Touch If You Dare

by Stephanie Rowe

  “Hate you? I told you, I’m not a hater. Not my thing.” She picked up a handful of brown dirt and let it trail through her fingers. “It’s clean again.” She looked behind him, and he knew what she would see. “The tree is healthy. Green leaves.” She frowned at him, not with fear, but with the studious inspection of someone trying to figure him out.

  He realized it was the first time she’d ever looked him without even a hint of wariness. Which was ironic given that he’d just lost his shit.

  “Tell me what happened.” She fingered a lock of her hair that was dangling loose, then she pulled out her ponytail holder and shook out her hair.

  He forgot for a second what he was going to say, fascinated by the way the afternoon sun lit up the strands. “Your highlights are gold with a hint of copper. Reminds me of a fawn that used to live near our house, when it would dance in the field with its mother.”

  She went still, her fingers tangled in her hair. “What?”

  “I had to learn colors in Art Appreciation,” he muttered. What kind of sappy shit was that? What kind of warrior talked about fawns gallivanting?

  Man up, Jarvis. He noticed his sword was lying on the ground several feet away. Hadn’t even realized he’d dropped it? No wonder he was going the artsy-fartsy tenderfoot route. He picked it up and fisted it, focused on his badass weapon instead of highlights and hair texture.

  She touched the blackened burn marks on his wrist. “It hurts you when you harvest hate like that, doesn’t it?”

  He watched the diseased spots fade beneath her touch. “I don’t understand how you ease it.”

  “The hate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it gone?”

  “No.” He held out his palm to show her. There were so many stars now, they were too clustered to count. The tangle was about the size of a quarter. “Hate is taking over the host. It happens.” Maybe it wasn’t her fault it was happening so fast. How could she push him toward hate and pull him back at the same time? Maybe it was just his own desperate ride that was hauling his ass toward death and destruction, and she was slowing it down.

  She touched the stars, and his hand tingled from her touch. “What do you mean?”

  He closed his fist. “The Guardian lasts only for so long before hate destroys him. Most Guardians explode after about fifty years.”

  “Explode?” Wariness was back in her face, and he didn’t like it. He wanted that trust again. It had felt good, dammit.

  “How long has it been for you?” she asked.

  “One hundred and fifty-five years.”

  Her skin paled. “So, you’re going to die soon?”

  “Explode. Yeah.”

  “Dammit!” Reina immediately pulled her hand back.

  The moment she broke contact, it was like a dark cloud descended on him, and he recognized it as the way he always felt. He’d never noticed that he lived with that pall shrouding his existence, not until this moment, when it came back after having given him the first respite of his life.

  The miasma of doom felt suffocating, and he wanted to leap to his feet and slash it with his sword until it dissolved. He wanted that lightness back that Reina had given him. He began to reach for her, then he saw her stricken expression, and he forced his hand to drop to his side.

  “What is with me attracting people who are going to die? I mean, come on! Are you serious?” She stood up, grabbed her hair, and twisted it into a slightly frantic bun. “That seals it. After I save my sister, I’m going to do some serious work on my karma to figure out what’s wrong with me.”

  He rolled to his feet and slid his sword into his scabbard, grinding his teeth with the effort of keeping himself from seeking her comfort and her touch. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m the one with the problem.”

  “No, it’s me. I bring people who die into my life.” She released the bun, and it immediately fell down. “Dammit.” She started twisting it again. “I’m sorry, Jarvis, but I can’t give you my heart anymore.”

  “Your heart?” His hand shot to the handle of his sword. “I don’t want your heart!” Mother of God! Since when had hearts been a part of this deal? He was just talking about a feel-good kiss!

  “Oh, come on.” She gave her hair an extra twist, wrapped her elastic around it, and then released it. “You’re such a guy! Don’t freak out. I didn’t mean it that way.” Her hair began to slide free again. “I’m not in love with you, but I’m the kind of person who opens my heart to people. Anyone who comes into my life. But I have to take it back with you. I can’t do this again. I really can’t.” She touched his arm as her hair tumbled back down. “Please, don’t take it personally, but I have to set limits, or I’m going to break. I don’t have time to break right now, you know? I have too much to do.”

  He went still under her touch, afraid to dislodge her now that she’d finally reached out and he’d gotten what he wanted. The woman didn’t love him, so that was cool. All was well. They understood each other, and it was copacetic. So, it was time to beef up his partner’s emotional well-being. “Nothing’s going to break you.”

  “Hah! I’m a woman. We fake it all the time. Didn’t you know that?” She twisted her hair up again, but when she released it, it all fell free again. “God! I can’t even get my hair right! How am I supposed to save my sister, and now you, if I can’t even get my hair out of my face?”

  “I don’t need to be saved. Just my brother.” He noticed that her hands were shaking violently. No wonder she couldn’t do her hair. His trip AWOL might not have given her a penchant for destruction, but he’d shaken her up. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “I’ll do your hair. Turn around.”

  She pushed his hand away, distracted and tense. “What? I don’t need you to do my hair—”

  “Yes, you do. A woman’s self-esteem is often linked to how she feels about her hair, and I can help with that.” He grasped her by the shoulders and turned her so her back was facing him, putting her in proper hair-styling position. “I aced Advanced Hair Styling and became a part-time instructor for the new kids on the block.”

  She looked back over her shoulder at him, clearly too surprised to argue. “You’re a hair stylist?”

  “No, I’m not a stylist,” he snorted. “I can do hair. It’s not the same thing.”

  As he started to reach for her hair, he had a fleeting thought of what the other guys would say if they saw him doing hair. There would be extensive ridicule and substantial derision. He paused. But if it helped with his mission, that was still manly, right? War was always manly, and it testosteronized any wimpy actions like hair styling or emotional analysis.

  So there. He rubbed his hands and looked around for a proper set-up. No chairs, but the nearby stump would put her at just about the right angle for him to maximize his talents. He gestured to the wood, as he took her elbow and guided her across the mossy ground. “Sit.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move, confusion marring her lovely features. Then she sat, putting herself at his mercy.

  He couldn’t quiet his anticipation as he took his position behind the glorious auburn tresses cascading over her shoulders. Right now, this moment, was almost worth the torture he’d gone through at Angelica’s hands.

  And when he sank his hands into her magnificent tresses and felt the silken strands glide through his fingers, he knew this moment hadn’t made the torture almost worth it.

  It had definitely been worth it.

  ***

  Reina was still trembling when Jarvis scooped her hair off the nape of her neck. His touch was gentle and tender, almost a caress. His fingers were warm, like he was burning with the fire of a man who could bring down the world, but his touch was so light and delicate. An oxymoron. A decadent delight.

  He ran his fingers through her hair, combing the strands by hand. A light tug as he snagged a tangle, then soothing gentleness when he carefully unwove it. His touch was of infinite patience, of the most delica
te precision, of luxurious pampering.

  She closed her eyes as a shudder rippled over her. A tremor of release, a relaxing of tension and fear, a gift of soothing.

  Then she noticed the crumbled remains of the incinerated leaves blowing across the ground, the carnage from Jarvis’s demonstration. Oh, right. He was going to die. How could she forget that?

  She hugged herself, feeling a chill that wasn’t in the air. “So, what exactly happens when you do the fireworks imitation?” Maybe she’d misunderstood. Maybe exploding wasn’t as bad as she thought.

  “The hate spills out all over everything. Kind of like a nuclear plant blowing up, from what I hear.” His fingers stroked over the sides of her head, smoothing the bumps, untangling the ends with his fingers. So gently. So tender.

  She wanted to turn around, throw herself into his arms, and let him consume her. Touch her as if she were a princess, protect her with his ferocity, and to clear all the hell out of her life. Excitement pulsed through her at the idea, and desire rushed to her lower body at the thought of losing herself in him.

  But she couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do that to herself. He was dying.

  The insects were beginning to return to the land that had been DOA just a moment ago. She watched a yellow jacket circle cautiously over a flower, as if uncertain whether it would fry his little legs if he landed on it. “So, the nuclear explosion of hate would be bad.” She unclenched her hands that were tucked in her lap, then asked the questions she always asked, the one she’d had yet to make happen in her own life. “Is there any way to save you? And the world?”

  “Me, no.”

  Of course not. That would be too easy to have there actually be a way to save him. Evading Death couldn’t be easy just once, could it? “What about the world?”

  “The world, yes, if my energy can be transmuted.” He shifted to her other side, lightly tugging through the snarls. “Love and hate are both emotions of hot passion, which means they generate heat energy. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, but it can be changed. You’ve heard of the fine line between love and hate, right? I’m the bad twin.”

  “That’s not a very positive and self-affirming way to regard yourself.” She turned to look at him. His eyes were dark blue, and he had an aura of contentment she hadn’t sensed about him before. He almost looked human… Except, of course, for the dark streaks on his wrists disappearing under the sleeve of his leather jacket, and the black tangle on his palm.

  His gaze went to her mouth.

  She forgot what she was going to say. She suddenly could think only of the way he’d kissed her. Of that dark fury he’d begun with, of the aching need that had filled him at the end.

  He lightly tugged her hair to force her to turn forward again. “If I’m near the Guardian of Love when I snap, he can harness the hate and hold it in abeyance until a new Guardian is tapped. If the Guardian of Love isn’t there when I go, that’s when things get ugly.”

  His fingers caught another tangle, and he deftly cleared it. How many women’s heads had he fondled to become so good at it? Oh… yeah… that wasn’t a helpful thought. No need to start getting possessive over a man who was soon going to explode. “The Guardian of Love is your brother? That’s who you need to get back from Death?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. Nigel wasn’t kidding when he told me I needed to help you. Death will never want to release the Guardian of Love. He has a serious crush on Cupid.” Yeesh. She couldn’t afford to cross Death like that, at least not until her sister was saved. “How long until you—” She waved her hand, not quite wanting to put the ugly truth into words. “You know. Do your thing? A week or so?” That was all she needed. Just a week.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never exploded before.”

  Of course not. That would be too convenient if he had. She toed the dirt with her foot. “And I suppose everyone else who has exploded before you isn’t willing to talk about it?”

  He began to twist her hair, his hands smoothing her hair so effortlessly. “No. Weirdly enough, they don’t seem to stick around.”

  “Decidedly thoughtless of them.” The question of the day: How did a warrior manage to have velvet hands? It had always seemed a little oxymoronic to see burly Blaine sitting in his man-cave-chair with his cross-stitching. She’d never quite gotten why it made Trinity want to race across the room and leap into his lap.

  But she understood now. There was something appealing about a really big, really tough, battle-scarred Guardian of Hate doing something so intimate and delicate. Her girly parts just wanted to sigh and fall into his lap.

  “So, explain your situation.” Jarvis’s voice was deep, rough, so different from the way he twisted his fingers so delicately through her tangled strands.

  And there went the snuggly feeling. “My sister is dying from a deedub bite.” Tension shot through the left side of her neck. Her muscle cramped up from her ear right down to her shoulder.

  He began to knead the knotted muscle. “Deedubs attacks are rare. How did she get bitten?”

  “She’s a Sweet. All my sisters and my mom are.” She winced as he dug into the knot. “Sweets have a special affinity for all things chocolate related.” Every superstar pastry chef, the founder of Hershey, the entire Swiss chocolate industry… all of them were Sweets. Great heritage if you want a biz in the dessert industry. Not so great if a deedub happened to get within sniffing distance, what with their chocolate addiction and the twisted mind that a thousand years in hell will do to a brain.

  “I know what a Sweet is. Angelica tested a few deedubs on me once, but they wouldn’t attack because I’m not a Sweet.” He leaned forward and nuzzled her neck.

  She froze at the feel of his warm breath on her skin. “What are you doing?”

  “You don’t smell like chocolate.”

  “I’m not a Sweet. I have a different father. My sisters’ dad died before I was born, and my mom had a one-night stand with a chef from Hershey’s. I was the result. Before the attack, I hated the fact that I wasn’t a Sweet. My family were all such geniuses when it came to creating magic with chocolate, and I couldn’t even tell the difference between Swiss and Belgian chocolate until I was six.” Her mind flashed back to that night so many years ago. “But in the end, it saved my life. I was the only one he didn’t want.”

  “Who didn’t?”

  “The deedub.” And suddenly she was back at that moment. “We were sitting around the table, one of those rare nights when all seven of my sisters were actually home. There was a knock at the door.” God, she still remembered the creak of the floorboard when her mom had opened it. “His eyes were glowing gold, his hair that bright red.” Her mom had shouted a warning, that awful, awful warning that they’d never thought they’d hear for real. “Everyone ran for the trap door, the one that led to the safe room.”

  His hands stilled on her shoulders. “They didn’t make it?”

  “My mom… her scream when it bit her. I’d never heard such a sound of agony and disbelief. My sisters… me… we all froze… watching the blood run from her neck.”

  Jarvis began to stroke her hair.

  She leaned into his touch, trying to use his caress to keep her from falling into the abyss of her memories. “And then he tossed aside his Yankees hat and howled. The sound was horrific. It broke us all out of stupor and we ran. My sisters for the trap door, me for the unicorn horn above the mantel. We kept it there in case of an attack, because they were supposed to be the most effective, you know?”

  Jarvis continued to slide his hands through her hair. “No unicorn horn is going to stop a deedub in a chocolate frenzy. You needed someone like me.”

  “Yeah, well, we didn’t have you.” How fast she’d run for the fireplace. “By the time I grabbed it, he’d bitten everyone except Natalie. I plunged it right into his chest. That was my job. To save them. We all knew it wouldn’t go after me.”

  “Didn’t work, did it?” His voice was quiet, almost regretful. />
  “No. He just grabbed me, sniffed me, and then threw me aside. I was still in the air when he attacked Natalie. I blacked out when I hit the wall, and when I woke up, he was gone, and everyone was down.” Her whole family. Strewn over the floor like discarded Tootsie Roll wrappers. “And in the twenty years since, they’ve all died. One by one.” Her neck muscle twitched again.

  “Except Natalie.” He pressed his thumb into her neck. “And you have a plan to save her?”

  “Yes.” She balled her hands into fists, refusing to think of the past. Only of the future. How this time was going to be different. This strong, powerful warrior was on her side now. “I’m going to switch her soul into the body of our friend Gina, but I have to become Reaper to be able to do it. But to get promoted I need to harvest Augustus’s soul. You saw how that went. I can’t even get the powder to work anymore—”

  “Ease down, sweetheart.” He laid his palms against her temples and pressed lightly. His tone was calm, and his utter lack of concern made some of her tension ease. “We’ll figure out Augustus. I’m not worried.”

  This was a man who had survived hell for a hundred and fifty years, and he’d revived from death a thousand times, or more. He knew how to win. And he was on her team now. She took a breath. “Okay.”

  “That’s better.” He cupped the curve of her shoulder, and warmth began to penetrate through her skin, loosening the knot. The heat from his hands made her feel like she was lying on a beach, letting the hot sun heal her soul. The heat of hate, she knew now. Didn’t stop it from feeling wonderful.

  “And my investors?” she asked. “And the target?”

  “Taken care of with one visit after sundown tonight. Easy.” He snapped his fingers. “Do you have an elastic?”

  She handed him the pale pink band she’d selected this morning. She’d selected pink as a reminder that she was harvesting souls in the name of love, hoping that would help her get over her issues. Obviously, it had been a brilliant tactic.