.

Blood in his mouth. A lance of pain. He stumbled, straightened and wiped his already-swelling lips. He should have been annoyed. Or angry. Yeah, anger was probably the proper response. Instead, he was—shocker!—invigorated. He’d handicapped the chick, but she’d found a way to strike anyway.

Maybe aliens had taken over his brain.

“If you want a chance to win this,” he said, “you’ll have to hit me harder.”

“Oh. Okay.” Whack!

Stars behind his eyes, and yet he kind of wanted to laugh. She’d merely given him what he’d asked for, and he couldn’t fault her for it.

Definitely aliens.

When she swung a third time, he was ready, catching the stick and jerking it from her grip. She yelped, startled by the disarming. Hadn’t expected him to be a worthy opponent, had she? He released the pimp-slapper, but it vanished before it hit the ground.

He didn’t have to wonder what had happened. She’d flashed it somewhere else.

“You can’t defeat me,” she said, circling him. A predator with a meal in sight.

Adrenaline spilled into his blood, riding the waves in his veins. “I can...but I’d be willing to accept your surrender.”

A shrill cry suddenly echoed. He and Keeley looked up in unison as a sphinx flew in circles overhead, dodging clouds with expert precision. The bare-chested creature had the haunches of a lion, the wings of a great bird, and the torso of a woman. A fresh-off-the-pole, looking-to-give-you-the-lap-dance-of-a-lifetime woman.

Come on Little T. You gotta be interested in getting a little of that.

Nada.

The sphinx bared a mouthful of fangs, spread her claws wide and angled face-first, swooping down, clearly intending to grab a little takeout. Keeley waved a hand through the air and both of the creature’s wings crumpled like a tin can under a stomping foot. Down the sphinx spiraled, crashing into the tops of trees a good distance away.

Well, hell. Keeley could use vast amounts of power to turn anything or anyone into a weapon despite the nearness of the brimstone scars. Good to know.

End this. He kicked out his leg, tripping her while she was distracted. She fell backward and would have tumbled into the pit if he hadn’t grabbed her by the center of her dress and spun her. He quickly released her. She stumbled over a tree root, falling to her ass.

“Still think I’ll lose?” he asked, at last allowing his grin to make an appearance.

When her head snapped up, her eyes—those eyes as cold as ice—narrowed to tiny slits. There was a moment of startling connection, man and woman...a moment of visceral desire before her anger took over. He reeled, even as the thunder started up again and the ground beneath him shook. It was what he’d felt just before the prison had come tumbling down. What he’d felt before the Unspoken One had exploded.

“I warned you about my temper, Torin.”

“Aw. Is the little princess mad because she’s getting spanked?”

The shaking intensified. It came from...her?

Because Princess was getting mad?

“I told you. I’m not some lowly princess!” As Keeley pushed to her feet, wind whipped up around her. One branch after another appeared, slapping at him.

What am I waiting for? Act! He could have fought through the attack and punched her in the head. Unconscious, she would be unable to defend herself, and he could do whatever he wanted with her. Like, say, tie her up and—

Not going there.

But he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her physically. Which was freaking inconceivable! When he’d worked for Zeus, he’d been an equal-opportunity torturer and killer. Nothing had stopped him. Now this?

“This all you got?” he said.

The branches vanished as he and Keeley circled each other.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She scowled at him. “I’ve got more.”

Footsteps sounded from the left and from the right. He didn’t have to look to know the cavalry had arrived, and there was no longer any need to stall.

Keeley turned.

Cameron broke through a line of foliage at one side, and Irish and Winter through a line of foliage at the other. Keeley had focused on the duo, allowing Cameron to do what Torin had not and punch her in the side of the head. She slumped to the ground, her eyes closing. The thunder and shaking ceased.

From zero to max in a single second. That’s how quickly unholy rage boiled inside Torin.

“That wasn’t the plan!” Using all of his considerable strength, he slammed his gloved fist into Cameron’s nose. Cartilage didn’t just snap, it shattered. Blood spurted as the warrior stumbled backward. “You don’t hurt her ever.”

Winter and Irish fronted on Torin, not daring to touch him but glaring daggers.

“What are you complaining about, Sickness?” Winter cracked her knuckles. “We’re the proud new owners of a Curator. It’s what we all wanted.”

“That’s right. What we all wanted. You pussed out, and I swooped in to the rescue,” Cameron snarled back at Torin. “The girl was seconds away from leveling the forest, which is our only source of protection. I did what was necessary.”

Reasonable—but it wasn’t going to save him from Torin’s wrath. As long as Keeley remained on her feet, pain-free and focused on him, the forest and everything in it could fall. And it had nothing to do with his hard-on for her. Or his need to touch her, all of her. Hard at first. Then soft. To pinch and to knead. To discover whether her skin was as cold as it appeared—or if it was white-hot. But because she deserved the right to punish Mari’s killer. Or at least to try.

Torin balled his fist, his rage redoubling.

“Strike my brother again,” Winter said, her quiet tone laced with menace. “See what happens.”

Irish crossed his arms over his massive chest, claws glinting in the light. A silent but deadly challenge.

Anticipation. Eagerness. Can’t engage. Must protect the Red Queen.

“The Curator is off-limits to you,” he said. “To each of you.”

The trio might as well have run their feet through the grass. They were that ready to charge him.

He spread his arms. By now they should know the drill. “What are you going to do about it, huh? Come on. Try something. Please.”

He wouldn’t have to worry about these three becoming carriers. He would touch them, yes, and they would sicken. But afterward, before they could ever come into contact with an innocent, he would kill them.

“You don’t want me as your enemy,” Cameron said, spitting at his feet.

“I see you haven’t gotten the memo.” Torin pegged him with a hard stare. “We’re already enemies.” After what the guy had done to Keeley, that wasn’t going to change. Ever.

Crackling silence.

“She’s a parasite,” Winter said. “She’ll destroy you and everything you love.”

“A chance I’m willing to take,” he said, surprising even himself. What’s happening to me?

“Mistake,” Cameron said. “Big mistake.”

“Won’t be my first.”

“Come on. Let’s go.” Winter pulled her brother away. “He’ll see the truth soon enough.”

Because she planned to make him see?

Irish stood there for a moment longer, rubbing his thumb across his jaw as he considered his options. Then he, too, backed away.

The three disappeared in the foliage.

They would be back, certainly. But they would just receive more of the same.

Torin crouched beside Keeley and carefully eased her to her back. A cut on her temple had left a crimson slash across her brow. The shadows cast by her lashes couldn’t mask the bruise on the sweet rise of her cheek.

Should have killed Cameron while I had the chance. Torin reached out but fisted his fingers before they could brush against Keeley’s delicate skin.

Wearing gloves, remember? Won’t hurt her.

He snorted. The voice of temptation was always oh, so sweet. And this time, it just happened to be right. He could touch her, and he could learn the contours of her exquisite face. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not like this.

An ache flourished in his chest, so strong he couldn’t stop his groan.

But he shouldn’t touch her. He would only want to do it again...and again...until his already-frayed resistance unraveled the rest of the way and like an addict, he went for skin-to-skin contact.

He scanned the area. Trees all around. No real clearing to allow him to see the enemy coming. He would have to—

Keeley kicked out her leg, swiping his feet out from under him. He fell, landing with a hard thump as she rolled with her momentum and ended up in a crouch of her own, right knee and left foot on the ground. One hand braced to hold her weight while the other aimed the crossbow Irish had cut from the tail of a manticore—she must have stolen it—an arrow cocked and ready.

* * *

“WELL, WELL,” KEELEY said. I’m gloating. I shouldn’t gloat. “Our audience is gone, and any potential alliance you had with the three doucheketeers has been severed. I believe I have you in what’s known as a pickle.”

A vein bulged in his forehead, a testament to his rising anger. “Feel free to eat my pickle, princess. Anytime.”

Was that anger directed at her? Or himself?

“Was that a penis joke? And I told you. I’m not a lowly princess.” She’d earned her title the hard way, thank you.

Suddenly, memories she’d locked inside a Time Out box fought for freedom. No! No, no, no. Not here, not now. She needed to concentrate on Torin, on their battle. But...it was too late, the tide too powerful. The past spilled forth and consumed her.

During her sixteenth summer, she attended a royal gala. Like every other girl in attendance, she spent the majority of her time drooling over the prince of the Curators. He flirted with her, even asked her to dance—which was when his father, the king, took notice of her.

Because she was an innocent of the upper class, the king was unable to have her without wedding her. Rules were rules, even for royalty. So he did it. He killed his current spouse and wed Keeley. Despite the fact that she refused his proposal.

But then the choice had never really been hers. What King Mandriael wanted, he received. Always. Might equaled right, and he’d been the strongest among them. Not by fate, but by force. All Curators were given a small ward at birth—except the king. That way the citizens were never stronger than their ruler.

Forcing her to say her vows had been so easy for him. A simple bolt of his power, paining her, and she’d blurted out a desperate “Yes!”

For years he’d controlled her every action, punishing her whenever she displeased him. She would have given anything to leave him, to sneak away and never return, but on the day of their wedding, a bond had formed between them. She’d hated him, but still she’d needed him.

And for all my suffering, I was not crowned queen during his rule. He’d refused. He’d also killed his heirs, including the handsome prince, so that no one would have any claim to his throne.

Against Mandriael’s knowledge, Keeley had taken measures to prevent pregnancy—her one rebellion; none of the slain children had been hers.

No, her title had come after the king stripped her nude and whipped her. In public. For daring to look him in the eye while speaking to him. Agonized and bloody, desperate, she’d cut away her ward—just wanted a taste of power. But an ocean of energy had filled her up and exploded from her—exploding the king.

Got what he deserved.

Mere hours after her coronation, however, the people she’d planned to liberate had revolted.

Queen for less than a day.

They’d ambushed her, swarming into the throne room to surround her on the royal dais. No one had carried a weapon. But then, they hadn’t needed swords and daggers, not anymore. They, too, had removed their wards and their power had battered against her, a maelstrom. But hers had still been greater, so much greater, and she’d catapulted them into the air, all at once, without any real effort.

There had been whispers among the Curators, claims the king had quashed. Some were supposedly born with the ability to not only wield the energy around them but to connect with it, manipulate it, even control it and stop others from using it. Those claims—prophecies—were written in a book that had vanished decades before, either stolen or destroyed.

She’d wondered if she could do those things...even as her people had hurtled hate-filled obscenities and threats.

You’re nothing but a whore!

You can’t keep us here forever. The moment we’re down, you’re dead.

I will dance in your blood!

Rage had brewed inside her, at last seeping out. A violent storm had risen outside, crushing everything in its path, even the palace. The Curators remained in the air, battered by ice, water and debris. But not Keeley. She’d remained untouched, unharmed. Villagers had stopped racing for cover to stare in horror as, one by one, the entire upper class burst into grisly pieces.

She’d feared hurting others, innocents, and decided there was no other recourse but to run. The villagers followed her, determined to end her and save themselves from a similar fate.

She’d spent weeks in the jungle, hiding, on her own for the first time in her miserable existence, scavenging with no real results, doing her best to survive—failing. That’s when Hades found her.

A life could change in a single heartbeat.

The entire world could change in a single heartbeat.

Hades was the dark prince she’d considered too handsome to resist, realizing too late he’d drugged her at every meal in an effort to keep her mind fogged so that her every decision could be easily manipulated. He hadn’t known the drugs were unnecessary, that she’d been as starved for affection as she’d been for food.

Oh, how that galled! What easy pickings she’d been. Desperate to hold on to him and make him happy. Only to be betrayed. Blindly believing everything he said. Willing to do anything he asked.

Never again! She’d learned her lesson. Decisions should never be based on emotion. Only logic. Otherwise mistakes were made.

And I’ve made a huge mistake with Torin, she realized. She’d hesitated to render the deathblow simply because he had a pretty face and made her insides sing with pleasure.

“Keeley,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

She blinked into focus, barking, “What?”

He smiled at her, his emerald eyes twinkling. He picked up the conversation as if it had never lagged. “Think of my pickle comment as an invitation. And you don’t want to hurt my feelings by refusing, do you? I think I read somewhere that royalty is bound by stricter forms of etiquette than us regular folks.”

How did he make her want to smile back at him rather than attack him? And why hadn’t he disarmed her and killed her while she’d been lost in her head? “This queen is going to refuse, etiquette be damned. She would prefer not to eat a pickle that comes with a side of typhoid.”

The sparkle faded, and she actually mourned its loss.

“Or does it come with a little black plague?” she forced herself to continue. “No? How about botulism? Lassa fever? Am I getting close?”

“Oh, you’re getting close all right,” he said. “To a smackdown you’ll never forget.”

“We both know the only one getting a smackdown today is you.”

“Talk, talk, talk.” He batted her arm out of the way, then grabbed her by the neck at the same time he hooked his leg behind her ankles, tripping her.

As she fell, she twisted to catch herself. But the next thing she knew, she was face-first in the dirt, gasping for breath, her arms locked behind her back.

A beat of stunned silence as she regained her bearings...and realized his hard body was pressed against her. She fought the decadence of the new position. No. The humiliation of the position.

“Would you call this a pickle?” he asked casually.

“I’d probably go with Mexican standoff,” she managed just as casually.

“Standoff implies both parties have the other in a precarious situation. With our current position, I’m not exactly feeling threatened.”

Heat radiated from him, enveloping her. And his scent...all that sandalwood and spice. All male. Her cells did that singing thing, her blood beginning to boil with desire.

I’m so sorry, Mari.

Must gain control.

“Let’s see if I can do something to alter your perspective.” She flashed behind him—nope. She remained in place. Why—realization crystalized suddenly. The brimstone! As long as it was embedded in his skin and he maintained a grip on her, she would be powerless against him...against everything.

Powerless...helpless. Flickers of panic, burning her chest.

Can’t be helpless. Not again.

She kicked her leg, her heel slamming into his backside.

“Be still,” he commanded.

Helpless...so helpless...soon imprisoned. Left in the dark, forced to eat the scourge of the earth, rotting in my own filth, dirty so dirty, hungry so hungry. Forgotten. No, no, no!

She bucked and she kicked and she flailed. Snowflakes poured from the sky, piling around them.

He tightened his hold. “Keeley. Stop.”

Have to get free. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder as he further tightened his hold, she fought her way to her back. Then he released her—yes!—but only long enough to grab both of her wrists and pin them over her head.

Snowflakes in his lashes, on his skin...on hers. Cold, so very cold. Helpless.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He bared his teeth, his scowl menacing...almost desperate. “Want to do things to you... Trying not to think about them... Not succeeding. Be still. Please, be still.”

“Let me go.” A plea formed, but she swallowed it back. She’d once begged Hades for her freedom, and he’d laughed at her. She wouldn’t give Torin the same opportunity. “Let me go!”

“Not until we’ve come to some sort of arrangement.”

She continued to struggle, gained no new ground. So helpless!

She couldn’t breathe, had to breathe. She wiggled her hips, bucked some more. When she attempted to wedge one of her legs between them and place her bare foot against his bare chest, he wrenched away just before contact.

Finally free.

She lay on the hard ground, sucking in precious air. “Th-thank you.”

He moved over her again, but this time he didn’t hold her down. Didn’t touch her in any way, so she didn’t fight him. He simply shielded her from the onslaught of snow, his features dark with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Strange question, coming from him.

Her heartbeat slowed, though her limbs grew heavier with every second that passed. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

Torin looked up at the sky, then down at her. The sky, her. He nodded, as if he’d just unraveled a mystery, and made to move away from her.

“Don’t,” she said, surprising herself. I want him closer? “I...need your warmth.” Truth. In part. She craved the connection to another living creature...to him. It had been so long.

He remained in place. His gaze locked with hers, and it was both torturous and rapturous. Without the panic, her desire for him—for sensation—had no filter, becoming a driving force she couldn’t deny.

Don’t do this.

Must. “Is the woman you’ve been staying with your lover?” she asked.

He blinked down at her. “Woman? Oh. You mean Winter. No.”

I am...relieved?

Maybe. His condition was a hard sell for any female, true, but Keeley wasn’t any female. She could have him.

But why would I want him? I hate him. Even still the urge to reach up and trace her fingertips along the ridges of his chest bombarded her...so she did it, she reached. I’m far too strong to sicken.

She paused midway to gauge his reaction.

His jaw clenched tightly. “Don’t,” he croaked, but he remained in place, as if he wanted her to do it—needed her to. “I mean it. Don’t.”

“You’ll thank me.” Truly, his demon would be no match for her. Who would? In a class by myself.

She reached the rest of the way and flattened her palm just over his heart. Skin-to-skin. He flinched but didn’t pull away. Hissed, but also moaned. As if the sudden connection between them was equal parts pain and bliss. Hell and heaven.

“Keeley.” A rasp of demand...and necessity.

Asking me for more. Has to be.

He was hot enough to burn, soft as silk yet hard as steel, and nothing had ever felt this good. A simple touch has felled me.

“You are...” Everything I’ve ever wanted or needed or hoped would be possible. She traced her fingertips along his collarbone, up his neck...to his lips. They parted and she took advantage, pressing in to feel the moist heat inside his mouth.

He sucked, hard, and she moaned. The sound jolted him out of whatever magical haze had been woven. He reared back, horror radiating from him. The same kind of horror the villagers had once cast at her.

“Torin?” Give me more.

“Keeley.” He shook his head, rubbed his chest, as if he could still feel her. “You shouldn’t have touched me. I shouldn’t have let you. Even if you live through the infection, which you probably won’t, you’ll be immune to it but still able to spread it. The very reason I’ll have to kill you, despite your recovery.”

CHAPTER SIX

MY FAULT.

The words echoed in Torin’s mind as he built a fire, and it was like taking fists to the chest. Keeley sat on the ground, watching his every move. He knew, because he could feel the hot ping of her gaze drilling holes in his back. Since “the Incident,” she hadn’t attempted to fight him. She’d gone still, quiet.

Soon she would sicken. Just like all the others. And he would curse his very existence.

He sought a sense of numbness as he dug through the pack he’d hidden behind a tree, withdrawing every bit of leftover medicine. A few antibiotics, fewer antivirals. Cough suppressant, antihistamines, decongestants. Painkillers. Even vitamin strips that would dissolve on the tongue.

He tossed the antibiotics and strips at her, plus a canteen of water. “Take two of the pills. Suck on one of the strips. They’ll help stave off the infection.”

In a perfect world, that would be good enough. But their world wasn’t even close to perfect.

No response from her.

If he had to force her to—

He heard a rustle of clothing, a gulp of water being swallowed.

Good girl. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to forcing her...to putting his hands on her again. There is no woman softer.

Guilt pricked at him, as determined to ruin him as Disease. It was never far from the surface, always looking for a moment to spew its poison. Next would come sorrow...rage. At Keeley. At himself. Mostly himself. He’d wanted her touch more than he’d ever wanted anything.

While Disaster had screamed at him to get as far away from her as possible, he’d pretty much raced to the razor’s edge of temptation, telling himself Keeley was so powerful she would be immune. That he could finally have everything he’d ever secretly craved.

But it was a lie. It was always a lie.

Why had he encouraged a battle with her? Why had he sought to comfort her after her panic? The only possible outcome had happened. What a shocker.

Now Keeley would pay the ultimate price for his weakness, and he would be responsible for either killing one of the only remaining Curators or creating another carrier. And while in that perfect world he wished he lived in a female carrier would mean he’d finally have someone to touch and to hold and to kiss and to please, without any further consequences, that wasn’t how it worked. If Torin touched her a second time, he would pass on a different illness.

The demon didn’t just specialize in one ailment, but countless.

Disease often changed strains with the times. The black death of the thirteen hundreds had given way to the cholera pandemic of the eighteen hundreds. Made it harder for the world to combat the evil, he supposed. For Torin to combat it.

“Has 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 his organs. “Where’s the guy now?”

“Don’t know. Probably somewhere he can behead puppies and gut kittens without anyone complaining.”

The relationship had ended poorly. Got it.

“Look,” she said, and sighed. “I appreciate the conversation. I really do. I’m not ever going to be your biggest fan, but I’m willing to admit you’re not the hellhound I thought you were. Which is why I still think it’ll be better if we part ways and resume our war at a later date.”

“Stay. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m not sick.”

“We’ve covered this. You will be.”

“No. I’m telling you, I’m too powerful. You’ve never met anyone like me, so you can’t know how I’ll react to—” A gut-wrenching cough interrupted her denial. She hunched over, the force of it too great for her body, and covered her mouth.

Minutes passed before she quieted. She held out her trembling hands. Spots of crimson were smeared over her palms.

Snow began to fall once again, and this time, bright flashes of lightning accompanied it, streaking the sky. He’d realized the weather responded to her moods and figured this must be a sign of fear and pain.

She met his gaze, shook her head. “No. No.”

Yes. “You’re infected.”

* * *

IN LESS THAN an hour, she was hacking up rivers of blood.

In less than two, she was ravaged by fever.

She tried to tell him something, saying things like “rain,” “drown” and “minions,” but the meaning was lost on Torin. The only thing he understood was “don’t...kill.”

He’d told her he would kill her if she became a carrier. And he should; it would be best. For her, for the world.

Then why try to save her?

Because he couldn’t shake the urge to hug her. Because he owed her.

Because he couldn’t have her, ever, if she died.

He punched the ground, flinging dirt.They would deal with the carrier thing if and when it became necessary.

As gently as possible, he plied her with medicine. He used some of the canteen water to keep her brow cool and poured the rest down her throat. But by the middle of the next day, the water was gone and she needed more. Her cough worsened, and her fever intensified, growing dangerously high. The woman who’d been powerful enough to topple a prison for immortals weakened until she could no longer even writhe in pain, her chest barely rising and falling, her breaths wheezing...sometimes even rattling.

The death rattle. He knew it well.

But the most telling sign of impending doom? About twenty feet around her, the grass had withered. Nearby trees had slumped over and dried up, leaving nothing but brittle leaves and blackened bark.

At least the snow had stopped. Small consolation.

“Just hold on, princess,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear him but compelled to speak anyway. He picked her up, careful to ensure their clothes remained a constant barrier.

But even without skin-to-skin contact, she managed to deluge him with endorphins, wave after wave of the most intense bliss he’d ever known saturating him. He hardened. He throbbed.

Need her hands on me again.

Enough! He carried her through the forest, heading for the clearing he’d shared with the Terrible Trio. They would fight him. They wouldn’t understand why he was helping a woman so determined to kill him. He barely understood it himself. But they weren’t there, and it looked as if they’d been gone for a while, saving him the hassle of combat.

Torin eased Keeley onto the ledge of the spring. He dipped a rag into the frigid water before draping the material over her sweat-beaded brow. Her teeth chattered, and every few seconds she convulsed, but the fever never abated.

He picked her up and eased her into the center of the pool, dress and all. The liquid rippled and lapped all the way to her chin...but the heat she projected actually warmed the water. Frustration and fear ate at him.

“Hades,” she mumbled, her voice little more than a broken rasp. “Mine...”

A terrible stillness came over him. Hades, the former ruler of the underworld? A male Torin wouldn’t trust with a stick of gum, much less a life? Pure evil? The father of William the Ever Randy and Lucifer, king of the demons?

Although, to be fair, Hades wasn’t William and Lucifer’s natural father. He’d claimed them through some sort of shady, supernatural adoption. But to be even fairer, that kind of made him worse.

Keeley called for that guy? Seriously?

“Don’t,” she begged. “Please, don’t do this.”

Hades had hurt her? No big surprise, and yet Torin cracked his knuckles. Whatever was done to her will be revisited on the male a hundredfold.

“Shh.” In an effort to calm her, Torin smoothed a gloved hand along the curve of her jaw. This isn’t for me—it’s for her.

Lying to myself now?

He marveled at the delicacy of her bones and had to fight against a thousand more waves of bliss, each headier than the last. “I’m here. Torin’s here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, princess. I won’t let it.”

“I love you. You love me. Our wedding...please.”

He stiffened, several facts becoming crystal clear. Hades was the fiancé she’d mentioned. She’d actually planned a future with the guy. Had begged for it.

Jealousy. Yes, he felt it. Jealousy, and not indigestion. He could deny the truth no longer. However, he would not tolerate such an emotion. Keeley wasn’t his. She didn’t belong to him, and never would. Because even if they worked out their problems—not likely—he would never be able to satisfy her. What he had to offer would never be enough.

He’d learned that the hard way.

To watch discontent settle in her eyes? He would rather die.

Experienced enough humiliation on that front.

“Helpless,” she whispered. “So helpless. Trapped.”

“Shh,” he said again. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Torin?” Her head tipped toward him. Her arms floated along the surface of the water, brushing against the curling ends of her hair. Wet, the strands appeared honey-brown rather than blue.

Will look so pretty wrapped around my fist. I’ll angle her just right, take her mouth with a skill she’s never before encountered and—

Nothing.

He pushed out a ragged breath, only then realizing the water had cooled significantly.

Had her fever broken at last?

He lifted her out of the spring and eased her onto a patch of grass, tense with dread as he waited for the blades to wither. When one minute ticked into another and they remained lush and green, he relaxed.

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.

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