Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Zinnia

Death banged on the black wooden door.

This place seriously gave me the creeps.

Heavy footsteps, slow and ominous, came from behind it, and I had visions of Frankenstein's monster standing on the other side. I wasn't ashamed to say that when the door slowly creaked its way open, I stepped a little behind Death.

A short male with long, wispy gray hair that reached his waist and gray skin only a shade darker stood there, scowling at us. "My lord," he said with distaste.

"We require a room for the night, Horace."

His beady red gaze sliced to me, then back to Death. "But of course." Then he disappeared back inside, and we followed.

Horace wasn't a breed of demon I'd ever seen, but every instinct in me said that's what he was. His feet were disproportionately large to his body. His legs were strong and muscled, but his body was wiry and misshapen. His features were somewhat humanoid but bulbous and exaggerated in a way that gave him away, and of course, there were those red eyes.

"He doesn't seem happy to see you," I said to Death under my breath. "Will he rat us out?"

"He can't, at least in theory. This tower is supposed to be a sanctuary, a safe place for travelers to rest before sailing the Night Sea."

I spun to Death as Horace stepped behind a small reception desk and grabbed a key from the wall. He handed it over. "Do you require a repast, my lord?"

"We do," he said.

No, thanks. Whatever this guy was serving, I wasn't eating. Of course, with Death's powers basically out of commission, there would be no pulling a five-star meal out of thin air.

"I'd also like to hire a ship for our passage tomorrow," Death said.

"We're going in that ocean?" I asked, unable to bite back my horror.

"Yes." He pulled two gold coins from his pocket and handed them to Horace. "I want your best." He took out another coin and held it up. "And I want provisions, enough for two days, and the ship better be seaworthy, and the crew trustworthy, demon, or I will come back here, no matter how long it takes me, and I will torture you, flay the skin from your flesh and the meat from your bones, and I won't stop until you are ash. Do you understand?" Horace grabbed for the coin, and Death pulled it out of reach. "Do you understand?" he said again, his earth-shattering voice making Horace wince.

"Of course, my lord."

"Do not of course me. I know your tricks. I've been on the receiving end of them more than once, and I know that despite your post here, you are my mother's lapdog. That will not save you if you fuck with me or my consort." Then Death tossed the extra coin at the demon, snatched the key from the desk, and strode toward the stairs.

Horace's red gaze was burning with fury when it slid to me. I quickly spun away and rushed after Death.

He took the stairs two at a time, obviously angry as hell.

"You've had some issues with Horace before, then?"

His lips curled back. "You could say that."

"What kind of issues? Not like ship stuff, right?"

"Yes, ship stuff. It ended up at the bottom of the ocean."

Fuck.

"Well, after the warning you gave him, I don't think you'll have any trouble this time." I freaking hoped not, anyway.

Death grunted. Not reassuring at all.

"By the way, when were you going to tell me about this little sea voyage? 'Cause I have to tell you, I'm not much of a fan of boats and wide-open ocean… like at all."

"I know," he said, "but you'll be fine."

"You know? How?" I said when he finally stopped outside one of the rooms and slid in the key.

His hand stilled, just for a split second, but then he turned the key and shoved open the door. "I know a lot of things."

Great, another room with one bed. Like seriously? "Can we get another room?" I eyed the huge bed. On second thought, he could have it. It looked like it was made out of charred bones from creatures of unidentifiable origin, if the skull in the center of the headboard was anything to go by. At least there was a fire going against the wall, because it was cold and miserable.

"No. We stay together, especially here." He hurriedly undid his jacket and slid the heavy leather off, tossing it on the back of a chair. He wore nothing underneath it, and this time, his back was to me, so when he rolled his broad shoulders and flexed his arms, I watched the way the muscles bunched, making the inverted torch tattooed down the backs of both his arms move and the flames dance.

Seeing him like this was so… weird. He was the God of Death, and I was forced to spend time with him in a way only—well, possibly ten—other consorts had. He'd obviously had intimate relationships with the others, at least some of them. The very idea of taking things there with him was… not something I could even truly contemplate.

Not only was it way too intimidating, but that didn't seem to be what he wanted from me, and I certainly didn't want that from him.

Then I thought about the way my body had reacted while we hid under his cloak, and I inwardly winced. I had no control over my reaction; it didn't mean I wanted to go there with him. Maybe that's why the others had died. The kiss of Death. Once you let him into your pants, you'd signed your own death warrant. "You don't like wearing a shirt or a jacket, why?" I asked.

He turned to me. "I've spent very long periods of time in only my cloak, so it takes time to get used to clothing again."

That made sense since, up until a week or so ago, I'd never seen him in anything but his cloak.

There was a knock at the door, and Death strode over, opening it. Horace rushed in, pushing a trolley. There was food crammed on top of it, and surprisingly, it didn't smell terrible. The demon left it by the fire, then hurried off without a word.

I eyed it. I'd planned to give the meal a miss, but I was starving now, and I needed to keep up my strength. "Is there anything here that you need to warn me about?"

"It's safe," he said, picking up what looked like a turkey leg and biting off a hunk of meat.

"Safe isn't what I asked." I picked up an orange and started peeling it. "I'm more concerned with what that is," I said, motioning to the leg he was tearing into.

"A bird. Not one you would know, but still a bird. It tastes like chicken."

Okay. It wasn't an orange I was peeling, but it had a deep red flesh and looked super juicy. "I'll take your word for it." I took a bite. Nope . Grabbing my napkin, I spat out the offending piece of fruit. "What the hell is that?"

Death's lips actually curved up on one side, and the effect was, well, nothing short of devastating. "A centeen egg."

"A what?"

"It's a kind of giant insect. Their eggs are enjoyed like caviar here."

I gagged and scrubbed the napkin over my tongue. "Jesus, that's disgusting."

A low sound rumbled from him. My gaze shot up. He was—holy shit, he was laughing. If I thought the grin was devastating, then Death laughing was… life-altering.

I tried not to stare, stunned, as he took a loaf of bread and tore it in half, then used a knife to scrape out some flesh from the centeen egg and spread it across the bread. "If you eat it the right way, it's quite delicious."

"Like hell it is." I grabbed my wine, which was thankfully good, and swilled it around my mouth. "I'll be tasting that until the day I die, and thankfully, according to what you've told me, I don't have long to wait." I smirked and grabbed a piece of bread without bug eggs on it. "How will you remember me? The most annoying consort you've ever had—"

"Don't." He slammed his hand on the table.

I jumped, tossing the piece of bread in my hand in the air, my heart flying into my throat. He was breathing hard, his nostrils flared, his hand curled into a tight fist.

"Don't," he said again, with less force but with a whole lot more feeling.

His blue eyes were burning into me, conveying a lot of things that I didn't know what to do with. I didn't know what to say, where the hell to look. "I'm sorry," I rasped, finding it hard to find my voice. "I… I didn't mean to upset you."

He was breathing hard, that fist still clenched tight.

"I was just joking around, okay? I do that when I'm freaked about something. It annoys my sister as well."

Still, he said nothing. What the hell was his problem, anyway?

"You really are pissed off?" Now I was getting pissed. "Well, that's kind of selfish of you, honestly. It's my head on the chopping block. I think I have a right to deal with it however I like."

He stood with a snarl. "Do you want to die, is that it? Do you have a fucking death wish, consort?"

"No, but I am one of a long line of consorts, and you told me yourself that most have died pretty fucking gruesomely, so forgive me, but something like that is kind of hard to forget."

He leaned forward, planting his hands on the trolley between us. "Then don't fucking die."

I stared up at him. "I'm definitely going to try not to, Mors, but my odds don't sound that good," I fired back at him.

"All you have to do is stay close to me, and you'll live. It's not hard."

"You make it sound so easy, but obviously, it's not, or consort number one would still be here with you, right? Or is that not how it works? 'Cause you sure as hell haven't tried to help me understand."

He ground his teeth. "There are things I can't tell you, things I want to tell you… so…" he growled. "So fucking badly. But I can't, so your only hope is to trust me."

I scoffed. "Right? Easy. Trust the guy who obviously does not trust me in the slightest. You make deals and barter with me because you don't trust I'll keep my word, yet you want me to just give you blind trust without even attempting to earn it?"

He straightened and paced away, his hand running over his tattooed skull. His back moved with the way his chest heaved. Where the fuck had this come from?

"If you want me to trust you, why don't you tell me what the hell is going on?" I said. "Why are you so pissed off right now? It can't just be about what I said."

He spun around. "You saw me in your vision, in your dream, with… with her. Tell me, Zinnia, what you saw."

I'd seen him with possibly more than one "her" but I knew the one he was talking about—the one he'd called Aster. I swallowed, my throat dry. "You were…"

"‘Making love' were the words you used. Try having that, feeling that … then reaching for it over and over again and having it taken from you. You dying, little witch, isn't something I want to even fucking think about." Then he snatched up his bag, turned, and strode into the bathroom, slamming the door after him.

Leaving me sitting there utterly stunned and, again, seriously confused.

I lost my appetite after that, and when he finally came out of the bathroom, subdued and smelling like soap, I grabbed my own bag and locked myself in the bathroom as well. I took my time, having a long, hot shower. My muscles ached, and I didn't smell the freshest after days of riding and walking.

As I dressed, pulling on a pair of shorts and a soft T-shirt, I thought about Hemlock. Egon would look after him, but I missed him so damn much. Where would he sleep tonight? Shaking it off, I forced myself to open the door and walk back out into the room. The only light was coming from the fire. Death was in bed, one arm behind his head, his eyes closed. The chair would have to do. I started toward it.

"Get in the bed, Zinnia."

He'd said my name again. "I'll just take the chair."

"You've called me by my name three times now."

I spun to face him. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," he said, his eyes still closed. "I'm calling the first one in."

"You're going to make me sleep with you?"

"I'm going to make you sleep in a comfortable bed and get a decent night's rest before we face the Night Sea tomorrow, and I know you're too stubborn to do anything I ask, so I'll make you do it."

I huffed out a breath. "Why are you like this?"

"Get in the bed."

"You're an asshole, you know that?" I was pretty sure I saw his lips curl up again.

"Shhh now, I'm trying to sleep," he said.

I stared across the room at the hideous bed made of bones and the god lying in it and tried to freaking breathe.

"If you're not in this bed in five seconds, I'm coming to get you."

That spurred me into action. "Fine," I muttered and rushed across the room, because again, Death always meant what he said.

Shoving back the covers, I climbed up, staying as far over on my side as I could without falling out, then dragged the heavy comforter up to my chin.

There was no way I was going to fall asleep. No way.