Page 12 of A Kiss From Death (Oath of Vengeance #1)

S winging my door open, I’m greeted by a tall figure I think is deathly allergic to smiling. “Death Reaper,” I spew in greeting. “Whatever have I done to be graced with your positively joyous presence?” My tone straddles on the line between mocking and disinterest.

He ignores my snarky comment and gestures his arm out for me to join him. I stride past him, and I’m about to drop another attitude-filled remark just to get under his skin when my arm is abruptly swept up into the crook of someone else’s, wedged against their body.

Turning my head, I’m greeted by an icy blue gaze and wolfish grin. I’m tugged along down the hallway, and behind me I can hear what could only be described as an animalistic growl from Hade.

Sheesh, someone needs to let off some steam.

I make a mental note to bring up his growling problem the next time he gets under my skin. Tucking that away for later, I focus my attention back on the other thorn in my ass: Aeron .

“You clean up well for a Vagrant,” he utters.

“Ouch!” I screech. Aeron’s eyebrows raise the faintest amount in question. “Just wounded from you being such a pain in my ass.” He blinks at me rapidly in confusion. “What? Were we not stating facts?” I shrug nonchalantly.

He chuckles to himself. “She’s a fighter.”

“Fighting implies there is a chance of me losing. I do not partake in child’s play. I simply win…at everything.” I throw him a feral grin, granting him full access to my pearly whites as I fake bite at him.

“Calm down. You don’t want to injure my fragile male ego now, do you?”

“That would imply I have a scrap of care to give you, and would you look at that, I just ran out,” I coo.

Hade grumbles under his breath. “If you two are done pissing on each other’s shoes, hurry up and follow me. I’m going to be late a second time because of your childishness.”

“Am not!” Aeron and I both shout at his accusation.

Sighing, he motions us down a connecting hall that opens into the grand entrance of the castle.

It is spacious and bright, with light filtering in from the stained glass windows on each side.

The ceiling is vaulted, a grand chandelier hanging in the center.

Sun bounces off the black and white checkered tiles.

A white grand piano nestled in the corner that practically screams expensive .

Hade takes us down another hallway that leads us to giant black double doors adorned with black metal handles.

Hade grabs a handle at the same time Aeron’s Vanquisher, tasked to watch him, grabs the other.

In perfect unison, they open the doors, revealing a long wooden table splattered with delicacies I’ve only seen in my dreams. Every one of our competitors stare at us with wide eyes as Aeron and I stride in, arm in arm.

So much for trying to stay under the radar.

I try to tug my arm away from Aeron’s, but as soon as I tug, he only grips harder, digging his fingers into my bare skin.

“Play the part. Make them fear us,” he whispers next to the shell of my ear, sending chills down my spine.

“And what if I don’t want to play the part with you, hmm?”

“Then you will be walking to your own downfall.”

His considerable lack of confidence in my abilities only fuels my fire to prove them all wrong.

This man thinks he’s playing God. I picture my knee slipping up towards his manhood and showing him exactly what I’m capable of, but that little thought in the back of my mind keeps me from carrying that dream out.

My weapon.

My most advantageous weapon to wield here: make them underestimate me. Let them think I’m hiding behind the strength of a strong, bold man. Let them see my ‘weaknesses’ before I pounce.

With that in mind, I play the part of the dainty girl in need of rescue by the big, brawny man, if only for the time being.

Donning my mask, I lean in a little closer to Aeron’s body and stride in time with him to the remaining two seats at the end of the table.

Aeron steps in front of me, pulling my chair out, playing the part of the perfect gentleman.

Puke.

Pinning him with a feline smile, I blink up at him sweetly. “Such a gentleman,” I purr, as if I’m awestruck he has taken interest in me.

Double puke.

Aeron pushes my chair in for me, rounding the table to sit directly across. My competitors chat amongst themselves, getting a feel for their competition, while I sit silently, taking it all in—the people, this place, and most importantly, the food .

Half the food in front of me, I couldn’t name even if there was a dagger pressed to my throat. I look down at a plate lies decorated with desserts with pink, bubble-like clouds floating out between the cracks. Tracking one of the bubbles with my eyes, I watch it burst, freeing the pink fog within.

The fog hits my nose, but I’m shocked it carries no smell. Then, as if hit by a galloping horse, my tastebuds explode with an array of flavors. Sweetness spreads across my tongue, sweet but tangy at the same time, with a hint of something I’ve never tasted before.

It’s magic encased in food, letting me get a glimpse into what the delicate pastry sitting in front of me tastes like, and it has me drooling for a bite. My only mission right now is seeing if the pastry lives up to its name.

I go to snatch up a bite when a delicate hand closes around mine, giving it a soft shake.

“Rayah Wixx, but you can call me Ray.” The girl beside me shakes my hand in forced greeting, stealing my hand from its mission.

“I’m Nyxi.” I shake her hand back just as gently as I trail my eyes over the girl sitting next to me.

Her hair is what steals my attention first. The brightest shade of pink is coiled into tight curls bouncing around just above her shoulders.

Her tan skin is smooth like honey, with faint freckles here and there as if they were an afterthought when creating her.

Her features are youthful compared to mine, but she’s still filled out in areas, making me assume she’s only a couple years younger than me.

“Your eyes.” The words slip from my mouth on their own. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

She shyly tucks one of her pink coils behind her ear. “Mama told me it’s a birth defect. Told me something made me all kinds of funny, from my bright pink hair to my sunflower eyes. ”

“They are beautifully unique.” They remind me of running through a field of sunflowers while a lover chases close behind, giggles floating up in the space between.

“Mama wouldn’t agree with you. She would say they make me stick out like a sore thumb and will hinder me from ever being wedded off. That’s why I’m here.” Her once-cheerful face sinks an inch at the reminder of her future.

“And why is that?” It’s an honest question. I want to know because I’m interested, not simply to gain information on an opponent for once.

“To finally rid myself of them if I lose. Or, to finally add meaning to my existence in my family’s eyes if I win.” She states it so plainly, as if it’s been ingrained in her head since birth. Maybe it has.

“I still don’t understand.”

“And here I was, relying on you to bring brains to the game as a potential ally.” She giggles shyly to herself then abruptly slaps a hand over her mouth in shock.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I said that out loud.

” She shakes her head like she’s mad at herself.

“Flowers, Ray, already making enemies for yourself.” She talks to herself in a whisper I can barely hear.

Here I am, making friends with another psycho who talks to herself, Empress save me. This one seems a little shyer than Des, though.

“Anyways, long story short, my family has forced me to enter my name in the Reaper Crucible. Well, if I wanted to keep living under their roof, that is. Never thought I would get picked, though. Guess that’s just one more thing about me to add to the difference list–”

“Unique,” I cut her off.

“Huh?”

“You are unique, not different. They are two very different things. ”

“Hmmmm…” She ponders the thought like it’s never occurred to her.

“Maybe in another world, but not this one.” She huffs.

“Anyways, either I die and they have one less mouth to feed, one less daughter corrupting their household, or I win and finally bring honor to our family. I dream of the day they talk about my bravery rather than my difference.” She looks mesmerized by the thought.

“Ahh, yes, dreams . What a terrible motivator for hope that is.” The woman’s haunting voice slithers up the back of my spine, skittering into my ears like snakes. No, not a woman—the Empress . I steel my spine, and the flowers and butterflies melt away as reality comes sweeping back in.

She storms in, commanding the room with a snap of her fingers. All eyes are trained on her as we stand, the symbol of our very being, the hand that feeds and commands our every move. She gives us what she wants and takes as she pleases, a force to be reckoned with.

She glides across the floor like a wind storm to the head of the table, where her larger-than-life chair is perched, awaiting her arrival.

Either she has more than one throne, or she had her workers drag it in here for the occasion.

I wouldn’t doubt that; she has always been one to show her wealth and power when possible.

Straining my eyes, I peer down the length of the oversized table to where she now stands beside her throne, awaiting our gratitude.

She’s draped in all red, twin to her flaming red locks floating down her back.

Her hair reminds me of the brightest embers floating about a fire.

She has it styled in long, loose curls reaching her hips.