Page 117 of Heir of Illusion

For me, I realize. He’s terrified for me. Warmth flutters in my chest, but I push it aside, choosing to focus on the other emotion hiding in his eyes. One I recognize quite well.

Self-disgust.

Each time he ordered me not to touch him replays in my mind. This has to be a nightmare come true for him. I want to assure him I’m going to be alright, but I have no idea if that’s a lie. Is it possible that the attack is delayed? When he touched Lord Burgess, it happened immediately. But when I placed my hands on him, I felt nothing.

Well, that’s not exactly true. I was a mess of emotions. Urgency, desperation, terror…. I felt all of those. But physical pain? That never struck me.

“I… I’m fine?” The statement comes out as a question. How is it possible that touching him didn’t hurt me at all? He’s the God of Death. His touch is lethal.

“What?” he breathes.

“I’m not hurt.”

He shakes his head as his brows pinch together. “That’s not possible. You touched my skin, Ivy. I felt you.”

“I know.” I rack my brain, searching for answers and coming up blank. “I don’t understand how, but you didn’t hurt me.”

His mouth opens only to quickly close again. Those blue eyes shift wildly, searching for answers that aren’t there. His broad shoulders curl inward, as if he’s trying to protect himself from something.

“You’re in shock.” He shakes his head again. “It hasn’t hit you yet.”

My brows pinch. “Has it ever been delayed this way?”

His silence speaks for itself.

“Exactly.” I lean forward and Thorne jumps back, immediately rising and putting more space between us. He stumbles, nearly tripping over one of the bodies littering the ground before righting himself. I follow him, unwilling to let him pull away now. I’m surprisingly steady on my feet after everything that’s happened tonight.

He holds his gloved hands in front of him as he continues to retreat. “Angel, it’s not safe?—”

“You didn’t hurt me!” I insist. “You touched me, and nothing happened.”

His eyes go round with fear as his back hits the wall, giving me the opportunity to close the space between us.

“Give me your hand.”

“You don’t know what will happen,” he pleads.

I take a deep breath, ignoring the truth in his words. “Do you trust me?”

His brow furrows as he tilts his head. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

His beautiful lips twist into a grimace as his gaze drops. “I don’t trust myself. If I hurt you… I think it would destroy me.”

My foolish heart stutters at the admission. I can’t think about what it means. I can’t think about anything except this moment right now.

I hold out my hand, willing it not to tremble as I wait for him to give me his. “Then let it destroy us both.”

His eyes connect with mine instantly. I can see the hesitation there, but underneath it, I also spot a faint spark of hope. He wants this too—he’s simply afraid to let himself believe it will work.

Slowly, he lifts his gloved hand and places it in mine, palm facing the sky. The black leather is soft against my skin, but it’s not what I want. Pinching the material between my fingers, I begin pulling it off. I move slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wishes. I don’t think he breathes the entire time. Maybe I don’t either.

Once the glove is gone, his bare hand is cradled in mine, skin to skin. He’s warmer than I expected. For some reason, I always believed Death would be cold. Seconds tick by as we wait to see if this will be a mistake or a triumph.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispers.

I shake my head, my heart pounding against my chest. Can he hear it?

---