Page 95 of Between Sun and Moon

“I think they like you,” Arkyn teased as we began to move, our steps guided by the musician’s notes—the song merry and upbeat. A song befitting a grand victory. What a sham.

“Are you sure it’s not your dazzling personality?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Mine?” Arkyn chuckled. “I think they are too busy salivating over the rare diamond in my arms to be concerned with me.” He leaned in, his voice loud enough for only me to hear. “As they should be.”

“You flatterer,” I chuckled.

“With you, it comes easily,” he said, that unspoken attraction tinting his words.

Suddenly, the wind outside began to howl like some deranged beast. The noise became louder and louder as a gust of wind barreled into the side of the palace—so powerful in force that the floor shuttered beneath my feet.

The dancing stopped. The music stopped.

But the wind did not.

It struck again.

Arkyn and I held on to one another as the palace trembled—as we all trembled. I looked up at the ceiling, the grand chandelier shaking violently, some of its crystals, the size of my fist, rattling loose. They hailed down, shattering like teardrops as they hit the polished marble floors. Arkyn raised his armprotectively over my head as we ran under the canopy created by the second floor.

The doors slammed shut like a row of falling dominoes, one set at a time, but the process itself took seconds.

Outside, the howling wind stopped, but the storm itself was now inside—ancient and violent and lethal and dressed in the finest leathers I had ever seen. And he was standing in front of me.

The God of Death.

“Hello, Little Goddess,” he purred, his obsidian eyes roaming over my face, drifting down my neck.

I stifled an unexpected shiver that walked the length of my back. It wasn’t born of fear, but rather something I had no right to feel. I had been warring with that feeling for decades now.

“You are not welcome here,” Arkyn cut in, taking a gallant step forward. “What do you want?”

I grabbed his gloved hand and tried to pull him back.

The God of Death glanced at one of the servants, raising his tattooed hand and motioning for the server to come over. The waiter stumbled towards him, his eyes propped so wide I could see the whites. The God of Death plucked a glass of sparkling wine off the server’s silver tray. He took his sweet time inspecting the bubbling liquid, purposely leaving Arkyn’s question hanging—a testament to his unparalleled power.

The God of Death answered to no one.

“What do I want?” he repeated finally. His carnal gaze lifted to mine—something sinister lurking inside. He had not even tasted the sparkling wine before he carelessly tossed the glass over his shoulder. It shattered against the floor.

The action stirred a few shocked responses from the crowd, but the majority remained stunned silent, their tongues imprisoned by their fear. All eyes were on us.

He offered his large hand to me, his black and silver rings reflecting sparks of moonlight. “I came for a dance.”

“That will not be happening,” Arkyn stated, his voice dripping with authority.

I touched his arm, my eyes pleading with him not to do anything foolish. “It’s alright. One dance won’t hurt anything,” I said.

Arkyn’s face twisted, an internal war raging inside, before he gave me a curt, agreeing nod.

“Please, everyone, all is well. Let us get back to the celebration,” I said, my voice dripping in regality. Proper and poised. The epitome of the cultured, elegant woman I portrayed myself to be—if only they knew that deep down, I was nothing of the sort. I looked at the conductor. “Please, continue.”

The conductor, an older fellow with a weary smile, spun his hand in grandeur as he bowed towards me. He straightened, flipped his coattails back, and then began to conduct. The orchestra started playing a sad, dark melody, unlike anything I had ever heard them play before . . . I wondered if the God of Death had something to do with it.

Eager to get this over with, I didn’t wait for Death to take the lead. I walked onto the floor, the shattered chandelier crystals crunching beneath my heels. I gripped my skirts and turned towards him, finding him standing in the same spot.

His dark eyes were fixed on me, the left corner of his mouth twisted upwards into a smirk. He had one hand tucked leisurely in the pocket of his tight black breeches, the fabric stretching over his muscular thighs. He stood taller than any man in this room, but it wasn’t his height that sucked the oxygen out of it—it was the immense power he exuded. His onyx hair was tugged up, half of the length braided, the other half spilling down his back. Every part of him looked lethal, just like the vicious wind he commanded.

And right now . . .

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