Page 53 of A Bond in Flames

I stared down at his profile. “If you’d asked me a couple of weeks ago, I would have said, yes, I would leave. Now… I’m not so sure.”

He smiled, but his eyes stayed closed. “You’re falling in love with me.”

I had another of those heart explosions. “Again, you are being presumptuous. You’re the most annoying male I’ve ever encountered. How could I ever fall in love with you?”

He chuckled at my sarcasm. “I have no idea, but you will.”

“And will you fall in love with me?” I asked, while my heart tried to crawl into my throat.

He laughed again and shook his head against my lap as he held me tighter, as if I’d said something absurd, and I hated that sharp and unexpected disappointment filled me.

“I’m already in love with you,” he murmured.

I froze.

His fingers dug deeper into my thigh, massaging, marking my skin with his long, scarred fingers. “That’s why you can’t leave me. I won’t recover if you do, not this time.”

He’d lost everyone, and in a couple of days, Somnus would be gone again as well. “Mors—”

His eyes opened, and he rolled to his back, looking up at me, holding me captive with that bright blue gaze swirling with shadows. “If you leave me, if you go and never return to me, there will be no coming back from the cloak. I’ll let it consume me. I will retreat into it, and I’ll never see you again.”

He’d revert to the Death he was when I first came here, when he first came to me. The way he was looking at me, what he’d just said, it was too intense… too much. “I bet you say that to all your consorts,” I said, trying to lighten the heaviness that had fallen over us.

His gaze searched mine, the darkness overtaking the bright blue, and all traces of humor, of softness, left his face. The shadows thickened around him.

My mouth went dry. What he wanted, what he was asking of me, was too much, too soon. “Death?”

He sat up suddenly and got off the bed.

“Death—”

“Rest. I have some things I need to do,” he said, and then he walked out.

I stared after him, confused. He was angry with me again; I could feel it. What the hell did he expect? So much was changing so fast. Did he expect to profess his love for me and I’d fall at his feet? That I’d say it back? I wasn’t ready to do that, and who knew if I ever would be? I was still trying to get my head around this whole thing—the parts I understood, anyway.

I wasn’t where he was—I just wasn’t. And honestly, I didn’t think he was truly there either. He didn’t love me, not yet. It was too soon. This was the fate thing making him think he felt that way. I cared about him. Goddess, I wanted him, but love? No, because falling in love with him, careening toward a fate that would more than likely see me losing him anyway, was the most terrifying thing I could imagine right now.

Sliding back down the mattress, I tugged up the covers. Hemlock snuggled in against me and instantly fell asleep. I, on the other hand, lay there for hours listening for Death’s footfalls in the hallway, wondering where he was and just how hurt and angry he was with me.

* * *

Death lay on his back, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. He was asleep, so still and so utterly gorgeous. I glanced over at Hemlock; he’d gotten sick of my wriggling during the night and was on the chair across the room by the fire, fast asleep.

I turned back to the male beside me. I wasn’t sure what time he came in. I hadn’t heard him, but he must have been gone several hours at least because I’d been awake that long.

My body was pressed to his side, and I wasn’t sure if I’d sought him out while I’d slept, restless from more visions of the females of his past streaming through me, sending me a message that I hadn’t yet figured out, or if he’d pulled me against him when he’d returned.

Considering how we left things last night, I was assuming it was the former.

I appreciated his attempt at honesty last night. Even if he’d been drunk when he said all those things and even if I didn’t believe he truly felt that way, I hated that I’d hurt him. Death had suffered a lot in his long life, and I didn’t want to be another wound on his soul. He didn’t deserve that. But he was expecting too much from me way too soon.

That didn’t stop me from feeling guilty, though. Leaning deeper into him, I rested my hand on his stomach and kissed his chest. His skin was so smooth—no hair, just taut, smooth skin over lean, hard muscle. I slid my hand down his hairless stomach, wrapped my hand around his hard, smooth length, and stroked slowly.

Death made a rough sound before his eyes blinked open. He sucked in a breath. “Fuck,” he said when he released it.

“You were just so tempting lying there, I had to touch,” I said, kissing his stomach. “How are you feeling this morning?”

His fingers delved into my hair. “Like I want to wake with you pressed against me every morning,” he growled.

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