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As if he could read my thoughts, he pressed his lips to my ear. “Don’t look at me like that, Nightmare, or we will never leave this bathhouse, and your eternity will be spent naked and writhing below me.”
“I wouldn’t complain.”
A soft kiss to white lashes grew to feral nipping at my lips and breasts. He took himself in his hand and slid his tip right down my slit. I arched. He groaned. And then he surged forward, filling me completely before he withdrew and thrust again with a groan of contentment. Until our shared breaths became one, until the chaos of the moment turned calm, reliable. A steady rhythm. Until I knew each ridge of his cock, and he knew the walls that welcomed him. Until there was no light or darkness. Only him and I and a lingering promise of forever that took root, winding its sharpened talons around the core of this world, anchoring us both.
As he changed his pace, I raised my hips to meet him, and Orin took that as a sign that I needed him deeper. He lifted my leg, resting it on his shoulder, stretching those muscles. I couldn’t have held back if I’d wanted to. I no longer had control over my body. I was his entirely as he stroked me, stretched me, and filled me to the brink, overwhelming my senses until I screamed his name. Addled thoughts coursed through my mind as I tried to remember anything beyond the unbridled pleasure of Orin pulsing inside of me.
He collapsed beside me, breaths ragged.
Though an ache settled between my legs, I twisted to face him, letting the fire warm my back. “You never washed.”
“I know. I was saving it for round two.”
The sun had risen before we’d snuck off to the house, crossing the grass, still damp with dew, creeping in and up the stairs until we fell into Orin’s bed, getting lost in each other once more. It’d started with a kiss to my shoulder, and before I knew it, I was naked again, never feeling like I’d get enough of him and us and the eternity that waited.
When the exhaustion was finally too much, when our bodies were slick with sweat and our breaths ragged, I let my eyes fall shut. He curled up behind me, his warm body wrapping perfectly around mine.
Three breaths into the oblivion of sleep, I felt myself falling as I was yanked into Death’s court, and that stunning face I’d seen so many times was deep red and full of fury.
Chapter 53
I’d never known Death to be erratic, not even angry. I’d never seen him as anything beyond cunning, truly, but standing outside his gates, both moons shining down on him like spotlights on a stage, I held my breath, wondering what that determined look in his eyes meant.
“Hello, my Deyanira.”
I said nothing, as always, casting my eyes to the floor.
“My court has been inundated with souls as of late, including my secret Death Lord. Would you care to explain?”
The tang of blood filling my mouth from biting my tongue was nothing compared to the way my fingers trembled.
Death moved closer without taking a step. He simply glided toward me on a phantom wind, gripping my face, forcing me to look at him. “There is a time for games and a time for truth. You will speak, or I will force the words from your mouth before I rip out this tongue. And eternity without your voice is a miserable existence, I’m told.”
I swallowed, letting the blood coat my throat.
“In one fell swoop, hundreds of souls have entered my court, though none can name their murderer. Not a blade to the throat, as is your signature, but death by magic. My magic. And Icharius Fern has assured me you have a name. Tell me who holds power that should only belong to my chosen.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, panic rising within me as I realized what he was saying. Somehow Orin truly did have magic gifted from Death himself, but that wasn’t the surprise. It was the fact that he hadn’t known about it. And I had seconds to defy the only god I’d ever known in order to protect a man that held my heart.
“Give me the name, Deyanira. I will not ask again.”
I stood firm, my lip curling in disgust as I held my ground. He could condemn me to his court right now and I still wouldn’t speak Orin’s name. I would spend an eternity suffering before I let Death have him.
He dragged a sharp finger down my cheek, leaning so close there was no doubt he could see me tremble. Though not with fear, but anger because of all the gods, we were left with one that would rain misery on a suffering world for his own pleasure. But what difference did it make who held such power when Death could take whatever he wanted from our world? He had gifted each person of Requiem a hundred years of immortality, but his magic remained. I remained. The Death Maiden had been his promise that should the world fall to pieces, he would bring it down. Why would he need Orin? Why search for one with that power unless… he couldn’t? Perhaps his magic was not infinite.
I will see you in a few days, my beauty. I have a good feeling about this one.
Death is hunting someone.
The realization melted over me as I stepped backward. He was hunting Orin’s power.
“I see something in your eyes, Deyanira. Tell me what it is.”
Another step backward.
He snatched my hand before I could move again, yanking me toward him as he purred with delight in my ear. “The first and last time you disappoint me lives in this moment. Shall we start close to home, then?”
“No!” I roared, trying to pull away. But there was no escaping Death’s absolute hold as his power raced down my arm.
