Page 63 of A Bond in Flames

Her smile slipped. “I’m not doing that.”

I wanted to fucking snarl, to demand she do it, to drop to my knees and fucking beg her to let me keep her safe. “Why?”

“You really don’t get it?”

“I really don’t,” I said and had to fight back the growl in my voice.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Because I’m your consort, Mors, we’re supposed to be partners… even if the power dynamic is so unbalanced, it’s ridiculous. And even if my time with you here is most likely limited, I will not be bound by oaths and forced to obey you like a prisoner, not anymore. Why can’t you understand that?”

I understood it, but history told me not to believe in good intentions or promises from those I loved. When someone cared for you in return, risking their lives for you was nothing. It didn’t matter that I was a god and she was mortal. She’d already shown me she was prepared to walk into an unknown, dangerous situation when she thought I needed her. Things had progressed. She felt my emotions when they were elevated or I was distressed—something she’d already proven—which was why a blood oath was more important than ever.

The look on her face, though, was one I recognized well. She would not back down, not yet, and if we carried on with this conversation, she would only end up even more angry with me, and I didn’t want that. I wanted her smiles and her teasing. I wanted her blushes and her soft looks. So fool that I was, I chose to change the subject back to her garden. “I will attempt to,” I said, lying through my teeth. “This garden, it’s really important to you, isn’t it?”

She stared up at me for several moments, knowing exactly what I was doing and deciding if she wanted to call me out on it or let the subject drop. She blew out a frustrated breath but went with the change of subject. “Creating a garden is the first thing a witch does when she moves to a new home, especially when she’s mated or married,” Zinnia said. “On our mating or wedding day, we’re given a small pot with a vervain plant in it to start our new garden.”

“Why that herb in particular?”

“The leaves of the vervain and its tiny purple flowers can be used to protect against evil spells and negative energy. It can also be used to purify our homes and has many medicinal uses. Vervain represents home and family—love.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “When a witch takes it out of the pot and plants it in her garden, though, is the most significant.”

“Explain,” I said, searching her face, struggling to read the look in her eyes and hating that I didn’t know what she was thinking.

“We only plant the vervain in our new gardens when it feels like home. That one herb provides us with nearly everything we need to take care of and protect our families… so we only plant them when we’re sure that’s where we are, with family. When we’re with the people we choose to love.”

I looked down at the plants flourishing in her garden. “Which one is vervain?” I asked.

She was silent. I looked back up.

Her gaze held mine. “I don’t have one.”

I swallowed abruptly. Of course not. Of course she didn’t have one. Words escaped me as she stared up at me.

“We didn’t have a mating ceremony, Mors, and my family didn’t send me off with my new husband holding a tiny pot of vervain after an epic party. That’s not what this is… This is no love story for the ages.”

My heart physically ached at her words.

You have no idea, little witch.

The answer to all of this was mixed up in those words. She had the answer to how this ended, how it could end, but she just had to surrender to it, to let me in.

She just had to choose me.

CHAPTER20

Zinnia

There wasa soft knock at the bedroom door. “My lord.”

Death jolted beside me, waking instantly. “What is it?”

He’d been restless in sleep the last few hours, and I’d been lying here awake, frustrated and contemplating my situation.

“We’ve had another breach,” Egon said in a hushed, urgent voice.

Death stilled completely. “Fuck.”

I felt his eyes on me, and I kept mine closed. Whatever this was, he didn’t want me to know. I felt it. The tension was a dense wall between us. The way he eased off the bed, trying not to jostle me, told me I was right.

Death wanted my trust while he kept so many things from me. He quickly dressed and slipped out of the room.

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