Touch (Dark Gods: Selfish Myths #1)

7

Dawn arrives. Love is back on her branch, yet she cannot find a comfortable position. The bark is damp from the snow, and the sleeve cuffs of Andrew’s coat emit the scent of his skin.

Hoping to make herself useful, Love rifles through Andrew’s book. The story is weighty in her hands, split open like a pair of thighs, the font small despite describing such a tremendous moment. The heroine has just realized the hero she loves is also her enemy. Love rages at this shocking literary twist. A few days ago, she would have wondered why this presents an issue. Now her powers get a sensory kick, and she feels the rawness of the characters’ pain.

The apocalypse starts in her toes, travels into her womb, and wages emotional war across her face. She feels the ugliness of her wrinkled chin.

“Why do you insist on camping in trees instead of reigning supreme from your actual home?” a male voice drawls.

Hell on earth. Love slams the book closed. Naturally they’d show up now.

She glances to where Envy has manifested out of thin air, his massive body draped across a parallel bough. Clad in a modern pin-striped suit, he rests his back against the trunk, one leg bent and his wrist balanced roguishly on his knee. Along with light brown skin, irises like melted caramel, and a mahogany mane, his broad features are as timeless as a tree, as though he requires little beyond sunlight and water to thrive.

Love doesn’t answer his question. Instead, she reacquaints herself with the sight of the other deities surrounding her.

Wonder swings upside down, her legs hooked over a branch and a downpour of chestnut curls falling around her face. The female wears an off-the-shoulder blouse tucked into a pair of pants, a corsage of blossoms encases one wrist, and her exquisite figure is curvy, further enhancing her beauty.

Slumped on the branch above her is Sorrow, who scrutinizes Love through narrowed eyes. She’s outfitted in a black skirt shredded into different lengths, a pair of slouched boots, and a stitching needle pinned to her vest collar like a badge. Locks of charcoal grey hair match the goddess’s lips, and starlit flecks—akin to the ones floating in Love’s pupils—glint beneath Sorrow’s lower lashes.

In the tree to Love’s left, standing upright with one elbow bracketing the trunk, is Anger. He’s as tall as a fortress. Olive complexion, a jaw carved from granite, fingerless gloves stretching high over a pair of flaming tattooed forearms, and hoops flashing in his ears beneath a storm of shoulder-length, dark brown hair.

There’s more. Immortal weapons are intricate treasures, designed by their owners, and forged from whatever source they choose. Envy carries arrows made of glass. Sorrow, ice. Wonder, quartz. Whereas Anger’s choice vexes Love without end. The component of their weapons is the same—iron—as though the emotions are synonymous.

The five of them make up The Dark Fates’ most elite crew of archers. Such a pity this fact has never inspired a bond between them.

“Enlighten us,” Envy invites in a satin voice. “When did you decide to shack up with the squirrels? Fates forbid, but you have a fetching glass cottage a stone’s throw from here.” He flicks his digits at the forest in disapproval. “Yet you prefer this.”

“I like being in the air more than on the ground,” Love clips.

If there’s anything her people understand, it’s the desire to remain above mortals, in a literal as well as figurative manner. In this respect, the male nods, not dwelling on the matter for long. Instead, the paperback snares his attention, stenciled artwork of two clasping, naked bodies ornamenting the outer edges.

“What have we here?” he purrs.

Love clutches the book to her stomach. “Nothing.”

“That nothing looks like fun.”

“It was until you interfered. I was getting to the good part.”

“The sex you’ve never had?”

Showing embarrassment will accomplish nothing but entice the cocksucker’s perverted sense of humor. Nonetheless, Love is tempted to smash her knuckles into his pretty face. Forget his looks. That Envy’s rakish behavior is considered sexy in their world is a testimony to the flaws of every god and goddess who lusts after him.

Anger cuts a glare toward Envy. “Leave her alone,” he growls, which stuns everyone. As an afterthought, the rage god adds, “We’re wasting time.”

Grimness eclipses sarcasm. Her peers are notorious for flouting Love’s impish ways and judging her misdeeds—except Wonder, who’s not entirely innocent herself. Regardless, they haven’t gathered here to ridicule Love and watch her squirm. A year has passed since they last saw one another, back in The Dark Fates during a brief period of rest. It’s far too early for a reunion, so there is only one explanation why her crew would abandon their assigned turfs.

Envy wags his finger at Love. “Bad goddess.”

Love scowls but plays innocent. “What have I done now?”

“Take your pick,” Wonder hints as if this is a round of trivia.

But because Anger can be counted upon to get to the point, he snarls, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Beating the shit out of those humans? Dealing with mortal rage is my job.”

Envy inflates his chest, which doubles his size in the process. “And it’s my turn to suggest we cut the little goddess some slack. This mountain hamlet isn’t your sector, that inconvenient human may be killing her, and yet she’s bewitched. According to what we’ve been told, Love’s no longer acting like a puritan. In fact, I’d bet my immaculate wardrobe she’s been a walking puddle since they met.”

“Ugh.” Sorrow grimaces. “For fuck’s sake, spare us the anatomical details. No one’s in the mood.”

“Can’t help it, my nymph,” Envy defends, then regards Love. “It’s obvious. The signs are all over you.”

“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” Love spits out.

“As if I’ve ever done that. So wound up, you don’t know what to do with yourself. It’s unfathomable how you can be in charge of matchmaking and not have been railed by now. Look at you. You’re ripe as a cherry and still a virgin.”

Her blood percolates. Although she cannot feel heat, her body produces it as though intent on giving her feelings away. She fights the urge to cover her cheeks and fantasizes about ways to make Envy’s anguish a reality. Eternal impotency comes to mind.

Anger gnashes his molars. This is hardly the first time Envy has baited Love, but it’s the first time the rage god reacts on her behalf. For some reason, Anger looks ready to shove his peer through a meat grinder.

Still, Envy’s remark has been an ongoing point of contention since the beginning. The Fates have tolerated Love’s chaste status for eons, though patience from their dimension will wane eventually. She’s a love goddess, and sooner rather than later, she must act like one.

Love has been instructed on the mechanics of intimacy, yet she has not experienced it with a partner, refusing the offers she’s received to spread her legs, to ride and be ridden. Her excuses are plentiful, if not impressive in everyone’s eyes. When her kind fuck, it’s meaningless especially when compared to the way humans let their hands roam tenderly.

“I could help you with your quandary,” Envy coos.

A familiar tune from him. In his inflated head, it makes the utmost sense to think with his cock in times of crisis.

Love’s not a fraction of the prude he assumes her to be. She has cravings like the rest of them. While it was fine in her early years, being dormant has caused a sexual frenzy on her body lately, the past few centuries testing her hunger for a swift, rough pounding. Apart from Envy, she has come close to indulging with certain deities who’ve expressed their wishes to bed her.

Very close. Many times.

She might have given in by now, if not for one fact: She’s Love. Either it’s a miracle, or it’s her nature to hold out for a profound mating. In essence, a pipe dream.

Until then, her pussy and clit are taken care of, courtesy of Love’s fingers. And yes, she enjoys making herself climax. Consistently.

“Let it go,” Anger growls at Envy, then slices his graphite eyes to Love. “The Court knows the human can see you.”

“Impressive considering they weren’t here to witness a thing.” Love crosses her arms. “Might they teach me that trick?”

“The point is, they do know. They’ve sent us here to tighten the reins.”

“And?”

“And the mortal’s cataclysmic!” he thunders.

Envy thrusts out his wrist. “Please, don’t. Hyperbole is tacky.”

“Your powers are fading around him,” Anger hisses, the muscled forearm he braces on the trunk inflating with tension. “The effects will only get worse. Need I say, it’s a preview of what will happen to the rest of us?”

“Certainly not,” Love retorts.

“Good. At last, a sound answer. So long as you’re strong enough, your weapon is strong enough. Strike him and his intended down, bring them together, and everything will return to normal.” As if trying to set this point in stone, Anger’s timbre lowers a dozen octaves. “He’ll forget you.”

Except it’s a waste of time rehashing what every Dark God knows. To their knowledge, this situation hasn’t arisen before, but the wisdom of how to deal with it is another thing to thank The Stars for. Archers’ targets become so consumed by an arrow’s magic, they can’t conceive of any other enchantments. On that score, Andrew won’t be able to see deities anymore and will forget that anything beyond humanity exists. Once matched, his memory of Love will fade.

Beyond that, Love experiences a spike of dread. Since it’s an archer’s job to keep watch on the mortal world, The Court couldn’t have known about the human unless they’d been in the neighborhood. Or unless a member of this crew had been spying.

“And if I don’t listen?” Love counters, which is the most visceral, most illogical question she’s ever uttered.

Envy smirks. “You must truly want to mount that human’s cock.”

“Enough!” Anger seethes.

Love chokes the paperback in her lap. If she denies the accusation, Envy won’t believe her. And truly, she cannot blame him. Finally someone lights the flame The Fate Court has been hoping to see in their goddess, to make her the wet and wanting deity she’s supposed to be, and that person happens to be a human. One whose heart she must steer toward someone else.

“You’re jealous,” Envy sings, getting off on the baritone sound of his own voice.

“That’s a lie!” Love and Anger snap in unison, then glance at one another, unsure which of them Envy had been taunting.

Deities can tap into human emotions, but not the emotions of one another. While this should protect Love from Envy’s prying gaze, he dissects her countenance effortlessly, his focus verifying that he’d been addressing her rather than Anger.

“What happens if I disobey the order?” Love repeats before she can stop herself.

Anger recovers from his outburst. “You tread a thin line voicing that query.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” Sorrow insists.

“The Court will get rid of the man themselves,” Envy answers. “They hardly need you for that. However, your arrows are a forgiving solution. Do the math.”

“You want math? In The Court’s eyes, eradicating the man is faster and safer,” Love testifies. “Matchmaking will take longer. I’ll be dying the whole time, as will you once the ailment takes hold. Why take that risk for the sake of civility and mercy?”

“The Stars advised them to,” Envy states.

She should have known. The Stars are mysterious in their almighty ways, but they reign over The Dark Fates. Tasking Love to match Andrew, to erase his memory of her, is the kind choice. It’s the route she’d want to take. She just hadn’t expected the celestials to be on her side.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Sorrow cautions, gathering snow and forming it into a ball. “The Stars want you to try a love match first; they suggest death only as an alternative. The Court will eviscerate the man if our lives are on the brink—if you don’t do as you’re told.” She bobs the snowball in her cupped palm. “Think you can handle that?”

“Andrew’s death is a last resort,” Love translates.

“If you say no, or if you fuck this up, The Court won’t be merciful. They’ll teach you a lesson, and they’ll make certain we help. How lucky for us, history gets to repeat itself.”

Wonder winces. Scars cover the tops of her hands, star-dusted incisions resembling the wildflowers she loves to pick. At once, a memory resurfaces, bringing with it grim silence. Since every crew is responsible for its members, Love is certain none of them will forget that day, what they were forced to do to Wonder because of her crime.

Envy tosses the goddess a rueful grin that says, No hard feelings . All the same, the watered-down humor fails to reach his eyes.

Returning his attention to Love, he advises, “Do what you must, but be careful with that human. You’re subject to his influence. That said, none of us expected you to be a cheap date who favors the mediocre type. Anger got a peek at him and said he’s rather ordinary in appearance.”

Despicable knaves. And not the least bit accurate.

Love glowers at Anger.

Anger glowers at Envy.

Envy doesn’t care. “Your inferior mortal is—”

One of her arrows is out and pointing at his nuts before he finishes, the shaft suffocating in her grasp. “Do not call him that.”

Above the star-flecked lower lashes, Sorrow’s irises are the palest tint of silver, like the color of tears. “You sound like a human. It’s pathetic, not to mention depressing.”

Love pushes that disturbing allegation from her mind. “None of you believe I have the grit for this match.”

Envy quirks an arrogant brow at the arrowhead targeting his cock, then inclines his head. “If you wish to see it that way.”

“I do see it that way.”

“You questioned the consequences twice within minutes of us arriving,” Anger bites out.

Love veers the arrow toward him. “Do not accuse me of being a coward. I wasn’t serious.”

“Like your sentimental tendencies aren’t serious? Or your obsession with human touch?”

“Trifling details. I cannot touch the man, so he’s hardly a temptation. He’s useless to me.”

“He’s fatal to us, yet you failed to reveal his existence to The Court!” Anger shouts. “One might think you were protecting this mortal!”

“I needed to gather information about him first. I wasn’t about to dash off to The Dark Fates without knowing a confounded thing!”

“Yes. I sold The Court on that theory, thank you but no fucking thank you!”

Love launches to her feet. They bolt toward each other like a pair of cannonballs.

With a sigh, Envy lashes out both arms. His muscles ram into Love’s stomach and Anger’s torso, the impact halting them. “Settle down, beauties. As much as I’d love to watch you slap one another around, the tension kink is enough to make me feel excluded.”

Anger rips Envy’s arm from him with sufficient force to sever bone. At least, if Envy were mortal.

It’s uproarious how determined the rage god is to insult Love. He cannot stand her, and more than any other god, she can’t abide him. Whenever they lock horns, she wagers somewhere in this world volcanoes erupt, and storms uproot houses from their foundations.

Well. There have been benign moments between them too. Memories tempered by empathy.

Envy returns to the subject at hand. “We don’t need more renegade deities in this crew. Want the dainty version? Get it done before The Court loses faith in your prowess and orders us to maim your shapely, albeit celibate, body. I’d like another chance to seduce the Goddess of Love while she’s flawless, but you’re stalling on this task. At this rate, you’ll end up as blemished as Wonder and Sorrow.”

Sorrow lobs the snowball at Envy like a grenade. He dodges the attack, and the orb slams into a branch, exploding in a cloud of white. Straightening, the god flashes an antagonist grin toward the female. “You missed, hon.”

She curls her lip. “This time.”

Inexplicably, Envy’s smirk plummets like a deck of cards, irritation tightening his features. They stare at one another for long enough to confirm there’s another meaning behind Sorrow’s reply. Presumably, it’s not the first time the goddess has aimed a projectile at Envy. Nor will be it the last.

“How long do I have?” Love interjects.

Sorrow rips her gaze from Envy. “A fortnight before you deteriorate, and we follow suit. However, The Court will give you thirteen days from now.”

“I won’t fail at this.”

“We’d like to think so,” Anger condescends.

Instead of evanescing as one, this mythic crew disbands by individual means. Envy jumps to the ground and struts into the forest. Sorrow travels in the opposite direction, putting maximum distance between the male and herself, while Anger leaps off the branch and storms away with a glower.

Still hanging upside down, Wonder maneuvers off her branch. She drops to Love’s level, her locks falling past her backside, and folds both hands primly in her lap. “You never cease to amaze me. Of all the people to antagonize, you pounce on Anger when he’s already in foul spirits.”

Love was done thinking of Anger the moment he left the woods. “The Court should have let me choose,” she protests. “How perceptive of them to elect Holly when they aren’t here to scout candidates. But if they wish for me to do this my way, The Fate Court should permit me to select Andrew’s mate.”

“Oh, hush,” Wonder rebukes. “You’re not allowed to deny how picky you are. Moreover, The Court wanted an immediate selection. They told The Stars to find a mate the human has noticed before. Someone who’s caught his attention in a favorable way. It’s as plain as that.”

It’s a sensible request, provided Love can get past the knowledge that Andrew has paid any attention to Holly. “We have power over mortals. Yet we serve them.”

Wonder contemplates that. “Most of us like to think we govern them.”

Yes. The human world is fragile, which gives deities authority over this realm.

Granted, humans touch beautifully. With all their romantic entanglements and complications, their hands accomplish the kind of fervor Love has never stopped dwelling on.

That aside, humans are pitiful at mastering the other intricacies of courtship. They have sex with the wrong people and disregard the right ones. Once the thrill of new beginnings has ebbed, their passion segues into shaky terrain. Disagreements. Misunderstandings. They break up, then suffer, either becoming woeful or infuriated.

Then irrationality sets in. They do pointless things like quarantine themselves inside their homes until a soft layer of stink covers them, or they overdose on self-destruction. Not least of all, they pity themselves and cry often.

Some mortals indeed love well, but most don’t. And none do it perfectly.

They require help from their betters, who can guide emotions and keep hearts intact, and Love does enjoy being better. She sweeps their past mistakes under the rug, then provides them with an impeccable life mate and an enduring bond.

In the midst of toying with them, she ultimately cleans up their messes. This is her destiny.

Andrew is not. One night changes nothing. Essentially, she doesn’t know him. Matching this man is preferable to condemning him. Notwithstanding her earlier protests, it will be easier to see Andrew enamored than to see him die.

Wonder’s voice is like a candle in the pearlescent woods—glowing with possibility. “Very well,” she says. “There is another way to fix this.”