Gena Showalter - The Darkest Touch

“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.