“What’s going on?” Reyes demanded. “You’ve never—” He was in the process of straightening, his gaze sweeping through the room out of habit. A warrior knew to check his surroundings. He spotted the girl and did a double take. “You have a female in here?”
The muscles in his jaw tightened. “It’s not what you think.”
Brown eyes found him and pleaded. “Torin, man. Cameo and Viola are missing. We don’t need a plague on our hands, too.”
“I haven’t touched her, but even if I had, you wouldn’t need to worry. She’s immune.”
“Good, that’s good, but she could still become a carrier, right? Let me escort her out of the fortress before any damage is done. She’s—”
“Fine. She’s fine.” Could she become a carrier? Cronus hadn’t said.
“She’s at risk right—”
“Just trust me, okay?” Torin bent down, grabbed the bags.
“Wait.” Reyes thrust the painting at him, forcing him to take it.
He did. Reluctantly. He didn’t want to know the future. He didn’t want to know if only doom awaited him.
Reyes rubbed two fingers across his stubbled chin, and said, “Danika painted the canvas last night, and I thought you’d find the finished product interesting. You’ll want to take a look. Trust me.” The warrior turned on his booted heel and stomped away. No doubt to inform the rest of the gang what was going on.
Gossips!
Torin shouldered the door closed and faced the girl. Her gaze was latched on the bags.
How long since she’d eaten?
He set the painting down and turned it around, facing the colored side toward the wall. One day, he’d look. But not today. He’d been waiting for this day forever it seemed.
He moved forward, crouched in front of the girl, and set a feast before her. She didn’t react immediately, was too busy taking everything in. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s yours. Whatever you want.”
She reached out with a trembling hand and took one of the sandwiches. Her eyes closed as she bit into the bread, and she chewed slowly, as if relishing the flavors. Then, driven by a need she couldn’t control, she tore into the food with abandon.
“Slow down,” he said. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
She acted as if she hadn’t heard him, devouring every crumb, draining every drop of soda. He could only watch, fascinated. And spectacularly angry. Clearly, she had been starved.
“Where are you staying?” he asked. What he really wanted to know: Who was responsible for this?
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“At least tell me you’re over the age of eighteen.” She looked so young.
“I’m...not, I’m sorry. I’m seventeen.”
Disappointment hit him, and hit him hard.
She flattened her hand over her middle, those ocean blue eyes going wide. A moan of pain escaped her.
He arched a brow. “Too much too fast?”
She leaped to her feet, gasping out, “Help.”
“Bathroom is to the left.”
She raced into the small enclosure, and Torin stayed right on her heels. When she hunched over the toilet, he did something he’d never before done, even though, like now, he always wore gloves. He grabbed her hair and held it back. And just in time as she heaved the contents of her stomach.
When she finished, he released her and stepped back. “Why don’t you take a shower? Everything you need is in this room, even a change of clothes.” He kept a few shirts and sweatpants in here. He kept shirts and sweatpants everywhere, actually, always wanting to be covered, never wanting to risk exposing his skin to another’s touch.
A female had never worn his clothing before, and he kind of liked the idea.
But she’s only seventeen, and you aren’t a cradle robber.
Stupid Cronus, finding him a girl too young to touch.
At least, for now.
She remained slumped on the floor and wouldn’t look up at him.
“You’ll feel better, and then you can try eating again.”
“All right.”
“Do you need my help?”
“No. No,” she reiterated.
Thank the Most High. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted. “When you’re done, we’ll talk, all right?” He shut the door, sealing her inside.
Several minutes passed before he heard the water switch on. While she showered, he paced, waiting. Thinking. Twenty-four hours, she’d said. That’s how long he had with her. That wasn’t long enough.
He wanted to ask when she would turn eighteen. He wanted to drop to his knees and pray it happened during their time together.
Creepy much?
Surely she would not become a carrier of his disease. Cronus wouldn’t have sent him a carrier. The moment she was an adult, Torin could allow himself to touch her. It didn’t have to be sexual, either. They could hold hands.
To experience the warmth of another’s skin, the softness, the sense of connection, the tactile knowledge that he wasn’t alone...
He moaned at the heady thought.
A long while later, she emerged, a cloud of steam following her. Wet, her hair was dark, almost brown. She’d brushed it, but the strands had decided to curl. With the dirt scrubbed off her face, he could see the purity of her skin. Pale, like porcelain, with a slight tracery of veins. Flawless.
She wore his clothing, the material so loose it bagged on her.
“Thank you,” she said in that whispery voice.
“You’re welcome.”
He watched as she shifted uncomfortably, still not looking at him.
“I know I get twenty-four hours with you,” he said, “but I’d rather not take them consecutively. I’d rather spread them out. One hour a day, for twenty-four days. Would you be okay with that?” He could use the time to earn her trust, to get her talking and relaxed. Happy to see him. And maybe, if his luck was holding, she would want to keep seeing him.
Surprised baby blues landed on him. “But I thought...”
“What?”
“Never mind.” She bit her bottom lip, nodded. “Conditions allow for it, so, yes, I would prefer to come an hour a day for twenty-four days.”
His knees almost buckled. “Thank you.”
She nodded, saying, “Until tomorrow.” In a blink, she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JOSEPHINA HURRIEDLY STUFFED her meager possessions in a bag. A wad of cash she’d saved. A change of clothing. Her mother’s locket—one she never wore, too afraid someone would rip it from her neck.
Kane hadn’t left. His wedding was today, and she wasn’t going to stick around to watch. Maybe he’d go through with it. Maybe he wouldn’t. She had a feeling she would wonder for the rest of her life—and cry.
As she tied the bag closed, her stomach clenched. Tears beaded in her eyes, and she sniffed with frustration. Stupid tears! They came so often now. Ever since she’d met Kane.
I shouldn’t have kissed him that last time.
But she’d lost herself in the pleasure and the riotous sensations and the heat and the pressure and the need...everything. The past had fallen away. The desire to die, muted as it had become, had breathed its last. Kane had become her world, and she hadn’t wanted to ever be found.
And he’d wanted to stay with her, too. But...yeah. But: the word that had ruined everything. She’d had a choice. Be with him, risking the wrath of the king, or be without him, protecting him.
Protecting him had seemed more important than her desire—but only by the slightest degree.
One day, Kane might even thank her. Heck, he was already happy without her. He’d left the ball with Synda and though Josephina had looked for him, she hadn’t seen him since. She had no idea what had happened between the pair, but rumors were rampant. Kane had spent the night in her bedroom.