Gena Showalter - The Darkest Touch

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.