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He entered the large frame of the window, giving me view of them both. He proved the limited brain cells he had when he didn’t take the lovely little female in his arms—something I would have done if the roles had been reversed. I would have done so much more than just take her in my arms . . . I would have noticed how scantily she’d dressed herself tonight, shredded the clothes off her body with a snap of my teeth, twirled her around, and pleasured her against the window, overlooking the orchard we’d created.
But alas, the young god and I were not born of the same breed, that much was evident. I wondered if she ever questioned why he no longer had sex with her.
Suddenly, their body language changed. They both went stiff—like rigor mortis setting in. Whatever they were talking about had quickly gone awry. This wasn’t uncommon with them. These days, all they seemed to do was fight.
I twirled my wrist, my palm facing skywards, conjuring a plump, juicy apple in my hand—a little snack for the upcoming spectacle.
Like my incredible eyesight, I could listen in on their conversation if I wanted to. But their squabbles were so petty lately, I no longer bothered.
My brows shot up as I watched her throw the brush at him. Without so much as a flick of his wrist, he knocked it off course and it flew past him, narrowly missing his head. He snarled at her.
I bit into the apple, chuckling to myself—oh, this was going to be good. She had never gotten physical with him before. Good for her.
With his fists clenched, he walked past the view of the window, disappearing behind gold brick walls. She charged after him. I looked to the next window, only to see the two of them sail past it, out of view.
Well—I peered down at the apple—that wasn’t very much fun.I took another bite, setting my poor attention span on the apple in my hands.
When nothing but the core was left, I tossed it on the ground, leaving the chewed-up gift for her come morning—something I did frequently. I had a sneaking suspicion she knew it was me, although I had yet to confirm it. I was just about to turn, just about to shadow walk to the Spirit Realm when I felt the sudden release of immense power, the magic clogging my nostrils.
Eyes wide, I looked back at the window. It granted me just enough view to see her briefly as she was thrown backwards. Not even a second later, she was out of view.
I didn’t see what happened next, but I damn well heard it.
I heard her smash into the wall behind her, her immortal bones snapping so loud it was like lightning had struck a tree and blown it into smithereens. The birds that had been resting in the trees startled into flight, thousands of wings flapping into a steady, humming chatter.
My jaw cut steel—my molars ready to combust. Something potent swirled in my veins. Something menacing. Something that yearned for blood.
I didn’t think. I didn’t need to. On instinct, and instinct alone, I moved.
One second, I was standing in the orchard and the next I was standing in their grand, luxurious chambers—big enough to fit an arena in.
My nostrils flared when I saw her.
She was unconscious, her neck snapped awkwardly to the side, her arms and legs twisted and broken. Shattered bones jutted out of her porcelain skin, her gold ichor rising to the surface, running like streams of a river, and collecting in an ocean of divine blood that pooled beneath her.
A snapped neck and broken bones weren’t nearly enough to kill an immortal, but that did not justify what he had done to her. Seeing her like that, it stirred something feral within me and—
“What areyoudoing here?” Aurelius snarled, his fists clenched at his sides, knuckle bones threatening to cut through the stretched skin.
I growled back, placing myself between him and her.
What in the fuck was I doing? Protectingher?
My magic was much older than his, but I was not a fool. I knew who the people had been praying to for years—him, not me. Their prayers fueled his powers exponentially. Aurelius could very well be stronger than me. That was something I really did not wish to find out right now, although that day would eventually come. And so, I did what I’d done a hundred times before . . .
I stole her into the night, taking her to the Living Realm.
To the tiny little cottage surrounded by swaying oaks.
Normally, an immortal’s body was able to fix broken bones all on its own, but after a week passed by and I saw no progress in her healing, I decided to do it myself. Manually.
But while I straightened her shattered limbs, I grew sick to my stomach to the point that I had to go outside and vomit in the woods—a first for me.
And after I was finished, I decided I never wanted to do it again.
I was the God of Death and bones were my currency, but when it came to hers—when it came to seeing them broken like that?
I could have reduced the realms to ash.
