Page 64 of A Bond in Flames

I could just lay here and do nothing, stay in the dark and blindly do as he instructed, or I could do what I always had and protect my soul and my heart and choose the truth—whatever it was.

I’d rather be faced with all the horrors and ugly parts of a person, see all their scars on full display, than live in ignorance for my own comfort. Pushing back the covers, I quickly dressed, shoving my feet in my boots. Hemlock scurried across the bed, squeaking at me. “You have to stay here, okay? It’s too dangerous.” He hissed, then turned his back to me and wriggled under the covers, showing me he was not happy.

Better that than something happening to him.

I slipped out into the hall. At night, the whispers of the souls here were louder, as if the darkness amplified their thoughts and feelings. Ice slid down my spine as I rushed along the hallway. It felt as if they were right behind me, their mouths to my ear, telling me their secrets, their regrets—the darkest marks on their souls.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I stuck close to the wall. Death was talking with Egon. The demon nodded at whatever his lord said, then strode away, and Death spun and walked out. With the coast clear, I rushed across the room and eased the door open, slipping out.

Death was striding down the skull path, shrouded in shadow. I hung back, following at a distance, using all the magic I had to try and conceal myself from him. It wouldn’t last. I could only summon a thin and fragile barrier that would wear thin, then dissolve completely from the strength of his power, but that was okay. It just needed to hold long enough for me to learn what the hell was going on.

He lifted his hand, and a path appeared through the trees, one I’d never seen before. We were close to where I’d been attacked by Alga. Where I’d seen Death remove her head, then carry her wriggling corpse away in a sack moments later.

An awful shriek came from up ahead—the same awful sound I’d heard from the undead female while she’d circled me, swiping at me, clawing me.

The shadows thickened before his cloak swirled around him, his staff appearing in his hand a moment later. He didn’t pause but kept walking as the shriek came again. We carried on for a little longer, and then Death stopped. I quickly stepped off the path and pressed my back against one of the large trees. Leaving the path was risky, but I had no choice. I didn’t want him seeing me, not before I knew what this was. Sliding my knife free, I hung back and watched.

Death turned to his right and said something, his voice low, rough, and then he held out his hand. Bony fingers appeared first before one of the undead stepped awkwardly from the forest beside the path, its movements jerky and disturbing. Its clothes were hanging off bones draped in old skin and tendons. She took Death’s hand.

“Come now,” I heard him say. “You know you’re not supposed to wander.”

As they passed a tree with sparse foliage, light from the faux moon shone down on her. She had her skeletal face upturned, looking at Death, and from what I could see of her hair, it had once been black and wavy.

Death didn’t remove her head or shove her in a sack like the last one we encountered; no, he was talking to her, his low voice drifting back while she said the odd, garbled words and walked jerkily at his side. As if they were going on a midnight stroll together.

What the fuck was this?

They carried on for several yards, and I followed, keeping a good distance between me and them. Then they stopped, and I realized the path had ended. Death cupped her skeletal face—then pressed a sweet, soft kiss to her bony cheek before he straightened, lifted his staff, now glowing with power, and iron gates appeared. Shrieks filled the night, moans, garbled voices calling for him. As if he had some undead army behind that gate that worshipped him.

Had I been right? Had Death amassed some fucked-up undead horde? With his evil bitch of a mother and her army of demons right next door, I guessed it made sense for him to amass his own, but no matter how you looked at it, this was wrong. It was twisted and cruel. If he had done this, then he wasn’t the male I thought he was… hoped he was, not at all.

Nausea gripped my stomach as he opened the gate and the undead female stepped through. As soon as she had, he pulled it shut, and the gate vanished.

Death turned then, and I had two choices, either hide and run through the forest, hoping I’d beat him home or—

I dropped the gossamer thin barrier of my magic that remained and stepped out of my hiding place and onto the path. I wasn’t the kind of female to hide or run, not when the danger concerned someone I cared about, consequences be damned.

Death went still.

“Who’s your friend?” I asked, legs braced, waiting for the impact of his anger.

He started toward me, his cloak flaring out behind him as he walked, his staff gripped tight in one hand. The volatile emotions rolling off him wereintense, and it took everything in me not to step back as he strode right up to me, towering over me.

“Your new girlfriend?” I asked, refusing to cower under that ferocious glare. “I guess it makes sense that Death would be up for some necrophilia.”

His nostrils flared. “Go back to the castle, Zinnia.”

“You’re not going to tell me who that was?”

His blue eyes glowed down at me. “No.”

I ground my teeth. “Mors—”

“Do not speak.”

What I felt coming off him was wild, unstable—goddess, a raging storm. My knees almost buckled under the weight of all that was pouring off him. I didn’t understand it, what caused him to feel this way, but it was horrible.

“Talk to me. What’s going on—”

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