Chapter 26

Ididn't meet Honey in the library, didn't do anything except run all the way to my room in Lawrence Hall, lock the door, and prop a chair against it so it couldn't be rammed open. First Alastor and now this black-haired, blue-eyed psycho. Two students who lived in the same building as me, who both wanted to hurt me. And then there was Nightmare's cult and whoever the disciple who summoned her was.

I shook so hard my bones rattled. The blue-eyed guy had to be one of them. Nightmare's followers. Miz was right; she would drive me into a breakdown. I was already halfway there.

"Fuck," I exhaled in a shuddery breath, my hands shaking as I dragged them over my face.

All I wanted to do was crawl into bed, but I still had that asshole's blood on my face and I had chapters to read before tomorrow.

"You can do this," I psyched myself up. "Shower, bribe By and Honey into bringing dinner up, speed-read two chapters, then sleep for ten hours. Easy."

It didn't sound easy. It sounded impossible. But I threw clean clothes, underwear, and my toiletries into a Ford School of Medicine bag, the dark green of the serpent emblem watching me with red eyes. Reluctantly, I pulled the chair away from the door.

Ten minutes and I'd be back. Fifteen tops. I could do this.

I opened the door and locked it behind me before I could doubt myself, rushing down the hall to the shower room. My hands shook as I fumbled open one of the stalls and hung the bag on the back of the locked door where it wouldn't get wet.

You can do this, I told myself over and over, spinning my crown ring for courage as I undressed and turned the taps of the bronze overhead shower, probably the newest thing in the whole building. The water was ice cold when it sprayed out, but I was already shivering so I barely noticed.

I stepped fully under the spray and kept going until my forehead rested against the cool white tile, tears burning the backs of my eyes. I couldn't do this. My encouraging motto was bullshit; I really couldn't do this. I didn't mean the shower—I meant Ford, Nightmare, threatening assholes in my classes, and curses turning people into clowns and priests and fuck knows what else. I'd been on edge all day, and my mind was all too happy to replay the reasons I got that way—Alastor cornering me against the mausoleum, the silent phone call, Honey chattering at the bird, Byron glancing at us like he knew something was different, the chanting during the lecture, and then whatever the fuck that was in the alcove.

I only realised tears streaked my face when my breath hitched, stuck, and broke apart. A sob crashed from my chest, loud enough to be heard over the drumming of water on white tile. I wanted to spool the cries back into my chest, keep them there where no one might overhear them, but I couldn't stop them now. They had their own force, like a storm that wouldn't be slowed, let alone stopped.

I screwed my eyes shut, my face against the wall, and gave up trying to fight the sobs. They came in ruthless waves, crushing my chest until it hurt, tears streaking my face until my skin was puffy and tight. The water slamming into my shoulders was too hot now but it didn't matter. None of this mattered.

I wanted to go home, to drop out of Ford, but I was cursed. I didn't think going back to Harrogate would really be escaping from Nightmare. I'd only drag her to my family, get them cursed too, and I couldn't bear that. Thoughts of what she'd do to Mum and Dad burned vividly in my mind and I flinched. What if she didn't curse them; what if she killed them, like she killed Lindgren?

My breathing turned jagged, desperate.

I flinched when I was turned from the wall, the hands on my body gentle but alien. Tears and water veiled my vision but I snapped my head up, staring—

"Death?" I asked in a small voice.

"I'm here," he said, drawing me into the safety of his arms and holding me so tight that I couldn't speak, could only sob brokenly. "It's okay, little one, it's okay."

Hot tears burned their way out of my eyes. I brought my arms up and clung to him, not caring that I'd only known him for days, or that a curse was the only thing that linked us. He was familiar and comforting and safe. It was a relief to be held while I cried, a relief to have someone hold together the jagged pieces I'd become.

Warm lips pressed to my forehead and he lifted a hand from my back only to turn the water to a more comfortable temperature, replacing it in the same spot, splayed against my hip while he hugged me as close as possible.

"You're okay now," he murmured against my temple. "You're okay, Daddy's here now."

I screwed my eyes shut, a desperate sound in the back of my throat. I didn't know how he knew what I needed; maybe the death gods were all psychic, maybe Death had taken one look at me and known I was both submissive and little. I didn't care. I was grateful for whatever brought him here, promising I was safe over and over, his body like a shield between me and the world.

I knew it couldn't last forever, but I clung to him, my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and marvelling at the fact his heart beat at all.

Kisses rained gently down my face and across my head, each one accompanied by a murmur of reassurance.

I'm here.

I won't let anyone hurt you.

You're my little bride.

You're safe now.

I'll take care of you, Cat.

Whoever made you cry will die screaming.

His words wrapped around my soul until I pulled my breathing back under my control, until my frantic sobs softened to hitching breaths, until I wasn't sure if the water on my face was tears or from the shower.

"How did you know?" I asked hoarsely when I was sure I could speak.

"How did I know you needed me?" Death clarified in a low, comforting rumble. "Tor mentioned your car was at the garage. I came to tell you I'd returned it to the garage on Ford's grounds." He kissed my temple. "I didn't know I'd find you like this."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

Death squeezed me to him, his body clad in a tight black shirt and jeans that were now soaked through. "No apology needed, pussy cat."

I groaned, which seemed to be his intention; I felt his smile against my forehead.

"I'll always be here when you need me." Another kiss to my temple. Then my neck. My shoulder. He froze there and his body—muscular but languid, fluid—hardened to steel. His spine stiffened in an instant. "Who did this to you?" he asked very, very quietly, barely audible over the shower.

"What?" I drew back with a frown, a tremor of nerves in my belly at the complete shift in his body language and tone. Danger throbbed from him in waves, quickening my heart.

Death splayed a hand at the base of my spine, keeping me against him, and trailed the fingertips of his other hand over my shoulder, pressing them carefully, gently.

"Oh," I breathed when his fingers wrapped around my shoulder, aligning with what must have been bruises from this morning. "It's nothing. It won't happen again."

I wouldn't go anywhere alone; I wasn't stupid enough to go running in the graveyard. If I needed to run tomorrow morning, I'd drag Honey with me or just run in the public areas where other people were. Alastor had proved he wouldn't hurt me in front of an audience.

"Nothing," Death repeated, and I became very aware of the fact he was clothed and I was entirely naked, on full display before him. But the way he was looking at me, his eyes black from edge to edge in a way that made my breath catch, was far from the way Tor had looked at me this morning. "There are fingerprints on your shoulders, Cat, that is not nothing.I want a name."

I swallowed. "I can't."

He inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. "Whoever did this deserves to die a horrific death, my bride. There are consequences for hurting my wife."

Even as unease wound through me, my belly fluttered. I shouldn't have liked hearing that as much as I did. My wife.

"If I tell you who did it, you'll kill him."

"So it's a man," he breathed.

"And I'll be as bad as Nightmare." I shook my head, trying to move away from him and failing completely. "I won't kill someone."

His fingers slid along my cheek and into my hair, cradling the back of my head as he brought his face down, peering intently into my eyes. For a moment I thought he'd force me to tell him with magic, compel me into speaking, but he only read the fear in my eyes.

"Alright, little bride, you don't have to tell me. I'll find his name another way." Death pulled me back into his arms like that wasn't an alarming statement, and I meant to argue, but… why? If he killed Alastor, he wouldn't be able to threaten me anymore. He couldn't hurt Honey, either.

Instead of speaking, I squeezed his waist and rested my forehead on the swell of his pec, stepping closer—and jolting when his erection pressed against my hip through his wet jeans. Oh. I thought he'd been completely unaffected by the sight of him naked but nope. Definitely nope. And he was huge. The girth on what I felt was insane.

"Ignore that, my bride," he said, kissing the crown of my head. "I didn't get into the shower for sex. I'm here because you need me to hold you."

But now I'd felt it—and was still feeling it—I couldn't think about anything else. All my awareness had gone to that point of contact, where his thick cock pressed against my belly. This morning with Tor made me bold, and instead of stammering and blushing I looked up at Death and asked, "What if I need more than you holding me?"

His hand at my back travelled slowly up my spine, waking up my whole body. "Do you?"

I nodded, not taking my eyes off him. Now I wasn't crying, I could see him clearly and fuck, he was attractive. His hair flowed over his shoulders in thick black braids, his shirt clinging to the curves of his chest, and his smoke-grey eyes were sharp with a hunger he'd done such a good job of masking, I hadn't seen it before. His wide mouth curved into a slow smile at whatever he read on my face.

"I should tell you," he murmured, pulling my hands from his back and resting them on the button of his jeans, "I came to see you yesterday and I overheard a conversation you had with your friend."

I wracked my brain for anything we'd said and came up blank.

He tucked the fingers of one of my hands into his waistband, the command obvious, and when I dared to unfasten his jeans, his warm hand cupped my cheek and lifted my face.

"You were telling her a list of your interests."

A list of my— "Oh god," I gasped.

His small smile curved deeper into his cheeks, his voice rich and sweet like caramel when he said, "I should tell you, a great many of them overlap with my own interests."

Mortification quickly burned to surprise—and thrill. "They do?"

"Mm." His voice deepened, gruffer when I tugged down the zip of his jeans for me. "Dirty talk is a favourite of mine. So is giving praise. And you already know you're my little one."

I flushed, but I was smiling, my stomach fluttering madly.

"Dominance and submission, too," he went on, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip when I had his pants unfastened. Water cascaded down his rugged face and muscular chest, enticing me. "Tor's the one you want for primal play and chasing."

A shudder went down my whole body. Tor would chase me, catch me, and fuck me? Holy fuck. Holy, holy fuck.

"You love that," Death observed, smiling with a wickedness that was new to me. "Do you want Torment to hunt you like prey, then fuck you like a good little slut?"

My entire body electrified. A gasp caught in my throat.

"Yes, you do," he breathed, pressing closer. He groaned when I slid my hand into his pants and squeezed his cock, needier with every word out of his mouth. "I bet that pretty pussy is soaked at just the thought."

"It's wet because of you," I said, and didn't know where I found the courage. My heart hammered against my chest, but the warmth and presence of him here against me freed me from the usual cage of my anxieties. I didn't hesitate to slide my fingers under his underwear and wrap my hand around the silken warmth of his cock.

His hips jerked, a sexy little groan in his throat. "Cat," he breathed, "my bride, my wife." He surged forward in a desperate rush, kissing me hard, and the hint of roughness clashed with the kindness and care I knew of him. The perfect combination. My ultimate weakness.

The taste of him burned out everything else, spicy and sweet like aniseed, and I kissed him like I was possessed by need. The kiss was instantly hot and greedy, my tongue in his mouth, his devouring mine with deep groans of satisfaction, teeth sinking in my bottom lip, my fingers twisting in his hair, grabbing fistfuls of braids even as I squeezed his cock.

"Does my perfect little wife need my cock?" Death asked, sending lightning to my clit. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, the shirt clinging to every rise and fall of muscle.

"Yes," I breathed, pleaded. I released his hair to push his jeans over his hips, my heart beating faster when he flicked his wrist and all his clothes vanished in a rush of dark smoke.