The Darkest Touch

Unleashing the snarl her male friends had once dubbed “Blue—she must be PMSing—Steel,” Cameo punched her fist through the back of the driver’s seat. If she didn’t find chocolate soon, she was going to commit cold-blooded murder. Any kind of chocolate. Fudge pop. Ice cream sandwich. Neapolitan.

And she already had a target in mind.

“Are you going to cry?” the target in question asked. “I bet you’re going to cry.”

He stood in the open doorway, peering inside the truck, watching her with his patented smirk. His name was Lazarus, and they’d been partners for... She wasn’t sure how long. Time had ceased to exist.

In a bid to retrieve her...friend? Ugh. No. Acquaintance? Better. In a bid to retrieve her acquaintance Viola, Cameo had touched the Paring Rod, an ancient artifact created by the Titans; it was some kind of bridge between worlds, supposed to lead the way to Pandora’s box. Can’t wait to smash that box into a thousand pieces! It was simply too dangerous.

One second she’d had her hand on the Rod, the next she’d been in another dimension...realm...whatever!

Lazarus had touched the Rod, too, only he’d done it months before. He’d found a way to glom on to her at just the right moment and come out the other side with her. She wasn’t sure how or why he’d done it. She’d asked him, but he wasn’t one to hand out answers. Or understanding. Or compassion.

What she did know? They’d found a doorway to another realm and they’d walked through it. From there, they’d found yet another doorway, another realm. None of which she’d been familiar with. Some areas were primitive. Some were well populated and modern. All were dangerous.

“Have you considered Zoloft?” Lazarus asked. “It’s supposed to help with bouts of crying. Or so I’ve heard. It might help with your voice, too. Have I mentioned your voice is tragic?”

About a thousand times.

She closed the distance between them. He was a beautiful man. One of the most beautiful ever created; just ask him. But he was intense. And savage, and when he killed, he killed. After he played a bit. Not even her demon-possessed friends fought as brutally or played so violently, and they had been known to reach into an enemy’s mouth and rip out the spinal cord.

Standing inside the vehicle as she was—while his feet were planted firmly on the ground—she should have been the taller of the two. She wasn’t. And it irritated her. She was five seven, not short by any means, but she was a tiny fluff of nothing when compared to Lazarus.

“Have you considered the fact that I have daggers and I’m not afraid to use them?” she asked.

He cringed, inky hair falling over his forehead. “Why use daggers? Your voice is weapon enough.”

She knew every word she spoke was layered with sorrow, dipped in regret and rolled in sadness, thank you. “If my voice makes you want to kill yourself and saves me the trouble of rendering the final blow...well, why don’t I spend the next few hours telling you all about my life?”

His lips quirked at the corners. He took her by the waist and swung her around, setting her on the ground. His hands stayed put, remaining on her, and his dark eyes gleamed. “Why would I kill myself? Being around you is torture, yes, but it’s also highly entertaining.”

Most men were intimidated by her. Her friends were protective of her and did everything in their power to spare her feelings. This guy provoked her at every turn, unafraid of the consequences.

She slapped his hands away, but he held on to her for several seconds more, just to annoy her, she would bet.

But...this. This was the reason she would not allow herself to be attracted to him—no matter how handsome he was. Personality mattered, and his sucked.

So does mine. Doesn’t that mean we’re perfect for each other?

No!

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“Not yet.”

A minute passed. Two. She could have fought him, but why waste the strength...especially since she kind of enjoyed where she was?

He released her only when he decided he was good and ready.

She stalked away from him. Today she found herself in a land very much like the world she was used to. Only, there were no people. Cars were crashed and abandoned. Roads were deserted. Trees and foliage were overgrown. Buildings were crumbled.

The bones of the dead were everywhere. But power lines still worked and batteries hadn’t run down. It was weird.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Lazarus asked, keeping pace behind her.

“I’m thousands of years old. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a spinster virgin starving for a little man-meat.”

She took a deep breath...held it...held it...slowly released it. I’m a calm, rational woman. “I’ve had several boyfriends, and I’m no virgin. And if you call me a slut, I will cut out your tongue.”

“No, you won’t. You want my tongue where it is. Trust me. But I’m curious. How many boyfriends?”

“None of your business.”

“Too many to count. Noted. What are you like in bed?”

“You will never know.”

“Please. I can guess. Every time a guy has gotten inside you, you’ve moaned, but not in pleasure. You were faking it, because you were miserable. He immediately lost his erection and took off, spouting some nonsense about having somewhere else to be. You were left unsatisfied, and he never spoke to you again.”

She would have been infuriated...if he hadn’t been right. For the most part.