Touch If You Dare (5 page)

Jarvis’s blade began to glow, and dark anger pulsed through him. “What if it’s not a female thing? What if they can’t handle it?”

“You questioning my ability to take care of my woman?” Blaine held up a fist, and a ball of flame appeared in his hand. “Because I’d have to kick the shit out of you for that.”

“I’m not worried about Trinity.” Jarvis kicked aside the cot with a little more force than he’d intended. “But who’s got Reina’s back?”

“Reina?” Blaine’s eyebrows shot up, and he extinguished the flame. “The woman works for Death. I think she’s got things covered.”

“She’s not as tough as she pretends she is.” After all, she hadn’t been able to knock him out, had she? What if she ran into something else she couldn’t handle? He’d felt the tension she carried in her body, and he knew she wasn’t as together as she liked to pretend. Reina was afraid. Of what? He suddenly needed to know.
Now.
“She’s not like us. She needs protection.”

A slow grin spread over Blaine’s face. “Shit, man, you’ve noticed she’s a woman, haven’t you? With one rocking bod, too.”

Jarvis stopped in surprise. Was that what it was? Hell, no. He was too fucking smart for that. “I’m just watching your back. If something happens to Reina because you didn’t interfere, your girl will ride your ass to the end of hell and back.”

Blaine paled. “Shit. You’re right. I gotta get back there.”

Jarvis nodded and relaxed his grip on his sword. Next stop, Reina. They would make sure she was all right. “I’ll go with you.”

Blaine nodded in acknowledgment. They were always a team. No one went it alone. Which was why Blaine didn’t take off to go after his woman right away, but looked around the shed instead, albeit with more impatience than he’d had two minutes ago. “Where’s your damn brother? Saving the world, one love bug at a time?”

“Cam’s not motivated enough to go on an international tour. He waits for the adulation to come to him. He’s got to be around here.” Jarvis ducked back outside again, feeling even antsier to find his brother, take care of business, and get the hell out and help Blaine find Reina. And Trinity, of course. He knew what Trinity and Reina were like, and the odds of them being involved in something that was more than they could handle weren’t as low as he would have liked. “Cam!”

Again, no answer.

Just the distant roar of the waterfall he and Cam used to play in. How many times had his dad held him underwater, teaching him how to push past his limits, to reach beyond what every cell his body was screaming at him that he couldn’t do?

The old man had cared enough to nearly drown Jarvis thousands of times, while poor Cameron had been off weaving daisies into crowns for the raccoons and making googly eyes at the neighbor’s girls. His dad had long given up trying to bless Cameron with the ability to be a man, and Jarvis felt a sudden pity for his little brother, left behind without any of the skills a young boy should have. What kind of life would Jarvis have had if he’d been left with love as his only tool to survive?

He shuddered at the thought. Yeah, hate was a bitch, but he’d take that over lolling with the butterflies any day of the week. What could love get you anyway? A stake in the heart by your girlfriend, for one. Thank the gods of hell he didn’t have to worry about that soft emotion infiltrating his body, even if it did seem to agree with Blaine.

It wasn’t his cuppa, and he was good with that.

“Can you sense Cameron?” Blaine asked. “I thought you guys were connected.”

“Yeah, we were, but it’s been a long time.” Jarvis closed his eyes and tried to attune himself to his brother’s frequency, but he was too tense. Too much energy bouncing around. “I’m on edge. Can’t do it.”

That wasn’t a good sign. A quick inspection revealed there was a second tiny star on his palm now, beside the first one. He closed his fist. “Damien said Cam had been using a bonfire to contact Death.” The sky was blue in all directions. “Can you pick it up?”

“Fire? Now you’re talking, baby.” The skull and bones tattoo on Blaine’s chest began to smoke. Blaine was three-quarters flames, and he had a special bond with anything smoky and hot. He closed his eyes, then pointed to the southeast. “That way.”

“Eagle Vista.” Jarvis headed in that direction, vaulting easily over a crumbling stone wall at least ten feet high. How many times had he struggled to climb that thing when he was a kid? And now, after being ruthlessly mutated, he could jump it easily. What a man he’d become. Pa would be proud.

Jarvis burst out of the woods and saw his brother. Cam was sitting in the water, arms draped loosely over his knees. Fish were jumping into the air in front of him, and a dove was perched on his bare shoulder. His hair was long and shaggy, mud was caked on his back, and his beer belly hung over the waistband of his jeans. He’d gone to hell, but he was alive. “Cam!”

His brother didn’t turn.

“He’s talking to someone,” Jarvis said. “Can’t see who it is.”

Jarvis shaded his eyes as he jogged toward his brother. With the sun setting behind Cam, he hadn’t seen the other person at first (raise your hand if you think it’s a bad sign that he’d failed to notice an entire
person
), but now he could see the dark silhouette of a man standing in front of his brother. The broad shoulders, the tuxedo, the dark hair… “It’s Death.” Jarvis unsheathed his sword. “Hey!” he shouted. “Get away from my brother!”

Death turned sharply toward them, then he held up his palm. A stream of black dust exploded toward them.

“Oh, shit.” Jarvis raised his sword to block the particles, but they parted around the blade. They smacked Jarvis in the chest and flung him backward. He landed hard on his back, and icy coldness crushed down on him, sucking the air out of his lungs, the strength out of his body.

Blaine was down beside him, utterly still. Face gray.

Jarvis fought to breathe as Death helped Cam to his feet. The death dust had put him a thread from the cold permanence of eternal night.

Jarvis pictured Angelica: her blonde hair, oversized rack, her hourglass figure, and the cold ruthlessness of her eyes. The red hot emotion of hate ripped aside the cold grip of death, surging fire into his muscles and life into his body. He lunged to his feet and hurled his sword at Death.

“Oh, please. You bore me.” Death flicked his hand in Jarvis’s direction, and the sword screeched to a halt in midair, then turned and slammed itself right into Jarvis’s gut.

“Jesus.” He sank to his knees and yanked the sword out, gasping as the poison from the blade raced through his body. Hello? Rule No. 1 of Battle Skills for Beginners: Never get your own weapon turned on you. Had he learned nothing in the Den over the last one hundred and fifty years? The fact that Death was predisposed to never lose a showdown was no excuse.

Blaine stirred beside him and groaned. Fire began to lick at Blaine’s chest as he fought back from the precipice as well.

Jarvis fumbled for his sword, fighting to get his numb fingers to function as Death led the Guardian of Love toward a cluster of pine trees. Jarvis palmed the donut-hole in his gut as he struggled to his knees. “Cam,” Jarvis croaked. “Don’t go with him.”

Cam turned his head toward Jarvis. Gone was the child-like awe of his own magnificence, the impish smile of irresponsible troublemaking, and the irrepressible joy of self-adulation. In its place was a haunting emptiness. Sunken cheeks. Hopelessness.

Holy hell. Love was
dying
. If Cameron died, he would take love with him, and that was just not a good thing for his brother, for the Guardian of Hate, or for the world in general. “Cameron Swain, get your ass over here right now—”

His brother dissolved into millions of black particles and was gone. Taken by Death, who was the one being in existence Jarvis had no chance of defeating or even subverting.

“Mother of hell,” Blaine groaned. “You’re screwed. You’ll never get him back from Death.”

“No, I won’t.” Jarvis couldn’t help the stupid-ass grin of anticipation as he gripped the wound in his belly. The surge of interest at the twist that had just been thrown at him. “But there’s one woman who could work a little deal with that scythe-bearer.”

Blaine raised his brows, a sudden knowing look on his face. “Dude, you didn’t need to get your brother kidnapped by Death to have a reason to talk to Reina. We could have just done a double date.”

“Fuck off.” Jarvis shoved himself to his feet, stumbling as the poison raced through him. “I don’t want to date her. I just want her help.”

Blaine sat up and rested his arms on his knees, trying to regain his strength. “Got news for you, buddy. Reina’s dealing with some serious personal shit, and she doesn’t like you. There’s no way she’s going to help you.”

“She has no choice.” Jarvis sheathed his sword.

“That woman always has a choice.”

Jarvis grinned, thinking again about that moment when he’d had her underneath him. When he’d sweettalked her into seeing his side. “Not when it comes to me.”

***

Reina raced up the marble steps to the Castle of Extreme Opulence, praying she was sliding in before the “Fired: Do Not Admit” tattoo showed up on her forehead.

She flung open the front door, and a quick inspection of the ornate, three-story, twin staircase foyer revealed that the Death wasn’t present. Dammit. She needed to find him before—

Linneah Nogueira, Death’s willowy executive VP and HoneyPot Queen, threw open the French doors and strode into the reception area. “Reina? I thought you’d been fired.”

Oh, crap.
Reina faked a relaxed, slightly confused expression even as her heart began to thud. She couldn’t let Linneah stop her. She had to get to Death.
She had to.
“Good morning, Linneah. It’s nice to see you.” Reina sauntered oh-so-casually toward the long hallway that led toward the executive office suites known as the Hallows. “Did he really say he’d fired me? He’s such a tease. Is he in? I owe him an espresso.”

Linneah’s lovely smile didn’t falter, but she began walking toward Reina. “I’m so sorry, my dear, but I can’t let you go back into the Hallows. I shall be happy to escort you outside—”

Plan B:
Run.

Reina bolted across the lobby toward the offices. She hip checked the doors open, then hit the panic button just inside the hall. The doors slammed shut behind her, and she heard the rumble of the black magic locks that Death’s grandma, Angelica, had installed. It had been a gift on Death’s hundredth birthday after some local devil worshippers had thought it would be a lark to see if they could steal a pair of Death’s underwear for their team unity bonfire.

Apparently, a man’s skivvies were one of those things a grandmother considered sacred, because Angelica had put protecting her grandson’s banana hammocks on top priority. Next time a tighty-whitey thief tried to co-opt Death’s silk unmentionables, they’d find themselves trapped in the Hallows with no way out.

Or, in an entirely foreseen adaptation of a brilliant technology, the leader of the HoneyPots would find herself trapped outside the Hallows with no way in, while a certain ex-Guide made a break for her boss’s office.

There was a thud as Linneah crashed into the door, and a muttered curse, but Reina didn’t slow down. Linneah would have the HoneyPots on her within seconds.

Reina ran past her office. Her twenty-four-carat white gold nameplate with embossed emeralds was no longer on her door. He’d already removed all signs of her existence? She stumbled, her legs suddenly clumsy as fear gripped her.
I’m so sorry, Natalie. I swear I will fix this.

The air suddenly reverberated with Linneah’s shrill “calling all sheepdogs” whistle, and then there was the clatter of spiked heels pounding the marble as HoneyPots abandoned their tasks and went into hunting mode. There had to be at least a dozen pairs coming after her.

The women Death hired to service him in assorted ways might be talented at sexual favors, but he’d also trained them well in the protection of his castle. Women in general could be ruthless, but these particular ones? Let’s just say that getting caught by women defending the man who was their link to money, power, and orgasms wasn’t a particularly fantastic way to spend the afternoon.

Reina glanced at her watch as she skidded around a corner. Two minutes past eleven. At least she was getting her timing right. Death always sucked down his quadruple espresso at eleven o’clock, and guess who was the only one who could get his temperamental machine to work?

That’s right. Say hello to the caffeine goddess.

The massive Brazilian pine doors of her boss’s office were shut, and Death’s vehement epithets were easily audible through the wood. Sweet! He was entering caffeine withdrawal, and she was the only one who could provide relief. Leveraging his caffeine addiction into a second chance was her only hope.

It had to work.

She jammed her fingers into the Swarovski crystal globe that locked and unlocked the doors in the Hallows. The moment her hand was inside, lavender mist began swirling, but there was no Open Sesame. “Hey, sweetie.” She leaned closer to the pale purple fog and wiggled her hand. “I’ve been bringing you M&Ms every day for the last nine years. Just open the door, okay? One more time—”