Page 94 of Touch

He shakes his head. “I only want you to survive, but if it happens this way, if we let this go without a fight, we’ll never know what could have been possible. And you’ll never find peace. The guilt you feel about your powers will slowly eat you alive. You’ll suffer.”

The words hurt so much, her tongue feels as if it’s bleeding. “I’ll suffer more if you die. Even if I don’t live for long afterward, the agony will be worse.”

Andrew digs his fingers into her hair. “Promise me this is the only way for you to come out unscathed, and I’ll fling myself in your arrow’s path. Match me or kill me. You decide, but it won’t have anything to do with saving either realm. Everything I do will only ever be about you.”

Love’s breastbone cracks. Curse him for making this harder. No matter that he has always been difficult, the temptation to yield is palpable.

Her mortal, who feels guilty he didn’t accompany his mother to the grave so she wouldn’t be alone in the afterlife, and who spends his free time helping an older woman maintain her bookshop. Her target, who lets his stepfather rage and use him as an emotional dartboard so the man can expel his grief. Her enemy, who had offered his coat to a deity who hadn’t needed it, who had aimed a deadly weapon at his chest.

Her Andrew, who worries more about Love’s fate than his own.

Her Andrew, who shall voluntarily forsake his free will, his being, and his authentic future for the sake of an immortal race that would sooner massacre him.

What her kind do isn’t malevolent, but it isn’t noble either. Humans are sacred to them only as so-called inferiors, as people to govern instead of to serve.

Nevertheless, this is the only way everyone will survive.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to look away. “I vow this is the path we’re meant to choose.”

“Then know this. No amount of magic can erase what you mean to me.” Andrew’s bloodshot eyes fasten to hers. “I’ll never want Holly the way I want you.”

Seething, he grabs her mouth with his own. Love cries into his kiss, their tongues clinging while a forsaken reply cuts through her mind.

Yes. You will.

***

It’s the twelfth day. The Court is expecting a resolution by tomorrow.

The wind builds in momentum, picking up speed in prelude to the impending blizzard Love had predicted yesterday. Meanwhile, Andrew receives a text from Georgie. His stepfather has contacted the matriarch; he’s panicking about Andrew’s whereabouts and is headed to the bookshop.

Andrew takes care to pack the winter posy of needle branches and coiling twigs into his quiver, and Love accompanies him out of the forest. Her archery is shockingly heavy on her shoulder, forcing her to hunch forward, the aches revealing bones and joints she hadn’t known she possessed. Moreover, the air is making her skin feel strange, uncomfortable, fatigued.

She sinks further into her coat. So this is what it’s like to wither.

“You’re trembling,” Andrew frets.

No. I’m dying. For a few more minutes.

“I’m tired. For a human, your body has impressive stamina. You wore me out after the sixth climax,” she pretends to flirt.

This is not a lie. Yet he doesn’t grin. “Give me your stuff.”

“I’m fine. I can manage.”

With an indignant grunt, Andrew grabs her weapons, intending to add them to the brunt of his own archery. But then he frowns, unprepared for the weight of iron. Adjusting himself to bear both sets, Andrew glimpses her quiver. “Why did you bring your bow?”

“I’m linked to my archery,” she maintains, feigning nonchalance. “I always carry it with me.” Then she quirks a brow. “Why did you bring yours? You could have left it with me in the cottage. With the tempest coming, it’s an extra burden.”

Andrew tightens one hand around the weapons and seizes her fingers with the other. “You’re being threatened.”

Nothing more. Love had told him The Fate Court will punish her if she defies celestial orders. While she isn’t planning to disregard her mission, Andrew has taken the warning to heart, having concluded she’s being monitored. The slightest degree of hostility is enough for him to guard her.

The notion grabs her heart and twists it in a vise grip.

As for the presence of her weapons, this shouldn’t strike him when it never has before. Yet considering what she has recently admitted, his suspicion makes sense. In that vein, it’s a miracle Andrew doesn’t press Love further.

He trusts me.

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