The people I passed by were decked out in expensive clothes and carried martinis as they sauntered toward the clubs or casino rooms at the back of the hotel. They paused when they saw me. A couple pulled out their phones to take pictures. Thank god the paparazzi were engaged elsewhere, otherwise I’d lose my patience and start breaking noses to get through.
The maître d’ gave me a thin-lipped smile as I arrived at Scales.
“He’s waiting for you,” the man said in a soft but tight tone. AKA Grim’s in a pissy mood because I was running late, and they resorted to plying him with food and drinks to keep him calm.
He led me to the private room, but before he could open the door, I said, “I’ll take it from here.”
The maître d’ looked relieved even as he bowed his head and turned to go. I took a deep breath I didn’t need before turning the handle.
“Honey, I’m home,” I said in a cheeky tone.
As soon as I stepped into the private dining room, my world tilted.
Something was very wrong. I inhaled the odor of death as I shut the door behind me. Not Grim’s scent, this was rancid, rotting, and dead.
Grim didn’t seem to be in the room. Then I caught sight of his foot sticking out from the other side of the table. My purse fell from my shoulder, hitting the floor with a thud.
I raced around to find him lying on the floor, convulsing.
I kneeled by him. “Grim, baby, what’s wrong?” I asked, propping his torso up. His death mask flickered as if somebody had short-circuited the controls of his body.
“Vivien,” he rasped. His gorgeous caramel skin had turned a sickly gray. I grasped his hand. It was cold, too cold.
“What is it? What’s happening?” My un-beating heart stuck in my throat. Panic gripped me with icy claws. I didn’t know what to do or how to help.
He can only die from the Blade of Bane or if a vampire kills him. He’ll be fine.
Despite the rationale, every atom in my body knew he was coming undone before my eyes.
Black tentacles of power whipped out with ferocious strikes before pulling back into his body as if he were trying to fight what was happening.
“Poisoned,” he managed to get out.
“No, no, you can’t be poisoned,” I said, cupping his face. “Remember? You can get blown up and be just fine. Poison can’t kill you. Walk it off,” I urged.
The door opened with a creak. Through the legs of the table, a pair of golden heels lazily made their way into the room until their owner came into view.
“Galina,” I cried out in relief. “Help me. Grim is sick.”
The goddess stared down at me. A cashmere forest-green sweater wrapped around her, falling off one perfect shoulder. She wore a pencil skirt and a sympathetic expression.
“He’s not sick, he’s dying,” she said softly.
“No, no, no,” I insisted. “He can’t die. He hasn’t been stabbed by the god-killing blade, and I didn’t drink from him.”
Galina crouched down, gently pushing back a chunk of hair from his forehead. “He’s consumed the flesh of the dead.”
I twisted around to see a plate half-filled with wontons. One with a bite taken out of it.
I didn’t understand.
Galina gave me a pitying look, while Grim convulsed more violently before he halted.
Though they kept morphing into fathomless, dark sucking holes of oblivion, his amber eyes tracked over to mine slowly. Falling into him didn’t scare me anymore. Not like it had when we met. In his oblivion, I’d found a new beginning, a new life.
A connection had been forged between us since I first drank from him. It was an unconscious tether, but I felt it become weak and thready.
I was losing him.
