Page 35 of Touch of Death
"Then why not ask her yourself," Eros asks. "Ask your mortal if she would take me, God of Desire, into her bed … or are you too afraid to find out?"
The leather of Death’s glove tightens, and for a breath, I’m sure he’s about to launch himself at Eros. But then, the frost chilling the air softens as a warm breeze whips up around us, filling our lungs with an intoxicating, floral scent.
Persephone steps forward, the tension easing just enough to relax my shoulders as she pushes her way between the two men. The tiny goddess presses a palm to each of their chests, forcing them back a step as she frowns up at the two men, anger flashing across her beautiful face. At her touch, Eros’ wings fold and disappear, and Death’s shadows calm.
“Enough! We do not have time for this,” she hisses. “Eros, you are being difficult, and I have little patience left these days for difficult men. Gods or not. Death, Hazel will stay in this room, and that is final.”
“Who are you to dictate—”
“Shemust,” Persephone snaps, stomping her foot down hard on the marble, a burst of petals floating down around her feet as she glares up at Death.
“And why is that?” he snarls back, his shadows starting to churn at his feet once again.
“Because she will only be safe in my room,” Eros interrupts, drawing our attention back to him with the seriousness of his voice, “that is why I offer it.”
Death pulls back, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“As long as Hades’ deal is in place, no one can set foot in a god’s bedchambers without explicit permission,” he says.
“The only exception to this rule is if someone’s mate is within,” Persephone adds.
“And you did not think to start with this information?” Death says. My gaze flickers between them as I try to make sense of these gods and their strange rules. “Still, I will not leave her alone with him.”
“Then perhaps a compromise is in order,” she sighs, the perfumed air growing heavier around us, “all three of you will share Eros’ room.”
A moment of quiet passes before Eros lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug, and I realize this is his way of agreeing to her compromise.
Frowning, I glance up at Death. Darkness and frost still seep from him, though it is softened by the warm breeze, as he stares down at the others.
Despite what they’ve told us, I get the feeling he has no intention of accepting the offer. Quickly stepping forward before Death’s anger can return, I place a gentle hand on his arm. Instantly his eyes snap to me, softening as they find my face.
“It is only temporary,” I say gently, “and we need all the help we can get. Besides, with you by my side, no harm will come to me.”
“Fine,” Death says, his shoulders relaxing slightly, “but this does not mean I trust you, Eros.”
“Then it seems that we have finally reached an understanding,” Eros says with a rakish grin. “Death, welcome to my private chambers.”
16
Death
All it takes is her hand on my arm.
A single touch and I can feel the icy rage within me thaw for her.
One word from her, and my resolve shatters into a million pieces.
Hazel could ask me to bend my neck to a sword, and I would, without question. She need only ask, and I would do anything, give anything, for her.
And yet, I know these promises are little more than pretty lies. Illusions of selflessness when, in reality, they mean nothing.
I would kneel, but the blade would not kill me. She could ask for my touch, but I would refuse for fear of harming her.
In truth, I am powerless, watching on as another man touches her, invites her into his bed … and she accepts.
Perhaps I was mistaken about the painting, about the depth of her feelings for me. Perhaps Eros is right about her wanting him, and I am the one too blind to see it.
