Page 4 of Bride of Death
But that’s a consideration for later.
“They’re not games,” a deep voice interjects from down the bar. I squint at the newcomer, hardly able to discern his masculine form in the shadows. But he’s there, his golden eyes seeming to flicker like the flames dancing throughout the room.
Death’s Den certainly maintains its reputation and ambience with its crypt-like decor.
Obsidian stones laden with bones decorate the bar counter. Solid black slabs of marble rest over ivory colored poles—which may also be bones—for the tables. And black wood frames the booths as well as the bar stools and high-top chairs.
The walls also resemble a cave. The light is predominantly provided by candlelit chandeliers. And the floors are stark gray slate.
When I first entered this place a few weeks ago, I shivered.
But I needed the job behind the counter.
The manager of Death’s Den—a Corpse Fae named Gnarls with pretty green eyes and bright red hair—took one look at me and hired me on the spot.
I thought I got lucky.
That illusion disappeared my first night after dozens of male fae showed up to enjoy the new “eye candy” at the bar.
Turns out I was hired for having boobs.
Yay me.
“Not really, anyway,” the voice continues, his sensual baritone easily carrying to my ears. “They’re more like trials to see if any of the women who have settled here are ideal mates. There’s a difference.”
I frown at the shadowy figure. “And thesetrialsare mandatory?” Because this is the first I’m hearing abouttrialsormating games. And I’ve worked this bar every night for nearly a month now.
“That’s the rumor,” Dead Guy murmurs. “Heard it m’self earlier today.”
Myself, I think, longing to correct this fae’s grammar. I think he’s a Corpse Fae, hence my nickname for him. But the squid shot he requested earlier seems to be a favorite of the Death Fae patrons. So maybe he’s a mix.
“King Onyx told Lars, who told Munch, who told me that we’ve got ourselves a fun little time comin’ up,” Dead Guy drones on. “But as I said, I can save ya from all the trouble, if you’re lookin’ for a good mate.”
The shadow at the bar grunts. “This courtship is almost too romantic for my ears.” He leans forward, his gold eyes catching and holding mine as a candle illuminates the sharp lines of his jaw. “Would you mind pouring me a spider ale, sweet mystery? I’m going to need one to make it through this awful proposal.”
Sweet mystery.
As far as nicknames go, I’m… I’m okay with that one. It’s a lot better thansugar tits,babe, andlittle human. All of which I’ve been called tonight.
“Oh, feck you, Ghost,” Dead Guy mutters. “No one asked you.”
“And thank the fae for that,” the shadowy one drawls, leaning back into the darkness. It seems to wrap around him like a blanket, hiding him once more from view.
But I won’t be forgetting that handsome jawline of his anytime soon.
All the males around here are gorgeous, even the dead guy seated at my bar. I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement, honestly. However,Ghostcertainly possesses some of the sharpest features I’ve ever seen.
Outside of my dreams, anyway,I think.
With a mental shake, I clear my head—because no, I willnotbe thinking aboutthatright now, thank you very much—and focus on pouring Ghost a spider ale, just like he requested.
The smoky liquid flows from a tap and somehow pools inside the glass I’m holding. I’m not quite sure how it works. Though, I’ve long stopped questioning the magic in this realm.
It’s vastly different from that of the world I’m from but not necessarily alarming. I grew up knowing supernaturals and monsters existed. I just never expected to live freely among them.
I have my sister and her mates to thank for that.
Unless I’m drafted for this mating game…
