Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Zinnia

I plucked a sprig of rosemary from my hair while I smeared on lip balm. I'd been outside all day working in my garden. The seasons here… well, there weren't any—not here at the castle, anyway. It was different every day. Today the air had been dry with an icy bite to it, and my lips felt windblown and swollen.

The light was gone outside now, and I preferred to be indoors when that happened. Too many noises I did not like came from the woods around the grounds when night fell. I glanced at the silver clock on the wall; it was intricately tooled, delicate birds and foliage all over it. It was one of my favorite pieces in my room—it was also time to get a hustle on.

Scooping up Hemy, who'd been watching me from the top of my dresser, I put him on my shoulder. He pressed his little body against my neck as we walked out. "Let's go face the music."

If I'd known Death would force me to make up for our missed question time this morning, I would have hunted him down last night and forced him to do it when we were scheduled to, because twice in one day was not something I ever wanted to contend with again.

As always, the shadows and harsh whispers followed me as I rushed by. They were souls, or at least some kind of reflection of them from around Limbo, their voices echoing down the hall, their emotions like a heavy cloud. They haunted the halls, and I'd tried many times, but I couldn't reach them, couldn't communicate with them—with any souls at all when I was here. I was more than a little curious about the souls here and how this realm worked, but no one had offered to share.

Death's voice rolled from the library, followed by Egon's far gentler one, answering.

Death had made himself scarce since we ate this morning, when things took a weird turn with the whole what's-your-number question. He'd been pissed when he left. I really hoped he was in a better mood tonight, because I was tired, I missed my sister and my cousins and aunts, and the thought of sparring with him this evening had me feeling weary to the bone. It was all we did, but no matter how tired I was, I would meet him barb for barb. You gave Death an inch? Well, I didn't want to know what him taking a mile entailed.

Taking a fortifying breath, I knocked on the door. Death's gaze slid to me when I walked in, and I felt it like a lick of fire up my spine.

"I'll stay with him, my lord," Egon said, dipping his head and rushing from the room.

Death turned to the sideboard, and the tink of crystal came next.

He was pouring our drinks, which was all part of the ritual, I guess. I wasn't sure why he'd wanted this so badly.

I sneaked a glance over at him. His black shirt clung to his massive upper body, open to just below his pecs, giving a flash of the star tattooed on his chest. On closer inspection, I realized there were two more inside it—one slightly smaller, the same shape exactly, and another, much smaller one among the intricate swirls in the center. Small but bright. He lifted his gaze, and I quickly looked away.

"You smell like your garden," he said when he closed the space between us and held out my drink.

Oh, cool. He was smelling me again. That wasn't unsettling at all . "No flies on you tonight, my dark, malevolent one," I said with a smirk, trying to hide my discomfort, but couldn't meet his eyes.

This was the part I dreaded the most during our usual question time, taking the glass from him without our fingers touching. I usually just grabbed it on the top and bottom, avoiding where his hand wrapped around it. I wasn't sure why, but I couldn't do it. Touch Death? Not fucking likely, but tonight, he stood beside me, facing the fire as well, and instead of turning to face me when I did, he stayed where he was. His hand engulfed the glass, and his pinky was tucked under it. There was no taking the glass from him without my fingers touching his.

"You think me malevolent?" he asked, still holding out the glass.

Goddammit, I had no choice but to take it, or I'd draw attention to the fact that I was quietly freaking out at the prospect of my fingers touching his. "Aren't you?" Three, two, one. I grabbed it, and my breath was slammed from my lungs when his rough, warm skin seared mine. His gaze sliced to me, and the one-two smack of power had me staggering back.

"Sit down," he said without concern or explanation.

I all but fell back onto the leather chair. "You did that on purpose," I bit out.

He sipped his drink. "Did what?"

"Forced me to touch you. Gave me a bump of your power." Why lie? It was obvious at this point, and my avoidance of touching him couldn't have been lost on him.

He studied me. "You're stronger than I expected."

"You were testing me? Why?" He didn't answer, just stared at me. I refused to squirm as the silence stretched out. "You won't tell me?"

"It's time for us to begin," he said. "I believe it's my turn to go first."

No, he wasn't going to tell me; in fact, he was going to ignore what I'd asked completely. "You know I'll only ask you when it's my turn."

"You will not," he said. "You will ask something else."

I stared at him, and it was so incredibly hard, but I didn't look away. "Then I'd strongly suggest you don't ever do that again. I agreed to come here, but I didn't agree to be your entertainment or whatever the hell that was."

"The males you fucked, consort, were you in love with any of them?" he asked, as if I hadn't spoken at all, jumping into what was obviously his question for the night.

What the actual hell was this? Death seemed to be in the midst of some fucked-up metamorphosis, from a cloak-wearing, staff-thumping, rage-fueled monster to what stood before me now. He was all god, there was no mistaking it, but at times like this, there was a humanness to him that took me off guard. I sipped my drink, trying to decide how to answer. "I've believed myself in love many times."

He stilled, then placed his glass on the mantel above the fire. One moment he was there; the next, he was looming over me, his massive, tattooed hands on either side of me, gripping the arms of the chair. "Did you give your heart to any of the seven males you lay with, wife?"

"You're really hooked on that number, huh?" I said absolutely unwisely and despite my pounding heart, but I wasn't the kind of female to let a male walk all over me, not even Death himself, it seemed—not without a little fight, anyway. His scent filled the space between us, and it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before—dark, rich, and smooth, heady in a way that made you want more. It was too much, like everything else about him. Having him this close was like facing off against a fire-breathing dragon, and I tried so hard, but there was no controlling my body's deep trembles.

"Breathe," he said roughly.

That's when I realized my lungs were screaming for oxygen, and I gasped in a much-needed breath.

"Now, give me my answer," he said, studying me.

I was all but panting. "No, I have never truly given my heart to any male," I choked out. "And I never will," I added for reasons unknown.

His gaze slid over my face, and I felt it like the lick of the dragon's tongue. His eyes did that thing they had at breakfast earlier, almost brightening. "I believe you."

Then slowly, too slowly, he straightened, reclaimed his drink, and looked back into the fire as if none of that had just happened, while I sat there panting and trembling and trying to get my shit together. I wanted to make him squirm. I wanted to throw him off-balance like he seemed to be enjoying doing to me today.

Hemy gave me a little nudge, then pressed against me, sensing my unease and trying to soothe me. I drew strength from him. He may be tiny, but his love for me, his loyalty, was mighty. I licked my windburned lips and looked up… and caught Death looking at my mouth. I cleared my throat, and his gaze slowly slid up, locking on mine. It would be so easy to look away, to lose the battle of wills between us. He may be stronger, his battle plan more forceful, his arsenal far better equipped, but I was just as relentless. My attack was more subtle, yes, but I had no intention of waving the white flag anytime soon, no matter how exhausting this fight was.

"Tell me, my lord, am I the only consort you've had?" Someone had used that room before me, a female, and I'd wondered….

His glass paused on the way to his mouth, and he stared into it. His jaw tightened slightly. "No."

I stilled. "How many? I want a number," I said, throwing his words back at him from earlier that day.

"More than one and less than ten," he said, doing the same as I had.

What the hell did that mean? And where were his other consorts now? "What happened to them?"

"You asked your question, and I gave you your answer," he said.

"That was a non-answer—"

A roar of agony rattled the castle walls. Death slammed his glass on the mantel, spun, and strode from the room. I didn't know what possessed me, but I shoved off the chair and rushed after him. This was different. Somnus's roars of pain sounded different—goddess, horrifying and more… desperate.

Death shoved open the door to his brother's bedroom. Egon was at Somnus's bedside, using a cloth to wipe his face. Blood slid from the sleeping god's eyes, nose, and ears, dripping onto the white linen pillow beneath him, staining it scarlet.

"He's gone too long," Egon said, his hand trembling as he tried to swipe away more of the blood.

Death moved closer and cupped his brother's face. He said something low and guttural in a language I'd never heard before. Somnus's eyes snapped open suddenly, and I gasped. They were black and glossy with distant stars, like staring into the night sky.

" Frater ," Death said, accent thick and in that same guttural voice. Somnus stared blindly ahead, and then his eyes closed again. Cursing, Death looked up at Egon. "Prepare my things. It's time."

I looked between them. "What's going on? Time for what?"

Death turned to me. "You'll need to pack for at least a week, but pack light."

"Pack?"

"We leave in the morning," Death said and strode from the room.

* * *

There was a soft knock on my door.

I opened it, and Egon walked in carrying a set of leathers—body armor—black with deep burgundy patches at random spots.

"The master wanted me to give you these," Egon said and placed them on the chest at the end of the bed.

"He wants me to wear those when we leave tomorrow?"

"Yes, my lady." He dipped his head and turned to leave.

I got in his way. "Why do I need to wear body armor, Egon?"

He shook his head, his glossy horns shining in the lamplight. "It is not my place to say, my lady."

I'd told him to call me Zinnia more times than I could count, but he refused. "Wherever we're going, it's dangerous?"

He wouldn't meet my eyes. "It will be a… a difficult journey, yes."

"Egon—"

"I must finish packing for my lord," he said and rushed out the door.

If Death was going on some dangerous quest, why take me along? To him, I was just some weak mortal. A witch, yes, but mortal all the same. He was a god; I'd just slow him down. I rubbed my arms. He'd been playing his piano earlier, and the song had been so achingly sad, I still felt unsettled from listening to it. When he played, it was as if the whole castle stopped, as if everyone was caught up in his song, pulling emotions from those who listened and breaking their hearts into a million pieces.

It was agony.

Shaking out my hands, I tried to let go of it—the feelings his song had stirred in me along with the concern over this trip he was forcing me to take with him—and paced the room. I strode to the window and looked out at Death's night sky. Stars twinkled down as if I were back home, but I wasn't staring up at the same sky as Jasmine; no, Death had created it when he created this realm.

Movement caught my eye in the garden below.

I stepped closer to the window. He was down there. His chest was bare, and his smooth skin glowed while deep shadows highlighted every ridge and muscle. His head was tilted back, his gaze aimed to the heavens, while his lips moved.

Was he praying?

I moved closer to the window to get a better look and gasped. The shadows covering his body moved, reforming his appearance. They transformed him, his face reshaped by darkness into a skull, his chest and arms, a skeleton, and his eyes were black, as if reflecting the night sky, just like Somnus's had looked earlier.

He jolted suddenly, and his eyes cleared, the shadows moving and reshaping, his face and body returning to what they were before. I quickly stepped back, my heart beating hard in my chest.

Whatever I'd just witnessed, I got the feeling it was a sign of things to come.

I needed to be ready for anything.