The Darkest Craving lotu-11 Read online

  “Yes. I’m a disaster,” he said hollowly. “I know.”

  She peered at him for a long while, and whatever she saw in his expression calmed her down. Her shoulders stooped. “No, that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  She shook her head. “They’re trouble. Another threat against you.”

  “And you.” He stepped closer to her. She stepped back, widening the distance. He took another step, and another, and she did the same, until she had nowhere else to go. The wall behind her stopped her retreat.

  He leaned down and rubbed his nose against hers. Contact with her was as necessary as breathing.

  She closed her eyes, as if pained. “How do you do this to me, Kane?” she whispered.

  “Do what?”

  “Make me want you, despite everything.”

  He heard only two words—want you. He moved swiftly, fitting his mouth over hers. Though she remained closed to him, he could already taste her, and desire rushed through him, drowning him.

  Mine, he thought.

  Never, Disaster spat.

  “Let me in,” Kane said, ignoring the beast. This close, he could see each individual lash framing her crystalline eyes, and they were long and gorgeous, badges of innocence blended with wanton need.

  “No, I—”

  This time, when he dove in for a taste, her mouth was already open. He took full advantage, thrusting his tongue against hers.

  Moaning, she gave up the pretense of resistance. Her arms wrapped around him as she kissed him back with the fervency of a starving woman.

  He tried to slow things down, but she began to writhe against him, lost to the sensations, all inhibitions forgotten. He nipped at her mouth, and she nipped at his, and that was it. They became animals.

  He growled, and she growled, and they ate at each other. He kneaded her breast with one hand, his grip strong, too strong, but just like before, she didn’t seem to mind. He caged her wrists with the other and locked her arms above her head.

  Her back arched, pressing her body more firmly against his.

  “More?”

  “Please,” she rasped.

  “I like that word on your lips.” Blood aflame, he lifted the hem of her dress. His knuckles brushed against the warm, tender skin on her inner thigh and he shuddered with the intensity of the pleasure. Then he hefted her up, anchored her, forcing her to wrap her legs around him, like she’d done inside the dress shop, finding a measure of release and deeper need with his erection pressed against her.

  His fingers curled around her backside, past the edge of her panties, seeking more intimate contact.

  “Ow!” she said, suddenly fighting to get away from him.

  Concern instantly replaced desire as he set her on her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  She patted at the sleeve of her dress. Flames from one of the torches had showered over her.

  Scowling, he backed away from her. As he tried to tamp down his raging need, he made sure to keep a safe distance. Disaster would flip his lid if Kane continued what he’d started.

  It wouldn’t always be this way, he reminded himself.

  She sighed, gave him a pained look. “Just proves we shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “We’re meant for each other, and you know it.”

  She raised her arm with the charred sleeve. “Kane, did you see what just—”

  “Did you think about me today?” he interjected, needing her to affirm that there were feelings there, no matter what she was saying. “Did you wish I was with you?”

  She lowered her arm. “More times than I liked.”

  “I thought about you, too,” he said.

  “Why?” she whispered, her head down but her gaze remaining on him. “Why are we thinking about each other? It would be so much better for both of us if we walked away from each other.”

  “I’ve tried. I can’t.” His gaze was piercing. “I could marry you,” he said softly.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, looking as if she could burst into tears. Then, she closed the distance, expression more determined with every step. Before he could move away, she rested her hands on his shoulders. He stiffened, afraid for her, for what Disaster would do, but he didn’t dissuade her. He yearned so badly for some kind of contact with her, even this.

  “I like your kisses,” she said. “I do. So much.”

  “Like is too weak a word for how I feel about yours.”

  “And I like when you touch me. And I like you, snarly beast that you can sometimes be.” Her chin trembled. “That’s why it pains me to say...no. No, I...don’t want to marry you.”

  He reared back as if she’d nailed him with a hammer. “Because the demon burned you?” he croaked. “I won’t always have him. I plan to kill him.”

  “I could lie and tell you that’s why. I could tell you I want someone else and you’re in the way. But the truth is, I don’t think you can help me. Not without getting hurt.”

  He felt as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. Like his friends, she doubted him. Had no faith in his abilities.

  Disaster laughed with undiluted glee, at last appeased.

  “I want you to leave this realm,” she said with a tremor. “Tonight. Now.”

  Kane was a man well acquainted with pain. At least, he’d thought so. Now, he learned the error of his ways. This was true pain. Rejection from the female he craved.

  He’d gotten good at building walls inside himself, and used the skill now. Expression even, giving nothing away, he said, “Very well,” with all the calm of a man discussing the weather. “I won’t bother you any longer.” He turned from her and stalked out of the enclosure.

  As he stormed down the hall, he ran into William.

  “The problem?” William asked after taking one look at him.

  “Doesn’t concern you,” he said. “Just keep your boys away from Tink. I won’t be around to protect her.”

  “Hell-ooo. We’ve talked about this. She’s yours and I won’t let them—”

  “She’s not mine,” he interjected harshly. “And keep your boys away from me, too. They come near me, and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  He stalked away from William, grabbed the first drink he found, then another and another, and nearly drowned himself. He danced with Synda, twirling her across the floor. He danced with her friends. They put their hands all over him and he had to swallow back vomit time and time again. Then he danced with Synda again while the king nodded his approval.

  “I have to have you, Lord Kane,” Synda whispered, warm breath fanning against his ear. “Let me. Please. You won’t regret it. I’ll do anything you ask.”

  He opened his mouth to refuse her, locked gazes with Tink, who was watching him with guarded eyes as she cleaned a table, and said, “Yeah, let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Realm of Blood and Shadows

  TORIN SAT AT his desk, fingers pounding at the computer keyboard with so much force he cracked the outer shell. Again. With a curse, he tossed the thing aside and grabbed a new one from his box of spare parts.

  There were disturbances all over the world. People were fighting, rioting and looting. For no reason! Cameo and Viola were still missing, and he’d failed to find a single trail to lead him to their whereabouts. They were out there, possibly hurt.

  He had no idea what kind of defensive skills Viola possessed. Cameo, on the other hand, was a warrior to her soul and could take care of herself. He knew that. Had seen her fight. Girl had a wicked habit of slitting throats. But she wasn’t infallible.

  An unfamiliar sound caught his attention and he spun in his chair, cocking the gun he always kept in his lap.

  A young girl stood there, holding her palms up, all innocence. “Please,” she said in a strained whisper. Color drained from her cheeks.

  “Who are you and how did you get in here?” he demanded, even as he looked her over.

  She had dirty h
air, at one time it might have been blond, the strands tangled and knotted and hanging limply to her elbows. A stained and ripped nightgown bagged over her too-thin body, the material falling all the way to the ground.

  “You are Torin, correct?”

  “I’m Death, if you don’t answer my questions.”

  “I’m not willing to share my name, and I flashed.” Still she whispered. Why?

  “Well, then, I’ll call you Crazy, because only a crazy person would come here without an invite.”

  She nodded, no inflection of emotion darkening her features. “You may call me whatever you wish.”

  Very accommodating, wasn’t she? “Why are you here, female?”

  She ignored him, saying, “Please, may I lower my hands?”

  “No.”

  “My arms are shaking, and I can’t...I’m not strong enough...” Her arms lowered slowly, as if heavy weights had been tied to her wrists and pulled. “I’m sorry. Please don’t shoot me. That’s not the way I want to die.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t like blood in my room.” He lowered the gun as well, placing it on his thigh, making sure to keep the barrel aimed at her stomach. “I don’t like it—but I’ll deal with it. This is the last time I’m going to ask. Why are you here?”

  Nervous, she twisted the fabric of her gown. “Cronus came to me several weeks ago and told me I was to grant you twenty-four hours of my time.”

  Still. Whispering. He didn’t like it. He was reminded of all the nights he’d spent with his friends, on the road, when they’d found women and brought them back to the tent—but he never had. The couples had tried to be quiet, but they’d always failed.

  I want you, the females had whispered. I need you.

  This girl—

  Her claim finally registered. Cronus was the former king of the Titans. Sienna, Paris’s girl, had killed him, and taken over the Titan realm of the skies. But just before his death, Cronus had made a bargain with Torin. In exchange for guarding the All-key—a spiritual relic capable of freeing the possessor from any lock—Torin would be granted an entire day with a woman he would be able to touch without causing a plague.

  Despite the king’s death, the bargain must still stand.

  And that might explain why the Paring Rod hadn’t sucked him up. Because of the All-key, it couldn’t hold him. A startling realization—one that suddenly paled in comparison to the knowledge that he could...touch her...

  The moisture in his mouth dried as he narrowed his study of her, taking in smaller details. Despite her disheveled state, she was pretty in a subtle, understated way. Her eyes were large and brown...and haunted. There were secrets inside her. Dark secrets. Her nose was small and rounded cutely at the end. Her upper lip was plumper than her bottom lip, and shaped into a heart.

  Her hands were scabbed over and streaked with dirt. There was a bruise on the side of her neck—and it wasn’t a hickey. It was too long, too thin, and extended under the fabric of her gown.

  She stood utterly still, quiet, allowing him to scrutinize her at his leisure. Her gaze remained averted, glued to the side of the wall. It had taken a warrior’s courage to come, and yet she couldn’t face him head-on while he looked his fill?

  Touch her, he thought again.

  “Who are you?” Torin asked more gently. “Please. I have to know.”

  “I told you. I won’t offer my name.”

  Why? What reason could she have to deny him? “Will you tell me why you’re whispering?” he asked—in a whisper.

  Bright red spots grew on her cheeks. “This is my voice. I can’t talk with any other or any louder.”

  Why? And how many more times would he be forced to ask that question?

  “May I...sit?” she asked.

  His eyes roved over the bedroom so few people had ever entered. His dirty clothes were on the floor. His bed was unmade. Empty beer bottles littered the nightstand and desk.

  He hopped to his feet and raced around the spacious enclosure, gathering clothes, tossing out bottles. He also made the bed.

  “Yes,” he said. “Sit. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  Hesitant, she eased onto the floor instead of any of the chairs or the bed. “I... Yes,” she replied. “Please.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to leave her, so, he did something he’d never done before. He withdrew his cell and phoned Reyes, the keeper of Pain, saying, “Bring me a couple of sandwiches. And chips. And brownies. And sodas. And anything else we have. All right?”

  “I’m glad you called,” the warrior said. “Danika has—”

  “And hurry.” He hung up before Reyes could reply.

  “You have servants?” the girl asked, finally meeting his gaze.

  His hands began to sweat. Ugh. He couldn’t touch her with sweaty hands. “I have friends.” He motioned to the bed, his arm trembling. “Wouldn’t you rather sit somewhere more comfortable?”

  “Here’s fine. I’m so dirty. And I know I must smell, and—”

  “Honey, you’re good just the way you are.”

  She peered down at her hands, once again wringing the fabric of her gown. “You are Disease, I’m told.”

  “I’m not Disease. I just host him.” And he wanted the demon out. So much so, he’d even spent a little time with the angels. Or rather, the Sent Ones led by the cold-as-ice Zacharel. He’d learned that demons could enter a body, create a stronghold and produce a terrible toxin that destroyed the possessor from the inside out. Fear strengthened the toxin—and thereby the demon—and joy weakened it.

  But he’d had no reason to entertain joy. Until now.

  “Why are you in this condition?” he asked gently.

  “I’d...rather not discuss that, either.”

  So many secrets. “How did Cronus get you to agree to this?”

  “I’d rather not—”

  “Never mind. I get it.” No personal information was to be shared. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t going to push. She could flash away, and he would be unable to chase her down. “You know my name, and you know about the demon, but do you know anything else about me?”

  She thought for a moment, shook her head.

  “Well, I hope you’ve figured out by now that I’m not going to hurt you.” Despite his threats.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “That’s the food.” Torin rushed to open up and came face-to-face with a scowling Reyes. The warrior was tall and dark and intense, and holding a sack of goodies in one hand and a small painting in the other. “Thanks, man. I owe you. Just leave everything on the floor.”

  “What’s going on?” Reyes demanded. “You’ve never—” He was in the process of straightening, his gaze sweeping through the room out of habit. A warrior knew to check his surroundings. He spotted the girl and did a double take. “You have a female in here?”

  The muscles in his jaw tightened. “It’s not what you think.”

  Brown eyes found him and pleaded. “Torin, man. Cameo and Viola are missing. We don’t need a plague on our hands, too.”

  “I haven’t touched her, but even if I had, you wouldn’t need to worry. She’s immune.”

  “Good, that’s good, but she could still become a carrier, right? Let me escort her out of the fortress before any damage is done. She’s—”

  “Fine. She’s fine.” Could she become a carrier? Cronus hadn’t said.

  “She’s at risk right—”

  “Just trust me, okay?” Torin bent down, grabbed the bags.

  “Wait.” Reyes thrust the painting at him, forcing him to take it.

  He did. Reluctantly. He didn’t want to know the future. He didn’t want to know if only doom awaited him.

  Reyes rubbed two fingers across his stubbled chin, and said, “Danika painted the canvas last night, and I thought you’d find the finished product interesting. You’ll want to take a look. Trust me.” The warrior turned on his booted heel and stomped away. No doubt to inform the rest of the gang what was going on.
/>   Gossips!

  Torin shouldered the door closed and faced the girl. Her gaze was latched on the bags.

  How long since she’d eaten?

  He set the painting down and turned it around, facing the colored side toward the wall. One day, he’d look. But not today. He’d been waiting for this day forever it seemed.

  He moved forward, crouched in front of the girl, and set a feast before her. She didn’t react immediately, was too busy taking everything in. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s yours. Whatever you want.”

  She reached out with a trembling hand and took one of the sandwiches. Her eyes closed as she bit into the bread, and she chewed slowly, as if relishing the flavors. Then, driven by a need she couldn’t control, she tore into the food with abandon.

  “Slow down,” he said. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

  She acted as if she hadn’t heard him, devouring every crumb, draining every drop of soda. He could only watch, fascinated. And spectacularly angry. Clearly, she had been starved.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked. What he really wanted to know: Who was responsible for this?

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “At least tell me you’re over the age of eighteen.” She looked so young.

  “I’m...not, I’m sorry. I’m seventeen.”

  Disappointment hit him, and hit him hard.

  She flattened her hand over her middle, those ocean blue eyes going wide. A moan of pain escaped her.

  He arched a brow. “Too much too fast?”

  She leaped to her feet, gasping out, “Help.”

  “Bathroom is to the left.”

  She raced into the small enclosure, and Torin stayed right on her heels. When she hunched over the toilet, he did something he’d never before done, even though, like now, he always wore gloves. He grabbed her hair and held it back. And just in time as she heaved the contents of her stomach.

  When she finished, he released her and stepped back. “Why don’t you take a shower? Everything you need is in this room, even a change of clothes.” He kept a few shirts and sweatpants in here. He kept shirts and sweatpants everywhere, actually, always wanting to be covered, never wanting to risk exposing his skin to another’s touch.