The Darkest Touch. Gena Showalter
me again? Centuries of work, finally finished? She lumbered to her feet, expecting a sudden surge of power to hit her any...second....but there was nothing.
Miss it so much.
She also expected an overwhelming sense of triumph but...she didn’t feel that, either. Resolve filled her up, leaving no room for anything else. There was so much more for her to do. Kill Torin. Kill Cronus. Kill Hades.
Mourn Mari.
She stuffed the hunk of skin she’d just removed into the pocket of what remained of her gown. My trophy. She would have to be careful not to touch it since the brimstone would weaken her upon contact. But she also couldn’t discard it and allow just anyone to find it and perhaps use it against her.
She walked to the bars of her cell, each step more confident than the last, her mind clearer. She attempted to push out the barest stream of power—the metal widened instantly.
I really am me again. Giddy anticipation replaced her resolve, and without pausing in her steps, she picked up Wilson.
“If you had stayed with me,” she told him, “I would have protected you. Now? Forget about it.” With a squeeze, she turned him to dust and focused on Mari’s cell. Another stream of power caused those bars to widen, as well.
The enclosure was the same size as Keeley’s, the walls smoother and unmarked by blood. In the center was a coffin-sized mound of dirt.
Anger shot through her—and as it did, bolts of lightning exploded from her pores, crackling all around her. Yes! This! A second later, she was yanked off her feet by a gust of wind, her skin sizzling deliciously and her blood fizzing as she hovered in the air.
The entire dungeon began to shake, dust and debris raining from the ceiling. All too soon, the havoc was too much for the aged walls to bear. They crumbled, one by one, the bars of the door bending, then crumpling, the ceiling cracking, then falling.
Not a single piece of rock or concrete dared brush against her.
Calm...steady...don’t want to destroy the entire realm.
Not yet anyway.
Deep breath in...out.... The shaking slowly faded, then stopped, the dust gradually clearing. Keeley floated down, down, the dungeon nothing but a heap around her. She landed on a boulder, wind whipping at her hair.
Closing her eyes, she basked in her first taste of freedom in forever. The sun peeked out from behind a wall of clouds, stroking her face despite the winter chill. Glorious.
The snap of a twig echoed, and she stiffened, scanning the forest surrounding her. Blackened trees, scorched ground. Wafts of smoke and ash.
Welcome to the Realm of Wailing Tears, where happiness comes to die.
When it rained without the aid of Keeley’s emotions, it rained, waterlogging the entire realm. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d nearly drowned inside her cell.
Once the home of Cronus, currently the home of the Unspoken Ones, a race of creatures so bloodthirsty and vile hardly anyone dared speak their name.
And yet the Unspoken Ones fear speaking my name.
She grinned, and knew anyone looking on would think she was pure evil. They would be correct.
Poor Torin.
She’d made sure he would do anything to remain behind, if only to end her to save his friends from her crazy. Which meant he was out there somewhere, waiting.
Anticipation...
Can’t get excited. This was business.
Bloody, bloody business.
An idea formed. Soon, Hades would send his minions after her. Every few weeks, they arrived to check on her and ensure she remained a prisoner. Watching them munch on Torin could be fun. He would experience writhing agony, and they would sicken. Then she could remove each of their heads.
The ideal end to so many of her enemies. It’s decided.
Okay. There was no help for it. I’m excited.
DUDE. THE RED QUEEN,Torin thought, incredulous. No wonder the immortals in the skies had merely whispered about her. Insane? Cruel? Hell, yeah. They’d probably assumed saying her name aloud would have a Beetlejuice effect and actually summon her.
Now, at least, he understood the title. With such power, she could kill entire armies in a snap and then some. And this is the female who threatened my friends. My only family.
Seriously. Duuude.
The demon shuddered.
Hidden by gnarled tree limbs that were covered with thorns and brittle leaves that snapped at him with actual teeth, Torin watched Keeley from a distance, like a creeper, completely dumbfounded by her. She’d stood in place as hunks of the dungeon rained around her, and not a single injury had she sustained. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Her arm was a wreck. But still. She’d brought the prison tumbling down, just as she’d claimed, and she hadn’t seemed to lift a finger to do it.
What else could she do?
Something stirred within him. The same fierceness he used to feel on the battlefield. The very sensation he’d once lived for—and had never thought to have again.
He smiled.
Idiot! This was one battle he may not be able to win.
Could anyone? Had he not freed the other prisoners on his way out, every single one of them would have died today. Would she have cared?
Definitely not.
Speaking of the prisoners...one of the males had been familiar to him. Emaciated, but familiar, rousing a sense of anger inside him. Torin had been unable to place him—or later, to find him.
Not that it mattered anymore. He had a bigger threat on his plate. In more ways than one.
He’d lost track of the number of times he’d almost gone back for Keeley. Not to hurt her or yell at her as he should have wanted, but simply to see her again, to tease her. To beg for her forgiveness. To prove she wasn’t as heart-stoppingly gorgeous as he remembered. To end the stupid tugging, an invisible cord constantly urging him closer. To just...be with her.
How stupid was that?
I have to kill her.
A pang of remorse ripped through his chest as he pictured the powerful, courageous beauty dead in a grave.
Damn it! He shouldn’t feel conflicted about her fate. And he shouldn’t have to remind himself of her threat against his family.
Time for a little negative reinforcement. Torin circled his fingers around the thick tree branch at his side, granting the foliage permission to feast on him.
Razor-sharp teeth grazed his skin, and blood dripped from his hand. The leaves erupted into a feeding frenzy like piranha, leaving nothing but bone. Hurt like hell as he pulled his arm away. He didn’t have to worry about the plant spreading the illness—it would die within the hour.
As he healed, he studied Keeley more intently. Two things became uncomfortably clear. The negative reinforcement hadn’t helped, the desire to slay her remaining curiously absent. And a desire to throw her down in a test of strength grew. A test of strength—that was all.
Her eyes were wide and sensuously uptilted as if forever beckoning the men around her to bed. Strip me, they said. Do anything you want to me.
Though her hair was caked with dirt and tangled, the strands glinted brilliant cobalt-blue in