Page 5 of A Bond in Flames

Even though my family at home in Roxburgh was still desperately trying to find a way to get me out of this bargain, I knew there was no escape.

And deep down, I thought they did too. Jazzy’s twenty-first birthday would be here before we knew it, and my visits home would end. I’d be trapped here in Limbo with Death, in this castle, for the rest of my life.

I ran my fingers over the scar on my forearm, where I’d cut out the markings given to me by a demon—a different bargain that had kept me hidden from Death for thirteen years until I couldn’t hide anymore. The price I’d paid for it was immense, but even then, deep down, I’d known my reprieve was only temporary.

In the end, it had all been my choice—protecting my cousin, my coven; leaving my sister; and coming here. Yes, an impossible one, but a choice all the same, and one I’d make again and again.

That meant I had to make my peace with it, with saying goodbye for good, with never seeing my family or Jasmine ever again.

* * *

I woke to the clink of ice against crystal.

Blinking the sleepiness away, I lifted my head from the arm of the chair, and my heart immediately leaped into my throat before I snatched up my knife.

Death stood in front of the fire, a drink in hand—watching me.

I sat up straighter. My body had instantly sensed the threat and reacted before my mind fully had a chance to engage. His gaze dipped to the knife now gripped in my hand, his brow lifting. I shrugged. What did he expect?

He was shirtless, as he often was now, in only a pair of black trousers that sat low on his hips. I tried not to stare at the shadows the fire created on his skin or the way they danced over the taut ridges of his muscled chest, but it was hard. That smooth, hairless, inked body was as beautiful and terrifying as the rest of him. The very thought of touching him was so utterly absurd and wrong and frightening, it was laughable. It’d be like petting a beast capable of eating you whole or swimming in lava or touching the sun—unthinkable.

He took a sip of his drink and ran a hand over his tattooed skull.

I waited for him to say something; he didn’t.

Death looked tired.

The room was still dimly lit, but it was morning. There was no sun here in Limbo; there was the illusion of one, though, and light filtered through the arched windows.

“A little early for that, isn’t it?” I said, eyeing the amber liquid in his glass instead of looking directly at him. I couldn’t take the silence any longer, not with all that turbulent energy radiating from him.

“You didn’t sleep in your bed,” he said, ignoring my comment.

“What gave it away?”

He ignored my sarcasm. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to.” Hemlock poked his head out from under the fur. He’d become bolder around Death lately, and I’d noticed a look in his cute, beady eyes that was beginning to look alarmingly a lot like worship when he gazed at our jailer.

“Somnus kept you awake?” he asked.

“He kept the whole castle awake.” If it wasn’t Somnus screaming in his sleep, it was Death playing his piano—dark and mournful songs that I’d never heard before and made you want to curl in a ball and sob. I shoved the fur aside and stood, holding Hemy to me. “I need a shower.”

“You will eat first. Meet me in the dining room in fifteen minutes.”

I paused, fighting down my natural instinct to tell him to go fuck himself and his orders, but I’d been there and done that, and it’d gotten me nowhere, so I bit back what I wanted to say and carried on toward the door.

Are you just going to roll over and stop fighting?

No, I wasn’t. I would never stop. If I wanted a goddamn shower first, I’d have one. I turned back to tell him so and froze.

Death had his back to me, facing the fire. He held the fur I’d been wrapped in all night in his hand—and it was pressed to his face.

I spun and darted off on silent feet. Death hadn’t touched me, not in all the months I’d been coming here, even though he called me his consort. After that first night when nothing happened, I’d been relieved. Then, as the months drew on and still he didn’t demand more from me, I’d actually started to feel… even more off-balance. Yes, I was thankful, but if not that, what did Death want from me? Why was I here?

Then he’d gone and taken off the cloak, after all this time, and I had no idea why or what it meant, but it had to mean something, right? And now he was smelling the fur I’d slept with?

I rubbed my arms, now covered in gooseflesh, and rushed into my room, shutting myself in.

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