Untouchable Darkness (The Dark Ones Saga, #2)



HE WAS TOO CLOSE, but he would notice if I shifted away, and I didn’t want to appear weak, not when I’d already done so over and over again.

If he wanted to train me, fine.

I imagined it was a forced punishment, but my pride wouldn’t let me go there. Somehow imagining it was way better than him actually admitting it.

“You must have done something very, very bad,” I said under my breath, stealthily moving my chair away and standing, so much for not going there. “After all, when was the last time a Dark One was given mortality? Made human?”

“Never,” he said in a clipped tone. “I would know considering my age.”

“Yes let’s rehash your age, that always goes over well. You’re how much older than me?”

His blue eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “We’ll have to do something about that attitude of yours.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you try,” I challenged.

He grinned.

I didn’t like that grin.

It was beautiful.

It was also terrifying.

I backed away farther, even though I knew I had the upper hand, I still couldn’t forget, maybe my mind wouldn’t let me—he was a Dark One, or he had been. He could own my ass with a simple snap of his fingers.

Granted he was human now.

But for how long?

What if I pissed him off, and he was changed back tomorrow?

Right. I wasn’t taking any chances.

Regardless of my feelings for him—or the way he kissed me—he was a cold, heartless bastard.

Imagining anything else just made my heart sick.

Cassius stalked toward me, his steps purposeful, I walked backward until my body collided with the wall.

He tilted his head, his black hair falling across his strong angular jaw. “A Dark One never cowers.”

I arched my eyebrows and opened my mouth but he clamped his hand over it.

“And Dark Ones always respect their elders.”

I rolled my eyes, still unable to talk.

Slowly, he removed his hand.

“You know,” I whispered. “You could try to at least be nice to me while we’re training.”

He frowned. “Am I not being nice?”

“Are you insane?”

“Is that sarcasm?”

Cassius looked genuinely confused, like I’d just shouted that I wanted to ride a zebra in for dinner.

“You aren’t smiling at me, you haven’t even asked what I want in this whole scenario, and you touch me like I’m diseased!” I shouted. “Is that your definition of nice?”

His nostrils flared as he pounded a hand next to my head, a mirror crashed to the floor. “Smiling takes an effort I’m not willing to extend lest it become a habit, especially in your presence! I’m not asking your opinion because frankly I don’t give a shit what you think. And I don’t touch you because the very idea of your skin coming into contact with mine sends this ridiculously human body into flight. And I refuse to run away—from a woman.”

Forget about not wanting to kill him.

I slammed my hands against his chest, his body went flying across the room, landing on my bed, hammering the posts into the wall and creating giant holes I knew Mason was going to be pissed about fixing and hiding from Ethan.

The air in the room fell below zero as ice trickled along my veins. My skin turned a vivid white as my eyes took in every bit of moisture in the air, freezing it to my advantage so I could create an icy stake to plunge through Cassius’s cold, heartless chest.

My hands snapped forward, the ice joined together in front of my eyes. I gripped the makeshift weapon and launched myself into the air, arm raised.

When I landed on the bed, straddling Cassius.

It wasn’t terror, or fear, I found.

But elation.

His smile was huge, beautiful.

I dropped the ice stake and fell backward, my body turning warm again. “What the hell was that?”

“That—” His grin widened. “—is what happens when you piss off a Dark One. Good to know you aren’t defective.”

“I could have killed you.”

“I’m human. Therefore, every second I suck in air, I’m dying. It would have been worth it to see you what you’re capable of.”

“But!” I covered my face with my hands. “I’m dangerous, you said so yourself, in the car, you said to control my emotions, you said—”

“I said a lot of things,” he interrupted. “Listen to what I’m saying now. I’m truly here to help you. Not because I was punished.”

My heart sped up automatically as my head snapped to attention and I sought his gaze. “Really?”

He nodded, his eyes drinking me in. “I’m here out of an intense desire to help you—and to make sure you don’t kill the rest of your family in one of your adolescent mood swings.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Says the little girl who created a spike out of ice with the intent of stabbing me in the chest, all because her feelings were hurt.”

“You were mean.”

“It was necessary.”

“How do you figure?”