Page 63 of Touch

Realization dawns, and Andrew sighs. “Look, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do this.”

The comment pricks at Love. He thinks Holly’s inviting him out of pity for the scene he just caused.

Holly realizes it too and backpedals. “No. No, I… I honestly don’t get why people were staring at you. I talk to myself all the time,” she offers lamely. “I’m inviting you because you’re a neighbor, and I think we need a truce. Besides, Griffin’s been wonderful lately. Maybe being around each other more often will smooth things over.”

Andrew is momentarily startled. To Love’s relief and misery, his words take on a thoughtful lilt. “I’ll… try to make it.”

Holly grins. “Perfect.”

Andrew’s mouth tips upward into a polite smile, which doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he glances toward the spot where Love had been standing. He seeks her out, that fractured expression deepening when she doesn’t reappear.

22

That night, Love weaves through the mingling bodies at Holly’s townhouse, making sure to avoid Andrew but keeping close enough to do her job. Her heart twists watching him progress from room to room and get ambushed every few steps by a reveler eager to introduce themself, soak up his proximity, and probe him with personal questions.

Why do they rarely see him in the village? What really happened with Griffin in the park? Is Andrew here with anyone?

Music thumps from the speakers. Mouths sip from wine glasses. Voices chat about nonsense.

As Andrew weaves toward the back porch, many look at him with inquisitiveness and a thirst for gossip. Even more salivate over his chiseled profile, their eyes following, admiring. News of the battle with Griffin should repel them, but such a spectacle only adds to Andrew’s appeal.

Possessiveness itches across Love’s fingers. To snap Andrew’s budding fan club out of their trance, she slaps the bottoms of their cups, popping them one-by-one into the air and splattering their clothes.

Amid their baffled shrieks, Andrew disappears outside, forgotten at last. She lets him go and trails the sound of Griffin and Holly upstairs. Her bedroom door is closed, but they don’t notice the door swinging wider as Love steps inside. For they’re busy.

Against the closet door, Holly giggles while her hulking lover multitasks, nibbling her neck and stroking locks of her hair. He used to try too hard and too much, but he’s different now. He’s confident and carefree. Yet he could have learned on his own how to be a proper lover. With time, and without the orchestration of an arrow, he might have curbed whatever demons linger inside him, making room for Holly’s own flaws to peek through, for both to learn from one another. An imperfect but authentic courtship, belonging to them and no one else.

Love thinks of Andrew alone outside, going home to a relative who only appreciates him as a result of manipulation. Her selfless mortal wants someone to want him as he truly is. From the bottom of her black soul, Love wishes he could have that. Yet at least when it’s over, when he’s bound to Holly, he won’t know the difference.

Swallowing her remorse, Love chooses a lust arrow and shoots Griffin, giving his passion a temporary jolt, sufficient to make him overeager. Not forceful but just enough to get Holly mad. His frame shudders from the impact, and then he swoops in, urging her backward onto the mattress, covering her body with his weight.

Holly squeaks before he licks his way into her mouth. She clings to his arms and wrenches him back. “Slow down.”

“I want you so much,” he pants, pawing at her breasts.

“Wait,” she says, more insistent. “Wait a minute.”

In the doorway, Love squeezes her eyes shut. This male was vile to Andrew, and he’d once been the jealous type, but he treasures his mate. With or without Anger’s arrow, Griffin would not pressure Holly like this.

And Andrew would never want Love to exploit them. He’d detest her for it.

Love doesn’t wish to control them either. Griffin won’t get violent, because the shot hadn’t been that strong, because shewould never give anyone a shot that strong. And even if some malevolent twist of nature intervenes, if things unexpectedly get out of hand, she will stop it by whatever means necessary, even if she must crack his skull open.

It’s no consolation, for she has made these humans into puppets. She’s disgusting, a tyrant, and a plague on this world.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Griffin buries his head in Holly’s shoulder. His mouth worships her, clamping onto her flesh like a vacuum, and her hair gets tangled up in the roughness of his hands.

Holly squirms. “You’re too heavy.”

“You feel so good.”

“This is crazy,” she protests. “There are people here.”

“No one’s going to walk in.”

“Fucking hell, Griffin!”

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