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Not an ounce of fear in her eyes. Not confidence either. Just freedom because of her complete lack of regard for her own safety.
“You can’t kill me,” she says with a sneer. “I’m already dead.”
“True,” I say, and the dagger disappears. She’s still locked tight by the back of her neck. “But I can hurt you. I can make you beg for the Crimson River.”
“There’s no pain here,” she points out. “I’ve been thrown around enough… but no pain.”
“That’s because you don’t have a body yet.”
Her dark eyebrows press together, standing out starkly against her platinum hair. “I have a body.”
“You have an illusion. A small gift to all souls entering the Underworld so you don’t go crazy over your circumstances. A bit of normality before you’re judged.”
“It sure looks like I have a body. Still wearing the same clothes I was in when I slit Vince’s throat. Was able to get that dagger from you without you knowing. I’m hardly a ghost.”
Smirking, I sling her away from me. Not hard enough to make her go down, but enough to give us distance. “You’re not breathing.”
“What?” she exclaims.
“You’re not breathing. You don’t have a heartbeat. You’re solid, but you’re not real.”
Nyssa presses her hand to her chest, pushing hard. She opens her mouth, attempts to suck in air. When nothing happens, I see her first sign of weakness as panic fills her eyes.
“I… can’t… breathe.” She stares at me desperately, hands clawing at her throat. “Help.”
I don’t. I let her suffer so she knows I’m in control. Any grace she gets will be by my hand, and I’ll make the little killer grateful for it.
Walking to her, I watch her enter a full-blown meltdown over the psychological mind fuck she’s experiencing, thinking she needs oxygen to breathe when a dead person doesn’t need such things.
I put my palms to the sides of her head. She grips my wrists, thrashing in her delirium, and I bring my mouth to hers.
It’s not a kiss by any means.
I blow breath mixed with my power into her, and the minute it hits her lungs, I feel the change take hold.
Releasing my grip, Nyssa falls to her knees, grunting from the pain of the bone hitting hard against the stone. Her palms press down, and she inhales deep breaths.
I stare in amazement as the real Nyssa McKnight has been reborn. Her true form before she bleached her hair and hacked away at it with what must have been a butter knife.
She throws her head back to glare at me. “What did you do?”
“I gave you a real body. One with nerve endings, blood, and a need for oxygen, which we have plenty of here in the Underworld. You can now feel pain. You can now be hurt. In fact, your body can be torn to pieces—and trust me, there are many creatures here that would love to tear you apart. Now, stand up.”
Sucking in another breath, she rises, and her hatred once again mars her pretty face. I study her critically. “You look much better as a brunette.”
Her hand flies upward, finding her hair long. She pulls a chunk forward over her shoulder to look at it. “How did you know?” she whispers in fascination.
“What you really look like?” She glances at me and nods. “I didn’t. I just called on my powers to return you to your original form, and this is what I got.”
She drops her hair, and her lips press in a flat line. “That’s not who I am anymore.”
“No, I suppose not. You’re mine to do with what I want now.”
“Am I staying here forever?” she demands.
“You’re to do whatever I tell you to do.”
“Will you throw me in the river at some point?”
