Page 2 of Touch

The sun sinks behind the treetops. She stores the arrow in her quiver and settles back down, closing her eyes to rest.

A draft caresses her ears and brings with it the sounds of snow crunching beneath a set of boots. Her eyelids flip open, her gaze focusing on the powdered branches above. A distinct scent filters through the forest.

It’s masculine. It’s close.

Love veers upright, crouches, and waits.

A man.

A tall man.

A tall man is stalking through the woods.

Love’s mouth slides into a nefarious grin.Well. What have we here?

As the human treks ahead, the tousled layers of his white hair materialize. The unearthly color is striking on him, and it makes Love reach for her black locks. She pictures how the two of them would look side by side, lightness clashing with darkness.

She detects another scent coming from the mortal—woodsy, robust, crisp. Cedarwood and eucalyptus. What’s more, the emotions audibly stirring in his blood like a blizzard hint at a certain temperament. Determination. Persistence.

The mortal approaches a tree, a shadowed bulk rattling against his back. Too late, Love tenses in realization. The item resting against his spine is a quiver loaded with arrows, and the slender object hooked to his shoulder is a longbow. From this vantage point, the imperfect construction and rustic aesthetic confirms the archery is human. And while his movements are masterful as he nocks the bow, it does not measure up to the skill of a deity.

Love raises a haughty eyebrow and swings her gaze toward his objective—a monstrous pinecone thirty feet away. So he’s not hunting fauna, which makes sense considering few creatures roam in this climate. This spares him from a violent reaction from Love, for she despises mortals who prey on animals for sport.

Despite the weather, the man appears to be training. She leans farther over the branch, but the angle is insufficient for her liking, and his target poses such a meager challenge—rudimentary for a goddess—that Love grows impatient. And impulsive.

It’s a grave offense in The Dark Fates, to thwart a peer’s training and tamper with their archery. But Love favors games, and this inferior deserves a shock, a cruel form of punishment for interrupting her rest. Something to throw off his grip on the bow, fucking up his aim.

Anyway, she’s been toying with humans all day. Why stop now?

Her wings shudder, demanding to break from her flesh. She resists the urge, then snatches her archery and leaps off the branch, dropping thirty feet and landing behind him with a thud that shakes the earth. She’s eager to watch this lowly creature stumble in surprise, his arrow flying off the mark and vanishing in the woods. However, the ambush fails. Because by the time she hits the forest floor, the tip of his arrow is pointing at her heart.

2

She veers backward, her spine hitting the tree.

It cannot be. How can he see her?

The man’s eyes taper, then his mouth slants into a wry grin. “Nice try.”

This human dares to mock a deity? Typically, Love would approve of his snark, for it mirrors her own puckish antics. However, she bristles in offense, raising her own bow at lightning speed, her arrowhead braced inches from his.

The velocity of her motions catches the human off guard. His fingers tighten on the weapon, and his dark eyebrows slam together. With their archery primed toward one another’s hearts, they sidestep each other. Circling slowly, their boots dig a circular trench into the snow.

The man’s fitted wool coat hints at a strong physique, broad muscles filling out the material. Snowflakes dust his eyelashes, which surround irises the color of pewter, and a strong jawline carves a path across his face like a precarious ledge, easy to fall from. Most striking of all, the expression on his face—unsurprised, unafraid, and unrelenting—is staggering to behold.

He’s the most infinite thing she has ever seen. And the most fatal.

Love discerns the tension in his fingers, as well as the defensive gleam in those orbs. Unaccustomed to unearthly beings, he regards her like a wild beast, a threat to his life.

She blows out a slow gust of air. If she doesn’t shoot, he’ll remain a witness to her existence. Yet if she shows mercy, he will take his knowledge of her back to the village. Providing they don’t question his sanity, Love shall have a dangerous problem on her hands.

That mortals cannot see her isn’t the issue. This creature is an exception there. But he’s a critical one, for it takes only a single human with sight to cause mayhem among her kind.

Love narrows her gaze and stretches the bowstring farther back. One, two—

“So.” The human quirks an eyebrow. “We’re doing this, then?” And when she gnashes her teeth, he shrugs. “Okay.”

In unison, they fire. The arrows eject, cutting across the short distance. Love executes a sideways backflip, veering out of the projectile’s path. By the time she lands with another arrow nocked, the mortal is gone.

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