The Darkest Touch

Torin rounded on her. “You said you understood we were parting ways.”

“That’s not what I said—nor what I understood.”

“Then what?”

You’re mine, and I’m yours. We’re going to be together. She’d done it. She’d won his heart, just as she’d intended. Not fully, not yet, but close.

For now, that was good enough.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said with a pointed glance to Lucien. “When we’re alone.”

“Keeley,” Torin gritted.

“Charming,” she sang. “Trust me. You don’t want me revealing my thoughts to your friend.” Might not like hearing them yourself. I’m important to you. Irreplaceable.

Necessary.

Lucien laughed. “You remind me of Anya.”

She threw her legs over the side of the bed. Torin had dressed her in a ratty T-shirt that said “Only One of These Statements is True ßà Gideon Never Lies.” The hem reached midthigh at least. “You never told me. Who’s Anya?”

“My...” His mismatched eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m not sure how to explain my relationship with her. She’s my girl. My angel.”

“She’s no angel.” Torin glared at Keeley. “Until she’s compared to someone else I know.”

Keeley fluffed her hair. “Compliments will get you everywhere.”

His eyes slitted farther. “Anya is a crazy person who has spent the whole of her relationship with Lucien planning a wedding that’s never going to happen. She’s his non-fiancée fiancée. But it doesn’t matter. You’re not meeting her. You’re staying here.”

She blew him a kiss. “See you soon.”

“See you never.”

“So...five minutes? Or would you prefer ten?”

“Never.” He was scowling when he flashed away with Lucien.

What an amazing day!

She rushed into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and hair, then studied the clean T-shirt and sweatpants Torin had left for her. Not this time.

She flashed to her cave and discovered Hades had indeed returned her gowns. Keeley selected the one with chain-mail sleeves with a corset comprised of rolled leather and horse-mane, cinching in her waist. Black leather pants hugged her legs, a full-length train flaring at her hips and flowing all the way to the floor.

She plaited the top portion of her hair, allowing the rest to fall in golden waves before anchoring her crown of spiked steel and diamonds in place.

Head high, she flashed to Torin—and found herself inside a fortress.

The foyer walls were made of shiny white marble broken up by tiny rivers of gold. Hanging throughout were beautiful candelabras interspersed with portraits of—surely—the Lords and their women. Glistening chandeliers hovered overhead, and the black onyx floor speckled with diamond flecks gleamed below. It was an exquisite space. The kind she’d always wanted for herself. Opulent, but homey. Luxurious, but welcoming.

Torin stood beside Lucien, scowling at a portrait of a soldier dressed in black with his arm draped around a female wearing a gown of fine velvet and lace, a feathered headdress framing her delicate face.

Not nearly as nice as mine.

“Hello, Torin,” Keeley said.

He pelted her with a glare, then raked his gaze over her once, twice, a third time, his pupils expanding more and more...his attention lingering in all the right places.

She spun slowly, letting him look his fill from every angle. “You showed me the real you. Now I am showing you the real me.”

“You are... There are no words...” He stepped closer, but his friend Lucien put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Keeley swallowed her irritation. “Don’t you dare try to kick me out. I’m staying,” she said. “End of.”

* * *

TORIN HAD PRETENDED to study the portrait of Kane and Josephina while roars of denial threatened to break free—just abandoned Keeley, soon I may not even be remembered by her.

Have to get over it. I’m a man, not a baby without a paci.

When Keeley had flashed to his other side, he’d smelled the honey-dipped-berries scent before he’d turned to her...and experienced a punch of lust so strong he was surprised he remained on his feet.

Look at her. So damn gorgeous in her gown.

Disease gave a low, guttural growl, reminding Torin of his crimes.

“You have to leave, Keeley. I mean it.”

“Meaning it doesn’t change anything,” she said.

“If you stay, I’ll bring you nothing but grief and pain.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’ve already brought me more than grief and pain.”

“You mean cholera? Smallpox?”

Her gaze shifted to Lucien for a split second, and she raised her chin. “Pleasure.”

Another punch of lust. He had given her pleasure, sating her in a way he’d never sated another. She had not left his bed disappointed.

“True,” he grumbled.

As if they weren’t discussing the life and death of their relationship, she motioned to a portrait of two people he didn’t recognize. A dark-haired male and a female with a short crop of hair so black it appeared to be blue. “That’s Atlas and Nike. I met him when he was a raging he-slut. Never met her, but according to my spies, she’s meaner than...what’s the meanest thing in the world?”

“You?” Torin said helpfully.