Page 8 of Venomous Throne

A creature like me had no business polluting the same space as a delicate, precious flower like her. And yet, when I saw her clambering about like a deranged monkey at the zoo, I had to jump in. Otherwise, she might have hurt herself.

I cursed her recklessness. It wasn’t really the little imp’s fault. I could have easily called an employee to go help her. But by the time I realized that, she was already crawling into the cart.

She made me break one of my rules. Rules I kept in place for good reason.

Rules I never broke.

They kept a boundary between me and society, protecting us both from terrible collisions. With the invention and installation of things like food delivery or even self-checkouts, I didn’t have to interact with people. Ever. It was safer that way.

“Bloody hell.” I rubbed my hand against the black cargo pants.

It did nothing to erase her touch. The skin on my forearm tingled, mocking me with the memory of the contact.

Stomping through the rain, I marched back to my apartment. I pushed into the dumpy apartment I was renting. The door slammed closed, taking the brunt of my anger. Walking to the map of the city, I forced myself to focus. Work had a way of grounding me.

Today, it failed.

My nerves were rattled.

I was a plague, infecting those whose lives I touched. So the simple solution was to stop touching. Until a beautiful woman needed help.

“I should have let her fall.”

But then you would have to live with yourself, knowing you hurt her.

I fisted my hand on the table. The map crinkled under my touch. Even paper didn’t survive me!

I was a very bad man, a monster who went bump in the night. And that woman was lucky to have escaped! Good people died around me.

Going to the window, I bent my arm and leaned my forehead against it as I watched the street below.

Tonight, I would finish the job I came here to do. Then I would leave. There would be no more chance run-ins withher.Someone good and pure should be protected against a living, breathing devil.

And yet she’d climbed onto the shelf, hopped into the cart—

I tried to banish the images.

But it was hard when my gaze snagged on a mite of a thing, carrying two full paper bags down the street. My grip tightened on the window’s frame.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The torment was never-ending.

I watched her struggle, barefoot, along the sidewalk. The urge to rush down and help her flared inside me like some fiend, possessing me to the point of madness.

When she took a turn at the corner, heading to the single-family homes, I let out a long, shuddering breath.

And then I went to the cupboard and poured myself a healthy glass of gin. Just one. Otherwise, I would be shit tonight.

As the glass clattered into the sink, as I tried to put the bottle back in the empty cupboard, my armburned.

I ripped the long black sleeve up to look at it, thinking there had to be a rash from human contact.

The skin was tan and without hives.

When I lifted it to smell that delicate perfume, I realized what I was doing. I slapped my cheek—hard. Hard enough to leave a welt.

I put the bottle to my lips and chugged. One more night wouldn’t be the end of the world. I could gather more intel on the job and strike tomorrow night. Then I would be free to leave this strange, windy city.