Page 76 of A Dance Macabre

“It was the drop in adrenaline,” I say limply.

Wolfgang chuckles. “Right.” He waves his hand in front of him in a lazy flourish. “The adrenaline.” His eyes turn serious. “And nothing to do with you.”

I study him for a beat, my hand stroking Sundae’s soft fur to help me feel less astray. “How are you so unperturbed about all of this?” I finally ask.

His eyebrows crease. “About what? Us?”

My heart pinches at the wordus.

“Yes.” My voice is meek, and I suddenly wish my dear god of death could come and claim me instead of letting me suffer through feelings I’d rather not admit.

“Mercy,” Wolfgang says, his hand slowly finding my knee over the duvet. “Why fight it?”

“Because you’ve wanted my demise for as long as I've wished for yours?”

He drags his hand over his jaw as if in thought. Then a small dismissive wave of his fingers. “And yet, the gods had a plan for us all along.”

“So that’s the only reason?” I grit out, “The gods?”

Wolfgang’s gaze hardens into a glare, one eyebrow quirking up questioningly. “Are we not their servants? Do we not owe them our fate?”

I stare into his eyes but say nothing, chewing on my words. They feel like sand on my tongue and down my throat. Gritty and rough.

“Fate,” I repeat. A small mutter, barely a response.

How can I tell him that my feelings toward him are larger than fate?

If that’s even possible.

The word fate sounds like chains, it rattles and shakes and moans against its shackles reminding me that no matter what, he did notchooseme. The gods did.

How can fate be the sole reason why I dismissed the warning bells and bent the rules just for a taste of him? Is this what obsession feels like? Isthatwhat I’m feeling? Certainly notfate.

Wolfgang reaches for me, through the stony barrier I’ve managed to slither behind, and I don’t pull away when his fingers caress my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“What did I say, my ruin?”

His gaze is soft—too soft—the color of his eyes not steely blue but the color of the morning sky. I look away.

“Nothing,” I murmur after a long silence.

Taking my hand in his, he presses his mouth to the cut still healing on my wrist from the blood ritual a week ago. There’s a coy smile on his lips as he looks up through his eyelashes.

“Then stay the night.”

My throat tightens, and my heart skips like a smooth rock over the water.

“But the dogs,” I say weakly, trying to find any excuses other than my teetering vulnerability.

“Whataboutthe dogs,” Wolfgang replies with an exasperated breath. “They seem a lot less skittish than their mother.” My gaze sweeps over the bed, the dogs sound asleep. “Stop resisting what already is.” He rests our hands over Sundae still between us. “You might actually enjoy yourself for once.”

My gaze lifts to his, the words tumbling out.

“I’ve enjoyed myself before.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure answering your god’s call is quite the entertainment,” he says mockingly, but his usual sting is replaced with something a lot warmer, almost like … affection.

The words keep clambering out without me wanting them to. “It’s not the first thing that came to mind.”

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