Page 22

Cat

I stayed against the wall until I’d got the tremble in my muscles under control, until I could breathe again. I finally worked up the courage to go back in, to find Death even if it killed me, but when I took a step something rustled against my dress. No, inside the small slit of a pocket.

The man with the mean smile—he left me a note? But when I pulled it out and unfurled the small scroll, the words didn’t match his tone at all.

It’s not real. Choose with your instincts.

My instincts. That made two people who’d given me that advice, whoever had written this note and Alfie, the bartender.

I brushed my thumb over the word, settling deeper into my soul, wishing I had a psychic bond with Death the way I did with Madde.

Hurt cut through me at the loss of it, but I couldn’t let that paralyse me now.

When I got back to Darkmore Manor, when I was wrapped in the sheets in bed, alone, I could fall apart.

Now, I had a chance to save my husband and I wasn’t going to waste it.

I read the note once more and slipped it back into my pocket.

It’s not real. What wasn’t real? The thin illusion that everyone chose to be there, that no single courtier was in that room doing Cruelty’s bidding?

The banquet, the music, the glittering jewels and dark silks?

Everything was fake, a carefully constructed painting made by a goddess who loved playing games. It was easier to say what was real. 1

I took a steadying breath, and went back inside.

It’s not real. Choose with your instincts.

I repeated those words in my head as I straightened the white lace mask over my face and paused by the door, scanning the couples dancing in their gothic, vampire-esque dresses like a scene out of Dracula .

With narrowed eyes, I watched people mingling at the bar or trying to ignore each other at the long, elaborate buffet table, plucking red velvet cupcakes from crimson platters or helping themselves to the big, cut-crystal punch bowl.

I made my way back into the melee, stalking through the masked courtiers like my jaguar would hunt her prey. I pushed the human part of me to the back of my mind and let the twisted, damaged Cat come to the forefront. She’d been wrecked by the curse and the serum, but she was stronger, sharper.

Vermillion light bounced from the chandeliers hanging above, casting ruddy, decadent lighting over everyone when the string quartet’s song changed, Siciliano unfurling through the room.

I didn’t spot Cruelty, but that wasn’t surprising.

She enjoyed lighting the touch paper and stepping back to watch the chaos of flames reign through Ford.

A scent met my nose, and my heartbeat quickened in response.

Chocolate and caramel. Not a familiar scent but, there, right under it, standing behind the portly man who smelled like a Mars bar 2 was a tall, broad-shouldered man with his back to me.

Dark, glossy hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of his collar, which was nothing like Death’s braids, and his skin was a few shades too light, but that scent, that sweet and smoky scent of burned sugar, was so familiar it made my heart soar.

I broke into a run, not caring about the tuts and disgruntled glares fired my way. That was Death’s scent, and I didn’t care about anything else.

“Did no one teach you manners, girl?” a statuesque woman demanded as I barrelled past her, not stopping to throw a comeback at her. But did no one teach her not to get in the way of a wife scorned and her damsel husband?

I dove around a young man in a tux and frilly shirt, and then the portly, Mars-bar-scent man was before me, and just behind him…

“Death?” I blurted, my voice vulnerable and weak. My eyes burned as I reached him, and I didn’t care that he looked nothing like he should. It was him. I could feel it. His scent settled over me, his presence wrapped around me, and I sobbed when he inhaled sharply and grasped my shoulders.

I threw my arms around him and held on tightly, a lump rising to my throat when the illusion veiling his true form tore away, and there he was, devastating and handsome and smiling at me.

I buried my face in his chest as tears scalded my eyes, a vicious quake working its way through my whole body. He was here. I finally found him.

“Where have you been?” I demanded, tilting my head back to look up at him, devouring the sight of him like a woman starved. Smooth brown skin, a face formed of sharp planes and kindness, and grey eyes so stormy and deep I could get lost in them forever. “I looked everywhere for you.”

“I—” he began in a tight voice. “I don’t know.”

Pressure formed in my chest. It took serious effort to prise one of my arms from his waist so I could wipe the tears from my eyes, not giving a shit if I smudged my makeup.

Death didn’t care about things like that; he loved me no matter what, even with awful makeup and a dress that made me look like a Victorian Vampire Barbie.

I blinked to focus my eyes, desperate for every glimpse of him, unable to take my eyes away.

“It’s okay,” I promised, pushing away a flash of unease that sparked.

“I’m here now, I’ve got you. You protect me, and it’s always been mutual.

” I brushed aside a thin braid, looking into his eyes.

They were a darker grey than I remembered, filled with the shadows of Cruelty’s treatment.

Did she torture him? Was his body covered in scars and bruises beneath the black tunic he wore, the edges embroidered in silver and so similar to what he wore the first time we met?

I leaned onto my tiptoes to kiss the edge of his jaw, and he froze. My heart crashed into my ribs. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t,” he said in that same tight voice, rougher than I remembered.

“No,” I breathed when he pulled away. I caught his hand and grabbed it tight. “We need to get you out of here. I know the gates aren’t in Ford’s End anymore but—”

But we can find another, or hide in the fucking forest for all I care. I didn’t get to speak those words because Death ripped his hand from mine and stumbled back.

“I’m not doing this!” he shouted, his head tipped back. Panic and confusion both crashed into my chest, quickening my heartbeat, turning my breathing erratic. Apprehension crawled down the back of my neck. “Do you hear me?”

“Doing what?” I whispered, cold slithering across my skin. “Stop drawing attention to yours—”

“Well, this is disappointing,” Cruelty remarked, slipping into our path as Death tried to flee. Why did he have to shout? If he’d kept his voice down, we could have got out of here. “You,” she emphasised, giving Death a pouty scowl, “are a disappointment.”

I saw it in her eyes—the crescendo of rage, the spill of murder through her soul—and I had seconds to push Death behind me, to sink into the roiling, snarling power of my jaguar.

She shouldn’t have pushed me with tests, shouldn’t have helped me hone my ability to change forms, because I used that knowledge now to shift in seconds. My paws dug furrows into the polished floor as I curled my upper lip and let out a warning snarl to Cruelty—

Where was she?

Breath sawed into my lungs, exhaling as a snarl.

I was vaguely aware of courtiers backing up with cries of alarm to have a wild creature in their midst, and even the string quartet fleeing their seats, letting a tense silence fall over Old Ford House.

But when I turned and my eyes fell on Cruelty lunging at Death in her dress the colour of dried blood, her eyes hungry for his suffering, my snarl died.

She had one hand on his neck, one knotted in his braids and—

The snap of his neck echoed, too loud in the stillness.

It sounded like a gunshot, like a building collapsing. Like my heart collapsing.

I stumbled forward in a daze, my growl dying, something crumpled inside me when Cruelty let Death thud to the floor, not laying him gently but letting him hit the ground like a sack of bricks. Like a dead body.

He was a death god, and surely he couldn’t be killed by snapping his neck, but this was Cruelty, and her power was endless.

I shifted back, my head so foggy and so much pain in my chest that I barely processed the change.

I knelt at his side, my bottom lip quivering, and blinked a tear free so I could look at him, his face so peaceful and still that he might only be asleep.

“There, see?” Cruelty said with a smile in her voice. “Don’t say I never give you anything.”

I lashed my head up, glaring at her with all the hatred in my heart, but she wasn’t talking to me.

I followed her line of sight and found the horrified faces of the courtiers, the staff, and the bartender who’d been the only friendly face in a room full of sharks.

I blinked, remembering his words, remembering the note in my pocket.

I sucked down air, a tremor shaking my shoulders.

It’s not real. Choose with your instincts.

It’s not real.

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “It’s not real.” The words were faint, a barely audible rasp, but Cruelty laughed brightly, seeming delighted with me.

“Oh, how clever you are, Kitty.”

“It’s not real,” I repeated, my voice stronger.

I stared at Death’s unmoving body, obsessing over every incorrect detail.

Tiny things that were easily missed unless you were his wife.

His skin tone two shades lighter. His braids a little too thin, the intricacy of them off where Death’s were perfect.

The smooth, unblemished column of his throat, missing the tiny, pale nick of a scar. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t him.

I got to my feet in a rush, shaking with rage now instead of agony. “You’re supposed to be my friend,” I spat, my canines still sharp. “Friends don’t do this. They don’t hurt each other like this.”

Cruelty rolled her eyes. “It’s only a little fun.”

“It’s not fun for me!” I screamed, my temperature spiking, my hands shaking now. I was going to shift; I couldn’t control it. “I thought you’d killed my husband, Cruelty. How fucked in the head do you have to be to—”

I didn’t get another word out. The rose choker bit into my throat so tightly I grunted, my eyes watering as the thorns gouged my skin, the stems of roses carving deep trails into my throat.

Movement surged through the crowd, but my eyes were too teary to see more than a blur of gunmetal through a sea of black and crimson.

“Oh, enough of you,” Cruelty huffed, and I braced for her to kill me, the nearness of my death spiking my heart into a panicked sprint. “Now, where were we, Kitty? Oh, that’s right, you were apologising for snapping. Again.”

“Sorry,” I croaked, fingers scrabbling at the choker, trying to prise the metal edges from my skin.

“I’m not sure you mean it, darling,” she murmured, shaking her head.

I choked down a sob and rasped, “I’m really sorry, Cruelty. I mean it. I won’t snap again. Promise.”

“You better,” she replied in a dark tone, not extending her pinky for a promise this time. I gulped down air when the choker loosened, my neck throbbing and hot with blood.

“Moving on,” she said breezily, brushing off her anger and smiling as brightly as ever as she draped an arm over my shoulder.

I plucked a wine shot from a nearby server’s tray and threw it back.

My eyes fell to the body on the floor, though I’d been fighting the urge to look.

It wasn’t Death, it was a vaguely familiar man with a prominent moustache and explorer vibes.

I’d seen him tonight while making the rounds, and now he was dead.

On second thoughts, I dropped the empty glass on the tray and took another.

“Pick one man,” Cruelty said, sweeping her arm at all the gathered people. “And as a little apology, I’ll let you spend one hour with him tomorrow.”

Choose the man in green. Or you’ll regret it.

I scanned the crowd until I found the man in dark, velvet green, but the thought of spending an hour with a stranger made me want to scream.

And no matter how many times Cruelty tricked me, no matter how dark her magic turned, I didn’t want to get closer to any of these people.

None of them felt right. The only one who had was dead at my feet, and no longer smelled like Death, no longer looked like my husband.

All a big, fucking lie. I had to swallow a scream of fury.

Pick one man. Choose the man in green.

I wanted to rip my hair out, or rip Cruelty’s throat out. The only person in the room who didn’t make me feel like crying, screaming, killing, or throwing up was the bartender, and I’d been so snappish to him he probably didn’t like me anymore.

My eyes slid over the velvet and silk sea, over the perfectly painted faces, the elaborate masks, until I found dark silver fabric and mousy curls. He was the only person I could stand, so even though he wasn’t Death, it made sense to choose him. It was the only option.

I threw back my second wine shot, needing the boost of courage, and turned to Cruelty. “I choose—”

The rich bouquet turned to copper on my tongue, and I choked, staggering back. Blood. The wine had turned to blood. My stare flew to Cruelty—this had her magic written all over it—in time to see her glare from me to the bartender. Alfie.

I brushed her arm off and lunged through the crowd, ignoring the way the room had gone hazy, my stomach warm like I had more than a few drinks.

Like I gulped down the whole bottle. Drugged, I knew instantly, but that didn’t stop me pushing through the tight press of Cruelty’s puppets, my eyes fixed on that gunmetal mask, the anger flattening his mouth into a firm line.

“You chose wrong, Kitty,” Cruelty said somewhere behind me, her tone too even to interpret. Was she furious? Was she disappointed? Was she already scheming new ways to hurt me? I knew the answer to that last one was yes, but it didn’t matter as much as getting through the crowd to Alfie.

I shook my head to cast off the blurriness moving too quickly through my system.

I needed to think clearly, to remember everything he’d ever said.

He was certain none of my men were here, but he knew them.

He hadn’t seen them in this room, but he’d seen them.

Cruelty rarely used the word husband. She said she had my bonded one.

My heartbeat slowed against my will, my head fuzzy.

No. I needed to hold on long enough to reach him, to demand the truth.

Are you the one she’s keeping from me? Are you bound to me, like Madde was bound to me without me knowing? Is she hurting you, torturing you? Are you mine?

The dizziness swept in from all sides. It stole me away before I could reach him.