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I jumped when his hand skimmed my forearm, and panic at getting caught looking held me in place as his touch travelled down, fingers intertwining with mine. I remembered the reverent kisses he placed on my body while we rode, though I tried very hard not to. It was the most intimate I’d been with someone in months, and I didn’t know how to feel about wanting more of it.
“What’s your name, my bride?” he asked, his voice like caramel—sweet, rich, and addictive. I bit my bottom lip.
I swallowed, nerves making my pulse race. They’d just ostensibly saved me from Nightmare, and my paranoia suggested it could all be one big set-up to get me to trust them, but… I didn’t have Nightmare’s sharp eyes on me right now, didn’t have her soft taunts in my ears, didn’t feel the heavy thump of her power, and I was so grateful for that.
“Cat,” I answered quietly.
“Like a pussy cat?” he asked, his smile deepening, making him even more handsome. Ugh.
“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Like a pussy cat.”
“That was an obvious lie,” the man with the gravelly voice said, spinning to face us where he walked ahead, like he’d been waiting for an excuse to look at me. He kept doing that. Looking at me. Touching me. “What secrets are you keeping, Cat?”
I scowled at the floor, looking away from his face—equally handsome as the others’ but different, harsher. His features were soft but sharpened by his shaved head and tattoos, his mouth set in what appeared to be a perpetual smirk. His golden skin and glittering soft-brown eyes, made me think of Central America. He was also far closer to my five-foot-seven height, which would make kissing him easier and why was I thinking about kissing him? It was similar to the force that had propelled me out of the car, Nightmare’s magic brushing my soul but… I wasn’t compelled. Not completely. And—oh god, he was right in front of me.
I slammed to a halt in the middle of a dark corridor lit by green lamps and jumped back with a shriek, his face exceptionally close. I could see the flecks in his eyes, his irises the colour of milky coffee and—my latte! Fuck, I abandoned it in the middle of the road with my car. And my book!1
“What’s your name really?” he asked with an intensity that made me break out in goosebumps.
“Cat,” I answered, my breath a little short. “Cat Wallison.”
“Mm.” He flicked out his tongue, so close to brushing my lips. A shot of heat laced my blood. “No, I still taste the lie.”
“You can’t taste lies, don’t bullshit,” the pale, long-haired man said with a sneer that made me instantly dislike him.
“My name’s Tor,” said the man two inches away from my face with the shaved head and sexy intensity.2 “This is Miz. And um—”
He glanced at the six-foot-three man towering over us, all beauty and sincerity.
“Death,” I finished for him, gratified by their shock. “Yeah, I figured that out by you all calling me your bride. I was dressed as the bride of death the night Nightmare… well, I’d rather not talk about what happened. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together and get Death.”
“We already know what happened,” Death said gently, squeezing my hand. I jumped. I’d forgotten he was even holding it; the sensation was so natural, so right. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He wasn’t what I’d expected of Death. The spiked helmet and horror horse or whatever Tor called them was more accurate. But this softness was … strange.
“Let’s get you a drink, and we’ll explain who we are to you,” he suggested kindly, dropping a kiss on my forehead that stunned me into compliance.
The pale-haired man said nothing throughout this, only speared me with disapproving glances as we moved through the castle that was surprisingly ordinary and solid brick, not shadowy or smoky like the horses. I avoided his stares, barely keeping my breathing under control without getting into a staring match with a man who obviously hated me.
But… were these actually men, or something else, something more sinister like Nightmare? The man beside me was Death. The Death. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew it meant I was his bride and he was my… husband? Fuck, I didn’t know. I wished Honey and Byron were here with a fierceness that made my chest hurt.
I saw what Death did to the gates to stop Nightmare following us. The dark magic, like a veil of ink stretched across the iron, with people inside fighting to get out, hands and faces pressed to the surface. I shuddered, and gasped when Death stroked a hand across my shoulder blades, a weight settling over me.
Fear made my throat tighten. I glanced down at the cloak of feathers that flowed from my shoulders to the floor, warm and reassuring despite its terrifying origin.
“Thanks,” I mumbled automatically. Shit, should I be thanking these people? Were they like the fae where expressing gratitude implied a debt I’d have to pay?
“Don’t worry so much, Cat,” he murmured, fingers stroking down my hair next. No feathers or darkness gathered around me this time, the gesture simple. Comforting in a way I didn’t want it to be, and entirely blamed on Nightmare’s fucked up magic tying us together. “You’re safe here. You have my word no one will hurt you.”
I glanced at him quickly, looking for signs of deceit and really struggling to find any. Maybe he believed what he was saying. Maybe Nightmare was playing a game with all of us, and had tricked them into caring about me. Her face formed in my mind, unnaturally beautiful, her eyes mismatched, the pale one bleeding down her flawless cheek as she smiled. I shuddered and pulled the cloak of black feathers tighter around me.
“Here we are, Cat,” Tor said, my name soft and lingering in his mouth. He guided us through a stone archway and into a warm sitting room decorated in shades of amber and red, a fire roaring in a huge gothic fireplace across the room. Above it hung a portrait of the three of them. In the portrait, Miz was smiling at Death, his eyes a bright, piercing gold, his cheeks curved, one arm slung around Tor’s waist.
Oh. I blinked, looking quickly away from the painting, like I’d glimpsed something private I wasn’t supposed to. They were all together, intimate and clearly possessing a deep affection. What did that make me, as Death’s bride? A homewrecker? No wonder Miz hated me.
But why didn’t Tor? His latte eyes still shone with an intensity I hesitantly labelled interest as he swept me away from Death, the tall, gentle man holding onto my hand until he was forced to surrender it. I was bundled onto one of the plush, amber-coloured sofas, my taut body immediately swallowed into comfort and luxury. Tor plopped down beside me and—stared at me, his elbow propped on his knee, chin propped on his hand.
Uh. Okay.
“What’s it short for, beautiful bride?”
