The Darkest Craving (Lords of the Underworld #10)(92)
Author: Gena Showalter

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The Realm of Blood and Shadows

FRANTIC, TORIN PACED beside his bed. Mari had arrived a few minutes ago—only to collapse. She was sick. So very sick.

And he was responsible.

He should never have touched her, should never have allowed her to shake his ungloved hand.

He was so worried for her he could barely see straight. She lay on the bed, coughing for the thousandth time. Blood gurgled from the corners of her mouth.

Fury blazed at the edges of Torin’s worry, and he punched a hole in the wall, desperate for some type of release. “Why didn’t you tell me I could make you sick with my touch?”

“I had…to die.”

“You had to die?” He stomped to her side. “And you thought I’d be okay with being the weapon responsible?” How was he supposed to live with himself, knowing he’d killed yet another innocent?

“No…worries. No plague. Only me. Never touch…anyone else.”

Oh, he knew she was only ever allowed in her prison and his bedroom, but that didn’t make this any better. He stalked to his door and locked it, ensuring none of his friends could burst inside for any reason. “You still should have told me,” he croaked. “It should have been my choice.”

“Sorry. Not want…to die. Resisted. But. No other way. Cronus said…friend would be…freed.”

Cronus had also said Torin wouldn’t sicken the woman sent to him. Clearly Cronus had lied. “The king of the Titans is dead. Your friend won’t be freed.”

“Vows last…even after death.”

And Torin hadn’t been smart enough to obtain a vow, had he.

She had coughed between every word. A hacking cough that had shaken her entire body. “Moment I die…she has freedom.”

Mari had given her life for her friend. He understood the desire. He did. But that didn’t make this any easier. He returned to her side and peered down at her. Her skin was ghostly white, a blue tracery of veins apparent. There were bruises under her eyes, and her lips were split and scabbed from being chewed. The last time she’d visited, she had looked healthy and whole. Now, twenty-four hours later, she was reduced to this.

Death was knocking on her door. Maybe she would answer today. Maybe tomorrow. Either way, she would answer. There would be no saving her.

No, he thought next. No. He had to try. Something. Anything. So far, he’d failed to help Cameo and Viola, but he could help this woman.

In the bathroom, he wet a washrag with cold water. He raced back to the girl’s side. Gloves covered his hands, so he didn’t hesitate to drape the cloth over her forehead. He’d never touched a human twice, and wasn’t sure what would happen to Mari if his skin were to brush hers a second time. Would she get sicker faster? Probably.

At his computer, he printed the list he’d recently created. The ones with medicines that might aid humans if ever his plague got out. Then, he called Lucien. “Flash to the States, to a pharmacy. I need a few things.” He tossed out the names.

“I won’t leave Anya, Tor. She needs me right now.”

“I’ll put a camera on her. I’ll make sure no one approaches her, I swear. Just do what I asked. Please.” Torin hung up on him and stuffed the phone in his pocket. He peered down at the girl. “Now you listen to me. You’re going to fight this. You’re not going to give up and allow yourself to die. You want your friend out, there’s another way. I told you about Sienna. Well, she arrived at the fortress just this morning. Give her a chance.”

Tears streamed from Mari’s eyes and tracked down her cheeks.

“Please,” he said.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. But a nod was a nod.

“People have survived this.” Not many, but a few, and no one who’d had direct contact with him. “You can, too.” She had to. His heart couldn’t take another death.

Bang, bang, bang.

“Leave the stuff and go,” Torin called, knowing Lucien was at the door.

“What’s going on?” the warrior demanded.

“Just…trust me,” he replied as Mari coughed.

Tense silence filled the room.

“Reyes told me about the girl you had in there. Is she sick? Is she the one in need of the medicine?” Lucien’s voice was soft, quiet, and yet still managed to cut through the wood of the door.

“Leave the stuff and go,” he repeated.

Movement at the corner of his eye. He turned—and there was Lucien, dropping a bag on the floor. The warrior had flashed inside the room. His mismatched eyes scanned the area and landed on the girl.

Accusation tightened his features. “You said she was immune.”

“I was wrong. Now get out. I don’t want you becoming a carrier.”

“You should have told me about this.” The accusation in Lucien’s expression was like taking a knife to the back. “I need to take everyone to a new location. Especially the women and children.”

Yes. Of course. He should have thought of that. How foolish could Torin be?

“I need Sienna’s help with something. Freeing another girl. She’s in a prison Cronus owned. Tell her to start looking for it. Please.”

“What are you going to do?” Lucien asked. “What about this girl?”

“Don’t worry about us.”

Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you did this. I thought you’d learned.”

“Not his…fault,” Mari croaked.

“Of course it’s my fault,” Torin snapped, and she flinched.

Lucien looked ready to stomp over to the girl and scoop her into his arms. Instead, he backed away, saying, “Call me if you need anything else.” He disappeared.

Torin went through the medication, deciding to administer the antibiotic and cough suppressant. As he waited for any sign of recovery, an idea struck him. He didn’t allow himself to consider the many ramifications or the danger to himself. He raced to his closet and grabbed a nylon bag. He stuffed it full of weapons and any other equipment he thought he might need. He covered his hair and forehead with a bandanna, pulled a ski mask over his face to ensure the rest of him was covered, as well. He added the medicine to the bag, wrote a note to his friends, and then did something he’d hoped to circumvent forever.

He looked at Danika’s painting, expecting to see this moment, this tragedy—or, maybe, the outcome.

In it, Torin reclined on a black leather couch. He had a glass in one hand, and a cigar in the other—neither hand was gloved. He was grinning, an expression he hadn’t donned in a very long time, he didn’t think. There were people around him. So many people. Shock had him stumbling backward. Danika had never before shown him a happy ending.