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“Shit,” Tor said softly, holding me tighter. “We’ll figure this out, Cat. We’ve beaten her once before, remember.”
Death’s mouth pressed thin, his nostrils flaring. It was the same rage he wore when he saw the bruises on my shoulder. “We need to get you home. You’re staying in our domain tonight, Cat.”
“But—my friends—” I complained, and realised I could speak again. I wilted in relief, more tears scalding my cheeks.
“I’ll get a message to them,” Death offered. “Let them know you’re safe but spending the night with us.”
Honey would be supportive of that; she’d told me to go after my three husbands after all. Byron might be a little more suspicious, but I could come up with an explanation by tomorrow. Right now, I just wanted to curl into a ball and cry somewhere I knew I was safe.
My hands shook as I brushed tears off my cheeks and nodded, wincing at the sting from the cuts. I remembered the veil of darkness Death had spread across the gates of his home, and how Nightmare had shouted in rage that she couldn’t get through. The castle was the safest place for me right now. And the safest place for everyone else, where I couldn’t hurt them.
“Thank you,” I rasped, and tasted blood.
“Don’t try to talk about what happened,” Miz said seriously, his brow knotted as he watched me climb weakly to my feet. “Or even mention Nightmare’s name. Don’t write it down either, or your fingernails will fall off.”
“How do you know this?” I asked, my throat closing up.
He just stared at me for a beat longer than was comfortable. Had she… done those things to him? Did she make him kill, too?
I covered my mouth in horror, my breathing quickening. Miz glared at my reaction, hatred changing his face so drastically that I only now realised it had been absent since he found me here.
“Let’s go home,” Tor said gently, turning me so he could pull me into his arms, my face to his chest. I dragged his woody amber scent into my lungs, my breath hitching. “This won’t ever happen again, Cat. We won’t let it.”
I let that promise wash through me like safety and relief even if I didn’t quite believe it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CAT
Iended up in a massive four-poster bed, bundled into red silk covers, with pillows propped around me and a cup of chamomile tea brewed from plants grown in Death’s own garden. Misery had been unceremoniously pushed into bed beside me, Death giving him a stern look that clearly echoed a warning given when I wasn’t present. He left us sitting in silence while he joined Tor, cleaning up the murder scene and trying to follow Nightmare’s signature to her hideout.
“I haven’t seen Death that angry in years,” Misery muttered, his arms crossed over his loose white shirt, the cuffs stained in Darya’s blood. Tor had painstakingly cleaned me with a warm cloth and careful hands, murmuring reassurances the whole time, but there it was on Miz’s sleeve: proof of what I’d done.
“He should be angry,” I said quietly, staring at the tiny flowers that flocked the silk covers. “I killed someone.”
Miz scoffed. “He’s not angry at you. He’s angry at her.”
He hadn’t said her name since it made me throw up, I’d noticed. Probably because he didn’t want me to soil the covers with vomit.
“She doesn’t give you a choice,” he added, hands flexing in and out of fists. “Don’t blame yourself.”
But I did blame myself. I killed Darya, my friend, and I didn’t know to live with that knowledge. When I closed my eyes, I saw her empty face staring at me, her dead eyes accusing. My stomach cramped, and I swallowed a mouthful of tea like I could drown the sickness in botanicals.
I jumped when Miz reached across the scant distance between us to lay his hand on my stomach, and the nausea eased by half.
“Thanks,” I said, scratchy, and then: “Why are you helping me? You hate me.”
Misery sighed, and from the corner of my eye I watched him frown. “It’s hard to hate you when you’re so pitiful, Prick.”
Wow, what a glowing compliment. I slid a glare at him.
“Do you deny being pitiful?”
“No,” I muttered, “but you didn’t have to point it out.”
He laughed quietly, the sound every bit as silken and soft as his speech. I finished my tea and set the empty cup on the bedside table. All the furniture in this room matched the gothic castle—dark wood, elegantly turned arches, carved details, and foreboding tapestries. The drapes around the bed were heavy red velvet the same colour as the curtains at the window and the sheets Death had pulled up around my waist.
When would Tor and Death be back? I had the strange sense Misery wouldn’t hurt me but it wasn’t the safety I felt when the others were here. I needed comfort and reassurance and Miz wasn’t offering it, so I slid my phone out of my pocket and pulled open my favourites folder on Youtube.
