Page 22 of Bride of Death

That’s the only thing that makes sense. My sister is an Omega. Maybe Hades assumes I’m one, too.

But I’m not.

I’m nothing like Alina.

I don’t mean that as an insult or a barb; it’s merely the truth.

Alina is fearless. Comfortably mated. Happy.

I’ve been called timid all my life. Fragile. Malleable.Naïve.

None of those adjectives are accurate. But this male—the one who seems to think I’mengaged—no doubt has his assumptions.

“I know she’s mated to Orcus,” I go on, my thoughts spilling out through my mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I’m suitable for his brother.” My brow furrows. “And besides that, I’ve never even met Hades. So…” I lift my gaze from Ghost’s abs—I didn’t even realize that was where I was looking until I went to findhis face—and say, “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“You said that last night,” he replies, his muscles rippling as he folds his arms. “And as I said then, I know exactly who you are, Persephone.”

My jaw clenches.There’s that name again.“My name is Sera.”

“Which you also said last night.”

“Then perhaps you should try listening to me,” I interject before he can go on or say something else to annoy me. “I’ve never met Hades. I’m not engaged to him. I’m also not an Omega—hence I’m not like Alina—and I would really like you to go now.”

He pops his hip against my counter, his gaze assessing.

“What if I stay and fill you in on what I know instead,” he offers. “Such as the fact that Hades says you possess an Omega’s soul, and not just any soul, but the one he was mated to in a past life. And by the way, her name was Persephone. Therefore…” He gestures at me while I gape back at him.

Because that was a lot of information to pass along in the blink of a few words.

“Hmm, I see I’ve finally madeyoulisten,” he muses. “Shall I feed you as well?” He glances at my ruined stove. “Or did you have your heart set on charcoaled pancakes?”

“I…” I follow his gaze to the burnt mess as my stomach begins to grumble. I haven’t eaten anything since before my shift last night, and now my kitchen is destroyed. My options are pretty limited—walk over to the Bone Shack for a burger or take Ghost up on his offer.

I’m not particularly fond of meat first thing in the morning. So the latter seems more appetizing. Except…

“What kind of breakfast are you going to make?” I ask him, unable to mask the wariness in my tone.

His gaze dances over me, his lips quirking upward into a smirk. “Get dressed, then come over and find out.”

My brow furrows, my eyes dropping to the towel I’m still clutching to my chest. “Oh.” It feels like an hour has passed since my shower and the whole fiasco in the kitchen.

“And be prepared to tell me whoheis,” Ghost adds.

“He?” I echo, not following at all.

“Thehewho was supposedly making you breakfast,” he says.

“Oh,” I repeat, my lips twisting. “Pip.” I glance around. “Where did he go, anyway?”

“Who the fuck is Pip?” Ghost demands.

“A spirit,” I tell him, then shake my head. “Wait, why am I explaining myself to you? It’s you who owes me answers, not the other way around.”

“I owe you answers?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

“Yeah,” I reply, my hands dropping to my hips. “About my supposedfia?—”

The towel begins to unravel, ending my commentary as I scramble to grab the cotton and hold it against my chest.