Page 40 of Touch

Anger scowls. “Even your dramatics are beginning to sound… abnormal.”

Human. That’s what he was going to say.

“If I’m being dramatic, you’re being careless,” Love rebukes. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

The god’s jaw hardens. “I see pettiness isn’t beneath you.”

“Need I remind you we’re deities? Pettiness comes with the territory.”

“And now you expect me to do your bidding merely because you say these men are temperamental. Everyone in this forsaken world experiences fury. What I do is about more than that.”

Fuck. Fair enough.

Theirs is a mindful job, for which they’ve trained extensively. Simply because archers have the freedom to choose their targets—Andrew being a rare exception—it does not mean they’re allowed to take advantage of that liberty by shooting whomever they wish.

Granted, she has played with humans on plenty of occasions. Yet it’s never without a purpose. Even when it entertains Love to puncture mortals with unrequited passion or sexual gluttony, there’s always a reason, an intended outcome. There is matchmaking, and there is the opposite. One just happens to be more of a guilty pleasure than the other.

In any case, she hadn’t called out to the bane of her existence on purpose. But since he’s here, the subdued side of his magic will resolve this vital matter. Like Envy and Sorrow, he can incite emotion if it’s necessary for human motivation or growth, to help mortals learn a lesson. But like Envy and Sorrow, this rage god most often reduces the emotion, chiefly to calm people down.

“I need help,” Love petitions. “Trust me.”

Anger’s booming laughter shakes the ground. “Trust you.”

Usually, his sarcasm cuts to the quick. Love consults the inner workings of her soulless soul for a droplet of pride,something that signals she’s offended. However, there’s no room for egotism.

“I cannot do this with them in the way. They’re dangerous to my…” She inhales whiffs of grease and engine oil. “My target. They’re detriments to matching him. I don’t know how else to prevent it.”

Yes. That last part is difficult for her to admit.

And fine. There might be room for pride, after all.

Her mind drifts to Andrew. What’s he writing? Eating? Touching?

What is cold to him? What is heat?

Love’s mind stumbles back to the present. Anger contemplates her features, the hoops in his ears flaring with sharp light. “Last time I checked, the nefarious Goddess of Love was a master manipulator. At least when you’re not fetishizing human touch. Jealous rivals and meddling family members are scarcely out of your comfort zone, much less your experience. Matter of fact, you typically find romantic interlopers amusing, if only to add more pawns to the board and take the matchmaking game to the next level.”

“I marvel how you’d know all that, oh mighty Omniscient One.”

“So Wonder disclosed that I’ve been monitoring you now and then.” Anger scoffs while adjusting his fingerless gloves. “I regret nothing. Despite your skills, you’re prone to irrational bouts of sentiment and occasionally require surveillance.”

Goddammit, Anger!

“Very well,” Love grits out. “I need you to spy on me and keep those fiends from thwarting my task, thus endangering our future. So yes. You’ve won. Are you satisfied?”

Her throat feels uncomfortable. Living in the forest is a quiet affair, yet from the moment Andrew first pried a word out of her, everything inside Love has been loud and hysterical.Tantrums have been spewing out of her, into the world where she cannot take them back.

“These circumstances are different,” she beseeches. “You know they are. Our survival has never been at stake. Trained or not, I cannot take the risk here. I need a guarantee. My arrows don’t have the necessary power.”

“Be careful,” Anger cautions through his teeth. “Your voice is approaching high tide. Any more of this, and you’ll be mistaken for Lunacy.”

He’s not helping that tide. She’s dealing with two incessant human oafs, and Anger fancies this a good time to reward her with mockery. Besides, there is no deity called Lunacy. It’s an offensive term, and it’s not an emotion.

The rage god sighs. “The Stars have given consent for our rulers to intervene if your efforts fail. If you wish to protect your mortal, you’ll shoot him before you’re on the brink of collapse and The Court is obliged to maim him.”

Andrew is nothermortal. He shall never be hers.

A whisper slips from her mouth. “Anger. Please.”

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