Touch If You Dare

by Stephanie Rowe

  What? She’d just walked on him without a single flirty look? What kind of woman did that?

  Napoleon leaned back in the beanbag chair and helped himself to the box of cigars on the coffee table. “Well, how about that, Prentiss? A woman who doesn’t want to get into your pants or your wallet. I like her.”

  “She’s engaged.” Death scowled. “It’s against my rules for any woman on my staff to be married or have a significant other. I require total loyalty.”

  Napoleon opened the pressure-sealed cigar box. “I think you like her, my boy.”

  “Your opinion doesn’t matter to me.” What was he doing wasting time thinking about a woman anyway? He had a business to run. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. Cameron, we need you to find Gram.” A man without a career with a man without a will to live. He was giving the boy a new career on Saturday, but until then, maybe hunting down Gram could keep him busy. “Help my grandfather find her.”

  “You’ll loan me the Guardian of Love to find Angelica?” Nappy’s face illuminated like the bright sunshine on a Florida day. He dropped the cigars and threw himself at Death. “Oh, Prentiss! You give me hope! I was out of resources!”

  “Don’t touch me.” He sidestepped the hug and Napoleon crashed into the floor-length mirror behind him. The bastard had killed his parents, nearly broken his grandmother’s heart, and left them all. To give him joy… well… it just felt crappy.

  But he was willing to make the sacrifice to save Cameron. And his grandma, of course.

  “Cigars all around! We’re going to find her!” Napoleon shoved three cigars in his mouth and lit them all. “I can’t believe it!” He was radiating, literally glowing. Because of love. Because of the chance to find his woman.

  Death had to respect love like that. Hell, he wasn’t going to be able to hate his grandfather nearly as much, was he? “You see that, Cameron? You going to help him find his true love, or are you going to let it die?”

  There was yearning on his face. Desperation. “I could do that, I think.”

  “Excellent.” Death slammed his hand down on Cam’s shoulder. “This will be good therapy for you before this weekend. Get in touch with your inner love child. Enjoy it.”

  Cameron slammed the lemon torte down and stood up. “Let’s go! I can do this!” He started running for the door.

  “Cameron. The clothes.”

  Cameron stopped and looked down at the rumpled tux, at the food stains on it, the yellowed shirt. “What’s wrong?”

  “No man who works for me dresses like that.” He pointed Cameron to the supply of custom tuxes. “Clean up, my good man. You’ll feel better.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  Cameron shrank a little as he scurried back toward his clothes, but Death didn’t regret his tone. Nothing made a man feel better than a nice tux. And Cam needed all the help he could get.

  Death leaned toward his grandpa and lowered his voice. “Gramps, I’ll let you take Cameron out of here to help you find Angelica, but he’s suicidal so don’t leave him alone for a moment.”

  “Suicidal?” Napoleon glanced over at Cameron, who was now humming “Stop in the Name of Love” while surfing his armoire. “My specialty is killing people, not keeping them alive. What if I screw up and then love ceases to exist on this planet? I don’t want that kind of responsibility.”

  “World peace!” Cam was standing on top of the armoire, sporting a D&G suit, slicked back hair, and polished wing tips. “I will give peace to all.”

  Death clapped his hands. “Excellent.” He nudged Napoleon. “Applaud.”

  Napoleon slapped his hands together a few times. “World peace? What’s he talking about?”

  Cam leapt off his tower, sashayed over, and bowed low before Napoleon. “What do people fear most in life, my king?”

  Napoleon frowned. “Me, of course.”

  “Dying!” Cameron pulled off one of the diamond earrings Death had loaned him and dropped it in the wine. It sank to the bottom. “This is what happens to the soul when it is consumed by fear. It drowns. Fear begets violence, hatred, and other destructive emotions, and the fear of dying is the most destructive emotion of all.”

  “That is true,” Napoleon acknowledged. “People are terrified when they see me coming for them. It’s a lovely ego boost.”

  Cameron dropped a cork into the wine. “See how it bobs? That is the human spirit when it is supported by love. Bouncing through life.” He laid his hands on either side of the glass, and the goblet began to glow hot pink. “If I am the one to take their souls, I could fill them with love at the moment of their demise, transforming death into a glorious experience. Gone will be the fear of dying, leaving people free to enrich the world with love, laughter, and well-being.” He removed his hands and the jewel was now floating on top of the wine beside the cork. “And we have world peace.”

  Death felt glee beginning to bubble up inside him. No matter how many times he heard it, the plan was still masterful. “Think of the cash cow, Gramps. Now people can pay me for early termination of loved ones without guilt. Drunken Uncle Al who has stripped the family coffers with his gambling problem? Now the family can off him and know that Al finally found love. It’s brilliant. It will change the Death business forever. I’m projecting an increase of thirty percent on early terminations by request.”

  “I’ll be incredibly wealthy, magnificently powerful, and highly sought after by people other than weepy teenage girls.” Cameron raised the now-glowing diamond. “And we will have world peace.”

  “I must disagree with your mercenary tactics to earn money.” Napoleon blew a smoke ring. “Love isn’t about killing. Love is about—”

  “About leaving the woman you love for three hundred years? Killing your own daughter in an experiment and not caring?” Death grabbed his grandfather by the shirt, his muscles trembling with the need to shake the bastard. “Is that what love is? Because that’s crap, Gramps, and you know it.” He lowered his voice. “If you take away Cameron’s dreams and render him suicidal before I can give him meaning in life, I will hunt you down and rip your soul out of your body in the most inhumane way possible. I will not allow love to die or be destroyed. Turning him into a murderer is the only way to save him.”

  Napoleon stared at him, a shocked look on his face. “My God, boy,” he whispered. “This has nothing to do with making a profit off the youth, does it? You’re doing it to save love for the world.”

  Death scowled. “It’s always about the money.”

  A slow grin spread across Napoleon’s face, a look of utter pride. “Of course it is, my boy. Of course it is.”

  “You have no right to be proud of me.”

  Napoleon’s grin got bigger. “If you’re making this call with your heart, then maybe you’re right that it’ll work.” He nodded at Cameron, who was now gallivanting about the room. “Okay, I’m in. World peace it is.”

  “You’re in?” Cam skipped across the room and dropped to his knees before Napoleon. “It is a great honor to work with a man who teems of anguished loved as thickly as you do.” He beamed at him. “I treasure your participation in my future.”

  “Let’s go, my boy.” Napoleon stood a little taller and herded the youth toward the door. “Now that you’re going to be an assassin, you need a mentor. As it turns out, I’m available—”

  The door shut behind them, and Death smiled, satisfied that they wouldn’t have to return there. Cameron had a mission.

  Love would never go back to what it was.

  And it was good.

  Chapter 10

  “You know, I’m pretty sure breaking into my boss’s office isn’t one of the top ten ways to assure my promotion.” Reina paced restlessly beside Jarvis in the hall outside Death’s office.

  “It’ll be fine. I’m an unstoppable force.” Jarvis rapped on the door, but he could already sense the lack of emotion in the room. Every living thing gave off heat energy, and Jarvis was the man who cou
ld pick it up.

  He watched Reina as she moved around, and he saw the worry lines in the flawless skin of her forehead. When she’d been in his arms, standing down the monster in the woods, she’d seemed so strong, a tiny bundle of courage and power.

  But right now she looked delicate and breakable. He hadn’t noticed how tiny her wrists were, or how small her hands were. He wasn’t used to thinking of women as vulnerable, but as he watched Reina, he realized that as tough as she was, she needed his protection. He stood taller and set his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve got this under control, and there’s nothing to worry about—”

  She started to protest, and he laid his finger over her lips to quiet her.

  “But if it makes you uncomfortable or nervous to break in,” he continued, “feel free to stay outside while I do my thing. It’ll only take a couple minutes.”

  Reina had gotten them into the Hallows, but he could access Death’s office himself. He understood the importance of her place by Death’s side, and he wasn’t going to jeopardize it, but she didn’t trust him enough to believe it. It bugged him that she couldn’t trust him, but he also respected it. The woman had a goal and she wasn’t going to let him derail it. He suspected that she’d turn him in before letting her sister die, and although that technically would be a violation of the concept of team, he actually liked it. Loyalty was good, and for that, he wasn’t going to push her past what she could deal with, not when he could take care of it for her.

  She set her hands on her hips. “But what if he finds you in there and kills you?” she demanded. “Who will help me then?”

  “First of all, he can’t kill me. Hate’s the only thing that can bring me down.” He pulled out his sword and brandished it to remind her of exactly what he was armed with. “However, it’s good to know you aren’t concerned with my fate for self-serving reasons,” he teased, trying to get her to relax. Did she have no sense of the capable hands she had entrusted herself to?

  “I can’t afford to piss him off right now.” She looked over her shoulder for the hundredth time. “Can’t we pick a less risky choice?”

  “I like this one. It’s going to be fine. Trust me.” Realizing now that the only way to get Reina to relax was to get the whole thing over with, Jarvis reared back to slam his sword though the wood—

  “No!” She caught his arm, and he allowed her to stop him. “He’ll freak if you ruin his doors. Let me do it.” She plunged her hand into a goblet of purple mist. The doors immediately opened.

  He grinned at her. “Nice job.”

  She was too tense to smile back, so he caught her arm and gave her a reassuring squeeze as he guided her inside.

  Jarvis stepped into the office, and he liked the room immediately. The dark wood was fantastic, and the twelve-foot desk with its carved, twelve-inch legs and extensive computer system were as rugged as it could get. Throw in the maroon carpeting and walls, and the framed cigar display above the well-stocked bar… “A man who works in a place like this could easily afford knitting without losing his masculinity.”

  Reina shot him a look. “You have a knitting obsession?”

  “Hell, no. I detest knitting. It was just a random observation.” Jarvis noted the hidden door behind the wet bar, the marble condom dispenser beneath the three framed Picassos, and the keypad on the wall beside the bookcases loaded with Otherworld law books. He planted himself behind the enormous desk and began tapping on the computer. “It’ll take me only a minute.”

  “Do you wish you could knit?”

  “I can knit. I just choose not to.” He bent his head and focused on the computer, not wanting to engage in a dissection of his failings as a knitter.

  “You’re good at hair.”

  “Better at killing,” he muttered, though he was sensing that he’d fallen too far to fully redeem himself. After all, the woman was still sporting evidence of his hair talents.

  But she didn’t press it, and he was fully aware of her watching him restlessly as he worked. He knew the moment her energy finally shifted from the coldness of fear and worry, to the darker, warmer energy of determination and resolution. He knew she came within seventeen inches of him as she walked past him and opened a tall mahogany cabinet. He caught her tangy scent of citrus, mingling with the vanilla coffee beans in the cabinet. He heard her soft sigh as she filled the espresso machine, the clink as she put the mug in place. “That’s my excuse if he finds me in here,” she said. “Making his coffee.”

  He got past the first safeguard on the computer. “Fear is debilitating. You need to ditch it.”

  “You think? Tell me how and I’ll do it.”

  He got past the second level of protection. “Make yourself indispensable to him, so he can’t afford to fire you. Then you can lose the fear that you’re going to sneeze wrong and lose your job.”

  “The possibility of getting fired isn’t what is making me so tense.”

  He got past the third one and shot a curious look at her. She was standing at the coffee cabinet, her arms folded defensively across her chest. The posture made a nice little crevice between her breasts, one that he couldn’t quite help but notice. “No?”

  “Getting fired is just a failure along that road. Failing to save my sister is what really scares me.”

  Ah, yes, he knew that. A big weight for her to carry. No wonder her shoulder looked so small. “It starts in the mind.” The fourth security mark fell. “Believe you’ll succeed, and you will. Piece of cake.”

  She raised her brows skeptically. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” Of course it would be easy. He was an immortal warrior, and he’d already saved her life twice. She made him feel powerful, and that made him more powerful. The damsel would be plucked from the jaws of hell by the fancy immortal warrior, so he could plunge to his hateful death with redemption and salvation. A good ending for everyone. He punched one more key, and then a big heart appeared on the screen with the words, “Welcome, My King.” He grinned. “And we’re in.”

  “You are? Really?” She shut the cabinet. “You must be good.”

  “Yeah, I am.” Damn, he liked that she boosted his ego. Every man needed that from time to time. He whistled cheerfully as he whizzed through the files. Now that he was in, it took him less than five seconds to find the file on his brother. “Got it.”

  Reina braced her hand on the desk and leaned over Jarvis’s shoulder to look at the screen, close enough that he was able to get a full frontal of her scent. He inhaled, inviting the smell of strawberries and sunshine to fill his soul. He could practically feel it cleansing the darkness inside him. “You smell a hell of a lot better than Nigel.”

  She stiffened. “Jarvis—”

  “This is my brother.” He pointed to Cam’s name on the screen, trying to cover up the compliment that he’d obviously screwed up. Didn’t women like for men to notice when they smelled nice? He could have sworn that was one of the early lessons in Intro to Chivalry.

  Not that he was trying to compliment her as a woman. It was just that partnerships worked better if everyone felt like they could kick ass. Reina clearly wasn’t in that mindset, and it was his job to get her there. But apparently boosting up women was more complicated than trying to kill a cockroach on meth. Why hadn’t complimenting her scent made her happy? It was even the truth. She did smell good, so light and sweet, almost as if she were an ethereal fairy, barely flitting past him, in some dress made of scarves so delicate that they would disintegrate if he breathed on her—

  “Cameron Swain? That’s your brother?” Her breasts were brushing against the back of his shoulder, the faintest touch, but he could feel it even through his thick leather jacket. She reached past him and tapped the screen. Her nails were a pale shade of pink nearly the same color as the fuzzy socks he’d been trying to knit before their escape.

  Did she like that color? Almost made him wish he’d finished the socks so he could give them to her. You know, for team bonding.
He gave his buddies a shot in the head with his sword. Reina might like the socks better.

  “It says here that your brother first arrived at the Castle three weeks ago.” She was skimming the page, reading the shorthand more quickly than he would have been able to decipher. And her breasts were still pressed against his back.

  Jarvis tried to concentrate on the screen and not on the tightness of his jeans. “What does the red skull next to his name mean?”

  “It means it was an attempted suicide.”

  Okay, that was a real crotch-loosener. “Cam tried to kill himself?” Shit. What are you doing, Cam?

  “Yes, but it looks like Death intervened before he could succeed.” She smiled reassuringly at Jarvis, showcasing the sweet and gentle nature that didn’t fit a woman who was being forced to manage assassinations for profit. His hand twitched with the need to touch her cheek, to whisk her away from the hell she was facing and protect her soul.

  Which was crap. He was the Guardian of Hate, remember? All he did to other souls was taint them and screw them up. Yeah, Reina had been immune so far, but who knew how long she could resist. He wasn’t her prince. He was her demise.

  “Love is Death’s Achilles’ heel,” she continued. “I caught him once sparing someone who was supposed to die, because the man’s wife was so heartbroken over the loss of her true love. I’m sure he was furious that the Guardian of Love was trying to kill himself.”

  “He’s not the only one.” Jarvis shifted in the chair, jonesing to go find his brother and knock some backbone into him. “If Cam kicks the bucket, it won’t matter what happens to me.” He scanned the screen, beginning to grasp the shorthand. “Says he’s in the dungeon. Can you get us in?”

  “Yes, of course—”

  “Well, let’s go.” Jarvis shoved the chair back and headed for the door.

  But Reina parked herself in the vacated chair and stared at the computer screen with a worried expression.

  Something was wrong.

  Of course there was.

  Because there wasn’t already enough hell to deal with.