Page 41 of Bride of Death

“Oh, okay. So you’re helping me like all the other fae males do at the Den, and next you’re going to offer to mate me to protect me.” She rolls her eyes—an action I see clearly because the shadows can’t hide her beautiful features from my immortal gaze. “Yeah, no, thanks.”

My lips curl at her easy dismissal. “I’ll admit, I’m not used to females turning me down so quickly, especially before I’ve even offered my knot.”

She starts to turn away, but stops, her brow furrowing. “Knot?”

“Mmm,” I hum, enjoying that word on her tongue. If only she followed it up withme. “Shall we begin anew?” I suggest, stepping out of the shadows cast by the nearby skeleton trees and into a beam of moonlight. “I’m Morpheus.”

Her eyes grow round upon seeing me—truly seeing me—and her full lips part. “M-Morpheus?”

“Just Morpheus,” I tell her. “One M.”

She blinks several times. “Like the God…” She pauses on a swallow. “God of Dreams.”

“One and the same, I’m afraid.” I cant my head and give her my best smile. “Don’t worry, little dreamer. You’re very much awake.” It’s the question I’m asked most often when I appear—Is this a dream?

“Why are you here?” she whispers.

“To meet you,” I tell her honestly.

She stares for a beat and frowns. “You said you weren’t talking to me because of the nuptials.”

“No, I said I didn’t feel compelled to help you because of the nuptials,” I correct her. “But I’m also not conversing with you as a result of them, either. I’m simply here for you.”

Her frown deepens. “Because you think I’m an Omega.”

“I don’t think you are; I know you are.”

Twin blonde eyebrows lift. “Except I’m not one. I’m a human.”

“One who possesses an Omega’s soul, yes,” I agree.

She heaves a sigh, her irritation palpable. “So I keep hearing.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Hmm.” She looks at me. “Okay. So what happens next?”

My brow pinches downward. “Tonight?” I ask her.

“No. I mean with my supposed soul. Is it supposed to take over at some point? Turn me into an Omega? Give me all her previous memories?” She scowls. “Do I just die in the process?”

“I certainly hope not,” I reply. “Your sister didn’t.”

“My sister didn’t possess a specific soul like I apparently do,” she snaps. “One that makes Hades think I belong to him without ever actually talking to me.”

“Ah, yes, that. He’s stubborn. Which is probably the understatement of the millennia.”

“And I’m guessing he sent you here to talk to me?” she goes on like I haven’t spoken. “If that’s the case, tell him I’m not interested in fae who send messengers on their behalves. A real God would talk to me.”

I smile. “I agree entirely.”

“And a real God would—wait, what?” She blinks at me like she just remembered my presence. “You… you agree?”

“Absolutely. A real God would talk to his Omega. A God with, say, long silver hair, perhaps? Blue-green eyes. The kind of face one fantasizes about in the midnight hours?”

She glances over me, then gives me a skeptical look. “A real God named Morpheus?”

“Some call him quite dreamy, you know,” I murmur, amused.