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He groans loudly now as he drives himself in harder, making me choke on my breath.
“Do you know that you’ll be a queen?” he rasps, delivering another rough, bruising kiss. “Do you realize you’ll wear a crown of crimson? You’ll be the wife of Death, revered and feared throughout the land.”
“I’m just a mortal,” I manage to say through a ragged gasp. “No one will fear me.”
“They will, Hanna. They will. Just you wait and see.” Then he bites my neck, sending shockwaves throughout my limbs. “You have no idea what you’re capable of but I’ll be the one to show it to you. Show you who you truly are.”
I whimper in response, my body so greedy and crazed for him and when he pulls his head back, he’s staring at me with so much intensity that I know he’s feeling the same way for me. He has to be.
It’s almost scary how raw this all feels. We are lost to our most basic instincts, sharing this primordial, animalistic desire to make each other come like crazy, to be so deep inside each other that we don’t know where one ends and the other begins.
It’s only when he’s fucking me that I stop feeling like his prisoner.
It’s only now I truly feel free.
Each powerful pump of his hips, each time his cock drives in deeper into my slick heat, each breathless gasp I make, each hungry groan that he makes, and I’m falling.
Cracking.
Breaking.
The glass shatters.
I give in to him.
Give myself to him.
Soul on a platter.
Ready for him to consume.
“Oh fuck,” I whimper as the pressure in my core tightens like a feverish spiral and my eyes pinch shut, my body pitching over the edge. I clutch him hard, nails digging deep.
“Fuck me!” I cry out and my words turn into a garbled mess as the orgasm crashes into me. My head goes back, my eyes opening to see the sky so bright beyond the looming darkness of the castle towers.
A sky of periwinkle blue.
I feel as free as that very sky.
Death is coming now too, a gorgeous, primal groan pouring out of him. Nothing has sounded sexier as he grunts into my neck, his forehead hot against my skin. His thrusts slow, then still, our chests heaving with our ragged breath.
A chilled breeze smelling of sea spray and garden mint washes over the open walls, cooling our heated skin. He pulls back and gives me a lazy grin. No, wait. It’s more of a smirk. I don’t think Death is ever lazy.
“There’s nothing more beautiful than this,” he says, brushing my hair off my face. “You’ll make a lovely bride, little bird.”
And then the hard, cold reality comes crashing into me again.
I’m going to be the Bride of Death.
Chapter 20
The Bride of Death
Despite Death’s wishes that our wedding be quick and rudimentary, word of our nuptials spread quickly across both the realm and the castle. It wasn’t long before others were planning the wedding for us. Or at least attempting to.
And by others, I mean Lovia.
Death’s daughter was beside herself with joy, probably already picturing her exit into the Upper World, and convinced her brother to ferry the dead for the upcoming week so that she could devote all her time to me.
Which is nice and all. I like Lovia a lot, and with Bell gone, it’s nice to have someone else my age (give or take a few eons) to talk to, especially someone familiar with my world and who doesn’t look at you like you have two heads when you start talking about life back at home. But the more she gets excited about the wedding, the more I feel this crushing pressure, like I’ve been placed in a slowly turning vice.
I don’t want to get married. I most definitely don’t want to get married to Death, someone I can really only stand when he’s shoved deep inside me. Growing up, tying the knot was never one of my goals. I mean I get it. I get that people want to be with the one they love for the rest of their years, especially when raising a family. But I guess I just never let myself even fall in love. Not really. And a family was always this wonderful thing that was meant for other people, not me.
After all, my family was fractured at such a young age…maybe I was the reason? It's a hard belief to shake, either way. Maybe all children of divorced parents think this way, but you can’t help but blame yourself a little. Or a lot. Maybe there was something wrong with me, that’s why they split. Hell, since I’m going down this path, maybe that thing that supposedly makes me “powerful” here, whatever that is, is what drove my parents apart.
“Why are you looking so glum?” Lovia asks, eyeing me in the mirror. She’s standing behind me, trying to figure out what way to do my hair for the wedding. So far she’s tried a million different options and doesn’t seem satisfied with any of them. “Getting cold feet?”
