Page 63 of How to Claim A Shadow King

"Gods above, Mal," the death god whispers, his voice dripping with absolute awe. "She is terrifying. I think I'm in love with her."

"Touch her," Malakai’s voice answers, "and I will let her destroy you."

A real smile takes the place of my fake one.

24

MALAKAI

The silence Aveline leaves in her wake is instantly filled by the fussing of my castle.

Shadow Keep behaves exactly like a broody hen.

The moment the grand dining hall doors click shut behind my fierce witch bride, a wind sweeps across the stone floor, whisking away the mud and crushed pine needles Cern tracked in.

The velvet chair beneath his massive frame vibrates with a threatening hum until he hastily shifts his weight to a more polite posture.

I can’t help but let out a small laugh.

Across the table, a silver rag materializes out of thin air, vigorously scrubbing at the grease Valen leaves on the pristine wood, while a cabinet door in the corner slams shut with a sharp, echoing crack—the castle's version of a scolding.

The house’s tantrums are a good sign.

Shadow Keep has long since accepted Aveline as it’s mistress. I wonder if she knows it.

"Incredible," Valen utters, his jaw frozen entirely in his handsome, mortal illusion for once. He lets the front two legs of his chair drop to the floor with a heavy thud. He runs a hand through his dark hair, eyes wide with a look I have never seen on his face—awe. "An overgrown excuse for venison. Malakai, where did you find her? She didn’t even flinch when my face slips."

Cern stares fixedly at his bread as if it has personally offended him, his massive antlered head drooping slightly. "She is... she is correct about the perimeter wards," he grunts. "I have not reinforced the western thicket since we awoke from our slumber. I’ve been too occupied tracking the Seelie.” A long pause, as he scratches under his chin and stands. “And I can manage my own anatomy."

"Not according to the lady of the castle," Hash Beauchamp chimes in.

The Seelie rogue lounges gracefully in a chair at the far end of the table, completely unbothered by the lingering tension.

The massive yellow dog at his side hasn’t taken his eyes off the ham on Hash’s fork. The Fae pats the dog on the head before giving him a piece.

Hash looks up at me, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You look like a man who has finally been given a drop of water in the desert."

“She’s my mate.” It’s that simple and that complicated.

Standing, I pace the length of the hearth, the soft autumn sunshine melting through the windows. "Her soul is the other half of mine, born of light and day. I loved her before she even possessed a name in this life, and I will love her when this keep is nothing but dust. I can’t remember more than a shade of the other versions of her, of us, but if I felt a shred of what I feel now towards them, I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep living.”

Valen and Cern share a heavy look. The irreverent demeanor they wear like armor slips away.

All that’s left are the weary entities underneath.

"I can’t decide if I am envious of you or relieved," Valen says softly. "It does not happen for us."

"What do you mean?" I ask, stopping my pacing to look at them.

Cern sighs, and he leans back against the stone wall. "You are the only one of us who has ever been bonded to a soul before, Malakai. The Elder Gods who came before us, they had soulmates, like you. But Valen and I? We have existed for eons, but we have never been wed. We do not have another half to our coins.” A small, humorless smile flickers across his face. “When we awake, it is just the forest and the rot of graves. There is no voice waiting, no soul to love."

An unexpected tinge of yearning bleed’s through Cern's admission.

It surprises me.

"It is just chaos," Valen adds, his dark eyes turning serious as he stares at his own calloused palms. "Death is a lonely business, brother. I look at the coven, and I only see things that break easily. But your witch... she is different. She is going to make you earn her, Malakai."

"She is worth everything," I mutter. A trace of pride curls through my chest at my Aveline.