Out of habit, she checked her arms and legs to make sure no one had warded her while she’d been sleeping.
Where am I? What’s going on?
Torin! He’d pulled a chair to the side of the bed. His white-blond hair stuck out in spikes, as if he’d plowed his fingers through the strands again and again. Grim lines branched from his eyes—eyes as hard as granite, watching her intently. He wore a T-shirt that read “‘She’s Perfect for You. Go for It,’ said Alcohol” and a new pair of black leather pants.
He met her gaze and released a long—relieved?—breath. Color returned to his pale complexion, and a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He sat up straighter.
He started to reach for her but stopped himself. “You survived,” he said with a gruffness she’d never heard from him. “Again.”
I did?
Yes. That’s right. She’d been terribly, terribly sick.
“I’m not sure how,” he added.
Her immense power was a factor, for sure, but there had to be more to it than that. Like...him. Torin. Streams of strength had pulsed along the bond, and they’d buoyed her.
Tell him.
Not yet.
He removed his gloves and draped them across his thighs. On both of his hands were rings. Almost every finger had one, in fact. Most were silver bands. A few boasted large blue stones. He even wore three different necklaces, each with a different pendant.
“Why so blinged up?” she asked.
“Lucien brought my things.”
This was the real Torin, then. I like. A lot.
Delicious shivers stole through her. “So...what’s got you so upset?”
“You were sick for eight days. Your heart stopped twice. I performed CPR.” His bitter laugh hollowed her out. “I’m getting good at it. Only broke one of your ribs.”
Dangerous subject. Proceed with caution. “Well, as you can see, I’m okay.”
“That’s good.” He cast his attention to the window just beyond the bed. “Our relationship has always been about choices, Keeley. Fight or forgive. Touch or not touch. Stay together, risking everything, or split up. Our relationship will always be about choices.”
“I—”
“I’m not done.”
Though her heart pounded, she remained quiet.
“It’s not fair to you,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to mortgage your health to be with me...which is why I’m ending our association.”
He wanted to...part from her? “No.” She shook her head.
“It’s happening whether you’re on board or not. Your Majesty.”
So businesslike, so cold. As if their future happiness wasn’t at stake.
Maybe his wasn’t. But hers was. “Don’t do this, Torin,” she said.
“Like I told you, it’s happening. Effective immediately,” he announced, white-knuckling the edge of his chair. “You don’t know what torture it was to go so long without the thing I craved most...and when finally I got it, I had to watch the person I care for suffer because of it.”
He cares for me.
He cares!
“We’re done,” he said. “We have to be done.”
“You’re just going to give up? Throw me away as if I’m no more important than garbage? After everything we’ve shared?”
“You’re not garbage,” he bellowed, and she knew she’d offended him. “You’re...” The look he cast her held a possessiveness, a savagery, he’d never before displayed. But he shook his head and his features blanked. “This is for the best.”
“Whose best? Not mine.”
“Definitely yours.” Then, “I will find my friends without you. Rescue Baden’s spirit without you. Locate the box without you,” he added, as if she needed clarification. “I’ll owe you no favors.”
“What about the Morning Star?” He can’t do this. I can’t let him.
“If—when—I have it, well...” He waved his arm through the air, a gesture of impatience.
Well, what?
“Until then, you will put me in your Time Out box,” he said. “Consider it a parting gift.”
Forget him? Perhaps forever? He couldn’t... There was no way...how could...
Lightbulb!
He more than cared about her, she realized. Her well-being mattered to him even more than finding his friends and the box.
Warm rays of sunshine engulfed her soul, and in moments even streamed through the room’s windows.
The reason he’d taken off his gloves suddenly became clear. He couldn’t trust himself with her. He thought that, without the leather barrier in place, he wouldn’t fall victim to temptation and put his hands on her.
“Do you understand?” he demanded.
Can’t dance. Can’t sing. “Yes,” she said, unable to stop her grin. “I do.”
Reminding her of a bear whose cage had just been rattled, he snapped, “Are you sure?”
“Totally.”
“You don’t look like you do.”
“What do I look like?”
“Heaven,” he said and scowled. “Hell. It doesn’t matter.” He fished a phone from his pocket, dialed. “I’m ready.”
Lucien appeared a few seconds later. Torin stood, walked to his friend.
“Go along, boys.” She made a shooing motion. “I’ll join you shortly.”