The Darkest Touch. Gena Showalter

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