Rage detonated in Torin's eyes. "A barrel of whiskey? You, who are priceless?"
And just like that, the bond clicked into place.
A cry of pain parted her lips, an inferno raging inside her. Her power buoyed, crackled, and need for Torin suddenly intensified to a nearly unbearable level.
"What's wrong?" Torin demanded. "What happened?"
How could I have allowed this?
Can't tell him. Shouldn't even think of it.
Must never rely on it.
"I'm...fine," she gasped out, all systems go. "Just fine." Never experienced anything so delicious.
Must touch him.
No, no.
A sharp hiss of breath from him. "Your eyes are glowing. That's bad enough, but paired with the way you're looking at me..."
She licked her lips. Must kiss him. "How am I looking at you?"
"Like I'm not just a hero...like I'm something special." He spat the words as if he couldn't quite believe them even as he spoke them.
"That shouldn't be a surprise. I told you that you were."
"But I'm not!" he burst out. "Not yet."
Yet? Not until...what?
Must have him.
"I'm a bad bet right now," he said and backed away from her. "You know this, but you're allowing desire to influence your thinking. I thought you were smarter than that."
Blaming her?
Or fighting his own emotions?
That. His desire pulsed through the bond, feeding hers.
Have to pretend I can't feel it.
Can't pretend. Too desperate. "And I thought you were smarter," she said. "You don't get to decide what happens between us. Not anymore." She approached him slowly, purposefully. She could have brushed against him but didn't, not yet. She stopped a whisper away. "You're not the predator in this situation. I am. I take what I want."
He continued trying to distance himself even as a passion-fever flushed his cheeks.
She trailed him, determined. "I won't be denied my prize."
His gaze dipped to her mouth, his pupils spreading like spilled ink over his irises. The heat that radiated from him was a magnificent stroke. "Prize...for information?"
"Use whatever excuse you'd like." For the first time in a very long time, she didn't care about tomorrow, only today. This moment. Being with this man. "But this is happening." At last Keeley brushed her chest against his.
He didn't back away, not this time. He remained in place, teeth grinding as he struggled for control.
I will help him lose it. She traced her fingertip from the collar of his shirt to the waist of his pants, careful to avoid his wounds. He cursed her, but still he did not move away from her.
"More?" she asked, flattening both palms on his chest. His heart thudded fast, erratic. Slowly she moved her hands up...up...until her arms were wrapped around his nape.
"Keeley," he said on a groan. Then he shook his head. "We should wait. The Morning Star."
"I don't want to wait. Not anymore." She rose to her tiptoes, their lips coming closer and closer with every second that passed. Closer and closer to the point of no return. "I want what I want when I want it."
He stopped breathing. She stopped breathing. They hovered there, lost in a suspended moment of utter agony. Agony and pleasure. Mmm, the pleasure. They weren't actually doing anything, and yet the promise of more was an irresistible temptation...driving her closer and closer still...until she couldn't stand the tight coil of tension a moment longer and pressed her lips to his.
He jolted. She licked. His lips remained closed to her, but they did soften. Still thinks to resist me? She dissolved against him, fusing their bodies, and gave another lick; this time his tongue peeked out to meet hers.
That's all it took. With a moan, he opened the rest of the way for her. Their tongues thrust together, a tide of ecstasy completely overtaking her...drowning her and making her like it...even making her crave the end.
His kiss was rough and raw, desperate as he backed her into a wall. He gripped her by the waist and lifted her, his mouth never leaving hers. Suddenly their bodies were in perfect alignment. Two puzzle pieces fitted together. As she wrapped her legs around him, his hands moved into her hair, fisting the strands. But they didn't stay there for long. They roamed over her, squeezing her shoulders, cupping her breasts.
The lower part of him rubbed against the lower part of her. "You're so wonderfully hard," she gasped.
"You're so amazingly soft." He kneaded with the most decadent force.
She moaned his name with all the need pent up inside her, and he--
--roared with agony and scrambled away from her. She fell to the floor.
He was trembling.
She was trembling harder, and panting. She straightened.
He stood there for a long while, peering at her through narrowed eyes, fighting for air. "You shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have let you."
"The damage is done--if there's any damage at all."
"Prolonged contact--"
"I don't care," she said, "I want more."
His hands fisted and unfisted as he weighed her words. Finally, he said, "You want more, princess? Very well. Against my better judgment, you'll get it. I just hope you're ready."
*
TORIN GRABBED KEELEY by the back of the neck the way he liked, the way she liked, and hauled her against him. Hunger had been clawing at his insides since he'd finished the fight with the spiders--hell, long before.
He should be well acquainted with it. He'd always known hunger. Since his possession, there hadn't been anything else for him. He'd never really learned to go slowly, to just take a little bit at a time. To make a meal last. As he'd proven. And now all he wanted to do was gorge and gorge and gorge until there was nothing left. When she had dared close the gap between them, the scent of cinnamon wafting from her, filling his nose, fogging his brain, his mouth had watered and his hands had itched and resisting had been futile.
Then she'd kissed him, and he'd felt like a man who'd just jumped out of a plane--without a parachute. He'd loved the ride down, the free-fall, but hated the landing. Or would have, if he'd survived. The old Torin had burned away, flames bathing him. But a new Torin had risen, stronger, weaker, everything in between, and Keeley had become his only source of water. A man needed water to survive.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth. Their teeth banged together, causing a sharp lance of pain. He fought for control and eased off. His tongue rolled against hers, giving rather than taking. She met him stroke for luscious stroke, giving back. Her hands fluttered around his waist, holding on to him as if she feared he would float away at any moment.
He savored her, this fine wine he didn't deserve, and worked her just right; he forced himself to be gentle with her. Good, good. Like that. Taking his time, allowing him to memorize every exquisite detail. The silk of her hair brushing against his face. The softness of her lips. The velvet caress of her skin. The honey of her scent. The sugar of her taste.
"Torin," she panted, then lifted her head and took all that goodness with her. "I want--"
"No," he said, knowing the worst had happened. She had decided to end things. "I'll do better." He would. Because he wasn't done. Didn't think he would ever be done. She had become every fantasy he'd ever had. No, she was greater than every fantasy he'd ever had.
"Impossible," she said with a soft, sweet smile.
He relaxed and tugged her back against him. "I want more."
"Yes," she said against his lips. "You promised. I crave. I just wish..."
Everything but his raging heartbeat stilled. "What? What do you wish? Tell me, and I'll give it to you."
"Let me show you." She pushed him to the floor and straddled him. "Keep your hands at your sides."
Not touch her? The idea alone proved worse than any of the threats she'd once issued--he would rather have his skin removed with a cheese grater, his organs turned into a smoothie.
"Why?" he croaked. "Am I too rough with
you?"
"Too rough?" She rubbed her nose against his. "Warrior, there's no such thing as too rough with me. But this is the first time I've gotten my hands on you...probably the first time you've had this. I intend to relish every second and make sure you love it, too."
Relish...yes. "I can't not touch you." He cupped the fullness of her breasts, luxuriated in the feel of her plump softness, the heavy weight. The tips distended under his palm--he felt the transformation. Magnificent.
She grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped the material down the center. Then her hands were on him, her nails in his freshly healed flesh. "Touch me, then, but whatever you do, do not stop kissing me, Charming."
"Nothing will stop me." He fisted her hair and yanked her back for another taste. Careful.
But she moaned her approval and after a while, the warnings inside his head ceased to matter. No such thing as too rough, she'd said, and she never lied. Her tongue eagerly met his, thrusting hard, eliciting a wild, carnal pleasure inside him. The more she demanded from him...the more she responded to him, the more he devoured her--feasted.
Have been starving, and she's a banquet.
"More," he commanded.
She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged the strands. To make him stop? "I'll give you more if you stop holding back," she said. "I won't break."
Well, he might. He was already panting. But my woman is panting harder. Her mouth was red, moist and swollen. Claimed.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he told her.
"Asking? No, Charming. I'm demanding. Give me harder," she said and pressed her mouth against his, firm and determined as she licked inside.
The leash on my control is fraying....
His tongue rolled against hers with more force, and though he hated himself, knew the pressure was too much; even though she'd demanded he take, take, take, he couldn't stop. Because he ached. Terribly. His muscles were clenched on bone. The fiercest desire he'd ever experienced raged through his veins, an unquenchable fire. He didn't just want to touch Keeley. He wanted to own her and force her to feel as violently as he was.
Leash...broken.
Screw gentle. He would bring her to climax and then he would chase his own.
He took her harder, and faster, but she didn't seem to mind. Moaning, she squirmed against him. Her nails scraped his back, and if not for what remained of his shirt, the material barely hanging on, she would have drawn blood.
He loved it.
He palmed her breasts again, those full, heavy breasts, and scored his thumbs over her nipples. The gloves annoyed him, and he stopped kissing her only long enough to rip one off with his teeth. That hand returned to her immediately, his thumb once again stroking over that sweet little bud. Still a barrier. He yanked her shirt over her head, cupped her and shuddered. She was as soft as satin. Warm. Perhaps the sweetest thing he'd ever touched.
He lowered his head. She gave another moan, arching into him, and his shaft jerked against his fly. Damn. He was close to tossing her to her back, tearing her panties off and plunging inside her, the pressure inside him building to an almost unbearable degree.
She had been made for him. He was sure of it.
He cupped her ass and forced her into a hard, punishing grind against him, but she didn't seem to mind that, either. Her nipples abraded his chest, and she seemed to love the friction as much as he did, gasping his name again and again.
Slow down! Any moment, he would blow. This need...
It was too much. Too intense, he thought again. Rushing through him, firing up his blood--she was kindling, making him burn all the hotter. Addicting him.
Can't ever give her up. The demon didn't matter--wouldn't matter until later.
A shower of ice inside him.
The demon. Later.
The words echoed in his mind, the ice drizzling through the rest of him. Keeley was going to sicken. Again. With their actions, they'd made sure of it. For all he knew, the longer he kissed and touched her, the sicker she would become.
He'd only ever touched someone briefly. Never had this kind of prolonged contact. This was new territory for him, and he couldn't be sure of what would happen next.
What if she died this time?
With a roar, he wrenched away from her. She plopped to the floor as he stood. Damn it! What had he done? "I'm sorry. So sorry, princess. I should have forced you to wait."
She lumbered to trembling legs. "I'm only sorry you stopped." Eyes dazed, she reached for him.
He dodged her. Killing me! But better his death than hers. "Don't. We can't."
"We can." Again, she reached.
Again, he dodged. "No, Keys, we can't." He took another step away from her. At my breaking point. If she came at him again, he might just let her catch him. "We should prepare ourselves. You're going to sicken."
She stopped, the reminder changing her entire demeanor. From pliant and willing to tense and guarded.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, but the words would never be good enough.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KEELEY DUG TWO T-shirts out of the backpack. One proclaimed "Strider Can Beat Me Anytime," and the other "I Left My Heart In Paris." She couldn't mask her trembling. After she and Torin dressed, she rummaged through the house for a pair of scissors, a needle and some thread.
"Your shirts have the weirdest sayings," she muttered.
"My friends make them for me."
No wonder he loved the men so deeply.
She sat in front of the crackling fireplace and got to work, cutting and sewing bits and pieces of their old shirts, though her mind wasn't on her task. What have I done? How had she managed to convince herself that she wouldn't sicken...and that, if she did, enduring another illness would be okay? Sick equaled weak and weak equaled vulnerable.
Outside, snow blustered, her emotions turning the autumn season to winter.
"How do you feel?" Torin asked, breaking the silence as he paced in front of her.
"Fine." And it was true. She did. But she'd felt fine the last time, too.
"Good. That's good."
But how long would it last?
She held the shirt to the light. Great! She'd done everything wrong. She undid her stitches and, doing her best to remain calm, started again.
"Distract me," she said.
"Okay. Who stole Pandora's box after it was opened?" he asked. "You never told me."
"And I won't." She'd heard the rumors, knew Torin was friends with the man. He might not believe her, might even take sides against her. "I don't want to talk about the box."
"Fine. We'll play the question game. I'll ask you ten easy ones or a single hard one. You pick."
"Hard." Of course.
"If seeing is believing, then how are looks deceiving?"
"Seeing isn't believing. I thought you said this would be hard."
"Yes, but how do you know seeing isn't believing?"
"Sorry, Torin, but you said you'd only ask one difficult question. I've already answered."
He laughed, shrugged. "I'm out of ideas."
"Tell me what you were like before your possession."
"Fierce. Bloodthirsty."
"In other words," she said, "nothing's changed."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm nice now."
"What kind of crazy person told you that? You're as nice as I am."
"Since I think you're made of sugar and spice, I'll take that as a compliment." He ran his hand through his hair. "But this isn't the time to tease me, Keys. I'm close to shaking you so hard your brain knocks against your skull. Maybe that will finally knock some sense into you."
"So nice," she quipped.
He glared at her.
"Have you ever forgiven an enemy, wondered if their actions were an accident, like yours often are?" she asked.
"No."
"And that doesn't strike you as mean?"
"Fine! I'm mean. What does it matter?"
"Self-actualization is just one of
the many services I offer."
"I prefer my women silent."
I'm his woman?
Stupid heart, skipping a beat.
"Maybe a bond with you would prevent another sickness," she said softly. Don't do this. Don't go there.
Too late.
What if the bond helped her?
He stopped pacing to stare at her and curse. "Or maybe it would make you even sicker. A direct line to the demon? No."
Hope, quickly dashed. Was he right? Would she suffer more this time around?
She finished her project and threw it at him. "I know, I know. I'm super talented and beyond thoughtful. You don't know what you'd do without me. You're welcome."
He held the material up to the light. "What is this?"
"Only the best thing ever for a man with your particular ailment. A shirt with a retractable hood. That way you can cover your face during fights and not have to worry about your opponents accidentally brushing against your skin."
"I don't worry about that anyway. If my opponents aren't killed by Disease, they're killed by me."
Yes, she'd seen his dagger work. "Well, I was your opponent and I'm still here."
He offered her a half smile. "You're right."
"Always."
"I don't know what to say."
Had no one given him gifts before? "Say thank you, and put it on."
"Thank you." Motions swift, he removed his shirt and pulled the new one over his head, then anchored the hood in place.
"Well?" she prompted. "What do you think?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, princess, but I kind of feel like Batman."
"Well, are you Batman? Has anyone ever seen the two of you in a room together to prove this--" she waved a hand over him "--isn't your secret identity?"
He lifted the hood to glare at her, and she laughed. A ray of sunlight shot through the window as if purposely seeking her.
His expression softened with an emotion she wasn't sure she'd ever seen from him. Tenderness, perhaps.
"Your eyes are glowing again," he said.
"They are?" The laughter faded into breathless giggles.
"They are. And it's lovely."
Losing her amusement, she flattened her hand on her stomach, which was now roiling as if World War III were taking place inside it. "I...hurt," she gasped out--and gagged. She placed a hand over her mouth, but there was no help for it. She hunched over and vomited.
*
TORIN RACED THROUGH the forest, his boots leaving deep impressions in the dirt. Anyone with a modicum of skill would be able to track him. Find me and die. Even the most powerful person in the world--if that was indeed what Keeley was--fell prey to Disease.