Page 107 of Touch

Georgie will cry and give Love a job. And Love will live.

That’s what will happen.

***

Now she knows what heartbreak feels like.

His fever gets worse. There’s not much time left, but he’s stuck with her. A goddess from an otherworldly place, a sad creature with no clue how to save him.

Even if she brushed her hand across his skin, he would still be dying. She finally understands—a touch isn’t enough to heal him.

He’s fading because of her. And she will miss the chance to answer his question.

Who takes care of you?

Foolish human. For a while,hedid.

But he shouldn’t have.

***

“I love you.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Not like this.”

“Please.”

38

Some trickster toys with her hair. When Love grunts in warning, the sneaky figure moves on to other endeavors, brushing her waist, massaging her arms, and cradling her chin. What creature dares to bother Love while she’s resting?

She had been dreaming. Because her wings had been clipped, she’d fallen from a tree branch and broken her leg, an experience that proved fascinating. Love wants to return to the dream and see how her injury changes the way she walks.

Another caress against her skin. She lifts her hand and curls her knuckles, ready to swipe back. But then she registers a pair of lips grazing her collarbone. Enticed, she sighs and arches her back for more.

Consciousness returns. Love wakes with a delicious tremble.

Andrew lifts his mouth from her clavicles and flashes a smirk. He looks exhausted, but he’s no longer burning up. Blessedly, the surface of his skin feels like hers.

“Selfish Little Myth,” he murmurs.

Love stares, then blinks back tears. “My hand hurts,” she says out of nowhere.

He nods, too riveted by her presence to register what she’d said. That’s fine. He has barely recovered, and she’s being nonsensical, likely the result of weariness and mortality.

“You’re here,” she whispers.

“I’ll always be here,” he swears. “Always.”

With a cry, Love throws herself on top of Andrew, plastering kisses all over his face. Her mate groans and tries to reciprocate, but he’s battle-worn. Repentant, she veers back to study him. His eyes are foggy, yet he’s with her.

He hasn’t faded. Neither of them has.

Love covers her mouth. Wounded noises splinter from her lungs, the sounds mortifying and undignified.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Andrew pins her to his chest, caressing her arms and cheeks. “Don’t do that.”

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