of blackened trees that covered the ground of the long snaking cavern. He flexed his fingers. Curled them. Stretched them. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since they had entered this strange dead forest. Wasn’t sure how long it had been since Calindria had revealed the real reason she feared him being close to her. Wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had felt as if his entire world had been tilted on its head.
He flexed his fingers. Curl. Stretch.
When that arch of rock had broken beneath Calindria’s slender weight, when she had plummeted into the ravine, when he had sensed her desperate desire to live, it had been like a knife in his chest.
Curl. Stretch.
When she had touched his hand.
He lifted it before him and stared at it. Lost. Disturbed. Half-angry, half-calm. Two voices warred within him, silencing his tongue, and all he could do was trudge behind her as he did battle with himself.
She looked back at him, her sapphire gaze searing him in a way that rankled, had him wanting to snap at her, just as he had wanted to lash out at her when she had touched him.
Touched him.
He gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body tensing as acid poured through his veins, the angry part of himself swift to seize the opportunity to vanquish the part of him that whispered her touch hadn’t been so bad. She hadn’t tried to enslave him. She hadn’t tried to seduce him. It had been a simple brush of her fingers over his.
He almost growled.
There had been nothing simple about it. Simple implied it had been harmless. It hadn’t been. That brief touch of her fingers against his had thrown him into a tailspin, had ignited this battle within him, tearing him between snarling and lashing out at her, hurting her before she could hurt him, and falling to his knees before her, desperate to feel the gentle softness and warmth of her skin against his again.
How long had it been since he’d had contact with another? Since he’d had contact with a female?
Not blows rendered in battle, meant to split flesh and break bone, or playful jabs that were for show.
Real physical contact.
Even his mother, Nyx, had resorted to only touching his wings to calm him when he was agitated, knew better than to risk skin contact between them when his mood was dark.
Thanatos shut down his line of thought, tried to purge it from his mind and focus back on his task, but his head remained foggy, his entire world off-balance.
All because of an innocent brush of her hand against his.
When she looked at him this time, he couldn’t stop himself from lifting his head and pinning her with a black look, a glare meant to scare her away, as it did everyone else in this world. Only rather than averting her gaze, she scowled right back at him, a mulish twist to her lips.
She huffed and muttered, “I am not sure I will ever understand you.”
Good. He shrugged as she turned away from him, her chin tipping up, her strides lengthening. He sensed her anger and refused to feel bad about it. It didn’t stop that wretched guilt from forming in his gut, didn’t stop him from averting his eyes as shame swept through him.
He flexed his fingers. Curled them. Stretched them. Still couldn’t shake the electric tingles that had shot up his arm when she had touched him. Her fingers had been gentle. Soft. Warm. So warm. The caress had been brief, but she had left a mark on him. One that seemed indelible. No matter what he did, he couldn’t erase it.
They walked in silence for what had to be another two miles before her pace finally slowed again. She stumbled on a root and muttered a ripe curse, one that was very unladylike.
Thanatos picked his way through the black leafless trees to her. “You need to rest.”
She huffed at that, tossed daggers at him and continued walking. He thought she would remain silent, but as they reached an area where the trees began to thin, she looked back at him. The darkness that had been etched on her features for the last—gods knew how long—was gone, replaced with something far more unsettling.
A softness that had a thought rising unbidden within him.
She had grown into a real beauty.
Thanatos didn’t just shut down that thought. He killed it and buried it in the black dirt behind him.
Unfortunately, it didn’t stop