nodded. “The mate of a Lord of the Underworld.”
“And the Titans haven’t refused to serve her?”
“No. Why would they?”
Awe in her eyes. Envy. “Because...just because!”
There was a story there. Hell, there were probably a lot of stories, and he would have liked to hear each one. “What of your people?” he asked. “Any others out there?”
“As far as I know, I’m the only pure breed left, the remaining Curators having mated with fallen angels, thinking it would make them stronger. But all they managed to do was dilute their bloodline and die out.”
An honest answer, though it was offered with zero hint about her emotions. Did she miss the others? Mourn their loss?
And another question: Why did he wish he could hug her?
Dude. Hugging could lead to kissing and kissing to sex. Wasn’t like it was rocket science.
He wouldn’t be the oldest virgin in history anymore. Finally he would know the feel of a woman’s inner walls. The hot clench. The wet clasp he doubted his own hand had ever quite been able to replicate.
He gripped the tree root at his side in a bid to hold himself away from her—can’t do it, can’t take her. Even though he still tingled where she’d touched him...
Would giving in to his attraction to Keeley really be so terrible? Especially now? The worst of the damage was already done. She would die anyway, and—
Stop!
He couldn’t risk giving her two diseases at once. There’d be zero chance of survival. If there was any chance at all.
“Why didn’t you mate with a fallen angel?” he asked.
“I already had a fiancé, and by the time we split, the truth had been realized. The fallen angels were poison to the Curators, spreading their curse of darkness. Oh, and I was locked away.”
Something hot and dark shot through him. “You were engaged?”
That’s what I focus on?
“Yes,” she said. “Why?” She threw a twig at him. “Is it some big surprise that someone once found me so appealing he wanted to keep me forever?”
“Sheath the claws, wildcat. I meant no offense.” He couldn’t call that hot and dark thing burning inside him jealousy. There was no reason for him to be jealous. He’d call it...indigestion. Because that’s what it was.
What kind of man had won her heart? The kind who had fawned over her, surely. As soft and delicate as she appeared, Torin could well imagine her as some whipped sap’s favorite sexual trinket, to be taken out and played with whenever the mood struck. And it had probably struck often.
His indigestion grew teeth and gnawed at his organs. “Where’s the guy now?”
“Don’t know. Probably somewhere he can behead puppies and gut kittens without anyone complaining.”
The 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,
