Page 30 of Love and Death
“Do you think this task necessary or not?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is decided.”
“Thank you,” I say, utterly failing to find words worthy enough to express the true depth of my gratitude.
If she can manage this, if she can find out anything about Hades’ plans for Death and my father, then I may very well owe her my life.
The succubus gives me a small nod of understanding, and a wave of relief washes over me. Satisfied that there is now some semblance of a plan in place, I settle back into the water to let Florence finish bathing me.
The stress and tension slowly leach from my body as I finally allow myself to accept this rare moment of peace … that is, until Florence asks me to lean back and grabs my hair to rinse it.
“Mortal one,” she gasps, her fingers pulling my hair taut, “what in all the gods’ names is this?”
“What?”
I struggle to glance over my shoulder at her and barely manage to see that her gaze is trained on my neck. It takes me another second to realize that she’s just discovered the bite mark.
Florence reaches out to touch it, and I scramble to pull away, yanking my hair out of her grasp as I move into the middle of the tub.
“Hazel?”
“It’s nothing, just a scar.”
“A scar? No, this is no mere flesh wound. Besides, I would have noticed if you had this before. No, this is new. This is a soul mark. Who did this to you?”
“Really, it’s nothing,” I repeat, not wanting her to change her mind about leaving me alone with Cerberus.
“Tell me, or I will be forced to hazard a guess of my own,” she says. “If you wish me to help you, then you must be honest with me.”
My shoulders slump, but as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.
“It was Cerberus,” I confess, breaking my promise to the hellhound in doing so.
Though now, I’m not sure I was ever capable of keeping this hidden for long. Not after Florence took one glance and so easily identified it for what it was.
Her eyes narrow as they fix me in place, studying me intensely. “Did you give him permission to do this?”
“What? No, of course not!”
“When did this happen?”
“Late morning, just after the trial,” I answer, guilt pitting in my stomach and heat burning in my cheeks as I recall what happened between us.
“Who else witnessed this?”
“No one,” I choke in surprise. “We were alone. It happened after he brought me back.”
The succubus looks away, muttering a harsh string of unintelligible words under her breath. Then, she turns back to me, the depth of gaze piercing me to my very core.
Before I have a chance to react, she leans forward over the edge of the tub and grabs hold of my arm to pull me back toward her. Her other hand reaches out to brush the hair from my neck, and the next thing I know, I’m squeezing my eyes shut as I brace myself for the excruciating pain that’s sure to follow.
Her fingers graze my neck, gently trailing over the bite mark … but, nothing happens.
I open my eyes to look at her.
“Your turn,” she says, dropping her hand from the mark but keeping a firm hold on my arm. She gives mean encouraging nod, and tentatively, I reach up to touch the scar.
