Page 70 of Torn

Anger opens the double doors and strides through, pulling it closed again. He vanishes around the corner, likely to retrieve his bow and quiver. No doubt he’ll take a route to the west side via the building roofs.

Malice. That vile sleuth of a god. What is he up to?

Earlier, Merry had fretted about Anger conferring with him regarding the Court’s attack. She’s worried about shrewd and curious Malice playing detective, thus somehow learning of the legend and her involvement with it.

That would require extreme talent even from him, even if he used to be an Archive fan. But again, it’s Malice. Like Wonder, he finds out all kinds of impossible things.

He wouldn’t call out to Anger unless he has information.

Merry bolts upright. Whipping back the quilts, she hustles out of bed and rushes to her wardrobe. She’s in need of the right spy dress, something inconspicuous—and pastel.

19

Anger

He strides past the circulation desk and enters the library. Under garlands of ivy, study groups and scholars hunch over tomes. From within cubicles, pages crinkle, pencils scratch paper, and fingers tap keys. Dust and whispers clot the air, mingling with the aroma of concentration and old hardbacks.

A bitter funk wafts from farther within. Anger shouldn’t be able to sense Malice this way. It must be a coincidence or some random human on the brink of conflict, but he follows the reek’s uneven trail anyway. He reduces his pace, stepping moderately, his fingers hooked around the longbow.

In the mythology section, he burrows down a narrow aisle where plastic clings to books, decimal numbers harnessed across each column.

Turning a corner, he stops by the shelves of Greek lore. “Learning how to lie?”

Malice’s shoulder leans against the stack, his golden head bent as he thumbs through a volume chronicling the demise of Icarus, from what’s visible in the chapter heading. It reminds Anger of Merry’s assessment about Anger, how he fell from Fate’s grace after being blinded, pursuing folly desires beyond reason.

Perhaps he’s facing the same peril for a second time. Perhaps he’s getting too close to a new light, one that will melt his heart and every other iron-forged thing about him.

An indentation appears in Malice’s cheek, quirking his lips. “Call me nostalgic. I find humans’ trippy interpretation of us amusing.” The blade of his index finger flicks a page. “For instance, they insist on ending this tale right when it should begin. They’re so fixated on Icarus’s impulsive flight toward the sun, so fixated on lessons and didactics, that they never stop to ask what happened when he hit the sea? Did he truly die? Or did he end up someplace else?”

“Why not drown and find out?” Anger suggests.

“Maybe,” Malice replies, being serious.

He slaps the book closed with one hand, a thwack echoing. He punctuates the motion with an upward swing of his head, which musses his blond waves. His fried gaze meets Anger’s, those irises like cinders, rings of color that disintegrated long ago.

“Prompt arrival,” Malice congratulates. “You’d better believe I like that.”

“You’d better believe I don’t care,” Anger states.

“Good thinking. Save your energy to care about other things. Speaking of deception porn, you have the afterglow of a god who’s been frisky. Maneuvering Merry into heartbreak position, I see.”

“I’m also getting in position to shoot you.”

“Temper, mate. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting attached to her, and not the kind of attached that merely gets your cock wet.”

Anger isn’tgettingattached. He’s already there.

He cares for her. So much. Too much.

He struggles not to let the past day with Merry surface, because if it does, Malice will notice. He’ll see the residue of Anger’s fondness, the confusion, the frenzy of indecision.

Merry’s legs cradled around his head, the sound of her climax as he’d sampled the sweet root of her, where every nerve ending had collided. Merry in his arms as they slept. Merry in the shower, naked and drenched, her hair soaking his fingers, her body trembling against his.

In the past, he’d only wanted release with other females including Wonder, and that intention had been mutual. But with Merry, he’d wanted to give.

To give and give and give. He’d wanted to coax every shade of rhapsody out of her. He’d wanted her to feel what she’d never felt: wanted.

She deserves much more than him.

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