Page 68 of Touch

And waiting. And waiting.

By now, the soiree has likely ended. For all Love knows, Andrew is pinning Holly to a hard surface and thrusting his cock inside her. His mouth might be wrapped around the female’s nipple, sucking and nipping. He might be using that snarky,human tongue to flick sinful words in her ear, all to enhance the sex.

Or he might whisper ardent phrases while brushing her skin and coaxing out her sighs. He might be making love with the sort of devoted passion granted to his kind. The type of reverent sensuality Love has imagined a thousand times.

Andrew is capable of both. Decadence and worship. She knows this without having experienced it, apart from his pen tracing her pussy.

“What are you doing here?” a voice clips.

From the shadows, Andrew approaches like a myth of his own making. He’s agile, carrying himself with his own supernatural grace, and the tousled layers of his hair gleam like ice. With those pewter irises, prominent muscles, and a shoulder bag trapped in his fist—which must contain the notebook—he resembles an ethereal wordsmith. A god of fiction.

Love’s heart vaults into her throat. She rises while fidgeting with the silk camisole, which claims his attention for an instant, his jaw flexing.

To her misery, his gray coat is split open. Yet it had been closed at the soiree.

Andrew’s gaze skewers from the camisole to Love’s face, then slackens in concern, her depleted state evident to him. “Love,” he rasps, stepping toward her, vengeance dominating his voice. “What’s happened? Who did this—”

“I’m fine,” she insists. “This is no one’s doing but mine. I’ve not been resting.”

His gaze tightens. Although he knows deities cannot fall ill, it’s clear how abysmal she looks. On that front, Andrew is deciding whether to believe her excuse, wrap his arms around her, or exact revenge on whomever he thinks has been victimizing Love.

Yearning squeezes her ribcage. How badly she longs to accept his embrace, let him bring her into his home where he will care for her, keeping her safe until the end of her days.

If she were human. If she were his.

This man will come when his lover calls, when they need him, when they have nothing left inside them, when they’re but a husk of themself. He’ll tend to his partner without fail, sit beside them through sleepless nights, and whisper until they’re comforted. This man will do anything for his mate.

Little does this mortal know he’s also the reason she’s fading. Little does he know how thoroughly he’s killing her, how true of an enemy he is.

Before Andrew can press the subject, Love deflects. “Where were you?”

“Fuck where I was,” he growls. “Tell me what the hell is going on. Now.”

“No one is impairing me!” she shouts. “No one but you!”

Andrew freezes, his eyes flashing with comprehension. Very well. Not only are twisted truths often more effective than lies, but this man has a way of seeing through her like glass. Partial honesty shall go farther with him, lest this mortal should refuse to drop the matter.

He releases a heavy breath. “I would never hurt you. I’d drive a stake through my chest first.” Gently, he shakes his head. “Why did you vanish from the street?”

Love reasons, “Holly was there.”

“I didn’t want to be with Holly!”

“I evanesced but didn’t go far. In fact, I overheard her invitation.” Love sidles nearer. “Must have been a pleasant revel.”

Yet Andrew interprets the bluff for what it really is. “You were there.” Muttering an oath, he rakes a hand throughhis hair. “Christ. You watched our conversation. You saw what happened between us.”

Us. They’re anusnow.

Fighting to keep her voice even, Love points out, “You weren’t doing much talking.”

At her frayed words, pain stretches his features taut. “Love…”

Another fragile noise catches in her throat. Her name has never sounded so alive. She doesn’t have the will to conceal what this means to her. Or maybe part of her wants him to see her destroyed.

Refusing to succumb to the impulse, she levels her trembling chin. “Was it nice?”

“Fucking hell.” Andrew strides forward. “You’re not playing fair.”

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