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“So then . . .” I raised a brow. “Is my bite inked into your flesh, as well?”
“That—” he whispered in my ear, “—I will leave for you to discover on your own.”
My traitorous mind flashed with an image of the dark god standing before me—naked. I imagined the heavy muscle in his legs, in those great hips, built for thru—
I shoved the intrusive thought out.
He peered down at me with those never-ending obsidian eyes, and despite how empty I told myself they were, I’d be a damned liar if I didn’t admit they were as mesmerizing as the twinkling night sky.
I looked away. This was the male that had tormented me since the day I was born. This was the enemy of my . . .
Mywhat?
Aurelius was no longer my husband, which meant his enemies no longer needed to be mine. It was time I forged my own alliances.
I looked at the first one I was about to make, only to find that the smirk he wore instantly fell flat. His nostrils flared as if he scented something, and his eyes darted to my hand—the one wrapped in white linen.
His gaze jerked back to mine, and he snarled, “Did the mate-fucker do this to you?”
I took a hesitant step back.
Instantly, the fire in his eyes smothered out. He offered me his hand, asking with . . . tenderness, “May I?”
I shook my head, retreating another step. I felt like an injured animal, and the last thing I needed was another predator touching me.
“Goddess, please, I can scent your ichor. It is a fresh wound. Let me see,” he said, his voice almost . . . pleading.
“Fine,” I said, taking a breath. My brows knitted firmly. “I’ll show you, but that is all.”
He nodded.
Tenderly, I unwrapped the thin linen, revealing the sorry state of my broken finger, gilded in ichor—jutting unnaturally to the side. The sight of it was grotesque. I could barely stand to look at it.
His lips curled back, but whatever sound he was about to make was suppressed as his eyes met mine. He took a breath—a shaky one. “It needs to be set.”
“I know.” I was well aware that my body lacked the ability to heal on its own, unlike every other immortal.
He held out his tattooed hand once more. “I promise to be as gentle as I possibly can.”
I stared at his offered hand, weighing my options. Eventually, with some hesitation, I placed my hand in his. “Alright.”
He stepped into me, gently grasping the broken end of my finger while his free hand steadied my trembling one. “Little Goddess . . .”
“Yes?” I answered nervously as I stared at my finger, so small in comparison to his.
My knees wobbled, alarms ringing. This was a bad idea.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
My gaze lifted, and that was when the God of Death kissed me—his mouth colliding into mine. The searing kiss struck like a bolt of lightning, entering at my lips, scorching through my body, and leaving through my feet—surely shattering the ground beneath me.
But before my world could cave in, I shoved against him with my good hand and jerked away from him. “Bastard,” I sputtered.
But he did not respond because he was too busy staring at my hand, his brows raised ever so slightly.
I looked down—my finger . . . was healed.
And I hadn’t felt a lick of pain.
