Page 32 of A Bond in Flames

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Death shoved the door open to one of the rooms and pulled me in.

“Stay here,” he said and disappeared.

Mounted lanterns flickered against the walls. There was a table against one side of the small room, an old steel tub down from that, and a bed on the opposite side. I flicked back the covers and inspected the worn cotton sheets. They looked clean. Risking it, I leaned in and sniffed. They smelled clean. I assumed we had Horace to thank for that. Though I wasn’t sure I’d get much sleep tonight, not when the entire crew was after my blood—or something even worse.

The door opened again, and Death strode back in, a demon rushing in behind him carrying two buckets of steaming hot water. He dumped them into the tub and rushed off again while Death unloaded his armful of food on the table. Bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine.

I said nothing and neither did he as the demon returned and dumped more water in the tub, another demon behind him with his own buckets. They came and went until it was three-quarters full, and then Death told them not to come back and slammed the door and locked it.

“Those scratches on your chest, they look really bad,” I said and closed the space between us. I lifted my hand, and he stepped back.

“They’re full of poison,” he said. “I need to soak the wounds in hot water now, or they won’t heal properly.”

“Could the poison actually kill you?”

He shook his head. “It could make me sick, though.”

“Well, get in the tub. What are you waiting for?”

His gaze swept over me. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you, Zinnia?”

He was using my name more and more, and it was an assault to every one of my senses each time he uttered it. “I’m fine. I should’ve expected it. I’m the idiot who dropped her guard.”

He did another sweep of my body. “You’re not an idiot.” Then again, from head to toe. Finally satisfied I was okay, he nodded and sat on one of the chairs.

“It’s kind of you to say, but we both know that’s a lie.”

He made a rough sound and pulled off his boots, kicking them aside. Then he stood again, his hands dropping to the buttons of his pants, and he undid them—and shoved them down.

Holy shit.

He didn’t turn away. He stood there in all his slick, hairless, naked glory. I tried not to look; I really did. My mouth went dry. “Looks like I can cross shy off the list,” I said and tried not to sound as breathless as I felt. Goddess, I knew he was beautiful, but I was seriously struggling to breathe. He was just all finely sculpted muscle and tattoos. No female could look at him and not be… affected.You’re still staring.Yes, yes, I was. I pulled out one of the chairs and sat at the table as he stood by the tub. His hand changed color—pale gray, then deepening until it was black again. He held it above his chest, and the slashes oozed, a black substance bubbling to the surface. He swiped his hand down, and the poison splattered on the wooden floor before evaporating.

“So the hand of death does more than just straight up murder, then?” I said as he climbed into the tub.

“It does.”

The polite thing to do would be to sit with my back to him, but I refused to show weakness. He knew what he was doing, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see he’d gotten to me, and I would not freaking blush. It’s not like his was the first cock I’d seen. Was it the most perfect? Yes. The biggest? Hell, yes. But I was no shy little virgin, and I refused to act like one. It didn’t matter who he was.

Breaking off a piece of bread, I topped it with cheese, then poured us both a glass of wine. “How long do you have to soak those wounds?” I asked and glanced up again. He was sitting in the tub, facing me, of course. He’d want to see if he’d gotten to me. The tub was pretty big, but his knees were forced to bend a little and spread wide.

He had his head tilted back, resting on the edge. “Until I feel all the poison’s gone. I should have gotten most of it, but with my weakened powers…” He shrugged. “Could take a few minutes, could be an hour—depends how deep its claws went.”

“So what else does the hand of death do?”

“Besides what you just saw? Not much. Mainly just the whole straight up murder thing.”

“Nice,” I said, ignoring the stupid flutters in my belly at the way he was looking at me. “You want some food?”

His head lifted, and those mesmerizing blue eyes locked on me. “Please.”

I made him a cheese sandwich and grabbed his wine. He tracked me as I walked over to him, and I did my best not to ogle him as I handed him his wine. He drank it and gave me the glass, then took the sandwich.

“Thank you,” he said. “You can go first tonight.”

Of course he hadn’t forgotten. No matter the circumstances, the evenings were question time. I took my seat again and popped a piece of cheese in my mouth while I contemplated my question. One kept circling my mind. It was a dangerous question and probably not the one I should ask considering our circumstances, but I wasn’t sure I could help myself. “I should get two questions tonight. Your crew just tried to make me their sex slave, so you owe me.”

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