Page 49 of Touch

“I’m aware—”

“Do you have a lover?”

This last question wipes every possible reply from her mouth. Worse, Andrew’s staring with a disturbing expression—hooded eyelids, darkening pupils flashing as if they possessa high voltage. From merely that, she knows to whom he’s referring.

“He’s not my mate,” Love says. “He’s Anger.”

The orange glint from the flames whips across Andrew’s face. “You lied.”

“I did.”

“You’re not alone in this forest.”

“I didn’t lie about that. I lied about there not being others like me. He was passing through, but he resides in another part of the world. Iamalone here.”

“He’s hot.”

Love stalls. Whether or not “hot” has something to do with temperature, mortals use this word to fetishize each other. But whereas distinct sexual orientations are nonexistent among deities—be they male, female, or neither—each human differs in their tastes, some limited and others not. Therefore, the makings of envy crackle through her like static. “So you—”

“I don’t prefer men,” Andrew states. “I just know what hot looks like.”

“Fine. He’s handsome if you favor the grumpy, temperamental type. Is there anything else you wish for me to say?”

From the looks of it, hurricanes and acts of war are cluttering Andrew’s mind. He’s jealous, the realization threatening to intoxicate her.

Fates, Love wants to punch him. She longs to cover that existing bruise with one of her own. Then she wants to kiss it better.

“Anger and I are not lovers,” she declares. “There wouldn’t be a great deal of time for it anyway. Intermissions in The Dark Fates are short.”

Andrew fixates on her. “From where I come, it doesn’t take long to fuck.”

Visions of Love fucking someone other than Anger, someone hard and fast—someone in this room—run rampant through her mind. Her throat feels parched, the muscles working as she swallows. Never mind what the comment does to her anarchistic cunt, a throb surfacing along the tight pleat.

If Andrew senses the mayhem occurring between her thighs, he doesn’t show it. Rather, he cuts through the tension with another sharp set of words.

“Your existence sounds lonely,” he remarks.

She thrusts a lock of hair over her shoulder and notices his eyes following the movement. “Loneliness is a romantic notion conceived by humans. Dark Gods don’t get lonely.”

“Who takes care of you?”

She blinks. “I don’t understand.”

Even when he repeats himself, she’s puzzled. “I’m a goddess,” she replies simply.

Andrew frowns. After a moment’s thought, he asks, “And what do you like to do in your spare time? Besides climbing trees and flashing people.”

“This is a forest in winter. Options are limited.”

He motions at the glass wall overlooking the frozen pond. “Get some ice skates.”

Love contemplates the landscape, unexpected yearning clenching her chest. She has observed humans engaging in such revelry before, and the idea does sound inviting. But then she catches Andrew studying her, smothers whatever maudlin expression is pulling across her face, and curls her nose. “That’s a paltry human pastime.”

“Meaning you don’t know how.”

Her eyebrows snap together. “I’m hardly incompetent.”

“Oh, you’ll never be that,” he intones. “But I could teach you.”

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