“Nothing. I came out here to think,” I lie, venom oozing from every word. I wanted to say that it’s none of his concern, but the rational part of my brain is working today.
My gaze is drawn to his fingertips as they blacken at the ends, and I notice a large silver band around his index finger. As his magic runs under his skin, the skull carved from the metal glimmers. I examine his every movement, fully aware of the historical records detailing the consequences of his touch. “I really must be leaving.”
Dimples curve his cruel, handsome face, smirking as if I have missed some kind of joke.
The muscle in my jaw feathers, and I let out a sharp, scant breath. “What’s so humorous?”
“That you believe you’re leaving.”
My next breath catches in my throat, and I edge away from him. “My family is waiting for me.”
“No,” he says nonchalantly, and I swallow thickly. He closes the distance between us, and I flinch, annoyed that I showed any fear. “You are a wondrous little creature, aren’t you?” He tilts his head, curiosity threading in those ancient eyes. “How is it a mere mortal like yourself came to possess my magic?”
“Your magic?” I ask, feigning cluelessness. He inches forward, my breaths growing uneven as he closes the distance between us.
“The decay magic,” he bites out.
I hold my breath for several seconds, just staring at him, praying this is a dream. Drake is alone now, awaiting a certain execution if I don’t get to him soon.
“Speak, mortal. What is it you know?” He presses.
I straighten my posture, despising the way I feel under his gaze. Refusing to cower, I instead shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know anything. It’s just… bad luck, I guess.”
His gaze drops to my hands, likely drawn to the magic under my fingertips. “I do not believe you.”
“I already told you,” I say, stumbling over my words, eager to get away from the arrogant god who treats mortals like vermin. “I have no idea how I came to possess your magic, but I swear I want nothing to do with it. In fact, I’d be glad to be rid of it.”
And you. I think the last part in my head.
Hurt pinches his features, so swiftly I may have missed it if I wasn’t watching him so carefully. His expression quickly shifts back into a stoniness that reminds me of his statue—the one I destroyed.
“Calista.” My name falls from his lips as if it belongs to his voice. Everything about him is utterly captivating, like a predator built to lure me in. “Goodbye, mortal.”
My heart thumps, almost to a stop. With quivering fingers, he slowly lifts his hand to my face, eyes alight with both promise and fear. The air thickens, and I struggle in a breath. His fingertips graze my cheek, and I’m paralyzed under his touch.
He holds his breath, flinching when his icy fingertips meet the warmth of my skin. Shadows unfurl from his body, swirling around us in an uncontrollable tornado of darkness. I feel tiny under his height, his chin almost resting on my forehead. I glance up as he closes his eyes, seemingly savoring the moment.
My mind races to process what’s happening. He’s trying to kill me.
Wild-eyed, I glance down at his hand, the blackness at his tips seeping into my skin. Yet, instead of harming me, his magic—the very magic I’ve despised all this time—melds with mine, almost as if it’s trying to protect me.
He opens his eyes, the orbs of silver darkening as the realization that I’m not dying dawns on us both.
I grab his fingers when my heart thuds normally again, then lift my boot, slamming it into his leg, but he doesn’t move, or even flinch. Instead, he stares at me, his lips slightly parted.
“Get away from me!” I stumble backwards, looking at my hands, quickly checking that I am, in fact, not crumbling to ash, just as the Phovus had done under my touch.
The night darkens into a deep indigo, and I lift my gaze to Death, watching him cautiously. I shudder as a glimmer of darkness sweeps over his silver eyes. His brows pull together in the middle, and I take another step back.
His jaw slacks, and he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. My heart pounds while I wait for him to react. He turns his stare to his blackened fingertips, then inhales sharply. Slowly, he looks back at me, anger sweeping those handsome, sharp curves of his face, revealing the monster hiding just beneath the surface.
His nostrils flare. “You should be ash! Why are you not dead?” he asks, as if I know the answer.
“I—” I pause, then exhale shakily at the audacity of his question. “Why didn’t I die?” I shoot him an incredulous look. “Why are you trying to kill me?”
His jaw clenches, and dark wisps, like glittering shadows made from the night, dance around his fingers in swirls. “You are not supposed to possess my magic,” he insists, his tone dripping with venom. “Yet you do, and without the curse attached to it. You can still feel the embrace of other mortals,” he continues, his voice growing louder with each beat. “Now I find you are also immune to my power.”
I hiss between clenched teeth, “I didn’t know you were such a jealous god.”
Shadows envelop us as he lunges at me without warning, and within a second, his hands are on my wrists, his eyes ablaze with uncertainty. I grip his arms as he knocks me off my feet, then pushes me back. My back thuds against a tree trunk as we fall into the forest.
“Let me go!” I shout, kicking his legs as he holds me firmly, his body pressed against mine. “You fucking monster.”
Silence hangs in the air as his expression falters, his hold loosening. Gradually, his fingers slide over my wrist and along my arm, his intense gaze tracing every movement, as if the experience of touching another is foreign to him.
Maybe it is.
He brings his unblinking eyes to meet mine, remaining frozen in place while his fingers continue their path up to my throat. I had expected his movements to be guided by anger, but they are gentle, slow, and building in intensity instead.
Short, rugged breaths leave him as he presses me against the tree, his fingers coiling around my throat. His other hand is on my hip, carefully gliding me up the trunk of the tree as he lifts me effortlessly, his puzzled gaze fixed on me the entire time.
My thighs clench together, my body willfully oblivious to the precarious situation I’m in—or perhaps the danger is heightening my desire.
There’s something so hungry in his eyes, a need to devour, and my stomach knots at the thought of him, against me, looking at me like he wants to… kiss me.
What the fuck am I doing? He tried to kill me.
I wrestle against his impossible hold. His brows furrow, and he inches away, his eyes focused on my lips. Seizing the opportunity, I drive my knee into his groin with all the force I can muster. He elicits an anguished scream as he stumbles back, and before he can get up, I launch my boot into his dick again, and he drops to his knees.
